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The Coming Light (Free verse) by poetandknowit Now with the moon in retreat
the sun can again move forward
stretching light across the sadness
left by the last streaks of autumn,
warming the minutes of tricked time,
when the late afternoons of this
new winter grasp the land, hang against
these mountains in the city backdrop
just a little longer each day
before falling to darkness.
Up the ladder:
Shelter
Down the ladder:
#11
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.0526314
Posted: December 23, 2002 2:29 PM PST; Last modified: December 23, 2002 2:29 PM PSTWeighted score: 6.0027094 Overall Rank: 1256 Comments:
[8]
INTRANSIT @ 205.188.208.106
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23-Dec-02/2:38 PM
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I feel something secondary going on here. Can't find it yet. I'll come back.
[3]
<{Baba^Yaga}> @ 24.126.113.154
> INTRANSIT
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23-Dec-02/4:07 PM
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sounds like tying one on, and sleepin on the porch again to me.
[3]
<{Baba^Yaga}> @ 24.126.113.154
> <{Baba^Yaga}>
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23-Dec-02/4:18 PM
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not to mention a bad case of writers block. your days as a fantastic poet are coming to an tragic end. i feel you have peaked. unfortunate. tsk.
[n/a]
poetandknowit @ 65.101.213.200
> <{Baba^Yaga}>
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23-Dec-02/4:32 PM
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Reply
I see they still hand out diplomas in idiocy. Come on, liking Stan Rice sent all respect I had for you down the toilet. Your opinion is a joke.
mr. winter does it again.??
oh, yeah almost forgot. here's your three back.
THE BONES OF WOE
Golden are the bones of woe. Their brilliance has no place to go. It plunges inward, Spikes through snow. Of weeping fathers whom we drink And mother's milk and final stink We can dream but cannot think Golden bones encrust the brink. Golden silver copper silk. Woe is water shocked by milk Heart attack, assassin, cancer. Who would think these bones such dancers. Golden are the bones of woe. Skeleton holds skeleton. Words of ghosts are not to know. Ignorance is what we learn. BY STAN RICE, SOME LAMB 1975. p.s [by horus8] i believe this will be the third poem of his i've sent you, you still have yet to mention what you dislike technicaly, personaly, or subliminaly. and if you were to read the "subtext" a bit closer you will find the 'check mate' it was fun while it lasted though. merry christmas.m
The funny thing is that I actually believe you are serious, and that "check mate" of your is laughable. This is so bad is does not deserve any response. Come on. Are you that stupid? Read Tom Lux. Read real poets. Not fuck heads that marry shitty writers, have a shitty writer for a son and live off coat tails while watching bread mold. Really, I have lost all respect. What a goof of the highest degree. Yes, merry xmas.
unless of course, he is stan rice. now that would be the ultimate in theatre. ha ha,(p&k = stan rice) than i'd be wrong, but i'm not am i.E
Did you just write this after our conversation? I remember 'tricked light' from some other poem, was it yours?
Exactly. I took it from there and put it here.
Good. I'm glad to see you posting. Does tricked time stand for daylight savings?
I'm impressed. Diplomas all around. Of course, I am sure it is not brain surgery.
Please, do not get used to it.
I'm not dependent on anything. No I suppose it's not brain surgery, but I personally have trouble with the image because for me time already is just an illusion, a trick.
Time is not an illusion to me and ultimately I disagree with the statement as a pure goofism. It is something to be reckoned with and understood, just like we have throughout the ages. It is also a continuing metaphor throughout my work. So really, I don't give a fuck if you have trouble with it. Go read hour8's new poem. Maybe you will have an easier time with that one. Merry Christmas.
Despite the negative comments, I actually quite like the poem. It looks like a poem that my college professor's assistant would write....have a 9
"Despite the negative comments, I actually quite like the poem. It looks like a poem that my college professor's assistant would write....have a 9 " this is precisely what is wrong with american poetry. the never ending loop. i've read this poem so maby fucking times translated from every god forsaken culture that's ever 'been', or is now..it's old and comfortable i guess for you fine tuned 'college types'. more safe poetry about mundane changes. congradulations to you and your professors..to bad you're all hopelessly doomed to stagnate in your own complaisant ass sniffing dog licks. wow. spring ahead jump back..it's winter time..i better hit the sack [you should blow your noses. your slimy upper lips are fucking making me physically sick]. (thanks for the betty ford coupon, by the way, after reading this i'll need it. see you there)
Considering the poets you read and your ignorance about the state of American poetry and the enormous chip you carry around I would really not be so proud to state an opinion. Becase they are a joke. You revealed your cards. Stan Rice. hahahaha. You have all his books. hahahaha Is there a problem with having an education and not relying on a fast food company for a fucking paycheck, brig boy? Man, I hope you succeed in soap operas, because you are going nowhere else with the talent you have and the big bad GED. Except maybe Kmart, when the looks fade and the agent stops calling. Yes, 8 bucks and hours for you. But it will be worth it. Because when you die, you will finally be recognized for genius. hahahahahahah.
