By the time evening
had adhered to a drunken night,
like sailors
with too much money,
too little time,
hard-ons the size of torpedoes,
we barreled into Cimetière du Père Lachaise
to celebrate long dead bards
with shots of verse
washed down by pints of prose.
Sitting shitfaced on a painter’s epitaph
counting stars with nothing
but polystyrene tumblers of bourbon to guide us
while we pushed smoke rings
up the eternal orifices of the truly gifted.
Eventually we vomited on headstones of greatness,
urinated Bohemian pride across their memory,
raising a toast to Heloise who had given some of us
the best head job any could remember.
One quoted Buk
who described a whore,
“as having a dress like a burning flag.”
Thomas Chatterton came mysteriously into the conversation
having opted for an arsenic cocktail too soon.
Guy was so inebriated maybe he empathised with,
“Before his optics daunced a shade of nyghte...”
before rolling unconscious onto Jim Morrison.
Snippet of Van Gogh to his brother Theo entered this slurring fray.
Something proudly beautiful wrapped in a plea for more funds
Line from ‘De Profundis.’
For in amongst all this ghost infested marble lay Oscar
who died that desolate,
dissolute
death of an exiled artist
with nothing but his humanity and humour in tact- parting with
“The wallpaper is killing me, one of us has to go.”
De Profundis - A letter written in prison and in fetters
“…by way of little warning
is that every moment should be beautiful,
for the soul should always be ready
for the coming of the bridegroom,
always waiting for the voice of the lover,
Philistinism
being simply that side of man’s nature
that is not illuminated by the imagination.”
Next morning
stars had gone.
Polystyrene tumblers
caught by chilled breezes
cart wheeled and bumped
off the cold graves
of those famous departed.
And although most days
feel like Camus whispering-
“Really, nothing in my life had changed”-
from that day to this,
by way of little warning,
every thought
illuminated by imagination
is like waiting
for the voice of my lover.
A contest entry
- methadone & thistle ( to burn a poem ) by jaunty pill.
1800 points, ended May 9, 2007, 18 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - your best work composed over the last twelve months by Lute.
600 points, ended January 9, 2008, 68 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Winklings Celebrates its 100th Contest (A Series) - Contest J by Lyndon.
3500 points, ended August 5, 2008, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 35 of 35
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I find this verse vivid and brash without
compromise...and that is a good thing!
A celebration of shortcomings, an acceptance
of all one will never be pouring over
those cherished role models and famous faces
never known in flesh...then settling into
that cache of memories we deem as "best".
Wonderful work. Blue -
Interesting poem. A little strange but captivating nonetheless. I thank you for your entry and wish you the best of luck.
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pretty much perfect
I love how it starts off with hedonistic abandonment and ties into the morning after with "De Profundis."
I wish I'd written this poem: it appeals to my inner francophile, goth, intellectual, nihilist, and morbid Oscar Wilde fangirl. I also really can't think of anything constructive to say.
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I was so engrossed in reading your poem here, now on New Years Eve sad bastards that The Bear and I are that we disdain to share our booze and nibbles or brave the drunen ravings of our friends who all see to be depressed, that I absent mindedly chomped through a dish of Japanese things that now I look, appear to be mouse skulls with dried brains. If I am ill again I will blame you David.
Hey I wonder if we will ever be RimbaudVerlained in polystyrene cups like this one day- or was it one of your dinner parties? Imagine that lot at a dinner party or a barbie. If so please may we come next NYE and discuss if it was the pattern of the wallpaper that killed Oscar or the arsenic in it like what killed Napoleon?
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content 7.8
vocabulary 14.34
accuracy 7.8
creativity 7.5
theme 7.8
originality 7.8
totals-53.04
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Thank you for entering the contest and best wishes.
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Thanks for entering this piece.
