Have you ever thought you were going completely mad,
and although you are a total nymphomaniac,
a complete drug addict, a drunk,
and probably the devil, wondered why?
Looked at the world, your parents,
your decisions in life and just knew that even that no longer mattered.
What a fucking mess, but you...
You at least are interesting in a way that reminds me of throwing rocks
at ducks at a Sun Valley golf course walking home from the bus stop.
(Sun Valley's the largest mobile home park in the world -
- aka Reno's ugly cousin).
On one hand you hope you hit it,
on the other hand you pray you don't.
And when you do?
You cry like a little bitch.
Author notes
This poem is about temptation.
I was tempted to cuss, I was tempted to love
I was tempted to give a shit.
Now I'm tempted to tempt.
A contest entry
- AllPoetry Extravaganza--3 Month Gold and Silver Membership by Violet Moodswing.
1500 points, ended November 28, 2007, 67 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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the title has changed
is the meaning the same? -
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But of course.
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Your temptations I believe are indeed very normal. Well done and I wish you the best of luck in the contest
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Done a little of that myself - then wondered why I did it. Not sure I ever came up with an answer. Good job.
Thanks for taking the time to write and to enter and best of luck.
Paul -
Thanks for your entry
I really enjoyed it. It struck me as vividly gray. Normal happenings, nothing flowery or over the top, but starkly disturbing and easy to sit in the middle of. It kind of put me back into my own head dealing with my own sets of disturbing shortcomings that I usually avoid by pointing fingers at others
This isn't the type of poem that I would read and say, "Oh, it's about blahdeeblah" It is more of the kind that makes me look in the mirror and wonder why I am so odd
Great job.
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You at least are interesting in a way that reminds me of throwing rocks
at ducks at a Sun Valley golf course walking home from the bus stop.
On one hand you hope you hit it,
on the other hand you pray you don't.
And when you do?
You cry like a little bitch.
That's the poem to me. Odd and disturbing, something uncomfortably exciting - like temptation.
Good luck in the ALL POETRY EXTRAVAGANZA. Thanks for the pome.
Lisa
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Very good. I love how you've used the prompt. Very unique and certainly your own style. Keep up the good work, and good luck in the contest
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A difficult piece of work that illuminates yet obfuscates at the same time. Perhaps a distancing might help.
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lol wow this is really cool... i this its just so... different...ive never seen anythign like this... i must ay though ur pic is distracting
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So is your grammar.
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Nice simile, but ...
You certainly have a gift for comparison--the "throwing rocks" allusion was very nice; however, the voice of the poem is heavy-handed and a little insensate. Yes, it's about temptation, and perhaps I'm being goaded into this response, but does it really matter whether you intend for me not to like it? The temptation to "cuss" and "give a shit" also tempted you to succumb to a few quotidian and banal modes of modern poetry ... if there is profanity, it ought to be used with purpose. All in all, it's not an unenjoyable read, but I would have liked more subtlety.
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Holy testicle nuzzlers batman, now we've done it. We've uncorked another wounded artistic genius bent on projecting the inner disdain of his own work upon others. It must be hard to fit your ass into that hat good sir. I've seen a lot of turkeys stuffed with a cornucopia of crap in my time, but you my friend, take the cake, the bird, and the squash to all new levels of "let me open up my dictionary and sound intelligent today".
And here's why:
You're no alpha dog, you're a pissed off follower. You take orders every day from people you think are a million times less intelligent than you, and you're bitter.
Every human cusses, whether internally, externally, or simultaneously. Every poet cusses, especially the great poets of our time and times past. All words have a purpose, and slang and cusswords are some of the best and one of the primary tools of a lived poet that is representing his or her community honestly in its actual light and true authenticity. Not just trying to sound like a poet or the head of a canon sent to investigate the terminology of youth based mouth sounds white washing it all with four nostrils to the sky, as yourself, (Dylan Thomas, Rimbaud, Kerouac, Bukowski, the list is massive when it comes to poets that spew foul mouthed slang. [william burroughs, a much brighter, older, dead(er) man than yourself would shoot an apple off your head for sounding like such an eruditical penis pump high on their own dutch oven feedback]) The job of the poet is to develop and push language, syntax, and open mindedness, not to mention symbolism and current events not be afraid of it, and or "hating" on it (as the kids would say today). The poets job is not to sit in a solipsistic bubble of miasma brooding on intellectual fodder that more or less makes them sound like a spent douche than a learned critic.
Please don't harken to understand the problems of others when we all know damn well that the only adventure, and or tragedy that you've encountered in your relatively short life (I say that because I already know by your tone you've been through nothing in life, because anyone that has? Never lessens another mans nor womans experiences just ask Voltaire) was that day you forgot to put your condom on when you checked your prostate and caught diarrhea.
You talk about the "subjunctive", while real poets are out on rooftops living it.
You're losing your hair, we're all growing ours tarzan. You think that poets and writers get better with more degrees and institutional instruction? When talent my good virago cannot be taught, or stolen, or learned. Granted, one must study and practice the true and grandios structure and syntax of a language before taking it appart to truly reap the rewards of spoken word or written word magic. But you? You've done none of the above. You only point with a jealous finger at shadows and well fed vermin. But hear this friend of the word police, and cocker spangled inquisition, a poet can write whatever in the fuck their heart desires anyway that they want, that's the main point of poetry, pointer. I'd wager you write little, and talk a lot. the voice of the poem was supposed to be heavy handed and insensitive. He hates what he loves, and he doesn't understand why. The narrator of the poem is not a college educated windbag, he is merely a man speaking honestly in the language he knows about how he feels. It's not rocket science, and it certainly doesn't define me as a poet although it's in first person. It certainly does not mean that it's happening and or has happened to me. -
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The truth the truth, I'll have it my social erudite friend. Admit that this was really the poem, oh how it sang to my soul. That it would drift to my ear in song one night I should die happy.