This is quite good. By far not your best, to toss your words back at you with good humor, but still clean and beautiful in its way. Your strength, I think, lies in your ability to strip images down; to discard the clutter. It probably helps that, having to live with, in, winter, I relate to this on a visceral level (although I don't necessarily see winter as something to be endured--countless shades of gray have their own beauty, especially in stony, stark, wintry New England).
The "state of American poetry"? Hmmm. What would that be, other than utter decline? Can the Internet and its accompanying "pimple poetry," as you like to call it, save the art form? Maybe! Have you read Dana Gioia's "Can Poetry Matter?" resurrected since his ascension? Interesting, if nothing new and perhaps more depressing than not. No doubt you have, but to be found here: http://www.theatlantic.com/unbound/poetr Fa la la la la.
"I'm speechless. I'm sorry, and I have no wish whatsoever to spark a
race war, but as a Brit this typifies what I hate about Yanks. Where is your style? This is an absolute horror of a piece. 0, and for the first time ever if I could give minus points I would. The worst piece of shit I've ever read on this site. I can't believe a poem has been posted going through the moon for inspiration. Not only that, but your verses are completely and utterly uninspiring. The final line beggars belief, and your use of the moon throughout and the various references to the moon suggest that you are a child pretending to be an adult. Awful. "l
i know about the waiting for that light. if p&k is mr winter for the mountains, then i am mrs for clinging desperately to the shortening nights, until the land is greened. this is a poem about hope and despair, in the simplest of metaphors: light and dark.
I had to read it twice, but it was worth it ,i suppose
Too bad despair wins. Not my cup of tea,you might have guessed
I feel battered and bruised. My left lip is swollen from your harness. Do you have a boner? "gunna" is the obvious mispelling of "going to..." which means whatever you yourself as a qualified reader understand it to mean. An inability to bend words is an inability for morphology. If you need to know what that word means, reply back, and I'll allow you to know.
I have no idea what you are talking about.
don't feel bad. at least you don't have to perform with him..he doesn't even wear shoes, and he smokes your pot when your not looking.
Than please don't waste my time by commenting on something above you...Maybe take another class and let a professor tell you how to think.
Sure thing maestro.
shawn. he is a professor? have you been snorting your breakfast again? whatever you do don't see the two towers.
First of all, have I sent you for a loop? Are you questioning if I am actually a different person than Horus8. I am. Is your mind not allowing you to sleep at night due to something so trivial (something besides your poetry that is)as that?
Do you have a poster of Robert Frost on your wall...Or is it Jose Cansaco? Your identity crisis scares me...Your becoming psychotic, if so your amongst a history of poets. The only difference is, we can write and are also published. But that doesn't matter...you have poemranker.
Again, I have no idea what you are talking about or why you are talking at all for that matter. I could care a less who you are. You are a terrible excuse for a writer. But you are doing a fine job of making yourself look like a first class idiot. And that you do have in common with horus8.
Are you on some kind of high because you are the #1 poet on poemranker and others are asking your advice...I pity them first of all...Secondly, when your writing is paying your bills, or when you are old enough to have them that is, I will talk to you again...Thank me for giving you the time of day...good evening:)
Well, a-okay.
you should read more stan rice, too. if you ever hope to make it as a writer or a poet. you should maybe check out how the fo-fessionals do it. or something. so there, mr smarty-pants
and join an acting union so I can try out for soap opreas and make 300,000 billion dollars a year and give all my money to god.
see, i can tell you're not saved. you're only supposed to give 10% to god. the lord helps those who help themselves, after all. the rest is for parties with drugs and hookers, silly.