I wonder: could you possibly use a lighter colored text? I find it a bit difficult to read....thanks.
good luck,
rachel -
I believe this is the first time I have read any poetry by you...I recognize your name from around the site but that's where it ends. I would like to start this comment by saying that the poem itself is very powerful. I think while just having the title alone it was a good idea to enter my contest. Each image speaks on its own and I like how you add in reality with a sense of metaphors which is something that a lot of writers can't do well. Of course even with the metaphors you keep the poem burning bright...An almost constant beat feel that is not beat. The message itself is guided by strings of phrases and catchy poetry. It doesn't get cliche at any given point and it stays afloat by a good use of connection and stanza choices.
My two critical observations are this:
You put " Eventually " on its own line and throughout the rest of the poem you refrain from one word lines...Except of course for " Philistinism "....But the reason there being because the next line connects with the word. " Eventually " could have easily been added to the line after as there is no importance to separate that line on its own.
And I wonder if some of your words could not just be taken out. There are so many repetitions of " the " and " a " and " and " and quite a few places that I think the poem could be tightened. In stanza three for instance, Line five it seems like you are explaining too much...Which is not something the rest of the poem suffers from. I mean if you look at most of the poetry it speaks on its own...It doesn't depend on a conversational approach as much as right there. I mean yes there are moments where the poem seems to diverge but I wonder if all of it is completely needed.
And there you have it. My feelings on your poem are merely based on personal opinion and nothing more. I hope that you decide to take part in my contests in the future and I hope to read more of you out of the contest as well. I think I'll stick around.
All the best and good luck ,
James
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Sorry, but would you mind telling me what picture option you entered this for? Thanks
Good luck!
S2
Era -
Ahh this one is amazing =) I love it. But I don't really see how it fits in my contest... though perhaps, if argued correctly, the last stanza could justify it. But thanks for the entry =)
xXx
Mariek -
Sorry you misunderstood me. This contest wasn't supposed to be entering pieces that have won trophies. I merely mean those who have 50 or more trophies. The piece you enter doesn't have to have been entered into any other contest or the like. Sorry if that confused you. This is very beautiful, you have a way with words David. x
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This is excellent. You use allusion miraculously. This did read like Camus' stranger. I loved the way it was written. I especially enjoyed the alliteration:
desolate,
dissolute
death of an exiled artist
Fantastic! You always impress me.
Arielle
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what a work. you title it using camus, but include more wilde. i thought that humorous, especially since i like camus and can barely tolerate wilde. i like this piece. it is like reading academic rabelais. i think you are an intelligent man and must read more of your work.
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and hard-ons the size of torpedoes,
we barreled into Cimetière du Père Lachaise
to celebrate long dead bards
with shots of verse
washed down by pints of prose
that's very graphic. -
"The wallpaper is killing me, one of us has to go", I liked this line...being an artist myself, I found this full of humor..gave me a giggle or two...the whole of the work is wonderful...I felt like I was watch someone read it aloud for all to hear...wonderful imagination...love your usage of words...just great, thanks for sharing
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I just read this last night and had to come back.
Who is Camus? That's the one name I wasn't able to recognize. -
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Albert Camus is an existentialist writer and this quote is from “The Outsider” at the end of chapter three after the protagonist’s mother has died. He was a contemporary of Jean Paul Sartre and one of the youngest people ever to win a Nobel Prize for literature. He is a great writer and an important one – especially the existentialist philosophies he espouses. I don’t like existentialists but the older I get the more I feel myself slipping into their grasp. He died around 1960
David
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Oh brilliant. Sort of a dark, resigned feeling.
Everyone romanticizes the artist but really, its a life of bad weed, absinthe, and cheap whores. If not, then pretty damn close. It seems that true artists lead the shittiest lives and you caught on to that. Kudos. -
Thank you for sharing this poem. I often wonder why it is so hard for some to use the dictionary as a resource especially in spelling. I use it for inspiration, to challenge myself more. I love the quotes, the imagery in this piece. Intresting way of putting them together. ~Sie
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Oh my. This is a really a nice poem that you have here here. I really like this. What a great way with words you have! I got all caught up in the tone of your work and felt like I saw part of of it with you. I didn't see all of it but maybe that's just because it was hazy for you so it seemed hazy for me? lol I don't know. I really loved it and the quotes you used from others work were really wonderful too. You did a great job of this.
