A Reality That Continually Rapes A Dream

Oblivion Non Grata

Pathological Interment

...and

if I lied

and said

I felt fine

would you see

the convenience

of a disguised truth

leaking out the corner of my eyes

marveling...

...as it meanders

...as it evolves

...as it erodes a gorge into the emptiness of me.

Pity…

…that sorrow bathes

in the comfort

of barren days

and a tattered past

and a bullet riddled present

and a cellophane future

and a juxtaposed prose that is easily disposed

in the shadow of unsubstantial twilight

as

love

splendor

sex

&

death

perform

in a unheralded

quartet

which echoes thru the halls

of a Sistine dimension 

tucked neatly

under the arm

of ignorance

pieces of flesh

and compassion

dangling

greedily

plucked upon

by scavengers born

of one-night stands

and tryst unplanned

who with starving thirst

partake of a poison

concocted with solitude

and dust from renaissance's marrow.

The taste of it soothes like a genocide and vodka chaser...

...served from a chilled glass forged in a kiln of pain.

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Devoted Agony

Comparchmental

Cavalcade

The imaged used in this piece can be found here

 Words by dasuntoucha © 2010 

Naked Illusions

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Lingering

Painting by Unknown Artist

Words by dasuntoucha © 2010

Volition

This post is a response to Jingle's Poetry POTLUCK...the theme is Beaches and Mountains...

Maybe...

© 2007, 2010 dasuntoucha

Scrub & Wax

This piece was inspired by #235 Flashback from the Sunday Scribblings Blogspot...

...which I am also sharing at:

The image from this post can be found here.

Words by dasuntoucha © 2010

Woven

This was a piece (words only) that I originally submitted to At Art Words…I am now posting it as a response to Prompt #17 for Poets United.

The image used for this piece can be found here
Words by dasuntoucha © 2008, 2010

It Feels Like...

© 2008, 2010 dasuntoucha

Proclivity's Paradise

Painting by Susilowati
Words by dasuntoucha

Grammatical Intentions

Can

eye rub

my fingers

through your lines

and give them

a soft enough

caress so that

dangling participles

and throbbing

metaphors

rush to get undressed?

Can

eye 

embrace

every curve

of every word

giving your phonics

goosebumps while

making the peaks

of your prepositions

stand at attention?

I

confess

you make

me want to

create our own

private dialect

decipherable

by desire

as imagination dives deep

into your pages

of fire

lapping

verbs and

thrusting so hard

into allusions

the allegories crack

as you spread

syllables

and orchestrate

a litany of onomatopoeia

for a

plausible conjunction

with my

diction...

 
 
© 2010 dasuntoucha

Her Return

Broken People

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Longing For Fall

With this Dante's summer that's been blasting the Nation's Capital, it's good to know that Fall is right around the corner...

Fixed Poetry Form: The Chant Royal

This week I’d like to share a form of fixed poetry called the Chant Royal. It is similar to an Ode that was often used for heroic subjects or deeds. It has five eleven-line stanzas and an ending that can either be a five line or seven line envoi… that’s 60 plus lines of fixed writing! To make it more interesting, no rhyming word is to be used twice! Talk about intimidating…the set up for the stanzas is as follows:

a b a b c c d d e d E with an ending that can be either d d e d E or
c c d d e d E.

I’ve only written three poems in this style…and tweaked each try with my own add ons. The first attempt was a train wreck, the second was only a car crash and this one, which I continue to edit to this day. As you can see, I altered the rules, making the word She the first line of each stanza. I’m not going lie, it’s complicated, but if you’re up for the challenge, trying this form out will be its own reward.

This is my submission for the MONDAY POETRY POTLUCK...it's about a QUEEN I call...

She…

…is so fiery and hypnotic
that her glance can turn a glacier into a lake,
with a beauty that gives contusions to the eyes,
those beholding her sight may never escape.
The web of awe she weaves
is indescribable and hard to deny.
Divinity can't concoct a vision this grand,
nature jealous because second place is its command,
even the sun rises everyday to see,
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.

She…

…is a scintillating narcotic,

who every milli-second I wish to take.

No other illicit drug could ever get me this high,

aching for her every moment I wake.

If she were to ever leave

a river I would most surely cry,

becoming a lost vagabond roaming the land,

so that this may never happen, here is my plan:

devote all my existence to thee,

this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.

She…

…is alluring and exotic,
curves, skin, and lips, flawless, no mistakes.
Fingers fighting to touch her; the battle ending in a tie,
exploration of her form soon to be caress’s fate.
Destined to one day achieve
a consummation that will cause the heavens to sigh;
two lovers who turn constellations into a fan,
of an endless connection that continually expands,
her vivaciousness expansive as the sea,
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.

She…

…makes me neurotic,

whether asleep or awake.

