Friday, May 30, 2008

Check out our latest Jigsaw Poem

This poet sent me their poem and a link, rather than just a link. That is why this poem is posted here while others are linked to here. The poets made the choice, not me. You can still have your jigsaw poem or a link to your jigsaw poem posted on PWB if you want. Send me an email at poetswhoblog@yahoo.com

The point of this project? To spread poetry throughout the blogosphere by exposing more people to new poets. That is the point of PWB. If you support us, you don't support me, you support every poet who shares their creativity with the world by posting their poems on a blog. So be generous with your comments and your critiques so PWB can stay alive.

Dinner Party by Nathan from Exhaust Fumes and French Fries

Let's drink. Let's eat. Let's tell
stories incomplete like life.
Let's be open, embrace and
fight across the table. Let's talk.

Describe a fantasy, a fable:
"He was thirty when his mind
was bent, broken off like a
key in a lock.

Till then life was a plumb line
snapped in chalk, able to be
plotted point by point. A precious
fantasy of an infinite sum."

We know life is an ellipse. We
orbit a central question, spin
and...wait, let me clarify...

"He was thirty when his mind was
sent to the salt mines, when it
began to lean like a drunken uncle
being helped to bed."

Wait, let me clarify what I
said...

Let's eat. Each night we set
a place for peace just in case.
Let's talk openly, face to face.
This is not a dress rehearsal.
Continue the halting stutter, the
sudden reversal. Let assurances
float and flutter like leaflets from a
propaganda bomb.

If I could remember what I meant...

Let all portable machines go silent.
It's time to eat. Granite and pine
bark, soil and sea water, our menu
is complete.

"He was thirty when his mind
was bent. He spent nine years
building a replacement out of
copper wire, tin, gossip, art and lies."

We orbit. We mix and collide, volatile
compounds. Eyes are fixed on the question
the way people stare at magic tricks, the
way the slave stares at his dominatrix.

Let's eat. Let's eat. It's getting late.
Let's not be squeamish. Each reach
for an other's plate.

The question will not edify...please,
let me clarify...

3 comments:

Ralph Murre said...

wow . . . excellent!

writerwoman said...

"He was thirty when his mind
was bent, broken off like a
key in a lock.

Love that part and the other He was thirty sections. You really did a lot with those words offered. Bravo!

lissa said...

wonderful poem full of so much insight and wisdom. i love the line "tell stories incomplete like life"