This one's for you Rainey

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

The Factory
by
Kevin Connolly

On guarded ground the hound did stray.
This land to keep–hand on hip I will stand.
Those lonely bones got through the gateway.
On the final ray of that desperate day.
I can hear him whimper from the wood.
This land to keep–even more to secure.
The factory sleeps smoke stack deep against the black backdrop.
The conveyor belt conveys no motion and nothing moves.
The dials are cold and detached, remote and removed.
The hard levers make me think of long forgotten phone numbers.
Like the silver so impersonal on a doctor’s device, I lock office doors.
I can hear the canine call out a cry.
His hungry howl, his ghostly growl, it outstayed the night.
This land to keep–this soil made safe.
This land to protect as property of mine.
My badge and my boots have a polish and a shine.
Boredom, silence and solitude, this is my retreat.
But the dog pulls me to a dark path with my lunch meat.
Flashlight on full beam,
I find him laying sideways with a crossed-paw and a bare ribcage.
That dead dying beast.
A bread crumb just may have been a feast outdone by none.
I dig a sick plot to bury the little being, my sympathy sent on a blank greeting card with tears that smear the inky pen shake.
In the distance, I hear hooligans who are sure to miss the morning class.
Whipping and pitching rocks through the factory windows.
That shattered sound of broken glass. I can identify.

2

Beautiful and sad. Thank you for this, nano.

Here’s another one:

The Pear

By Jane Hirshfield

November. One pear
sways on the tree past leaves, past reason.
In the nursing home, my friend has fallen.
Chased, he said, from the freckled woods
by angry Thoreau, Coleridge, and Beaumarchais.
Delusion too, it seems, can be well read.
He is courteous, well-spoken even in dread.
The old fineness in him hangs on
for dear life. “My mind now?
A small ship under the wake of a large.
They force you to walk on your heels here,
the angles matter. Four or five degrees,
and you’re lost.” Life is dear to him yet,
though he believes it his own fault he grieves,
his own fault his old friends have turned against him
like crows against an injured of their kind.
There is no kindness here, no flint of mercy.
Descend, descend,
some voice must urge, inside the pear stem.
The argument goes on, he cannot outrun it.
Dawnlight to dawnlight, I look: it is still there.

3

Wow.

My favorite line, Delusion too, it seems, can be well read.

Please share more, when you have the chance.

4

Yep, that was my favorite line as well.

Try this one:

sorrows

by Lucille Clifton

who would believe them winged
who would believe they could be

beautiful who would believe
they could fall so in love with mortals

that they would attach themselves
as scars attach and ride the skin

sometimes we hear them in our dreams
rattling their skulls clicking their bony fingers

envying our crackling hair
our spice filled flesh

they have heard me beseeching
as I whispered into my own

cupped hands enough not me again
enough but who can distinguish

one human voice
amid such choruses of desire

5

Maybe you have already seen this one. I dont know. You might have. And, no doubt, it has left an impression that you will recognize. Consider it recycled goods.

Untitled

By

Beavis Monkey

And here are the headlines. Your head. My lines.
Comes complete with caption. Fill you with the fragment.
Chop talk. Cold speak.
Words all flowing like flowers until they found a faster and more efficient way.
Emotions run low. Pleasure is lost. The tone of technology.
No expression on the face, just a blunt sagging effect.
The computer mood matches that of a human.
Flip side. Flip side.
The reverse is true.
So empty out and become numb.
Techno-trend. Super cool gadgets.
Easy as a push of a button.
Frail creatures who specialize in nothing but pushing buttons.
The way sink taps erased the walk to the water well.
The original sin. Penalty was a painful baby birth. Long hard days of toil in the soil, no more.
Progress is a revolt, a storming rebellion.
The all elusive advance.
Revolutions made by monkey machine men.
The great momentum. The inevitable.
Let us hope the artificial apple is edible.

6

I felt like making a new one, so feel its freshness.

The Thing That Makes It A Thing (aka: Time to Vaccum)
By
me me me

I am not poet among poets, because i try too hard to show it.
The rhyme gives us the reasons about the times of the seasons cycle.

It also makes me want to puke up material wretchedness, the kind that floats to the throat,
and leaves me thinking of shiny red convertble cars that i’m above wanting

Here we are rainey, you and I, in the business of sharing
with my blatant attempt to induce caring and things of that nature.
To intimate, return to the cryptic, start over.

The reasons behind the ryhme give seasons their due time like snow in july
Two plus two is five

I stole that idea, ripped it right off, made it mine
It was then taken from me and used in a commerical angle, one that jingle jangles above the convienent store door
Opinions in the vulture culture, some say its the word of the Big Letter G, spreading throughout the minds of many.
Trends in the number of knives at the table.
Stole it from mark twain, but with my appolgies sent to Isaac newton by postal error
Wonder where mark twain got it from

No matter what I say, the title of this poem is communicaddycadios
My lyrical is made by a satrical miracle that you sprinkle on your cereal oats.
Yum yum good

way past the bend in the river flows where nobody knows or even dare venture
i want to write this forever, get really clever like, and sever it at the edges
so that it may fit in a box and be parceled.

Maybe I’ll stop writing poems because obscurity is the way of the universe
Shakespeare in a thousand years is the bonus question on game show that nobody buzzed in to answer.

My crucial linquistic is esquisite, or is it
I got critics in my carpet.

7

You got talent, kid. I hope we see more.

8

I’m with Rainey, nano, I’ve read this about 12 times now and every time I get something new out of it. (It reads like a rap, so rest assured the freshness is felt.)

My favorite part:

Good stuff. Thanks for sharing.

9

Well, I do thank you both. I enjoy it, especially when others enjoy it. :slight_smile: