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.