Poetry Contest

[blondeatheart]

OK, so it's not rlly a contest, there's no prize, it's just a bit of fun.

Here's how it goes: someone posts a picture and everyone who wants to has at least a week to write a poem based on/inspired by that picture. After that, the person who originally posted the picture decides who's poem they like best, and that person posts the next picture and so on.

After at least ten poems have been submitted, the 'judging' begins. The final choice must be explained.

note: We should probably move this into the Games section at some point.
Anyway,
I'll start:
http://mtwatercolor.itgo.com/images/fairy_castle.jpg

--

Edited by Logos 4 April 2007 to add:

This topic is started and participated in on a purely voluntary basis by members of The Literature Network and does not entail any prizes of any sort to be given by The Literature Network.

Also, do *not* 'hotlink' (http://altlab.com/hotlinking.html)' images from other websites.

Instead, read about how to post images (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=17798).

--

[blondeatheart]

ne1? well i'll give you a couple of weeks...

[Jarndyce]

It's pretty rough, but what can one expect for 15 minutes on a Thursday morning?


Fairy Castle

"With the fairy, hand in hand..." WB Yeats

A warm gulf breeze
Floated in over the pavestones
behind the Cà d'Zan,
stirring quiet palm fronds and
waking birds languid
in cascading banyan vines.
We stood hand in hand
in the shadow of luxury,
you and I, nothing to our names
but a half-pack of cigarettes,
beer money for the beach,
passes to the museum,
and a dream of old age:
wrinkled eyes and scraggled fingers
still locked together,
somewhere a child or two
not calling on our birthdays,
and a small place by the water.

[smilingtearz]

why don't i see a picture there?

[blondeatheart]

??? here's the link: http://mtwatercolor.itgo.com/images/fairy_castle.jpg

[Isagel]

Contest makes me shy... call it a game and I am in.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

It looks like a gate, but it ain't
It's just paint.
And the sunlight, so bright, is just white;
And the grass and the trees, is just green;
Not a tree trunk, instead, it's just red;
And the building itself is a hue,
Grey or blue?
And the curling wrought iron
And the dapples of shade
And the half-seen facade
And the balled balustrade
Are just splashes
And dabs
And swirls
And specks
And touches
And swathes
And flicks
And flecks
Of pigment and water, applied with a brush
With painstaking care, or perhaps in a rush,
By an artist unknown but with well-tempered sight
For colour,
Perspective,
For texture,
And Light.
It all looks so real but it lacks a dimension;
A beautiful scene, but merely pretension.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

Great idea for a thread Blonde.

You might want to adjust the timescale though. Maybe a week initially but not before there are at least 3 poems. How does that sound to everyone?

[blondeatheart]

sounds good to me. and yes isagel i suppose it is technically a game
i guess i'll choose as soon as there are at least...hm...7 poems?
we'll see how it goes
and thanx xamonas i used to do these all the time on neopets when i was little lol

[ktd222]

This is a cool idea, but I have a request. The one who picks the winner must give a brief one paragraph explanation: about why he/she chose that particular poem.
10 submitted poems seems like a sufficient amount before the judging begins.

I'll write a poem about the picture later.

[blondeatheart]

Great. I can agree to that. I'll change the first post to include the new 'rules'.

[Petrarch's Love]

OK, I'll give it a go:

In her mind the memory
Was like a painting in watercolour
The sunlight so bright that the scene was white,
White painted with the colours of familiar shades:
Blurrily remembered trees,
But the ironwork over the open gate
Etched clearly on the canvas of her mind,
The pattern of the bricks firm and solid
And all lines lead
Through an impression of shade and sunlight
To that door
Where she had not been alone as now.

[blondeatheart]

bump.........

[ktd222]

I guess there is no interest in this forum for poetry contest, blond?

[blondeatheart]

no :( maybe i'll just give it a few weeks

[ktd222]

Keep advertising so people will always see your thread on the Recent Forum Posts. I'm sure there is more interest in here than your lead to believe blond.

[blondeatheart]

yes, good point, i figured, i mean i always mainly look only in the new posts section

[LauraAmanda]

Bleeding Blooms.

A beautiful scene,
A misguided serene.

A bleeding bloom
Hiding an impending doom.

A disquieting silence
In a place of violence.

A memory of fear
Melted with tears.

An artificial peace
An emotional release.

[blondeatheart]

bump...............

[Juarez Fialho]

Why do I stay still?

I wish for once I’m not astray,
For crossing gates that come my way.

Advice me if I’m wrong or not,
We need to know the chances got!
I’m sure this path is best for me,
And sure from up there you can see.

I think I´m young and strong and big.
Than through this gate I’ll meet my fate.
If only courage wasn’t fake-
Maybe there would be no lig.
I´m - really - not that nice a fig.

By: Juarez Fialho Jr.

[Juarez Fialho]

I esteemed your initiative Blond, keep it moving...

[Juarez Fialho]

I would like to amend the rules, if I might.
The judge should list not only the winner, but the second and third place as well.
It’s just so that “we”, pitiful poets, have a slight chance of having our names commented, at least.

[ktd222]

Where from did all our distortions form
but from sediment of light that heavens could not quantify
a place with places qualified be controlled.

So dripping down, this light, the scene thats showing
from it's washed out leaf fringes,
to the concrete columns edged and etched, then smeared that way-
and loss with depth-we try and we retrace our way up.

[Juarez Fialho]

bump....... ?

[water lily]

LOL, when I read the first post, I thought that Blonde has selected the Forbidden Link icon as the picutre upon which the poem was to be based. I thought it was strange, but conceivable. Then I read the fiirst poem and was like, "That has nothing to do with a Forbidden link... :confused: It's about fairies..." Lol, then I figured out that the picture had not worked, at least on my computer... Lol, sorry for my lack of faith in your picture-choosing abilities, Blonde.

[ktd222]

Who else wants to contribute a poem? We need 4 more before the voting begins!


side note: where are you blonde? aren't you suppose to be getting everybody amped up about writing poetry?

[blondeatheart]

lol sorry having a few issues beyond cyberspace neway...bump...

[Juarez Fialho]

Why don´t you just do the thing blond, waiting for 10 poems seems a lot, the fun of it is writing the poem... I guess the game should go faster so we don´t have to wait that long for the next round!
p.s. what´s the bump thing? I didn´t get it...