This sentiment I have felt on more than one occasion, but somehow it deftly slipped from my grasp, my mind, nowhere near my tongue. Oh but to read it at last, to relish it in its beauty.
Life, culture, wisdom. These have to be lived, experienced. You cannot imagine them for experience is beyond that. Bravo!
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Ah, if life was daily as predictable as your response we'd all finally get the toy of our choosing at the bottom of a cereal box, but guess what? It's not. Life is heavy handed. Unless of course you're a suburban poet, which I'm sure you are.
then depending on your college loan pay back plan and SUV's mileage per gallon I guess moods can be more easilly altered. Instead of feeling heavy handed, clumsy and or honest. I could sugar coat everything with perfume and magical rainbow sprinkles. -
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You could sugar coat, or ...
you could learn to write. Ah, if life were (did you comment on someone's grammar? I think you need to learn what the subjunctive is) as effete as your response, we'd all be languishing in our own misery. I wasn't commenting on the authenticity of your emotions; I was appraising your lack of craft. How's that? I've pretermitted sugar-coating. "Honest" is not synonymous with "swearing and making an angry apostrophe." Those of us who have had problems (uh-oh! I'm not pampered! So much for predictability) and forborne them, coming out able to cope and able to write coherently, realize that writing a poem requires more than verbal vomit.
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The title is as different as the content of the poem.The poet chooses not to rely on poetic devices but to portray with words that have an impact nethertheless ,the temptations revealed within,the nymphomania,drug and alcohol abuse are all addictive,the write seems to explore and expose a world where those that give in to temptation are lost to boundaries and reality,the last temptation ,to hurt a defenceless creature exposes the psyche of the character that will pursue his right to do what he chooses at whatever cost,even if it hurts,but would resort to self-pitying tears for his self if he did so.
Only one query,why no mention of that temptation that us girls find so,so hard to resist,we lick our lips in anticipation,salivating at the delectible,desirable,sensual,oral satisfaction of chocolate! -
You can tempt me anytime...
Anna -
my sincerest apologies for clicking your poem, it was a mistake, my stopping here, but now that i am, i wish you the best of luck in the contest and hope that you have a very nice day.
blessings and best wishes,
~richard
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I'd wager that happens to you alot Richard.
Especially with the porn, you know, accidentally clicking, mistaken stop overs. etc... God bless you Richard. I would leave a gay font rose, but thankfully, I've been too busy writing masterful prose and verse to learn such technical fodder.
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no fuck that
love and temptaion go hand in hand, no matter who u love u will always be tempted..its human nature, we all get tempted, we all love, it is what it is! either do it or dont. its your mind your body! your life, when u die does all this really matter? how u spent ur time here, and what u did! just do what make u happy, because u answer to u. if ur tempted and u sleep with another girl, does it change how u feel about the one u are in love with... No. but chances are later regret it, but then again if the shoe were on the other foot how would you feel if they did that to you. i have been on both sides. i did it and had it done to me. and well like i said it is what it is. all men want sex and all women want attention! there you go! -
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You're tripping because...You want to fuck me. I can tell.
You've always wanted to fuck me. -
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right...
look im not intrested in you like that? and i don't want to fuck you, your tripping. but think what you want. -
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I was joking, don't have a panic attack.
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love is just a state of mind! people need to be co-dependent....love is an understatement as far as i am concered.. u can fall in and out a love a million times a day... but what really is love...is it an act of sexual intercourse? is it the way one feels for another,is it what one does for another,or is it how someone makes you feel!
you can love just about anyone or everyone and still not really know what it is like to true love someone! love does not really exist, we are programmed to think we need love to be happy, all it is, moments in time that are shared with another that we think we need to have there for us..due to our own lack of insecurity. to tell u the truth...love yourself. that is better than any love one can give you! does it matter if u have someone to love or not... i loved them all, all for various reasons, and i'd rather be alone than with someone one i love that treats me like shite! so i guess i am a player!
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hmmmm, i'm tempted to applaud this, merely for the intriguingly great metaphor for the ducks at the pond
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It is interesting - I did not like the title, but the rest made up for it quite admirably. Your thoughts just hit me - it had power. The way you wrote it was you and I admire you for that. Good luck in the contest.
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Except for the title, I think this quite an interesting piece, Jerimy. Your author note is even more so. But don't mind me, it's late, I'm tired and should have waited until tomorrow to read this. It would still be interesting but I might get a littl more out of it.
Good luck in the contest
Dee
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Hmmm... The title was my favorite part. I think it goes well with the contest, and how serious everyone pretends to be. When in all actuallity they need to get off their high horses, quit writing poetry for jesus, and actually go out into the world and do something to help dying children, raped mothers, and war torn countries. What are you waiting for? Because I certainly am not waiting for some messiah to point out the fucking obvious to me.
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Now, in the light of day, with a fully awake conciosness, I can see even the title of this piece in a more understanding light. Things aren't always as they seem at first and I now see this as an eye opening, meaningful write. We don't do enough... any of us... for those needy of whom you speak. It's so much easier to turn away and see the more leisurly side of life. the side which allows us to go forth into the obliviousness of 'it's not my problem'.
A very meaningful piece, my friend and I wish I could applaud you again but the nasty ol' system wont let me. But I do wish you the best in the contest
Dee
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The title is merely there to draw attention, because that's what we care about as a culture, attention. We care about death, and ugly things, horrible things, and that's why a title like this works it attracts the contradicting eye to it.
Those that have nothing to hide fear no word, or stereotyping, those that do have things to hide speak out against it.
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what am i to think
tempt you have
intrigued
i sit here pondering
what am i to think
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