Author Topic: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language  (Read 73676 times)

Offline paramour

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MWC: paramour:USA

Sunlight dancing on the waves of the lake,
I see a glimmer of life all around.
The snow is gone and the flowers are up!
Winter's death is the birth of spring!

Seagulls cry for joy in the air
while the waves murmur their lullaby,
and kites dance among the clouds.
My shoes are filled with sand.

How fast the seasons turn about;
back and forth they flip through time.
I feel the silky smoothness of time
is an endless dance with God.
~paramour.

Leigh

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MWC: Leigh, USA

I close my lids, soon lost,
hid in the silken wheat-
washed in the strands of purity
she unknowing shares.
Upon the narrow wooden bed,
I insinuate myself,
my common, clumsy, adult self,
beside the sleeping pixie.
Let me absorb some innocence-
some overspill of paradise,
to calm a mother's fear.
Let her drift on, in slumber
never feel this watery salt,
I drop upon her cheek.
Shh, shh, I murmer, it's okay...
to Mother and to Daughter.
These days of monetary want,
of stomach-clenching anxiousness,
will also pass.
Just as the transient down
upon her silken cheek-
wearing a mother's tear,
a tiny diadem.

« Last Edit: May 01, 2007, 06:58:43 PM by Leigh »

Offline Allie

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MWC:Allie:Irl

You would think a mother would know her son:
The day is bright and and saucy with surprise.
And I am looking at everything in a new way.
You imagine that you know your son,
Know him well, the way he thinks and feels,
And what might be on his mind: Money
And getting on in life; next year's wedding bells;
Going for a few jars with some old friends;
Maybe a holiday somewhere in Spain;
And making plans, just the normal run of things.
You think you know him well and then you find
That he has a secret side: Behind closed doors
Away from prying eyes, he has been following you
In writing down his life.


Lin

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MWC Lin The Netherlands

How to be proactive Ive tried to teach my son
Think ahead, work very smart and listen to your Mum
But no matter how I try his mind is somewhere else
Proactiveness does not compute, it leaves an awful mess.
Last minute is the daily theme"Ive lost my keys again"
"Well that isn't my fault darling son, Im not the one to blame"
"My travel pass got stolen, but I've found it in my pocket
I didnt shave, the foam ran out, Im late for work, oh! focket!"
With face in hands I quite despair and wonder how to teach
Proactiveness, its too late- for now his life's a beach!


« Last Edit: May 04, 2007, 06:32:15 AM by Lin »

Offline Allie

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A dark day feels like despair,
Coming after so many that were bright:
It somehow seems darker
Than dark days weíve known before.
Weíve grown used to the light and must
Now adjust ourselves to darkness
Once more.
We do it every year, but gradually,
Growing through autumn into winter,
Losing a little light with each passing minute,
So that we hardly notice the loss.
But to waken this morning to an overcast sky
After weeks of sunshine
Seems somehow alarming,
Almost like a warning
Of further darkness to come:
The cataclysmic darkness that lies
In wait for us all.
But now momentarily the day has cleared again,
And despair seems like an exaggeration
Of dark thoughts against the brightening sky.






Offline paramour

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MWC: paramour:USA

Orange red and yellow bird
in a bright blue sky
of fluttering cloth gliding
attached to a smiling child.

Strings laced in little fingers
played like Latin guitars,
are the only connection
from our earth to God's heaven.

Laughing children squeal delight
the brilliant bird comes crashing down!
Sandy shoes run for dear life,
lifting the kite to touch the sun!

Again the rainbow eagle soars!
So high it seems alive.
The breaking string it's freedom brings
at the cost of a child's tears...

« Last Edit: May 08, 2007, 09:57:28 AM by paramour »
~paramour.

Leigh

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MWC: Leigh, USA


I saw an eagle in the zoo, a Bald Eagle,
'Haliaeetus leucocephalus'
the wooden sign proclaimed.
Atop a deadend tree, stripped of its bark,
a huge brown mass of feathered strength,
topped by the distinctive snow.
I marveled at the nest, of heavy branches,
huge, and intricate, secure upon that reach.
We watched from down below, his amber eye
frowned upon us, deadly beak a hook.
And far above, the open sky was cyan,
not a cloud, and we could see the birds
the starlings and the robins, wheeling free,
above the metal mesh that yawned between.
I was only ten, but I remember
the sign that said the eagle's outspread wing
could reach seventy-five, to eighty inches.
I still can see that dome that came between.

« Last Edit: May 31, 2007, 03:39:40 PM by Leigh »

Offline Allie

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MWC:Allie:Irl

Sometimes something comes               
Between me and my attempts
To write. It's not that I canít think
Of anything to put down; far from it,
My mind teems with all kinds
Of possibilities, but somehow they donít
Translate to the page the way
I would like. Oh, they leap out vivid
And bright enough, but then they flop
Down lifelessly, as if they needed
My passion to keep them going. Itís a bit
Of a mystery to me why some ideas
Travel around the world by themselves
In what amounts to perpetual motion,
While others just lie there, inanimate
Bundles of letters without a soul
To energise them. Hey, speaking of souls,
Do you suppose that God ever suffers
From writerís block?

