tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641117771707843067.post9148682642667856657..comments2024-02-05T15:01:44.563-05:00Comments on Cleveland Poetics: a place for cleveland's writers and readers: Back in the Bamboo Room.....michael salingerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14717310933948991992noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641117771707843067.post-74625513546153995112009-07-21T19:35:32.671-04:002009-07-21T19:35:32.671-04:00We're one line short of finishing the fifth st...We're one line short of finishing the fifth stanza! Anybody want to add a line ending in "plenty"???Geoffrey A. Landishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04518496779546782434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641117771707843067.post-49857322773500409782009-07-11T23:27:58.209-04:002009-07-11T23:27:58.209-04:00Say, everybody, the clevelandpoetics collaborative...Say, everybody, the clevelandpoetics collaborative sestina is still going on! Somebody, <a href="http://clevelandpoetics.blogspot.com/2009/06/anyone-wanna-play.html" rel="nofollow">add a line that ends in the word dark</a>!Geoffrey A. Landishttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04518496779546782434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641117771707843067.post-20796306684264009812009-07-02T15:10:00.547-04:002009-07-02T15:10:00.547-04:00Just to let you know, I copied the poem with this ...Just to let you know, I copied the poem with this newest addition back to the comments to the original post. I want to make sure that everyone participating sees the latest contributions, so let's keep the poem rolling at the "Anyone Wanna Play" post instead of moving it here.Shelley Cherninhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10132631136708521168noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5641117771707843067.post-19032997544356459562009-07-02T14:36:41.018-04:002009-07-02T14:36:41.018-04:00Stanza 1: 123456
Stanza 2: 615243
Stanza 3: 364125...Stanza 1: 123456<br />Stanza 2: 615243<br />Stanza 3: 364125<br />Stanza 4: 532614<br />Stanza 5: 451362<br />Stanza 6: 246531<br /><br /><br />They met at the Bamboo Room;<br />there's no bamboo there, but plenty<br />of privacy, in the booth there<br />where smoky jazz tinged the air a translucent blue.<br />A guy could get lost in the dark<br />while fumbling for a last-chance breath,<br /><br />her grass skirt rustling like when the wind breathes<br />as the guy gasps for air, give me room, room<br />to move, space to roam. She looks back, her eyes dark,<br />wide, an open field with plenty,<br />like a vast sea of ionic cobalt blue.<br />These colors kill me, he says. She says. There, there--<br /><br />and takes a drag from her cigarette. Their<br />lips meet. He savors the rum and the smoke on her breath,<br />recalling last-night's dream, somehow crystalized and blue.<br />The color's different, she says, in my room.<br />There's wine and sad music and plenty<br />to do. Her pink orchid lei smells like dark<br /><br />blossoms opening, like night flames for Jeanne d'Arc<br />and he's burning, they're spinning, they're<br />adrift in blue oceans; mad, mad. But plenty<br />of heat. Fevered moans erupt in gasps of rhythmic breath;<br />for every bride, a groom, and every roomAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com