Poetry Corner

[Oslo]

Thanks, Matt. I'm glad I was able to open the gates, so to speak. As a matter of fact, he came back this morning against everyone's expectations. I couldn't be happier about that.

I found your poem an interesting read, to say the least. I appreciate the way you use ambiguity so as to foster multiple interpretations. The entire time I was thinking of the Real in the Lacanian sense, even if that wasn't your intention. I love how the viewers use "one voice" to deny the Real, because the ability to command language signifies someone who has not entered the Real and still exists within the Symbolic world. Conversely, when the man is at home toward the poem's end, he almost reminds me of Mrs. Moore in A Passage to India if you've ever read it... alone in thought, appearing almost paralyzed, momentarily lacking the ability to enter into communication. I think your poem suggests that the Real is perhaps something ideal we all hope to find and it gives this man the hope to continue, but I also wonder if there's something deeply terrifying and segregating about entering into the Real. Perhaps the Real has engendered too much fear to allow him to give up.

Ultimately, good stuff.

[nsmbwii]

I saw this and got bored so...

Greed

Money, it make the world go around.
Does it matter if it comes at the cost of others?
They fall, but they are easily replaceable.
Their whines and groans are nothing but needless sound.

Food for the people? That is useless, it'll just chip at the profit.
What about the children? Good call, I'll get some more.
The elderly? I'll have to get rid of them.
Families torn apart? What do I care?

Money, it makes the world go around.
It is a neccesity, a need-have.
It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling, and makes me smile.
But why must everyone else frown?

[Oslo]

A coupla quick and easy ones.

Swaddled

You’re sure you never made
that damp quilt of yours,

but there you sit
as it folds around your skin,
your throat, the two rooms
of your hopeless lungs
and the blue nerves that haul sensation.

Take it off, they say,
as if you chose your damp quilt,

when really you chose it
as much as you choose
the supermarket mornings,
slippers heavy down that aisle
as you count the brands of
pureed green beans
in those happy teasing jars
and wonder
how you would have ever picked among them.

Found

It’s not some stuffy booth.

It isn’t a stained glass panel
slinging light
in blues and reds and golds
onto stiff wooden pews.

And it’s not the
gaping, needy mouth
of a dust-covered archway
gobbling you whole.

No, forgiveness
is an old toy truck
left in yellowing weeds
a lifetime ago,
one you can’t recall losing
but which still makes you weep
with blessed relief
upon its discovery.

[Mikachu Yukitatsu]

I have felt some anger today, due to a certain Real Life incident, which will remain secret here, however. Anyway, time for some emotion-channeling!

The most beautenous flower of this garden,
The empress of my dreams,
So young and so innocent,
I want to protect her virginity!

If somebody comes,
Violates her in any way,
Without permission touches her,
I won't hold back!

Touch not her beauty
I can't have her yet and you can't too
Touch not her virginal beauty
I'm not a knight but I'll do what I can
To protect her purity

When winter comes her beauty outshines snow
Ice melts from my heart everytime I see her
I could wait a hundred years
Just to hold her in my arms once

Touch not her beauty
I can't have her yet and you can't too
Touch not her virginal beauty
I'm not a knight but I'll do what I can
To protect her purity

[mattbcl]

I'm feeling a little Dr. Seuss tonight.

--

Screens

One house, four screens
One house, four friends
One house, three scenes
One house, three trends

Four screens, eight eyes
Four screens, four views
Four screens, three rooms
Four screens, we choose

Lewis Black on DVD
D&D, the desktop
Borderlands, game room
Facebook on my laptop

One screen, six eyes
One screen, two eyes
Two screens, no eyes
No big surprise

Waste of energy
Waste of time
Waste of money
It's all mine

Mine to give
Mine to choose
Mine to have
Mine to lose

One screen, two screens
Three screens... four?
What the hell
Are they on for?

[Oslo]

Just a chipper little limerick.

After the Carnival

And we’re home again,
beer on our breaths
as we laugh
like two balloons colouring sky.

Before our bathroom mirror
you floss out the skins of
kettle corn
while I glide your butter shoulders
and the bumps of your spine.
The thread falls, forgotten
as our slackened lips take on a driving unison.

I touch your tender belly,
pale where the trail of whispering hairs
slides beneath the waistband.
Blind fingers skim a lesion
bright as a clown’s nose—

and sudden all sudden this stupid fright
my coward hand snapping back the words
i’m sorry i’m sorry that was dumb i’m sorry i’m so so
with the instant hot where my fumbling guilt the
rapid horror of your fire skin an ugly word and

That look on your face.

Slow again. We crumple
in some scary desperate shaking.

