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Language and the Human Race



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Thu Apr 09, 2020 1:52 am
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Liminality says...



Day IX

Chameleons feed on light and air:
Poets' food is love and fame:
If in this wide world of care
Poets could but find the same
With as little toil as they,
Would they ever change their hue
As the light chameleons do,
Suiting it to every ray
Twenty times a day?
- An Exhortation, Percy Bysshe Shelley


Form: Alphabet poem

The Poet

A poet hides their sacks of words
Bulging with blood and flesh.
Chameleons are less shy, and
Dearer to the ecosystem.
Embarrassing words, those
For the dearest of hearts:
Grandmothers and
Hardworking men
Infuse the poet, from eyes to pen.
Jailed are the words inside:
Kind, creamy words
Like a pastel oil painting
Multicoloured in hue
Nestled between scales and
Orifices.
Poets print them in patterns,
Quelling the colour with structure,
Rigid as the rising sun
Sets below the hills each evening.
They do because they must;
Unless the world is ending or
Victory fresh on inebriated tongues,
Who wants to know how much you love them?
Xylophones are less shy in volume.
Your poet is folding words in their sweater, in
Zebra print, in polka dots.
  





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Thu Apr 09, 2020 5:26 am
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alliyah says...



I'm still enjoying all your creative poems @Liminality, and the different ways you're continuing to weave that language theme through them all.

Abecedarians are one of my all-time favorite forms of poetry <3 You also somehow managed to even have great flow and a little rhyme in it, which I'm pretty impressed by.

These were probably my favorite lines from the poem;
"Victory fresh on inebriated tongues,
Who wants to know how much you love them?"

I also found your Bee poem to be really vivid. I can't decipher roman numerals, but I think you're still on track! Well done, keep it up! :)
maybe i make up colors for poetic cadence, but i don't think i can ever love someone who doesn't understand that teal is a different color than dark cyan
  





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Thu Apr 09, 2020 11:55 am
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Liminality says...



Thanks so much, @alliyah! I'm on my ninth poem now; surprised that I'm keeping up, haha :D
  





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Fri Apr 10, 2020 2:36 am
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Liminality says...



Day X

Form: concrete poem

Spoiler! :
Formatting's a bit messed up, but the shape is supposed to be a brain.


Tracking Down Speech Production

Broca and Wernicke
Stake their claim to areas of the brain, where researchers claim
Is the office watercooler, the inside of a car, is “dinner tonight?”.
It’s a high-stakes game, drawing lines of traffic cones between one layer of tissue
And the other. Process of elimination crumples a forest of scribbled papers,
Squeezing them between dividers; blue & brown & chemical orange
Making cliques of identical scrawl. It’s a sortie we’re luring out

to see the troops behind, see if their uniforms glow
when separated, like groping the darkness
like walking by moonlight.
  





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Sat Apr 11, 2020 12:36 am
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Liminality says...



Day XI

Form: Spenserian Sonnet



You Pick Up Where You Left Off

In chatrooms, you pick up where you left off,
Where I was left to wonder where you went.
No blue goodbye is here spoken too soft;
No speech at all – silent farewells are sent.
In futures vague we will have to repent
With copying lines of love as done in class
With supervision, why give the hours spent?
The present on our skin feels rough and crass.
Inside my mind, I pick you up like glass
But turn you over, seeking like a beast.
The figure of your absence soon does pass
Into my honeyed memories – a feast.
In chatrooms, we pick up where last we left,
Between the times we leave ourselves bereft.
  





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Sun Apr 12, 2020 1:29 am
Liminality says...



Day XII

Spoiler! :
These ones were tough! I had to go through a few before I got some decent enough to publish. Tried to avoid being too bawdy, even though it's a dodoitsu.


Form: Dodoitsu

I. Long-swords

When he rambled reports on
The long-swords hung in his room,
The homeroom teacher passed him;
The police did not.



II. Stereotypes

The teacher had us talk dreams;
His was to break stereotypes
Of men rushing to speak first
And talking too much.
  





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Mon Apr 13, 2020 12:23 am
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Liminality says...



Day XIII

Form: Abstract/ Sound poetry



Talk is Buttery

Pitter-patter, goes the rain and the matter
that spatters the rat-tat-tat window;
whispers of willows billow inward to where
sipping of sultry concoctions occurs.
A buttery talk flutters through shutters
flaxen-haired – right there! – from the insect air.
  





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Tue Apr 14, 2020 1:36 am
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Liminality says...