[autolycus]

The pillar was the fulcrum, after all;
Raven stood undecided there,
Wondering if he at all should dare
The spiral of the iron stair
Where flight might fail and he might fall

He had no memory of the pathway dark
Where leaf and shadow fell benign
Or darkened on an unseen line,
Feared the regular design
That drew a path into the park

His yellow gaze interrogated space:
There were tombstones in the light,
A quiet morning to the right
Rose unhurried from the night
As if to demonstrate its grace

His disquiet struggled, but it found no voice;
The hunter's tidy shot erased his choice.

[ktd222]

Come on everyone in the forum we need three more poems before the judging begins. Will you not join the contest and submit a poem?

[Juarez Fialho]

Come on everyone in the forum we need three more poems before the judging begins. Will you not join the contest and submit a poem?
YEAH!!!
Please keep it moving! LOL

[rabid reader]

Here's a choka I wrote:

The Sun
Waking mornig sun
Liberate me from my sleep
Tell me what will come
In this day you shine on me
Light the path I choose
Shine, the path of liberity
Ignite the fire of the dove
So I can one day be free

[blondeatheart]

ok that's 8
i'll slowly start judging

[blondeatheart]

bump
feel free to add more i'll make my choice this weekend!

[Jarndyce]

"That has nothing to do with a Forbidden link... :confused: It's about fairies..."

Just for the record, the name of the picture is Fairy Castle, so I used it as the title of the poem. The poem itself has absolutley nothing to do with fairies. The Yeats quote is meant to transition the title to the poem.

[spally]

just like before

how did we get this way
how did we drift apart
i wish we could go back
knowing what we know now
before we loved, before we hurt
this friendship used to mean a lot
i beleived when you said it wouldn't change
we've drifted so far apart
i don't think we'll make it back
we're too far a part, the tide has taken charge
i wonder why we talked as friends
but not a word as lovers
we talked about everything and anything
then there was just nothing
i'm sorry for my incolence
and my arrogence
but most of all i'm sorry for this loss
just lets go back to before
and be like friends again

[Juarez Fialho]

Spally, I really like your poem!
Where does it intersect with the picture chosen though? I couldn´t get it...
Please forgive me if I´m being stupid! =]

[spally]

i guess it stands at the older i get the suckier my poems get. my new stuff sucks but my earlier poems were pretty good. and thanks, its good to know someone likes it.

[Juarez Fialho]

still couldn´t get it...

[spally]

its about my best friend/ex boyfriend.

[Juarez Fialho]

I recon, but what has it to do with the fairy castle picture???

[spally]

fairy castle picture??????

[Juarez Fialho]

I think you might have posted on the wrong thread spally!!! Or maybe you haven’t read it…

[Jarndyce]

I think you might have posted on the wrong thread spally!!! Or maybe you haven’t read it…

Or maybe its a poem about an "X"...

[Juarez Fialho]

Or maybe its a poem about an "X"...
WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU GUYS TALKING ABOUT???

this thread is a poetry contest, read the rules on the start.
The poems should be about the picture chosen by blondheart and the first picture chosen was THE FAIRY CASTLE.

Am I going crazy or are you?

[Jarndyce]

WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU GUYS TALKING ABOUT???

this thread is a poetry contest, read the rules on the start.
The poems should be about the picture chosen by blondheart and the first picture chosen was THE FAIRY CASTLE.

Am I going crazy or are you?

Well, I'm not going to make any judgements on your sanity, but there was initially some confusion, as the image didn't work for everyone. As such, some people saw a red "X". I was merely trying to make a joke, using spally's comment about how the poem was about her "ex" boyfriend, and equating that to the red "X" image error.

[Juarez Fialho]

Jarndyce, I understand your joke now, I did laugh now. ALOT… I thought I was going crazy, spally is nuts! (just joking buddy) LOL

Anyway, blond… VOTE THE THING, misunderstandings are happening because you are delaying the end of the round… LOL

[blondeatheart]

OK, I guess I should make a decision

They're all really good, I like the last one coz it's so true, but of course it has nothing to do with the picture lol so I'm not counting it

Anyway, I've decided on the poem by Xamonas
::
It looks like a gate, but it ain't
It's just paint.
And the sunlight, so bright, is just white;
And the grass and the trees, is just green;
Not a tree trunk, instead, it's just red;
And the building itself is a hue,
Grey or blue?
And the curling wrought iron
And the dapples of shade
And the half-seen facade
And the balled balustrade
Are just splashes
And dabs
And swirls
And specks
And touches
And swathes
And flicks
And flecks
Of pigment and water, applied with a brush
With painstaking care, or perhaps in a rush,
By an artist unknown but with well-tempered sight
For colour,
Perspective,
For texture,
And Light.
It all looks so real but it lacks a dimension;
A beautiful scene, but merely pretension.
::

I just like the rhythm and the story behind it
especially the last lines

anyway, that means xamonas gets to post the next pic - have fun!!

[Xamonas Chegwe]

Wow - I won something!!

Thanks a lot Blonde. I was quite proud of that poem, but the competition was stiff, so I never really expected to win.

Enough false modesty. :D Here's the next piccy...

http://www.redrockballoonrally.com/gallery/images/balloon%20stripes.JPG

Good luck to everyone. I will judge by the end of the June, or when there are 10 entries - whichever comes first.

[blondeatheart]

interesting pic...i'll post a poem later have to think about it
yea congrats i rlly liked ur poem

[rabid reader]

The grey eyed critic, meets self served therapy
Huge balloons of cluttered thought
Take off from my littered mind
They’re big, but efficient; not
They seek to travel a sky unkind

Take off from littered mind.
So many here, I cannot think
They seek to travel a sky unkind.
The sardonic sky, the unquenchable drink.

So many her, I cannot think,
When will they begin to fly?
The sardonic sky, the unquenchable drink,
What will become of my balloons in the sky?

When will they begin to fly?
But with their judging eyes
What will become of my balloons in the sky?
They will deflate, the ideas will die!

But with their judging eyes
They will not kill my determination
They will deflate, the ideas will die
But still as out there, my ideas can go to nations

They will not kill my determination
Though the balloons are big, but efficient; not!
But my ideas will have travelled to other nations
As huge balloons of cluttered thought

[LauraAmanda]

Eyes as wide as the sky before him
Emotions filled up to the brim
His feet no longer touch the ground
He's flying high around and around.