But after the crime, impossibly,
your miraculous hand
sinks into mine.

You tell me how small we are
and younger than all of this.

Now I spill my silly fountain wish:
To pierce your navel
with the stick of my cotton candy
and drain that grim pollution,
to dab your smothering reds
with two ticket stubs.

My hopes in dimes and water.

(You would have looked beautiful all hunched and grey, you know.)

Instead. Instead, our early sobs resonate
on porcelain, ceramic, the white
and cold tiles of this echo chamber.
Here, our need announces itself
like singing horns
and the shameless roar of the midway.

[Gavin Luper]

^Oslo, the language in that poem is quite deft and beautiful, if cryptic (deliberately?) in parts. But well done.

I find myself worried for the second person ("you") in the poem - should I be?

[Oslo]

Thank you, Gavin. I'm of the opinion that art should conceal as much as it reveals, so I'm not afraid to be cryptic here and there.

And yes, yes you should be worried. I wrote the poem a while back as a response to something I had been reading about AIDS within the gay community. My major qualm with the poem, I suppose, is that neither of the characters (the "I" or the "you") has any real agency, which is something I've often found problematic with literary depictions of homosexuals. It was hard to avoid in this particular poem, though.

[/rambling]

[Gavin Luper]

Not rambling at all! There's not enough talk like this, IMHO.

Egad, okay, so I picked up on the ominous tone of the poem correctly, then. That lesion - among everything else - was really concerning. It certainly felt quite frightening to the characters, and the reader, too.

It's odd, when I wrote my response before, I went to write "I'm worried about the female character" and then I stopped myself and had to reread, because I couldn't remember anything actually explicitly referring to the character as female. And there wasn't; no genders were even mentioned: the language used (the "I" apologising, the "you" forgiving) and my own life experience/preconceptions made me view the "I" as male and the "you" as female. I'm trying to interrogate this - I suppose in my head, it's typically the male who makes an advance and gets knocked back, and the female is the one apologised to. Interesting. I'm assuming now that the characters are both gay men?

In any case, I'm interested by what you mean about homosexual characters being represented as not having any agency in literature. Can you explain more what you mean? I completely agree with you - to the point where I'm actually writing a somewhat related paper for my Honours course about the way gay characters are rejected, theoretically, in media and literature, from being seen as congruent with ideas of virtue (including, for example, dominant views of leadership, having power, etc.). It would be interesting to hear what you mean exactly about the lack of agency if you have more to say about it?

[Oslo]

Well, Angels in America immediately comes to mind, especially because it was lauded as this hugely progressive piece upon its debut... and still is often seen as such. However, none of its representations of gay males are particularly empowering. I won't spoil it if you haven't read/seen it, but ultimately, not one of the gay male characters (and there are several) is an agent within his own narrative: they're all for the most part weepy, victimized and self-loathing. Now, almost two decades later in the midst of the "It Gets Better" campaign, things are perhaps worse. In an attempt to engender sympathy for the plight of gay teens, the "victimized homosexual" archetype has become ubiquitous in literature/film/television (ohmygod, don't even get me started on friggin' Glee) to the point where homosexuality has become a universal byword for tragedy.

Anyway, I imagine you are probably a lot more well-versed in this area given your research. I like the sound of your Honours thesis... what's the course?

[Gavin Luper]

Well, Angels in America immediately comes to mind, especially because it was lauded as this hugely progressive piece upon its debut... and still is often seen as such. However, none of its representations of gay males are particularly empowering. I won't spoil it if you haven't read/seen it, but ultimately, not one of the gay male characters (and there are several) is an agent within his own narrative: they're all for the most part weepy, victimized and self-loathing. Now, almost two decades later in the midst of the "It Gets Better" campaign, things are perhaps worse. In an attempt to engender sympathy for the plight of gay teens, the "victimized homosexual" archetype has become ubiquitous in literature/film/television (ohmygod, don't even get me started on friggin' Glee) to the point where homosexuality has become a universal byword for tragedy.

I haven't seen/read it, but I have to say that the representation of gay male characters as weepy, victimized and self-loathing is rampant and I can't stand it. I see why people are promulgating it in literature and media, though: trying to make the real-life gay teenagers who are feeling victimized and self-loathing (this is completely real and an awful place to be in, trust me) identify with these characters and somehow come to terms with their identity more harmoniously. But I wonder how much that representation actually helps. Wouldn't it be better, as you imply (and as my thesis argues) to have representations of gay teenagers who refuse to be victimized? Who are agents, as you say, within their own narrative? Instead of being pushed around, decide to do some pushing back themselves and exhibit some backbone and courage and gumption, instead of being small?

