Now this time it's personal

THERE'S something I need to know: Does the ISIS fighter see in Whitman what I saw? An

old man, sick of war, in a clearing with violets? I was in high school, disinterested, when King

was murdered. Saw Jessie Jackson pointing to windows where he thought he saw a flash,

and I am no better than you at recognition. My high school sweetheart packed on 100 extra

pounds since the prom. Damn You! I proclaim to God. Perhaps you know me by my alias,

my doo-rag that holds my punk waves in place; my having babies out of wedlock? I swore to

my friends on the online writing forum to be different this year, to show to hidden hazards

and retirement, that old B-movies just don't suite me. Now this is getting personal. Going forward

I need any new lover to spell forgiveness, then write it one thousand times in the dust on top

of chest-of-drawers. What I mean is your going to have to show me something. Breezes,

tree tops. The pink lining of caskets, your box of clay sultans. Were your going to bury the

16 year old dog, your dick skinned back and blue. A time well spent. A movie I might not

forget. The face of the beaver whose dam tore the basement from the foundation. Show

me something made of crystal. Your lovers, gone on, leaving pictures and scents. A moon,

gone forth, leaving ellipsis and opposites. Your gonna have to show me anything that I might

keep forever and not have to give back. Show me a transsexual's face, I mean up close

where nose and eye never meets their chinoiserie male parts equally. Show me the neighbors

left, those who haven't lost their homes to foreclosure, planting seeds. The old Armenian  one who covets cats,

huddles them to the side door in 6 degree weather for bowls of warm milk and bits of fish.

She who knows something about loneliness that I haven't quite figured out. (Back to my

constant heartaches and dizziness(es); her love, like the pitched glaze of a coated dog,

is hardened. The way Dickinson could say "freezing persons", that because of her style and her black dance,

you believed in her bravery.

dana

Reviews

[Frank]

Suggest stanzas, lines that end in a reason, easier for the reader to absorb.

THERE'S something I need to know:
Does the ISIS fighter see in Whitman what I saw...
an old man, sick of war, in a clearing with violets?

I was in high school, disinterested,
when King was murdered. Saw Jessie Jackson
pointing to windows where he thought he saw a flash,
and I am no better than you at recognition.

My high school sweetheart packed on
100 extra pounds since the prom. Damn You!
I proclaim to God. Perhaps you know me by my alias,
my doo-rag that holds my punk waves in place;
my having babies out of wedlock?

I swore to my friends on the online writing forum to be different this year, to show to hidden hazards
and retirement, that old B-movies just don't suite me. Now this is getting personal. Going forward
I need any new lover to spell forgiveness, then write it one thousand times in the dust on top
of chest-of-drawers. What I mean is your going to have to show me something. Breezes,
tree tops. The pink lining of caskets, your box of clay sultans. Were your going to bury the
16 year old dog, your dick skinned back and blue. A time well spent. A movie I might not
forget. The face of the beaver whose dam tore the basement from the foundation. Show
me something made of crystal. Your lovers, gone on, leaving pictures and scents. A moon,
gone forth, leaving ellipsis and opposites. Your gonna have to show me anything that I might
keep forever and not have to give back. Show me a transsexual's face, I mean up close
where nose and eye never meets their chinoiserie male parts equally. Show me the neighbors
left, those who haven't lost their homes to foreclosure, planting seeds. The old Armenian one who covets cats,
huddles them to the side door in 6 degree weather for bowls of warm milk and bits of fish.
She who knows something about loneliness that I haven't quite figured out. (Back to my
constant heartaches and dizziness(es); her love, like the pitched glaze of a coated dog,
is hardened. The way Dickinson could say "freezing persons", that because of her style and her black dance,
you believed in her bravery.

Get my drift...it was a good rant.

[writing mojo]

a synapse to ripple in, I read this 3 times and after seeing frank's review
I feel like shame on you is more then just words
Frankly, (for pun effectiveness) to pick at insects is appalling
megaphone into their lives out living of brash swamps
that lip the jazz born peninsula
this Katerina as a critic spits in the wind
looking for structure for measurement to existence
does not feel the perfect forecast at face value
weathered to cut throats dead by the Revere horse beaten to death
never in the mist of liquid pattern habitats
syncing up to your perfect storm.. a possession
within the breath of free thought
that you never drown out
to chorus the lyrical squirm on the hook
but in the dirt confessed by an absorption
purely soiled with food for thought ...excellent piece

[The Twin Arenas]

Show me something. Indeed. The older you get, the more you see, the more pressure it puts on the rest of us. Nice block. I don't think it needs stanzas.

[Beccy]

Thoughts spin and churn; a maelstrom in the mind of the poet. Then, something forms, coalesces and becomes clearer and the pen blurs, indelibly imprinting those thoughts for all time.

The reference to Emily Dickinson's poem is inspirational.

Beccy.

[Corset]

Your gonna have to show me anything that I might
keep forever and not have to give back. Show me a transsexual's face, I mean up close
where nose and eye never meets their chinoiserie male parts equally. Show me the neighbors
left, those who haven't lost their homes to foreclosure, planting seeds. The old Armenian one who covets cats,
huddles them to the side door in 6 degree weather for bowls of warm milk and bits of fish.
She who knows something about loneliness that I haven't quite figured out. (Back to my
constant heartaches and dizziness(es); her love, like the pitched glaze of a coated dog,
is hardened.

you are tripping me out, it's like you follow me around all day. Recently, I had a visit from Jennifer, she was beautiful in her way, I wish there was someway I could have told her that because of you, knowing you, I understood so much more and was feeling very grateful to you that day because I could look at her, really look and not look away in discomfort of not knowing how to behave, and you gave that to me, I will always be grateful.

[Emily B]

there you are, new year's resolutions flying in the wind, poets aren't dead, we have not abandoned the world, we still demand Change, and NOW!

How do we get our demands noticed in this big wide world? Maybe if we start painting them on the sides of sky scrapers and on the underbellies of airlines . . . we must, we have to be the agent of change

[jacob erin-cilberto]

there's no bravery in what those ISIS folks are doing...and it has become personal...the foundation of freedom is being ripped from its foundation supposedly in the name of God...some god...
but they are just dogs who are doing this...and if you look closely at them, i am sure certain body features don't match that of a real human.
we find in this life we just borrow...we have memories and that is it...we don't get to really keep anything or take it with us in the end.