Tecoyahtry and other inspirations~

Discussion in 'Creative Corner' started by tecoyah, Jul 16, 2019.

  1. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    I really like this. The idea of what we are.
    Maybe how we got there?
     
  2. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    Some of these have photos I take that inspire the writing. Other stuff I've written can have a not so warm and sunny side to it.
     
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  3. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    That was actually an abstract explanation of one of our members...@Herewegoagain
     
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  4. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    You should post the Pics along with the poem.

    Some of my favorites are the dark creations.
     
  5. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    I try to get stuff down as quickly as possible, but often the original idea evolves before I finish, so I end up with lots of beginnings and not so many endings. I recently found some old, old floppy disks that had stuff on them, and I had to laugh at the way they all just stop, like in mid thought.
     
  6. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    This came after having a nasty cold and waking up when the Nyquil wore off. You know, that 'what's the meaning of life' state of mind when you're sick... And it really did happen.

    Commandment

    Trace it back to a time when life was one
    Cell, the first cell; the creator of all life
    That issued its newborn second self
    A single command . . . Survive!


    Follow those cells as they change,
    Each copy slightly flawed, slightly better,
    Except for the command, the unchanging command
    That gives life purpose.


    Continue until this night of stars
    And frosted grass under a full white moon,
    Lifeless light piercing
    The darkness of this cliché:


    The forms of cats fighting each other
    For the right to deliver their cells;
    In some bloody competition, obeying
    The demands of those cells.

    Feel the maddening urge;
    So deadly real it is
    That this winner, this Oedipus of cats
    Will mount his own mother.

    He is divided from her, and she,
    Always the good mother, nurtures
    Within and without, sacrifices,
    Surrenders to the murderous call of cells.

    Cells that will define themselves
    As mouths, brains, gonads, or uterus.
    Each feeling the ceaseless call
    That is greater than any religion.

    Step forward and watch
    The eggs hatch in the robin’s nest.
    Hear the chicks call desperately
    See the mother cat scoop them out.

    Who cares that the cat had kittens?
    Or that one mother kills another’s babies
    To feed her own?
    This deadly commandment can’t be ignored.

    The first cell lives and has reproduced;
    It plays music everyday on the way to work,
    Or screeches like cats in heat,
    Or shrieks like dying chicks.

    And this moon light,
    On finally reaching the ground,
    Finds only the frosted grass
    Littered with cats
    Out of their minds
    With lust and hunger,
    And has not enough energy left
     
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  7. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    Dayum….I love it when something forces me to think, that one certainly did...Excellent.
     
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  8. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    Chilled in breaths mist, muffled by wind
    Screaming in your head
    Walking with the dead
    This darkness breeds a fear, of something near
    A child of blood and another a sprite
    Dressed as they are to instill my fright
    Sweets corrupted by thoughts of monster imposters
    All for the fun of imagination
    A night of abandon sweeps the nation
     
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  9. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    Here's a challenge for you--think back on a time in your life that had some meaning you weren't aware of at the time.
    This one is from a memory that stayed with me for many years and I didn't really understand it all until after I started writing it out.

    Miss Mildred’s Class

    Coldspring, Texas--1965

    Not far from the Trinity River
    Back before there was a lake
    Miss Mildred’s third grade class
    Sat in the afternoon stillness
    Looking through open windows
    Watching the occasional breeze
    Gently nudge the live oaks
    It is the quietness I remember most
    Silence broken by the warm air
    Taking refuge in the shade of trees
    Locusts humming from somewhere in the brown grass
    A boy scraping his pocket knife on the remains of a pencil
    The soft creak of the old wooden rocker Miss Mildred sat in to read
    Little House in the Big Woods with her genteel Southern drawl
    Each syllable, each vowel graceful and proper…
    I took the story and her voice home with me each day
    Staring blankly out of the bus window
    As we passed the other school
    With its single-hoop basketball court on red clay
    I thought of Ma Ingalls’s fear and hatred of the Indians
    And wondered why Miss Mildred had said we shouldn’t be afraid like Ma Ingalls
    When our ‘guests’ come next year
     
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  10. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    Ode to a bowl-full of candy corn

    Frost white tips
    orange of a pumpkin
    yellow sun setting behind a corn field.
    I scoop a handful of candy corn
    drop it in my mouth,
    bite slowly
    and feel the sweetness
    glaze my tongue.
    The hell with the kids,
    I'm eating these.
     
