EPC Collaborative Poem #11

Mortared river-stones
Line the smooth cistern planes.
Root streamers hang, pale

Hairs, ribs, ranging cracks. 
(eas)

Dry hawthorn spines,
Cockspur tines 
	Knot.
Black locust buds,
Forage of the dove.
	Not

A narrow halidom
Of a gilt bird come
	To rest.
A splinter-dense cage
Makes the osage
	A nest.

Light through osier
Limbs breaks afire
	In stipple.
Brodac of thorn, 
Prickly-ash worn
	Brittle. 
(verlaine)

your toes·small fish
that dance in tidepools·and
	the crabËs a friend
(neh)

Roses are red 
(ddm)

 
fast to fathom
she can't react
to nothing--
a drawn blank.

Just this--
then signs, of course,
no kiss.
(KAJ)

travel to the dome 
greet the hare
who points west
(cp)

All is weak in the hours
  we wake 
(CRL)

Dull persistent aching in shoulders and head,
eyes tired and glazed,
too long a time spent in this fruitless search for the name       and work 
of a poet from a small state, that of our president,
at whose second inauguration he read,
seen by many millions,
yet who now seems to have dropped off the face o 
(AJK)

Exotic mist cools the evening air
Coming from the seashores of my mind
Lovely introspective waking,
And then the misty air will be no more. 
(JG)

To find, to find out;
to find you, to find you out. 
(DS)

all of that 
and this
though        given
gifts greet the grieving
and the  
(TmP)

normandy

gloucester

no matter where one
finds the self
the beach is
heavy
laden with pain
that seeks
peaceful release as

pressure mounts
inside
culminating in
internal violence
entire worlds must share
because

waves urge it forth
a breach of
worthy forts
and insurmountable 
defense while

trudging knee 
deep through
tiring sands
heavy
with burden
heavy
with

oceans behind
never in
front view
no u turns
for your

vision is made
direct
direction becomes mindless
travel

never
to see
copper grains

turn white
under

foot
(woz)

How fair is it?
with no heat or smoke.
none at all to warm the childless saavy on the corner.
the savant.  The intelligent.
The one.  
Do I pray?
Do I fall?
Do I rush to the knees of the perfect beggar on the street?
I look for handouts too.
I want.
Much like heroin to a phone.
Prone to call.
I want.
(Fla)

msh notes to the millenium candy butcher
punch professer
all ballyhou
to the canal smile
milfoil abounds as joy
beneath the footbridge 
(G.E.S.)

mash notes to the millenium candy butcher
punch professer
all ballyhou
to the canal smile
milfoil abounds as joy
beneath the footbridge 
(G.E.S.)

surprised by forest
at the edge of the world
we turned our small feet for home 
(RH)

the past not to be forgotten 
a future with no outlook
except that of animosity
that of hate
that of destruction
error has occured, but should we stay in that phase
we are all part of the human race
(s.d.)

you come to me dear
clothed as dusk and shed
falling naked in your hair
while I toils in our flesh
the happy ant eating
the wood and work of our bed 
(C. K.)

In the red of nakedness, a covered innocence
lies baring all.
Beautifully formed,with eyes closed
Breathing in deeply, as if the air might take
His place.
No longer a father's little girl. 
()

              A right of passage.
In the red of nakedness, a covered innocence
lies baring all.
Beautifully formed,with eyes closed
Breathing in deeply, as if the air might take
His place.
No longer a father's little girl. 
()

campfire flames
silhouette of pines
lapping of the waves 
(ee)

As the twilight fell on her face,
the stars where in her eyes,
innocent of lust,
with blood between her thighs 
(C.M.)

