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Festival
March 1, 2013
10:46 pm
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Streak the sky like feathers

dipped in paint, keeping time with measure

and stippling the rhythm from bones

bending at the wrist and elbow.

A heated smoke conjures lift,

pressing up against the book ends

of dawn, and with a cooling tailspin

breaks into the aching scars of art—

carbon-copied depictions, reeking of sketches

and etchings, splattered sculptures

and watercolor washes of renderings

until unearthed as jewels

and bobbles and beads waiting to be

plucked and pieced into treetops.

 

A/N: This is my poetry midterm - written on the fly in class within an hour... it is based on very specific prompts and I did receive the extra points for making a poem that sounds good but is about nothing :) . Needless to say, I was able to follow all the rules and walked away with 100/100. And some comments from my most excellent professor... that some of the lines are even "cool". Yay!

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
March 1, 2013
10:47 pm
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I'll type up the actual exercise... so you guys can try it... I have to say, funnest mid term ever!

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
March 2, 2013
11:32 pm
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Jeezooey Keerist TLhopkinson! LMFAO, I thought you had finally dropped the deck & ran off to the land of nyibitty nyibbity bopbopbop. I am sooooo glad you had bothered the piece of info that this was for a class. Doh! I now know that the key to absolute insanity, I mean flippin my lips with my finger & uncontrollable laughter after a long flight are: 1)Mucho Scotch & beer. 2) Reading in Forge's room after Forge has worked nights. 3)Your wacketywackydo writes........ala this one.

So as my gray matter diminishes & my liver screams uncle, I have been prompted(by self) to try your assignment as I see fit without knowing any prompts. My nothing poem....................

Aloof were the footfalls of the hidden moonbeams,

and separated they were dauntless, quivering the salmon sky .

Hither came iron hard feelings of whoa,

whilst the beguiling minstrels took their turns softly smiling.

Caterwauling the erstwhile slinks of misery,

known to be the abutment of everything ilk in monetary retribution.

Breadth & depth the catechism of within the sublime script of nought,

concubines of retribution as forlorn as ever was.

Relish the blandishment of forever & beyond,

only to have my arse plucked & pieced into the treetops.   

This is my nothing poem- written on my ass in my den within several minutes while buzzzzzed.

PS  Sorry I stole your last line TLhopkinson, but it only seemed both fitting & appropriate given the circumstances. I'm sure, however that I will see things in a different light at another time...................................

 

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
March 3, 2013
3:55 pm
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Love it! How's your head this morning?wink

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
March 3, 2013
4:16 pm
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My head is okay considering the clusterflock around here just now..................however, I may just not be quite finished...........

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
March 5, 2013
11:32 pm
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Love how abstract this poem is tl, there is a ton of really cool imagery even if it's out in the deep end a bit. Far out it is cool.

"I thought you had finally dropped the deck & ran off to the land of nyibitty nyibbity bopbopbop."

LOL KE

Perfection; my greatest strength and weakness.
March 6, 2013
1:02 am
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Thanks UL ;-)

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
April 2, 2013
1:34 am
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Re-reading these comments on a night before a weekday of no work and enjoying adult beverages, big thanks to @Killerelite for all he amused me with in his post. I might just fall in love with the amazing creative men that post here. Big love to KE, Forge, and my dearest UL.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
April 2, 2013
2:47 pm
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Big love right back Sister. I'm glad to have amused you in some way with my post. Tickled the devil out of me at the time. Though on my defense I was not of sound reckoning..........................

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
April 3, 2013
12:27 am
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No work weekdays are lovely, weekday naps are too :) . And I don't know where we would be without your presence tl, thoughts is fortunate you found your way here :) .

Perfection; my greatest strength and weakness.
April 3, 2013
10:17 am
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This is really neat! And really fun :)  I love the tempo of this..."the book ends of dawn.." that is a great phrase and piece of imagery! All of this is really nice.

My identity can be found in my writing

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