Week 200 (February 5-12). Poems. Topic: Free-For-All

[[deleted user]]

Love Is by Catherine Niedzwiecka -- Or AN ODE TO "S"
I Sheepshank my sheeting though
She’ll be back soon:
Sheila, the sheet anchor
Whose name reminds me of my girlhood doll
My grandmother Leilia made me -whom I named Sheilia-
Out of nylon and fluffy stuff–
Sheila would undo this shebang – thinking I might break the window and throw down;
So I stand on my bed, tie a bed sheet around my head like a sheikh’s turban, and do an Uttasana;
singing as I bend. Wings sheaves on the window screen catch my attention.
The trees last flowers are in season.

Today is Sunday and I sheer away
from the skiffle of the afternoon group sessions.
I can press my nose to the window if I want to see the shebeen
my friend Jenn and I ventured into one night a couple of years ago – mere shavelings.
The owner had a durative sheltie that overlooked our sozzled shenanigans with the strawberry sherbet
as we hollered like shellbacks and shellacked the dustcart on it’s AM driveby –
before the sheriff’s appearance.

We wanted the books on his shelf –
Isaac Bashevis Singer’s The Magician Latern and Madame De Sevigne’s Selected Letters
Because we might end up *there, we said, pointing to the sheer of this hospital’s building
and we’d want to be able to shell out words of shewbread in letters or jests to fellow patients.
We were hacking gutters into futures. We said, Love is making the necessary alterations. Mutatis
Mutandis – we did not want to muzzle our turnspit seeking solace in the city’s shadows; the shadows merely followed us, our solicitous accord with the Universe.

This morning I shemozzled
with the nurses after calling the police
and declaring I
was being held against my will. A shindy. I said shelve this sheepfold
and wanted a sheepskin (skiver) or Shetland wool to hug my body instead of their chemicals
and medicines.
This ain’t no Sheraton and there ain’t no sherry,
But the sherds of my soul would make a fine shellwork on my bedside
table’s top. My soul is more a desert varnish.
The Fairmont penthouse mosaic blue longing to leave this place
makes a nice sheen. I would sing like the Shetland canary,
but I’m mean. Well, kinda. I don’t shower cuz well, soap & shampoos remind me of shortening
and I don’t like to show myself – with the nurses and other patients who are strangers. Despite walls.
My grandmother always ran me baths: she said you’re not naked, you’re a shore weed.
And she’d run the water a couple of inches then turn off the faucet.
You’re like shoreweed; you’ll grow in shallow waters. So I’d get in.
I still want to be clean like Shushienae.

The sheepdog herds us out of our room to the dining hall
And I forsake my turban that I wish were green. My roommate is indian.
My father’s shopworn skull-cap –
greets the shift. This shelter
Is called Shoal Creek – it’s more like Sheol - despite our nice
Dinners of fish and pie. I dream of lighthouses and tomallay –
the president’s favorite I read about today in the paper:
they discussed short falls, said Love is making the necessary alterations.

I fasted like Sherpa before coming here –
I was a shedder in the streets of this city. And now I’m on showboat city –
making the necessary alterations - the cast making the most of sickbay. Shuttlecocking salt
with sialogogue like sibilating siblings, Shylock – says, Love is making the
necessary alterations. Mutatis Mutandis.
This sib ship has feelings – and paintings that feel. Look at that shorthorn (famous cow painting) just over there. I shove my fork into the shortcake I wish were simnel . I say, - Eating is seismo- and brings me self love like starving. The old man by the cow looks like Silenus because he stands behind a filly and a cow’s silverside - his silky gaze had the similitude of a silly ex who was Methuselahs age. Simpatico, I simper. And the simfonietta of my sinful and endless sisypean sit that yields not timber or a simple sextet scalds my conscious, says yer sick now talk with your neighbor about a situation or a sizable income and ignore sick skean tongue. The skein of skepsis on this hour skiff – now skidoo little skimmer skid back to your skiffle.

