leonardcohenforum.com

Jimmy O'Connell wrote:All this acrostic investive and ferreting around Drury laneways with rhythm sticks and villages in Wales is leaving me distinctly pricklish.
I'm finding it hard to rise to the occasion, even in Limerick where ladies are Ladies, where Norwegian winds blow up ClonMellon and Da Mellon is wandering the Emerald Isle of cyber space.

Little verse I wrote - no feedback appreciated

Jimmy - since you have mentioned me in dispatches, I feel free to advise.

Damellon is in bed quite sick
I cannot think just now of anything
You have to take yourself in hand
Find your way to the Promised Land.

didn't you want to be my wife?

It seemed a bit presumptious and you hadn't really asked and I may already have a husband/wife and I don't think I'm ready to marry someone with a black blob for an avatar.

DaMellon,
Is the Promised Land, Clonmellon?
Is the Promised Land, Dundalk?
Or could it be, beyond the sea,
in the county of New York?

Hey, I said Joney couldn't elope with you. She's the only one. I didn't say you couldn't elope. You may elope with anyone else. Just not Joney. Joney belongs to Mr. McCourt, whose pet name for her is Honeydew. ok?

Ah, but I may be fed up with Frank and on the lookout, I just get fed up with him banging on about how lucky I am to have an indoor toilet.

Hey! That's the spirit, Joney! Well done!

Jimmy

The Promised Land is when you feel
entranced by something. Is it real?
A need to stop and stay right there,
the Promised Land is everywhere.

Listen folks - playwithfire will be back soon and may be disappointed that we've gone sooooo off topic. Any more critiques? And no Jimmy - he/she is not me or me and another in any sort of conflagration.

One day I will be known
One day I will be shown
Let’s hope that day is a long time away

At your request, dear wife, I went and looked at the poems again. The second is, well, nevermind, but the first has brought me some thinking. On first read, I thought this was saying, One day I will be famous, One day I will be shown to everyone in an exhibit, and let's hope it's a long time from now because I don't want everyone knowing all that stuff I did when I was sixteen and the lights were so dim, and the rain so hard. But now, I think it's a death poem. It's shameful that there are NO images, however. Makes it very hard to connect. Could be about anything, or nothing.

eh?

Ah Manna - a cause for celebration - the back blob is no more. This is not because I refused your proposal, I hope? It's just that .... I have a few other irons in the fire at the moment and am spoiled for choice (Joney, not one of them - you successfully stymied my chances there.) But you are on my long short list. I may have a questionnaire for you to fill out but in the meantime would you like to disclose what it is that fascinates you about heavy rain?

One day I will be known
One day I will be shown
Let’s hope that day is a long time away.
playwithfire

Actually on re -re-reading this at the instigation of Manna (pretty face, avatar, Manna, could that be really you?) and inspired by DaMellonNotfromClonmellon, I am now convinced that we are dealing with the scarlet pimpernel.
Except that our pimpernelwhoplaywithfire is actally a Native American Shaman who has journeyed in search of an elusive elixer, but doesn't realise that all he has to do is travel to the West of Ireland on the night of Samhain and pull into any local atin' house and simply ask for a draught of the local brew. There he will become known to himself and will be shown to himself to be the seventh son of the seventh son of FinnMcCool and partner to Flann O'Brien, swimming with two birds, not necesarily of the same feather.

Jimmy

for once, I won't be silly.
Yep, that really is a picture of me. (closest I can do to blushing)

Everything about rain fascinates me. Tiny rivulets striving to find each other. The cycling of it, that some of me is rain, or once was, and will be again. There was a storm here last night, lighting my bedroom in a sudden blue, so it's pretty fresh in my mind. The thunder made the house shake. I had a boyfriend once and part of us was that every time it rained, we would run outside so we could kiss in it. Rain is sexy. There are the unfortunately cliched concentric circles as if a raindrop kisses its old friends who went before as it dies and the kiss sends a wave through the unity.

Went to the paint shop and asked for "sudden blue."
They sent for the men in white coats but it was ok, they were painters

I took a creative writing course a few years ago, and our first assignment was to write a poem using the color red as a main feature of the poem. SO... I went to the hardware store and got all the red swatches and built a few pointless poems out of the names of the colors. I'd be surprised if there weren't a swatch called sudden blue.

here it is one of them (can you pick out the swatch names?):

cayenne memory

solar energy spilled down on the red Pacific
Salsa Diana danced on Spanish tiles
strawberry splash of a California wine
between her painted fingernails
a phoenix was dying behind her
as Mexican chiles sizzled over an old flame

yes