« Last Edit: May 14, 2007, 04:22:03 AM by Allie »

Offline Amie

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MWC:Saturnine:UK

You know, I was talking to God the other day
She said, "Hey kid, don't sweat it, you worry too much.
I like you, I've always liked you.
I wouldn't have made you this way if it wasn't what I wanted."
I'm thinking, "What about all the murderers and axe-rapists and stuff?"
but don't say it aloud.  Doesn't do to diss the almighty after all...
Still she says, "Don't worry, I know the end:
It all works out.  Trust me.
And when it comes to writing,
remember what I told Kaylin Haught: 'Yes, yes, yes' "
"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

Lin

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Lin - The Netherlands

Oh yes - Holidays, it's that time  again.
Beach shoes only worn three times a year
Are lost at  the bottom of the wardrobe.
"I dont remember wearing that!" I say.
Its cold in the UK,
I take every conceivable garb to cover all weathers.
Three suitcases, Nordic walking sticks and heavy boots.
Im going over the sea to T-Eilean Sgitheanach,
That's Skye to you the Sassenach.
To Sleat and Broadford Bay sailing the Lochs.
If I had my total freedom I would spend
Every day writing about Scotland and the Western Isles
Breathtaking views of the Cullins call me back,
Roll on Thursday!

« Last Edit: May 14, 2007, 06:09:03 AM by Lin »

Offline Melita

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #100 on: May 15, 2007, 06:10:09 AM »
Off Scotland's West coast is a whirlpool,
the world's third largest, the Corrievreckan.
It has another name, too, they tell me.
But we won't scare you with it.
I wonder what could scare me more than a 700-
foot hole in the ocean, surging grey water
swelling against Jura's radius.

The boat seats six, just, and two terriers.
Sue chain-smokes in her tight life-jacket,
her husband at the helm, mock sou'-wester cocked
while the reluctant artist sucks down her nausea.
We at the back, twenty years between us,
both with childish red grins and plastic cups
of Cava, our faces in the spray.
She yells over the engine How does it feel
to be a mile from the Gateway to Hell?
« Last Edit: May 16, 2007, 05:44:11 AM by Melita »

Offline fordy

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #101 on: May 20, 2007, 04:40:53 PM »
Last night as hot
as Hell
too much
for an Autumn night
I lay tossing
sleepless in
the still darkness
until you came
down our street
at eleven-thirty-three
P.M.

You drunken lout
banging gates
playing footy with
the beer cans
left ready for
the rubbish man
in the morning

Boy were you noisy
just you on your own
thrown out when
the isobars closed
running down the gradient
of barometric pressure
to hurl yourself against
the walls of my castle

But

I closed the windows
pretending
you weren't there
and lay tossing
in the darkness
listening to
your cacophonous brawl
as you vent your spleen
for all to hear

To whom can one report
a Nor'west gale?
If I always do what I always did, I'll always get what I always got.

Offline paramour

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #102 on: May 21, 2007, 01:59:01 PM »
May time warmth
a fickle darling this season,
as cold comes to kiss
the ground we walk on.

A warning of frost -
No advisory this!
If only a snow
could be so quitely bold.

Run! Little posies! Run!
as fast as your little
green legs can carry you!
I won't tell your secret!

Hide in the garage under the car!
It is safer there than under the stars,
their sparkling eyes
can find you in the darkness.

The sun will chase them away come morning;
the only witness to their cruelty
are the frozen tears
glittering on your purple faces.

« Last Edit: May 21, 2007, 02:01:17 PM by paramour »
~paramour.

Offline Melita

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #103 on: May 25, 2007, 08:29:57 AM »
I imagine he is purple-faced,
a Dickensian father-figure
evil stepmother on hand
to kick you out.

How could you deny something
so fundamental to you?
Your ability to love, regardless
of who, is something he can't know now.
Because he can't fathom that you,
his son, could share a bed
with another man
and be happy.

Why not tell him you're in love
with something, everything, the moment,
the moon. See how his face shrinks;
he can't fathom your ability to love.
But we can.
So put on the neon, it's only here once:
you're eighteen, baby, and it's time to
dance the night away.

Offline Allie

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Re: Sticky: MWC Attempt to Write the Longest Poem in the English Language
« Reply #104 on: May 25, 2007, 11:34:03 AM »
MWC:Allie:Irl

It looks as if the Fianna Failers will be
Dancing again tonight. The first counts are in.
Despite all the problems with the countryís health,
Soaring gang crime, broken-down schools and classes
Too large for learning, as well as revelations
Of corruption in the highest places, even unanswered
Questions by the Taoiseach about money given
Furtively, these people have probably been returned
With an increased majority. How can this be?
There must be something wrong with a so-called
Democratic society that allows this to happen. They say
That a people gets the government it deserves, and so
We must deserve this. Why worry about crime when
It so obviously pays? Besides, itís useful to have someone
Up there with easy morals, who is amenable
To a brown envelope slipped casually into a pocket the way
A note might be into a Confirmation childís hand, followed
By a quiet word in the ear. Why worry about the health service,
Folks lying everywhere on trollies in public hospitals, for lack of
Beds, when you can subsidise the building of private A&Es? 
And as for a pension, well, a few years gossiping in the Dail
Will see to that. Best of all, why worry about education?
Look where you have got without it, to the highest
Offices in the land. Better not to overburden the poor
And underprivileged with too much learning, or teach them
How to think, or they might wonder how people like you
Got to lord it over them in your state-driven cars. Better
Not to teach them about the principles of good government,
In case they might get ideas above their station and begin
To think they might be able to make a difference
To society. They will be far happier spending study time
Filling supermarket shelves for undiscerning consumers,
Who imagine that bright packets equate to wonderful lives,
Even if there is nothing useful inside. So, isnít it great,
No gunfire rattling on the streets of Dublin tonight? Only 
The mute acceptance that democracy has worked once more.
Why bother with messy dictatorships, when the people are
Only too happy to imprison themselves?
« Last Edit: May 26, 2007, 03:54:13 PM by Allie »