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Two Poems: A Contest (DEADLINE EXTENDED)NaNoWriMo is on its final wind-down, and many of you are hopefully very ready to terminate your one-month lease of a headspace where editing was unwelcome. Even more of you are, like us, feeling near-fatally neglected by the muses who have been showering their grace on prosehounds and keeping their distance from verse (or so they would have had you believe). On the heels of the no-editing, no-poetry silence let's recapture our words mid-arabesque--and then hilariously beat them down to nice respectable pliés while that one leg's still stretched backward. #confessional-poetry and a mangled cast of extras present:
Two Poems: A Contest of Poetry and Editing
Essential Info
- Poetry contest, obviously.
- Submissions open December 1, 2012, and close February 28, 2013. (NO MORE EXCUSES. YOU HAVE PLENTY OF TIME NOW.)
- Open to all members of the site.
- ORIGINAL WORKS ONLY. Nothing that wasn't written specifically for this. This i

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More from `tiganusi

Maybe Anne Sexton Was On To Somethingconsider your car's steering wheel in your grip
as you turn the key in the ignition and the smoke
starts to sputter—you can't smell it, yet, only ink
under your fingernails and that half-full glass
of vodka whose twin burned a half-lit smile
on the face in your fogged rearview mirror.
consider the first time you'll look in a mirror
and see old eyes—the world's babyfingered grip
around them pinching crows'-feet when you smile
your forced smile—through your exhaled smoke.
like a death-echo of youth you'll grab a glass
of mediocre vodka and stain your lips with ink
from a thirty-cent black pen—the same cheap ink
you used for your wedding invitations. the mirror
will be your muse—that villainous square pane of glass
that confronts you with your reality: you've lost your grip
on your metabolism and all those cigarettes you smoked
made your mouth look like rotting corn when you smile.
you'll close your mouth, and at least then the sadist smile
will abandon you.

A Legendthe prisoner turning his head to one shoulder
exhales a cardinal still wet
an egg yellow and half a shell
and watches silent

one wing at a time jitters
a leg flicks and a clenched foot
hops beside the shell as beakgulps
drink regurgitation like single malt

strengthening pushes feathers
out first like needles then like
toothbrushes stained scarlet by retracting
gums and flattened on railroad tracks

jitters evolve thought—slow flaps
spin air and lift dry-straw
bones in a tight swirl
whipping dust and rising

smoke from feathers too fastfluttering
together smells like the altar or
pall as ash cardinals descend to the
prisoner inhaling for rebirth

Manifesto (Villanelle)the uniforms of our revolution
will be our naked skin and we
will embrace our execution
we will not need absolution
we will put onto and into our trainees
the uniforms of our revolution
and after our skin-on-skin elocutions
in their beds of contraceptive debris
they too will embrace our execution
they will be envoys of a new evolution
initiating the uninitiated at afternoon teas
in the uniforms of our revolution
and in their post-fuck diminution
the messages they erect on church marquees
will embrace their own execution
then with our tongues bequeathed to the prosecution
and our sweetbreads bequeathed to the mediterranean sea
in the uniforms of our revolution
we will embrace our execution

The Libra HusbandI.
they can get you
in East Hampton for wearing red shoes
on a Thursday
I don't know whether you knew
that--I mean--do you know
that?
II.
it's very hot in New York City
I like the terrible noise
you hear at night and all these terrible
drilling sounds--I never go to sleep
unless the whole pavement is jumping
outside and it's a hundred degrees
III.
when I go to New York City I see myself
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
--Where have you been?
this is the revolutionary costume:
I never wear this
in East Hampton.
IV.
I'm not gonna spend another winter
in East Hampton--
in the first place I can't
I just can't
I can't spend another winter
out here in the country
I can't do it
I'm telling you--I can't
I can't get my figure back
unless I hit New York City
V.
any little rat's nest
in New York City
any little mouse hole
any little rat hole
even on Tenth Avenue
I would like better
it's all a question
of who you want to

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Submitted: November 12, 2012
Image Size: 7.2 MB
Resolution: 2871×3715
Submitted with: Sta.sh

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Writing Haikuby `tiganusi

Photography / Still Life / Cut Flower & Plant Arrangement

©2012-2013 `tiganusi

Yashicamat LM, Ilford Delta 400, developed in ID-11, printed on some old-ass Kodak P-Max Art RC that smelled like it was from the late '90s.

I feel as though this should be blamed on `zebrazebrazebra.

~EWFisher Nov 14, 2012

Love it!

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`Infinite-Heart Nov 13, 2012 General Artist

That's really beautiful.
Lovely effect here. Nicely done!

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`tiganusi Nov 13, 2012 Professional

Thanks!

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`Infinite-Heart Nov 13, 2012 General Artist

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=Evil-e33 Nov 13, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

Thank you....I really needed to see something exquisitely beautiful at this very moment

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`tiganusi Nov 13, 2012 Professional

i was gonna hunt you down when i finished printing it but then i got high.

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=Evil-e33 Nov 13, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

perfectly good excuse

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=katworks Nov 13, 2012

absolutely beautiful.

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`tiganusi Nov 13, 2012 Professional

thanks! i think this is one of those pieces only a filmer could love though

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