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You were right. It definitely appeals to me. Read it about 5 times already.
How the fuck are you?
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Superb/intriguing/challenging
Wow, difficult to describe what I felt as I read through this. You touched on so many literary greats and their philosophies, in poetry and prose, that i'm totally daunted in attempting any interpretive analysis to this, so I shall not. Very well done indeed. -
well, I am left speechless by the author notes, and am sorry for the trophies you didn't win. Feel free to enter contests I have..I try really hard to be fair..
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I like the allusions and music of the poem.
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i must say, it is not very often that someone uses words that i do not know. thank God for dictionaries. i like to read things that make me think as this does. a very well written write. very deserving of the bronze. thank you for sharing this with me. viyanna rosemarie
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Intellectually ambitious, quite decadent and a genuine attempt at writing an original piece of poetry. Head and shoulders above a lot of the stuff one reads on this site. Very well done.
Bill
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What can I say here David? I couldn't even bring myself to stop for a deep breath as I read the words that line the page here. I was so mesmerized by the imagery within my own head that all time seem to stop for just a few minutes. If this only took bronze, I agree, you were robbed! But your talent is so well known and appreciated here that a mere trophy is nothing more than a bauble to display. The true admiration lies in the words left behind by those who read you. As always, your work is a pleasure for me to savor.
♥ Touchof1der
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"this better be good" well it tis--we shall wait and see. Mostly just a stranger passing through, exiled from here? There it is a world of strange tales, often there is fear, and always the awesome promise of Beauty. There was this emptiness that needed to be filled. often Unpredictably, that was needed--for us, you see. Heirs, degraded by the pseudo knowledge we are fed--we are left to rummage through the ash cans, the empty theatres, the discarded canvases to find a few old men whose gravestones might tell us just a little bit more about who we are than the hucksters on Tv trying to make a buck on our stupidity & sloth.
But, as I said, we shall see.
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This starts strong--gets better as it goes... A tribute to those of us who like the sound of words, the play they indulge in & the voices of lovers & expired word mongers...
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I remember those days of yore Panama when I was young, dumb and full of cum. I was rich and studly and bullet proof. Then I met Cecillia. My wallet, my vest and my manhood exploded in a frenetic frenzy of orgasmic debauchery.
Anyway, I can certainly see why this is a trophy winner. I've always admire your keen with and wry sense of humor. And your writing skills are second to none.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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Awesome !
This is better than good.. it is GREAT ! One of the best pieces I have read in a long time- rich with life and reality. Excellent vocabulary and imagery.. felt I was there drinking that bourbon and high on words.. drifting in the night. You ought to win this !!
Debby
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well to say the least, you've made my head hurt from all the lengthy reading hehehe but the reason behind it was well conveyed with a story-like imagery. keep penning
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"For in amongst all this ghost infested marble lay Oscar
who died that desolate,
dissolute
death of an exiled artist"
This is reminiscent of the song "Losing It" by Rush...The verse about a Poet fearing the loss of his gift...A remarkable penning, David...Great descriptive techniques & a whole lotta Soul...("torpedoes"??? Really???) 
A grand entry by a writer who KNOWS...I've read the final words Oscar uttered...As well as Emily Dickinson's: "The fog is rising. I must go in." Here's hoping your fog doesn't rise & the wallpaper leaves long before you do...& may you always find that invincible summer within...Good luck in the contest...Good to see a feature from you, Sir...Be well, Poet... Wanda
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WHAAAAAAAAAT. This is insane. It's like if Gertrude Stien had lived in present day, was a man... and spoke slightly more crudely. Which is to say this reminds me of the lost generation. Not to say that it's a gertrude-stein-esque voice.
Anyways, I really loved this. It amazed me quite a lot.
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