Yes, I agree this would be a very interesting representation, perhaps very helpful, and insanely overdue. Do you agree?

Anyway, I imagine you are probably a lot more well-versed in this area given your research. I like the sound of your Honours thesis... what's the course?

My undergrad degree was a BA; I'm now doing an Honours course in Creative Writing. I'm not exactly well-versed on all this stuff yet, but my aim is to get there!

[Oslo]

I haven't seen/read it, but I have to say that the representation of gay male characters as weepy, victimized and self-loathing is rampant and I can't stand it. I see why people are promulgating it in literature and media, though: trying to make the real-life gay teenagers who are feeling victimized and self-loathing (this is completely real and an awful place to be in, trust me) identify with these characters and somehow come to terms with their identity more harmoniously. But I wonder how much that representation actually helps. Wouldn't it be better, as you imply (and as my thesis argues) to have representations of gay teenagers who refuse to be victimized? Who are agents, as you say, within their own narrative? Instead of being pushed around, decide to do some pushing back themselves and exhibit some backbone and courage and gumption, instead of being small?

Yes, I agree this would be a very interesting representation, perhaps very helpful, and insanely overdue. Do you agree?

My undergrad degree was a BA; I'm now doing an Honours course in Creative Writing. I'm not exactly well-versed on all this stuff yet, but my aim is to get there!

Haha, I am entirely on your side. I agree that more varied representation that better show gay characters as figures of confidence and authority would absolutely do more to help gay teens than the current weepy little jellyfish that are presently ubiquitous in various media.

I love that you're studying Creative Writing because I think it's a terrific discipline. I just finished up an Honours BA in English Language and Literature with a minor in Creative Writing. My final project was an Honours thesis of publishable length (a "novella" if that's what you want to call it). I certainly hope that whatever you produce in your Honours course might someday get published so you can single-handedly reverse the current pattern of gay male literary representations.

[Gavin Luper]

Haha, I am entirely on your side. I agree that more varied representation that better show gay characters as figures of confidence and authority would absolutely do more to help gay teens than the current weepy little jellyfish that are presently ubiquitous in various media.

I love that you're studying Creative Writing because I think it's a terrific discipline. I just finished up an Honours BA in English Language and Literature with a minor in Creative Writing. My final project was an Honours thesis of publishable length (a "novella" if that's what you want to call it).

LMAO. Weepy little jellyfish is an amazing metaphor and rather profound! It looks like we've reached a consensus on that, then.

Yes, Creative Writing has been my passion since I was seven years old, so it's the natural choice for me. I did my BA majoring in Creative Writing and French - writing was the natural choice for the Honours for me. I, too, have to produce a creative thesis along with a critical essay component.

That's awesome about your thesis! Congrats on finishing. Can I ask how long the piece was? And what was it on? My university reduced the required length of my thesis this year and I'm not sure I'm entirely happy about it.

I certainly hope that whatever you produce in your Honours course might someday get published so you can single-handedly reverse the current pattern of gay male literary representations.

Haha - I definitely hope I can get it published, hells yeah!

[Oslo]

That's awesome about your thesis! Congrats on finishing. Can I ask how long the piece was? And what was it on? My university reduced the required length of my thesis this year and I'm not sure I'm entirely happy about it.

I don't remember the exact word count, but my thesis ended up being approximately fifty pages. It evolved out of a short story I wrote in a second-year Creative Writing class. Basically, the piece charts an unlikely friendship between two individuals who meet in Toronto during the summer: a twenty-something, drag-obsessed transgendered student who has stopped speaking to his mother and a thirty-something, laid-off professional who has recently separated from her husband over the death of their child. There's lots of heavy stuff going on there, but the tone is also relatively light.

Why was the required length of your thesis reduced? I imagine to accommodate your graders? Hopefully it's still long enough that you can produce something substantial and satisfying.

[Chris 2.1]

It's difficult, isn't it, because to feature a homosexual character there's a sense that addressing their sexuality has to be an explicit feature. Their struggles, their identity. May people would prefer someone whose problems and storylines were not a byproduct of their sexuality, yet if these do exist, there's a sense the word 'gay' or 'lesbian' is shoehorned in - it doesn't impact anything, so does it need to be mentioned in the first place? Then you start having sexually ambiguous characters.

Quite an interesting notion.

