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ASF Poetry Thread

2020, Perhaps it means the guy lost most of his money following advice from the Financial Times and needed the pen to pick a horse in his racing paper.

you mean, the way a few of us choose our shares ?
close your eyes and stab...

I personally prefer a dart, lol

btw, true story m8 - ok maybe for 1 hour - and maybe the pen cost more than 10c ..
btw "for five hours" meant to sound like 4 5 hours etc
for an hour I just memorised rhymes *
while I searched for a twenty cent pen -

* = (and swore at the dog because rather than help find the pen she only wanted to play with a bludy ball)

and also I swallowed that bludy fly lol
used to do it regularly - back when I used to whistle all the time
but yesterday as I was coughing and trying to spit the damned thing up, (unsuccessfully) I suddenly wondered what the fly's take on all this was...

PS very awkward meterage...
If I were writing it again I'd probably rewrite it as follows:-

btw, not much you can do with "obviously oblivious" = (/ - - - - / - - ) = a string of unstressed syllables - -
except maybe (what I would do anyways)
a) pretend it's intentionally awkward, and just enjoy messing around with words (refer next post)
or

b) leave out half the verbs and prepositions and (hopefully optional) syllables and stuff and hope people understand what the hell you're trying to say ... (would help if I added some punctuation marks I guess)

PS I have recently twigged that if you make lines shorter, e.g. split them into two - then it's easier to pick up the meter earlier in the poem (PS I have a lot to learn about this lol ). Sometimes I make first stressed syllable start with a capital - I doubt that anyone else before of since has needed to do that - in good , even half-decent poetry it should be obvious I guess.

PS 'buzzer' meant to sound like 'bastard' - which is something a buddhist monk wouldn't say presumably - who nose?

yes I know - pathetic lol - whatever
 
JUST MESSING AROUND WITH WORDS

Some men get their kicks just messing with boats
or messing with irons and woods
and some get their kicks just messing with quotes
- or just messing around with words. : 1.5 one and a halfcents

(PS If I could afford it, I'd be out playing golf, m8 - or messing around in boats for that matter - ahh, whatever. )
 
an article based on an interview with Frankie Hyde.. in the Catholic Weekly...
(first time I've read that particular publication - but I agree with the bottom line, he was a good man)
http://www.catholicweekly.com.au/02/jul/28/16.html

 

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SIMILES AND METAPHORS
I found this in some old school book...
how many of each in the above
I make it 7 of each (I guess)



SIMILES AND METAPHORS (1)
the date was going swimmingly
they’d paid the bill and run
he suggested what he was sweating for
was to stay up and see the sun
the girl said smiling “simile
it’s not like I’m a nun”
and that was what he’d metaphor
to have a bit of fun

SIMILES AND METAPHORS (2)
If you say your brother "is" an ass
well that’s a metaphor,
it’s better to say he’s "like" an ass
cos that’s just a simile dig,
but if you say when he’s at the table
(and constantly yelling for "more")
it isn’t a question of "like" or not
he bloodiwell IS - . .. a pig!!
 

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further to previous post, and the
concrete mixer (truck) = elephant metaphor

Incidentally, I found a drink called a Cement Mixer - and post it to add some complete irrelevance..
reminds me I used to make a drink as a kid - pineapple cordial with milk - the milk instantly curdled , lol - just magic it was - tasted like (what I imagine) a spittoon would taste like (simile - not a metaphor)

moral to the story? - similes are powerful lol
 

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THE IDLE MAN'S MIND IS THE WORKSHOP OF THE DEVIL

some men heal and some swing hammers
some lead horses round with rope
some men preach or teach in slammers
some just cruise and some just cope
but the minds the most attractive
for the devil to elope
are the sad and bored inactive
with no work, no help, no hope.

some men plough a field at sunrise
some get home long after dark
some men make an Easter bun rise
some play Santa for a lark
some retire into oblivion
no more to make their mark
but the devil's far best dividend?
those men just stuck in "park"!

