Hiram's Raves: 2012

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Trying to get the feeling again

My friend Lovechild Firecat recently posted a collaboration between us on YAP and I made the mistake of going in to check it out. The same people who reported me out of there (for doing what THEY do but not as maliciously) were still ranting against me. Wow, Santa, thanks for the present, now bite me. All they wanted was me gone, but they (Bannibal and Humpty Dumpty) seem miserable EVEN WITHOUT ME!

I had frankly forgotten about the fracas around the collaboration, but this Karen Carpenter song came on as I was driving home from work last night, and with slightly modified lyrics, it seemed to me to be about me and poetry. I used to love poetry before I associated it with mentally challenged folks trying to eek some self-importance out of their anonymous flailings. [Before anyone gets too upset, that just as well describes me as them, so I am being realistic, not prejudicial.

I have been taught the spiritual axiom that when someone else's behavior bothers me it is MY BEHAVIOR IN THEM that I am criticizing. They complain (months after I have moved on) that I am an angry, vindictive, miserable person, too wrapped up in my ego to be a human being. Who were they describing again?

I wish them well, I wish everyone in YAP and the universe well. I am not angry anymore, because the source of my anger (YAP) is not in my life anymore. I am just sad because they took with it my respect for the power of words. Its all just propaganda to me now.

How can I renew my love of poetry?

Tryin' To Get The Feeling Again, Carpenters

(Words and music by David Pomeranz)

I've been up, down, tryin' to get the feeling again

All around tryin' to get the feeling again

That one that made me shiver
Make my knees start to quiver

every time I walk in...

I've looked high, low, everywhere I possibly can

But there's just no tryin' to get the feeling again

It seemed to disappear
as fast at it came...

I've read every book, looked for every meditation and poem

Just to bring home that old sweet sensation

But it ain't no use to me to try to get the feeling again

When did it leave me?

How did I come to miss use such a beautiful burning?

But baby believe me, I've done everything I can do

But somehow it's not returnin'

I've been up, down, tryin' to get the feeling again

Like a bloodhound, searching for a long lost friend

Could you help me rediscover
The way to re-be a lover once again

I've read every book...

...could you help me rediscover
The way to re-be a lover once again?

I've read every book, looked for every meditation and poem...

...to try to get the feeling I wanna get that feeling again.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0qH0azJw-w

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Halloween Costume Cavalcade

Here are the costumes I wore all month to work:

Zombie

Biker

Graduate

Baseball Player

Giant Baby

Pirate

Skeleton

WWI Pilot

Construction Worker

Alien

Fat Harry

Wacky Tourist

Surgeon

Farmer

Gangster

Judge

Hippie

Kermit

Scarecrow

Tin Woodsman

Cowardly Lion

Vampire

My Month-Long

Costume Fest!

Evil Jester

Sunday, July 1, 2012

YAP: Best of June!

Best of June in Yahoo Answers Poetry:

Memorial Day in my book counts as the first of June, so Iggy makes this (short) list:
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20120527025911AAGBVk1

Derrick Gaskin's mysterious city:
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20120616065233AApkWZe

Nazpoetgirl's "Run It"
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AkqA_K_iJ6f_SaDlmFP3kprsy6IX;_ylv=3?qid=20120618140321AA75MlD

LC's mending the cracks:
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AqxHl_JxSNPzHKNHwv.gAyDsy6IX;_ylv=3?qid=20120530060322AAcw2y6

And WhatsIt2U's ballad of grief and ambivalence:
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AluqUo9zN4LKu65zMzaJegzsy6IX;_ylv=3?qid=20120630173836AAgGqYD

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Best Poetry of YAP for May

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Rewrite of a poem by Cassie:

The Rent
(a rewrite)

We were woven one, the finest friends
Alike we were in warp and weft.
Her doom laid dormant our mutual loom
And I, the bobbin, all bereft.

One spring, the binding thread broke loose
The strain too much, I saw her break
Our tear-stained folds,
bought at great ache.

Some rifts we hide from those too close
Damage too deep to bare
The dread unravelling
lurking there.

Our friendship is a tapestry
More richly viewed as years go by
But something gives deep inside
I think of her, and the rent is nigh.

Prophetic, Pathetic and P'Quaintic

Quote of the week Week 4:

"I'm of the view that nobody leaves this site permanently...once having bitten the bait." -P'Quaint

Okay P, WHERE AM I????