[mr_pikachu]

It's a tricky subject, indeed. I think that's part of why Dumbledore threw so many people for a loop. Some have suggested, like you mentioned, Chris, that the homosexual aspect of his personality was just thrown on top and had nothing to do with him as a character. At the same time, that's also the greatest triumph of the characterization -- his sexual orientation was a part of who he was, but it didn't define everything he did, just as the preference of anyone else doesn't (or, at least, shouldn't) be the sole meaningful characteristic of that person. My heterosexuality plays no role in my enjoyment of video games, the research I conduct, etc., etc. If I were describing myself, I wouldn't feel the need to name my orientation, so why should it be necessary to elaborate in any other narrative?

I imagine that the reason why so many people feel a homosexual character must be stated as such, while heterosexual characters need no such clarification, is because heterosexuality is viewed as "normal" while homosexuality is deemed "unusual" or at the very least, "different." This highlights our assumptions about people themselves. A lot of readers enter into any character description with a blank slate. What else can you do, after all? But that blank slate must have certain characteristics in order to be anything besides an amorphous blob. If it's human, it probably has a predictable set of appendages (two arms, two legs) and other "normal human" characteristics like a mouth, a nose, etc. It might also have attributes like skin tone and height/weight that are similar to that of the reader or, alternatively, seem to be "normal" and thus more likely to appear in a fictional representation.

This leads me to my larger point. Many readers feel that homosexuality must be stated, as opposed to heterosexuality, because heterosexuality fits into the representation that they're expecting. Whether that's because (1) the reader him/herself is heterosexual (hence, the expectation of similarity/homophily), (2) because heterosexuality is viewed (accurately or inaccurately -- statistics are somewhat inconsistent) as more common than homosexuality, or (3) because the reader holds a prejudice against homosexuality that results in it seeming "unusual" or "strange" regardless of (1) and (2), readers tend to expect heterosexuality and are surprised by anything outside that "blank slate." I apologize if the comparison offends anyone, but just as a reader would be surprised by a different number of appendages, a different orientation also deviates from the template that the reader holds. (It's a much different deviation, but if it splits from a reader's expectations, similar mental adjustments have to be made to understand the nature of the character.) Unless, of course, it's thrown in your face that all of the characters in the community are three-armed or, as the more relevant example, that they are all homosexual (for the latter case, think of Rent), in which case you have other problems: it's unfortunate that the homosexuality had to be thrown in people's faces at all, and by definition everyone in the community is somehow set apart from the "normal," "expected" society.

...Anyway. Sorry for the stream-of-consciousness mini-essay, but at the risk of starting an argument over sexuality -- and at the risk of stating something poorly in the midst of this 5:20 a.m. monologue and accidentally inflicting offense -- I wanted to share a few of my thoughts here. Maybe next time I'll actually post a bit of poetry, eh?

[Gavin Luper]

I don't remember the exact word count, but my thesis ended up being approximately fifty pages. It evolved out of a short story I wrote in a second-year Creative Writing class. Basically, the piece charts an unlikely friendship between two individuals who meet in Toronto during the summer: a twenty-something, drag-obsessed transgendered student who has stopped speaking to his mother and a thirty-something, laid-off professional who has recently separated from her husband over the death of their child. There's lots of heavy stuff going on there, but the tone is also relatively light.

Why was the required length of your thesis reduced? I imagine to accommodate your graders? Hopefully it's still long enough that you can produce something substantial and satisfying.

I could be wrong, but I think mine will be much shorter than that. It's 10,000 words creative and 5,000 words critical essay. It feels inadequate - it was previously 20,000 total but they chopped it down to 15,000 total and I'm not really sure why. Either way it doesn't fit any category properly - it's not a novella and it's not a short story. I don't think I can produce anything other than a "long story" (seriously, that's what they're calling it) and go from there. Or a cycle of three short stories, maybe, but that stops it from feeling like a proper, chunky thesis, IMHO.

That sounds like a very quirky but also very approachable thesis. Would be happy to give it a read some time if you ever feel like sharing it!

It's difficult, isn't it, because to feature a homosexual character there's a sense that addressing their sexuality has to be an explicit feature. Their struggles, their identity. May people would prefer someone whose problems and storylines were not a byproduct of their sexuality, yet if these do exist, there's a sense the word 'gay' or 'lesbian' is shoehorned in - it doesn't impact anything, so does it need to be mentioned in the first place? Then you start having sexually ambiguous characters.

Quite an interesting notion.

Indeed. For most heterosexual male characters, for instance, I think an off-the-cuff comment like "that chick was hot" would go pretty much unnoticed as giving much away about them. That is, few readers would see that as giving away much about that man's character. But if a male character says "that dude was hot", it suddenly MEANS something. He becomes seen as a gay character and with that comes a projection onto him of a whole bunch of stereotypical ideas. It's maddening. I mean, I understand it, but it frustrates me that sexual orientation is constantly a more defining issue for gay characters than straight ones.

