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

To: Carol who wrote (1301)	2/13/1998 12:44:00 AM
From: Cheeky Kid	Respond to of 2095

Carol, Allot of her poetry is on-line. I like her style, I can't get use to the poems that rhyme. Another poem I like is on a KFC commercial. It is a little girl reciting a poem on a stage. Obviously she didn't write it, she is just an actress, but the poem is very short and powerful. I wonder who wrote it? Do you recall the KFC commercial?

To: Carol who wrote (1301)	2/13/1998 12:50:00 AM
From: Cheeky Kid	Respond to of 2095

Carol, >>>>>>>Yes, in animal nature the males are bightly colored to attract the females. How did humans get so off track, the men are neutral shades, well at least some of them are, and the women have to paint themselves, wear short skirts, etc. to be noticed. Can you imagine what a human female in shades of gray would attract.<<<<<<< I should have put this in the last post, but oh well. Anyways, men are colorful (inside) but have fun trying to get it out of most men. The brave ones will show it, maybe they can be spotted, you know the ones that wear bright colorful ties. Compair them to the ones that wear a plain old red tie---the chickens.

To: Carol who wrote (1301)	2/13/1998 2:04:00 AM
From: Cheeky Kid	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 2095

The Fish I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook fast in a corner of his mouth. He didn't fight. He hadn't fought at all. He hung a grunting weight, battered and venerable and homely. Here and there his brown skin hung in strips like ancient wallpaper, and its pattern of darker brown was like wallpaper: shapes like full-blown roses stained and lost through age. He was speckled and barnacles, fine rosettes of lime, and infested with tiny white sea-lice, and underneath two or three rags of green weed hung down. While his gills were breathing in the terrible oxygen --the frightening gills, fresh and crisp with blood, that can cut so badly-- I thought of the coarse white flesh packed in like feathers, the big bones and the little bones, the dramatic reds and blacks of his shiny entrails, and the pink swim-bladder like a big peony. I looked into his eyes which were far larger than mine but shallower, and yellowed, the irises backed and packed with tarnished tinfoil seen through the lenses of old scratched isinglass. They shifted a little, but not to return my stare. --It was more like the tipping of an object toward the light. I admired his sullen face, the mechanism of his jaw, and then I saw that from his lower lip --if you could call it a lip grim, wet, and weaponlike, hung five old pieces of fish-line, or four and a wire leader with the swivel still attached, with all their five big hooks grown firmly in his mouth. A green line, frayed at the end where he broke it, two heavier lines, and a fine black thread still crimped from the strain and snap when it broke and he got away. Like medals with their ribbons frayed and wavering, a five-haired beard of wisdom trailing from his aching jaw. I stared and stared and victory filled up the little rented boat, from the pool of bilge where oil had spread a rainbow around the rusted engine to the bailer rusted orange, the sun-cracked thwarts, the oarlocks on their strings, the gunnels--until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. -----ELIZABETH BISHOP