Up here he's free from the demon inside
Up here is the only place he can hide
The cancer inside is eating him away
But here in the sky they stay at bay.

No thoughts are wasted on the speeding clock
No endless hauntings of the tick.....tock.
He imagines his arms turn into golden wings
And in his imagination the angels sing.

A little boy of three or four
Up in the sky we watched him soar
His soul so calm, his mind content
Free of pain and the torment.

Not longed after the joyous sight
His little body could no longer fight
No longer will he enjoy this joyous event
And so for him i write this lament

[autolycus]

They came at dawn
Like a new age
In happy hues

We laughed at them
Revelled in reds
Billowed in blues

We did not care
That all the world
Was turning black

Our world was bright
Though in free-fall
No turning back


(PS: Congrats to Xamonas!)

[ktd222]

I want a recount :lol:

[Jarndyce]

Tonight I'll raise a drink to XC...


Corner Woman

Hearts lift and swell,
dip and sink,
the ballast and baskets
of so many balloons,
a cold Sonoma morning,
cocooned by color,
the hush and hot fuel
moments and time,
and her, all in grey,
small, almost forgotten,
turned to the corner.

[Riesa]

Dragon’s breath
balloons, birds below
Basket and strings tangling
with the clouds, in between wind’s
grin and gale’s challenge, let us
float in search of Jack’s Beanstalk
And the frazzled, lonely giant.
I will most happily leave
The earth



Just to be
Alone for a
moment with
you and the sky,
To find we can fly.

[Petrarch's Love]

He wore a vest to match the bright balloons
Dressed in their party colours
Ready for their day out
Of being lighter than air.
He stood beside his old white truck watching
More and more vivid colour
Expanding into shapes
Full and round, filled with warm air.
He saw them rise one by one and become
Objects of brilliant colour
Against the white cloud sky,
Freed from their ropes into the air.
But first they sat beside him on the ground.
Like circus tents of colour
Blocking all other sights
Except patchwork spheres of air.
Still if he closed his eyes he would remember
Sterile halls drained of colour,
The IV rope in her hand,
Her final strained breath of warm air.
But open eyed, wearing the vest his wife made
To match the party colours
Of all the bright balloons,
He at last allowed bright sights
To make his heart lighter than air.

[Juarez Fialho]

wow! I think we’ll have 10 pretty soon this time. That’s super!

XC, your poem was far the best. I thought it was perfect from the first time I read it. Lucky you cannot participate on this round!

I’ll post my poem soon as well, no time for thinking right now.

P.S. the picture is a little awkward, but I think we can manage it…

[Xamonas Chegwe]

wow! I think we’ll have 10 pretty soon this time. That’s super!

XC, your poem was far the best. I thought it was perfect from the first time I read it. Lucky you cannot participate on this round!

I’ll post my poem soon as well, no time for thinking right now.

P.S. the picture is a little awkward, but I think we can manage it…

Thanks, Juarez

No need to rush too much - it looks like people have got the hang of this post. I will revise the rules (:D) - I won't pick a winner until next week at this time, however many we get. That's to give a chance to those that don't visit the forum every day and those that like to revise their poetry before posting (my entry took me a few days effort - not everyone can write something in a few minutes.)

[blondeatheart]

Fly Away

Sometimes I wish I could just fly away
In a burst of colour
A spot of rainbow in the clouds
Above the world
Above the stars
Get away from you
For the love I dream will never be true
I just want to fly away
Maybe tomorrow
Maybe today
But for now I think I'll stay
And keep loving you
Even if you don't feel that way too
One day you'll love me
In the stars we'll be

[blondeatheart]

bump...........

[Virgil]

Hey this is a wonderful idea for a thread. And I have to participate.

OK, a little preface here before my poem. I thought the balloon scene was kind of funny and absurd, so what better poem but a sequence of Limericks. Now Xam, as you will see in the poem, I'm not always politically correct. I can also sink to some low depths. ;)


Ballooning Limericks

I

The day for ballooning was here
And Jack brought Jill for a beer
But lines got all tangled
And balloons were all mangled
And Jill thought Jack was a queer.

II

Jack talked Jill into the hoop
He thought he finally got the scoop
Up went the balloon
Jack smelling like a saloon
Jack thinking Jill was a dupe.

III

When high up in the air
Jack made his intentions clear
He swore and was crude
And was exceptionally rude
Decided it was time to be bare.

IV

When Jill blew her gasket
She said that was no mascot
And closing her fist
And swinging her wrist
Pushed Jack right out of the basket.

V

The police got a thrill
When they questioned poor Jill
Of the body they found
With no trousers around
How Jack was found on the hill.

edit: I have decided to change the poem a little bit. Perhaps I got carried away and was as crude as Jack (in the poem). So, I offer my apologies if you read the poem and were offended. I agree it crossed a line. Poetry need not be crude in any way; suggestion is more powerful than pornography. I guess, Xam, I am PC.

[spally]

fly away my sanity,
taking all my worries with.
be now with out time,
passing into the clouds.
with my thoughts all jumbled,
and not a sane thought to think.
fly away my sanity,
if so to only keep me sane.

[Grumbleguts]

OK, I guess I should make a decision

They're all really good, I like the last one coz it's so true, but of course it has nothing to do with the picture lol so I'm not counting it

Anyway, I've decided on the poem by Xamonas
::
It looks like a gate, but it ain't
It's just paint.
And the sunlight, so bright, is just white;
And the grass and the trees, is just green;
Not a tree trunk, instead, it's just red;
And the building itself is a hue,
Grey or blue?
And the curling wrought iron
And the dapples of shade
And the half-seen facade
And the balled balustrade
Are just splashes
And dabs
And swirls
And specks
And touches
And swathes
And flicks
And flecks
Of pigment and water, applied with a brush
With painstaking care, or perhaps in a rush,
By an artist unknown but with well-tempered sight
For colour,
Perspective,
For texture,
And Light.
It all looks so real but it lacks a dimension;
A beautiful scene, but merely pretension.
::

I just like the rhythm and the story behind it
especially the last lines

anyway, that means xamonas gets to post the next pic - have fun!!

Oh dear. Now he will never fit his hat again. I doubt his head will even manage the space betweeen the door-jambs. :lol: :lol:

Xamonas old friend, congratulations. I must confess that it is actually quite good (for you!) Nice to see that you have learned how to rhyme at last.