Hard to not leave when you are BARRED!!!!!!

[This quote proved prophetic, but at what cost. How much self-respect, dignity and moral character did I sacrifice just to rant at school children? P makes it sound like a good thing.]

Imaginary Obituaries

Here is a little game, name the Yahoo Poets from these imaginary Obituaries:

Which Obit Goes to Whom?

A. Happy Hiram
B. BG
C. Cheese Whisperer
D. Dave
E. Sue-Ma
F. Frederic
G. Gio H. Humpty Dumpty
I. Caz

J. LC
K. Semper Fi
L. Liz
M. Peter
N. Neon
O. Gene Bourne

1. "...a good man and a lousy poet His name was lit up, but his work was dim."

2. "The best thing to ever climb out of a toilet. He was loved and hated, and he will be missed, even by those not carrying fire-arms."

3. "He threw away his intelligence and talent over a desire to sound like Keats and wow like Valentino, both of which he failed at, miserably."

4. "The only person who viewed her strong positions and her smart poems worse than her enemies was herself."

5. "He came, he saw, he complained, over and over and over..."

6. "She was as loved for her poetry as she was misunderstood for her angry outbursts."

7. "If he were as brilliant as he was twisted he would outshine Shakespeare. Yes, he was the Shakespeare of internet pervs, oh and he wrote bad poetry."

8. "She knew everyone's secrets, and told quite a few of them too. She had a nose for news and could rhyme in meter to boot. She was clever as a whip."

9. "A true Southern Gentleman, he was gentle ONLY when anyone was looking and southern simply because snakes don't like the cold. His poetry was good, though not as convoluted as his surface. Nor as deceptively shiny."

10. "This oft-times great poet's name says it all... simply faithful forever."

11. "Proof that empathy can lead to great poetry, and good poetry and mediocre poetry, and more poetry and more poetry... loved and respected, she was nevertheless, relentless in posting EVERYTHING she wrote."

12. "He turned gibberish into an art-form, persecution into a garment and genteel sexism into a form of email abuse. Being his friend meant being nobody else's. His poetry was as oft-read as it was pointless."

13. "She rarely posted, but studied Yahoo Answers with a whip and a chair. She was intelligent, but not an easy person to befriend. Letting go and forgiveness were neglected on her to do list..."

14. "On her better days she was generous and insightful. On her not better days she had the ability to be silent. She was supportive and caring, but the silence was winning."

15. "He was so clever nobody had a clue what he was on about."

Pandora Edited

I can't find the original of this, but I sent this to myself as an edit of a poem by Pandora. Again I do not hold myself in such high regard, so much as I like to find my own clarity in a project, and sometimes I see great stuff and bad stuff in the same piece of work. A rewrite is my humble attempt to work that out, and is seldom worthy of the original. I posted this to myself in late March 2012

Lavish Dreams...His Icon
(based on the original by Pandora)

Goodnight he said, have lavish dreaming
his unknown voice, afar, was screaming,
embedded in my fantasy mind,
a coded sign he left me to find

With disheveled thoughts my senses seized
enshrined, a living tomb of Hades,
an earthly poet has now beckoned me
dare he sing to me poetically?

Blue sleep silks in crumpled disarray
persona and shadow Jung their way,
throbs of light filter a slumber by night
mask stripped bare, silent is my knight

An ardent kiss imprinted on hungry lips
a suavia, gently moving, touching hips,
binding together, a soft mystical caress
dream awake, hidden wishes to express

Agape feast to break an enchanted spell
oil light burning, eyes heavy, another hell,
a feather touch, both sacred and profane
he's stolen the key from my châtelaine

A golden bell and a pomegranate seed

Another from BG (sent in March 2012)

When urgings forced from silent lips

beseech the deafened ears

And comes an end to kith and kin

Regardless of the years

When warnings offered are ignored

that see impending end

I recall there was a time

when many called you 'Friend'

When eyes from pride are blinded

and refuse to see the signs

To notice that the crowd has thinned

No more expectant lines

To stand in wait as I once did

That time's come to an end

But I recall those years

when I called you a friend

In bitter words you cast the blame

and justify your deeds

Refuse to see the mirror

nor the forest for the trees

Naught to do but walk away

and disappear around the bend

So I'll one day forget

That I ever called you Friend.

