Long Edit Poems
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just an average typical morning within this same old town
avoiding all the neighbors that nosily creep these grounds
while all these other folks keep busy bodying gossiping and all
who has whiter teeth, bigger boobs, or the cutest guy at the mall
i stopped at the library to dodge all these illiterate snots
the only place that's quite enough for me to organize my thoughts
i walked in just to be stopped, breathless, dead in my tracks
a book, not made of paper or even hard back
binding was some type of stitched authenticism
bound with a beautiful articulate collage of pattern to it
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I stood there for a second, which felt like a lifetime
must have been reading stars, because it left my mind blind
if only just once I could hold that masteredpiece written classic
I can't lie it was perfect man, I just had to have it
I gasped for a moment, dead in my body
frozen and stunned hoping nobody saw me
it crossed my mind for a split, then, I thought
nah ****
if I get caught I'd be a goner, but I just couldn't wait any longer
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I darted for that case in a flash and I shattered that glass
busted it open, like I was late for literature class
static shocked a little as the book touched my hand
it was in that moment i knew i was the #1 fan
then it wasn't long I realized it was written for me
initials imprinted so there was no questioning
I thought
same old stories, same old narrative
can someone tell me where all the good authors went
I just need an outline, no critique or edit
but everything I read, I feel I have already read it
I fell deep into the title it really 'hit a line'
bold, italics, with a dedication underlined
I wasn't sure why I needed or wanted to own it
but I would have searched forever if I would have known it
searching every library for a perfect story
all the titles and endings just really seem to bore me
this one was special I just wanted to trace over the print
read. every small detail. no need for suspense
I sing the praises of Sterilite
(even Mary Poppins would tout
a plug for said company she would spout
forcing playthings scattered helter skelter
retreating into their respective bins
analogous to a defeated army
beating a hasty retreat after a major rout
against all odds fighting off
the aggressive incursion
of a trumpeting lout,
which troops use weapon of choice
namely breath issuing "Kraut"
which in German, "Kraut"
primarily means herb
or the leaves and stem
of a plant, as opposed to the root,
also used in compound nouns
to refer to various cabbage products,
most notably Sauerkraut,
which is fermented white cabbage.
Additionally, "Kraut"
can be a derogatory slang term
for Germans, similar to how "Frogs"
used for the French,
according to The Guardian).
which accolades vocalized
on behalf of a company
whose sturdy products
helped transform the wife
from a potential candidate
of Hoarders buried alive
into a rival for the Odd Couple
neatnik character Felix Unger
though room for improvement
the spouse tries to abide
by the phrase
"a place for everything
and everything in its place"
an idiom that promotes
organization and orderliness,
where maximizing the space
afforded by a one bedroom apartment
here at Highland Manor
taught us the necessity
of maintaining an ever closer approximation
to becoming the reigning queen
of spic and span
affected by the mandates of management
(reinforced by dictates
of urban housing for low income
linkedin to yearly "violations")
toward instilling acquiring
"the model tenant award"
by regular inspections
which if I ruled the world
would include a month of free rent
as an extra incentive
leaving no room
for the likes of Oscar Madison,
which objective becoming
neat and tidy truth be told
finds me relishing living
according to the gospel
of several people offering
decluttering and organization methods
similar to Marie Kondo's KonMari approach,
focusing on simplifying and creating
a more joyful living space.
Some notable figures
include Gretchen Rubin,
known for her
"Outer Order, Inner Calm"
philosophy, and The Home Edit duo,
Clea Shearer and Joanna Teplin,
who emphasize visual organization.
Other methods, like Swedish Death Cleaning
and Peter Walsh's approach,
also offer alternative strategies
for decluttering and organizing one's home.
Dear New Poet,
Modern poetry to me engages readers in seeking their own deep or higher meaning to life experiences. It utilizes symbolism imagery and varied verse that speaks to intellect and emotion.
The best advice I have is that which was given to me:
1) Read all types of poetry every chance you can. Make notes of poets you like and why; note poetry forms that appeal to you.
2) Make lists of words, expressions, phrases you find fascinating, interesting, anything that grabs your attention. Also, keep lists of new words and definitions. I use phone apps for notes, lists, thesaurus, dictionary.
3) Write about your own experiences, beliefs, life. Write in a quiet place. Jot down whatever comes to mind, your feelings. Anytime you get an inspiration, write it down, record it. Those thoughts you just know you will remember forever will float away in no time at all.
4) Experiment. Try different word placements, edit edit, edit. Leave it for awhile or overnight. Edit again. Read your piece outloud. Pay attention to awkward points and edit those.
5) Have fun with it. Throughout the day, observe situations and people. Be open to suggestions and critiques. Poets never stop learning.
A workshop assignment led me to poetry at a time when I was emotionally on overload. Besides being therapeutic, writing poetry gives me a sense of accomplishment.