it’s often through no fault of theirs
the way the dice have landed
the ones employed say “hell who cares
so what if they are stranded”
I allude to need again folks
we’re agreed that needs aren’t “level”
but the idle mind of men folks
is the workshop of the devil

some are racked with inhibition
but they struggle on in pain
some lament their own condition
but their struggle’s not in vain
some men’s spirit's into fishin
some men twirl their spirit levels
but the idle disposition
is the fishing hole of devils

let’s assume a gentle shin up
is the trigger some men need
just a chance to get their chin up
so self dignity can seed
let em just get one good win up
so their favoured side is freed
let em find a different pinup
to the devil and his breed

..............
Footnote on drugs

praps from "warn-ignored" “drug ember”
he turns sadist, sad self killer
and the man you won’t remember
turns to ugly and gorilla
praps the ugliest of ugly
praps the frightened-est of fear
may his mind get super lucky
may his monkey disappear.

may you both get super lucky
may his devil disappear.
 
HEY - "NO INSULTS" CRIED THE CHIMP

sometimes Photographs are juxtaposed
to Show them as dead ringers
(different goaty praps or flatter nosed
or lullabies they sing us)
- comparisons extrapolated
- which is mental blimp ??
- whose brain cell's more dilapitated?
......
"no insults!" cried the chimp!!
 

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THE WINE LIST AT MY WAKE

I’m thinking I’ll stock a “penultimate fridge”
and fill it all up with beverage
it can range from insult to filthy rich
(and there’s damn all there that’s average)

and the plan would be that “the last out” pays
when I push off this mortal coil
and the range in booze can reflect my days
with the tons of fun and the toil

and throw in a case of a good shiraz
for the spice along the way
and throw in champagne for a bit of pizzazz
and a couple with which to spray

and throw in some coconut milk and yeast
and give them an hour of "romancing"
and see if the inhibition’s released
and the girls don’t start hula dancing

I wasn’t real smooth so a merlot’s not right
and I wasn’t real subtle – no sake
and I wasn’t real couth, so my mate’s can get tight
(there was plenty of course and khaki)

but the very best – yes the absolute bests
they will bludiwell have to guess at
..........
what I didn’t drink here, I gave to LIVE guests
OR I’ve taken on high – to bless at
 
“Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?"

Ron Koertge

Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.

It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.

Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.

Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."

Then start again.


From Fever, 2006
Red Hen Press (USA)
 
Fiery Jack - Ye Jacobites


YE JACOBITES BY NAME (rewritten by Robbie Burns)

Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear, lend an ear;
Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear;
Ye Jacobites by name,
Your fautes I will proclaim,
Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear.

What is Right and what is Wrang, by the law, by the law?
What is Right and what is Wrang, by the law?
What is Right and what is Wrang?
A weak hand and a strang,
A short sword and the lang,for to draw.

What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife?
To whet th' assassin's knife
Or hunt a Parent's life, wi' bludie war?

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state;
Then let your schemes alone, in the state;
Then let your schemes alone,
Adore the rising sun,
And leave a man undone, to his fate.

 
SCAB - Will Ye No' Come Back Again


 
Another brilliant eulogy to a dog

 
Robinson Jeffers is a self- proclaimed pantheist
http://members.aol.com/PHarri5642/jeffers.htm
http://pages.infinit.net/noxoculi/jeffers.html


 

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JEFFERS continued ...
a poem to his "dearly departed" wife...
 
...

http://www.cocaine.org/resource/index.html

... How to Quit cocaine ...
http://www.cocaine.org/justsayno.html

alternatively how to fool the bladder cops ...
http://www.cocaine.org/drugtestfaq/index.html

http://www.theantidrug.com/teachersguide/activities_antidrugpoetry.asp
suggests teachers get kids involved with writin poetry about drugs

http://www.theantidrug.com/drug_info/drug_info_ecstasy.asp
etc I'm sure you all know all this stuff...
 