At night, I low and dream of a sheepwalk
and pretend the shelduck’s feathers’ colors
array my wall in letters that spell out “Sheol.”
I think someone is watching my mind - I say “ssshhhh” a lot.
Sheila calls me Sherlock Holmes and brings me my nighttime medicines and tells me that my shackish gait should be shushed when the medicines settle into my blood stream.
Shibboleth
Shew Bred
Shushienae clean.
On Sundays, church. “Chuch”—but I’ll save my shrift. I fay my consessions to noone , my father’s shibboleth. – I sew my intentions, because Love is making the necessary alterations.
Love is lessons in selflessness. A seedbed for seeders sowing Mutatis Mutandis.
The nurses are like crows – where is my lovesome scary?
Sometimes you’re a sheep and like me on disability
sometimes you’re a sheep tick.
My doctor is like Queen of Sheba –
visiting King Solomon to inquire about his reputed wisdom.
Love is My skull, and the Doc and I tumble over telekinetics.
And thoughts are like Skylark singing

Drag Sail, The skiff of oversoul
When I am released I will be shade ripened. A shade tail in a tree mumbling winds with Shadow acoustics.
Skipjack on the offshore out the window - Shade tolerant.
Oh Jenn, is Love about making the necessary alterations? I anchor my sights on the sidewalk where we’de be singing, below my window. Spacey, hubblebubble seedtime is now. The flowers have fallen. I feel like a poet for noticing. I will undo the sheet around my head. I am only looking for an anchor to tie to the end –an anchor. Because I do not want to let go of my bend, my sethook
This lowlight spadework of sanity
- Will it make me forget?

[Mandy]

Love Is A Pain

Our love is like a free-for-all,
We punch, we kick, we cuss, we brawl.
Your words hurt me in ways I can not say,
I say things that are worse to push you away.

But you won't leave,
You need me to much.
I need you too,
I'm addicted to your touch.

I hate the things you've put me through,
I hate the things you make me do,
I hate the way that I love you.

You're always there to cut me down,
When you need me, I'm not around.
I can feel the passion in your eyes,
Can you feel the venom in my lies.

I'd leave you,
If I could.
You'd go too,
But it'd do no good.

I hate the things I've put you through,
I hate the things I've made you do,
I hate the way you love me too.

[[deleted user]]

Oh, the mutiny of Love. :) And the durance.

[M]

Black Sword Hall


With fine blonde hair and clear blue eyes,
she, ghostlike, at the casement waits.
The leaf-strewn sward before her lies:
the frost-stung plantain lily dies,
and all else green has met demise
as each day the same tale relates.

When through the drawing room windows
the great oak grove in last light glows,
the grounds aslant in their shadows,
in silence, dutifully she goes
to stoke the fire, with iron clamps,
then lights the wooden orchard lamps.

[Mandy]

M, your poem reminds me of a time when people actually meant it when they said "I'll wait for you." I hope the person that she's waiting for makes it back.

[M]

Thank you, Mandy! It’s really old.

[[deleted user]]

Alex, I like "rocky daylight/Secrets on the tips of tongues." I kind of trickled down your poem. Love can really put one out to sea. :)

[[deleted user]]

M,
When I read your writing I think of Edgar Allen Poe. The imagery is amazing. A poet's elixir. :) Good job!

[[deleted user]]

Or maybe I am thinking of Longfellow..."and the day is dark and dreary..." But your imagery shines brightly~

[M]

Thank you, Cat! I really appreciate that. Those are poets I’ve always liked. The first poem I ever memorized was Longfellow’s “The Skeleton in Armor.”

[[deleted user]]

I will check out that poem. :)

[M]

Cat, I’m not sure what to make of your poem “Love Is,” but the writing is strange and beautiful! The impression I get is that the poem’s speaker is in a hospital or institution--the very place the speaker and Jenn were afraid of winding up--and there’s a theme that threads it way through the piece, that love entails making the necessary alterations (in Latin, mutatis mutandis), though it’s left to the reader to infer what those “alterations” may be. The shoreweed passage is particularly vivid for me.

