Twelve will be all our lucky numbers
this is the year when creativity reigns
and lovers blossom
rated with love of this lovely poem

Well, late or not, this is a bases-loaded home run, miss Scarlett. Sumptuous, rhythmic and lovely, every line. I think there's a man blushing nearby. Happy '12 to you both.

Rom Poet: Thanks for the initial push into the night. I see it's the midnight hour, I'm a bit late as usual. Timing may be everything but this late night offering comes better late than never ...

Twelve is a strong number indeed. May your prophesy ring true.

Candace: Ha, coincidence or not? I see we both commented at 12:12. Insert twilight zone musical score here.

Thanks for your bases-loaded comment. The other, I will pass on to **Jack** who, at this moment, is indulging in his new favorite guilty pleasure ... Storage Wars. :-)

love this poem -- gorgeously sensual & a perfect-read-aloud joy.

Beautiful poem, Scarlett, and doubt it not, 12 is the luckiest number.

R♥

What a great poem.
What a great song, & what a beautiful way to begin the New Year ~ thankyou.

Deft and touching Scarlett. Though I don't know if the fact that I think I get your poetry and none other (music aside) counts as faint praise. It's not intended as such.

at the top o' the
clock in the
dead of
night
no
1
p
L
a
y
s

the
2nd hand ; )

yeah!

I hope 12 is your lucky number too.

The anticipation of romance is delicious! Happy twenty-twelve to you.

If 1 is the loneliest, 12 has got to be the luckiest~~

Oh so nicely done dear...

Rich as fruitcake....

Smooth as silk...

RATED!

Gorgeous. The Pine Tree man is a lucky dude ;-)

I love the idea of quiet contemplation while others are loudly reveling. This can happen any day of the year, any minute, right now, stepping into the new, aware of that.

Beautiful and delicious and hopeful, all at once. I hope 12 is a lucky number for everyone.

What's wrong with me?
I thought of Lawrence Welk.
anna vun anna two

I wish you the best my dear friend. May the words continue to flow.
HUGGGGGGGGGGG

i slipped my hand
into yours
secretly hoping

This captured my soul.

Thanks for the lovely comments, all. Posting at midnight hasn't left me much time to return in kind this morning. Off to do some reading here before work. Back later to respond, the sun is shining today! ...

Scarlett!
12 does feel good.
Wonderful :D

wickedly good - here's to another dozen

Ok, what the heck is storage wars?

:D

If by chance wishes are horses then we should all ride this year - may it be so!

Rated for a new dawn.

Oh please, please, let our lucky number be 12!

Just beautiful. R

What man wouldn't be proud to be the subject of this masterpiece? One lucky auld acquaintance not forgot!

Lovely, lovely poem, Scarlett. What floored me is that it has already been a dozen years (since we walked into the 21st century) If only time would slow. I loved the juxtaposition of the partying & the contemplating.

Sheesh, the type of day it's been ... just getting back to this. I'm gonna go round and get some reading done rather than comment here. Glad y'all liked this poem. Funny, it seems the poems that take the least time to think about, get the best response. Thanks all and welcome to a few new faces (to me) anyways. Haven't had a chance to be around much over the holidays.

To the questions:

Seer: Storage Wars is a crazy TV show where a regular cast of characters bid on abandoned contained storage units. They get to glance inside and take a cursory look, then gamble on the value of the stuff. The highest bidder gets the goods then usually takes them to a pawn shop or appraiser.


Chicken Maan: I have to say, the man may be lucky but a masterpiece? I'm the one blushing now.

AKA: Nothing's wrong with you! After all, anna vun anna two prominently in 12! You're just of a certain generation (I know LW well too) but definitely not the Geritol generation. See how advertising sticks?

Damon: Re: wickedly good, I think that's an oxymoron, but I like it!

Abra: I think I get daft mixed up with deft. Thanks for that.

Nice.

(And accessible - I like that in a poem. Like the word play too and contrasting images...)

Scarlett,
I read this yesterday morning and was rendered wordless.
Then a lot of distracting stuff happened during the day,
including a ludicrous doggy obedience class wherein Georgie
humiliated his momma by over-exuberance driving her nearly purple in pure frustration ….
and I never got back to it, and for that I beg your forgiveness,
for the line “i was writing the past
in present tense” kept me company all day… competing
with “space and time divided
like celluloid spliced
on the cutting floor”…

You have hit on something very important here, in verse…
The cinematic quality of consciousness…
The superimposition of the
“(I knew then
what I know now) “

on the then...the uh, oh, the retroactive reclaiming of our
miscellaneous experiences into a narrative,
with a beginning:
“when our eyes flashed
across the universe
a dozen years ago
we walked into
the 21st century
together “


And then arbitrary ends,
In both senses of “end”:
Limit, and what pulls meaningfully to the limit: goal.

