Tuesday, June 9, 2015

June 9 -- Early Morning Outdoors

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  1. Cold, cool breezes constantly rewind my mood to a calm collectiveness.

    1. That's a quick one, but that's great!

    2. Lol. I thought you said to make it quick in the video, Mr. Brantingham. Lol

    3. Did I? Anyway, nothing wrong with a quick one. Some of the best poems are!!

    4. You did, for reals. Watch the vid, and you'll see what I mean. It was like a suggestion to keep it minimal and not get too carried away.
      Thats good to know. Sometimes I feel like my poems always have to be a certain length to get my point/experience across. It's a box i've put myself in that I'm attempting to escape, even if its only for one random poem at a time. Its tough though, I like my box ;-)

    5. you once again fell into the box of multi-word poetry


  2. For some reason, the outside in the morning thing was not happening for me today so instead, I composed a tribute to you, O my brother.


    I am the wizard of a literation incantation.
    I spread my arms and speak my prompts
    And fifty poems instantly are spawned.
    Where you write one, I am the meta-poet, man!
    With fifty incarnations of the same idea, fifty iterations of ideals
    Fetal representations born within my brain
    Sprung fully-formed like children of the gods
    Arrayed in digital mirrors. Viral-replicating concepts, self-aware.

    I am the wizard of a literation nexus,
    Willing word-warriors drawn to me across the seas
    By wires and electricity. Magnetic personality.
    They slay for me. They say for me
    Fifty inaugurations of those contemplations that I have conceived,
    Far-flung conceits employed from the depths of my imagination.
    And with my tongue and microphone condone investigation,
    Indictments, and etymological estimations.

    I am the wizard of a literation temple
    And student acolytes I send against a culture bent
    On implosion and denial, infantile infatuation with ignorance
    And a romance with stubbornly reductive reasoning.
    My priests make war upon the servants of the void,
    Assault the canons of indifference
    Knowing that in death their spirits live to haunt my enemies
    Their characters and syllables echoing across the bloody fields

    Of forever.

    For me,
    The Wizard of a Literation

    1. Wow, I'm really flattered. That's a cool poem and you're using the poetic device too!!

    2. Mr. Brantingham, your brother should be a street rapper lol

    3. Yeah, Mark's got a ton of talent.

    4. Yes I love the cadence of this work

    5. what a great character! he's like the Gandalf of poetics! YOU SHALL WRITE...

  3. cross the boardwalk
    sink my toes deep
    in the cool sand

    the western sky
    winks through
    the waves

    wait as the
    raking machine
    mows the sand

    clean and smooth
    fresh for the
    new day

    walk slowly
    dig new steps
    in the flat sand

    flip the hood
    dig my hands
    in the pouch

    as the wind
    blows my face
    the fragrance

    of the ocean
    assaults me
    I dip my feet

    in the waves my
    pant legs soak up
    the salty sea

    1. I haven't figured out a title yet. I'm trying to avoid the word morning. I'm still not too good or too fond of titles (I wrote poems for over 30 years and only put titles to a few).

    2. I think "Cross the Boardwalk" works well to capture the mood and even help to create a metaphorical sense.

    3. I like that. I was thinking along those lines.

  4. The Roving Bovine Alarm Clock

    Snuggled in our sleeping bags
    The dawn fast approaching
    The rythmic babble of the river
    Beckoning us to wake

    Then came the crash and clamor
    Sounds of destruction were near
    We peeked though the zipper
    Ready to defend our camp

    Picnic tables were toppled
    And ice chests were scattered
    Drowning in a sea of cows
    Trampling through our site

    Sleepy men with arms waving
    Trying to shoo the beasts
    Why were there cows in the campground?
    What a way to wake up

    1. Fantastic. This might work well for tomorrow prompt too. The next part of the story!

    2. love the cows in the campground. Grandpa used to shoo the bears from the campground at Yosemite. Of course that was 100 years ago (wait it almost was 100 years ago, it was in the 20s).

    3. "roving bovine" and "downing in a sea of cows" -- priceless

    4. also "rhythmic babble" and "picnic tables were toppled".

      you have a great ear

    5. You flatter me! Believe it or not, before 9 poems ago, I had never written a single one. And for that matter, had zero desire to do so. But, I can't resist a challenge... so here I am. I'm thinking of sticking with the deep memory theme for the whole month. Then the collection can be a "memoir of an 8 year old girl" what do you think?

    6. I think you have a lot of potential, the best professor in California, and one hell of a pseudonym!

    7. Ah, Mark. Yeah, Molly Cool yes. I can think of a couple of good chapbook publishers for it too.

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  6. I saw a sheepherder’s trailer at dawn
    near the freeway parked next to a
    dusty flock over two hundred strong
    flanked by a skinny black dog… watching,
    waiting for his man to begin the day…
    the way sheepherders do.

    To me it’s a mystery on dry yellow grass
    waiting for time to pass… watching
    the flock near the freeway haze
    in a dry yellow daze flying past in my mind
    the way commuters do

    1. I love the oddness of this moment. It reminds me of Murray Thomas's Cow's on the Freeway.

  7. Building strength

    Foraging for food
    The caterpillar climbs
    The trunk
    to the outer reaches
    seeking the green
    leafy foliage
    from which it
    will build strength

    One long line downward
    eating rhythmically
    two long lines
    making a pattern
    along the leafy surface
    curving the shape
    of its mouth and body

    Eating and building strength
    For the mighty metamorphoses
    A cocoon for the little worm to
    transform into beauty with wings
    Flying away from the morning dawn
    And tasting the breaking
    of the delicious day

    1. It's really hard to write a poem you're not in, but you captured the moment man!

  8. it's dark as hell at
    5 am, or rather a bit before 5
    and it's cold -- sharp cold which is confusing
    because this is Los Angeles.
    i stagger up, i try to drink some coffee.
    i know it will be hot later when the sun
    rises so i pile jacket on top of sweater on top of sweater
    on top of sleeveless shirt.
    i put bags in the cold car.
    i put my coffee in the cold car.
    i drive to the train station with
    the seat warmer on though my husband
    hassles me about this choice when he
    hears about it later.
    i go stand on the platform and it's
    cold there too, but the guy who
    is an actor who teaches where i teach
    introduces himself and he begins imitating
    the gestures of everyone waiting for the train.
    he has hot sun energy despite the darkness
    and i shiver at him wondering where that power
    comes from when all i can do is remember -- regret --
    that i left my coffee when i parked the car.
    i wish i could sip and consider the actor
    because he's really good and i know already ==
    though it will take years -- that I will write about him
    and this unseasonable moment/

    1. Oh I love how you bring the poem around at the end. That's great!

    2. Thanks John! -- btw I'm loving everyone else's work on here, but because I'm on an ancient computer, every time i comment i have to prove i'm not a robot (or am I???) which makes doing the comments tough. So YAY everybody! :-D

    3. I am a robot and this poem makes me shiver

  9. Blue, blue
    You belong to me
    Your sapphire spray
    Falls on my face
    Your great green arms
    Wrap all around me
    I rest in your gray grip
    Spectacular sea
    You belong to me.

    1. That's great! I love the use of language here!

    2. I really like this, both how you personalize it with the bookend refrains and how you use various color images creating a sort of montage effect in a very concise poem that feels big. It's almost perplexing when you look back and see how short it is.