Let this be a place where poetry,be it in the form of words, math equations, images or programs, be honored. I invite all members of the "Culture and Science Writing Workshop" to add their poetry to this site. Please add your work as comments, or those members who would like to be added as authors to this blog, please let me know. In this way we will have a record of the verse that we can all look back on and appreciate.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
March Poetry and Writings - place here
Please add any writing for the month of March here as a comment- remember- let me know if you would like to be invited to be an author who can post-
When we walk 18, I add numbers. Sequencing through the sports car landscape abrasives on her chin, my seeking tongue aches by now His breast beating her breast, beating inside mine Through the dishpan as wish as underneath His eyes with her eyes and mine have seen Golden arches spread across the land. She arches her bed and I see a pan Through the fog she comes to him to spread laxative on the highway while I lay awake and her arm Forget there ever was one Ask my simple pink tongue now trapped under glass enflamed by a succubus on a cuckold motorcycle His tongue still seeking for future generations. Her arm obsesses me His blue star up her tongue is down tongue seeking and then her arm and then his tongue on her tax deductible arm inside the little red sports car and I'm back in the saddle again Waiting for sunsets that never come on her blue dress, you can guess the rest winding my way on home on the phone with my agent about the break up and the script just isn't right yet but we'll never work again so what's it matter now? It's time I had a beard So now I'll grow it For my new trade. get me pencils I think I'll be a poet
Chris i love this poem, even though the mood is grim, this one to me hangs together as a whole more than some of your others- perhaps because you firmly have a real experience with a real person in mind as you write this poem.
2 comments:
When we walk 18, I add numbers.
Sequencing through the sports car landscape
abrasives on her chin, my seeking tongue aches by now
His breast beating her breast, beating inside mine
Through the dishpan as wish as underneath
His eyes with her eyes and mine have seen
Golden arches spread across the land.
She arches her bed and I see a pan
Through the fog she comes to him
to spread laxative on the highway
while I lay awake and her arm
Forget there ever was one
Ask my simple pink tongue
now trapped under glass
enflamed by a succubus
on a cuckold motorcycle
His tongue still seeking
for future generations.
Her arm obsesses me
His blue star up
her tongue
is down
tongue seeking
and then her arm
and then his tongue
on her tax deductible arm
inside the little red sports car
and I'm back in the saddle again
Waiting for sunsets that never come
on her blue dress, you can guess the rest
winding my way on home on the phone
with my agent about the break up
and the script just isn't right yet
but we'll never work again
so what's it matter now?
It's time I had a beard
So now I'll grow it
For my new trade.
get me pencils
I think I'll be
a poet
Chris i love this poem, even though the mood is grim, this one to me hangs together as a whole more than some of your others- perhaps because you firmly have a real experience with a real person in mind as you write this poem.
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