thanks

how contemporary?

perhaps living authors

I am vaguely interested in the stuff of david harsent, a few germans... betjeman is probably the most contemporary poet I truly love, if not larkin.

thanks. i found barlock on the internet, which i like very much.

do you know if he's been to a war zone?

Someone gave me a book of poems by Mary Oliver recently and I'm forever grateful for that.

I read in 'the times' that he visited bosnia a few times during some of the most extreme days of the massive crisis there. that could have been in connection with 'barlock'.

you should join the betjeman society. we're all queer gin-drinkers, mostly church of england.

that reminds me—amy clampitt?

ha, my alias alluded to him here, but changed slough to tel-aviv

sandra cisneros
ai
alice walker

you're solly coleslaw??

kind o'er the kinderbank leans my myfanwy,
white o'er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
soap scented fingers I long to caress.

were you a prefect and head of your domit'ry?
were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
who was your favourite? who had a crush on you?
which were the baths where they taught you to swim?

smooth down the avenue glitters the bicycle,
black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
home and colonial, star, international,
balancing bicycle leant on the verge.

trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
out of the shopping and into the dark,
back down the avenue, back to the pottingshed,
back to the house on the fringe of the park.

golden the light on the locks of myfanway,
golden the light on the book on her knee,
finger marked pages of rackham's hans andersen,
time for the children to come down to tea.

oh! fullers angel-cake, robertson's marmalade,
liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
my! what a spread for the friends of myfanway,
some in the alcove and some in the hall.

then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
you will protect me, my silken myfanwy,
ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.

let's just say i post on his behalf

betjeman was on to something when he said in his dotage that he wished he'd had more sex

the girl I loved is engaged to another boy. I just wish that I had more love.

i'm sorry to hear that, but i meant wrt betjeman, judging by the poem of his you posted. sexual nostalgia.

oh yes. sexual nostalgia—always good. there's always something unsaddening about such beautiful sadnesses, wouldn't you say? it's the stuff of paradox, the stuff of high tragedy, in that respect. they're brother and sister.

i have mixed feelings about it. it's of no use, but it is beautiful. perhaps using your emotions as things for your own personal aesthetic contemplation seems a bit masturbatory. better to be making art, if that's your bent

I write poems. bad ones. sexy ones, too.

well my motivation for this thread was to get writing again, but i wanted to look at what was being written currently first.

errr

Nikki Giovanni

and

Alix Olson


Ego tripping by Nikki Giovanni
I was born in the congo
I walked to the fertile crescent and built
the sphinx
I designed a pyramid so tough that a star
that only glows every one hundred years falls
into the center giving divine perfect light
I am bad

I sat on the throne
drinking nectar with allah
I got hot and sent an ice age to europe
to cool my thirst
My oldest daughter is nefertiti
the tears from my birth pains
created the nile
I am a beautiful woman

I gazed on the forest and burned
out the sahara desert
with a packet of goat's meat
and a change of clothes
I crossed it in two hours
I am a gazelle so swift
so swift you can't catch me

For a birthday present when he was three
I gave my son hannibal an elephant
He gave me rome for mother's day
My strength flows ever on

My son noah built new/ark and
I stood proudly at the helm
as we sailed on a soft summer day
I turned myself into myself and was
jesus
men intone my loving name
All praises All praises
I am the one who would save

I sowed diamonds in my back yard
My bowels deliver uranium
the filings from my fingernails are
semi-precious jewels
On a trip north
I caught a cold and blew
My nose giving oil to the arab world
I am so hip even my errors are correct
I sailed west to reach east and had to round off
the earth as I went
The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid
across three continents

I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal
I cannot be comprehended except by my permission

I mean...I...can fly
like a bird in the sky...


"cute for a girl" By Alix Olson

i told her she was cute.
She said "you’re cute. For a girl.
look, i like you a lot, but i like to give head."
i lay down on my bed, i said "try me."
She said "no, it’s dick i’m after, darlin," and She
headed for the door.
i said "if it’s dick you’re after, darlin, try my
top dresser drawer."
"but I’ve got small hands," i said,
"they never go limp when i fuck
i got girl parts myself, so i know where’s good to suck".
She paused. i moved closer.
She said "i’m not sure I buy it."
But her nipples perked, her pelvis jerked, She said
"i guess i’ll try it."
She stopped, dropped, rolled, paused, turned.
and that night i learned
that skin is where this revolution gonna begin,
touching one woman at a time, showing there’s no crime
in feeling this good
God would be a dyke if She could find someone to hold her,
instead of holding her up as the dark image
in the church of my bedroom she stopped, dropped, rolled, paused, turned, spread, said
"oh god."
"Yeah, darlin", i said "anybody, anybody,
any Body can bring you
closer to jesus.”

Simon Armitage.