Author Topic: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language  (Read 69284 times)

Offline Allie

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #45 on: April 08, 2007, 04:33:41 AM »
MWC:Allie:Irl

There is no way to answer this
Until we understand
The whole story.
Were we written once,
And for all time?
Or are we just a draft
Of something better,
Full of crossings-out and
Insertions,
Ready to be cut and pasted
Onto new pages?
Does the author sit down
In the middle of the eternal day
To rewrite our souls?
Where will we find the answer?
In a church,
Or elsewhere?

« Last Edit: April 08, 2007, 04:09:55 PM by Allie »

Offline Melita

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #46 on: April 08, 2007, 08:20:47 AM »
MWC:Melita:UK

He'll be at church now,
always on Easter Sunday,
with pious clasped hands to please his mother.
Trying to sit still and work out
what the Bible means, except he
only correlates words with music.
He boasts a five-string bass, which he plays
lazily and sings in a growl to rival Tom Waits.
He adds drum'n'bass beats to the organ,
freestyles the middle 8 of a hymn, hums
ska riffs to himself and wonders
how he came to drink several too many
after they played the blues last night.
« Last Edit: April 10, 2007, 04:31:08 AM by Melita »

Offline caliban1

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #47 on: April 08, 2007, 09:48:39 AM »
In this windy place on Easter morning,
it is nature playing drums on the roof,
and again there is a southwesterly with rain
carrying information from the sea.
Somehow it is clear this was all meant to be;
it is left to us to read the signs.
We all play our part in the design,
some are dancing in tropical light,
while others look out through darkened windows.
Here we come together to make
a sort of worship not suited for the church,
but in its way an offering to eternal good.
if the waving of branches in the sky
is to be properly understood.
Give thanks by offering a word
for out grand enterprise of poesy.
« Last Edit: April 09, 2007, 12:37:21 PM by caliban1 »
It is all a metaphor.

Offline Bubbles

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #48 on: April 09, 2007, 12:29:07 PM »





MWC.  Bubbles, Wales, UK.


Yes, let us give thanks,
with our hands clasped around golden plastic,
or blue, tapping number codes.
Trying to get through.
Hunting in Mammon's chantry whilst You Arise anew,
each year less lauded than the last.
In stoned basilicas and lilaced chancels the faithful sing hushed songs
of Hope in a slowly dying language.
The Gate stands ajar for the returning.
Inviting
and invisible.
We wait in a queue, maimed ears untuned to their music.

Offline Stupot

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #49 on: April 09, 2007, 04:08:01 PM »
MWC Stupot UK

We wait in the eternal queue,
for the Reapers finger on our shoulder,
the signal of our impending Judgement.
But is there a Judgement?
Or only soil or ash and
the science of decomposition.

Offline Allie

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #50 on: April 09, 2007, 04:47:28 PM »
Talking of decomposition,
There is something about this Easter
That seems to have depressed the spirits.
Poets have begun to look inwards,
Towards some hidden mystery,
Rather than examining the world around them.
Could it be the recurring sound of distant
Iraqi bombs, the posturing of Iran,
The British Ministry of Defence allowing
Its newly-released sailors
To sell their stories to the tabloids,
In a bizarre act of prostitution,
Or the timpanic tales of global warming,
With their apocalyptic visions
Of a thousand tsunamis and lost worlds
Ucovered beneath the poles,
Or even the strange and once unimaginable
Sight of Ian Paisley sitting down
With Gerry Adams of Sinn Fein,
That make the world seem so like a dream
These days, and nightmare often?
Perhaps there is nowhere else for poets
To retreat to,
But their own castles in the air,
Seeking the comfort of
Their own unrealities.


« Last Edit: April 09, 2007, 06:12:41 PM by Allie »

Offline Bubbles

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #51 on: April 09, 2007, 05:59:57 PM »


MWC. Bubbles. Wales, UK.