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  11. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    Okay...now I want some....bastard, I avoid Candy.
     
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  12. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    Want and desire in my heart, run if you will or be torn apart
    Dripping my hands or sometimes paws
    Licking the liquid from my jaws
    Dog days of summer gone awaiting this darkness spawn
    Shreds of the suit of human form linger
    A talon of your death in place of a finger
    The growl and howl does fine hair arise
    Reflection of you appear in my eyes
    Final view before …..the cries.
     
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  13. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    Ha! Halloween poems! I don't have any of those
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]
     
    Last edited: Oct 25, 2019
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  14. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    So...make one, that's the point.
     
  15. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    I should have cried, let Grampa see
    Something real, a part of me
    Even though he may not hear, he may have seen that he was dear
    Known a little child was there
    Known he loved and that he cared
    Now I'm grown and its too late to tell the kindest man hes great
    I guess that missing chance is fate
     
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  16. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    That's what I'm talking about. Most of us can relate to that kind of thing. Such memories are painful. In that sense, I think it's good to keep them short and direct. Any longer and tears get in the way.

    I'm trying to post a Halloween photo, but not having any luck. I'll try again later.
     
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  17. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    [​IMG]Give me your candy!
     
    Last edited: Oct 25, 2019
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  18. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    Now your turn for a challenge:

    Explain happiness.
     
  19. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    You mean the candy corn doesn't work for that? Sigh...I'll be back.
     
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  20. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    Ok, happiness in a moment. Don't know if it explains it, but let's do this.


    The Eternal Bliss of Grandchildren in the Early Morning

    breathing wakes me
    a child through my sleepy eyes
    standing by the bed
    whispers, “breakfast”
     
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  21. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    Petulant Perversion

    The old man child
    Playing his tin soldiers in the sand
    He can be wild when not given a hand
    He plays unfair in petulant stand
    Expecting the world obey his command
    The weak of heart and mind bow to demand
    Give the kid his candy...if only to shut him up
    When charges filed
    Ruin the brand
    Tarnished brass instead of Gold
    Will adults see what they behold, listen to what they are told
    Return to the sanity of old
    Or have their sensibilities been sold
    Deny the Candy and make him cry
    Otherwise my hopes will die.
     
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  22. tecoyah

    tecoyah Well-Known Member Past Donor

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    Awesome and clearly understood.
     
  23. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    Wow! Sounds like someone I know.
     
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  24. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    How about some work poems? I have some from long ago when I worked in a steel mill. They reflect a sense of being trapped in an uncomfortable proletarian existence--a sense of hopelessness in which retirement was the only real salvation.

    upload_2019-10-28_20-24-58.png

    This is all automated now. It used to have about a dozen workers poking the steel into the rollers.
     
    Last edited: Nov 1, 2019
  25. Adfundum

    Adfundum Advisor Staff Member Donor

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    I wrote this about working there.


    Millrats

    In a dim, corrugated tin cavern
    a quarter mile of sun fingers
    streams through a cloud of steel dust
    falling on the furrows of the face,
    the ears and shoulders.
    Dust that gets sucked into the lungs
    of men with long-handled tongs
    who poke heavy ribbons of sun colored steel
    into rollers turning against one another,
    squeezing old rail-road rails
    into sign posts, fence posts, and rebar.
    Heat blisters rise on the knuckles of gloved hands;
    the soles of boots smoke;
    muscles and tendons strain against bones.
    The sweat of last night's beer flows
    from whiskered chins, tempering
    the metal in a violent, sizzling dance,
    this dance of the mill-hand
    this same bending,
    the same shoving,
    the same turn of the face away from the heat,
    the same step backwards,
    the same reach for the next bar,
    the same heat blistering the skin,
    repeating every day,
    and again the next;
    this workday dance
    in the black dust
    of white hot steel
    to the faulty rhythm
    of roaring motors,
    blasting a monotone
    to dance to.











    bg 95
     
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