[spally]

by the way Xamonas, congrats on winning. i did quite enjoy readingyor poem. compared to what i have been posting it was a master piece :lol:. congradulations agian.

[white camellia]

Are you serious, Mr. Balloon?
If I were as costumeless as you,
You would entertain me
In your secret cloud-castle?
You are born with colorized skin,
But I am only yellow--
Isn't it true, Mr. Balloon?
Inflated West laughed at meagre East,
Crowded North laughed at sparse South,
Frigidity scorched Torridity,
Apotheosis of reason suppressed instincts?
But I was once primitive--
You are chagrined, Mr. Balloon?
People parade their intelligence and bravery
When you lament your ancestors,
The victims of martial explosion,
The scapegoat of iniquitous desire?
But I shall be humble--
My color of topaz will be revealed
To you, Mr. Balloon.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

I've got my work cut out to judge this lot - there are some excellent entries - thanks to all that have entered. I will announce a winner tomorrow sometime - I've got to read them all again first.

[blondeatheart]

bump....................

[Xamonas Chegwe]

And the winner is......
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.



Dragon’s breath
balloons, birds below
Basket and strings tangling
with the clouds, in between wind’s
grin and gale’s challenge, let us
float in search of Jack’s Beanstalk
And the frazzled, lonely giant.
I will most happily leave
The earth



Just to be
Alone for a
moment with
you and the sky,
To find we can fly.

Although I was torn between this and another (which I won't mention - they were all very good). In the end it was the clever shape and the 'strings tangling with the clouds' that clinched it.

Well done Riesa and thank you all for making my job so difficult.

XC

[spally]

congradulations Riesa!!

[Riesa]

OH! I never thought I'd win, there really were some excellent submissions, maybe we should have a runner up? thank you so much, xc. I'm really pleased!

I have to run, but I'll come back a little later and post a new picture. :D

[white camellia]

Congratulations, dear Riesa! This poem is my favorite of all those from you. I just realized its balloon shape, very pleasing!

[Riesa]

thanks, white camellia and spally.


these little rascals have been on my mind lately, I can't wait to see what comes out of this. :D

http://www.greglasley.net/Images/ScorpionF1.jpg

[Virgil]

Congratulations Riesa. I agree you had the best poem.

Question on you photo: Is that a crab or spider or scorpion or some other animal?

[Riesa]

it's a scorpion!

[Petrarch's Love]

Congrats Riesa! Fascinating pic. I'll have to give it some thought.

[autolycus]

we turn in dwindling inclusion
to define where we are at,
trapped in narrower seclusion
by tightening legal caveat -
for the threat of execution
dwarfs the execution of threat

from the height see how the land lies,
each hazard hid within its bower;
clad in white men with clubs realise
importance of four holes an hour -
for the power of joint exercise
masks the joint exercise of power

we - scorpion race that raises fire
(venom of stars in sting of faith;
the tighter turn in heat of ire,
the closer stilling of our breath) -
know: the death of all desire
follows all desire of death

[blondeatheart]

bump.........................

[Jarndyce]

Tails of Scorpions

Feeling green and tired and sick of rain,
an ancient Berber sits sullen
in the park's wet grass, face lined deep
with sand dune wrinkles, remembering
the tastes of his homeland: Salt. Sweet
water. Fires built from dung,
lost twigs, brittle bones of the dead.
Mother frying bread in a thick iron pan
taken from an Englishman called
Smith of all things, traded
for a blanket spun of camel hair thread
and the tails of scorpions.
Forty years eating brown falafel
and too-dry gyro, tahini from a can.
His mother never knew can, only
the cunning desert and the herd.
Meager fire. She is dead. His hands ache
after forty years in warehouses,
having escaped the tidal sands
for cardboard dust and heavy lifting.
His American wife left him--
after bearing three olive-skinned girls--
alone in this sprawling city,
only a speck to his great desert,
where his mother died and left him
to feed himself, to flee the wars,
to trade his strength for passage
on the Argentinian freighter
that carried him to the west,
beneath looming landscape buildings,
to this park never still, or quiet
or soft with golden sunsets,
but always green and wet with rain.

[blondeatheart]

bump................

[Virgil]

OK, here's my entry.




A Desert In The Heart

Through sage brush and ironwood
Brown dust floats so fine it seems
The entire moon’s dirt has been
Transplanted to this flat plane
Of sun and dry wind.

Sunset brings relief.
A man settles beneath
A canopied enclave with cold drink
With dust powdered on his jeans
Face burnt from day’s labor.

She amazingly replied,
But asked him not to.
“Why should she have the last word?”
He thought to himself,
Chapped lips recalling
Feminine mouth and breath.

Well, she was the woman,
And deserved that honor.

He decided to have a scotch.
No rocks, straight up.
It tasted good,
But it did not change anything.

He fixed himself another,
Dark-brown bite
Like a scorpion’s sting.

[blondeatheart]

bump.....................

[mir]

Sunset scintillating
On overworked oasis;
In insect-induced ictus,
Eagles endure egg-full eyries.

Desert darkness –
Night nears narcolepsy
As all animals are asleep.

Dawn dimming dark –
Heartbeats hasten, heralding heat.
Sun seizes supremacy –
Basilisks bask beneath burning.

Fire fades;
Dusk deepens dumbly.
Out over orange-tinted oasis,
Slowly sinking sun shadows scorpions.

Water with wasteland –
Such secrets seek sand.
Life living, laborious, leafless –
Such secrets, seek scorpions.

mua ha ha, ten minutes in study hall = really crappy poem. still, good contest, blondeatheart!

[blondeatheart]

bump.......................

[Petrarch's Love]

The End

Beauty is poised in a jointed pentagon.
Supple Grace curves in a tense backward question mark.
Beauty and Grace are a deep black silhouette.
Every joint, every limb, every tiny hair
Sharply visible against the violent death
Of the light. All revealed distinctly down to the last
Sharp Point.

Beauty is poised in the end it posesses.
Its end is curved like the talon of an eagle,
Or like the tooth of the great Smilodon cat
(Once great, now old bones poised in a museum).
Beauty's end is curved like the thorn of a rose;
Prouder than the rose by possessing poison in its
Sharp Point.

Grace holds itself still and always ready,
Aware of the great power contained in movement.
It knows the way to curve itself gently.
It knows the way to hold the pose steady.
Grace knows the end of its every swift movement.
Grace knows how to grant grace painlessly with a flick of its
Sharp Point.