I am the Dadadata 
(sg)

There I go again
thinking of you
and everything
that was
And I feel so
bittersweet
and the water
rises against
my hair
the water rises 
too far
and now I can't
stop
this horribly
destructive
pain.
I'm going to
drown in you
before I even
realise that
you're not here
I might have
needed you once,
now I need
myself
back - I just
keep slipping
farther and farther
away from the
shores of my soul
into the dark depths
of my pain
Here I'll stop
standing still
and give into
the master of the sea
In death shall
we part
in me? 
(JG)

My mouth, dry in its
pose
Posing its quiet glory
glorious!
(Cap)

everyone knows
more the poplars
the leaves live backwards
out of possibilities
comes 
the moon's arteries
bandaged up
like parchment
dented
by plasmas 
(ges)
 
She moved fluidly
in a soft grace
embers burn
the candle unfoldds 
her beuaty  
(cd)

Schitzopolis


O vericose nations
whose arteries of stone
trace pictures 
of frail diseases
and mutant twisting bones
whose wise and shining citadels
like slack-jawed hag-fish humm
blind iridescent hiwaymen
discussing rules of THUMB

and trees of flagellant whispers
secret shining hair
these tall odes gather
and call themselves
BLOODWARE
what orgiastic melodies 
congeal beneathe our gaze
slime docks
yak tongue
self-erecting maze

O calliope of idiots
what mysteries you reveal
your white handed tool-craft
your lightning-onion-peel
and thunder knights unfolding
door and door
unite
that blaspheming toadstool
that hungry
brudthwaite

But again Night
Knight of spaces rendered
bodiless night Knight of hollow
herds
swooning cur
wallower and mud

cold indecisive bludgeon
fierce and trepid mode
farcical detail
pink glittering commode

O tails of rabbit
diadem of speaking house
trajectory of laughter
ancient robotic louse

your loose and flowery columns
rise beyond this mire
this hose-shorn bull of hissing
this groomed and natural cow

whose side-splitting grievance
tides of spinning clones
white-willed your expression
notorious flopping tones

Go hither
make the grave stone tremble
shout its poor unrivalled name
in stone vestibule in black caw!
of angry sorcery YET bleed
tiny sisters whose feet of rose glass humm
 and awaken in cold wet air
make dances on the air
sure places for feet of blank faced children
whose bodies move in cannon-speed to hungry curses
boiling in heads like ovens
playing rosary calendar
and days as rocks
rolling

All gone these disordered years
these trilobyte discussions
all gone
like beards
fallen from square
fallen from hole
fallen
and dead

Make a tongue in your head
swell with cable and wit
make eel bodied caveat
electric twit!
break in half
O dolphin
O clam
O uncle-sayer
sooth-sayer
wretched beautiful
YAM!
 (DOA)

I cut myself up again
no really i did and i really don't know why
just 16teen year old too old for this nonsense
maybe i should be a cheerleader with a cute flippy fucking blonde ponytail 
(effie)

The invisible accumulation of magic in time.
(K.B.)

in all sacrifices be moments
of moan
of no
I don't want to

I will beach you,
you enormous wood
of hard sea sacrifice

magic girl, wake
and go brilliant
belly-born and she-raised
you dance every celebrate

I will cook you
down to color,
make you a delicious baby. 
(K.W.)

longwindedness sucks
polysyllabic love 
(P.U.)

tears to black for you to see.  Ancient memories consume me. 
(A.E.)

In the dream a raft
drawn through the air
by many-colored butterflies. 
(EC)

     "The Working 'man's' Poem"

       i sit here in the night

        restless as hell

    finding all one can

about the life and work of a man i shall never meet
(DR)

The way of the world is in between the lines. 
(M.W.)

eternal traffic of returning home,
snow blowing behind the blades 
that click time into blurred ice
and my thoughts of arrival are sudden 
visions of journeys still not taken. 
(js)

The man in front of me, I don't remeber
But the boy hiding inside, I'll adore forever. 
(TT)

Absalom, Absalom, breast
milk. So
vital. Careening this

way it's the night's
darkness that quickens.

