»
Discussion
»
Poetry Challenge!
»
perspectives
| Poetry Challenge! |
|
perspectives |
|
|
epoet Member
since 2000-05-11
Posts 291grand rapid,MI, usa 
|
I have written two poems in forums here. They are entitled "Standing at the door" and "Opening the door to sorrow". These are two poems about the death of a veteran of are armed forces. One perspective is from the bearer of the news, the other one is from the person recieving the sad news about the loss of a loved one. My challenge to everyone is to write two or more perspectives on the same subject. P. J. Kotrch carpe diem A soul once touched is a soul once blessed by love |
||
| © Copyright 2000 Pat Kotrch - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
Great challenge idea, I have already posted this poem awhile back so I will post it here and it is an old poem as well. For me this poem is about the different perspectives of a habitat (a city) and how people react differently to it. I used a sort of cut and paste technique in the poem. ====================== Habitat "There couldn't be a society of people who didn't dream. They'd be dead in two weeks". William S. Burroughs The angels on floaters fall to the skies with rigor mortis eyes, seeing is never believing. Arms spread out as wings we once had as birds sailing the turbulence of dust highways and skeletal trees. Roman churches, roaming home carrying pocket holes of dreams bound as blankets to soothe us and our somatic burns. From here view deepening clouds heavy threatening twinned the seasonal fabrics of Heaven exploding. In distance beyond barriers of this urban safari, under shade of bus shelter a ragged elder-female chews, as naked lunch, insects groping her gums; mouth sharpens into grimace. On overpass, angels preach down from concrete pulpits onto traffic clogged motorways; the new congregation herded to a standstill. Not one believer among us in this exhibit of terror infants severing wings of angels. The angels on downers rise to the earth with wings of dirt, deny free will through constant control; perform for others entertainment compelled through corrected thought. This is our fake Tropicana almost organic our pride where family is clinical bred. Some have stumbled on the trail surrounded by chemical lepers feeding disease in urinal rivers and parasite stench habitats. Trailing in tiredness, we want not to continue. The yawning lion screams silence at its captures, too sedated to protest, all fight leeched from its spirit with no lover at hand. Within our enclosures, the angels are attached by umbilical, numbly we swing in tire tricks. The children cheer as adults constrained have paid to observe not interact, unaware of their cages, of being observed in false environment, always will believe this is natural. < !signature--> This is the hour when the mysteries emerge A strangeness so hard to reflect A moment so moving goes straight to your heart" JOy divison [This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 09-14-2000).] |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
