Quiet's Poems
 

Been thinking about making a thread here for a while. I have some stuff over on Deviant Art, wasn't sure what to put here or what I wanted to post out of what I have, but I think I'll start with this one. :)

"Wind Chill"

Shining on doorsteps, the cold
That pinches every hair in your nose,
Nips at your cheeks, ears;
Hits your lung like buckshot.
Fresh, biting air on sluggish skin.
Filled with broken snowflakes,
Budding frost on bare skin.
Moments, precious few, before bone-aches
Fight you for your hands,
Breathing freezes your lips, tongue,
Fumbling,
With dull fingers.
Winter revels beneath your coat
A few steps from the door.

MH.
(Revision #4, Jan. 28, 2012.
Original - Dec. 21, 2008)

My poetry tends to fueled by brief moments of inspiration or experience that may or may not linger, and that lingering can depend on whether or not the poem gets finished or not. The above was built on answering the door for an ordered pizza. ;). Damn it was cold!

I re-write stuff all the time as I look back at it after some time has passed. I never erase the old ones though. I have each revision in my books, or the changes marked in if they are small or I don't feel like writing a poem out again. This revision happend as I was copying it from my book to here. I'm much faster as making poetry decisions than I used to be. ;). Practice I guess. :)

Comments welcome.

This one reminds me of a poet we read in class this week, Lola Ridge, of whom we came to the consensus that while she writes very nice, very refined poetry, it doesn't really invite further reading or deeper analysis beyond what's gleaned from the initial reading.

Which, as you know, is kind of my thing. :p So, this one, while it reads very nicely, doesn't do a whole lot for me, but that's just my personal reaction to it.

Ms. Ridge, after all, was a very successful, and I assume famous, poet. ;)

Yeah, there isn't much to that poem, aside from the fact that it was bloody cold. This one might be more to your liking, if I haven't showed it to you already. This would be rant #3 in my cycnical world view.

"No More Believers"



April 20, 2007. I think this one is pretty much as is. Haven't made much in the way of revisions made. Still a favourite of mine from what I've written.

That one reminds me Christopher Hitchens. :p

and I have no idea who that is. :p. Another poet? era? My grounding in poetry is still stuffed firmly in the 19th century with some gradual stretching of limbs into modernism.

I have several ranting poems, though only two of them are really "finished" I'd say.

No, no, the recently-late Mr. Hitchens was a vocal leader of the New Atheists, as they're called. The content of the poem just reminded me of him. He was an extremely gifted speaker, even if he was something of an extremist. He died last month, I believe.

Ah. Something else for me to investigate. :). And I should start making a list of those...

Fun poem! no hidden meaning here, really, none at all!

"Tap Shoes"


Another old one. June 1st, 2007. Just haven't written much currently that I'm inclined to post here. Might fix that in few, when I get around to it, or when it gets around to me.

Why does the third stanza break away from the rhyme scheme of the first two? It feels much weaker than the others by far. Same for fourth, I think. Otheriwse reads rather well.

That would be because there isn't a rhyme scheme. It was written more or less as it came to mind, with some tweaks made here and there afterwards. The middle, I suppose, you could call a lull? *Shrugs*

I enjoyed "wind chill". It does a very good job of effectively creating the imagery. I agree with Suze though. I feel like if you were to incorporate more substance into your poetry, it would greatly add to the imagery you've created. You're very good at creating 'feeling' and using words at creating a perception, but it might help to create more story and background. If "wind chill" is about a pizza delivery, try including some of his story and perception into it.

Dunno though, just thoughts. I really did enjoy the imagery though, of both of the poems on this page. "Tap Shoes" had a little bit more of a story to it, and I think that, again, had it incorporated a little more substance to that story, it would have been fantastic.

Check out the song, "A Tap Dancers Dilemma" by Diablo Swing Orchestra, you'll enjoy it. Your poem reminded me of it.

Neither of the poems are "about" much really, besides what is there already. I'm very much one of those 'art for art's sake' sort of people, at the same time though, you've hit the nail on the head when it comes to the trouble I have writing stories.

With "Wind Chill" for isntance, it's not about a pizza delivery. That was the inspiration. The focus was the feeling of being *that* cold, so the pizza guy was irrelevant to the situation.

I do write poetry with more substance, but I find I have a more difficult time mixing the two ideas, art and substance. My poems tend to lean one way or the other.

Unfortunately, my work that I like best I do not put online because I am trying to publish, so I can't show most of what I would call my best work. Often, if I feel like being artistic, I will write a poem. If I have a point to make, I will write a piece of flash or very short fiction. If it's something longer, than I write a short story. Even deciding medium can trip me up sometimes.

Thanks for your comments. :)

February 4, 2012.

"Destitution"

That's fairly epic.

Not sure how to interpret that :p.

There's another half, but it's more for decoration than any actual substance. I felt like rhyming more, or maybe just writing another couplet.

