Everyone else's less wonderful poetry thread

luka

Well-known member
I agree with all this of course hence my confusion about it being published.

Presumably someone clever and passionate about poetry had their reasons for publishing it, though.

Or do I presume too much?
you presume far too much
 

Corpsey

bandz ahoy
Is it that it subverts the traditional love poem, the roses now 'polyester', 'pound-shop' fare, the card tacky, the 'cherry days' mere 'hubba bubba' kisses and 'lay your faithless head my love...' now just 'getting a bit of shut eye'?

That would be my defence as Faber editor anyway.
 

woops

is not like other people
written for me personally by someone very superficially alluring
21055249_10154664753076143_7643721353404476340_o.jpg
 

luka

Well-known member
yes its an olivetti valentine. this picture is an example of how you cant stop people taking pics. they just do it and you find it
on instagram later. i dont mind much cos i cant take my own pictures and its nice to have the memories sometimes. ive lost
many chairs and tables since that picture was taken, all through being drunk needless to say.
 
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Leo

Well-known member
add a hashtag on your sign and you'll see lots more of them. #riverpoets #riverpoetsLDN or something.
 

luka

Well-known member
true. we are very squeamish about self-promotion though. we keep it very pure. its becasue we grew up
in the 'no sell-out' era of the 90s. hopelessly hobbled by outdated ideals
 

woops

is not like other people
true. we are very squeamish about self-promotion though. we keep it very pure. its becasue we grew up
in the 'no sell-out' era of the 90s. hopelessly hobbled by outdated ideals
Despite this I have repeatedly sold out to McDonald's, the Sun, the National Lottery, Harvey Nicks, etc
 

Leo

Well-known member
someone has been adding soil to my garden.
the plot thickens,
the seeds of doubt take root.
 

luka

Well-known member
A couple of young poets I've met recently have been very excited by this 'cat'
Any thoughts?

 

luka

Well-known member
really like this 1 jim sent me this morning


MOVE FROM DECAY



Reveal yourself

It’s hardly herculean;

the words are cream.

Burning plastic fruit swells into being. The maniac communist brat air

strikes a rubber gum; ordnance broken like a seal weathering out some ancient tide pool. Alright then against a maddening decrescendo. Just think what piecemeal vitality is clogging up the fuel lines staring back at a box switching releasing advertised personalities grinning families speeding towards their death like crash test dummies over broken ducts and gull wings. Now flounder off the pier head and make mine a double whisky / polish lager chaser. Nation on wheels humming a line; good copyright sold for goo? Policing human care deflecting baton glance, standing for off duty kebab host. White feathers on tarmac, Peregrine bombs the outstretched hands dog bolts the chain taught; pull back then pan out on full drone shot reveal. Spurts of musk pecoraite teeth full ice pink crushed spill-over mess of mine. Black harmonics rail on green woodpeckers trail the jet flats just ferry that freak out coming over with gripping pipe. Choice of so much brain spill sprouted out concerned with thoughts and feelings. The cult of the individual, see I’m doing it now. Whereas Beckett places you face against the wall and says ‘here it is, here is reality’ now you try to breathe now you’re stripped. Everybody owes, everyone one in debt. Each one sitting at the table analysing ‘culture’ times a thousand, or a thousand million. Enter the collective mind, the satisfaction of a life well lived. We will soon be there my dearest. Each one clinging to their own rock. Each one cured of depression by Charlotte and Emily Bronte running a hot batch through the heather. Scratched knees and insect bites feather the metal.

Better than science because it cannot be quantified; the literary life can be yours for 12 affordable monthly instalments. Allow it all; the vast morass moves on.

By chip light the lead singer hung himself. In order to remain embalmed in collective nostalgia we at least owe this guy a debt of gratitude. Splendid work. Splendid.
 

woops

is not like other people
really like this 1 jim sent me this morning


MOVE FROM DECAY



Reveal yourself

It’s hardly herculean;

the words are cream.

Burning plastic fruit swells into being. The maniac communist brat air

strikes a rubber gum; ordnance broken like a seal weathering out some ancient tide pool. Alright then against a maddening decrescendo. Just think what piecemeal vitality is clogging up the fuel lines staring back at a box switching releasing advertised personalities grinning families speeding towards their death like crash test dummies over broken ducts and gull wings. Now flounder off the pier head and make mine a double whisky / polish lager chaser. Nation on wheels humming a line; good copyright sold for goo? Policing human care deflecting baton glance, standing for off duty kebab host. White feathers on tarmac, Peregrine bombs the outstretched hands dog bolts the chain taught; pull back then pan out on full drone shot reveal. Spurts of musk pecoraite teeth full ice pink crushed spill-over mess of mine. Black harmonics rail on green woodpeckers trail the jet flats just ferry that freak out coming over with gripping pipe. Choice of so much brain spill sprouted out concerned with thoughts and feelings. The cult of the individual, see I’m doing it now. Whereas Beckett places you face against the wall and says ‘here it is, here is reality’ now you try to breathe now you’re stripped. Everybody owes, everyone one in debt. Each one sitting at the table analysing ‘culture’ times a thousand, or a thousand million. Enter the collective mind, the satisfaction of a life well lived. We will soon be there my dearest. Each one clinging to their own rock. Each one cured of depression by Charlotte and Emily Bronte running a hot batch through the heather. Scratched knees and insect bites feather the metal.

Better than science because it cannot be quantified; the literary life can be yours for 12 affordable monthly instalments. Allow it all; the vast morass moves on.

By chip light the lead singer hung himself. In order to remain embalmed in collective nostalgia we at least owe this guy a debt of gratitude. Splendid work. Splendid.
i like it too but it's a bit cynical and polemical
 

luka

Well-known member
POEM BY EDMUND

i have before me a billion grains of sand
passing through the narrow neck from future
now / never was. like needles from a candle-
clock they fall into hereafter. how they
drift and gather / growing more massive
by the moment. i will take a new turn
away / into outright refusal / a bird,
broken on the barricade / a butterfly,
dead, but for a day, a person with a placard
a complaint / against the order / the outside
takes the same tentative steps toward
the total / no alternative. only cold
history emerges from the melting glacier
portraits twitch again (oils in memoriam /
hologram / avatar and statues begin to breathe.
 
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