[Riesa]

Okay guys, beautiful entries so far, from all of you. I'm going to pick a winner, (maybe out of a hat ;)) on Monday, to give white camellia and spally a chance, or anyone else too to submit a poem.

[white camellia]

Soft, sick sunset seeping in
With submission
My bruised pinchers unknown
To confession,

Stirred, stygian Styx sighs over
Beyond sands
My Scorpian lover's specter
Amid bands.


Thanks, Riesa. ;)

[Riesa]

I've chosen a winner among the excellent submissions.

This really got to me, PL. I felt it was the most connected to my own feelings about the image.




The End

Beauty is poised in a jointed pentagon.
Supple Grace curves in a tense backward question mark.
Beauty and Grace are a deep black silhouette.
Every joint, every limb, every tiny hair
Sharply visible against the violent death
Of the light. All revealed distinctly down to the last
Sharp Point.

Beauty is poised in the end it posesses.
Its end is curved like the talon of an eagle,
Or like the tooth of the great Smilodon cat
(Once great, now old bones poised in a museum).
Beauty's end is curved like the thorn of a rose;
Prouder than the rose by possessing poison in its
Sharp Point.

Grace holds itself still and always ready,
Aware of the great power contained in movement.
It knows the way to curve itself gently.
It knows the way to hold the pose steady.
Grace knows the end of its every swift movement.
Grace knows how to grant grace painlessly with a flick of its
Sharp Point.


Congratulations, Petrarch. Gorgeously done.

[Virgil]

Yes, congratulations Petrarch. Very nice.

[Petrarch's Love]

Oh wow, I won?! :banana: Gee, thanks Riesa. I thought all the submissions were really good. I'll have to go find a fascinating pic. for you guys to write on now. I may not post it until later though, because I'm in the middle of preping for a really big presentation just now and must run. Maybe this win will grant me luck and the profs won't tear my paper to shreds too badly as I sit there parrying their questions about it for two long hours :eek2:. Anyway, couldn't be happier with honor of winning contest, and picture due to arrive this evening post paper defense.

[Petrarch's Love]

O.K., here's the new picture. I browsed around a little and this one really grabbed me. Have fun!
http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e386/LeonardoD/ansel1.jpg

[blondeatheart]

bump.......................

[Virgil]

What is it? :lol:

[Jarndyce]

What is it? :lol:

I think that's what you're supposed to tell us, right?

[Petrarch's Love]

What is it?

That's why I picked it. ;) I found it striking in it's ambiguity, and I thought it would be interesting to see what people make of it. If you really can't stand not knowing any background info., I'll give you a hint that it's an Ansel Adams photograph. I'm sure a quick google or google image search will help demystify things for those who so desire. :nod:

[alicialiv]

It looks like a gate, but it ain't
It's just paint.
And the sunlight, so bright, is just white;
And the grass and the trees, is just green;
Not a tree trunk, instead, it's just red;
And the building itself is a hue,
Grey or blue?
And the curling wrought iron
And the dapples of shade
And the half-seen facade
And the balled balustrade
Are just splashes
And dabs
And swirls
And specks
And touches
And swathes
And flicks
And flecks
Of pigment and water, applied with a brush
With painstaking care, or perhaps in a rush,
By an artist unknown but with well-tempered sight
For colour,
Perspective,
For texture,
And Light.
It all looks so real but it lacks a dimension;
A beautiful scene, but merely pretension.

I.Love.This.

[blondeatheart]

bump..........................

[mir]

ha ha! the photographer yells at the sky,
you ruined my pictures so now say good bye!
you furred them, you blurred them, you reddened blue eyes,
you wouldn't respond when i cried to you, "why?"
but here's my revenge, and boy will it be sweet,
this picture box holds in it for you a treat.
it'll split you and kit you with your deeds to eat -
it'll change your high tune, i swear by my big feet!"
the box then unloading, the photoman set
some strange things by his feet - strange, alien, yet -
to see those set free from the box which he let,
one did not think of such words as "weird" or "grosquete".
no, to all purposes it looked as his equipment
was such as could be found in any new shipment
to room or dark tomb in which photos' lips sent
sweet uncaught kisses to unseen and skipped gents.
yes! none but a camera, lens pointed on high
as the man shouted curses at the silent sky
and railed and bewailed the unfortunate tie
between he and the life-debt given by sun's bye.
"But be that as it may";
he shouted at the day,
"I'll change you - rearrange you - just as i say!
you'll see that you shouldn't to treat me this way!"
and things set - though do not ask me how they work -
he poised one thin finger and did not once shirk
but pressed it, and blessed it, the button which lurked
on the side of his camera, primed, ready, and perked.
then a flash of bright light split itself 'cross the air -
and more, and another; there one, and there! -
and in glee, jubilee, the photographer stared,
"how's that, sky?" he yelped, "now 'tis you who's ensnared!"
and thunder and lightning rent the afternoon -
as far off, the sun's light began to vent the moon
and sunset fell, soft clouds dwelled 'mong the loud booms
as the sky cracked and writhed, its peace ended too soon.
but strange - far too strange for the man on the mount,
whose dreams had poured themselves into this mad fount,
the flashes did fade, did shade themselves out! -
and night fell with calmness upon day's account.
"what"? mumbled the picturist, fervor now worn,
"what - how -" but no words came, his genius was torn,
and he walked but not talked away from the sky's scorn -
and that is the why, and the how, of a storm.

whoa . . .that turned out interesting. oh well, anyone who likes canterbury tales or Kipling's just so stories . . .

[thevintagepiper]

Thunderstorms crash
And the sky cracks,
Raving in anguish and beauty and story.
"I must take it back!
I must get it out!
I must capture the dream on a canvas of glass!
The blue is now grey
The white will be black
Grass will grow longer and brush at my back"
The shadow, the shadow, the shadow is coming
The darkness, the darkness, the darkness surrounding
Now as I stand and gaze and imagine
The shade of the stone is so cold, now imagine
A world of no clouds
Or never-blue skies
The hunger, despair, and cold beauty my eyes
Would behold if the sky
Keeps splitting and storming and crashing and growing.
Again, he cried out that he'd soon have it done--
Forever engraved catapulting sky action
Of minutes worth hours of time and refraction.
Now he stands back and sighs with new joy
As the blue returns quickly with new sunny ploys.
The shadow, the worry, the storming is done,
And a gentle light rain breaks through the bright sun.
All that remains is a plate of dark glass
That keeps the remainder of thoughts going past.



