The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Wed 8/9/06)

[RetroLounge]

More and More

More and more frequently the edges
of me dissolve and I become
a wish to assimilate the world, including
you, if possible through the skin
like a cool plant's tricks with oxygen
and live by a harmless green burning.

I would not consume
you or ever
finish, you would still be there
surrounding me, complete
as the air.

Unfortunately I don't have leaves.
Instead I have eyes
and teeth and other non-green
things which rule out osmosis.

So be careful, I mean it,
I give you fair warning:

This kind of hunger draws
everything into its own
space; nor can we
talk it all over, have a calm
rational discussion.

There is no reason for this, only
a starved dog's logic about bones.

Margaret Atwood

********************

RL

If you have a request for a certain Poet, post their name in the thread and I will find a poem by them and post it...

if you want to see some of my poetry, see the blog at:
http://www.myspace.com/retropaul

[GirlinContempt]

1. I'm not a huge Atwood fan

:)

[wildhorses]

2. sounds like she will suck the life right out of you, just like a dog

will suck the marrow right out of a bone:shrug:


some people are just energy suckers...my ex was like that. It has taken me three years to find the energy to begin even thinking about entering into another relationship and I am still scared shitless:scared:

enough about me

suffice it to say that she gets her point across

[Duncan Grant]

3. "... a starved dog's logic..."

That's a brilliant poem, RL. I don't think I've ever read it before. :thumbsup:

Now, back to page 1 with you... :kick:

[RetroLounge]

6. Thanks for that kick

:hi:

RL

[CaliforniaPeggy]

4. My dear RetroLounge......

How gently understated this poem is.......

And yet the hunger is plainly visible......

Delicate but there.........real, true.........felt........

I have been there, and this one again speaks to me and my hunger.........

:loveya: :hug:

[BlueIris]

5. Woah; I didn't know that one.

Strange. For a while there, all of two years ago, as the result of eight years of worship, my brain was a veritable library of Atwood's writing.