Favorite THEMES include the joy and pain of 1) Love, 2) Family, 3) Sobriety, 4) Death, 5) Nature.
My favorite REFERENCE sources are: 1) rhymezone.com, 2) howmanysyllables.com, 3) PoetrySoup Cliche Finder, 4) smallseotools.come, 5) shadowpoetry.com
Favorite poems I have written are: 1) Grandsons, 2) Absence, 3) Remembering Johnna, 4) Lady, 5) Surrender or Die, 6) Pocket Watch 2, 7) Time Of Us, 8) No More, 9) Girls of Halloween, 10) Halloween Birthday.
My literary BACKGROUND: Always an avid reader, journalism courses led to newspaper editing and reporting. After 25+ years of a successful medical research and transcription career, physical problems forced a change. As a member of a local writers group, two short stories were published, and in the last few years, as an aspiring poet, several poems have been published.
Possible Title - Let Your Poems Say It For You
May 15, 2018
Tips For Modern Poetry Contest by Line Gauthier
Third Place
It is like a drunk
or addict reaching that 'so called' stopping off point. That point
where one can't imagine life with or without the fix. Writing is like that.
Obsessive, progressive, addictive. A fix. Scribes need it to 'feed the rat.'
Recently I have felt
overwhelmed reading all of the BFAs and MFAs out there, being at most an
amateur ham and egger myself. Writers all strive arduously to organize words
into some form or message that people enjoy. That touches them. That they
identify with.
I've dreamt of hearing,
"Ahh, your words meant so much to me!" And, immediately I fall into
delusional dreams of people swooning. This helplessly addicted novice would
be left to wallow, pro tempore, in the juices of their nouveau riche, yet
auspicious skills? It is simply not like that though, people!
Most of the time
writing is line by line, meter by meter, and word beside word. Then edit,
clip, and rewrite. And all of that to be a novice 'ham and egger.'
Look at
E.E. Cummings, James Agee, Carl Sandburg, Ernest Dowson, Gana Gioia.
All of them capable of writing something complete, abiding, and significant
in less than sixty words.
So significant that
one can return to read and reflect upon the words all the years of a life.
No chance of my ever
writing something compelling like one of those guys? Maybe, I could channel
an inner Dylan Thomas? Perhaps, if I touched the oxfords of Dr. Seuss?
Now, there is a good plan! That Sam I Am, That Sam I Am,
I do not like that Sam..............E-I-E-I-O!
Perhaps, if I had voted for Barack Obama I would be
more sensitive and artistic? All muses, artists, and
sensitive people vote Democratic, don't they? ---
Yes, that's it! If I change my voter registration I'll suddenly
awake one day with all of the angst and existentialist ardor
of Sartre or Dostoyevsky!...........................****, not a chance.
A better strategy might be
to write poetry for all of the right reasons. It is very much worthwhile
expression and communication in our age. It is an accomplishment if
even a handful of people every read the words. Poetry is still important
today. Its benefits enable the author to 'dig the well' of their life experience
deeper with every topic completed.
The words are there. All one has to do is gather them fearlessly!
/'d???g?l/ /'d??s.t?s/
That was what my dictionary
woke up to show me this morning,
Who made you one of this angels?
One is called /'d???g?l/ jungle and the other is called /'d??s.t?s/ justice like a league of legend ants feasting on a lonely trapped Carcass and Vargas.
Who made you a judge over criminals?
Light opens...
Our stories are gory to the ear,
If I decide to write them now
I fear my sight will become blurry
with tinted tears of mourning.
Mount your camera on a tripod,
Double your steps and hands
We have a story to make to the world.
Yells of vengeance has torn my belly!
Light fades...
Yesterday,
The first sight I beheld in the morning
Was a boy trying to free himself from
Gullible mobs in the street of Lagos.
Tears flooded his eyes as he pleaded,
His name became a political lyrics,
Lyrically, he was branded with metals;
Metals that took away his miserable life.
Light fades...
His body became a shadow finding home, running, walking and jumping.
He burnt into ashes as they lynched him
The petrol broke apart and tyre belched
Another soul roamed among the living
Inviting the eclipse sun in the noon.
His beauty washed away by the restless grief that held his bones together to bind
Light fades...
Capture the ghost of that girl running!
She was knocked down this morning
by a drunk driver finding ways to die
Capture her spirit and let's edit them all
The mobs Wont see how she died but they will linger to kill without thinking,
Who made them a judge by the way?
Remember, don't leave the ghost tears.
Light fades...
Now, follow that soul seated there?
She was one of the victims of Evan.
Have you seen her tears turned red?
Cut away of her legs must be filmed,
Clean up her face with your focus!
We're like the castaway treated like a plague, the house whose door has been stolen and we never knew until now!
Light fades...