A Post by BG (Sent to me March 3rd!)

Don't stand against the wind, especially when it's strong

Take the coward's path lest any think you're wrong

Make everyone your friend, never raise the call

Take the coward's path and be a friend to all

Hide your disapproval, let all your fellow man

Continue doing wrong; the Lord will understand

Speak not to your brother nor defend the right

When they speak of hate, slip into the night

Don't put it on the line, for some will disagree

Blend into the crowd, until the cock crows to three

Does it offend when I offer a rewrite?

The Harvest
(rewrite of Dallas poem)

The Harvest is here
Though it is only August
my hands brushing flickering grain tips as I say goodbye.
I hear the calling bell ring
the last thing, being removed.

Walking through history
my own gold dust clinging
I left, feeling
the sense of life vanishing.
The farm was sold,
and I raked up memories
to burn my child-life in a barrel.

The tractor will rust,
be removed as platted. Engineered, well plotted lawns, defined by concrete curbs,
other planned things,
will replace forever
of my growing land.

When you need it
but don't want it
it stays to remind.
When you want it,
but cant keep it,
it leaves you behind.

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AiDJl4hop2DiEA6N8B9dgzyn5HNG;_ylv=3?qid=20120301053244AAZKX9d

Another mirrored Poem BG's original (my additions)

Where has Peace Gone?

There is no Peace on Earth, he said
No milk of human kindness
Only those from war are dead
And the rest of us are mindless

Those who carry flags of peace
Are slaughtered where they stand
Like those who try to heal a wound
Or dare extend a helpful hand

It's fashion now to swing the ax
To lop off their heads and legs
To kick the beggar in the teeth
Lest his hunger bids him to beg

It's fashion now to write the words
Of hate and separation
Declare the fool more foolish still
Then plan annihilation

But hidden eyes watched the fight
Worried over what was said
If no Peace on earth can be found
We all shall soon be dead.

to the Silent Nub (ah, there's the rub!)

waving his hands for attention
seeking a cynical dimension
the dead living on while we are gone
patriotic pride in pretension.

fly in the face of common sense
fill the grinder at no expense
there is no mending stop pretending
hacked off, those who are too dense.

give our mother 40 wacks
spoils the party to spare the axe
harvest grief, those underneath
knot up your baggy slacks!

we've become a juvenile nation
what good comes from contemplation?
we get a thrill from each new kill
and court abomination!

I can't heed despair
what's said or done, don't care
we are ground down without a sound
and happiest to be there.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

A repost of a Fruedian Poem by Love Child

What is this poem about?

(Any Freudian slip typos apparent?)

by LoveChild

I did not want to let them know

that having him exiled

ripped off a limb;

how now

I am crippled by

phantom pain.

I can see the smugness

of the gloat

and feel the loss

of things hhe wrote

like the day

I lost my own.

And though things change

he remained constant

not always nice

never facetious.

I feel unreal, the laws of physics

have just given me a heavy weight;

I underemphasize

so that I can keep plodding onward

looking forward

to the day of my next banishment.

Surely to come

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See the original post:
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AjhEA2M9Gwdn3yGjab.qjGun5HNG;_ylv=3?qid=20120227232907AAuHWAC

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Another Mirror Poem (original by LC, supplement by HH)

A hand reached out
and waved a 'hey friend' hi,

then backed off, maybe a bit shy.

Next time I saw that hand, it went right by

poem written like a supernova in the sky.
So the hand and the hearts and the poems
content to be friends far apart homes,
didn't mean much, a touch hit the guts,
some people thought they were both nuts.
I watched tug-of-war, hand on rope;
afraid knot would tie and then choke.

Predicting the future is a truly a bitch
'cuz it says that no one ever becomes rich.
I saw that hand vanish, hung in a noose.
Some said a demon was loose.
I saw it free of all string that tangles

making shadow puppet shows for angels.
Angel-children giggling and playing.

hands in the air, what I'm saying.

Now this is a stick up! What for?

Quit biting hand that feeds, that's the cure.