Illusions and imagination of other things I dare not try,

gray matter could never function under this much weight.

To be this devoted, who would believe?

Mental faculties contorted and the same time spry.

The logic that's left assails to the lower stand,

joining erratic thoughts which are calmed by her hands,

an infatuation that has me giddy with glee;

this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.

She…

…the rest of my life to her allotted,
willful conscription to her I shall never break,
for when she is thirsty my mouth gets dry,
with eventual nuptials there can be no debate.
Into me essential breath she breathes,
I need her and that's no lie.
So we take a journey only fated lovers overstand,
her becoming a High Priestess and I the Iman,
letting the moments scribe our story,
this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.

She…

…at last bound together, we work on starting a clan.

Children soon to be everywhere, our own genetic caravan.

My soul the lock, her love the key;

this earthly inspiration born of ancient sands.

© 2008, 2010 dasuntoucha

Fixed Poetry Form: The Villanelle

The villanelle is another one of those fixed poetry forms like the Pantoum that has a repeating line structure throughout. I like this form because the repeating lines tend to carry great weight as the poem is read. While it has been around for some time, Dylan Thomas made the villanelle renowned with his piece, Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night with that unforgettable line Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It is usually made up of five tercets and an ending quatrain with just two repeating rhymes and two refrains. The first and third lines of the beginning tercet are the refrains that repeat thru the poem and also end it. Its construction is as follows:

A1 (refrain one)
b
A2 (refrain two)

a
b
A1 (refrain one)

a
b
A2 (refrain two)

a
b
A1 (refrain one)

a
b
A2 (refrain two)

a
b
A1 (refrain one)
A2 (refrain two)

This form is challenging but it will definitely strengthen your ability to convey meaning.

Restoration

Sedentary dreams put the soul in traction,

motivation buried under the weight of woe;

courage, the mortar binding hope to action.

Self pity a welcomed satisfaction,

inspiration now turning into a foe,

Sedentary dreams put the soul in traction.

Mediocrity the mind’s newest attraction

to a life that fears uncertainty’s plateau,

courage, the mortar binding hope to action.

Is chasing one’s passion a lost abstraction?

Caught in the waves of reality’s undertow,

sedentary dreams put the soul in traction.

When catering to the will of distraction,

at procrastination you become a pro,

courage, the mortar binding hope to action.

Seize the now moments and destroy inaction,

upon your heart, childhood ambition bestow.

Sedentary dreams put the soul in traction.

Courage, the mortar binding hope to action.

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Fixed Poetry Form: The Pantoum

Okay in this post I’ll be dealing with one of my favorite fixed poetry forms, the Pantoum. Why is the Pantoum a favorite of mine you may ask?…because it challenges one to convey meaning with repeating lines and has an ending that brings the poem full circle.

It uses four line stanzas with lines two and four of the previous stanza becoming lines one and three of the next stanza. For the ending stanza, you take lines one and three of the first stanza and combine them with lines two and four of the stanza before it. Sounds confusing right? No sweat…this is what the form looks like with alphabets representing each line:

A (line 1)
B (line 2)
C (line 3)
D (line 4)

B (2nd line of first stanza becomes the 1st of the new stanza)
E
D (4th line of first stanza becomes the 3rd line of the new stanza)
F

E (2nd line of second stanza becomes the 1st on the new stanza)
G
F (4th line of second stanza becomes the 3rd line of the new stanza)
H

G (2nd line of the previous stanza)
A (1st line of the 1st stanza)
H (4th line of the previous stanza)
C (3rd line of the 1st stanza)

You can add as many stanzas as you like, just remember the second and fourth lines of the previous stanza will always be the first and the third of the next stanza. As for the ending, you can switch the position of lines one and three having the poem close on the same line that it opened. That is the ending I’ll be using for this piece I call:

All Seeing Blindness

As Big Brother’s eyes see all

we waltz thru life in a haze.

The reality of others now enthralls,

broadcasted upon a 60 inch digital stage.

We waltz thru life in a haze,

destined towards social cataclysm,

broadcasted upon a 60 inch digital stage,

as numbness replaces social activism.

Destined towards social cataclysm,

high definition worship sets the soul ablaze.

As numbness replaces social activism,

broadcasted upon a 60 inch digital stage.

High definition worship sets the soul ablaze,

the reality of others now enthralls,

broadcasted upon a 60 inch digital stage,

as Big Brother’s eyes see ALL.

© 2009, 2010 dasuntoucha

Fixed Poetry Form: The Sonnet

A Sonnet is a fourteen line fixed poetry form that employs the use of iambic pentameter (say that three times fast :-) and has a patterned rhyme scheme. There are many varations of this form, but in this post I'll be dealing with two of the more popular ones which are the Italian Sonnet and the English or as it’s known by most, the Shakespearian Sonnet.

