Blossoms
The flowers in your words
Are rhymed with pollen
Which gets all over me
As I read
It sticks in my hair
Infiltrates my clothing
I share it with those
Who rub up against me
Perhaps they will be pollinated
With your sentiments
Perhaps they will bring forth
Hybrid orchids of meaning
Connotative color swirls
With delicate petals
The nectar of verbal orchids
Attracts inquisitive hummingbirds
Who dip their bills
Into the raw juice of those minds
Rich fuel for their own mental flying
Visit a monkey in the tree of his life. He doesn't eat the fruit before it is ripe. When the Sugar turns to alcohol. He shares his crop with one and all....
Visit a monkey in the tree of his life
He doesn't eat the fruit before it is ripe
When the sugar turns to alcohol
He shares his crop with one and all
The alcoholic tangerines are free
The alcoholic tangerines for you
The alcoholic tangerines for me
He doesn't eat the fruit before it is ripe
When the sugar turns to alcohol
He shares his crop with one and all
The alcoholic tangerines are free
The alcoholic tangerines for you
The alcoholic tangerines for me
Apology for the Alcoholic Tangerines
Blog Archive
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2011
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February
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- Blossoms The flowers in your wordsAre rhymed with ...
- The IronyAs I readI begin to indulge the old roman...
- Two Related Bodiesit is notthat humans have a hist...
- "The Voice of the Wolf" from The Firebird
- No title
- Turkey Breast Pot Roast (unh!)
- The Spirits at the Pub of My SoulDeep in my being ...
- You're blackAnd I almost didn't notice youBut then...
- Three Animal Poems
- Rationalism There is no such thing as simultaneit...
- Toward a Philosophy of Romance
- IdealismBeneath everything there is a drummerWho h...
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February
(12)
2 comments:
Today I was discussing how men can write to a feminine audience using different language than they would use for a masculine audience. This is a poem that I feel has feminine language--It kind of bothers me really.
I guess the whole idea of the love poem is to approach the woman on her own terms. To demonstrate that you can relate to her. The author of a love poem implicitly acknowledges the woman's selectivity--which she is supposed to find flattering.
I feel that a male poet is forced into feminine language because of the prevalence of the feminine audience. He has to conform to her tastes and sensibilities regarding language.
Today I overheard a conversation between three women that astonished me. Their conversation was so cold and emotionless--it immediately put me in mind of the Platonic account account of Spartan philosophy which is supposed to have been perpetuated by the women of Sparta and which was a secret tradition that Socrates considered himself lucky to be privy to.
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