Listen: the radio: Recently Kansas
City...Sing. Or
don't, doesn't 
matter. Does it?
(RD)

"stuck cuts", "stiff fits" -- palindromatic curses
I never should have bothered
I never could have smothered
had you pressed the pillow softer 
(br)

Sapling in a spring storm,
or ancient oak furred with
empty nests and moss,
we're shaken and stirred
by the gusts of March
from root to twig
all our days. 
(cba)

I'm sorry for all the blood and dreams on your essay.
Every sentence fragment, every horribly misplaced modifier
brought a few drops forth, tottering, dripping,
from my weary brain until, alas,
there was not enough of whatever it takes
to stay awake and I'm afraid
dreams began, as well, to drop upon
your hallowed pages and to turn the words
around into something you surely
never would have said in your wildest speculations
 . . .
(rh)

The snow flies sideways past the window.
Trees shake.
Wind bends round the corners of the house,
rumbles faintly.
You sleep.
I wait
to bring
your tea.
(rf)

Above innocence + below knowledge
new Ireland
crawls westward 
(RC)

as a convention
sembles itself against a granite
planet 
 subdues the spirit so 
 a sauce to take us across 
 spheres troughs among our conversant brood
                                                                                                                                       as dense as the atmosphere I could not not and will not defile the the antithesis of borrowing from Wilson et al. the
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    convention 'til de funk is functioning like a legal language 
(CWL)

"Hi mom!
          We're 
                  [one finger
                   raised in the air] 
((SCK))

My on-line connection to cyberspace is broken,
   and I am adrift, cold turkey, disabled, unspoken.
Computer gurus and gadget wizards are attacking
   my computer's innards. 
(RRC)

Hanging ten on the crack in God's ass
wishing I were someone else
somewhere else.
Then again, this too shall pass.
(RB)

The sky above, the sea below and all the earth between,  
   as varied and wonderful as God would have it seen.
I paint with brush in media, the mind scenes, imagination,
   my palette holds to nature's own, according to each season. 
(RRC)

I've been away too long,
   I miss the sound of written song.
The poetrey that trips 'cross lips and tongue,
   from friends I've met on the Internet among. 
(RRC)

She awoke from a dream unfulfilled,
   the darkness still surrounded and took her in.
Recurring dream thoughts echoed through her mind,
   made fuzzy by a headache that would not quit. 
(RRC)

When fish are in season there's no
   better reason to exercise,
The weight that is missed catching
   recalcitrant fish. 
(RRC)

Standing alone in a crypt
and the candle is lit.
A ceremony within a dream
Breaking Chains,becoming.
phoenix,cock
ticking clock 
please, lets talk.

                    please,just a little milk
                    because your baby's back;Blue
                             abuse
                    want to hear something?
                    I've been in your lives before
                    the door.
                    It's a KNOCK KNOCK joke.
                    I do hope, that you still care
                    WHO'S THERE? 
                    Knock and it shall be
                    opened for you completely.
                        Hear me.
                    Truly, I love YOU
                  Destiny thou hast to KNOW
                  address
(M.O.D)

we move on, impulses
we are
infants grasping fingers 
(wm)

re: trieve inviting ridged window into done
re: load tect rive and shelter hell all ac
cess az ore face done
awe wede war 
site ush skelly stain enter
I'd socked vire tine down cal persp enter
enter enter enter enter enter 
(fat)

Modern poetry has simply become
the last resting place for emptyness,
like an old man languishing in a nursing home
todays poem gazes up with bewildered eyes
from a bed of infirmity. 
"Show me the way." he cries.
"Show me the way 'ere I die!"

When, oh when, will we finally see
that beauty is more that chaotic verse?
Standard, order, design, reaching forward to write a 
sentence so beautiful that it would even make God smile.
Yes there is objective truth, YOU CAN KNOW WHAT IT IS ALL ABOUT!
Search the scriptures.
(DF)

Poetry is a synthesis of beauty and darkness,
a four-dimensional palimpsest quivering in the desert
like fresh water.
Poetry spells like your tongue,
smells like your dung,
and has the faint, oblong shape of your skull. 
(ms)

Punk Babies from mars eat Lumpy Gravy 
(BC)

"RISING SUNS FIRE"

MY HEART IN COLDEST SLUMBER DOES SLEEP,
THE KISS OF WARMTH TO IT HAS NOT REACHED,
AN ARCTIC WIND THROUGH MY SOUL DOST BLOW,
CAUSING MY HEARTS BEAT TO ALL BUT SLOW,
BUT THEN I SEE YOUR EYES AND THE WIND STARTS TO CHANGE,
THEN I TASTE YOUR KISS AND BLOOD BOILS WITHIN MY VEINS,
UPON MY SKIN YOUR CARESSED DO BURN,
CAUSING MY HEART TO FEEL A VIOLENT YEARN,
IT IS THE HEAT OF YOUR LOVE THAT SENDS ME SOARING HIGHER AND HIGHER,
CAUSING ME TO FEEL THE KISS OF THE RISING SUNS FIRE, 
(J.C.B.)