Wishing Yahoo
a sad goodbye
wondering why a target was I?
Free at last, free at last
Sky backdrops on every mast,
that you call your soul mates
Far apart even in our sites
with nary a comment explicitly
paranoia and silent duplicity;
to avoid getting burned, beyond hope
the slipknot squeezed, suddenly broke.
But I've tried anyhow,
and you can't buy milk with a cow.
Hanging around again and again
with time on my hands.
The ties that bind, just a distant jangle,
as Icarus peeking under his wings
longing for other fun things;
but others don't make waves
The flyboys corpse is splayed
and medicine is much too late.

The original post:
http://answers.yahoo.com/dir/index;_ylt=AmAskI9jMsDtgmrHJqYABXFp.Bd.;_ylv=3?sid=2115500137&link=list

Добро пожаловать в Хирама Унлишеда

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For my Russian-speaking fans:

Добро пожаловать в Хирама Унлишеда

- Счастливый Хирам

> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ <

Hiram's Poems of the Week from YAP

Here are my picks for the best Yahoo Answers poetry of the week, week Feb 19th to 25th 2012:

Maria's "Sad Tale of a Troll"

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AgXX9Xkzm7w_JwK2BaceD6yn5HNG;_ylv=3?qid=20120223201450AAytnqO

Sue's "Imperfect Angel"

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AqFvTo6GTCMHYF2z3Nvsi5qn5HNG;_ylv=3?qid=20120224075756AAIEDPq

And of course I have already mentioned Tragedy of Hate's really good unnamed piece.

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AhHhqydhL.xNYsuiqgt7vmOn5HNG;_ylv=3?qid=20120222053346AA03ID3

And here is a bonus: ™ʎllıq®® posted a YouTube link to this ode to faith in a God that sounds eerily like The Secret and creepily like a girlfriend, I can't really say I liked it but you have to admire all the work that went into making it. Bravo! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=097XZgbm7W8

The Real, Real YAP-Wars

A Borrowing of a Borrowing (originals by Cheese Whisperer and Neonman.)

Cheese: “Listen, Daveboy, you get your ass out of this hole and go scrounge us up some ammo, or I will shoot you myself!”

Dave: (laughing at Hiram's corpse) “... he blew himself up...he blew himself up...all he has to do is reconstitute himself. If he wants to be a possum that is his problem. Let's hang this on Gio!"

Nancy: “Oh, Cripe, Daveboy, Yes, Harry blew himself up! He always was an ass, so quit gibbering like an idiot and scratch my back!"

Neon: (gleefully) “Hiram is a fraud and he says I am a lousy poet. How can you believe a guy who says I am a lousy poet. Besides which we got along really well, there was no conspiracy, I can define imaginary, but plausible things as not so, because I am the arbiter of Yahoo reality, I have forty more answers for those who don't believe these ones, I am defending the innocence of his absence over and over because I am completely uninvolved and have no remorse, besides which, who really cares, I never really liked the guy, but we got along swell. Teapot Dome- er I mean, Rosebud."

Lizzy: (dabbing at her flak-jacket–trying to soak-up some of Harry’s guts) “Neon! Why you ungrateful little...”

Shultzie: (pulls a knife and holds it to Neon’s throat) “That’s enough of that, Charlie. One more word about H.H. and I’ll be taking your gizzard home in a coffee can.”

Neon: (laughing) “Just as Daveboy says Harry could have 50 accounts and be just like Peter and Dave and Me and Gio. Isn't that what this war is about? Who will be the dominant vampire?"

Daveboy: (still dazed) “I never thought they would fight back, and against Harry? I'm much more vocal."

Cheese: “I tried to tell you bastards...the Greeks can be trusted. Would any of you listen? No.”

Nancy: "Peter isn't Greek!"

Cheese: (quietly) “Neon, you wanna tell her......or should I?”

Neon: “Wonderful, lets blow the section up for just enjoyment, is that your M.O., Cheese? Do what I do, make peace noises (while furiously emailing people to take sides.) It's much more rewarding."

Nancy: (loudly) “What was that, Neon? Speak up!!!”

Neon:...(laughing) “Peter is not Gio Nancy, repeat what you said earlier, Peter is not Gio!”

Shultzie: “Oh for the love of god...”

Lizzy: “Shultzie, give me your knife...”

Neon: (quietly) "I don’t think you want to do that Liz."

Lizzy: (incredulous) “Oh??? And why is that?”

Neon: (in a rush) "Because another grenade just landed behind you! LOOK OUT!!!"