[M]

Mandy, you make rhyme and meter look effortless! “Love Is A Pain” is a delight to read. These lines in particular stand out for me: “I can feel the passion in your eyes, / Can you feel the venom in my lies.”

Alex’s “sweet discomfiture” makes discomfiture something to be savored! The style and mood of the last three lines (“manifested in . . . / . . . manifested in / I care not what”) are quintessential Alex.

[Nicky]

M wrote: "Black Sword Hall


With fine blonde hair and clear blue eyes,
she, ghostlike, at the casement waits.
The leaf-strewn sward before her lies:
the frost-stung plantain lily dies,
and all else green ha..."

Hi M,

I love that, I had to say it out loud to get the full sense of the words and their rhymes, it's beautiful.

[M]

Thank you, Nicky!

[♕ ❤ ♕ Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x.♕ ❤ ♕]

SOME THINGS IN LIFE ARE FREE.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nothing's free in life they say
But I know differently
I think about it every day
Some things in life are free

Prices rise and wages drop
People cuss and moan
"Everything's gone over the top"!
You hear everybody drone.

The people frown and sadly pout
"This world just makes me sad"
But I know different without a doubt
There's more good here than bad.

I know you're thinking very hard
What could possibly be free
I promise you,don't disregard
You'll know it just like me.

Now here's the part where you find out
What on earth this thing could be
The clue is there within your pout
Of course,a SMILE is FREE!:0)

[[deleted user]]

Your poem makes me want to do the rumba! I love rhyme.

[♕ ❤ ♕ Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x.♕ ❤ ♕]

Haha...that's great.thanks Catherine.
Hi ,I only just joined,love this group.
Going to introduce myself on the other thread now.

[Mandy]

Princess, I love your poem, it has great flow and conveys such a great message. It was like reading a fable that rhymes.

[Christa VG]

Princess I really liked your Poem, a smile is a wonderful free gift, to give or receive.

[Christa VG]

Telepathic Problems

In a imperfect world
I wish by thoughts
We could talk
But on the other hand
The trouble that would cause
If you have nothing
Nice to say
Better to not talk at all

[Mandy]

Christa, you said so much with so few words, you did such a great job of conveying a big message with eight short little lines.

[♕ ❤ ♕ Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x.♕ ❤ ♕]

Christa - Ron Paul 2016 wrote: "Princess I really liked your Poem, a smile is a wonderful free gift, to give or receive."


That's nice.Thanks Mandy and Christa.:)

[♕ ❤ ♕ Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x.♕ ❤ ♕]

Christa - Ron Paul 2016 wrote: "Telepathic Problems

In a imperfect world
I wish by thoughts
We could talk
But on the other hand
The trouble that would cause
If you have nothing
Nice to say
Better to not talk at all"
That's so good Christa.

[Sarah]

Mandy wrote: "Love Is A Pain

Our love is like a free-for-all,
We punch, we kick, we cuss, we brawl.
Your words hurt me in ways I can not say,
I say things that are worse to push you away.

But you won't leave,
..."

I love it Mandy! Love can definitely be a pain sometimes.

[Sarah]

Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x. wrote: "


SOME THINGS IN LIFE ARE FREE.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nothing's free in life they say
But I know differently
I think about it every day
Some things in life are free

Prices rise and wage..."

Well done Princess. I smiled while reading it.

[Sarah]

I wrote this many years ago when my youngest daughter was a toddler. She is now 10 years old and still exactly the same.

*Girl

My little sweet girl
acts more like a boy.
Running around bare footed
playing with tonka toys.

She would rather die
than wear a dress and
I wont say I told you
so when she rips it
to shreds.

She does not like ballet
or even gymnastics at that
but if you give her a ball
then you better give her
a bat.

She's as beautiful as
a sunrise and sweet as
a sundae but don't dare
call her a girl cause
you will definitely pay.

[♕ ❤ ♕ Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x.♕ ❤ ♕]

That's nice Sarah.:)

[♕ ❤ ♕ Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x.♕ ❤ ♕]

Sarah wrote: "Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x. wrote: "


SOME THINGS IN LIFE ARE FREE.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nothing's free in life they say
But I know differently
I think about it every day
..."
Yay.I'm glad.I love to make people smile.:)
Thanks Sarah.