And saddeling, then, around the edge formed 
By huge Poo-Pah parents, Dark and Light,
And buttering on both sides, my daily toast,
I moved outside and into the park
Where the air smells of detritus and greed and the grounds
Are swept clean under the Linden tree.  Parking
The rough rind of my behind on mellow wood, I watched
And withstood watching, the auburn, muscled, sandaled
Girl and the singing satiety of what appeared to be
Her boyfriend.  And finally I moved on, mask, hat and heart
Abandoned on the benumbed bench, the usual sangfroid
Still with me.    
(DT)

Midnight...
...and bhe blackness and loneliness bore through
flesh and bone as easily as white-hot pieces of iron,
vaporizing every trace of my heart, soul and spirit. 
(JH)

in conspiracy with angels
5 dollars blues wont cure
the boredom of a soulless heart. 
(LAM)

i wonder and i wander
but i never go beyond a 
(mk)

Faces bright as billboards
Moving pictures
	Faces blurred
in glass
Cut in grids
	My face grew aloft on wings 
    AND A FOWL MORNING BREATH 
BLEW ME KISSES
(sh)

reality's tenuous grip
as slick as tread bare tires,
my mind has gone flat. 
(dug)

how did you do this form method="post"
you bad cgi voodoo I "will" will it
["where are my...!?"] will will it
this obviously make it a lot easier 
(ca)

push con.
absolute and wringing my head 
in these, my dirty hands.
I wait.
and flowing, the wind rushes,
collecting my visions of you
in a memory. a basket tipped.
sitting by the tracks
and my glimpse, quick,
now. sining speed- white fast.
around to this side of fog
and my mundane existance with a
palm or white, lilly petal. 
creech-ca! ma-ka-tee-z.
anima and nothing else-
blackness and sitting here
waiting for you.  
(bo)

to start someting, avoidal
or a new rope
machines feeding poisons into swollen
wasted arms,

is it imposture
and that was something she
mixed everyday, droning
of the forklifts

a rest of the mediate
from anger and want
sweetened with pork fat
of deaf forests, 
(cs)

And as if Rachmaninov had burst his temples against 
his own ivory slab, the swollen allegro shattered with
the hum and buzz of piano wire -- the fierce and final
tide drawn back to the sea.
(JAP)

I'm looking for a poem named " I Loved You Enough"
Can you help? It is a poem from a mother to a child and the author is unknown. 
                                               Thank you 
()

Someone must establish the sun 
so that an institution of light is understood.

Here then, is the sun:
Its unangelic minions
prying into sight, 
working wheels 
on lines of dissemblance.
(vp)

I run through the known,
familiar. We list:
                  my hand to eyebrow in deep searching
                  my hand spread out benedictine
                  the flight-footed movement in step after step
and always return.
You too are hidden outside the holy them
circular.
(saw)

The berating buzz, 
strobing light and high-pitched ring.
We sit unmoved
by what surely  -- no doubt -- is a false alarm. 
(LG)

que pedo puere pedir esto 
(Dean)

Even our last userp being none the wiser, I play at locks and perfect. We were collected for plants eat. C'mon, Bartelby, and gettin' prod. "Oh, sweet so-and-so, find yourself gotten." At least, young can be a long time 'til clicking teeth on the right spaghetti. "Y'all send me regret like it should hang over my microwave in some handy space. Milk, too, gets lost like its pictures of the Missing. Can I serve something? Or, are you handling it with your mere two hands. I once said, "C'mon, Bernard, type it out then, tongueless swine." He did, and he was still a swine. Like, like, like. I once said, "So what" so many times my hats fell below my lips and sewed up my last bagel. 
(mmb)