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Thread: The Esoteric Diaries

  1. #41
    12pm's Avatar
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    The Sonnet Loses Its Head for a Time
    for Spiderman

    Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

    As prisoners decorate their cells with coded snakes, ewes and eyes,
    So the Sonnet lost its way that grave and yardless year, wove faint
    Through the Doveís belly, Devilís bottle and the Best Boyís ghost,
    Closed afterhours haunts with blue blows on the scratching post
    With the neon plumes of Salome still feathered in its pillbox nose.

    Its feet disobeyed, its lines leaked like blind squids afraid
    Of the shades that devour Venetian spines and time and rhyme.
    Simple Simons rang the Sonnetís spinal bell, until a beat-less boxer
    With an ear for only cauliflower, it fell. Hard. Hell,
    Heads, formís not all. And, tails, itís never nothing.

    In function's fiction, in flagrante delicto, then,
    Like a wrenís wracked cough or orphaned quintuplets,
    The Sonnet sat down to finish those final final couplets.

  2. #42
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    Accidentally double posted.

  3. #43
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    for 12pm
    Attached Images

  4. #44
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    Default cold as joyce u.e.

    wherever i wept to find you: within deep pots, firebird flowers, and walks
    widows' stoops elongating withered birch breath to wind me toward you
    i whispered to god and all of his men, shrilled holy, for instant depth
    the death that can only creep between two shared tortillas or a tile
    yet i prayed for the tomato sea that would redden the palms and heels, warm
    of you and me
    and that soup would be enough
    and slush, sublime
    and sabine and salome
    oh and a keyed home. a return.

    even an untended vine on another endless airplane that would drift to cumin
    pepper and curry
    a gun of hunter's all spice that might reunite the hen with the foe
    the boot with the window
    that bleating, flaming snow
    any lick of acrylic with the sacred eye i once blinded with my own hoe
    floating in a bloated show with bleeding seats growing only homely
    in montmartre where everything would've been so accessible
    mermaids
    crows
    ascensions of pants on sated knees
    i weep now below my throat for every throw of joyce you uncovered me
    with
    out.
    and for the lack of light in the box you buried me in.

    kat
    Deep in Blue Dog's eyes will always lurk the hopes and longings of a melancholy people, but, like the Cajuns, who always trained their eyes on the future, Blue Dog must move forward.
    ~George Rodrigue fr 'Blue Dog Man'

    He must have a truly romantic nature, for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about.
    ~Oscar Wilde

    From sumthyngness into givyngness unto the given.
    ~fr 'DAR' m.s

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    Default scottie and bosox u.e.

    but scottie (it's electric!) says:


    you're not a vineyarder, after feb.;
    you wore a knit hat wrong, leapt palmettos
    to hug something in your catamaran crotch;
    did not know snow; snowed knowingness;
    breathed pot and oblique pot;
    was ne'er kind and was kind and couldna
    break like burns from gordium knot's soups;
    break like burns the achey and itchy breaky heart;
    break like Burns the Belushi wheedles
    in his sleep to find your needle, hitches to a warm
    wheel and last hunter lung; can't abide
    (((((so what
    so what
    so what)!)))):

    he cries, sure,
    and rusts the commandments




    with four to go.

  6. #46
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    Default Hearing Words First Time

    Forlaetan abbudisse
    Forwgan abbod anbidan craeft
    Abutan onuppan magun
    Onfon aefter fremman

    Raegan aefter oncnawan
    Begietan gefaran acythan

    Onettan manian naefan naedre
    Bywan andsaca raed faran gelyfed dugo
    Laeran raedbora luflice
    Bysigian myrou ondraedan

    Ongean forealdian ealdor
    Lyft leof lyft ealu

    Elpeodig lihtan cwic eall
    Alyfan aemihtig onemn eac
    Awa mid eac betweox eald rihtfaederencyn
    Answaru elra answarian ahwear

    Befaestan onsyn gretan sceotan
    Arisan indryhten herepad fyrd earm
    Aweccan abutan andebyrdan byldu
    Fadung byldu gehaetan galendan

