Saxmundham to Ipswich
By night, returning now, there are three trains:We, our left reflection and our right, And after that two more. Five trains I see, And all of us together through the dark.
I sit and so my four companions do. I think of all the glory of the reeds, But do they think likewise? Or do they passIn blissful ghostly joy through glorious air?
Those reeds. They have a melancholy too, They have a way of teasing out the space, That lies between a human and their soulAnd binding fondly wish to hope to loss.
Out there, my pale companions must be brushedBy tree and hedge. By soil and gorse and frond, And yet - oh, hell - impaled by the beamAthwart a level crossing, pealing loud!
Perhaps it's safer here, where all is warm, Where sound is simple, light is simpler still, Where someone leaves their trashes for the staff, Where nothing dark or fictional intrudes.
https://i.ibb.co/zG2Dzjv/IMG-20201028-203052.jpg
At Woodbridge now. I feel we're closing in;The platform, lit, reveals a world beyondThe simple train. A place where one might be, And yet a place that must remain unknown.
And here's the thing. Five trains I ever saw, Five sets of seats. Five columns, swift and bright, And yet I never saw the outer meOn either side, obscured by those between.
I know they're there. I know they pass through more;I know they feel the wilder things of EarthUpon their face and arms. And should they die, I know for sure that I will do alike.
So at the destination, they will comeAnd follow me onto the train to home. And when I leave that train, they'll follow yet, And once returned to bed, they'll be my salve.
And in the days to come, and months, and years, We five, with two unseen, will strive and find. Yet only in the night, on wheels of iron, Shall we emerge to mortal, hooded sight.
― imago, Wednesday, 28 October 2020 20:28 (three years ago) link
Why stop at five? A seventh! O, a ninth, Nay, limitless recursion, be my tribe!But five was all I saw, so five I'll have;A tribe of five's enough to build my way.
^this verse clearly non-canon as I wrote it on a different train
Everyone, get writing!
― imago, Wednesday, 28 October 2020 20:45 (three years ago) link
Love both equally as much, for what they are and aren’t <3Nice Sebaldian touch with the photos!
― A Scampo Darkly (Le Bateau Ivre), Wednesday, 28 October 2020 21:18 (three years ago) link
oof, that first thing I wrote months ago is very poor, I WOULD LIKE TO WITHDRAW IT FROM COMPETITION PLEASE.
Yis can have this instead if yis want, it is about train trips and listening to the Mountain Goats:
I was living on the west coast of Sweden when my grandfather diedIn a caravanBut I was not in a caravan when I heard my grandfather diedI was on a trainbut waitwaitWAIT, let's back up a bit
I was living on the west coast of Sweden when I heard my grandfather was dyingIn a caravanBut I was not in a caravan when I heard my grandfather was dyingI was in Her father's houseOf course, I had been getting phonecalls from my family for daysBut that's the way we deal with family, right?Ignore the phonecallsAnd concentrate on the caravanAnd HerInside the caravan
But in Her father's houseWhere my mother calledOn Her father's house phone(cos I'd been ignoring the phonecalls)Her father was nice to me for once(cos my grandfather was dying)How old is he?(her father asked)I didn't know...Well, is he older than me?(her father asked)I didn't know...I took a guessSaid... "yes?"(in Swedish, obviously)Turned out I was right(I mean, OBVIOUSLY)
I was (YES) in a caravan later that night(the night when I heard my grandfather was dying)When I decided to play some songs for my grandfatherIt was meant to be a joke(before this, I mean)When She asked me to bring music for the caravanAnd (YES) I brought musicBut only Mountain Goats recordsHaha, funny, right?RIGHT?(I now forget the specifics of why that was meant to be funny,But still)
Is this a good idea?(She said)Hell YES!(I said)And so we played Mountain Goats records all night(maybe we did other stuff, but that is NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS)
AnywayThat night is when I realised The Coroner's Gambit is an album all about DEATHNO SHIT(you say)but yeah, I'm not overly smartand specificity tends to pass me by(until pointed out to me)
AnywayI could tell you about the train ride(the train ride when my grandfather died)but that would involve telling you about a whole bunch of other stuffWhich I am not well equipped to deal with right nowBut then, i'm not very well equipped generally(I am talking about LIFE SKILLS here, not GENITALIAWhich is NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS)
AnywayThe point is(YES, there's a point)NowI listen to The Mountain GoatsAnd I think of DEATHAnd my grandfatherAnd also a caravanAnd also HerAnd yeah, I cry(WHAT OF IT?)
