Twoem #3: The Orchards of Desire

We had another twoem, or poetry jam, on Twitter last night. I got in a few tweets before I disappeared for a while, but @llbarkat, @arestlessheart, and @poemsandprayers hung in there. And @mhsteger made a cameo appearance.

To frame the twoem, @tspoetry used lines from John Poch’s book Two Men Fighting With a Knife. Below, whenever you see a line in quotations, it’s taken from the Poch book. I’ll take the credit (or the blame) for the title.


The Orchards of Desire

By @llbarkat, @poemsandprayers, @arestlessheart, @mhsteger and a couple of slight things by @gyoung9751

“Pater Noster
What can we learn from a 1913 toaster?”

"Through the sunflower field (the off-yellow
pollen fallen onto, staining my shirt)..."

The texture of toast

Is better now
Than years of 94.
I am drawn to the flavor of serene;
The smock of Van Gogh
In pollenish paint
Mimics the swaying sunflowers.
Pollen toasted,
Roasted to bronze
Would feed my love
For painted days.
Serena was her name,
Her hair a flavor of plums.
Pollen fallen,
Pixie dust staining swaying breeze,
Sunlight scattered.
Summer dies;
Sunflowers,
Serene,
Flavor the plums
With golden light.
Light filters through gold,
Pollen through wafts of scented air.

"...the violet glass that must have once adorned/the windows of their houses..."

She slipped into yellow dress,
Breathing plum-sweet,
And prayed her crimson lover
Home.
My breath hanging in mid air,
I catch myself unaware
And whisper.
Violet pixie
Scatters summer;
Plums fall,
Smash, paint earth.

"Hungry, you call me by your name. Under
Barbed wire and up arroyos I come crawling..."

"When the eggs hatch,
The nymphs drop and crawl through vetch."

Must adieu ,
releasing the call, though hunger
Lingers sweet;
Crawling beneath sheets for little love
And sleep.
I plum smashed them eggs
Like glass;
Go ahead, call me;
I am left hanging by the wings.
Adieu restless heart
Drifting like pollen
Over the face
Of night.
It flows like yellow hot wax from a flame.
If plums had wings,
Would they fly
Past arroyos,
Teasing coyotes
Purpled with hunger?

"...our fathers gone,
our mothers scrubbing through a collar stain..."

"...MADE IN JAPAN
with wood shipped from the USA and back
again, the lamp is worn with years of smoke..."

There is hunger at every turn; the sheets will burn and swim.
Life worn like wood/steals labels to explain:
Made in Japan,
Made in the USA,
Preshrunk,
Keep out.
A change of mind;
The room spins like a long, long tale.

"Her purblind eyes the pearls of memory"

Whad'ya mean
"Made in Japan?"
I never heard 'a
Such 'a thing;
Plum, ain't all sheets
Made in China?
Pearls spin
Past pain,
Burn my eyes
With sheeted
Memories.

"... the doubt
of history extinguished with a mirror..."

The luxury of clear thought of blue marbles in glass jars,
To be aware of sunflowers touching the sky
And not care why.
Blue pearls
Smashed like glass;
My thoughts
Careen and
Flee.
Smoke and wood,
Haze and sun.
If sunflowers
Touched us lightly
As pollen on a
Blue day,
Would we not
Care, again dream?
Lamps to light the night.

"An unscathed apple under the pines like a cone
Stopped me. Buoyant in my hand, it shone..."

Apple, plum,
Pine.
What would it
Take to rouse
Your heart again?
Taken from the shrine,
It shone like pebbles on the beach

"The screens were torn--we woke to insect needles..."

Build the shrine,
I told him.
Build it with apples,
Plums, pebbles.
Light a flame
Torn from the
Flowers of my
Heart;
Replace the falling star in the blue of night.

"I leapt at the walls like Mars in love with Venus."

What is night?
Mars, Venus,
The promise of torn stars,
Falling.

"We need nectar: this orange tree, this jasmine-
hung patio. Look how an orange has veered..."

Jasmine, orange,
Plum,
The bowl tips
And I stain my fingers
With nectar-scented
love.
Collect the scent of the burning leaves,
Paint a picture of the stars looking through the trees

"Imagine me applauding
Your skirt and loving the suspense”

Trees embrace
Cobalt night,
Drink starshine
As if from
Burning bowls.
Imagine
The scent,
Your skirt burning
Jasmine
Like flowered
Stars.

