And there was Lisa,
with her hand in the hand of her daughter
walking along the canal which was festooned
with flowers and carpets.
(And they were pretty
like a picture
though she scowled
when the men
leered-
at her daughter
who was ripe and warm.)
No.
Will you follow me
to the basketweaver's grave;
intricate in weave,
in grief,--grieve--
My grandfather died a broken man,
sitting by the Burnside
And you are burning brightly
on the barren hillside--
No-one
'here'
gets out alive
Rimbaud
Laughs
Derisively
at your demise.
Dadaist Futuristic Negritude.
The number marching past
Piling up
Stakes with little orange flags
driven in the grass,
The Past is this Long--
(A careful measurement,
hopefully, John.)
XXX
Lisa says,
'You will not be rich for long,'
referring to the past,
and the disastrous results
of your experiment.
When first of all,
as bald blue mewling muse
of New.
And Salvador & Gertrude
so very [proud] of you
while in between (I)
was and will be
the bridge of silent sighs,
the Interlude, (Afraid)
of both of you--
Lisa says,
'You should write of my desire,
and how I long for you.'
But it would not be true.
Grandfather is dust.
Though once he was robust.
And twinkled with Lust.
XXX
I'll stay
until the wild goose glows
and then go, rest underneath
and with old Walt,
watch the flower and the tree
grow.
Author notes
Written November 20th, 2003
In a list
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Comments
1 - 28 of 28
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whenever I read your poems I wish I was smarter. Your poems make me want to read books I know I probably should but never have. SIGH
Every time I think I'm wrapped in the world you create(or describe) a little nudge pushes me out again and I'm looking at the words feeling jealous that I don't grasp every meaning. But I love 'em anyway, because they inspire happiness and sadness and curiosity and memories. All Good Stuff.
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You know, when I first started reading this I thought of The Door's or more specifically Jim, perhaps through some small psychic hint. I was strangely surprised/not, when I read No one here gets out alive.
Thinking more about it though, now I am pretty sure it was the way you indent which reminded me of Jim. This is the first poem i've read by you. Some of it I liked very much, the Lisa parts, and "Grandfather is dust.
Though once he was robust.
And twinkled with Lust." is worthy to be a minimalist piece in itself. Some of this seemed out of context and strange for the sake of being strange which is fine in a surrealistic sort of way, but generally I like more direct work. You clearly have much talent and I will investigate further your work. I'm giving you two applauses just because the parts I liked, I really liked. PC
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Promise...sing
Variation on a theme hovering on the border between prose and poetry perhaps this composition could benefit from reformulation in some areas such as :
allusions to Salvador (Dali), Gertrude (Stein) and Walt (Whitman) may be appropriate in some circumstances but in that case why use Rimbaud and not Artur and to whom does John refer ?
Dadaist Futuristic Negritude. if this is a statement it would be helpful to understand context. If a title, what is its relationship to the following text.
There are other points which could be raised through IM
Hoping this comment is construed as constructive criticism ... -
Oh My
You are amazingly talented...I loved the little spots of humor tossed in there. Just lovely
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clever
too clever for me in places as i am only three and a half.i liked the grandfather is dust though once he was robust and twinkled with lust it was in sharp contrast to the rest of the poem so it obviously a deliberate bit of humour. it made me really like grandad.its obvious that you should be rich and famous and by now in universities and be a professor
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Wow
Just amazing! Such Beatiful words, I was captivated to the very last word. I love the way you set it up, very different, and creative. Though there was some forced ryming "Grandfather is dust.
Though once he was robust.
And twinkled with Lust." You kind of lost me there, though not for long.
I loved they way you wrote these lines "And there was Lisa,
with her hand in the hand of her daughter
walking along the canal which was festooned
with flowers and carpets.
(And they were pretty
like a picture
though she scowled
when the men
leered-
at her daughter
who was ripe and warm.)"
Great write, never let the pen drop...
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wonderful this piece was truly amazing you have some real tallent and that means alot to me.... keep up the great work,
Krissy
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This is a wonderful poem!!! Really original and creative and so well described throughout - almost dream like in descriptions - excellent imagery!! Sarah Louise Hudson
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The opening and closing verses are my favorites! Just lovely!
