passage way [eintou sequence]

[Monday Love]

Oh I am so sure, that you are so sure you are a real poet, Monday.

Your magic mirror told you that didn't it. LOL.

How could I have missed knowing that. Anyone named "Monkey Love Boat" must be a real poet.

Exactly what s a real poet? Someone who posts here?  LOL.

Someone who has never won a poetry contest?  

It is always amazing that one's inflated ego is usually proportionate to the lack of one's accomplishments isn't it Monkey Love Boat? Wouldn't you agree?

Poor thing.

Dear Mr. Fan,

Exactly what's a real poet?  James T. Fan, you want to know!   Or, perhaps you do know...  

You sly goose, James T. Fan!   Let us consider your own critera.

1. You are NOT a real poet simply because your 'magic mirror' tells you so.

I agree.

2. You are NOT a real poet simply because you post here.

I agree.

3. You are NOT a real poet simply because you have never won a contest.

I agree.

James T. Fan, I think you're on to something.  Your wisdom can easily be expanded.

4. You are NOT a real poet simply because you DON'T post here.

5. You are NOT a real poet simply because you HAVE won a contest.

Also, we cannot forget this crowning piece of wisdom from you, James T. Fan: An "inflated ego" is "usually proportionate" (usually?  that's not very scientific, well never mind) to the amount of air that has been pumped into the ego to make up for the lack of "accomplishments" of the ego in question.  Ergo, the ego is a bozo with a red, rubber nose-o.  

James T. Fan, we agree, we agree, we agree!

Cheers,

Poor Monkey Love Boat Thing

[Anonymous]

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
to cram a poem
or twenty.

Jack scribbled,
recited his own
while Jill held
her breath,
waiting agog
for the punchline.

[Ashley Blowinthewind]

Hey, could somebody stop this site and let my friend Jack off?

[mOnday's frend]

I take it then that the poetry revolution isn't over yet. Good. Do I have time to go get a soda and some chips?

Bring me a sonnet with those chips, Jack.   Also a prize from a distinguished contest, will ya?

You do have prizes under your belt, Jack...?

[the black prince]

The gallery gained distinction with each new picture hung.
Bin was back in Colorado and the Jorie-bird had sung.
Seven Dreams stepped from the Shadow,
A ghost from Breadloaf and a six-headed demon from Yaddo.
We pictured them conspiring, but they yawned.
Look!  The ambitious contest judges have spawned
A shapeless blob upon the beach!
The MFA discourses are singing each to each.
In the large auditorium on the second floor a disaster occured,
A student attempt'd to declaim Ginsberg with a cough.
I read with great earnestness the sports pages and entertained
The idea I might be inferior to others.
John Berryman enjoyed his fame.
You will sew your book and make yourself a name.

[Jack]

Dear M0nkey Love's Friend:

A prize under my belt?
Let me look.
Aha.
Does a penis count?

I have written a sonnet about my penis.
Will that do?

I gave it to Laura, so I do hope Petrach doesn't mind.

[Jack's Off]

My penis can't count.

[mOnday's frend]

Dear M0nkey Love's Friend:

A prize under my belt?
Let me look.
Aha.
Does a penis count?

I have written a sonnet about my penis.
Will that do?

I gave it to Laura, so I do hope Petrach doesn't mind.

Good Jack,

In all honesty, I do think a penis counts.  Look at it this way.  Any author decription that finds its way into a dust jacket blurb certainly counts for something.

"These poems--by Jack--have all the power of young and fertile promise.  They spring at the reader's face, they flash out, with a musky, dark essence, raw and eager.  One wants to grab these poems by the throat and kiss them.   One never wearies of Jack's poems.  They keep coming back for more, and they give as much as they take.   You will come away from these poems loved and assaulted.  Jack is a man and resides somewhere in California."

Now this--if I say so myself--is as good a blurb as I've ever read--and did you see how cleverly I snuck in (see italics) the fact that you have a penis?  This is surely important to a reader or two.   So.  Yes.  Indeed.  A penis does count.

Sincerely,

frend o' MOnday

[Anonymous]

My penis can't count.

Goethe has a charming bedroom poem where as lover, he taps out iambic verses with his finger on his beloved's naked back.  Think about it.

[Patti Frome]

Tapping out verseon a lover's back? One can goethe too far with that sort of stuff.

[Elizabeth Cottonmouth]

"A penis does count. "
I'm envious of that.
Does that mean I suffer from...

[Dick Lacan]

"A penis does count. "
I'm envious of that.
Does that mean I suffer from...

The absent presence of the signified's hidden signifier?    

Yup.


Sorry, old girl.

[John DeShade III]

Could someone please tell me if this is a "wide-open" thread or are there some parameters? I would like to disguss something about another site. May I? Or would that be inappropriate?

[DeJohn Casteeeen IV]

You may discuss whatever you like, but there will be no disgussing here!

PS Click "new topic" why don'tcha?

[ws mermaid]

Could someone please tell me if this is a "wide-open" thread or are there some parameters? I would like to disguss something about another site. May I? Or would that be inappropriate?

Wide-open.   Non-members can post here.  This is where you can be 'inappropriate.'   Let it all hang out, John DeShade III!  Disgust any ting you want!