Hope you're right. The place I live is a huge tourist destination, especially in the downtown, so I imagine there will be plenty of people who'll be willing to pay two bucks for a poem, whether they like poetry or just as a curiosity. I think the main attraction is that the customer gets to define the poem: they supply the word and see the poem being created before their eyes. I'd dig that.
I have no doubt, especially work on couples. What cheapskates not going to cough up 2 bucks to have a poem written for his girl? Not living by the falls by chance, that would be a great place.
Nope. I said a tourist destination, not a good tourist destination. I live on Prince Edward Island... you'd have to be stupid to vacation here. But a shitload of people do, so I may as well take their money
Wow, you're rad man. I've loved every one so far. I would personally pay you even more than 2 bucks for something like that. My phrase is: Blue mountain, red sky, cold water.
Can you feel the Tantra gliding up your leg, flowing o'er your throat, cupping your breast like a far-off vision of the planet Jupiter? Can it feel you?
On the blue mountain, many a spine and scast did scay, and ran a lupe up Ollermay, arriving late to firstig fisch, and eating pepper in a dish. Oh what on earth did it be called? In the red sky, the laniers taste like ottomite, I run around in svirstvig sky, but it's all I ever farish. Oh what on earth did it be called? In the cold water, when I was told that I was ears, and called my show an ancient beer, and rambled like I was a first, the old ball-bag Saint Honeyworth, I redistributed the bride, then went out I think with pride, beyond the pride of buccaneers, or even of the English Wyrs, I tell you faithly, I confess, nothing else but happiness, if i've rung bravely, yes it's true, but that's what i am paid to do. don't say courage, don't say will I'll stop you at the window sill. for if I die before tonight, you know that I could make it right, and tell you all the things I see, but that's just you, 'twas never me. so kiss me blindly 'fore I go, back to where you'll never know. EDIT: I wrote this high, so you'll forgive me.
Fuck, way too awesome. Being high didn't hinder your talent at all, man, that was gold. Can I offer another? "Thrift store church organ."
The pipes were drain spouts, the keys were forks and spoons; I wasn't sure at first, but yes, the pedals were chalk erasers, sending up plumes of white powder on each depression. I guess you can't expect much more from a thrift store church organ.
I'm not a fan of this. You have captured and imitated the best of what being cliché buys and overall, you have copied the stereotype of what the average person thinks poetry is. So, with that, you did well. But as a sportsman of the written word you have many mountains to climb. I feel a consistent flakiness that is a bit watered down when I read through this thread. Mass-produced even. Like a hallmark card sold at the dollar store. In fact that's what you set out to do as you indicated that you could stand on a busy street and sell quick gimmicks to ignorant sheep. Well, you accomplished that. Reminds me of late night infomercials: Sounds to good to be true and it usually is cheap and over hyped. Just some thoughts. Peace. Love n light.
Thanks for the criticism, if not for the tone. As I believe I've indicated, these are just silly little poems. I'm not aiming to produce top-quality stuff here, just to write short little poems that people will like. They're kind of like miniature versions of serious work, and I think they have their charm. It's not about great art, and it's not about mass production -- it's improvisation. May as well condemn improv. actors for not following a script. I don't mean to seem too defensive here -- I get what you're saying. I guess I'm just not looking at these as serious art. I don't take them too seriously, but that doesn't mean they're fake or worthless. They're just a flash of the creative expression that takes days to finish a serious work. There's nothing wrong with them when taken as such, I think.
I wasn't sure if that was a request or an ironic comment about the poem before. My bad What comes from his sides when he speaks, his mouth wide, his eyes alive, his feet afoot and his bass on high? Who calls him in the stormy night, sitting beneath a cabaret light, watching him flow out of sight, beneath a painted station? Is he the greatest rapper alive or is it just his situation?
Absolutely man. They are little tokens of creativity I think. I'm sorry if my tone was a little douche (I've been working on changing that) but I really did want to be honest and output some of my insight (for good or bad and regardless if it holds any value to you). You are a creative guy. Nobody can take that away from you. You should be proud of that. Can I request the word Mozart? Thank you friend.
Rambleon, I'm sorry, but do you have anything positive to say about anyone's poetry? I've done a little snooping around the poetry forum here, and it seems like you have nothing but negative things to say, which you quickly cover up with polite gestures and "love n light"s when people get touchy. Just cool it a bit, maybe?
Haha, wonderful! Picturing it was hilarious. I hope you don't mind, but you inspired me to do a little of the same kind of work, and I thought I'd share it with you. If you don't want it here, that's cool, and I'll remove it. Just think the idea is neat. My friend randomly said to me, "imagine somebody with nails for hands?" and I came up with this: "Clawing at every door, endangering eyes and throats. The clank of every nail your hand was made of against your dinner plate. Chalkboard and Jesus beware, she wears a look of wonder and hand of despair."
I remain impressed by your swift talent. Can you do something with this: Sylvia Plath died in England... --QP