What is your time?
we have Chelsea march by ten &
this deads may find home in the
air for the living to see how Arsenal
will be defeated in stampford to night
Tilt the camera up & see God' eyes
He watches from above about this
And he spoke not of it, then, who
made us a judge over all this crimes?
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
"Nicholas Street Jail is a real place"
The building is imposing, massive and fearful,
built in 1862 as a jail and gallows for criminals;
the conditions were inhumane and appalling,
on the top floor was death row with only one way out.
It closed in 1972 (hangings had not been done in years,)
renovating was done but the creepiness remained;
one hundred and fifty unmarked graves were found,
deemed a heritage building it was turned into a hostel.
It is said to be haunted by the men executed there,
the dark cells can be rented on that top death floor;
small cells with tiny barred windows the only light,
some have seen ghosts standing at the end of their cots.
There are creaking cell gates and heavy footsteps heard,
wailing and weeping and praying all the night long;
on a dare- I rented a top floor cell with bars,
and was told the gallows still remained down the hall.
I went to my bunk not really believing the stories,
but in the night hands were reaching, pulling me;
I screamed but no one was there,
restless, I started walking a dark narrow hall.
There was a man walking also and I wanted to talk,
hello, sir, I called but he did not stop as I followed;
he opened a door and went through, I hesitated a moment,
then, I opened the door, it was the gallows . . .
His was hanging, his neck broken, his eyes staring,
I tried to scream but no sound came as hands pulled me;
decomposed dead were reaching and all had broken necks,
I was screaming when my body dropped into an empty void.
Found in the morning, crumpled and weeping,
talking hysterically about being hanged by decomposed men;
muttering about being dead, dead, dead,
and from the dark side of my mind I cannot escape . . . ever
The mental hospital where I reside is like a jail cell,
where ghosts hang me each night in the gallows,
where I fall into that empty vast void,
screaming, screaming, screaming . . . in the silence.
______________________________
September 25, 2022 (edit from September 19, 2016)
Poetry/Verse/One From the Dark Side of My Poetry
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1490-294-25
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Submitted into the contest, From The Dark Side
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 10/04/2022
Ninth Place
Nothing in my life has ever been anything like this.
When I started my company it was nothing but bliss.
I invented a company called “The Edit Centre”
Back in ’86, I was quite the inventor.
The business model was to transfer movie film and edit videos
So family memories would last forever, don’t you know.
From the day business opened we on a roll
People came from far and wide, it soothed my soul.
From $30,000 we grossed the very first year,
To 60 then 90, I had no fear.
I bought $1000’s and $1000’s of video toys,
The public loved it, so they could enjoy.
The growth in the business lasted about 13 years.
We peaked at $427,000.00, I still had no fear.
Slowly but slowly, things began to erode.
I knew not what the future would bode.
So I did what many major companies have done
I fired employees, sent them on the run.
I ended up doing more of the work on my own
And in 2006 I made more money than I’d ever known.
My accountant was pleased, said I finally learned how to make money.
Even though I was grossing far less, I was making a tonny.
The bank told me my house had great value, have this wad of cash.
So I began to remodel, was having a blast.
So I borrowed a quarter million to fix up the place
Created a palace, the times seemed to be great.
I was paying $3000.00 a month on the equity line.
Felt what I was doing was not out of line.
Then came 2007, well before the economy collapsed.
Sales dropped $75,000, what kind of relapse?
What was I doing that was so wrong?
I began living in a world I didn’t belong.
Technology was beginning to alter my life.
The market I owned was cut like a knife.
Fewer and fewer needed the services I provided.
Since 2008, I’ve been highly misguided.
But I was stubborn, said this couldn’t continue.
Took all of my savings to save the only thing I knew.
Owned a beautiful building on a main thoroughfare.
Spent every dime to save it, I didn’t care.
But business continued to get worse and worse
I vowed to survive, could I be cursed?
I remodeled the building and opened an art gallery
Thinking with no inventory costs, I might make a salary.
Of course my gallery couldn’t have been more mistimed.
Who in 2009 had the reason to spend another dime.
The upside was that the building had a facelift.
And I was able to sell it, that was a gift.
by: Poet destroyer
I investigated many poems today
Friendly people on this (Love Boat)
Everybody different in their own way
The evidence I found is hidden in every poetry line
Mysteriously, one poet comes from (Fantasy Island)
I am filing charges on the lady
Who welcomes you to the soup
Leaves you a comment, without reading your identity
Today I read a report on the supernatural.
Billies demons vs' (Charlies Angels.)
Investigating a woman who poets you advise, gee's how nice
I will give her a ticket, for making me feel guilty as can be
How about the clown who does not wear a rubber nose.
He puts on a show with his pen and paper (THAT IS TALENT)
He is using his ego another way
He makes us laugh, with one whip of his Belt
I will not release the name on the depressing poem I read
For her, I will stop traffic, and move everyone out of her rain
Her words made my heart bleed
A warrant goes out to the girl who used too much imagination.
