Edmund and Luka's Poetry Request Corner

luka

luka

Well-known member
We miss working. It was the only thing which brought us joy in this cold world. The only thing we had to live for and now it's been stolen away. Let us recreate our old life in this virtual world. Let's us write for you. Give us the topics. We can do 50 a day, possibly more.

Edmund is going to start us off by writing a poem about love.

 
luka

luka

Well-known member
Don't specify which poet you want please. It only causes bitterness, division and recriminations.
 
woops

woops

is not like other people
love! that sickening, straggling virus that sends me
out into the street ill-prepared for the afternoon, des-
perate to dream again, swaddled in
my sadness, lost like always, love!
that artless muse (who makes
music sound strange, and queasy,
questioning principles of pleasing,
beyond death and dishonour, seeking
only the combination unlock
the uniqueness of each identical
emotion. such is love
 
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woops

woops

is not like other people
goosebumps

in this strange "goose-weather", cast by clouds
not above but all around and especially
at the nape of the neck and all along
the elbow, emotion
strikes with a chill, a shiver
runs down the nerve and finds
the finger-tips, spreads a certain
electricity. the rain
leaves its mark on the fore arm.
the sun-splash is in shade
else the flesh would lie fallow.
 
woops

woops

is not like other people
so we have set up and then luke immediately goes on an extended lunch-break - this is just like a normal shift
 
woops

woops

is not like other people
Totally Exquisite Bits in Jungle

We live for this, for the sudden
relief of pressure, for the sound
of atmosphere only, for the anticipation
of another sound, something like
a prayer or a place in the middle
of chaos, a clearing in the city,
a space that seems
somehow too brief, before
it all begins again the twisting
and pounding, how unlike
a headache, how strange
that such a beating should
be blissful, how strange
the strings that hover high
above the melee and make
another kind of place again,
exquisite,
exotic, unlike anything
on the radio. rarefied
like some backwater of the canon
like fresh air in fog
like voices speaking slowly, too slowly
for their setting. below us
is an earthquake, the floor
was not so fixed, the sound
shakes it in a rhythm
we could resist, but choose not to,
instead, abandonment is all.
 
shiels

shiels

_
You actually hit on the similar imagery to mine in that thread. I didn't think it was a poem but maybe if i break the lines it is....

burrowing into the depths
hacking through thick and thorny vines
til the point of exhaustion
then a gap in the trees, sunlight breaks through
to reveal forbidden fruit
or a deep ravine
or a psychedelic toad
 
shiels

shiels

_
I had thoughts of an exotic bird cry from overhead as we reach the break in the trees but then I thought no too corny shiels, too obvious, leave it there
 
woops

woops

is not like other people
Silence this voice saying too corny - you know it makes sense -

I decided when I started the job (after many years otherwise) that I would not be afraid to write embarrassing ones.

It's the critic, elsewhere referred to as the censor I think
 
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