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

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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!!!