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Phenomenality
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31246 posts
Tue Nov-28-06 04:29 PM

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" Post one of your favorite poems..."


  

          

ive been gone for a long time, so hopefully this hasn't been done too terribly recently..

this is one of my all time favorite pieces..

..: instructions for a body :..

praise the miracle body: the odd
and undeniable mechanics of hand,
hundred-boned foot, perfect stretch
of tendon

tell me there are no gods then,
no master plans for this anatomy
with its mobile and evident spark

someone says “children of light”
and another, “goddessfragment” and
another, “chosen” / a dozen makers,
myriad paths, one goal:

some scalpel, some chisel, some crazed
sentimental engineer giving rib, giving
eyelash, giving gut and thumb --

all mattering. all set down
in a going world, vulnerable
and divine

in the beginning was the word.

or before time there was a void
until a voice said “I” and was

or there was star and dust,
explosion and animal, mineral, us::

praise the veins that river these wrists
praise the prolapsed valve in a heart
praise the scars marking a gall bladder absent
praise the rasp and rattle of functioning lungs
praise the pre-arthritic ache of elbows
and ankles
praise the lifeline sectioning a palm
praise the photographic pads of fingertips
praise the vulnerable dip at the base of a throat
praise the muscles surfacing on an abdomen
praise these arms that carry babies
and anthologies
praise the leg hairs that sprout
and are shaved
praise the ass that refuses to shrink
or be hidden
praise the cunt that bleeds
and accepts, bleeds
and accepts
praise the prominent ridge
of nose
praise the strange convexity of ribcage
praise the single hair that insists on growing
from a right areola
praise the dent where the mole was clipped from the back
of a neck
praise these inner thighs brushing
praise these eyelashes that sometimes turn inward
praise these hips preparing to spread
into a grandmother’s skirt
praise the beauty of the freckle
on the first knuckle of a left little finger

we're gone / in a blizzard of seconds
love the body human
while we're here, a gift of minutes
on an evolving planet, a country
in flux / give thanks

what we take for granted, bone and dirt
and the million things that will kill us
someday, motion and the pursuit
of happiness / no guarantees / give thanks

for chaos theory, ecology, common sense that says
we are web. a planet in balance or out, the butterfly
in tokyo setting off thunderstorms in iowa,
tell me you don't matter to a universe that conspired
to give you such a tongue, such rhythm
or rhythmless hips, such opposable thumbs –
give thanks or go home a waste of spark

speak or let the maker take back your throat
march or let the creator rescind your feet
dream or let your god destroy your good and fertile mind

this is your warning / this
your birthright / do not let
this universe regret you.

-marty mcconnell

share yours!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
To change, we must face the dragon of our appetites with another dragon... the life-energy of our Soul...

  

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Topic Outline
Subject Author Message Date ID
RE: Post one of your favorite poems...
Nov 28th 2006
1
RE: Post one of your favorite poems...
Nov 28th 2006
2
^^ wow... powerful for sure.
Nov 29th 2006
5
RE: Post one of your favorite poems...
Nov 29th 2006
3
^^LOVE this..
Nov 29th 2006
4
Desire
Nov 29th 2006
6
loved it
Dec 08th 2006
15
RE: Post one of your favorite poems...
Nov 29th 2006
7
The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes
Nov 29th 2006
9
A Song in the Front Yard
Nov 29th 2006
8
yes
Dec 08th 2006
14
RE: Post one of your favorite poems...
Dec 08th 2006
10
ahh, E.E. Cummings...
Dec 08th 2006
12
i think it has to be
Dec 08th 2006
13
the last stanza
Dec 08th 2006
16
RE: Post one of your favorite poems...
Dec 08th 2006
11
i have always loved this poem
Dec 09th 2006
17

PhotoSynthesis
Charter member
16101 posts
Tue Nov-28-06 04:41 PM

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1. "RE: Post one of your favorite poems..."
In response to Reply # 0


          

AN INSPIRATIONAL POEM

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit-
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a fellow turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow -
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man;
Often the struggler has given up
Whe he might have captured the victor's cup;
And he learned too late when the night came down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -
The silver tint in the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It might be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit -
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