It's a tricky subject, indeed. I think that's part of why Dumbledore threw so many people for a loop. Some have suggested, like you mentioned, Chris, that the homosexual aspect of his personality was just thrown on top and had nothing to do with him as a character. At the same time, that's also the greatest triumph of the characterization -- his sexual orientation was a part of who he was, but it didn't define everything he did, just as the preference of anyone else doesn't (or, at least, shouldn't) be the sole meaningful characteristic of that person. My heterosexuality plays no role in my enjoyment of video games, the research I conduct, etc., etc. If I were describing myself, I wouldn't feel the need to name my orientation, so why should it be necessary to elaborate in any other narrative?

Yes. Exactly. And there are some people of both orientations who do place a heavy importance on this as a centrally defining feature when it is really just one of many. (I'm thinking of both straight guys who try to be macho by talking about chicks all the time - most of these I have met in real life are angry, massive closet cases - and of gay guys who place their "queerness" (a term I think I detest) as a central tenet of their persona, when their sexuality really doesn't carry much or any meaning at all - see Dumbledore, Albus.)

I imagine that the reason why so many people feel a homosexual character must be stated as such, while heterosexual characters need no such clarification, is because heterosexuality is viewed as "normal" while homosexuality is deemed "unusual" or at the very least, "different." This highlights our assumptions about people themselves. A lot of readers enter into any character description with a blank slate. What else can you do, after all? But that blank slate must have certain characteristics in order to be anything besides an amorphous blob. If it's human, it probably has a predictable set of appendages (two arms, two legs) and other "normal human" characteristics like a mouth, a nose, etc. It might also have attributes like skin tone and height/weight that are similar to that of the reader or, alternatively, seem to be "normal" and thus more likely to appear in a fictional representation.

This leads me to my larger point. Many readers feel that homosexuality must be stated, as opposed to heterosexuality, because heterosexuality fits into the representation that they're expecting. Whether that's because (1) the reader him/herself is heterosexual (hence, the expectation of similarity/homophily), (2) because heterosexuality is viewed (accurately or inaccurately -- statistics are somewhat inconsistent) as more common than homosexuality, or (3) because the reader holds a prejudice against homosexuality that results in it seeming "unusual" or "strange" regardless of (1) and (2), readers tend to expect heterosexuality and are surprised by anything outside that "blank slate." I apologize if the comparison offends anyone, but just as a reader would be surprised by a different number of appendages, a different orientation also deviates from the template that the reader holds. (It's a much different deviation, but if it splits from a reader's expectations, similar mental adjustments have to be made to understand the nature of the character.) Unless, of course, it's thrown in your face that all of the characters in the community are three-armed or, as the more relevant example, that they are all homosexual (for the latter case, think of Rent), in which case you have other problems: it's unfortunate that the homosexuality had to be thrown in people's faces at all, and by definition everyone in the community is somehow set apart from the "normal," "expected" society.

...Anyway. Sorry for the stream-of-consciousness mini-essay, but at the risk of starting an argument over sexuality -- and at the risk of stating something poorly in the midst of this 5:20 a.m. monologue and accidentally inflicting offense -- I wanted to share a few of my thoughts here. Maybe next time I'll actually post a bit of poetry, eh?

Not offended at all. I don't think I'd be offended at all unless someone was actually deliberately being homophobic or abusive towards me. So you don't need to worry about offense - from my point of view, at least.

And yes, this is the crux of the whole thing. If you're male, heterosexual = masculine = good. Homosexual = feminine = bad. That's the gist of it. No offense meant to women, obviously.

[Oslo]

But if a male character says "that dude was hot", it suddenly MEANS something. He becomes seen as a gay character and with that comes a projection onto him of a whole bunch of stereotypical ideas. It's maddening. I mean, I understand it, but it frustrates me that sexual orientation is constantly a more defining issue for gay characters than straight ones.

This is basically my whole opinion in a nutshell. I'm entirely against essentialist views of gender/sexuality because they only lend themselves to these stereotypical projections, as you say. Ultimately, (I certainly hope) the fact that I'm gay is not the most interesting/significant part about me and it shouldn't be the same for my characters. Unless it's need-to-know info, my characters' sexual identity is not something I generally I demarcate. *shrugs* Same goes with their race/religion/birthday/favourite Disney film/etc.

[Gavin Luper]

This is basically my whole opinion in a nutshell. I'm entirely against essentialist views of gender/sexuality because they only lend themselves to these stereotypical projections, as you say. Ultimately, (I certainly hope) the fact that I'm gay is not the most interesting/significant part about me and it shouldn't be the same for my characters. Unless it's need-to-know info, my characters' sexual identity is not something I generally I demarcate. *shrugs* Same goes with their race/religion/birthday/favourite Disney film/etc.

