Mr.Duck on 19/8/2017 at 10:50
Hai, imma post some short poetry 'cuz I need to polish some stuff first. Your comments/feedback/critique/Sulphurtearingmeanewone are always welcome.
<3
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Ivory Memory
Touched by your hands, I lived.
Our nights breathed in crescendo.
Each note a promise.
Call out for me, I still exist.
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Came A Deer
Hoofed steps skip a beat,
the earth holds its breath.
The stream burbles, the wind swishes,
leaves rustle. Wait, a branch snaps.
The moment breaks, now it is lost
Spring whispers, but the deer is gone.
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This Dance
Everybody leaves
the dance floor.
The record skips,
no one is listening anymore.
It's the only thing
holding me together.
I can't stop spinning,
otherwise I'll fall.
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Essentials
I loved you
before I learned
how to breathe.
Who are you?
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Skin
My body lies
at the razor's edge of revolution.
These lips of mine are a fire.
With a word,
I'll see the World burn.
Desire breathes
through every pore.
My skin is woven taut
with desperation.
It pulls anxious
for a single touch.
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Fourteen Billion Hands
Solitude extends indefinite
over a wandering gaze.
Moments of uncertain tranquility,
caught in transfixed irises.
Carrying the surface tension
of a lingering kiss.
Orange beams
bleed slowly into frame,
warming the confines
of this cage.
A flutter.
The heart speaks.
Its words lost in
the midpoint of empty spaces.
Loneliness is a word
the World is built upon.
Fourteen billion hands
hold on to
nothing.
This is not what was promised.
Sulphur on 19/8/2017 at 11:00
dema: I like the suggestions of the world you've constructed in that, which seems like oppressive 17th century Europe (with Discworld names!) yet also ambiguous as it's potentially told from the POV of a man who might not have it quite all together.
Duck: always happy to, but a gentleman always knocks first. ;)
I've been spinning out a cyberpunk story in my head for a while, and while it will eventually see the light of day, I've committed a few *rough* joke-y snippets to keyboard, one of which was intended to be blunt commentary below. Yes, it's currently too indebted to Gibson; I'll need to address that at some point when I get to writing this seriously. Lols welcome!
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Joe flits through the catalogues, imprints a pattern on the front of a pair of corduroy briefs - a cow's skull - and orders five to his condo in Atlanta. It takes him all of two and a half seconds to finesse the entire transaction; Teyrne's UnderNet sips his data stream and helpfully spins the information to his most recent contacts in the area while recommending them useful variations, including toreador-themed vibrators in the shape of a bull's horn, latex bras with polypropylene udders, and, most depressingly of all, calfskin boots -- in less than half the time it takes for him to blink at the sudden influx of videos across his adstream featuring women stepping on baby animals.
'Fuck,' Joe mutters. 'There an AI out there that doesn't go full sperg?' A thumbnail clip plays of a woman who looks like Amy smushing a timberwolf puppy into a tangle of matted fur beneath a bare foot. Her feet are exquisite, toenails painted with the exact same shade of scarlet Amy used to wear.
Joe shakes his head, then acknowledges to the overnet that, yes, he'd like to enter Crush.<3's free trial period.
demagogue on 19/8/2017 at 12:12
@Duck, I think my story and your poems share the same theme of calling out for some recognition.
It must be that time of the year.
For little bon mots your poems have got some spark in them. Coincidentally I've been reading through the Norton Anthology of poetry this week -- not even sure why -- but it's been making me think about what makes for good poems. I think it'd be an interesting experiment to fill your head with them and see what comes out under their spell.
@Sulph, ambiguous yes, also that if he is seeing something real, he's the only one noticing something big about to go down in a world that can't hear his warnings.
And FTR, legit lol from your little scrap.
Sulphur on 19/8/2017 at 14:37
Thanks! :) And yup, and that's what makes your story work for me, the fact that you can read it both ways.
Ducksauce: these are nice; I suck at poetry critique, so listen to what dema says before anything else. Personally, I'd say your strength lies in expressing the physical. Like the last verse of Skin, which is quite evocative of the mood you're going for.
SubJeff on 19/8/2017 at 14:38
See now, I really like the ending of yours dema. It's open but you know somethings going on and it feels like something is going to happen. But we'll never know!
Mr.Duck on 20/8/2017 at 04:50
Quote Posted by demagogue
@Duck, I think my story and your poems share the same theme of calling out for some recognition.
It must be that time of the year.
Many of us want to be seen, no? <3 Somewhere in time it's always
that time of the year.
Quote Posted by demagogue
For little bon mots your poems have got some spark in them.
Imma blush now, aw! <3
Quote Posted by demagogue
Coincidentally I've been reading through the Norton Anthology of poetry this week -- not even sure why -- but it's been making me think about what makes for good poems. I think it'd be an interesting experiment to fill your head with them and see what comes out under their spell.
I was telling Sulphy today that I've read individual poems here and there but funny enough, I don't have the habit of reading poetry per se. I think I should start. Especially since other poets have mentioned that I seem to have the sensibility for it, so I'm going to say that's worth something. Plus, I enjoy it (not as much as prose, but still enjoy it).
<3
Queue on 24/9/2017 at 16:57
(had to remove for publication purposes)
Tocky on 25/9/2017 at 04:54
Pardon my astonishment but that was actually damn good Queue.
demagogue on 25/9/2017 at 06:57
Kleb-Grow has what people crave. It's got electrolytes.
Queue on 26/9/2017 at 03:15
Aw shucks, thanks, Tocky.
...I think.
The sad thing is even though this little bit of stream-of-consciousness was nothing more than a warm-up exercise I did before writing (
http://aphoticrealm.com/number_seventeen/) Number Seventeen*, it, in my opinion, turned out so much better, truer, and more interesting than the actual story I was trying to write and ended up getting published.
(* Which, itself, is an even sadder thought when you realize that the state of publishing today dictates if you want to be read you pretty much have to publish for free.)