That was fun :)

[Orionsbelt]

There am I
At least one who I once was
Where am I now
That there once was

Who shall I be
When I return where I was
Will the shadow lay as it did
Exactly as it was

[Orionsbelt]

P.S. What a great idea. I read the entire post. Lot's of good stuff.

[Virgil]

Here's my entry.


The Climb

This purgatorial climb thins
The breath from my lungs.
The boulders lay like zebras
Drinking from a desert pond,
Mountain stones shaped by eternal storm.

I drink from my canteen
And reinvigorate the rivers of my spleen
Until the dryness behind my eyeballs
Awaken the vital flesh of life
Like a flower stem uplifted after
A dry day and moist night.

I reach the third ledge,
That of the proud, and remark
At my climb. How high?
Seven thousand feet perhaps
And I feel the eyes of God
Pressing me onward, upward,
Without guide, without even onlookers.

I rest here, unpack my camera,
The dry highland, brown terrain,
Making a picturesque moment.
Will God allow me this superbia
In the calefactive afternoon,
Gazing at Earthly veins,
Which are but negatives of human?

[Taliesin]

Skies have no shadows
just the ones of clouds
wandering birds
flying dutchmen and
dragons.

Skies have no open holes in them
just those that are filled
with industrial smoke
shadows of birds
lightning and
light
(speed of 300000 kilometres per hour)

Skies are not old photographs
they have no dust on them
no cracked edges
no coffee stains
(but perhaps both forgotten
by the ones
that made them?)
No dead art
nor capturing the soul
of the shadow.

So, certainly
this thing
(jumping over its nonexistant shadow)
this rain
rainbow
moon
stars
and the footprints of legendary lovers and hair of a young greek girl
fullness of night
(and the promises whispered in it)
are just

graffiti
on a wall of an old soviet-time
block of flats

[bodica]

Hope im not too late........

Tender

I have wandered through these gates in my childhood dreams. I have sat with my bare feet dangling in the fountain, the cool water encapsulating my skin allowing for no penetration. I come here to think of you and plunder the treasures that we once enjoyed. No sadness is present here no pain stalks me in this haven I am free from the world outside. I have not forgotten you I have just buried you deep inside of me and when a certain song or spoken word reminds me of you I come to my garden to quell you. I can control you here I can allow the presence of our warm embraces to flood uncontrollably over me. I bathe in the incandescent light you once shone on me. I will go forward one day, but not today, not yet ,my wounds are open and my lifes blood flows freely from me.

Think of me my Juliet, remember our time, and let my love for you encapsulate you forever in my warm embrace.

[bodica]

ooops bus missed well done Riesa!!

[bodica]

The camera never lies

“Why , because it was there and now I am here, do I want to be elsewhere”?
I am alone ,the picture testifies to my throne, but I am alone, so alone.
The air rips into my lungs searing my throat with every breath I take
I am not moving from this place ,I have no feeling in my face, but I am awake
Cold fire burns in the extremities, but no warmth is evident to me in this place
Up here where only the wind whispers your name ,life stands still. I feel no pain
Solitude fuels the philosophers and our true worth is understood and defined.
But it casts no shadow , only mine, only mine ,only mine.

[Petrarch's Love]

My, looks like a tidy sheaf of entries has cropped up the last few days. Since interest seems to have just recently been rekindled, and to give all who are interested the chance to participate, I'm going to refrain from judging until the week is out. Saturday I'll name the next winner. Looking like a tough job so far. Best luck all. :)

[thevintagepiper]

whoa . . .that turned out interesting. oh well, anyone who likes canterbury tales or Kipling's just so stories

I love how what you write takes you by surprise...the poems come inspite of and through you, not because of you. It's like a thrilling ride...

[mir]

i know . . . it's so fun to start writing something with absolutely no idea what you want to say, and watch it evolve on its own . . .

[Petrarch's Love]

Just a reminder for any interested parties...today's the last day before judging.

[Petrarch's Love]

O.K., at long last we have a winner. There were some really intriguing ones in this batch, and I'll admit I was a bit torn but I finally decided the winner is (drumroll please)

Virgil, with this ascendant poem:


The Climb

This purgatorial climb thins
The breath from my lungs.
The boulders lay like zebras
Drinking from a desert pond,
Mountain stones shaped by eternal storm.

I drink from my canteen
And reinvigorate the rivers of my spleen
Until the dryness behind my eyeballs
Awaken the vital flesh of life
Like a flower stem uplifted after
A dry day and moist night.

I reach the third ledge,
That of the proud, and remark
At my climb. How high?
Seven thousand feet perhaps
And I feel the eyes of God
Pressing me onward, upward,
Without guide, without even onlookers.

I rest here, unpack my camera,
The dry highland, brown terrain,
Making a picturesque moment.
Will God allow me this superbia
In the calefactive afternoon,
Gazing at Earthly veins,
Which are but negatives of human?

Those last few lines really sold me. So congrats Virg., and have fun selecting the next pic. :)

[mir]

great job virgil! nice poem!

[Virgil]

Oh wow. Thank you all. All the poems were very good. I did get lucky with the last two lines. Those actually came to me first, and I built the rest around it. Let me go find a photo for the next contest. I have something in mind, but I guess it has to be on the internet.

[Virgil]

OK. Here's the picture of the next photo contest. I hope we get lots of entries. For those who haven't played yet, it's fun. Just try to put together some lines that form a poem based on the photo. After several weeks and at least four or five entries I'll pick a winner.


http://www.oceansbridge.com/paintings/artists/j/Johnson_Eastman_new/big/The_Girl_I_Left_Behind_Me.jpg

[Petrarch's Love]

Good pic., Virg. Reminds me of something out of a Bronte novel. Should get some nice dramatic entries. I'll meditate on it a little and pen something when I've the time.

[Petrarch's Love]

O.K., here's my entry. It doesn't have a title yet, but maybe I'll think of one.


Mother dead, father dead
Only their names remain
Entered three times over:
Births, Marriages, and Deaths
Entered three times over
In the family bible
Held to her heart like a sheild
Her name entered just once.