"crackling the whistle of a darker darling,/beak yellow as cucumber flowers"

Wrap around me your warm soft jacket with the scent of autumn.
Jasmine would not
Crackle; it is too soft for that.
Whistle it might,
A sweet song of
Goodnight.
Bring to me the gift of time upon a sapphire pillow.
Life is a thief;
Its victims defy number.
Scotland Yard and FBI miss their mark.
You mustn't slumber.
The wind whistles above the pine as the fire crackles and burns;
Toward the east, the poems are silent within a dream.
The words travel west and swirl around in the dusk and land at the foot of the pine.
The apple drops to the ground; the words no longer make a sound.

A Tabloidian Twepic

It was supposed to have been a poem, but you know what happens when you get a bunch of poets together on Twitter? They tweet away, is what they do. Boy, do they tweet. So what was to have been a "twoem" (Twitter poem) took on overtones of a "twepic" (Twitter epic), and the result is below.

We're establishing a new online space to house the various twoems, twepics and twodes; in the meantime, you can read it here. The first one - "Who Were You in My Dream?" - can be found here.

Tabloid News
By @llbarkat, @TchrEric, @arestless heart, @redclaydiaries, @doallas, @mhsteger and @gyoung9751, and a slight contribution by @shrinkingcamel. Officially published by @tspoetry.

The Regret of the Camel

Shrinking Camel
With other execs
Cleaned out crap
In the horse stalls
All day
At a therapeutic
Horse farm;
He still smells.
“Regretfully
I might
Miss your lovely
Sonnet
At 30 and nine
Tonight;
Falling
Into twitterish
Pieces
?”
“You will
Be missed,”
Says the teacher.

Calm Before the Twoem
By @TchrEric

Silver metal sheet glistens,
yellow-white rays of sun bounce off its surface
giving imperfect views
of reality that is not real

The Charge of the Twoem
By @tspoetry

Quotes to come,
from John Leax's book Tabloid News.
All poems inspired
by tabloid headlines.
E.g.
"I Want to Have A Space Alien's Baby."

"Leaping Turtles Invade US":
Your first thought would be
The thought of war
And your second would be of soup."

(Interruptus:
@gyoung9751: Space Alien’s Baby?
@TchrEric: Not sure what she has on her mind tonight
@gyoung9751: How about/Midget nun/Sights Elvis/In space alien's/starship?)

And So It Begins

"Baby born with Antlers,"
tenderly exploring his small
body, her hand touched a tiny hoof--"

Brad and Angelique
Adopt Baby
With Antlers;
Like Elvis
In a UFO
Eloping with Jen;
Carried to the stars.

Taking a Serious Turn

A flute
With golden tones,
Soundings from
Space echoes
In a universe of expansion.

Do the stars play flutes,
Do they dance like deer
Or maybe they twitter
Softly to alien hearts,
Whisper past fear.

Liquid phrases from
Red clay
Welcomes the rising stars.

The Vampiress Stalks

The vampiress
Is following me
Again.

Vampiress stalks
Midwest businessman
Seeks the pulse
Of poetry to calm
Her alien nights.

Watch out
The tracks of the vampiress
Are thick with clay;
Red night banishes her;
She hides behind stars.

nights too long gone
without
she stalks words
giving comfort where marauding moons play
among the planets

Midwest business
Man pitches
Rope of garlic bulbs;
Vampiress escapes with Elvis
In UFO.

(Interuptus2

@llbarkat: LOL
@gyoung9751: Capitol poet/Stunned by bizarre/Musings in space
@doallas: pray tell/who might receive/tender comings and goings below/the marble monument to nonsense)

Donuts and Laughter

from "World's Fattest Twins
Arrested for Stealing
World's Fattest Cat":
"He is full of donuts
and laughter."

She cuts a wedge of cake, stuffs it
in her mouth and chews.

Glazings of flour
Yeasted in oil,
Baked in heated
Furnace of life.

She used to want blood
a thin neck
beating pulse
but now her heart
aches for donuts and cake
no one would give her
the stake for this.

(Minor Interruptus: @llbarkat: Go @redclaydiaries. I'm laughing!)

Vegas is glaze
Oil
a furnace of alien
desire.

4 a.m. at the Krispy Kreme on the strip
she sits,
desire satiated
with a sugar glaze
hiding bitter truths;
Failing embers
Light a face
Of expectation and grace.

