Hello,
In celebration of our new café’ café’ blog, our cruise in 2006, our reading this November and our new IPOD radio show, we are celebrating by doing what we do best and that is write poetry. Bring me a poem. Title it “The Making of Eve”, follow the link, come back and leave me the poem on this thread so I can keep track of it. Please do not offer me leftovers. Please write something new. Please do not give your poem to someone else while the celebration is taking place. After the party, you can do with it whatever you like. You may also place it separately on the blog so that you may receive comments. Put a link on your blog back to this blog if you like. It does not matter since this is our own private party. The writer who writes the poem that I like best will receive a gift. The gift is an IPOD. The deadline is July 8TH, 2005. I would like for you to record your poem if possible. Send me the file if you do not use audioblog and I will upload it. If you are the writer who receives the gift and do not reside in the United States or Canada or have an APO address, I will offer you a gift certificate from amazon.com in the amount of $200.00 so that you can order your own IPOD. If you are in the USof A, Canada or have an APO and wrote the poem I liked best then I will mail you the IPOD directly from apple.com. This is not a contest. This is not a challenge. This is a celebration. Lets have a party.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
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22 comments:
Hey...Eve and I will attend. I am always ready for a party...and I have left over Absinthe from the last party... The one YOU forgot about. Great Idea. Great Idea.
Parties are great!!! I can't wait to read and hear everyone's poems!
derrhhh
if I try to leave the Eve poem on this thread it will simply go to the top of the blog no?
Hi, when you post your poem, it will be part of the comments section but you can also post it alone to receive comments on your poem and so on and so forth. I just need to keep track of the poems on this thread. If you prefer to leave me a link on this thread to the poem on the blog, that is fine too.
d.
cool party but I'm the first one here - that's what being on UK time does. Hey get up you guys - the water's beautiful.
Hi DiDi
Great contest. You will find my entry, "Genesis Bound (The Making of Eve)," here--
http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13358346&postID=111946307295681808
All my best
Chris
CTG
perhaps you could email me detailed instructions on how you got your poem http to show up in a sep. http? for those of us who look like we are blog literate but are not really
my poem simply shows up on the cafe cafe blog
GOT IT!!
AnnMarie's 'the making of Eve'
didi
'making of Eve' audio link on my blog
Didi,
The link to my entry, posted on the blog is:
http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13358346&postID=111949588087418686
Thanks,
Ginger
Rae,
Click on the main blogger page:
http://www.blogger.com/start
sign in.
you will see a link to this blog now on your dashboard.
click it.
add new post.
over and out.
d.
The Making of Eve
Apollo killed his Icarus,
Luna left her admirers sad,
Isis drove Egyptians mad,
Poseidon too wet to inspire us –
Jahweh! Only great bearded Jahweh!
Strict Father of retribution
imagined the unlikely if not impossible:
The divine surgeon operated
(although Adam was not covered),
extracted a heart-protecting rib,
created procreation and the right to choose
without preliminary laparoscopy,
laser, a host of medical students observing.
Wine we drank in celebration, huzzah!
and song, a chorus of angelic interns!
Eve! the most remarkable invention,
more exquisite than the mouse,
yet unpatentable.
Indeed, without her, snake would be unknown!
Without Eve, the apple would be a poor ungrafted thing
and Adam, a doltish peasant, a gatherer
of artichokes and not a hint of butter.
Eve is the proof that Jahweh was the best!
The one! The only! The Chief of Operations!
d
zygotes in the above Eve poem should be on the same line as the one above it. My profile pic knocks it down a line. Other than that it came out okay.
Spewed out of God's Sixth Day WIDE
open post utero mouth, these zygotes,
twin embryos, now grown, one buried
inside the other, tumblefall into Eden.
History's first birth defect.
That story about the rib?
History's first cover-up.
Nixon, listen up.
God's buds did it, too!
No woman to ride side saddle
for long, Eve sharpens overgrown
nails, aliens her way free
through Adam's wimpy chest.
She flirts with the serpent,
finishes off the apple and tosses
Adam the worm and the core.
Original sin. What fun, she trills.
With a shake of her fuck-me frizzled
hair and one hand lifting an,
as yet uncarressed breast, she takes up
with a horny caveman. Their two dozen
mix-breeded children scope uncountable
later debates about Origins,
birth control, and the true
author of the Kama Sutra.
Didi -- got your invitation, much thanks. I've joined.
I've also posted a poem titled "the making of eve" here:
http://cafecafepoetry.blogspot.com/2005/06/making-of-eve_30.html
Thanks.
Here's my poem and audioblog:
Making of Eve
Done! here: http://cafecafepoetry.blogspot.com/2005/07/eve-speaks.html
The Making of Eve
"Unlike things yoke together"
~Coleridge
Summer was frying an egg
on the head of God. The Seven
Sisters were aghast at the lapse
of efficiency. The range
of emotions was complex:
God recalled The Mother
gently nuzzling his hair. The basin
filled with the sound of castanets
& the cascabels of snake tails. Winter
was beside herself, every crotch
or crutch expired—the falling
was collecting. Summer crawled
out from the hand of Earth, took
the top-hat out from the rabbit,
and took The Fall for it. Eggs
burst at their seemliness, seedy
viaducts of passionfruit juice
flowed into a red sea. Winter got her
period, and gave birth to Spring
who wanted amnesty—the country
carved out of breath expired, centuries
passed out in the confusion. History,
like a second smoke, snaked around
The Garden. And God, amid the figs
and rapture, was so tight
a Script Institute herpitologist
couldn't milk him. Picture
a moment in Paradise: The Coconut
Express just saying "yet," the robin's egg
view, the hustling guarantee of
mañana. Imagine that. Love
spawning a flood. Summer left
hunting through a drought—the sixth
sense of ash; and Adam, that little blow.
What could we do with butter brush
scuttling Autumn? God's laws clattering
ghost claws through the branches'
sudden hush? The meadow was a subway
to a heart—a sudden stop. An opening.
And we took it.
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