Loki Wyrd

I have a question about the judging (sorry if it's already been answered). If a poet advances to the second round, will the determination of the winner only take into account the last poem? I would think it would be best to tally up the point total for both poems.

Just so long as they don't make me sick... Mine shall be wrenchlike in their lapsing absence--none of that assonance either. Hopefully we can find at least one more slammer to give us 5.

Take as much time as you want/need, you don't want to rush it.

I just wrote a wicked opener. Come on, people, let's get some more slammers.

As far as I know slam poetry doesn't typically have a specific topic. Though I don't claim to know much...

A poll sounds good. I'd probably actually prefer not speaking--I'm better on paper. But I like to challenge myself, and I have found I do have the capabilities to record, so either way works for me.

I don't know if I have a mic, but if I do I'll give audio a shot.

once more revised: whispers and fingerprints Reticent whispers and fingerprints are left upon this wall-- With an eyeball resting in my palm I seldom grasp at what I stare-- Hearing the words that aren't spoken try to touch what isn't there. Patient questions asking why assume another voice: (If swathes of shadow paint a face abhorrent, will not the slightest turn of head be significant?) Rasping, spitting cough projected like a choice. Iron maiden lungs breathe shallow smog-- Your daughters crawl in bed; before sleep the story must come first-- Mind, sponge in vomit-pool, forgetful of its thirst.

The first three lines don't really do a whole lot for me, as it seems an unwieldy way of beginning. Particularly the "nor ever/will be in it" made me scratch my head. It would probably make more sense if you refer to the past as opposed to the future. I like the way you "creep down" with your next four lines, it works well to deliver us to the "act." For the "rot" stanza I think you'd be better off if you broke it into two separate sentences, such as: Another cup of tea, dear. Rot his eyes inside his head, and forevermore in mine. Finally, I think you finish strongly. The last line is excellent.

Of course, I know that. I probably wouldn't have been obliged to go more in-depth, but I figured my explanation was harmless enough. Thank you, and good luck to you as well.

Some explanation... down = soft, fluffy feathers, or something soft and fluffy like down (such as one might find in pillows, etc). Part of the reason I used the term 'congealed' was because in the previous line I had written, "plunging into silence," and congealed is in keeping with the metaphor of silence as a liquid (until it's congealed, at least ). Plus, yeah, I am a cold, scientific person. I don't really feel it's necessary to break this poem up, as it just didn't strike me that I should. Breaks tug on my pant leg like a small child, but at no point in writing this did I feel that. *shrugs* Most certainly I won't stop writing, I'm doing more now than ever, and in the past couple months alone I've made marked improvement. I just feel I've reached the point where I have to go it alone. Luckily, it's not something I'm unaccustomed to. Thank you very much for taking the time to respond.

I wasn't going to post this, but I am. Maybe the last poem I'll post up for a while. Pale, empty halls, facet of unwatched eyes plunging into silence, congealed upon the walls in monochrome still-life. Windows like tombs, behind closed doors, save for one. Hunched over blue and red striped notebook paper, lining the crevices with down, you'll find me.

Gray matter between the swing of a baseball bat, inhibited only by molecules of air; generated eddies a means of your force, poignant reflection the focus of your power.

I intend to comment on this poem over the weekend, Psimon. If I forget, send me a disgruntled PM.

Welcome. I know what you mean about being able to write more clearly than speaking. Of course, I am but a big ball of incoherence...

The title, or poem? Actually...could someone please change the title for me? I think Interjection would be more appropriate.

I thought you did a pretty good job describing the scene, making it feel to me like it was a memory of my own--maybe it was. "The grass still tried to hold on/To the warmth of the day I noticed"--I would suggest using a unique personification here, it could convey the same thing, but much more powerfully. I did, however, like the simple nature of the first stanza, starting the tone fairly lightly. I also liked your third stanza, particularly "bare lonely branches." And "tried to stop the world" is a nice way of ending your poem.

I get word-a-day emails, and 'detritus' just so happened to be one of today's. Word of the Day for Wednesday April 13, 2005 detritus \dih-TRY-tuhs\, noun; plural detritus: 1. Loose material that is worn away from rocks. 2. Hence, any fragments separated from the body to which they belonged; any product of disintegration; debris. The water was smooth and brown, with detritus swirling in the eddies from the increasing current. --Gordon Chaplin, [1]Dark Wind: A Survivor's Tale of Love and Loss If they [flying cars] were easy to produce, we'd be walking around wearing helmets to protect us from the detritus of flying car crashes. --Gail Collins, "Grounded for 2000," [2]New York Times, December 7, 1999 The loose detritus of thought, washed down to us through long ages. --H. Rogers, Essays _________________________________________________________ Detritus derives from the past participle of Latin deterere, "to rub away, to wear out," from de-, "from" + terere, "to rub." It is related to detriment, at root "a rubbing away, a wearing away," hence "damage, harm." Oh, and now I notice that I was beat to the punch for a definition. But mine is more comprehensive.

Yellow dashes confirm my suspicion that the road will go on. I can imagine myself driving sentry around the rim of a deep, black frying pan, the only thing compelling me, its Teflon coating. If I were a coat... I would have many pockets on the inside, but none facing out. You rescue a coat off the bench; it was folded over the back, one arm extended so when the wind wasn't blowing it would droop to the cracked sidewalk below. Feeling the material between your thumb and forefinger, it reminds you of a jacket that you had as a young child (the one your mom got rid of without you knowing until the leaves had changed). Muscles convulse up the entirety of my body, eyes startling open. Too late. The brake refuses my appeal, all rationale thrown behind it-- until a bench interjected. This probably could still use a lot of polish, I wrote it last night while I was fending off the Sandman. I'll work on it, if I still feel it's worth the effort once I've become more removed from it. *Edit: There's a revision for you (ok, for me). I'm not sure about the title, I have the worse time coming up with good ones. That's why I typically don't bother.

Welcome aboard, matey. Watch your step around the parrot leavings.

Hi tidings.

The sound of typewriter keys punched quickly as I read... line-by-line wading deeper. First, adjectives crash over my shoes-- red, swollen, a throbbing beat. Then verbs flail about my waist-- thrashing, bounding, splashing. Until, finally, nouns swallow me in doubt and solitude, urgency resounds. The typewriter plays no more: atrophic fingers perpetuated in a jar of formaldehyde.

Greetings and hi tidings.

ooh, yes, good idea.

There's nothing wrong with using the water, it's certainly a powerful influence for anyone, playing the ever-encompassing role in all our lives that it does. I also know about the need for dating my work; atm I'm working in about 4 notebooks with my writing, and I have a hard time even knowing where the things I've written are...must work on those organization skills. Of your two poems, I'd say your first one was the stronger. The imagery is more evocative, I feel. However, I think this has a strong theme, and I like the way you used the tide in your poem. Also worth mentioning, hearing the whisper on the waves (how I read it) is a neat idea. Feel free to post more, I'll read them. I might even have to go and search for what else you posted here.