― Jonathan Hellion Mumble, Wednesday, 28 October 2020 21:38 (three years ago) link
I mean I feel this way about the one I wrote this morning! But I'm afraid everything submitted must remain. Them's the rules
― imago, Wednesday, 28 October 2020 21:43 (three years ago) link
This is an old poem and therefore it is something of a ringer, but I thought it better to submit this and see if I can get off my duff and write a new poem before treeship declares this competition closed.
Looking For Saints
When the rain-whelmed skydrove the birds in low flightI decidedI would search for saints.
In coffee shops I kept my ear cockedfor the bell poised over the doorto bounce,in case a saint came in witha wet umbrella.On the street my eyes ran afterthe backs of walkers.
All winterI entered empty phone boothsto read the penciled messages.I tried alleyswhere bottle glass, webbed on labelssat, limp,lashed in related green bits.But always the saints wereelsewhere just then,or I'd have noticed them standing about.
Holy figures billowed through my dreamsas vanes, their faces grey-veiled,holding staves tall as themselves,drifting away as day began.
I would have settled for one black eyelash,any holy mite as evidence.But the city emptied where I looked.
Eating cold bread on a bench one daya paltry truth popped into my head.As the bread mess rested in my teethI thought,a saint can have no saintly lifeuntil his bones are shaved of flesh.I ran my tongue along my hard crownsabout an hourbefore I decidedto spend the springrunning with dogs in the park.
― the unappreciated charisma of cows (Aimless), Friday, 30 October 2020 19:26 (three years ago) link
I totally missed this. I'll not manage an entry but I'll vote for sure.
― Vanishing Point (Chinaski), Friday, 30 October 2020 20:50 (three years ago) link
Uncloaking Device
What if venom kept the skin plump?Hypervigilance the hollows from sinkinginto Deeper Acceptance™?The sullen pallor of the blandly defencelesslevels a reckoning within that won’t make the headlinesmuch less the promised land
Defanged, a worm
The systematic shedding of technicolour armoury’s so bourgeoisAm I to believe beige is more nutrient-rich?It’s a tough sell, but I’ll invest in it if there’s a reflection to be found in the yeast
The baked escapism of real conglomerate superheroicscan vibe in my insidesI loved the bit when the character knew what everyone was thinking with infallible certainty andalso how they kissed in the airAnd my love is a facsimile?Fuck you allNo, hush gauche ghostWe see what we want in whatever’s in front of us A mirror, yes,not always the hammer turned inwards to poundand pound and
― tangenttangent, Wednesday, 4 November 2020 12:06 (three years ago) link
Flagrantly contravening the deadline here, but if more entries are to be accepted then I thought I might as well submit. Always happy to read everyone’s efforts and vote either way.
― tangenttangent, Wednesday, 4 November 2020 12:08 (three years ago) link
Paging mister treeship. Your thread is on the phone.
― the unappreciated charisma of cows (Aimless), Thursday, 5 November 2020 03:02 (three years ago) link
If you'll have me I can also slip a poem in. I've written a lot this year.
― healthy cocaine off perfect butts (the table is the table), Thursday, 5 November 2020 03:14 (three years ago) link
Please do.
Just to be clear, btw, the extra stanza I wrote is absolutely NOT part of my second poem and shouldn't be included on the voting thread
Treeship should give stragglers another few days imo
― imago, Thursday, 5 November 2020 09:32 (three years ago) link
Distances
I am of the generation that invented chillwave,That stretched ironic distance into a chasmAnd fell through.
Wistfulness is artfulness, we thought;Through strobe light punctured darknessWe chased the memories of others,But it was our own empty hands we cherishedA measure of profundity.
These days, though, I don’t need to look too farTo find the ground beneath my feet,And I wonder what I hoped to findInside those quiet distances.
― treeship., Saturday, 7 November 2020 17:57 (three years ago) link
We can vote if you guys want. I’ll make the poll. How about I give people another week to submit, especially Mordy.
― treeship., Saturday, 7 November 2020 17:58 (three years ago) link
I enjoyed reading all of these entries by the way. There are very talented writers on this board.
― treeship., Saturday, 7 November 2020 18:12 (three years ago) link
more poems? anyone?