Yes, indeed, it's the combination of all those factors and many more that inform a person's character, not just their sexuality. It shouldn't be treated as being "meaningful" any more than it is "meaningful" that a character is male or female.

[Chris 2.1]

To Be ; Frank

I feel a little numb
Like a subtle injection crept over me
Curious, the feeling of no feeling at all
People pay for this, fight wars for this, destroy love for this
High blood-tax on a woozy vacuum.

Struggling to chew the food and slurp,
Whatever pats me on the back won't work,
Is this bitter snap a savouring taste?
Why do I even ask, the scholar of no subject.

Plinths can't hold your size thirteens
Yet you can grip the globe and spin it.
Revered for tasting how dreams taste,
the perfect mix of lust and salt.

While i speak words that dissipate;
Mouth smacked dry with desperation,
jaw so sore, what would you do

If merchants didn't bend like willows.

[Chris 2.1]

She
She tears herself away; leave immediately,
Washing and ironing, presenting the clothes just right
so she can pack
her life away.

How does it feel to have to
flee the building
That was a haven to you?

On Saturday, she will be gone.

Is it good, or do you shed tears when you pack
everything you've become
into boxes?
I'm oddly curious.

[Oslo]

The Truth About Milkweed

In squelching new boots
the youngest hangs back.

This is the swamp
after the week of rain—
leaves that slump and fragrant loam;
the whispers’ slow return.

His parents stray on
as he plans to commune
with the orioles,
to find tree fort cities
atop butternut boughs,
to split the slick pods of milkweed
and discover red jewels
concealed within the juices.

His parents say milkweed
bears no such treasures.
Their hollows yield but seeds
that will bob off in the wind
(inevitably).

Parents say these things
because they’re parents,
because that’s what happens
when you grow up:
your wonder withers;
you get old
and blow away.

But in the damp breath of the swamp
the youngest swears
this fate won’t be his.
His boots will never wear dull
because he’s certain

that the birds cry for him,

that the treetops are settled,

that he’ll someday see
a sight as joyfully baffling
as ruby seeds strung on the breeze.

[dratinihaunter13]

Guess I'll break the dry spell here. Just found this poem on a FLOPPY DISK, buried in some rubble at my house. It's from years and years ago, but any rate...
--

Sonnet 13

Beseech me please, to ease my evil woes.
Provoke me so I know my low of knees –
It will fulfill your still distilling glows –
‘Til casket tasks I ask to bask in these.

Design a sign for mine own pining eyes.
Despise the lies surprising, prize so fine.
Let subtleties abruptly cut their cries,
And vocalize your love, be so benign.

And if this desperate wish is given true,
How soothing would my wooing prove if known.
To live with love exclusively from you,
Enough it is to move my timid tone.

Infatuation flies and fades a dove,
But I would winnow every whim for love.

[Gavin Luper]

Just found this poem on a FLOPPY DISK

WHOOOOOOOOA!!

Sonnet 13

Beseech me please, to ease my evil woes.
Provoke me so I know my low of knees –
It will fulfill your still distilling glows –
‘Til casket tasks I ask to bask in these.

Design a sign for mine own pining eyes.
Despise the lies surprising, prize so fine.
Let subtleties abruptly cut their cries,
And vocalize your love, be so benign.

And if this desperate wish is given true,
How soothing would my wooing prove if known.
To live with love exclusively from you,
Enough it is to move my timid tone.

Infatuation flies and fades a dove,
But I would winnow every whim for love.

The sheer force of the assonance and alliteration in this sonnet must have taken you hours upon hours; it's amazing. Well done. Reading it was quite an exercise for the old noggin. Perhaps to the point where I was focusing so much more on how dedicated and patient you must have been to get all those lines working so well and still make the words create a sonnet-y theme. Very well done my friend.

[dratinihaunter13]

thanks gavin! you're right I really really cared about sound back when I wrote that. even at the expense of making sense >_<. very kind of you to critique gracias

[shazza]

Inspired by The Beatles - Julia, so the structure isn't original.

Victoria (Sleeping Rose)

Half of what I say is meaningless
But I'll say it just to reach you, Victoria.

Victoria, Victoria, darling child, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.
Victoria, Queen of heart, garden hands, hold me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.
Victoria, cosmic eyes, sunlight laugh, French leaves, heal me
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.

Her soul
Floating in the English clouds.
Breathing in the crimson wind.
Shining from the neon stars.
Inspiring my Roslyn mind.
Completing my own.