I actually got to see tongues to tongue vividly.
I will never ticket the poet queen
Murder she wrote and got away,
I do not know who is the John Doe I found today.
I will be reading his poetry file.
To make sure, he is not misleading this investigation.
I also confiscated an old antique or two
Unique skills found in their retired war shoes
I did my undercover work on a serial killer case on the soup.
That is one report I did not want to picture
I hope the writer will bargain for a life sentence
In a paradise so Green.
I will soon end my file, and turn in my report about Big Foot
After I arrest them ladies who write about butterflies
It is against the law to lead us on a goose chase
We are nowhere near (A highway to heaven)
I have to go join a (S.W.A.T.) team.
To raid the aliens who invade (The little house on the prairie)
I call this group the (A team)
You know A-liens team who you are.
Someone just posted bail
For the girl who blinded us all
She wore her neon converse a straight ticket to jail
I am on a manhunt locating a molester
Every time she is spotted in a pick out line
She comes back and deletes her trade
Erasing her only profile, just to edit all over again
This coming from a crooked cop, (Magnum)P D
Reporting live on the poetry soup
But Truth Is Life And Love Is So Very Much More
Yes, these words do fly away from a poet's heart
As I give mind, soul and my all, so let us start
First comes is, world is evil and the earth is round
Lightning strikes well before you hear the blasting sound
Let us carry on with a few poetic words
About life and this wide, wide world's vast teeming herds
And this thing called humanity and its ways
Maybe toss in Shakespeare and his fantastic plays
Or not, since many think that wrong and thus object
Poetry should be more than a fancy subject
So we jump on to truth about Nature et al
The resounding beauty of it in the late Fall
How a walk in the woods can heal a troubled soul
And ponder the why Life oft takes a heavy toll
Or happiness is treasure that we know it be
Our nation is a gem from sea to shining sea
Why we seek a soulmate, we look for a true love
And if we are smart we pray to our God above
If worthy, we may live unto a ripe old age
If greatly blessed, we may become an old sage
That will gift the darken world in wisdom he shares
Maybe write a bestselling book if anybody cares.
A story well told about wild ways of ones' youth
Must be presented with the wildness of its truth
How so much was great fun but also was some bad
Maybe its strange even with its joys and some sad
But all in all, a poet many things may tell
About this space down here between Heaven and Hell
Lest I forget there are some that do not believe
Live life as a gamble, with spaded ace up the sleeve
Thinking it fable, so they can do as they please
Or else play games ready made to deceive
Life and love, a topic most people know about
A great many live it all without a shout
Some might even say, it is a beautiful thing
They write their loving songs and so joyously sing
But truth is life and love is so very much more
A human has a soul so deep, deep in his core
To more words and other written meanderings
Any poet must know first his own beating heart
Sharing the real truth first would always be his start
I lived wild back then and loved with my all
So when poetry summoned I answered its call
Now to bring these meanderings to conclusion
This mirage just shows, we are all an illusion.
Robert J. Lindley, \ Rhyme
date 1986, edit 1987, 2006
Ignoring your feelings:
------------------------------------
By keeping it to yourself that you love them, your feelings will build up and explode.
You love them, so you want to give them love.
Apparently, they will notice, of course, but since they aren't sure, they don't know what your boundaries are.
They don't know that you might respond sensitively to some things or even get jealous, which is a normal human behavior of expressing after having the "perception" of getting dumped.
As time passes, you will think your feelings aren't serious.
"I mean, I love them because they are always so funny and it reminds me of my past self, and they make school so fun like that," was in my mind the whole time when I thought my feelings weren't true, to convince myself: hey, you just want to be friends with them. You want to know them better.
Since I never got rejected because I never said it out loud, I thought I might still have a chance.
The person you are crushing on might just get uncomfortable and not know how to act in front of you.
If you aren't sure, ask yourself: Was it love at first sight? And why?
In my case, it was not and did develop over time just because of what a person he was.
I got over it after 2 years.
"Maybe if I do this or that," "Why doesn't he get along with me but with them?" "Why is he saying that to me? Why is he acting like that towards me?" "Why does he love her but not me?"
Telling them: I love you
------------------------------------
I would recommend just telling them.
To be honest, I have never experienced that yet, but if I ever do, I will edit my poem definitely.
They might have noticed already, and since they know that they are right, you will make it easier for them too.
You two can talk about it, and if he ever still gave "signs" even though he rejected you, you will know that it's not your fault because he already knew.
You will never overthink as much as you will when you store your feelings inside you.
After you say it, there might be kind ones who, during the conversation, calm you down by saying: "That's very strong of you, I just..."
"Didn't he love me because...?"
Will the question have an answer or be erased?
And, future Adna?