Lapiz: "There are no grenades, Hiram just made them up." (Neon, grabs the grenade, throws it back towards Dave.)

Dave: "I've survived a hundred of these" His avatar blows up and two take it's place.

Lizzy: “Jee Dang* (Pulls another tissue out of her sleeve and once again begins dabbing) now I have to open my contacts again to reconnect to Dave."

Nancy: "Weeeeee! This is fun! (claps hands) Who’s next? Cheesy?” (she’s obviously lost her mind, but not this week.)

CW: "Uhhh, who Chucked that one to start with? What the heck was he thinking?”

(Suddenly Sue drops into the foxhole and lands in a heap. she has a full pack on her back and her hand is clutching the strap of a fifty-pound duffle. “How you guys doing for ammo?”

Dave: (runs over to Ma, helps her to a sitting position) “Holy sh*t, Ma, where the hell did you come from??? Did I hear you say you got ammo?” (he doesn’t wait for her to answer...he unzips duffle and begins to distribute full clips. (sounds of slides being pulled, clips being slapped into position, murmuring, etc)

Sue: (a horrified expression) “Is...Is that Harry?” (points at H.H.) “Oh my God, that poor, poor boy...” (shakes head)

Lizzy: "Nah, that's just two more Dave avatars for the scrap heap. It's starting to look like a Bukowski Holocaust Museum around here.

Sue: (glances across the lines) Hey that side is pretty thick with Peters too. Looks like the lounge at the Simon Bar Sinister Convention.

Neon: (smiling) “See Cheese, that’s how you write a script.”

Cheese: (smiling too) “ Yes, take credit for my doing 90% of the work."

Neon: "Well how else can I write something that isn't mediocre?"

Cheese: (wiping his hands, taking the script walking away) “Arent you the one who slammed Harry for doing parodies all the time?"

(Grand finale: The whole place blows up as Simon Bar Sinister and Charles "Neonman" Quisling walk away. Nancy survives by wrapping herself in so much extra verbiage no one can get through it, while Cheese writes himself a way out as none of these suckers ever could. Dave comes back as Aladdin and the Forty Avatars.)

Tragedy of Hate said it better than any of us: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index;_ylt=AhHhqydhL.xNYsuiqgt7vmOn5HNG;_ylv=3?qid=20120222053346AA03ID3

o HD regarding Stream of Consciousness:

James Joyce is the father of Stream of Consciousness, and unlike many of his imitators, he spent years perfecting a single line or paragraph (one novel took over 10 years to complete,) so his stream is not just a boring jumble of monotone observations.

I don't expect you to read the whole chapter, but the first chapter of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man describes a minds perception of it's first thoughts and childhood concerns. It rapidly goes from infancy to school age. The object is not to TELL the story but to experience it.

http://www.online-literature.com/james_joyce/portrait_artist_young_man/1/

Three Poems in One!

At the risk of offending a person who did not give me permission to post her poem, I will do what I would do in Yahoo, only one better. Three Poems in One! A poem by Project Nyu ~ Magpie, with supplemental poetry by yours truly. Enjoy!


Poem by Project Nyu ~ Magpie						Supplement by Happy Hiram
Absent within pristine sheets she lay motionless, well groomed as the surgeon's specimen but with no soul lit inside, eternally it seemed she remained tethered to the countless tubes that force-fed, for months poisons had been pumping into her bloodstream in order to exist. Strangers visited daily, offering their superficial comforts to the terminal maiden - leaving them bedside, whilst staring watching her, with their sad blue eyes and pitying what mother nature can inflict. Frivolous trinkets meant nothing to her now, as they would remain grounded after her heart-beating era had ended, gathering dust and awaiting her impossible return.						she ran past the clump of grape vines hanging from the white picket fence and lolled in the sunshine like a doll or a dancing sunflower, but she was sad because she knew summer was ending another year of school books and chalk boards and how would she ever be able to stand it all, but her indomitable internal summer always came back like the roar of a fountain filled with the effluence of winter. she would always rise and loll and rise again. she was, is, and always will be, our little Dallas.

Happy Hiram Reads Cheesy

Thanks for letting me read your stuff on my site, Brian!

HD's Poem

A Poem

by HD (aka Beth S.)

Thanks Beth for allowing me to post this!!!