Victoria, Victoria, moonlight voice, fairy dance, find me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.

When I cannot sing my heart.
I can only speak my mind, Victoria.

Victoria, raindrop dream, sleeping rose, love me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.

Hum hum hum hum, love me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria, Victoria, Victoria.

[Gavin Luper]

Knowing the background to this is quite devastating, man. Thanks for posting it here. Critiquing it feels a little inappropriate since it's so personal, but it's a really gentle and serene lyric. Good work and good on ya for sharing it!

[shazza]

It is only tentative, as I wanted to finalise something by her birthday (November 10).

[Gavin Luper]

Feel free to post a final version when you're done, then. That would be good to see. Also, I must find the song it's based off.

[shazza]

[Gavin Luper]

Ah, I see what you mean, the structure and lyrics do rely heavily on the song. It's lovely though. It sounds almost exactly as I kind of expected it to from your lyrics. Nice.

[shazza]

The Tales of Dr Wrights

Dr Wrights in Poker Machines

In a time afar from a world of bizarre
Lived a strange old man with yellow and pink tights; his name was Dr Wrights!
With hair of lightning and gold glasses for sighting
Psychiatrist was his profession and toy cars was his obsession.

To all the boys and girls he would exclaim a great “HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLOOOOOOO!!!!”
And so begins the tales of this peculiar little fellow..


Dr Wrights would play poker machines from dust to dawn
Ignoring the bodies cries of a fatigued cough or a desperate yawn
“Soooooooooon I will win and be more rich than the King!”
“I wiiiiiiiiiilll have glasses of gold and wear nothing but pure bling!”

But the doctor would go into debt ever so quick
Until one day, it dawned on him a wee little trick.

“These pokie machiiiiiines know that I am Smartlyn John Wrights!”
“They know me because of my yellow and pink striped tights!”
“People follow me around and win when I’m gone!”
“This entire country is nothing but just one big con!”

So Dr Wrights decided to play a trick on the pokie machines
“I’ll be back, Mr. Poker Machine, I have to buy some prosperous beeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaannnns!!”

He ran into the bathroom and became someone he was not
As the doctor tried to master his most elaborate plot.

“Now I will follow myself around! This is the answer!”
“Soon I will have more money to buy Donna and Prancer!”

Back to the machine Dr Wrights did journey
Claiming his name to be that of Ernie.

“Helllllllllloooooooo poker machines, I am not Dr Wrights”
“I am new here and suffer no blights and no plights!”

He put in a hundred and he put in a hundred more
Dr Wrights was obsessed with settling the score
Delierium set in and the realisations swept
As Dr Wrights sank into debt and wept

“Why do you taunt me, you blooooooooooody pokies!”
“I don’t even have enough money to buy some smokies!”

The poker machine cackled with a psychotic terror
“Attendant, I do believe the machine is having some kind of error!”

“You fool, Dr Wrights, do you not remember all those years ago?”
“When you thought you were famous and hosted a community TV show.”
“Someone wrote you a letter about their gambling addiction”
“And since then we have suffered a terrible infliction”

Dr Wrights was perplexed at these ludicrous claims
Finally ready to leave these addictive games
“What did I say? I don’t remember things very well!”
As the doctor was hypnotised by the poker machines enchanting spell.

“You fool, you told him to get a baseball bat and smash us all to pieces!”
“The Poker Machine Holocaust killed my nephews and nieces!”
“Now you will be cursed for all eternity!”
“For you destroyed my soul and my chance for paternity.”

[Chris 2.1]

Hands

I'm a lonely man,
my city structured with frowns
providing a fortress for someone.
Joy leaks out in ink-stained sheets
Draped over, casting shapes, casting clowns.

Do we yearn for a footprint
since we yearn for the shoe?
Or is the impression, the pressure, the key?
I've tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I had
But you're always busy, being make believe.

So I take trains and think on escalators
(right side, never left)
Two girls linked and whispered something,
now I see hope in hands holding hands.

[Chris 2.1]

Tanya
Googled herself,
still nothing!

[Chris 2.1]

Epilogue

Funny foam from beer,
Years before, we've been here.
Hair much shorter, still so handsome
Deep blue eyes hold me to ransom.

Funny how we panicked, often
The grip upon each other's softened
and you got what you really wanted -
She looks pretty, I'm not bias.

Spilled just like the liqueur, secrets;
Yet you still keep something from me.
Tell me, man that was a boy,
Sitting cross-legged, looking coy
why do you deprive me of
the truth
as if I can't withstand it?

