Read Write Prompt #105 is a wordle. The words I chose to use in this poem are moon, stars and meteor. Read other Read Write poets here.

Geminids 12.13.09

She had her nipple pierced with
a hanging crescent moon
and stars tattooed around
her areola.
It seemed the goddess
thing to do on that rainy December night
when the meteors were falling as fast
as her tears, obscured by dark
scuttling clouds and too much absinthe.

In Read Write Prompt #104 on ReadWritePoem, poet Nick Carbo tells us “how to write the sex poem right” and gives an example of his poem “Grammarotics“. I personally found this poem difficult to read and, therefore, not particularly erotic so I went on a google quest to find more  of his sex poetry. I found some of his work but none of it was particularly sexual. Maybe RWP will consider linking to his work in this genre because I’d like to have more than the one poem to consider.

I should clarify that I have a big problem with anyone telling anyone else “how to write”, regardless of whether or not the advice-giver is a published author. Poetry – writing in general – is highly personal and what “speaks” to a person’s spirit is always relevant, even if it may simply be garbage to another. And that’s ok. We aren’t all just another brick in the wall, as the song says!

When I began this blog I wrote strictly erotic poetry ~ some of it quite explicit ~ but in the past several months I’ve moved into exploring other subjects, other feelings. When I write I need to have something in particular to inspire my words – a photograph, an intense feeling, a song – so often I find  myself scribbling words and phrases on bits of paper until I can get to the keyboard. If I sit down with the sole purpose of writing and try to force the words it sounds and feels artificial. (To me anyway!)

Having said that, my poem for this prompt is a poem I wrote earlier this year because, well…. I just haven’t been in an erotic mood lately.

Reverie

This is my verse for ReadWritePoem’s prompt #103 which was to incorporate “pomegranate” into a poem.

Swashbuckling Boots

Pyrates

Footsteps of Jean Lafitte
echo from the past as I,
in my black eye patch and
swashbuckling boots, walk
the same streets. Revelers
march, ride and dance down Decatur
gold teeth winking in the sunlight at
wenches who lift their ruffled skirts
and crook their fingers: come hither!
The crowd salutes the paraders
with beers held high but I,
I sip my pomegranate martini with
lips stained red then kiss you with
a tart popped tongue.

~

Posted in New Orleans ]]> http://zouxzoux.wordpress.com/2009/12/03/pyrates/feed/ 19 zouxzoux 2989965621_26d5e33190_o http://zouxzoux.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/perceptions-from-rem/ http://zouxzoux.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/perceptions-from-rem/#comments Thu, 12 Nov 2009 12:09:04 +0000 zouxzoux http://zouxzoux.wordpress.com/?p=373 ]]>

“The structure of dreams makes for lousy poetry — the associational and tangential but linear structure of the form is so overdetermined.”

With Read Write Prompt #100 poet Bruce Covy challenged us to write a poem inspired or mined from our dreams. I was excited by this prompt because only a week or so earlier I had awakened from a dream with a phrase echoing in my head and I felt compelled to write it down. It became the first line in this poem. Each line thereafter has come from a phrase or image remembered from a subsequent nights’ dream. This is really a departure from my usual style of writing so I’m quite anxious to hear what y’all think. Poems from other RWP participants can be found here.

Japanese Plum Blossom from my back garden ~ 2008

Perceptions From REM

She was either schizo or

just plain manipulative

She lived her life

between the lines

With a juicy orange Japanese

plum in her mouth

She had a talking dog named

Bonzo

who only ever said

“I want my mamma”

Visions of dead kittens

and writhing insects made

her scream wordlessly at night

Interlopers criticized the

cleanliness of her kitchen

Still, the girl from Gentilly with

the pouty painted lips urged,

“come out!”

Milisecond

The warm sunlight falls

on my forehead,

cheeks and chin

and a smile

breaks open

Read Write Prompt #99: Setting the Scene

This week Andre challenges us to “write a poem that tells a narrowly focused story — a “scene” — without telling the story. Instead, convey the essence of the scene through your description of the world in which it takes place and the “characters” (who don’t have to be human or even “alive”) that inhabit it”. Here’s my narrative of a few moments that take place within a much larger and longer story.