Air So Light In Space for Fauns

Air
so light in space
leaves business man
aching for that touch that says,
I'm here
Waiting
night lifts her gown.

A child says "Asia"
While a train rumbles
And a cricket screams
And a fire dies.

to find
horrors
the tiny hoof
that began this all.
Was it grace
that planted the hoof
knowing this alien world
was just now in need
of a shy faun?

ah!
fawning faun
do make for Dancing with the Stars
a most surreal experience.
A dance surreal
Of antlered centaurs.

When her gown
set fire
he could only say
God, she is more lovely
than Asia.

Bathed with grace,
Touched with the breath
Of heaven.

Stars beckon
To a time,
A place of permanence and lightness,
Light with light,
The Word breathed across
A galaxy,
Star system of fauns.

At Tokay I Exited

At Tokay
I exited the plains
And entered the hilly country.

I walk across the stars,
The piano keys tuned
And traveling the plains, the hills
Of fire
Glazing the forests of petrified wood.

the golden thread
brings us
full circle
Liberace rises again
crushing us with his glitter
glitz
glimmering.

She stripped/her desire
down to the last layer
of glaze
wondered should
she lick it with fire.

Liberace's fingers
danced like fauns
o'er hilly country
laced golden desire
through night-glazed trees.

delay, not!
such is glaze on wood
faun's foot sticks
like Vampiress's lingering drops.

Lingering drops
Of golden desire,
In silvered night
Fall on my hand.

make for heavy going
when speed we through spaceto hilly country;
what planet be?

The Fallen Angel

From "Duck Hunters Shoot Angel":
'Sonabitch,'/he pointed, 'You killed yourself/a male angel.'
'Shut up,' I answered.

Interruptus3: @gyoung9751: Each time/we turn to/seriousness,/A sprite of pastel artist/Injects a tabloid of stones. @doallas: his points be taken well/or not/I dare refrain from saying/what I really think of this. @gyoung9751: It is a time/Of laughter and smiles,/Cares pushed aside/To enjoy/A fellowship of words/And heart.

Through the stars
he came/falling;
silvered holiness
died on my hand.

pebbles more like it
for angel lacks the strength
to carry your burden
on his wings

His light
Rose again
On my hand
And in my heart,
Coursing life to a sublime rebirth.
He is too busy
Trying to understand.

Wouldn't you swear too
if by chance
or hidden desire
you culled an angel
from the stars
with smoke and buckshot.

A single tear remained
upon my calloused palm
as his light
glistened and rose
to return to that
which we all
unknowingly desire.

Laughter and smiles
and shy silvered holiness
grasping care and courage to
fly
between blasts.

ay,
had he known which end was up
and how long to smoke't.

“The sheriff said he couldn't see
I'd broken any laws. Angels ain't
protected or anything, but I don't know."

(Minor Interruptus2: @gyoung9751: The teacher/And restless teller/Of stories and words/Joined in the terrible beauty of light/and life.)

Shouldn't there be laws
against angels flying
during duck-hunting season?
Well, if 'ya ask me
there should be.

sadly,
Liberace caught his sleeve
on angel's rubbed-raw wing
and music then did end
throughout this space.

end was beginning and
up was
down
long wept away as smoke
and angels conquered and taught
laws that should not have been/broken.

He’d sent the angel
To bring justice to the unjust,
to teach,
To conquer hearts with tears.

Too busy laughing
too calloused for desire
he ignored smoke
wings/the lifted gown.

it's rabbit season,
you know
which the sheriff forgot
and angels have wings, not/long
floppy
ears.

and Vampiress made a killing
selling bright orange vests
on back of which she quoted teacher,
"I'm no target/for alien abduction.”

I used to believe
only other people
died
that was before I saw
that even an angel
could fall.

With his dying breath,
The Fudd looked up
And shook a fist of bile at the Wascally Wabbit.

calloused angels? Oh
no - they must be soft
of heart, if they were
not just themselves!

Finis

And thus,
in the final minute
dawns
To be continued…

He: to she who claims
she is not a poet
your wit bring joy and light
to an area drenched with tragedy.

She: Thank you.
I soak up encouragement,
unlike saturated
Georgia clay,
thrusting rivers
over their banks.

"I spent a night beyond the moon
one time. Aliens are wonderful lovers."