The Italian Sonnet has fourteen lines that break up into two quatrains, which usually describe a problem, followed by a sestet (two tercets), which gives the resolution to it. This type of Sonnet can have many rhyme patterns but the one I will be using today is:

abba abba cddc ee

The Shakespearian Sonnet (made famous by you know who) consists of three quatrains and a couplet. Like the Italian Sonnet, it tends to describe a problem and offer a resolution. The rhyme pattern I’ll be using for this one is:

abab cdcd efef gg

I like Sonnets because they tend to be breaths of brevity…but the challenge is sticking to the script of iambic pentameter…that 10 syllable count is a pain in the bahookey…that’s why there’s poetic license. (^_^)

Italian Sonnet

Wistful Thinking

I dream of her draped in a cool breeze,

sprawled out on the mosaic of my mind,

scantily clad, a vision so sublime

her beauty could bring desire to its knees.

Curvature inspiring eyes to freeze

on this Syrian ancestral find,

derrière so decadently divine,

from which passion prohibits a reprieve.

But lusting after a goddess isn’t smart,

when the soul is etched with fervor’s treads,

life as I know it lessened to shreds,

my heart, a piece of her unfinished art.

Undone by this subconscious endeavor

I’ll avert my gaze from her forever.

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Shakespearian Sonnet

Monotonous Motions

Can one stay calm while driving to work?

congested roadways make the nerves tense,

especially when you’re cut off by a jerk,

whose actions cause facilities to wince.

Violence immediately fills the head,

thoughts on the days chores done,

the main focus is to see that motorist dead.

Road rage has sprung, so I reach for my gun,

is today the day I make the evening news?

Shots fired, we’re live on the scene,

because some idiot has magnified rush hour blues,

destroying a disposition that was once serene.

To expel this insanity from my brain,

I think I’ll start to commute by train.

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Fixed Poetry Form: The Sestina

Over the next few weeks I’ll be trying my hand at fixed poetry forms such as the Chant Royal, Pantoum, Sonnet and the Villanelle. In this post, I’m going to attempt a Sestina.

What is a Sestina you might ask? Well it’s a fixed form dating back to the 12th century containing six six-line stanzas and a three-line concluding stanza known as a tercet or envoi. The kicker is that the ending words of the first stanza are repeated throughout each of the following stanzas in a set pattern. For the finale, the same six words appear in the concluding three-line stanza, two in each line.

Here is how the pattern looks with a letter representing the placement of one of the six ending words:

Stanza 1: A, B, C, D, E, F
Stanza 2: F, A, E, B, D, C
Stanza 3: C, F, D, A, B, E
Stanza 4: E, C, B, F, A, D
Stanza 5: D, E, A, C, F, B
Stanza 6: B, D, F, E, C, A
Ending: AB CD EF

So to recap:
A Sestina is a poem that contains six six-line stanzas and a three-line ending stanza utilizing the same six ending words in all of the stanzas.

Looks intimidating right?

A couple of my poetry friends who’ve tried this gave me some tips on how to get started. One way is to pick six related words first, making sure you have a verb or two in the mix. Another way is to write the stanzas first then go back and fashion them to fit six words you choose after writing the poem.

But what’s the challenge in that?  So I chose the first option…here goes…I call this piece…

The Plague of Fate


To step up and bare the soul
unafraid of enormous hurt
that can crush a normal heart
causing memories to bleed
because our eventual fate
forces time to be cruel.

Sadistic satisfaction is cruel
that one should touch the soul
putting everything in the hands of fate
not worrying about hurt
1,000 daily deaths to bleed
just to once hold another’s heart.

But coldness seizes this heart
for reality is relentlessly cruel
coercing one to empty out and bleed
from the very pit of the soul
compounded hurt
seems to be our fate.

Oh, to be strong enough to fight fate
with the strength of a lion’s heart
coiling off hurt
the very thought cruel
as I fight to reach your soul
your name I will bleed.

Love, a dye that will never bleed
untainted or faded by fate
cleansing the soul
and reviving this heart
for kindness trumps an existence that’s cruel
erasing all traces of hurt.

Longing to touch you may hurt
causing worn abrasions to bleed
but compassion crushes time that is cruel
bringing us closer to fate
conjoining pieces of a heart
pacifying a once lost soul.

No more hurt because finally fate
dies as joy commences to bleed from the heart
time ceasing to be cruel, allowing unification into one soul.

© 2010 dasuntoucha

Proper Motivation

I like to think that motivational and inspirational quotes about writing are crumbs that lead one to the table of action. Let’s face it, we're all susceptible to emotional ruts and bouts of laziness we call writer’s block but in the end the only way to write is to write…here are a few quotes I peek at every now and again when I need to shovel some coals into the writing furnace…

Awakening

Decadent Decimation

 

The

fairytale

facade

is always

inviting

enticing

the mind

to feats of

enchantment

that forget even

the most well

built dream

can erode right

in front of

your

eyes.