    Flan oftermod list serophonc
    Astigan aesc

    Ascion ofwundrian assa onslepan
    Ofwundrian aet aenextan
    Geferan onmunan frecne gebaero
    Frecne onweald abidan haerfaest

    Ofwundrian aet aenetan
    Egeslic

    Egeslic
    Being and nothingness are illusions. Rollo May

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    stickinthemud is offline Junior Twelever +1 TwelevePlus
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    Default Heard Words

    The above "poem" - was constructed using an Old English/Norse Dictionary -all the words in it begin with "a" in the modern English alphabet. I was intrigued by the rhyming possibilties and so constructed this "poem" and well I actually liked it. Although the rhyming was difficult, the structure/form was interesting.
    Being and nothingness are illusions. Rollo May

  8. #48
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    well ...erm i dunno wut it says...

    but if ya like it ray...then it must be a-ok
    www.etsy.com/shop/DazeDesigns
    ((((((((twelevepeeps)))))))))

  9. #49
    stickinthemud is offline Junior Twelever +1 TwelevePlus
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    Default Introvert 14: New Information

    After leaving Ms. Handle, I bounded up the stairs two at a time, it was time to go see my girl, Laura, and tell her what I had learned in Birmingham. It was a nice pleasant evening, and I felt like a walk. So, I put on a short overcoat and grabbed my trusty umbrella. Walking to Lauraís was one of those things you looked forward to when the occasion arose. So, rather happily I decided to take the southern route through the park, rather than the southwesterly route. Although the southwesterly route is quickest, it is through the business district, and well the garbage does pile up.

    The most fascinating part of the park route is the park gate. It is always partly open. You can see the lion heads grinning at each other as you pass through. Immediately to your right is a large bronzed statue of some ancient roman war hero. As you walk further on the left is a wide open area for concerts and such. There are a couple of baseball fields on the right. Near the center is the place for children and birds. It has always struck me as odd that children and birds should be in the center of a park; still the cool evening has its tricks.

    On one of the swings I saw a little girl, with brown pigtails, she sang a song every time the swing went up, and stopped every time it came back down. The song was something old, something only a grandmother would teach to a child. The girl was vaguely familiar, her adult features had not yet been determined, but the tilt of her head I clearly recognized. I could not recall anything other than that. I was more concerned with not only not remembering, but what disorder had I acquired and whether there was a drug to treat it. Vanity - on display, strutting like a peacock, and hiding its defects deep like inside a valuable yellow, blue or red diamond.

    Once past the childrenís area, you get to an area set aside for street vendors, peddling food. Sausages with onions and peppers wrapped in folded flat breads of your choosing. Large carbonated sodas, crushed fruit drinks, and ice cream a paradise with simple fare. Great, I had to get the combo platter Ė sausages with onions and peppers, large soda, and a scoop of raspberry ice cream. I sat down and gorged myself into a mind numbing state of bliss, which lasted all of fifteen minutes.

    Finally, you reach the area most used by newlyweds. Here, storybook horse and carriages await the new Prince Charmings with their lovely Cinderellas. Both of whom are hoping for a story book ending, in either other eyes. The lovely starry eyed newly weds dance and laugh, all in love, followed about by their hired photographers. Harried photographers, trying to capture that one rare moment of true devotion that always exists at the beginning, the moment that some other photographer will be able to capture 10, 20, 30, even 50 years later in the much aged couple. Few can walk through this area unmoved, even the cynic has to pause.

    for holli

    hope this is a little better (since my experiment clearly failed, even I couldn't find any meaning in it, maybe that was the subconscious intent, I donno )

    Cheers

    Ray
    Being and nothingness are illusions. Rollo May

  10. #50
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    Your experiment didn't fail, Ray.

    After much thought (thanks!) I took this poem to be a reply of sorts to 12pm's "Abandon Hope" sonnet, wherein you eloquently explain that you half-live due to the fear and astonishment of others: too unfortunate to live, too unfortunate to die. †It's a sneak peek at the real you.

    Poetry more or less has its roots in Olde English, so I took this chosen language to indicate that the subject matter is the root of all your introversion. †Abandoned hope has many faces, eh?

    So glad you're here.

    Cheers,
    Carol

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