― treeship., Saturday, 7 November 2020 22:02 (three years ago) link
Will post later today
― healthy cocaine off perfect butts (the table is the table), Sunday, 8 November 2020 12:52 (three years ago) link
dreaming of the future
for the sake of grist we sift through detrituslandfills for archeological digs of alien speciesso thoughtful they accumulated all these primary sourcesget yer phd equivalent at habitable exoplanet gliese 667 Cctrappist monks on trappist-1d and tea time is 12 on teegarden cremember when we used to dream of populating these galaxies and nowwe dream of greenery and the time that mangey fox got into our backgroundand the dog scared him away and you were laughingand calling “leave him alone the poor thing”the kids noses on the glass windowsas the insect biomass droppedbirds falling from the sky prophesying our own imminent demise.i scoured the news for hope and learned how to wire a generatoras dystopia insurance.let them see our works I’ll ozymandias plastic bottles andshreds of poetry written on the back of large sheets of childhood crayon scrawlsdearly beloved i write one day you may read thisin corporal flesh or spirit alonemy progeny who i’ve never met are you shuffling through grocery store bag wastelandsor setting up radar stations on Luyten bnestled in Canis Minoris there mangey anything where you liveor nothing at all - does my voice call to you across these generations like my progenitors called to medo you pray do you sing do you worry about your childrenour legacy was less than an echoor maybe you
― Mordy, Sunday, 8 November 2020 17:54 (three years ago) link
In plots regaled by flippant vandals
In plots regaled by flippant vandalsany sparrow sings then halts as you approach.What of sloppy tubes running, rearing their legsgiven what some call the past a diurnal memorialwearing a brick smock, thus in appearance:year of the stripped screw,one jagged fingerin the pail catching roof water,six subject titles of ongoing threads.Less an inch from my damn faceis air or a reasonable alternative.I would love a bite of your lava cakeafflicted as I am by ongoing cycles of spewand cool in sun.
― healthy cocaine off perfect butts (the table is the table), Sunday, 8 November 2020 18:13 (three years ago) link
We are ultimately flimsy
We are ultimately flimsyhotdogs getcher hotdogsforeclosed in that sensestuck in the ravineswe constructed but unable to cryor comprehend our lack of marrow,how we once scooped it out of ourselves like little canoes in a wildernesswhere to cry was lit and we were undressed.My pouty lips made you sad and we were without clothes, laconic,ready to strafe our notions of will in our birthday suits.Birthmark on my inner thigh, a healthy rationof scars inedible despite your tonguingthat makes for laughter, shakingmy memory will waste its sweetness alwayson misallocation of my senses risingtoward outer orbs and you, damnedlike me in a bush wipingsweat from neck down.
― healthy cocaine off perfect butts (the table is the table), Sunday, 8 November 2020 18:14 (three years ago) link
Solons solemn as camels pass
Solons solemn as camels passMakers slammed in car door flapCigar box contents crux of suitToothsome mincemeat big surprise
Tension breaks as rafter spottedTiny schoolgirl dominates beeBenches empty as bean thrownKingpin snared in syrup sting
Rates rebound as bears retreatBridge snafu is laid to cableHapless hurler driven from moundCannon honored in Lions' fete
Teens nabbed in secret goofball ringLove birds dip in thermal spring
― Respectfully Yours, (Aimless), Thursday, 14 January 2021 22:29 (three years ago) link
Like that, Aimless
― Pere Legume (the table is the table), Friday, 15 January 2021 01:31 (three years ago) link
It's a sonnet. Sorta. I just wanted to catch treesh's sleeve.
― Respectfully Yours, (Aimless), Friday, 15 January 2021 01:36 (three years ago) link
i land
the waves roll infrom newfoundland and hit oldfoundlandand head. away againfrom cathedral cliffs and even keeldo wha, do girt, do we ga?do never!
the sound of the bridge at the soundbig hill and big stone and old town and little mesimple names have simple truthsa bull's mouth thats a tide and a valley thats a hillsure what's literature anyway but translation that stuckbecause it sticks or because it worksburnish til its ours, its what we got, its all we'll getnames and language and history
still and all I miss the bloody placewhat it is, and what it is to me
what i am to it remains a mystery
― spaghetti connemara (darraghmac), Friday, 15 January 2021 02:10 (three years ago) link
I'm thinking I'll hijack this, if treeship doesn't take over in the next few days. In the meantime, new entries are invited, because, why not?