I've decided not to seek publication for this one, so here it is. I wrote it in November, 2011 but revised it slightly just this morning, maybe half an hour ago or so. I added one half of a hyphenated word and moved the period. That's often the extent of my tweaking, and then I ponder Oscar Wilde's comma for half a second.

"Boatman"



Been in a poetic mood lately, which does not bode well for my class work, and the other way around as well. I've decided to axe one of my short stories and turn it into a poem instead. Drafted it out last night, need to properly craft it now.

Thanks.

Poem length is something that I tend to fight with at times. Too long without enough substance and it feels blah to me, and too short and I worry there's no mood. Gets more thought than one might expect.

So I started thinking about a new story, it's called, "The Search for the Great Maguffin." I've got the plot worked out, but I'm not sure what else to do.
;)
:p

I wonder if it is at all similar in concept to my long-dead RPG Maker project, Tales of Generica.

There was a black and speckled cat
Who wore a tall and pointy hat.
With splintered wand he gave a swish
And spelled himself a tuna fish.

This cat is a cripple in his ambitions. I am highly disappointed in his application of wizardry. That is all.

(Though, that actually raises an interesting philosophical point about satisfaction...)

Cat wants fish. Cat has fish. Cat is satisfied.

And that would be the end-goal of phenomenal cosmic power, wouldn't it?

http://digboston.com/wp-content/uplo...eanu_Whoa1.png

It is for a cat with a different scope of the universe and a wand that is lacking some structural integrity.

Yeah, but, I mean, think about it. Satisfaction is satisfaction. It's like... a metaphor, or something. :O

No, there's no new writing here. I'm NaNoing this month for the first time ever, even though in the NaNo thread I stated that it's not something I would ever do. I'm a little behind as it is, however. I'm sure I would be making more headway if I were to get off the dumb 'net but where's the fun in that? Minus the guilt tripping and pressure of my own personal taskmaster. Another 300 words will get me to 4000 though, which will leave me...2000 short for the rest of the day. Maybe 5000 will be good enough...

I could always scratch out another philosophical poem about a cat.

Those are some pretty amazing poems,
I really like them.

Thanks. Those are getting pretty old by now, but most of my new stuff I tend to hoard for publishing attempts so I can't put it online.

Not a lot coming to mind these days, so here's some observational mundanity for you.


Lemon Zest



Inventing the Wheel



Los Toros

"XLVIII"

A horse and a bird walk into a bowl.
It's not funny.

MH.

Purely self indulgent "I want to be poetic now" fluff.


"Art"

Se-ers eyes see no prophets
where 'finite' drowns in colour,
wet and riotous over spaces quaking
with tolling voices' thunder.

MH.



...you start.

"The Life of a Tree"

Death
then tattoos
heat-stained jet
crunched, loose-leave accordion
into jagged mandibles
cacophony of teeth.
The life of paper.

MH


Thoughts at the office.

EDIT: changed a thing.

"Expectantly"

Some years ago
I wrote a poem
about a puppy, and
a ladle,
and a pot of soup.
I'm quite afraid
I lost it;
why the puppy
still give me looks.

MH


"Exercises in Frustration"

Weight-bearing hands
Ask for crushing grip;
For something to crumble
Between their knuckles.
Weightlessness bearing
Down on empty palms,
Flexing against nothing.

MH

Sent some poems to a local magazine for fun. Got some in but they didn't say which. I'll post the ones that didn't make the cut, here. Maybe. ;)

I'm just kinda yay because it's been a while since I've bothered to do much with writing.

This is not a poem. (Sorry, Suze)

Been working on actual poems again, though not very fast, or at least not this current one. Part of me wants to say "you know what? It's done" and I'm not sure if that's because I'm struggling for words, or if I feel like I'm done with trying to explaining myself.

You say that like there are any poetry to be found in this thread in the first place.



:p-grin:

"Oh snap!" Monkey eyes
So surprised; so scandalized;
Behold! I care not.

:P

Death's Footman

Dressed in feathers and black tar
High-collared grandeur
But dour
Around fine red
A bloodless head
A thin skin shroud over skull
Long hanging down
With patient weight

MH




Well...now that I type that out I'm not too happy with it. Need to add some things.

And then there is this one:

"Blue Flowers"

By the train tracks
Reminds me
Of another
Derailed train; a corpse
Iced over in torpor.

And the flowers lift
The rail car
In their own time,

The flowers that grow
By the ragged roadside
A constant everywhere.

MH


That last line needs work. Not sure how to work out "everywhere" as a noun, or noun-sort-of-thing...thing.

Winter Hardy

Hot summer
Under my nose
The rose smells cool and antique
Hot hands root through
Cold soil

MH.


Out doing little bits of gardening this weekend.

http://3sd6172klpcs2yhnrh1lrzjd.wpen...lcent-copy.jpg