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Archive for January, 2012

I Swim at Night Without a Beacon

I swim at night without a beacon
And hear the deadly surf upon the shore.
While most have one, of you, I had none.

I pray hard for the rising of the sun
To warm this dread that chills me to the core.
I swim at night without a beacon.

The clouds obscure the moon upon its run
The winds convey the waves unending roar.
While most have one, of you, I had none.

I long for that sweet time when night is done
And I may something more than loss explore.
I swim at night without a beacon.

I wonder if the past can be undone
Or if we never shake the days of yore?
While most have one, of you, I had none.

How is it that you never knew your son
O Father dead and gone as ancient lore?
I swim at night without a beacon.
While most have one, of you, I had none.

Marc Ladewig
Author of <a href="http://odysseusepicmythhero.com/" target="_self">
Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero </a>

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upon viewing a will dockery video.

may spend the the next three weeks listening to sparks and staring at
a photo of florian schneider.  this is why all blues venues should be
closed.  kidding. it was nearly enjoyable.

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Number Debate

  Number Debate

Once pi and i had a debate
About which is better
A square root of minus one
Or being a Greek letter.

"Be rational," said i to pi,
"You make things complicated–
No matter how they measure you,
You always come truncated."

Said pi to i: "So what, my friend,
It’s really no big deal–
I’m transcendental unlike you,
And you aren’t even real."

"But if you want to be exact,
Then you come nowhere near
To finding areas of disks
Or a volume of a sphere".

Said i to pi: "It may be so,
But you forgot to mention
That you’re a point on a line,
And I have two dimensions."

"For if you want nth roots of one,
Therein is my appeal–
I’ll find all roots of one for you–
Imaginary and real."

"And I can add and multiply
All points in a plane,
For I’m more than decimals
By real line constrained."

While they continued to debate,
Infinity appeared,
Saying to both pi and i:
"You both are nowhere near."

"You both are finite, real or not,
But I’d take a bet
That none of you can match the size
Of countable sets."

So it was settled–pi and i
Were finally set free,
For both found that they’re too small
To match infinity.

              –Alexander Shaumyan
                 March 26, 2008

                http://www.shaumyan.com

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Poetry.com – Is it a con?

I submitted a poem to this site and I got an email that it has been
selected to be included in a book and that they would like another
poem for them to include in their prize contest. My poem was of
sentimental genre that nobody posts on this site.

There are numerous soft-sells on the site and in the emails to get me
to purchase a copy/ copies of the book that my poem will be published
in.

They also offer to give me an autobiographical page ,at a price,
opposite the poem.

One has to be careful not to fall foul of ego-shiners. Is this site
(poetry.com) just an ego-shining site. Has anyone any experience of
them. I am already of the opinion that they are after money, but I’ve
always been on the cynical side.

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Excerpt from the prose poem: The Reluctant Planet & It's People … PMPope 2008

laying in this flophouse bed, tapping it out here on
this Palm device, given to me by the priest, Father
John, over @ St. Patrick’s church.

Nobody seems too worried about my writing it all out
for you. In the first place, I have no writerly
credentials. I am a wild child of the Amerikan
landscape. Like an animal, I was born in the east and
escaped to the west, looking for the most favorable
climate, where (one day) I’d be able to rest my bones up
against a palm tree and let the bugs do their worst to me

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A new one

My latest

The Lost Soul

Lying on the sidewalk,
In a tattered raincoat and shabby hat
My approaching feet waken the man
Springing to his feet he begs for change
Crying out for a hand in food
Yet this proud man has a twinkle in his eyes
As he walks away head held high
As I could help him not this night

Again the scenery plays out every night
He looks and begs, smiling so proud
On this night he is offered a morsel
To fill his bellowing stomach
To nourish his aching soul
For he still cries deep inside
This man, this homeless character of the streets

A week or so later
In search of this wayward soul
I come to see a great surprise
He now helps those he once was associated
Fortunes have smiled upon this gent
But his money he does not keep
Helping those he lie in the streets with
Giving with pride from where he came

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explode

I type it how i want. damnit. no rules just me….

Touch penetrates the surface
It radiates through every cell
every organ
This body I am in
is both anxious and calm
Under the mercy of the heart
That races above me
A woman for one moment
In control
The roles are switched
for one moment
slick and slimy sound
is beautiful only now
I am a child
I am an adult
Random thoughts
Surface and change
Nothing is real
I am gone and back again
I don’t need air
Im out of time
I let go
We are born

john gober

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A Glass of Moon

A Glass of Moon

Each noise I hear
This night so clear
Makes me wish, dear
It’s you returning.

But it’s the breeze
Or rustling trees
Or crashing seas
That spur my yearning.

My heart distressed,
My chin on chest,
I leave the nest
To wait for you.

Under the skies,
I toast your eyes
And hate the lies
You put me through.

And in my haze
My glass I raise,
Look down to gaze
On something rare.

On surface shine
Of this red wine
I can align
The full moon there.

As my tears flow
Out of the glow
Your features grow
In make believe.

The last sip there
I’ll save with prayer
So that the fair
Full moon won’t leave.

Marc Ladewig
Author of <a href="http://odysseusepicmythhero.com/" target="_self">
Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero </a>

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Mutual Masturbation Society is Proud to introduce:

Mutual Masturbation Society is Proud to introduce:
Polypoesyethylene is cheap, flexible, durable, and chemically
resistant

PMPope -2008

Noon moves people
simple in straight street lines
they have no direction
on/of their own
pathwaying pathos sinking
palms into pocketed pants
pimply pocked pigeons
shadow rooves below
watery blue space
incircumstantial
to cultivate
your crops
insulting withers
can’t shake a tree
or give yourself a reason
for sniping and bitching
as if you could
only knew
I hope somebody thinks you’re something
or at least puts you down
out of our misery
how you do that
dragging your useless wieght
with insides born of mediocrity
tilled of low yield seed
feed on the shit of nesting birds
hydrated septic run off
Tell us who’s yr king, candypants…
sos
maybe we kin sell ‘im yr ‘ead
gotta be worth something to someone

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Poetry Portal

TwinArts Poetry Portal:

Post your poems, read articles, RSS, Poetry vids, books, etc.

At http://www.twinartspoetry.com

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