~By Helen Stiener Rice~

A guitar string vibrating, a measure of my soul, a breech in the silence --
I've always felt like words come through me & I write them down... they have no master --- gsquared ♥

http://www.soundclick.com/bands/2/photosynthesis_music.htm

  

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delrica
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6889 posts
Tue Nov-28-06 04:54 PM

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2. "RE: Post one of your favorite poems..."
In response to Reply # 0


  

          

Hookers

They were high rent
White corsets and panties and stockings and polished high heels
The kinds of clothes you'd freeze to death in outdoors at night if it wasn't August
And we
Packed a car like sardines
Scumbag teens
Driving from North Jersey to New York City
To go gawk at the sex objects
I failed to catch irony falling from my mouth
Telling my cousin
"You never see women like this
Just walking down the street"

They were impossible
Frustration crushing us from a distance
Limousines circled their block
Like prey
That didn't know how to get away
And they
Clicked a bone weary rhythm march that begged for interruption
Made pictures of themselves with stage makeup
And fluorescent house lights spaced into city block segments

Priestesses of all things undeniably male
Killing common sense in exchange
For giving all those men exactly what they wanted
What they didn't have the courage to find
Without sacrificing money as an offering
Too weak to be the kinds of men
That could have the kind of women they craved
So they caved
Kept their heads down until odd Fridays
Did the calculator dance on their paychecks
And set out to find controllable vice

But some of us were just there to watch
The silverback alpha males with drivers
With money to burn, with limp dicks that required
Two servants at a time to be reinflated
Who need to see a woman their daughter's age
Face down and faking with eager reaching hands
Catching nosebleeds from eroding addiction
Working to keep her pimp's blade sheathed

We
Never saw her ugliness
She was idealized
All potential and no damage
Perfect at the range outside the reach
Of our meager pocket cash
We circled
The block
Like vultures
Scouring the sights for hours
Scouting for slaughter
Wondering what sex and slow death
Smelled like
After it was cooking
In the sun
All day

by Mike O'Hara

----------------------
Cop my stuff, mayne!

My first chapbook: "This Chapbook Was Made With Pilfered Office Products" available now - $6.00

My 2nd chapbook, coming in 2007: "Orgasms and Ice Cream"

fmi: http://www.myspace.com/delrica

  

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Phenomenality
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31246 posts
Wed Nov-29-06 02:07 PM

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5. "^^ wow... powerful for sure."
In response to Reply # 2


  

          


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
To change, we must face the dragon of our appetites with another dragon... the life-energy of our Soul...

  

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southqueens
Member since Jul 20th 2005
3352 posts
Wed Nov-29-06 12:48 PM

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3. "RE: Post one of your favorite poems..."
In response to Reply # 0


  

          


hush

if there were no night sky
i would cut a few strands of your hair
and pin them to each side of the universe

if the gentle breeze was absent
i would utter one of an infinite number of praises
so that you would become shy and touch my hand

if there happened to be no sign of the stars
i would ask to take future tears from your eyes
and hurl them into space

if the moon became absent
i would take your delicate smile
and hang it with care

if the night ceased to exist
i'd have no fear
as long as you were at my side.

the new sig-

"When you know that the life and spirit of others depend on your life and spirit, you have no right to be afraid - even when you are terribly afraid."

-Sembene Ousmane

  

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Phenomenality
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31246 posts
Wed Nov-29-06 02:05 PM

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4. "^^LOVE this.."
In response to Reply # 3


  

          

very ethereal language.. this is a style i pattern my own writing to.

>
>hush
>
>if there were no night sky
>i would cut a few strands of your hair
>and pin them to each side of the universe
>
>if the gentle breeze was absent
>i would utter one of an infinite number of praises
>so that you would become shy and touch my hand
>
>if there happened to be no sign of the stars
>i would ask to take future tears from your eyes
>and hurl them into space
>
>if the moon became absent
>i would take your delicate smile
>and hang it with care
>
>if the night ceased to exist
>i'd have no fear
>as long as you were at my side.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
To change, we must face the dragon of our appetites with another dragon... the life-energy of our Soul...