© 2009, 2010 dasuntoucha

Escapee

Hypnotic Rendering

Painting by Sera M. Knight

On Becoming a Better Poet…

I don’t know too many poets including myself, who as they discover a proclivity for the written word don’t let their mind take to flights of fancy because they feel as though their writing is the best that has ever graced the planet. Like no one else since the beginning of human civilization has ever crafted together words to describe the indescribable…wrong, wrong, WRONG.

Whether we choose to realize it or not, folks have been writing about the same subject matter for several millennia and because we sometimes fail to acknowledge this, some of the best poetry one could ever read never gets read. Which brings me to an important detail all poets should heed…read read READ!!!

Not just your own work but the works of others as well…maybe in exploring the inked thoughts of those who precede US, one can uncover the mystery that makes writers like Pablo Neruda or Nikki Giovanni papyrus immortals. I know reading other writers might be hard to do especially when you’ve just written a masterpiece that puts Langston Hughes’ catalog to shame, but trust me it works.

See my LOVE affair with poetry began not with the lines of Sappho but with the lyrics of Rakim and the songwriting of Gamble & Huff; for it was rhythmic poetry that first seduced my mind. Once the love affair with palabras intensified I was able to move on to the Gwendolyn Bennett’s and Kahlil Gibran’s of the world, but when I first started writing poetry, I could see a lot of the mistakes I was making in my own work because of reading others.

You know the usual suspects…repeating the same word 50 different times in one piece, using the hell out of conjunctions (particularly as, but, for, of, or, that, etc.), switching from an active voice to a passive voice, misspelling, and my favorite…mixing up homonyms and homophones.

While grammatical errors can be fixed with proofreading and practice, one element that’s difficult to rectify is style. Writing styles that tend to leave an impact with me are those that show a reader instead of telling them. What does this mean? Simply paint a picture with your words that the mind’s eye has never seen. We all know what trees are and what grass is and what the air does, but if you can wrap metaphoric euphoria around these every day occurrences and make them seem new, then you’re one step closer to becoming the poet you dream you can be.

As Audre Lorde once said, There are no new ideas there are only new ways of making them felt.

I don’t know about you, but what I enjoy is when people FEEL what I write. Not FEEL it because they know me but because it touched a place that is familiar yet fallible. For their genuine responses have come to symbolize connectivity to something that is larger than myself.

I realize not every poet seeks to become a household name…for some their breathings upon the page represent a healing of the spirit and they share in an attempt to inspire others to heal themselves as well. I like to think one day I can nestle myself firmly into this category…but until that time the learning continues…

They Will Never Know

This is a piece that a fellow poet named Chellebell and I did a couple of weeks ago...

 

© 2010 chellebell/dasuntoucha

To Post Or Not To Post...

…is the question that’s been crossing my mind a lot these days.

I’ve been writing under the name Dasuntoucha for about 4 years now and have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with some truly talented and motivated poets, largely thru on-line writing groups and poetry boards. Recently at one of my favorite poetry spots, there was some drama with the ownership that prompted me to delete my account because quite frankly, I felt the way that the situation was being handled was totally unprofessional and underhanded. While an owner of any given board or site has the right to do what they see fit, a member has a right to do what they feel is in their best interest. I don’t harbor any ill will toward anyone involved, but I made a personal vow back in 2007 not to solicit any writing community where the ownership is in any way, shape, or form is deceitful or disrespectful to those who help facilitate the day to day operations, because 9 times out of 10 it is their commitment that ensures writers keep coming back.

Even though some of my work has been published in a few literary journals and poetic anthologies, it is the joy of being able to read and share with others, whether novice or pro, that I have come to cherish. I guess I’m like that playground basketball player that should be playing in the pros but laces up his shoes and plays not for fortune or fame but for the sheer LOVE of the game. It’s picking the right court to scribe on that makes all the difference.

And in that regard I have been blessed.

I started out here with an outstanding ensemble of writers when Tom’s space was the place to be, then moved on to this community where I encountered some of the best undiscovered writers I’ve ever read, while also witnessing the pain one person’s maniacal ego can cause. But luckily, a large amount of the talent from that board moved here to what I consider my TRUE poetic home. It was only out of searching for other writing spots to expand my horizons that I was able to find this place which was as advertised, the hottest, realest, most active black poetry spot on the web. Here I made connections with what I would like to consider life-long writing comrades.

I will never forget the relationships I forged with poets and writers from these various boards…they are some truly gifted people driven not by ego but an unadulterated LOVE of words.

As we know, the writing life can be a solitary endeavor, but at least on-line if you choose to, you can post with crew…just choose where you post wisely.

Proportion Control