― Respectfully Yours, (Aimless), Friday, 15 January 2021 17:59 (three years ago) link
I had plootered here so oftenThat I had become a sleepwalker,A solemn investigator of futile things. But this afternoon the land tiltedMoving like a sleeping cat;I was disembogued, come again to an old place. It was like I had re-learned languageOr grown my eyes anew,Reading, as if for the first time,A secret I'd years ago hidden within myself.
I'd stood here in winter's abeyance,Immured in a quilted bedchamberAnd written 'love' in the dusting of snow,Taking a photo with your camera. I'd wanted you to midwife its thin pale birthing,But need or ceremony or obligationTook hold and now it lies in the darkA geometry in an absence,A peace treaty signed in secretBy only one side.
― Vanishing Point (Chinaski), Friday, 15 January 2021 18:43 (three years ago) link
^pain of absence, distilled
― Respectfully Yours, (Aimless), Friday, 15 January 2021 18:49 (three years ago) link
It's looking more obvious every day that treeship has orphaned this thread, so I am proposing I take it to completion. Under the new regime, entries will be welcomed with enthusiasm until sometime roughly on or about midnight on January 31, 2021. Just figure on your local time, plus a bit of fudging. I'll assemble the ceremonial poll of ilx (mostly just the poets, if tradition holds) soon afterward.
― Respectfully Yours, (Aimless), Tuesday, 19 January 2021 18:35 (three years ago) link
Thanks for taking this on Aimless
― The return of our beloved potatoes (the table is the table), Tuesday, 19 January 2021 21:22 (three years ago) link
Its a brutal business, Big Poetry, and only the toughest survive
― spaghetti connemara (darraghmac), Tuesday, 19 January 2021 21:55 (three years ago) link
thanks for taking this on, aimless. i haven been busy with things, new job and getting married, and this just kind of dropped. not cool of me but glad the vote will still go through.
― treeship., Wednesday, 20 January 2021 00:41 (three years ago) link
new job and getting married
well, since you put it that way, I guess you're forgiven
― Respectfully Yours, (Aimless), Wednesday, 20 January 2021 00:49 (three years ago) link
Pfft ive seen the announcement snuck in slyer than that around here tbh
― Qanondorf (darraghmac), Wednesday, 20 January 2021 00:51 (three years ago) link
(grats)
― Qanondorf (darraghmac), Wednesday, 20 January 2021 00:52 (three years ago) link
love your saints piece Aimless
― assert (MatthewK), Wednesday, 20 January 2021 01:34 (three years ago) link
you can tell it is old because it mentions phone booths, which were still a thing when I wrote it
― Respectfully Yours, (Aimless), Wednesday, 20 January 2021 02:01 (three years ago) link
Reminder: only a short time left to the Jan 31, midnight (or thereabouts) deadline.
― Compromise isn't a principle, it's a method (Aimless), Thursday, 28 January 2021 21:23 (three years ago) link
"Différance"
The take you shared, the hot one,the one that’s roaring through the corridors of discourse lopping off heads and limbs in a frenzy of Enlightenment —
The take that’s taken you away from me, carried you on a wave of bloodinto the arms of a swarthy Frenchman —
Should I even say it? Would you believe me if I saidthat I'd arrived at this take before, completely independently?
It came into my line of vision, a burning star, a supernova:I turned and ran and escaped.
But now, my love, it’s caught you by the anklesand sucked you under the door.
― treeship., Friday, 29 January 2021 02:43 (three years ago) link
rip
― Qanondorf (darraghmac), Friday, 29 January 2021 02:54 (three years ago) link
last stop before the end of the line
― Compromise isn't a principle, it's a method (Aimless), Sunday, 31 January 2021 22:12 (three years ago) link
The competition is now officially closed. I'll prepare a poll thread later today for the voting. Because poets crave recognition, even if only from each other.
― Compromise isn't a principle, it's a method (Aimless), Monday, 1 February 2021 17:51 (three years ago) link
Thanks for your work here, Aimless
― The return of our beloved potatoes (the table is the table), Monday, 1 February 2021 19:02 (three years ago) link
Poll thread here:
2020 ILX Poetry Competition: VOTE HERE
Please note I screwed up in transcribing the entries, failing to separate the end of imago's second poem and the start of JHM's second poem. The true copies are included here in this thread.
― Compromise isn't a principle, it's a method (Aimless), Monday, 1 February 2021 19:05 (three years ago) link