Picture Poetry Contest (...continued...)

[Pendragon]

Today is the last day for entries. Last call everyone!

[motherhubbard]

Perched among the lofty clouds
He crafts the images from his dreams
Giving his secret thoughts flight
And his noble creation wings

His gazes knowingly at his flock
Sorrowful that they will not return
Their wings give them precious freedom
The liberty and escape for which he yearns

Trapped among the spiraling clouds
Hidden above the fog and mist
The bird man hews these noble creatures
Providing for them his earnest wish

[Petrarch's Love]

Wow, deadline already. Well here's my effort then. Only wish I hadn't been so busy and had more free time to really do justice to that beautiful picture you posted, Pen.

He moved in circles with steady feet,
Spread borrowed wings to the drummer’s beat,
And raised his voice in a wordless song
That all who heard would remember long.
He reminded those who beheld the sight
Of the old, old tales, and their hearts took flight.
And he danced this dance until the day had come
When the rite was passed to his eldest son.

And now he sits in that time
Of pregnant silence when the beat
Has slowed and stilled in the drums and,
Wrapped in the feathers that are
As much a part of him as a part of the eagle,
He gazes outward, but looks inward.
Grandchildren gather, afraid of the distant coming thunder,
Gather to hear as the breath from his lips forms a steady wind
And his gesturing hands create a host of wonders
And his tales of the many birds begin

How the gentle and the fierce ones spread their wings
To the newborn wind at the start of all things,
How they raised their voices in a wordless cry
As their spirits spread across the living sky,
How this is where all earth spirits began
Even those of the earth-bound man,
And when the last wind blows at the end of things
These spirits take up their forgotten wings.
As his hands move swiftly to match his words
They produce the spirits of a thousand birds
He speaks the old, old tales in the falling night
And all who hear feel their hearts take flight.

[symphony]

now that I looked at MotherH's and PL's, i noticed(just now!!!) that the man in the pic is a man. Thought it was an old...
oh well may be I was misguided by that long hair, which of course is now too obvious 'cuz he's tribal...
But well... may be a "She" would sound better in my poem!(now thats called wishful thinking!! )

[Il Penseroso]

Something to make the deadline:


The Shaman’s Eye

Birds awaken from his sleeve
alive and fluttering
in a breeze,
beating strength against
his feathered chest.

At each stage of soaring
a lens is built to shear the air,
the glass refraction of an eye
clears raw pulsing clouds,
and shapeless a storm of air
bent by flapping wings
traces fleeting symbols
in lines across the sky.

[Pendragon]

Thanks to everyone who entered a poem. The judging will be finished, and the winner up by Tomorrow. Great poetry mes amis. Tough job for the poor judge!

[Pendragon]

The Picture Poetry Contest Results

The Silent X:

I liked your imagery, and you definitely captured the spirit of the picture. This was my favorite part of your poem:

To the owl goes the night,
Royal swans, the lakeshore buy,
Eagle, woodland, his noble right,
For my realm, I choose the sky.

Showing that different birds a specialized for life in different environments, some a nocturnal, some day, some hunters, some waterfowl; yet most have one thing in common: they soar the skies. Well written, nicely flowing poem.

Symphony:

Again, wonderful imagery, though I was a bit mystified by these lines:

Finally, she gave way,
Leaving behind
No chance to convey
Impedance of any kind.

And there they arose,
The birds from her heart,
With a hurtling force
They’ve never learnt to exert.

The figure in the painting is obviously male. Yet the rest of the poem flows well and captures the picture’s spirit well enough to overlook that interpretation. Like, X, you show the differences between the birds. I like it.

Jolly McJollso

Grey suit with a red, pocket handkerchief
on the ledge of a window
takes off his wedding ring.

It is a nice little poem, which I believe you are using as a metaphor for freedom—certainly in the picture, the central figure is releasing the birds, setting them free. Taking off the wedding ring sets Grey Suit free. A strange relation, but a relation.

Triskle

I thought your poem very good. These lines I especially liked:

molded and twisted with the love of artist
though a blind eye was turned to the sun
the cold shoulder saw and threw forth an arm
that which hardens as a pair, a clay and earth couple
wings launching them skyward, an Icharus freedom

Your poem was a beautiful work of art. One thing you need to watch out for is misspelled words. When you submit poetry, as I have for publication, they rip spelling and publication apart!

Kandaurov

A simple, beautiful poem. I liked this section best, I think.

And sing songs of longing and praise?
It is to Him, who sows and reaps.
Their lovely throats, their keen eyes,
Their fledging, fluttering, freeing wings,
All are his gifts to them.

The name of this picture is “Creation of the Birds”, very obviously from the standpoint of Native American beliefs. The “Great Spirit” releases the birds as He makes them. You have them singing praises back to Him. Nice.

Vhaney

Great spirit of the sky
Releasing all I know
May I glimpse with single eye
A truth from you that flows
With wisdom in my hand
I trek the mountains height
To wander to my land
Where my spirit takes it's flight

Your poem is short, but it manages to say a lot about the picture. You give the Great Spirit credit not just for the release of the birds, but everything. Very nice.

Dante Wodehouse

I like the way you are not afraid to take chances with a new form. That is a must for any serious poet. Don’t become bound by the form, or let the form rule you. Write from the soul.

And from His hands came the glory of the sky;
For the winds were barren and the clouds unknown.
Bidding them onward, he tossed them awry
So perfect were they, stable in that cyclone.

That line is my favorite. I have the same warning for you as for Triskle—watch your spelling!

Niamh:

A poem that catches the spirit of The Native American people, though I am not certain it catches the picture’s meaning..