Love the realism here!
Cris
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The form of the poem was quite interesting. I the first half flowed better for me, but it was all in all good.
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Bravo.
Wonderful. A unique style, and I really don't know how to express the sheer magnitude of my love for this. -
amazing
you focus follows the tract of the human thought to a T. it darts from subject to subject smoothly and somehow it all ties together. i love it and i hope you keep writing becuase your wicked good.
~miss sidra sibella -
Thumbs Up
This is a very well written. It really required me to read it several times before I got the total impact of it. I like your use of very subtle humor also in the following lines:
(And they were pretty
like a picture
though she scowled
when the men
leered-
at her daughter
who was ripe and warm.)
Overall a very good write. -
I really like your writing style in this, it was an enjoyable read, good stuff!
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very well written
Very interesting poem. Your style is unique and your descriptive usages are wonderful. I enjoyed reading this one.
etherealforu
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Hi, well you might know or might not know I nearlly always write in rhyme,lol, loved this poem it has class, great feel and smooth flow,should be in a comp if you can find an honest one,with judges who know what good poetry is, lol, great write my friend a pleasure to read, all the best Hugs Di
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interesting poem, there are lots that i do not get, but to me it seemed it was about the grandfather abusing the girl, but i could be way off. the ending is beautiful
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I love this. Ur and Avalon. I missed that first time around. Not the would not be true part. Cause I never like that kind of stuff. Makes me grrr. Hannah will be ripe and warm someday. She was singing and reciting poetry on her new karoke machine for us last night. I love her so damn much.
What is a DOM? -
at this time, i have no comment about this work (of art)neither it's visually stunning design or the words that if a painting (might actually be a collage) could be a featured exhibition at the MOMA.
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Seventh stanza really caught me. And then there was the line about orange flags that I kept going back to. This made me chew on my lower lip, visualizing certain people in place of others. Something very matter of fact and somber to me. Me likey Lutie. Thankie for the link.
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Well don't go anywhere yet Lutie. I don't want to miss out on learning Luteese or Luteish or whatever it is.
And I don't want to miss out on other beauties such as this.
I love the lines while in between I was and will be the bridge of silent sighs. Wow.
Desiree
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Hey, you use the word Negritude. I didn't think anyone else had ever heard of that word. Ran across it once and had to look up the history and political reasons it was thought of in the first place...blah blah blah. Anyway, I'm feeling smart for knowing it wasn't a made-up Lute word. Go Mermaid!!!!
Anywho, "no one here gets out alive" screamed Jim Morrison to me. Couldn't help reading it the way he sang it. Silly me and my music.
You not going off with Whitman to write about leaves of grass are you? Seems a little dull for our spry Lute. Don't forget, "O'Captin, my Captin" you have that DOM reputation to think of.
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And wrapped once again in threads
but none bare, rather, brandishing a most
lively and vivid tale...
As Scarlet said...so much in this. In all of these poems. An epic. A series.
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What does it for me is the focus... The masters herein... & the old Walt reference is excellent as you exit. Just a great poem for lack of some other way to state it...
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I must admit I've struggled to come up with constructive comments and criticism on so many of your pieces, despite this I'm determined to melt my eyes reading until I am able to piece together some of the pictures you are painting...
Coincidentely many lines superficially appeal to me, your references to Rimabud, Dali, the Doors -bio title- ('No-one gets out of here alive') as there were all strong influences when I was growing up.
I never actually met my Grandfathers, so I also liked the following stanza:
"Grandfather is dust.
Though he was once robust.
And twinkled with lust."
It's charming. But, I'll shut up for now, go and quietly reconsider, maybe go through your earlier stuff so as to get a better viewpoint of who you are and what's your work dealing with...
Gigan -
There is so much here- I could read, read and re-read it..
fresh language (not as in.. "fresh"), fresh images, fresh thoughts
I loved it
~Scarlet -
I like the evolution of this poem...
a wonderful read. I loved it.
Thank you,
Maria -
I love the rhythm of this. I get so many different visually stimulating things from this piece. I got lost for a moment in thought, stuck in a stanza for a moment, and enjoyed my time there. then went on to read again. This is a nice change from the usual I read around here.
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