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Pastimes : Calling all SI Poets -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Carol who wrote (1297)	2/12/1998 11:51:00 PM
From: Cheeky Kid	Respond to of 2095

Carol, >>>>>speaking of spiders, isn't it the widow spider that uses her male, then has him for dinner. hehehe<<<<< That's why I wrote the peom about a man's heart, fragile like unfired clay. Also, do you ever notice that male birds are beautifully coloured and the females are shades of grey? Interesting.... On the topic of poetry, are you familiar with a poet named Elizabeth Bishop?

To: Carol who wrote (1297)	2/13/1998 12:04:00 AM
From: MSB	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 2095

<<I think it would be nice if there was more discussion on this thread about poetry and the writing of it. There are many people, including myself, who are learning and would appreciate hearing about the mechanics involved in writing good poetry from people who were already there.>> OUCH!! That doesn't include me. Just ask . . . well, never mind. I think the thread hostess made a good comment awhile back about writing which essentially amounted to read-practice, read-practice, read- . . . In my opinion, what one considers good is subjective, but then I've never been much for rules unless they do not benefit me.

To: Carol who wrote (1297)	2/13/1998 12:10:00 AM
From: Cheeky Kid	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 2095

Oh, you wanted mechanics of a poem. How about this: Filling Station Oh, but it is dirty! --this little filling station, oil-soaked, oil permeated to a disturbing, over all black translucency. Be careful with that match! Father wears a dirty, oil soaked monkey suit that cuts him under the arms, and several quick and saucy and greasy sons assist him (it s a family filling station), all quite thoroughly dirty. Do they live in the station? It has a cement porch behind the pumps, and on it a set of crushed and grease- impregnated wickerwork; on the wicker sofa a dirty dog, quite comfy. Some comic books provide the only note of color-- of certain color. They lie upon a big dim doily draping a taboret (part of the set), beside a big hirsute begonia. Why the extraneous plant? Why the taboret? Why, oh why, the doily? (Embroidered in daisy stitch with marguerites, I think, and heavy with gray crochet.) Somebody embroidered the doily. Somebody waters the plant, or oils it, maybe. Somebody arranges the rows of cans so that they softly say: ESSO--SO--SO--SO to high strung automobiles. Somebody loves us all. --Elizabeth Bishop