The wind did whisper and shook the trees,
The words were carried slowly on the breeze.
"Go." It spoke. "don’t falter here to long.
For soon everything will all be gone."

My people, the Cherokee, marched the Trail of Tears, some of the bravest returned and retook some of our land here in these mountains and still hold it. To Native American’s the Ancestors are important. It’s a great poem, does it catch the meaning of the art? That is what I’m gonna have to think about.

AdoreroDio

“In This Blood”: I had hoped that someone would notice, and you came the closest. There are the mighty birds of prey rising from The Great Spirit’s hand, but there is a tiny hummingbird there as well, showing that it is as important.

In this blood
is the humbleness of the sparrow,
simple and lowly,
but fast and intelligent.

You wrote these words about the sparrow, another tiny bird. Fantastic.

Adolescent09

‘Dole, you saw in the picture the story of the Redman’s plight.

How implacably he twines those rods of gold,
Fettering the past oblivious to future,
From sapling young to proverbial old,
the many wings tell a tale of infamy---

The tale is certainly on of infamy, I suggest the novel Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, which is not for the faint of heart. Few full blood Native Americans remain in the USA, compared to the population. Very nice poem.

Autolycus

I really am not sure that this picture lends itself to your unique style of poetry.

The light is blinding and the grace profound
And if we listen hard we hear the sound
Of angel voices circling all around
A frequency so high that we are moved

This is the Photoelectric Effect.

Littlewing53

A very nice, well-written, well-flowing poem. And it is fully charged with meaning..

finely designed feathers
adorn his many friends
painted with absent hesitation
fashioned by a brush

I like that line: “painted with absent hesitation”. Like the Great Spirit could see the whole of the color spectrum and had a very hard time choosing, and yet knew all along what colors they should be. Wonderful!

Motherhubbard

Your only fault was that your poem was so short. It is beautiful, and I felt that was much more you might have said, and said very well.

Perched among the lofty clouds
He crafts the images from his dreams
Giving his secret thoughts flight
And his noble creation wings

I love that starting quatrain. It is my own idea of creation. That the creator would have had so much fun dreaming up the creatures and then making them and coloring them. Think about it for a second, guys. You have been given clay, and anything you make will be alive and be able to move once complete. What would you create, and what colors would you use?

Petra

A poet like yourself is hard to judge. A tradition of Native American people that could have inspired this picture was your choice: The Storyteller.

And now he sits in that time
Of pregnant silence when the beat
Has slowed and stilled in the drums and,
Wrapped in the feathers that are
As much a part of him as a part of the eagle,
He gazes outward, but looks inward.
Grandchildren gather, afraid of the distant coming thunder,
Gather to hear as the breath from his lips forms a steady wind
And his gesturing hands create a host of wonders
And his tales of the many birds begin

It is a part of every Powwow, the storytelling, and the traditional dances that tell stories. They are told in the evening around the council fires. How easily the children can imagine they see the images in the sky. Great interpetation.

Il Penseroso

Do not think because your poem got in just under the deadline that it is not worthy of attention. You caught another point I hoped someone would catch:

At each stage of soaring
a lens is built to shear the air,
the glass refraction of an eye
clears raw pulsing clouds,
and shapeless a storm of air
bent by flapping wings
traces fleeting symbols
in lines across the sky.

That pattern made by the other birds; not the ones that erupt from his hand, stands out for me in that picture. You seemed to focus on it as well. Well done.

After all is said and done, you know there can only be one. I must think carefully about this.

My choice is: AdoreroDio

The line with the sparrow captured it for me. I fully expected everyone to focus on those eagles, owls, swans, etc. and miss the smaller birds, the brilliant red cardinal, the tiny hummingbird, the fat sparrow. AndyDio did not overlook the small bird. Congratulations. With The Great Spirit, even the small is great.

Well done poets, one and all!

[Virgil]

Congratulations AdoreroDio!! A very nice poem. I look forward to your picture, so I can get back into this.

[Petrarch's Love]

Well done, AdoreroDio. I think I would have chosen yours too. Great use of the repetition at the start of each stanza and, as Pen says, I liked the way you covered all the birds both great and small. Really captured the spirit of the picture.

Looking forward to the next pic.

[symphony]

now that I looked at MotherH's and PL's, i noticed(just now!!!) that the man in the pic is a man. Thought it was an old...
oh well may be I was misguided by that long hair, which of course is now too obvious 'cuz he's tribal...
But well... may be a "She" would sound better in my poem!(now thats called wishful thinking!! )

Thats what i meant by that post, Pen. I noticed too late that I havent even given the guy a closer look, kept looking at the birds all the time hehe. Anyway, thanks for ur kind comments on all of us.

And CONGRATULATIONS to Adorerodio! Looking forward to the next picture by you.

[motherhubbard]

way to go AdoreroDio, you did a fantastic job!

[Jolly McJollyso]

Jolly McJollso



It is a nice little poem, which I believe you are using as a metaphor for freedom—certainly in the picture, the central figure is releasing the birds, setting them free. Taking off the wedding ring sets Grey Suit free. A strange relation, but a relation.

Actually, he's about to commit suicide by jumping off a building ledge. He's creating a bird by attempting to fly for a little while. We can assume his wife probably cheated on him or something, since he takes off the ring.

Also, congrats to AdoreroDio!

[autolycus]

Congratulations, AdoreroDio! Fine detailing there...

[Niamh]

Congratulations Adorerodio!

[littlewing53]

congrats adorerodio, awesome beautiful poem....i enjoyed reading everyone's poems and thanks pen for the time you took to respond with your comments to our poems...it gives courage to those of us to continue on in our endeavor to write our thoughts on little pieces of paper in secret...