  

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Morehouse
Member since Feb 25th 2003
7568 posts
Wed Nov-29-06 03:31 PM

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6. "Desire"
In response to Reply # 0


  

          

A woman in my class wrote that she is sick
of men wanting her body and when she reads
her poem out loud the other women all nod
and even some of the men lower their eyes

and look abashed as if ready to unscrew
their cocks and pound down their own dumb heads
with these innocent sausages of flesh, and none
would think of confessing his hunger

or admit how desire can ring like a constant
low note in the brain or grant how the sight
of a beautiful woman can make him groan
on those first spring days when the parkas

have been packed away and the bodies are staring
at the bodies and the eyes stare at the ground;
and there was a man I knew who even at ninety
swore that his desire had never diminished.

Is this simply the wish to procreate, the world
telling the cock to eat faster, while the cock
yearns for that moment when it forgets its loneliness
and the world flares up in an explosion of light?

Why have men been taught to feel ashamed
of their desire, as if each were a criminal
out on parole, a desperado with a long record
of muggings, rapes, such conduct as excludes

each one from all but the worst company,
and never to be trusted, no never to be trusted?
Why must men pretend to be indifferent as if each
were a happy eunuch engaged in spiritual thoughts?

But it's the glances that I like, the quick ones,
the unguarded ones, like a hand snatching a pie
from a window ledge and the feet pounding away;
eyes fastening on a leg, a breast, the curve

of a buttock, as the pulse takes an extra thunk
and the cock, that toothless worm, stirs in its sleep,
and fat possibility swaggers into the world
like a big spender entering a bar. And sometimes

the woman glances back. Oh, to disappear
in a tangle of fabric and flesh as the cock
sniffs out its little cave, and the body hungers
for closure, for the completion of the circle,

as if each of us were born only half a body
and we spend our lives searching for the rest.
What good does it do to deny desire, to chain
the cock to the leg and scrawl a black X

across its bald head, to hold out a hand
for each passing woman to slap? Better
to be bad and unrepentant, better to celebrate
each difference, not to be cruel or gluttonous

or overbearing, but full of hope and self-forgiving.
The flesh yearns to converse with other flesh.
Each pore loves to linger over its particular story.
Let these seconds not be full of self-recrimination

and apology. What is desire but the wish for some
relief from the self, the prisoner let out
into a small square of sunlight with a single
red flower and a bird crossing the sky, to lean back

against the bricks with the legs outstretched,
to feel the sun warming the brow, before returning
to one's mortal cage, steel doors slamming
in the cell block, steel bolts sliding shut?

-Stephen Dobyns

  

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rgv
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4556 posts
Fri Dec-08-06 10:54 PM

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15. "loved it"
In response to Reply # 6


          

i just want chu to know
how i feel
how i feel

  

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Nowachaoticthing
Member since Dec 24th 2002
2178 posts
Wed Nov-29-06 08:16 PM

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7. "RE: Post one of your favorite poems..."
In response to Reply # 0


  

          

Lullaby (the Divorce Song)

Hush little girl
Sweet baby don't cry
Tonight
Daddy is here and he'll sing you a soft lullaby
Tonight
Why can't it all be like it was before?
How can I explain why mommy's not here anymore?

'Cuz daddy likes porno and ten dollar whores
Daddy gets wasted and robs liquor stores
Daddy likes rubbing against little boys on the bus
I think that's why mommy left us
Mommy left us

Hush little girl
There is no reason to fret
Tonight
Don't mind the smoke
Daddy just wants to forget
Tonight
Soon it will all be like it was before
Any minute she will walk through that front door

But daddy plays poker and drinks lots of beer
Then he wants sex that involves mommy's rear
Daddy has sores on his naughty parts oozing with puss
I think that's why your mommy left us

Please don't cry
I swear I'll try
To be here by your side

Right after daddy gets home from the bar
Visits his bookie
And steals a new car
He'll drive to the strip club
And if daddy plays cards right
He'll bring home your new mommy tonight