Sky dark grey, ground dull brown
Yellow hair in the wind
Wind blowing to reveal
A firm little profile
Wind blowing to reveal
A vibrant, living red
She is the color left behind,
The others swept away.

One foot firm, one forward,
She stands and advances
The coming and going
Of parents is in her,
The coming and going
Of herself and her child
And of all those the wind sweeps away
While land stays and art stays.

[whiskey]

This was it; no more decisions,
No more digressions. Her life had been decided.
Why should she fight?
For a split second it flashed
In her mind: resist, run, assert yourself...
But these thoughts felt just as other
Dreams she had recently encountered.
No. This was her time, she would accept it,
As everything else; just one more step.
She was silent...

[thevintagepiper]

They are her only friends now, those worn pages.
There is comfort in that, and yet
She is unconsolable.

Together, they look out over the dreary cliff
Into the weary looking span of sky
And she wonders.

A tear threatens to wet her eye and quickly
She forces it back, then finally
The figure turns, and breathes, and hopes.

The hill is bare now, and one drop that might
Have fallen upon its soil
Remains in her equally dry eye.

[LauraAmanda]

Nature

If you close your eyes and listen intently
You'll hear the voice that resides in the wind
It whispers secrets to the trees ever so gently
It soothes the raging soul of the beast.

If you watch the ripples of rain upon the lake
You'll see the movements of those who are lost
They twist the water; make it shimmer and shake
When the lines between living and dead are crossed.

Listen to the raindrops beat out a tune
A rhythm to calm and soothe the soul
Look out and see the mystery of the moon
Let it's healing powers comfort and console.

[Virgil]

Bump......

Another person contributing a poem would round out the contest. Any takers?

[arrrvee]

maybe i'll try not to care
like this all happened before
it's hard pretending though
when i know real well
and aware of all that
i'll be leaving

could i just
let things happen
and leave 'em
as they are
it'll be easy
for the both of us
to say: no regrets/no heartaches

maybe i'll try not to care
like this all happened before
it's hard pretending, though
when i know real well
and aware of all that
i'll be missing..

[Virgil]

Great!!! We have five good poems. I'll give it through this weekend and by early next week I'll pick a winner. So any last minute people who wish to enter, hurry up.

[Riesa]

Driven towards the sea,
Saturated with thunderous clarity unrealized
By the familiar strangers left behind,
Her inward gaze rests on a shattered oath.

The breathless,
Fearless exploration
That once upheld her stoic grace,
Is understood now only
In the chivalrous exploits
Deep in the pages of her books,
And a lone pressed crimson petal.

Behind her,
Brilliant lupine
Lit her way with
Blossoming spears,
While the fireflies
Sought to guide her
In their blinking,
Disconcerted way.

She wanders far,
Breathes in the misty
Air ripened with fallen tears
And feels the brewing wind
Deftly lift her heavy skirt...

Though she knows nothing more
Keenly now than the strange
Heart beating dutifully in her,
And the tug of the path’s
Precarious end.

[thevintagepiper]

That is amazingly beautiful, Riesa. I love the vibrant imagery.

[DStrangelove]

She sure does have skills. Wonderful flow and imagery. So much to like, but this is particularly poignant:

"Is understood now only
In the chivalrous exploits
Deep in the pages of her books,
And a lone pressed crimson petal."

Beautiful words, I only wish I could write so well.

[LauraAmanda]

So are these going to get judged this week?

[Virgil]

Yes Amanda, over the weekend. I'll defintely have a winner Monday.

[LauraAmanda]

Oki doki.

and it's laura my middle name is amanda

[Orionsbelt]

Just got back from vacation. I wasn't going to post but I can't help myself. This is a quick one.

Innocent angel with auburn hair
Who’s locks ride a stream of warm summer air
Where do you send your gaze?

Search the far set
for a promise not kept
What figure is shaped in the haze?

Perhaps you dream
of a future unseen
Where would a soul settle and rest?

Make a stern glare
for a friend who would dare
What secrets are held to your beast?

Will I one day
Be one who can say
What purpose have you lovely chance?

[Virgil]

Going once..................

[Virgil]

Going twice.....................

[Virgil]

Wow, it's hard being a judge. All were excellent and I was really torn between several. Ultimately I gave it to Riesa's poem, untitled and quoted below. The phrase "the strange / Heart beating dutifully in her" won me over as the perfect phrase characterizing the photo. By the way, the photo is a painting by an American, Eastman Johson, titled, "The Girl I Left Behind Me," 1870-75.




Driven towards the sea,
Saturated with thunderous clarity unrealized
By the familiar strangers left behind,
Her inward gaze rests on a shattered oath.

The breathless,
Fearless exploration
That once upheld her stoic grace,
Is understood now only
In the chivalrous exploits
Deep in the pages of her books,
And a lone pressed crimson petal.

Behind her,
Brilliant lupine
Lit her way with
Blossoming spears,
While the fireflies
Sought to guide her
In their blinking,
Disconcerted way.

She wanders far,
Breathes in the misty
Air ripened with fallen tears
And feels the brewing wind
Deftly lift her heavy skirt...

Though she knows nothing more
Keenly now than the strange
Heart beating dutifully in her,
And the tug of the path’s
Precarious end.


OK, Riesa, you get to choose the next picture.

[Petrarch's Love]

Congratulations Riesa! I really enjoyed that one too. :)

[thevintagepiper]

Congratulations!! I loved your poem.

[Riesa]

Hey, thanks Virgil, and thevintagepiper, dstrangelove and Petrarch for the nice comments. All of the poems were very good. It's pretty fun coming up with these stories behind the images. I've got absolutely zero time to search for a new picture right now, but I promise to try to come up with something interesting soon.

thanks again, Virg.

[Orionsbelt]

Congrats Riesa. I personally liked the verse "Deep in the pages of her books,
And a lone pressed crimson petal." The image, the emothions, and the impact were immediate. Looking forward to your choice.

[Riesa]

Thank you, Orionsbelt. I liked your poem as well.

I found this photo intriguing, I hope you all like it and I'm looking forward to the poetry that comes from this. Happy writing!

http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i121/RiesaRiesa/boat.jpg

[Petrarch's Love]

þa gyt hie him asetton segen geldenne
heah ofer heafod, leton holm beran,
geafon on garsecg; him wæs geomor sefa,
murnende mod. Men ne cunnon
secgan to soðe, selerædende,
hæleð under heofenum, hwa þæm hlæste onfeng.