Like a bomb you detonated
several times
and I surrendered.
Heart and soul went into yours
A mould that filled forever more
We made a coin and flipped it over
But you wished on tainted clover.
Damn you! Irish luck was granted
Now you're loving her: fanatic.

As I lie so close to you
and hear you snore into the corners of the room
I feel a tear
a trickled quiet
that's you leaving me,
appliance.

[Gavin Luper]

Epilogue

Funny foam from beer,
Years before, we've been here.
Hair much shorter, still so handsome
Deep blue eyes hold me to ransom.

Funny how we panicked, often
The grip upon each other's softened
and you got what you really wanted -
She looks pretty, I'm not bias.

Spilled just like the liqueur, secrets;
Yet you still keep something from me.
Tell me, man that was a boy,
Sitting cross-legged, looking coy
why do you deprive me of
the truth
as if I can't withstand it?

Like a bomb you detonated
several times
and I surrendered.
Heart and soul went into yours
A mould that filled forever more
We made a coin and flipped it over
But you wished on tainted clover.
Damn you! Irish luck was granted
Now you're loving her: fanatic.

As I lie so close to you
and hear you snore into the corners of the room
I feel a tear
a trickled quiet
that's you leaving me,
appliance.

A really powerful piece, Chris. I'm thinking I know what it's about, and it's quite devastatingly portrayed. The line "the grip upon each other's softened" was really quite clever and profound, I thought. Was it meant to be "biased", not "bias", though?

In any case, it made for a moving read.

[Chris 2.1]

Thanks Gavin, and yes, your correction was, er, correct. I find the more I try and think about writing, the less I get done. Last night, after quite an emotionally heavy weekend previously, I just put everything down on paper.

But even though I drew on some personal experience, the poem was meant to look generally at relationships, their destructive and exhaustive power. Particularly when someone who has been 'the other man' suddenly realises their partner is cheating. A sort of role-reversal.

Really appreciate the feedback

[Shadow Wolf]

Ai

A soul seeking it…
A million more craving it…
But no one gives it!

[Oslo]

My Second Body

How else might I convince you
except to fix my lungs upon a pin?
Perhaps I need to bleach my bones, jar tendon,
or splay my nerves against a screen
and let you map their blue fragility?
Dear skeptic, I can lend you nothing
more than all of it: my knees,
their pocked exteriors,
my cheeks, my pores and frigid palms.
You will measure and do tests,
scouring my flesh with chemicals
to learn its every end and limit.
Even after all of this, you'll still deem it necessary
to hold in your studious hands
my breasts, those which
you struggle most to validate.
Really, all that you require
lies below my chest, beneath it.
Press your beating wrist
against my muscled heart.
Let the rhythms unify.
Then syncopate. Then unify again.
Bear witness to that pear-shaped thing,
that pump. Then, feel yours. Hold onto it.
Maybe now, knowing
my authentic body,
you’ll never again ask,
“What kind of a

are you?”

[Gavin Luper]

Thanks Gavin, and yes, your correction was, er, correct. I find the more I try and think about writing, the less I get done. Last night, after quite an emotionally heavy weekend previously, I just put everything down on paper.

But even though I drew on some personal experience, the poem was meant to look generally at relationships, their destructive and exhaustive power. Particularly when someone who has been 'the other man' suddenly realises their partner is cheating. A sort of role-reversal.

Really appreciate the feedback

Good to get the full picture of where you were taking it man. Your poetry is always quite inspiring and clever, so it's a pleasure to read.

Ai

A soul seeking it…
A million more craving it…
But no one gives it!

This feels like some kind of ineffable universal need or conundrum. But what is it, out of interest, Louis?

My Second Body

How else might I convince you
except to fix my lungs upon a pin?
Perhaps I need to bleach my bones, jar tendon,
or splay my nerves against a screen
and let you map their blue fragility?
Dear skeptic, I can lend you nothing
more than all of it: my knees,
their pocked exteriors,
my cheeks, my pores and frigid palms.
You will measure and do tests,
scouring my flesh with chemicals
to learn its every end and limit.
Even after all of this, you'll still deem it necessary
to hold in your studious hands
my breasts, those which
you struggle most to validate.
Really, all that you require
lies below my chest, beneath it.
Press your beating wrist
against my muscled heart.
Let the rhythms unify.
Then syncopate. Then unify again.
Bear witness to that pear-shaped thing,
that pump. Then, feel yours. Hold onto it.
Maybe now, knowing
my authentic body,
you’ll never again ask,
“What kind of a

are you?”

Wow, man, your poetry always hits something deep inside ... This piece, I feel, could be even shorter and be more effective and resonant, but the images that you have included are just breathtaking. Those splayed nerves and their blue fragility. Whoa. Nice work.