The build-a-ghazal project is a great idea. I hear the care with which you pick your way through words; I like "Sunset makes a knife of the ridgeline" . . .
| PFFA home | Everypoet home | Classic poems | Absurdities | Contribute or subscribe | Support Béla's ego the PFFA: Iceberg (a CD) | Cure your insomnia with CBT-I
|
||
WARNING! We're mean. We're nasty. We're merciless. We're cruel. We're vile. We're heartless. We'll slash your soul to ribbons. We're an evil clique conspiring to annihilate your self-esteem. Ready? New to the PFFA? Read the Hot & Sexy Posting Guidelines and burrow through the Blurbs of Wisdom |
occasional PFFA patron
The build-a-ghazal project is a great idea. I hear the care with which you pick your way through words; I like "Sunset makes a knife of the ridgeline" . . .
Brooding Pterodactyl
Hi Emilio,
I loved the house sounds, the chorus of internal voices taking the shape of everything around us, or the other way round. I like the way you handle strophes, and I like the measured voice of observation which allows the fantastic to sit comfortably with the familiar. Especially in "Tree".
As for the Ghazal, the first and last couplets are delightful, but I don't have a general sense of what you were going for.
I look forward to more.
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
Mike, Larry, thank you for dropping by and your kind words.
15. Kitten (Kitty Ditty)
Foolish kitten,
having wandered
to the large Mexican family,
and fed a life
on milk and tortillas.
No longer pawing
the feathery thing
at its eye,
its mouth was content on
eating the kitten out of itself.
When the 22 pound cat came
and the life in the lap
that pet and stroke
pet and stroke,
it thought
the human hand
to be part of its body.
No longer with the cat
stuck in its head, the heart
attack confirmed
it was human after all.
14x NaPoWriMo finisher!
Oh! Oh! Madre Dios!Originally Posted by Emilio
Wicked wit, Emilio!
and challenge met.
Cheers,
Gfefo.
beeswax
Emilio. I enjoyed seeing the ghazal unfold -- I liked how it started – that startling image reminiscent of Brokeback Mountain. I liked the frank sexuality of nine . Then I thought you had completed it but there folloed another two couplets and one of them reminded me of a poem I think you wrote many moons ago about antique glassware? Was that you? It’s fascinating to get immersed in a poet’s voice. I also enjoyed the Cherry Tree poem – a tree envisaged as a set of rooms. Lovely to read all of these tonight.
Bees
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
eofgf, I enjoyed the kitty ditty challenge this year, and the wonderful committee selected, I can't wait to see the committee selected for next year! Bees, I appreciate you dropping by and reading through my thread, your kind words have given me the extra push to keep going, thank you
So, I'm behind and having to play catch up now, NaPo on!
16.
The taste of pinto beans is earthier when slow cooked in mom’s
clay pot and salt pork. Her memory is one best served on a plate.
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
17.
My neck, frail as spaghetti, gets weak when I think of her. But
she hasn’t left you yet, dumbass, pull your head from the plate!
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
18.
A therapist once inquired as to the source of my depression. I
imagined one long life dining with one big fork and one little plate.
painted with...fists and elbows
Ah, numbers 10 and 12 are standouts for me at the moment - shades of Tagore ? Nice to see these snippety forms....
wrings his feet
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
Thank you, Avalanche, for dropping by!
19.
Our local politician, a homeless man, sits crinkled in his news-
paper, preaching all his eyes feed upon, these words on a plate.
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
20.
“He hasn’t eaten yet? One last meal, 12 friends and you’re the
unplanned guest. I’m sorry Emilio, please pass over your plate.”
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
Ghazal to Nourish
I feed my hunger holding the roundness of her ass, like a plate.
I am rarely ever hungry, because it piles itself high on the plate.
Jesus once showed me the ingredients for a rainbow: One yard
sale, sunlight to dish back to the sky, antique glassware plates.
The taste of pinto beans is earthier when slow cooked in mom’s
clay pot and salt pork. Her memory is one best served on a plate.
My neck, frail as spaghetti, gets weak when I think of her. But
she hasn’t left you yet, dumbass, pull your head from the plate!
A therapist once inquired as to the source of my depression. I
imagined one long life dining with one big fork and one little plate.
Our local politician, a homeless man, sits crinkled in his news-
paper, preaching all his eyes feed upon, these words on a plate.
“He hasn’t eaten yet? One last meal, 12 friends and you’re the
unplanned guest. I’m sorry Emilio, please pass over your plate.”
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
21. Ghazal for Eternity (Revision)
To prove in the Divine, I hid the sound of sunflowers in a crypt.
Jesus listened hard for the flowers, everywhere except the crypt.
I bathe in the tub of inspiration, and stroke my poetic rod. I listen
for sounds of bubbles spinning, then for sounds from the crypt.
To hear beyond a beggar’s dying thirst, I dip her words in water. A
tale draws well from the well of ardor than from well beyond the crypt.
A thousand songs are sung of weight loss and superficial beauty.
But only one in a thousand for the anorexic figure in the crypt.
The trick-or-treater, an Amish man, had not seen a trick in years.
So I filled his ass with candy corn, while leaning against the crypt.
Time makes a clock out of each drop of coin, the homeless girl,
the rotating beg and beg. A life unwinds in the tin can, her crypt.
Break bread, for the wonder of emails, pixel poetry, and dresses.
Break bread, Emilio, for your transformation, to the internet, a crypt.
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
22. Fish
In a round, clear, plastic container, no bigger than onion dip, with a few holes in the lid, the big eyes of a little beta fish who wore his fabulous fins like a boxer’s robe. He seemed alert and happy, in as much as a fish could be happy, staring back whenever I stared at him.
When I brought the beta home to a five inch glass bowl, he had no idea he was going to spend the rest of his life there, alone, nothing to shake up his day, no snow in the globe.
Maybe in some innate way, the beta eventually understood that this pint and a half of water was all he had, and would spend the rest of his life protecting it.
Even when the water got murky, and he had to break the surface for air, he still defended his water, flaring his fins against all other fish, all other fingers, all other reflections.
And he churned the days till his fate slowly solidified in the bowl.
When his day came, and the beta was half swimming half asleep on his side, he threw up the white flag on his belly, to be taken to the private bowl where all others before him have taken their last swim. These prized contenders, personal heroes. Prince. Fabio. King Henry. Persia. Bob.
Destroyer of Lawnmowers
Hi, Emilio,
Oh, I love "Fish" and, even though I shouldn't have at the sad passing of Prince. Fabio. King Henry. Persia. Bob., I laughed out loud. Prose poem perfect. One of the reasons, plus the demise of my daughter's beta due to leaving its fishbowl accessible to our cat leaving fish bits on her desk, plus the thought of cleaning a tank, plus their cold nature I never had one as a pet.
Donner
Moderator
Let the poem do the talking. Then hide behind it.
Get your copy of Try to Have Your Writing Make Sense - The Quintessential PFFA Anthology!
Posting Permissions
Reply With Quote