EXPERIMENT AT WILL / EXPERIMENT WITH A WILL

try these drugs without restraint
experiment at will
this nice young pusher such a saint
says these are such a thrill
and if you’re feared of feeling faint
or freeze or fry or chill
it’s probably just a head complaint
so pop another pill

try these drugs they’re quite all right
and safe as barbie dolls
they’ll have you dancing half the night
like morons and mafia molls
hey don’t believe the stuff they write
that your old man espouses
ignore him – feel your brain ignite
you're the envy of all the wowsers

try these drugs, they’re all ok
they leave your mind full blown
just pay the pusher come what may
(but it’s YOU that he will own)
and after this you’ll be au fait
you’re heading for “combat zone”
hey crikey – now you’re instant grey!!
and..... let’s hope you grow out of this groan. :eek3:
 
THE PUSHER (uncensored)

In the hurly burly hub hub - down the backstreets of debauchery
malevolent and menacing the pusher makes his way
they say he's blind to agony, the bodies on the balconies
the dirt and the depravity, the victims of his play.

the hookers lined along the street they play some game of hide and seek
their dresses up around their cheeks, their knickers full of holes
one blind to caution counts her bills from stockings lined with filthy frills
he grins his grin of countless kills – he flatters and cajoles

………………………………

her mind’s transported from her bed, by chemicals inside her head
back to a small suburban shed, where childhood dreams began
the lace and laughter singing , in her mind confusion ringing
while her laced up mind is clinging , thanks to pushers and their plan

they say that something has to give, in order that one lace will live
and which will take and which will give, demand exceeds supply
they say release is just an edge, you jump off to a broken pledge
beyond some non–returning ledge, where lace has gone awry

before the dancing of her demons, lacey pants and clients' semens
anything to humour he-mans, morals built on clay
and way back when the boy next door, would clumsy whisper “I adore”
before the cruel nickname “wh-ore”, and things just went astray

.........

The morning sun across her floor reveals an arm stretched out for more
a needle still impinging, and a tiny pinhole "gash"
no longer sad, no longer soiled - her youth so bright, her old age foiled
her mortal coil is now uncoiled – past pushers counting cash
 
THOUGHTS BESIDE A LITTLE WHITE-WATER CREEK IN THE SUNSHINE

sun upon my head and shoulders
like a torch in ancient Rome
sets alight some mental folders
now to summarise that tome
from those fires and fire-walked boulders
that I’ve walked on as I’ve roamed
from those embers half remembered
something smoulders to a poem

blue as blue the sky above me
cyber ocean as it were
truly mother nature loves me
truer still that I love her
bonfire of my thoughts just now
make my outlook much more warm
help me keep it burn somehow
help my “Norm” change to this norm.

clear as clear the air is sunning
in my lungs and nostrils too
I can push it when I’m running
thoughts of air can fire the flue
as the warm thoughts guide and govern me
settle at my feet – accrue
truly mother nature loves me
have no doubt ma’m, I love you!

………..
sandstone layers here inclining
origins are long since filtered
where the sand was laid and binding
and the land has long since tilted
meanwhile berries birds are finding
as they squawk and chirp and boast
wonderful ! – I need reminding
blood is warm and rocks are toast

reflections on a chequered pool
of leaves and clouds on high
reflections of a life half cool
but much more warm in style
reflections of a side of me
with Nature as my wife
reflections where I only see
a bright reflective life.

……………………………

As I pass your babbling creek
where the waters splash and play
the babbling in my mind I seek
- rocks washed since bygone day
because those sounds are so unlike
the TV or the mobile phone
I’ll state them here, this verbal micre
this fade-out for this passing poem.

kersplash with racing notwithstanding
standing waves in strings galore
little crash onto rocky landing
next a waterfall or four
rapids racing round a corner
where the current changes tack
echoed semicircles born where
nature’s message bounces back.

…………

some little birds are draining beakfuls
drowning out their fears
the rain we used to get one week falls
roughly in five years
but when the global warming ****-falls
high priests argue with peers
But there’s no doubt that climate pit-falls
leave Mother Nature in tears
 
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