Be kind to me, tread gently on my transience.
I am my touchstone.
Remember my fragility, then pile the reasons high.
I live, they lived,
and vapourous spawning billions will also have the pleasure.
This leperous ship of black cracked glass, spotted with lustful greed,
sails on, un-caring and un-hindered.
Unstoppable and vast she floats across your conquered bones.
Yet safe in the cabins of pointed fingers
and at our captain's table of shame,
all lifetime's crewing is the same.
No improvement, no blame.
Take us back to the beginning, then, whoever You may be.
Why don't you shake us till we squeal?
Or give us peace to know we are no worse or better,
no crueller,
than those who went before.
Please.



Offline Melita

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #52 on: April 10, 2007, 05:15:41 AM »
MWC:Melita:UK

I whispered 'Please' as the tugboat pulled the black freight in,
and we waited on the shoreline.
I watched you, unlovely child, pottering with
shells and crabs and seaweed in the dawn light.
The boat crunched on the sand, loud against
the soft curving of morning.
You wandered further as they heaved the hull higher,
beaching the boat. I saw the black shape, still.
A man nodded and the others watched
for my reaction. They murmured words to me
about approximated time of death, times of high tides
and explanations for suicide.
I nodded and they left.
You were half a beach away by now, half a world.
I called you back, and tried to summon enough moisture
from dry sea air to tell you 'Baby, your Daddy's gone.'
« Last Edit: April 11, 2007, 05:59:33 AM by Melita »

Offline Bubbles

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #53 on: April 11, 2007, 05:46:57 AM »
MWC. Bubbles, Wales, UK.




Away to the playing fields of imagination,
blithe obscurity,
the obscenity of living over and done.
Hush, here come the rattled assurances, the bare faced beliefs.
The indent of toes in disgarded shoes, spectacles in drawers.
Pass them on to the Third World. 
In India, molecules of you will sit on darker bridges.
Virgin morning and cruel birds still uninformed, sing aloft,
undiminished by my loss.
One day ago.  So long ago.
Where are you now, no, don't answer, for I know where you'll be in a ragged week?
I want to walk the sands of Bali in a procession.
I saw it once, a bright edged page I turn when in search of beauty.
Would you prefer the soft slap of waves, you, ashy, on the knitted palm leaf platter?
Away, away to the deep, people could be smiling and dressed in pink.
And yellow.
Hushed bells would ring,
Fallen coconuts, virgin green,
gracing caramel diamond sands.
Friends would whisper songs of the earth.
We would not weep.
Shall I take you there?

« Last Edit: April 13, 2007, 09:56:55 PM by Bubbles »

Offline Amie

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #54 on: April 11, 2007, 06:24:39 AM »
MWC, Saturnine, UK

I wish I hadn't taken me there
Easter weekend with the outlaws
and though my father-in-law's words
were most certainly not poetry to my ears
perhaps we can relish them here
in their full comic glory.
he talks at you like a steamroller
all that's wrong with the world
how things should be
never a question, "How are you?"
never any sharing of goodwill
just a constant barrage of
racist, sexist, ill-informed statements -
Over dinner:
"the worst thing we ever did in this country
was let in all these immigrants
In twenty years' time, we'll have no racial purity!"
(I, being of one of the offending races
am still stunned into silence by these statements
his son-in-law, also too dark by half, just gapes, though
pictures of the three "half-caste" grandchildren grace the kitchen)
....and still, over coffee
"It all went wrong when we let women own property:
that's why there's so much divorce in this country
- If a woman's not happy in her marriage,
she can just leave
whenever she wants!"
....and on, over breakfast:
"Young people don't know the meaning of work
spoiled by the nanny state they are
if they'd had to graft on the land like I did...
well, they wouldn't do it, we'd all starve!"
over and over and over
and still, into the night
the things he would ban overnight, if he were in charge:
budget airlines (as long as he could still travel freely)
duty free shops
employee pensions
annual pay rises for workers
mixer taps
side mounted wing mirrors
car radios
TV broadcasts after 11 pm
trade unions
alcohol for the working classes
belts without braces
and on and on and on and on.
I wish I could have him banned overnight.
« Last Edit: April 11, 2007, 12:57:52 PM by Saturnine »
"You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet." - Kafka

Offline Allie

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #55 on: April 11, 2007, 06:42:09 AM »
MWC:Allie:Irl