Oh and it was very romantic, too, of course.
And the whole 12 thing, as well, which is vexing me…

Past bends, scarlett, back to where it was transfixed by emotion.
Proof:
“i wanted to turn back time
to feel you as you
had felt me “


These temporal things are puzzling to me. I relive Memory #1 four times in one day.
Memory #1 was made in total ignorance, stumbling along with nascent faith.
Memory #1 at the time? An experience, like any other.
Now, twelve, or if ya wanna get all collective soul, 12oo yrs later,
It is suddenly here, present tense.

Time is a Mobius strip, is it?
Under whose control? Ours. It only exists in our head.

Yeah, I felt a huge gaping absence in the very center of my Me, and
Now tis explained: my three week blietzkrieg of utter non sense.
I know, no self-deference, but..i really am a damn idiot savant.

Sometimes.
Not tonight tho!

nephew Georgie required TLC, indeed, not strict training after losing such
an important portion of his being…me too.. I am all for the animals, being one myself…
To indulge in prose and poetry and other ancient sacred rites takes a total nonconformist
which I aint.. I gotta conform to the contours of America, East Coast Elite,
which is not easy.

Einstein , Stephen Hawking.. major leaguers, especially the former.
Much stuff in the head , for these fellows, relating to relatively important stuff
much more than my own musings……

“ my ethical side disallows playing on on someone else's dime when there is work to be done “
u say….i advise you to discover Picasso & see how many sides ya got…ha?

critical thinking ? no, enough of that.

Probably not "overdue" so much as ... some things are simply done when they're done, and not before. I hope that "12" promises to be a good one too, although I wouldn't lay any bets on it.

Hard to tell you, Scarlett, how your words here speak to me. Thank you for sharing them.

James: As any Cubist knows ... there are many angles. Thanks for your thorough reading of this piece. Sorry about your vexation. :)

VA: This is more a personal lucky number but hope its sticks with you too.

annal: Thanks. I know you look and feel closely letting things sink in. Happy 2012.

Oops, And Myriad: Accessible ... I'll consider that a compliment. Thank You.

I'm late to this, but I'm so glad I found it! Happy New Year, Scarlett. Your writing is beautiful. ~r

Well I am unvexed momentarily,dear SS, but shall be tomorrow.
Cubism teaches us something about the many sided ness
Of homo homo sapiens, but then again, a dip into an
Art james comment will do the same, so why pay
The goddamn 20 dollar fee to get in the Museum
When it is all free?

Cubism as an art form was a good move. Especially for Picasso,
Who got primo womenz from his Art Forms…

He said two things worth mentioning ( today,ha):


Accidents, try to change them - it's impossible. The accidental reveals man.
 Vogue, 1 November 1956

 The artist is a receptacle for emotions derived from anywhere: from the sky, from the earth, from a piece of paper, from a passing figure, from a spider’s web. This is ’s web. This is why one must not make a distinction between things. For them there are no aristocratic quarterings. One must take things where one finds them.
 Quoted in Letters of the great artists – from Blake to Pollock -, Richard Friedenthal, Thames and Hudson, London, 1963, p. 258 (translation Daphne Woodward)


Yeah well, pab, sometimes YOU GOTTA ATTRIBUT E YER SOURCES.
Especially if they from, say, a SSxo

James,
"the girls would turn the colour
of an avocado when we he would drive
down the street in his Eldorado
he was only five foot three
but girls could not resist
his stare

Pablo Picasso
never got called
an asshole"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kc2iLAubras&feature=related

Cheers!

... a-hole?...
`
Scarlet. Heehaw. Ha ha hoe.
I been so aiming to get here.
Harmony is the wild nature.

Taoist mountain sages at sea.
It's simple holistic cultures.
`
'ahisma' is to cause little harm.
It's to be 'going with Purity.
Nature is a fierce Purger.
`
Gary Snyder - I met him
I've met other humans
They walk gentle steps
`
We meet people every day.
`
After weeks of watching the hut's
roof leak . . .
I (Gary Snyder) fixed it tonight
by moving just one wood board
`
(paraphrased - apology to poet)

Oh wee, a great poem -- twelve will be your lucky number, and maybe they are all lucky numbers. I hope so.

How in hell did I miss this?????

I could say something about working on night moves, but I won't. Wait, I just did. Never mind. Happy New Year, Miss Scarlett.

No matter B1, it's just a silly love poem. HNY to you and TPR.

If cocaine
is the aphrodisiac
and profit margins
are high on
the
hog
Y
does GEM
have
bicep
envy?!

another weekend is here
and now we're on the go
and living it
up
with

H A R T

RADIO

(and she boogie)