~by Stephen Lynch, Singer, songwriter, comedian-actor




"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession."
- Robert Frost

My crappy blog: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eyes_of_mine/

Blind Eye Turning: My book
http://www.lulu.com/content/187759

My other crappy blog:
http://inevitabletruth.blogspot.com/

  

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ms mimi diva
Member since Feb 05th 2006
589 posts
Wed Nov-29-06 08:48 PM

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9. "The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes"
In response to Reply # 7


  

          

The Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes



I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

http://worthwatering.blogspot.com
Can it be I stayed away too long?/
Did I leave your mind when I was gone?/
It's not my thing trying to get back/
But this time let me tell you where I'm at-- Jackson Five

  

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SepiaSylph
Member since Nov 09th 2005
15422 posts
Wed Nov-29-06 08:44 PM

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8. "A Song in the Front Yard"
In response to Reply # 0


  

          

I've stayed in the front yard all my life.
I want a peek at the back
Where it's rough and untended and hungry weed grows.
A girl gets sick of a rose.


I want to go in the back yard now
And maybe down the alley,
To where the charity children play.
I want a good time today.


They do some wonderful things.
The have some wonderful fun.
My mother sneers, but I say it's fine
How they don't have to go in at quarter to nine.
My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae
Will grow up to be a bad woman.
That George'll be taken to Jail soon or late
(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).

--Gwendolyn Brooks


But I say it's fine Honest, I do
And I'd like to be a bad woman, too,
And wear the brave stocking of night-black lace
And strut down the streets with paint on my face.

  

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rgv
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4556 posts
Fri Dec-08-06 10:53 PM

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14. "yes"
In response to Reply # 8


          

i just want chu to know
how i feel
how i feel

  

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UncleClimax
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13786 posts
Fri Dec-08-06 04:09 AM

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10. "RE: Post one of your favorite poems..."
In response to Reply # 0


  

          

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

-- e. e. cummings

__________________
http://twitter.com/theloniousfunk
http://havetravelled.blogspot.com
http://instagram.com/arsonwelles

“Be uncomfortable; be sand, not oil, to the machinery of the world.”
- Gunter Eich

  

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Morehouse
Member since Feb 25th 2003
7568 posts
Fri Dec-08-06 05:17 PM

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12. "ahh, E.E. Cummings..."
In response to Reply # 10


  

          

one of the first poems I read.

  

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UncleClimax
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13786 posts
Fri Dec-08-06 07:40 PM

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13. "i think it has to be"
In response to Reply # 12


  

          

my favorite poem written originally in english.

__________________
http://twitter.com/theloniousfunk
http://havetravelled.blogspot.com
http://instagram.com/arsonwelles

“Be uncomfortable; be sand, not oil, to the machinery of the world.”
- Gunter Eich

  

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rgv
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4556 posts
Fri Dec-08-06 10:58 PM

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16. "the last stanza"
In response to Reply # 10


          

i just want chu to know
how i feel
how i feel

  

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WILDOUT
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2723 posts
Fri Dec-08-06 02:25 PM

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11. "RE: Post one of your favorite poems..."
In response to Reply # 0
Fri Dec-08-06 02:40 PM by WILDOUT

  

          

We are godfood under ill-advised farmer's roofs
We are afraid of the one thing which makes us justifiable
We seek what we already have
We speak when we should listen
We listen when we should speak
but there is no should only future would's would patterns
We speak when we would speak
We listen when we would listen
We are all choices all movements
We are the wave that is the tide
We are life and this body is what makes us sheppards
Our faces leave footprints in the snow
The walls and all we have put here
We are the things that we do
We are the things that have happened
the bridge between before you
We are awake in a new world
each new moment we live
God is miraculous in presence
you should give thanks to be it
and join the Earth's rejoicing
and live your true heaven
see the inner movement
be one with the dancing

  

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mindful
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41306 posts
Sat Dec-09-06 04:45 PM

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17. "i have always loved this poem"
In response to Reply # 0


  

          


Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Maya Angelou

---------------------------------------
the book
http://www.lulu.com/content/132318
http://msmind.wordpress.com|this boring life

juste habiter.

  

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