Can we ever really know another person,
Without hearing what he says?
I think we can.
This gaunt man walking towards me
Bent over with the weight of
Some terrible burden,
Perhaps an unhappy marriage,
Or a rift with his father way back in youth,
Or the cutting sadness of losing a child,
I do not see him as a scientist might,
A skeleton clothed,
A mechanism that works this way or that,
An outward specimen of mankind,
But naked in his being, as if some magical vision
Had entirely revealed him to me.
I see his savage hungers and his pride,
The things buried deep within his nature that
His mother glimpsed
That first moment he was laid upon her breast.
I clearly see what he has been
And what he will become.
His truth flashes across the closing distance
Between us,
This man I have not spoken to, nor ever will,
Who is not even aware of me or my scrutiny,
Whose eyes rest briefly on me,
Unnoticing, and then look away.
This stranger now approaching,
I know him well,
As if we occupied the same groove,
Shared the same sadnesses and joys.
Now we have reached one another, and
For just one moment I breathe inside his skin,
Then am left bereft as he passes by.
« Last Edit: April 11, 2007, 06:43:57 PM by Allie »

Offline Prospero

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #56 on: April 11, 2007, 09:13:30 AM »
Prospero USA

The dancing jester
skirts the narrow edge
his face a skull
of unredeemed
dreams and follies
into my sleep
he comes and
whispers to me
vast secrets
that pass into
chill oblivion
as I wait and wake
into a somber
day of rain
and snow
where no birds sing

Offline Gyppo

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #57 on: April 11, 2007, 01:30:23 PM »
MWC:  Gyppo  UK

The Jester grew bored at his desk
and turned off the processor.
He donned his motley,
of muted Greens and Browns,
not the red and yellow
of tradition,
and walked out to see the world.

Spring was in the air,
with the scent of flowers
and the perfume of Young Ladies.
And people were smiling.
Yes smiling at strangers,
even at the weird Hippy
in his tatterdemalion rags.

The girls parade their fashions,
some with the innocence
of the truly virginal,
their eyes bright with curiosity
but without speculation.
Without the 'I know now' look
which shows they can't help wondering.

Sharply dressed businesswomen
sit on park benches,
limbs neatly arranged
as artificially perfect nails peck
fastidiously at 'lean cuisine',
every calorie balanced against
their ideal self image.

Not a crumb falling
to feed the waiting pigeons.
Perfect hair, immaculate clothes,
subtle perfume - never overdone -
and a perfectly painted mouth.
Impeccably correct body language.
Nothing to offend, and nothing to please.

But at the snack waggon the gypsy-dark
girl wears a shapeless smock,
a natural unpainted smile,
and the welcoming fragrance
of freshly grilled Bacon.
She wears it all with a casual grace
that Ms Perfect could never match.
 
My website is currently having a holiday, but will return like the $6,000,000 man.  Bigger, stronger, etc.

In the meantime, why not take pity on a starving author and visit my book sales page at http://stores.lulu.com/gyppo1

Offline Johnorman

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #58 on: April 11, 2007, 01:47:31 PM »
Johnorman: New Zealand

Aye, prospero lad,
skull I did,
to the island.
Me and Miranda,
comely lass of
my own making.
Unversed though,
in the powerful
loosener of my tongue.
Is it my will leads me
to fanciful flights
where no sparrow
dare fly, or yours,
as when leading
adoring crowds
whence you willed.
Spearing with barbs.
shaving off a pound
here or there,
or in a country
where cheese is
princely currency.
Off course we drifted
several times;
a tortuous voyage
I reckoned my
bro could never
recreate, but he did.
In the process
enticing black sorcery
to twine wispish
tendrils around my
burdened soul.
To the point where
willingly I will cast it
overboard, for seabirds
to argue about
interminably, and longer.
Not being normal is great.

Offline Amie

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #59 on: April 11, 2007, 02:43:02 PM »

my cat loves seabirds
loves their call, echoing in the garden
loves their feathers, as they scatter the soil
but more than that she loves my computer
loves its inexhaustible warmth
loves the purr of its ancient fans
She loves too, the underfloor heating
the hum of the washing machine
and that ultra-toasty space between me and my man
under the covers, while we sleep
sometimes daring to squish her,
a cosying feline, the jam in the sandwich.
"You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet." - Kafka