[Nicky]

A Love of Bridges


Before black polished stone,
I will not weep.
On the tidy manicured lawn,
I will not weep.

Though gilded letters bare your name,
You are not there,
Entombed, the sparse remains,
You are not there,

I know they think me harsh;
And do not care.
That I carry on regardless
And do not care.

Yet, I can’t explain, for me
You are, everywhere.
In thoughts and acts and deeds,
Everywhere.

Without prop or prompt
Your voice is clear.
In the quiet times,
Your voice is clear.

In the span of a bridges arch
I sense your smile.
As the steel stretches skywards
Again, your smile.

When I feel a moment missed
Then come tears.
Of time you have been cheated,
Then, tears.

[M]

Interesting, Nicky! Beautifully done. Something about reminds me of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Dirge Without Music.”

[♕ ❤ ♕ Princess pink diamonds posh bird LINZY.x.♕ ❤ ♕]

I like that Nicky.:)

[[deleted user]]

I sort of just whipped this up.
A Strange, Strange World

Tears on the bridges
Blood on the streets
Weepers above water
And murderers to be seen

Lawyers think they're clever
Cause they have some good lights
Judges think they're better
Cause they know what's wrong from right

People think that pretties,
Can only be shallow and vain
People think that uglies,
Are weird and quite insane

But people don't give normals not a second look,
After all, they're plain
And when you look like everyone else,
You're considered sane.

What a strange world we live in!
Where to blend in is the norm
I won't be following that rule
That's quite for sure!

[Nicky]

M wrote: "Interesting, Nicky! Beautifully done. Something about reminds me of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Dirge Without Music.”"

Oh, I haven't heard of that, I'll look it up!

[Nicky]

M, I've just read it and it's beautiful. Thank you for recommending it.

[Sarah]

Sofia (That Book Addict) wrote: "I sort of just whipped this up.
A Strange, Strange World

Tears on the bridges
Blood on the streets
Weepers above water
And murderers to be seen

Lawyers think they're clever
Cause they have s..."

Well done Sofia! That's society for you.

[[deleted user]]

Yeah, haha. Society is quite messed-up ;)

[[deleted user]]

I Am

I am the unread words,
Sprawled vigorously across a page.
The spine un-cracked, untouched,
Waiting patiently for the day it will break.
When someone dare open it,
Surrounded by others similar
But not quite the same.
I am lost, but so easily found.
I could be torn, burnt or beaten,
But what a shame that would be to see.
Filled with imaginative quests,
Unfinished journeys, and preposterous mysteries.
I am the thought that comes back,
Even after we have so called met.
Dare to open me,
See deep inside my story.
Read careful, don’t skip ahead.
Cause unlike the rest,
I still haven’t figured out my end.

[Jim]

Butterflies on Fire
for M. L.

We’re setting butterflies on fire,
the ghost of a long lost
childhood friend and I.

Our fingers are phosphorescent and sad,
like matchsticks before the spark.
So much for things of the past.

I look at her smile,
cold white flame
flickering.

On her shoulder, an abstract
of a bird from the last
gasp of a dream

before waking.
The windows rattle,
not knowing how she

could have gotten through them
in the middle of the night.
The scent of burnt wings

trapped in the curtains.
What will Mother say
when she smells her ghost

in the secret pockets
of my dirty clothes?
Ssshhh...
-o-

[[deleted user]]

Reka wrote: "Love Is by Catherine Niedzwiecka -- Or AN ODE TO "S"
I Sheepshank my sheeting though
She’ll be back soon:
Sheila, the sheet anchor
Whose name reminds me of my girlhood doll
My grandmother Leilia m..."
I JUST ADDED A COUPLE OF WORDS TO the 3rd to the last line: "I do not want to let go of my bend, my sethook." :)

[Paula Tohline]

Been gone so long, I hardly recognize anyone's name. Oh well, perhaps you will accept this poem, a favorite of mine,but few other's. Having been quite ill for a while, it carries with it a lot of meaning for me. Critique welcome, but not guaranteed to exact any changes! BTW, I have missed you all. . .