Chance Encounter

suddenly, from the corner of her
eye she saw him at the
end of the hallway trying
to appear nonchalant,
an endearing moment that
made her heart jump in
her throat, the speaker was
droning on and on as

she tried to focus on the words
and he slowly walked toward her
from the corner of her eye she
could see his gaze was directly on
her face, she shifted in her chair
a cold metal folding chair and her
elbow brushed the person next to her
“excuse me”, “no problem”

but the problem was getting closer and
his gaze was creating a flush of red
she could feel rising from her neck to
the widow’s peak of her hairline
closer still and her breath came in
small gasps, like the small puffs of
steam emitted from a heating tea kettle
the words of the speaker were now

muffled as if spoken from outside a
padded room - blah, blah, blah -
is all she heard, while her total
focus became not meeting his eyes
while wanting ever so desperately to,
looking without looking as he drifted in
and out of view between the rows

suddenly she realizes he has passed and
just as she closes her eyes in relief and
disappointment, feels a hand on her shoulder
he is behind her and he whispers
“I just wanted to say hello”
she turns her head toward him but doesn’t
raise her stinging eyes, only nods as she croaks,
“I was leaving that up to you”

The prompts for today’s Three Word Wednesday are

karma ~ obey ~ wither.

Toxic Karma

When a spirit is smothered

throughout a lifetime,

the heart turns to stone

the soul withers and

the body becomes an abandoned

decayed shell devoid of  light

Some will say this is karma,

that Moirai did not look

kindly upon this soul at birth,

this life of sorrow, measured

by moments of fear,

intimidation and hopelessness,

together at birth they

spun, measured and cut

a toxic karma  for a soul who

believes that to obey is the

only hope for evolution, while he

waits in agony for  the quick cut

of Atropos’ shears

and sweet, dark oblivion

The prompts for this week’s Three Word Wednesday are

incubate ~ nightmare ~ vanity

Frieze

music played….
the sweet thrum of the guitar
the gentle sigh of the violin
the lilting lightness of the flute

but he didn’t listen
encouraging silence to incubate

music played….
the sensual wail of the saxophone
the full stridency of the trumpet
the rhythmic beat of the bass drum

but he didn’t listen
with a vanity that shunned pleasure

in a city pulsing with music
he didn’t listen

and the nightmare that
was his spirit turned
to stone

~~~

The photo is a close up I took of a frieze on a pavilion in Audubon Park, New Orleans. More photo’s here.

The ReadWritePoem #97 prompt is to use the “cut up” technique, that is to cut words or phrases from a text and transform them into a poem. I didn’t literally “cut out each word, drop the words into a container, shake the container vigorously, then write down each word as you draw it from the container” as suggested but, instead, cut and pasted phrases from NoLA Rising’s Facebook Information Page, a local non-profit I support, to recreate their creed into my poetic interpretation.

Text is as follows:

NoLA Rising is a non-profit art campaign that promotes accessibility to art regardless of socio-economic status and aims to broaden perspective and opinion on public art. The organization encourages and helps artists and residents to publicly display works of art for the purpose of rebuilding and restoring the human spirit.

It is our belief that participation in the visual arts not only helps to re-beautify our vibrant community, but also empowers the individual by fostering creativity and the discovery of personal potential. New Orleans is a unique and beautiful city that has historically embraced the spirit of individual freedom, and supports the growth of the artist, musician and writer … the goal of NoLA Rising is to showcase that spirit.

My reconstructed poem from that text:

ReX

accessibility to art,
regardless of socio-economic status,
helps to re-beautify our vibrant community.
accessibility to art
supports the growth of the artist,
musician and writer
but also empowers
the individual
by fostering creativity and
the discovery of personal potential
for the purpose of rebuilding and restoring
the human spirit.
NoLA Rising!

~~~~~

Visit ReadWritePoem for more poetry from this prompt.

