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 Mar 2014 ECKate
Dissent
Pick up any respected poetry collection. Are there poems that go on and on about ex lovers? I'm not talking about a motif or a metaphor, I'm talking about something like:

"I remember your hair color
I remember your shirt size
I remember your favorite ice cream"

Did any of that seem interesting? No, it's a list of junk you miss. People in a similar position might find it relatable, but what's to stop that from being a blog or Tumblr post?

If you're going to be autobiographical, you need to walk a thin line between whining and writing poetry. Plath wrote poetry about her life, but she sure as hell did not write strictly about her life.

It has to be alive on its own accord, not because you're a human being there to be the meat puppet for a human idea.
I was told to preach.
 Mar 2014 ECKate
Dylan Thomas
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth *****.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
 Mar 2014 ECKate
Thomas Hardy
Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,
And though thy birth-hour beckons thee,
Sleep the long sleep:
The Doomsters heap
Travails and teens around us here,
And Time-Wraiths turn our songsingings to fear.

Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh,
And laughters fail, and greetings die;
Hopes dwindle; yea,
Faiths waste away,
Affections and enthusiasms numb:
Thou canst not mend these things if thou dost come.

Had I the ear of wombed souls
Ere their terrestrial chart unrolls,
And thou wert free
To cease, or be,
Then would I tell thee all I know,
And put it to thee: Wilt thou take Life so?

Vain vow! No hint of mine may hence
To theeward fly: to thy locked sense
Explain none can
Life’s pending plan:
Thou wilt thy ignorant entry make
Though skies spout fire and blood and nations quake.

Fain would I, dear, find some shut plot
Of earth’s wide wold for thee, where not
One tear, one qualm,
Should break the calm.
But I am weak as thou and bare;
No man can change the common lot to rare.

Must come and bide. And such are we—
Unreasoning, sanguine, visionary—
That I can hope
Health, love, friends, scope
In full for thee; can dream thou’lt find
Joys seldom yet attained by humankind!
 Mar 2014 ECKate
white coat
Resolution
In a blue sweater and shoes that don't fit
You wait so long to kiss me

My perception of tattoos was conceived
When I was very small
My mother hated them
But she loved the temporary kind left on her arms
Red blue and purple
Her favorite colors
She painted the walls in our home the same
So she could feel him in ever room

So when you look at your own
I wonder if you think of it that way
Does it hurt still

Tenacious and obligated laughter filled the room
Our eyes were burning
Obligation to listen
Obligation to say something
But did you feel obligated to touch my arm
When you did
I don't know

I don't know what I'm doing
Touch me and you sink
That's how it should be
If mother was water then I am an iceburg
No one with sip me up or use me to feel clean
I will wreck ships

But then you kissed my neck
How could you know to kiss me right there
Monochromatic oceans flooded my vision
When you did

Conflict and resolution
Conflict burning
And resolution
 Mar 2014 ECKate
Nat Lipstadt
Vignettes**



every read is not a feather
but a fearsome weight,
every poem~repast unique.
the desert,
toujours la même chose,
always the same thing,
self~loathing,
for now
thy questioning overwhelms you:
now what, what's next, what's left?
~~~
French bread speaks only in one tongue:
the earthy brown crust language of
soil and sun, announcing I am the flavor,
white flour is but a process
~~~
when the
breadwinner
can no longer provide,
he suffers twice:
once,
the hunger pains he inflicts,
felt more keenly,
then again,
for the dishonorific the world
does crown him,
man of no value,
bread-loser
~
my favorite raindrop is
the one that lands on my
nose and rolls slow
onto to my tongue:
a nose drop twofer!
~
all art begins with stimulus.
stimulus breaks the comfort of habit.
habit is the blackout shade
that strains out the light of creation
~
no two dancers will dance
the same choreography
exactly the same way,
no two poets will employ
the same words
exactly the same way,
the small differences
are the heart of the origins of our specie,
great art,
Vive la difference!
~
Let us give our worst performance,
Write our worst essay,
If it pleases but one,
Its success makes the great ones tremble
with envy
Random thoughts of the day, the few that were remembered.
 Mar 2014 ECKate
Nat Lipstadt
on fine paper,
quality paper,
deserving of thoughtful
care and consideration,
summon courage,
write for one,
even if too many will indifferent read

write for the one,
who will wait for you,
long after closing time
for the need to say
Something
of thanks,
something that cannot go
unsaid

write for the one,
who cannot say
what they needs to say,
and in their stumbling style,
fumbling unsuccessful reach,
says it better than anyone

write for the blind and
sing for the deaf,
be their guide,
be their intimate,
aid them to escape boundaries,
by granting them the saws
to cut loose binding emotions,
share with them your most
intimate courage

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things."

T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)
 Mar 2014 ECKate
Emily Dickinson
705

Suspense—is Hostiler than Death—
Death—tho’soever Broad,
Is Just Death, and cannot increase—
Suspense—does not conclude—

But perishes—to live anew—
But just anew to die—
Annihilation—plated fresh
With Immortality—
 Mar 2014 ECKate
PK Wakefield
by what courtesy of some small voice does the city speak,

little and so much

it says, "by the way have you seen the old man in
his tired skin,

goodbye,

waiting next to the young drunks so loud underneath they are so loud and not a whisper can escape ,  "

the city, and it talks too much it

cannot be heard

over its own
voice
          .
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