THE CURRENCY OF MEMORY

Dust has settled upon the old clock.
Twice a day keeping perfect time,
he waits patiently for the key
that keeps time moving on.
In a vase beside him
a single rose, once perfect,
in hazy evening light,
casts her shadow on the old man
upon the crowded mantle.

Atop her brittle stem, her head bowed low,
her color has faded, yet deepened,
recalling the amaranth hue
that death has slowly drained.
Alive, vibrant youth cloaks such subtlety
within the nascent bud.
She has saved her best for last,
as her drying petals, one by one,
let go the union of the blossom.

They settle upon the floor below,
and cast by the vagaries of air,
whisked about by daily traffic,
they are lifted up again and again,
to settle gently at my feet.
Like a reluctant bride
I take each step with care.
I would not, by chance, crush the beauty
that time could not destroy.
The stopped clock on the mantle,
beside the wilted rose,
has no need of setting or winding.
Time, the rose has always known,
moves on.

With or without a time-keeper,
the petals know
when it is time to go,
releasing to the ambient air
their sweetest scent -
meant for foolish ones like I,
who save such fragile coins
in a box of memories.

#####

[[deleted user]]

A sweet still life. I am glad to know YOU are alive. I didn't hear a fly buzz, so I must be too.:)

[Nicky]

Cheyenne wrote: "I Am

I am the unread words,
Sprawled vigorously across a page.
The spine un-cracked, untouched,
Waiting patiently for the day it will break.
When someone dare open it,
Surrounded by others similar..."
Hi Cheyenne,
I really like your use of language. I think the opening of your poem is really strong.

[M]

(Someone has been reading Emily Dickinson.)

[[deleted user]]

"A dew/from a convenient grass..." Junk food for flytraps.

[Ryan]

What a wonderful week of submissions. I apologise for not offering feedback yet, my feet haven't touched the ground this week. I've thoroughly enjoyed catching up on all the great poetry here, congratulations to each of you. I'm disappointed that I didn't get an entry in but kind of relieved that I didn't have to run the gauntlet against so many fine pieces of writing.

[Sarah]

Ryan wrote: "What a wonderful week of submissions. I apologise for not offering feedback yet, my feet haven't touched the ground this week. I've thoroughly enjoyed catching up on all the great poetry here, co..."

Thanks Ryan! I am use to seeing your name in the mix and was wondering where you got to. I also appreciate your honest opinions.

[Paula Tohline]

Paula Tohline wrote: "Been gone so long, I hardly recognize anyone's name. Oh well, perhaps you will accept this poem, a favorite of mine,but few other's. Having been quite ill for a while, it carries with it a lot of m..."

Cathe, I am uncertain whether the comment #47 is
meant for my poem. It is a lovely comment and gratefully received. If it was not meant for me, I think I'll claim it anyway. :-)

[Ryan]

Gather ye round, bold pirates! Raise your tankards high and give three mighty cheers for sword wielding Captain Al and her band of stalwarts. Together they've navigated choppy waters and kept the ship afloat for TWO HUNDRED weeks of rowdy competition. No mean feat in these shark-infested oceans.

In fitting fashion for such an auspicious occasion, Al takes top honours with 'Sweet Discomfiture' and shows why the Captain's mantle is hers. Congratulations to you, Pirate Queen!

In second place, Cheyenne leaves her mark on the ship with a poem of courage and hope titled 'I Am'. Only a whisker behind, Mandy, Catherine and M sit round a table playing poker with the mice. Laughter can be heard from the waves below where Christa, Sarah, Nicky, Sofia, Princess and Jim are sitting in tubes and riding the waves of fourth place with contented grins.

Thank you all for such fine contributions and making Week 200 a roaring success. Here's to the next two hundred!

[Christa VG]

A "Well done Captain!", can only just be heard drifting up from below the railings.

(Nice job with the announcements Ryan, very funny.)