An Aftermath of Conversation

Doallas: "That was surreal" and a blast. Thank you!
gyoung9751: This will be/One bizarre poem/When knit of vampires,/Angels,/Stars and Elvis,/Donuts and aliens/With floppy ears.
arestlessheart: wonderful fun - thank you - will not be so late next time!
llbarkat: I can't think of a better way to have spent my evening. You guys are poignant, funny, deep, quick-witted. Ah. [sigh of contentment]
redclaydiaries: Fudds and alien/angels with callouses/rub wing and rifle/seeking to stake/vampiresses with donuts //So fun! Thx for invite!
TchrEric: @llbarkat Thank-you for offering up a wonderful creative topic for the evening.
gyoung9751: OK, I've saved almost all the tweet verses in one document. Now to make some sense of it all. I feel like the Cat in the Hat.
arestlessheart: @redclaydiaries what a fun dream, though - I love it!
TchrEric: Here's to all the #tsp writers tonight! Thanks for a fun, creative evening! ♫ http://blip.fm/~ds72d
redclaydiaries: Goodnight all. Poetry is done for the night. Now, sleep.

Exeunt all, joining a camel’s slumber.

Update on the Twoem

Well, it was one bizarre poetry jam on Twitter tonight, what we call a "twoem." The starting prompt was to write in tabloid headline-ese (i.e., Nun and Brad Pitt Flee with Elvis in UFO) and we went all over the place. You can see the chronological results at #tspoetry.

I'll be taking the "tweets" and attempting to edit them into something coherent, which is going to be a challenge, since half the time we were laughing at what we were posting. A quick glance tells me we actually have several poems instead of one long poem, but we'll see. I plan to post the (edited) results on Thursday.

Thanks to @llbarkat, @TchrEric, @arestless heart, @redclaydiaries, @doallas and @mhsteger for their participation, and to @shrinkingcamel for sending poetical regrets (he was still smelling like a horse barn, the camel says, but that's another story). And now @gyoung9751 is signing off and heading in the direction of sleep.

Update on Last Night's "Twoem" Poetry Jam

One of our number participating in last night's poetry jam on Twitter ("Twoem") has extracted her contributions and turned them into a really fine poem over at Green Inventions Central. L.L. Barkat and Teacher Eric (llbarkat and TchrEric on Twitter) are the practiced poets in last night's group; I was something like a wildly enthusiastic amateur. But I had great fun.

So now there's talk of continuing the Twoems, and L.L. has set up a Twitter account for the purpose: @tspoetry. Check it out from time to time to see when the next session is scheduled. There are also vague rumors of a blog. We'll see.

Poem for Shrinking the Camel

Last night, three of us likely shocked a few followers with a series of 49 tweets on Twitter that were a kind of poetry jam. Suggested by L.L. Barkat, this jam or “twoem” lasted slightly over an hour and included TchrEric and myself. There had been the possibility of a fourth, our friend Shrinking the Camel, but, alas, another commitment took him away from the oasis. So in his (absent) honor, we have this.

At the Oasis, The Camel on Caravan
By llbarkat, TchrEric and gyoung9751

Who were you in my dream?
The mermaid asked,
Herself the tears that feared to live.

I was the snow white hart, leaping from the touch.
I was the fish the mermaid shadowed.
I was the story in the burning book.
I was the fork, golden and shining.

I was a clearing
Ringed and shadowed
With evergreens.
I was the altar flickering blue,
The moonlight ringed by heaven,
The ever in the green.

I was the candle burning lonely.
I was the panel of glass,
The wind that knocked at the glass.
I was the lateness in the night.

I was a drop of wax aside the candle.
I was the sound of shattering of gold.
I was the chattering night, wishing sweet dreams.
I was the kitchen fire, the fire hearth,
The flame that laughed at goodbye.

I was the camel that knelt
At the eye of the needle.
I was the memory
That lay behind
The departed.
I was the threatening slumber.
I was the memory
Cluttered with stars.

I was the awakening of the stars
To a new day.

I was the twittering
That arose from dark corners.
I was the black hole,
Filled by grace.
I was the crimson-laced grace.
I was the curtain that brushed your face.
I was the morning
Mourning the night.

I was the oddness
That twisted the light.
I was the wholeness that became the holy.
I was the mourning
That wept.
I was the tears,
Coursing down cheeks.
I was the clock
That ticked near the wall.

I was the wish
For a teacher and a camel,
Who instead became
A pastel artist
Of prayers and seedlings
And green inventions.

Who were you in my dream?