Today’s prompts at Three Word Wednesday are
heartache ~ tangle ~ restless

Bourbon

the street is restless
with throngs of people
drunk and sober
ecstatic and depressed
weaving, intermingling in
a tangle of movement like
tree branches whipped
in a tropical wind, anticipating

we are voyeurs in our
own tangle of arms and
legs and sheets, watching
the passing bodies outside
our bedroom window, hidden

the muffled street noise drifts
on the breeze and the setting
sun casts shades of pinkness
through the transom, onto
our love-slicked bodies

the moments stretch within
the heartache of everything
that is this street we live on
and the love we share in
this miraculous life

the brisk breeze off
the river
with the clear brightness of
the sun
tempts us into staying in and
cuddling nekked
under our blanket this Sunday
afternoon to watch the black
and gold slay giants
~
Geaux Saints!
Giant killers: Saints crush New York 48-27

I’ve been a dabbler in writing poetry off and on since I was a kid. Recently, on a whim, I was inspired to submit two poems to an online literary ezine and, much to my shock, they were accepted for publication. Submitting my work anywhere for the first time was a bit scary for me and I never would have done it without the encouragement of one online friend and the inspiration of another on & offline friend.

Nathan Moore, who blogs on Exhaust Fumes and French Fries, has been a constant and encouraging supporter of my poetry for over a year now. He’s also a Community Director for ReadWritePoem, an online “gathering place for those who love poetry — and for those who suspect that, with a little nurturing, they could grow to love poetry.” But I first came to know Nathan through Three Word Wednesday where he first commented on my work. This is also a wonderful site with weekly prompts to stimulate your writing juices and where I first waded into the unknown waters of online writing, so I want to say a big THANKS to 3WW too.

I also want to give a shout-out to Mark at Poems Before Breakfast for inspiring me to submit. If it weren’t for reading about the ezine on his blog I never would have know about it. Thanks, dawlin’. Ironically, my poems will be in the same February 2010 issue as his on The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Ummmm, a bit intimidating for me, I must say, because his poetry is seriously da bomb.

So I had to take down the two poems from Zouxzoux, “Delaronde Street” and “Purple, Green, Gold” but they’ll be back up after publication.

This prompt on ReadWritePoem challenged us to write a poem comprised of any or all of a set of words taken from email spam.  I wrote the words randomly on a sheet of paper, began  putting them together by two’s (kinda like a puzzle) and the poem ended up writing  itself. This was really fun and I ended up using all 15 words of the prompt and only 9 others.

Those Damn Kids
Insolent progeny

exploded language into a

vehement croak with

vowelized chelations, exulting

cosmoramic & irresistable.

Alas, their investment beget

a thrasher of a

capricious reprobate.

The prompts for today’s 3WW are

frustrate ~ indecent ~ understand

Frustrate

She waited an indecent amount

of time in a world where consideration

used to matter called

~Planet Earth~

still inhabited by (as far as she knew)

humans with the ability to reason who

could understand that a question expects

an answer,  even the most

obtuse human could relate to her

feeling of being pushed down

and down

and down

his to-do list until tomorrow

or tomorrow

or tomorrow

as she waited for her answer while

his IP address skipped all over

the damn cyber-world Finally

she decided to forward him this:

Regarding the question I emailed

to you six weeks ago, please reply by

checking one of the following:

__ yes

__ no

__I don’t know

__ Fuck off

Photo by Thomas Hawk

Read Write Poem prompt #94’s challenge is to create a piece based on the above photo. We were also asked to leave a reflection or idea in the comment section of what the photo might signify to us. This was my comment:

I’m intrigued by the dark spot on the solar plexis of the vague white figure. The solar plexis chakra signifies psychic intuition or a sense of “knowing”. The fact that the spot is black instead of yellow might indicate the red figure – which is sharply focused – is attempting to “bleed” or suck the psychic energy from the white figure.

This is my poem.

solar plexis

It was the knowing that

drew them inexorably together

she possessed and he needed

she was centered and he, twisted

his spirit had shriveled from the

strength of his bitterness, from

years of obsession and suspicion

that depleted his strength, rendering

his knowing impotent

but in her he sensed a fullness

a deep intuition and true spirit

in a calculated ploy, he moved

in for the pillage