Hello all,

I've been meaning to post some of my poetry here for a while, so, I guess I'll start with one and add more to the thread later. All comments (and honesty) will be very appreciated. Thanks!

Imperfection


I might have been
considered a beauty
one hundred years ago,
when hips were in
and lips were thin
if you didn’t come by
plumpness naturally.
There were still girls
in movies and magazines
with camera tricks
to enhance that which
they were lacking,
the art of perspective,
art like a painter with
vantage point and palate
rather than the modern day
sculptor who uses
his tools to smooth
a few wrinkles, who
bends the rules of
reality.

Once upon a time,
if you wanted
a girl with an ass like
mine, you wouldn’t mind
a little extra plump
aside from the rump,
or God forbid some cellulite
to shame the good name of celluloid.

Once upon a time
if your stomach was fit,
if the shadows your collarbone
could create would freeze a crowd
in the midst of its grace,
a man wouldn’t mind that
your chest didn’t scare
small children with the
threat of suffocation
when you came near.

Once upon a time,
girls still wished
they could be more
beautiful, and men still
ached for the semblance
of perfection before
perfection was possible.

But now it is.

A few thousand dollars
and your self-esteem
issues aren’t the real
issue, a little extra dough
and no more doughboy
on the beach. But
I’m sorry. I haven’t
the money, and I
haven’t the will.

If you want to
screw plastic,
go buy a sex toy,
leave me be.

What a fear,
What a horrible pain,
to realize a moment
for the last of it’s kind,
to look it in the eye
and recognize it
for exactly what it is,
to chew the fibers
of chicken
in your mother’s soup
to let the broth slide
down into your body,
a pure kind of warmth,
and know
this may be the last
the second to last
the twenty third to last
moment, of it’s kind,
that you may never taste
soup like hers again
once she’s gone,
and at age twenty eight
or thirty three
or sixty seven,
must deal with
a sudden craving
for an extinct recipe,
and grasp the fibers
of the atmosphere
crying out in vain
for home.

I'm not much of a poetry critic, but I like 'em. Refreshingly different, with some great imagery going on.

It's nice to see some poetry that isn't concerning the same old cliched subject matter.

[edit on 9/6/07 by Implosion]

On "Imperfection" : Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Life tests us, and we become bolder,
Realizing we lack a this or that,
"They can kiss our arse, be it thin or fat!"


On Mom's Soup? : Aah, the things we enjoy way down in our souls.

I honestly dont know what drew me here, but I am now glad I did.
Very nice job of putting your feelings to writing.

Thanks guys! I really appreciate the feedback. I'll probably be posting more in the very near future.

Thanks again