It is the sweetest kind of conversation,
after making love to talk and touch.
It's not what's said as much
as where it's said.
It is the bed itself
that seems to speak
not from a need or want it must fulfill
but just the pleasure of our lying still
and talking while we wait to fall asleep.
sam
-------------------------
email me at: sam...@newsguy.com
visit the 'sam archives' at
http://extra.newsguy.com/~samhome/home.htm
~Steve Layton
..............
sam@home wrote in message <7n3bpd$8...@edrn.newsguy.com>...
carmen
Mop
--
June's Guest Poet: Dale Houstman
June's Feature: The Popol Vuh Translations
http://www.go-get.co.uk/gopoems/
Tony Hoffman interview & AAPC FAQ
http://www.go-get.co.uk/gopoems/aapc
<sam@home> wrote in message news:7n3bpd$8...@edrn.newsguy.com...
regards,
Sarah
sam@home wrote in message <7n3bpd$8...@edrn.newsguy.com>...
sam
>
>..............
Thanks, Mop.
sam
>
>--
>June's Guest Poet: Dale Houstman
>June's Feature: The Popol Vuh Translations
>http://www.go-get.co.uk/gopoems/
>
>Tony Hoffman interview & AAPC FAQ
>http://www.go-get.co.uk/gopoems/aapc
>
>
><sam@home> wrote in message news:7n3bpd$8...@edrn.newsguy.com...
Thanks, Sarah.
Life is far more perfect than art.
Life is what art strives to touch.
sam
>sam@home wrote in message <7n3bpd$8...@edrn.newsguy.com>...
While he was reading
she was experimenting with pillows, drapes, folding
and unfolding her life's pop-up book.
His inertia tumbled infinitely toward noon.
She was abandoning the abstract:
tables and chairs, tables and chairs
he hummed, but she would not accompany him.
He wished that she was naked. She glared
busy rearranging the window.
He suggested a view of the chicken farm
their illustrious, refugee velocity
somehow comforted him.
"But the colors are all wrong," she said.
How could he argue? Renegade chickens
ran headless through his mind, falling to earth
like great feathered comets smiling with exhaustion.
The cosmic debris was everywhere.
"D. H. Lawrence said that Cezanne's apples
were more important than Plato's ideas,"
she said, and he put down the book.
He had a theory, a small one he always carried with him:
is it really necessary that there be something
rather than nothing? Picasso said if you see nothing
use black.
She stamped her foot, "At the least sight of blood
and you go catatonic."
Nihil
amantes sunt amentes
Bravo, I say, for keeping the rhyme to a minimum. And that's just about
right about Frost, making an external thing speak for an internal thing
("Window Tree") but his marriage I don't think ever had a "sweet"
conversation.
Jerry
kate
<sam@home> wrote in message news:7n3bpd$8...@edrn.newsguy.com...
Thanks, kate.
sam
..........
>His inertia tumbled infinitely toward noon.
[I'm not sure I can like this line, even if I really want to.]
..........
>He wished that she was naked. She glared
> busy rearranging the window.
["glared/busy?"]
>He suggested a view of the chicken farm
[Big yank on perspective; just lost my bearings.]
> their illustrious, refugee velocity
> somehow comforted him.
["illustrious"?]
.........
> The cosmic debris was everywhere.
[lose "cosmic".]
.........
>she said, and he put down the book.
["she said"?....I can't quite picture her saying the preceding, in the
context of what you've written.]
.........
>She stamped her foot, "At the least sight of blood
> and you go catatonic."
[lose either "At" or "and".]
..............
These...
>She was abandoning the abstract:
> tables and chairs, tables and chairs
>he hummed, but she would not accompany him.
*
>"But the colors are all wrong," she said.
>How could he argue?
*
>He had a theory, a small one he always carried with him:
> is it really necessary that there be something
> rather than nothing? Picasso said if you see nothing
> use black.
...are wonderful.
~Steve Layton
http://www.geocities.com/~dalgas/
.......................
Nihilnovum wrote in message <7n4o23$m$1...@nntp2.atl.mindspring.net>...
Bonnie
I like this. (i think.) See some comments below.
In article <7n4o23$m$1...@nntp2.atl.mindspring.net>,
"Nihilnovum" <nihil...@excite.com> wrote:
> Cezanne's Apples
>
> While he was reading
> she was experimenting with pillows, drapes, folding
I like this.
> and unfolding her life's pop-up book.
But not this.
> His inertia tumbled infinitely toward noon.
I like this line.
> She was abandoning the abstract:
> tables and chairs, tables and chairs
> he hummed, but she would not accompany him.
perfect.
> He wished that she was naked. She glared
> busy rearranging the window.
glared/busy just doesnt work.
> He suggested a view of the chicken farm
> their illustrious, refugee velocity
> somehow comforted him.
I'm confused now.
>
> "But the colors are all wrong," she said.
> How could he argue? Renegade chickens
> ran headless through his mind, falling to earth
> like great feathered comets smiling with exhaustion.
> The cosmic debris was everywhere.
Still confused.
> "D. H. Lawrence said that Cezanne's apples
> were more important than Plato's ideas,"
> she said, and he put down the book.
> He had a theory, a small one he always carried with him:
> is it really necessary that there be something
> rather than nothing? Picasso said if you see nothing
> use black.
This section is fabulous.
> She stamped her foot, "At the least sight of blood
> and you go catatonic."
this quote doesnt make sense.
>
Good luck with this piece. I hope to see a revised version.
~Blaine
>
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