Day XIV

Form: Somonka


If not in the library

The waves of evening
Were washing my words away
From the grimy window
Asking where I could find you
If not in the library?

I thought I could find
A black pearl, hiding behind
Sand banks of pages
Burrowing inside with hands
Cold from your absence.
  





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Wed Apr 15, 2020 12:16 am
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Liminality says...



Day XV

Form: Tanka




Canine Interaction

Trying to weave a
Subordinate clause, mid-air;
My dog’s response is
Turning away, scratching himself
Disappointed gems – his eyes.
  





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Thu Apr 16, 2020 1:41 am
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Liminality says...



Day XVI

Form: Petrarchan Sonnet

Spoiler! :
Doing this week's buddy challenge here.
The octave of this sonnet is inspired by @bpmzcpl 's lines
"The path is soft clay
Unmolded, uncharted
Now that I’ve started
It goes on forever."

After the volta at "but", the sestet is more loosely inspired by @alliyah 's lines from 'we are phonebook fish'
"stir spin dive, spreading pages loose, unbind them - paper is cheap
let me soak in your ocean-dreams, your name is written here
and here and here, check the index if you don't believe me,
but don't forget to call back, they're always forgetting to call back"

I loved these two poems, so I thought I'd link them together with this turtle metaphor people use to describe the difficulty of describing the significance of syntax in language.


‘Meanings are towers of turtles’

A famous analogy for this goes:
Meanings are towers of turtles found
To stack on themselves, going all the way down
And where the line ends, nobody can know.
Diaphanous epiphany! That throes
Of unmoulded uncertainty abound,
Even in floors and ceilings, seeming sound;
Our seeking of endings just goes and goes –
But maybe we all could be deep sea fish,
Slipping between the structures, learning
To weave away our own lines out of light;
We stitch the uncharted paths with a swish
Of tails, encyclopaedic in yearning,
Upon the reef above towers, alight.
  





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Thu Apr 16, 2020 3:41 am
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alliyah says...



Gosh that is such an artful combination of the themes from the two poems that brings out something new and beautiful. Really love that last sonnet @Liminality, and especially the continued use of really such precise word choice too! I think the last three lines are my favorite. :)

I liked the Spenserian Sonnet from earlier as well - I think the juxtaposition from the formal sonnet form to the chat-room theme actually created a neat contrast - and the idea of like picking up an old (or continued) conversation like glass was really intriguing for a metaphor connection.
maybe i make up colors for poetic cadence, but i don't think i can ever love someone who doesn't understand that teal is a different color than dark cyan
  





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Fri Apr 17, 2020 2:28 am
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Liminality says...



Thank you for the lovely comments, @alliyah! I'm glad you liked the buddy tribute. :)
  





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Fri Apr 17, 2020 2:29 am
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Liminality says...



Day XVII

Form: Cascade poem


‘I learn Chinese like walking up a hill’

I learn Chinese like walking up a hill
Since I never learnt to use cable cars
I scrape my knees on these forward lunges.

Cursing and throwing my arms in the air,
Folding an ink-stained map accordion-shaped,
I learn Chinese like walking up a hill.

The path seems sheer, flying up like a cliff;
The sky seems stuck in glass, hard and blue
Since I never learnt to use cable cars.

My tongue trips tonally, tied out of tune
To the Western colony of my brain;
I scrape my knees on these forward lunges.
  





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Sat Apr 18, 2020 12:21 am
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Liminality says...



Day XVIII

Form: Tautogram

Spoiler! :
Partially inspired by lines from Percy B. Shelley's 'Mutability'.

Mutability

We rest – a dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise – one wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep,
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:


Change


Carrying circular courage,
Change careens centre-wards,
Crossing celestial causeways.

Celestial creatures – cobalt-coloured,
Cream crescent catapulting,
Centuries cradling courage.

Centuries cartwheel clockwise,
Commas change. Colons change.
Currently creasing canvas canopies.

Constellations crow, caring
Crows celebrate coarse cobalt
Conversations curl, caressing.

Change – coming, coming,
Crossing causal causeways,
Cultures change. Cries change.
  





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Sun Apr 19, 2020 12:12 am
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Liminality says...



Day XIX

Form: Magic 9



Acquisition

Maybe life begins with an idle game,
with collecting indigo impressions,
with the sounds you tame
with sticker labels shelved in memory.
Watching numbers go up, until you claim
your next upgrade: shine –
But the counter comes back to where you came;
back to Square One, staticky impressions
revised. Relearn the world with slanted aim.
  








Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.
— Thomas Edison