Do you think god gets pissed because he actually picked the numbers and only gets the 10 percent? I mean will he make Mr. Johnny Cash's new helicopter crash. Of course, he is giving the jobs back to his workers and taking the wife to Israel. Maybe he can buy a solution over there.
Rasputin. Rasputin. Rasputin...VS. Poisonandnosin
Oh my god - You've crossed serious lines. I hope you don't really know these people...You could be thrown in prison.
Again, I have no idea what you are saying. Go read poems or something. You are making yourself out to be one of the dumbest members of this site. What an honor. H8 continues to impress me with his intelligent group of friends. Obviously, you are not the brain surgeon. Do you read Stan Rice?
He is the dope smoking, sandal wearing, mullet sporting, semit-intellectual who thinks horus8 is God.
and who are you?
this is play land...must I reveal myself....? Mystery makes things more exciting.
You are God's Wife.
I'm Ornella...ok...don't question my identity. I've shown you support haven't I? I've had fun at everyone's expense, but yours.
Sure thing, but please, have fun at my expense if you need too. For some reason everyone, especially out there in California needs to have a 100 personas to exist on this site. It is odd, but go for it.
I'm quite fond of you. I like your poetry and I think you're quite funny...like me.
Then why all the mystery; let's just get naked!
check your e-mail.....shhhhhhhh
three baba, bachus, horus...patti is gw, but she's to cool to have others trust me, she's anti that shit, and shaw is old man, and that's it. where do you get a 100. at the website you can hear all three of us distinctively.horus, old man, and god's wife. the rest is other peoples bandwagoning.
WE PLAY MUSIC TOGETHER NO ONE ASSUMES ANY THING ABOUT THE OTHER god or un god. and neither of us have mullets, but we will put you in a barber chair and teach your clit to whistle the canadian anthem.
Dough boy...chill...we are all having fun at your expense Mr. Reynolds.
I am to old man river as you are to poetandknowit
No you are an idiot.
It's 100 personas to exist in life. But the ie was right anyway... Ok - I like your poetry, but I don't vote...Anyway...tommorrow....I've a headache.
Yes, I see. So then, you are Athena the ultimate plagiarist. Please explain yourself.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO....I'm not...plagiarising...that's low.
Not you. Old Man River, who is also Athena.
old man river is not athena..athena is this nasty looking chick who thinks she's a dutch popstar in venice beach..river is shawn, my friend from new england/guitarist and songwriter friend of mine in THE CADS.
that's what i've been saying dude. ornella is athena! that's why she came after me for coming clean about her disfigured habits.
that's what i've been saying pk, it's too coincidental.think about it..she appeared right at that same time we were discussing her, but i swear on my son..i am not old man, and he is not athena and neither am i or god's wife...ornella is athena or lonedisco29 and a1/2.
You are telling me you have been reading my comments on this site now for more than 4 months and you have not figured out my tendency to exaggerate for effect. I must go ride my bike, broken pinky or not.
shawn is this a slip up?..are you ornella and were you fucking with me for four hours the other night?! cuz that would seriously be uncool bros.
Mr. Reynolds does cross dress in his free time...as I posted last evening...however he is not the sexy Miss Muti
You mother fucker's - what? did you create this site and produce every member on it except for me and darkangel? He I'm sure is you as well...I was catching on yesterday, but thought I would bite some more kick...mother fuckers :)
Okay now, in clear and complete sentences, please explain what you are talking about. Catching on to what? If you paid more attention to the poems rather than the comments you would see that I am only me, poetandknowit, which is a user name, although I do have a few poems under babbit11. There you go. Z in in CT under two feet of snow. I do not know who or where OM is? Who are you?
Hey p&k. I'm here merely to deliver a message from the delightfully saucy miss limonade. She says goodbye, and that she doesn't love you anymore. She told me to tell you. That and she's not coming back.
Tell dear limonade that I wish her a fond farewell and all the best, and that I will think nothing but the warmest thoughts of our brief time spent together although I shall do it with a broken heart.
have a comforting hug. i have nothing pointy concealed on my person.
this is familiar candy, i have a sweet tooth still but I'm working on kicking the habit.
AN ORIGINAL OBSERVATION! AN ORIGINAL TITLE! The poem however, gave me gas the equivelant of a four day old wet burritto. When you got to the part where the city was in the backdrop, I thought, "wow" he' so poetic. Then I laughed, and went and took a short shit.
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