(High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!)

~Beowulf, Prologue

At Sea

Then there were no ashes on the mantle
Or boxes neatly stacked in concrete crypts
No stillness or sterility in death,
Instead another journey out toward
Whatever harbor lies along the line
Between endless grey sea; endless grey sky.

Wearing their swords and battle scars they stood
Where we stand now. This ship was then the bed
Where a king was laid to rest on rare treasure,
While above him in the sharp sea air
Cloth of pure gold glowed against the grey sky,
And the chanting of the mourners, rhythmic, rose
And fell, continuous and changing.

Ten strong men bore the fallen king
In his ship, to the shore, to the sea.
The chanting of the mourners rose and fell
Until the sounds grew distant to the dead ears
And mingled with the rhythm of the sea.
The sea, which now sounds in our ears,
Continuous and changing, while the ship
We now see is a weather wearied boat
Finally come to rest on a stony shore,
Worn and old and nothing golden in it.

You and I stand here in our funeral black
Clutching our printouts of a smiling face
In a fuzzy digital picture, and some
Carefully typed words about the deeds
Of a noble life. Are these enough
To carry all the memories that rise up
In silent suddering sobs? Are they enough
To send him on a journey in which life’s
Great change blends with life’s great continuity?
What chants can be made of these memories?
What gold can they be wrapped in I wonder,
As you and I look out across the grey water
Longing for once and future things.

[rabid reader]

Low Tide
The tide has passed, I am the bye.
The dreams are dead, dead as the sky.
I wish to be back, out at sea.
Yet the tide has passed, passed beyond me.

I once would walk among my friends,
And speak so beautifully of my end.
Yet here it is, or at least it must
As my pen now lies in dirt and dust.

My pen once was held in my hand
While I was out at sea, a disturbed land.
A land that held such profound glory,
But it's over. My Story.

I see the clouds on their finally leave,
As the tide has left and abandoned me.

[LauraAmanda]

The boat it tells of stories,
stories untravelled in the mind of man
but give this chance to a child
the untravelled tales begin to fly

imagination is a wonderful tool
to transport the mind from
the world
weary
views.

This child tells of tales untravelled
of pirates and treasure
as yet to be discovered
of maidens in danger
and brave young sailors

it tells stories of battles
not yet fought
of victories and losses
scars and wounds
lost loves and kisses
from the little girls views

This boat tells of untellable tales
in the eyes of the man.
But give it to a child
and let the adventures begin.

[Riesa]

Nice entries so far, but Jon1jt, Page, VIRGIL, any takers?

[Virgil]

I'm working on something Riesa. I need a little more time.

[holograph]

Very nice poem Riesa. Very well written, and I must comment on Virgil's poem. Excellent.

[Psycheinaboat]

I don't want to sway the judge or anything, but wanted to tell Rabid Reader that I really liked his poem.

All the poems I've read here are wonderful. So much talent in one thread!

[rabid reader]

I don't want to sway the judge or anything, but wanted to tell Rabid Reader that I really liked his poem.

All the poems I've read here are wonderful. So much talent in one thread!
thanks, no one's ever complented my poems before

[Riesa]

Very nice poem Riesa. Very well written, and I must comment on Virgil's poem. Excellent.

Thanks, holograph, and you are right about Virgil's. He's finding his voice in this thread, I think.

By the way, I hope you will submit a poem too. I read your recent one in the personal poetry section and liked it a lot. It gave me chills.

[Virgil]

Very nice poem Riesa. Very well written, and I must comment on Virgil's poem. Excellent.
Thank you.


Thanks, holograph, and you are right about Virgil's. He's finding his voice in this thread, I think.
I think you're right Riesa. The contest is forcing me to hone my skills.

[holograph]

By the way, I hope you will submit a poem too. I read your recent one in the personal poetry section and liked it a lot. It gave me chills.

I am glad you enjoyed it. I certainly will attempt to submit one as well. ;)

[Orionsbelt]

Well here we go.

I could spend more time on this and I probably will at some point. Bit of a limrick I think.

dawn breaks on the hull of the umbra
at the edge of the sentience sea
creation far in the distance
a lifetime away from me

sit for a while and wander
through currents on that yonder shore
where babies laugh or ladies dance
and men like the eagles sore

new babies are covered in cloth
to cover their skin from the sun
brothers and sisters, cousins and friends
share what is lost and won

maidens set flowers floating
on a rivers of soft falling hair
pastel and powders applied to the cheeks
soften sunlight’s glare

young men contest their athletic command
with a ball, a wick, or a sprint
sweat and dirt the hallmarks of glory
in teams of two and a quint

fathers and mothers attend to the children
a carrot, a stick, and due care
the warmth of the fire is felt by the legions
who surround the family affair

The oldest gathered in gaggles
reflect on days long passed
feet propped just so on the porch rail
viewing days that are moving so fast

in the ebb and flow of the tao te jing
from every man, woman, and child
amber of joy is pressed from the mix
to a mead tasting sweet and mild

I for my part have passed through the mash
the esters have passed to the drink
I sit now here on the hull of the boat
where the oarsman meets those on the brink

I look to places I’ve passed through
And those where I wanted to go
I’ll tell you fellow traveler
It’s a wonderful place to know

[pigeonordove]

I would like to have my poem put into the contest and see how it matches up with the ones I have read here today. They are a very good lot and I would be curious to see exactly where I stand as a poet along side this expressive bunch.

[jon1jt]

Here goes...all in an afternoon's work. Hope you can find something in this conglomeration of sorts to sail with. :)
----------------------------------


VANISHING POINTS

We all see them at least once in our lifetime
the way you catch a person sneer from the corner of your eye
or how you felt when you dropped the ball
the kids who laughed at mom’s bloomers
flapping on the clothes line

Or the white schooner that scraped the ocean floor because it could
steered by a seafaring virtuoso
barreling across to-die-for-spaces for all she's worth
jutting keel, endearing white curves, gleaming eyes
against a roaring tide
the girly girl heart drenched in wine watching him sail away
as he swabbed the deck with borrowed water
into the smoldering orange sun that bit down playfully
on that single sail
taking it’s beating for him alone
across the ocean hearth to Mexicano blues
on a rickety radio off some porch
where a dilapidated man coughs, as if to say,
“Don’t forget me, hombre”

The man in his boat
the man who pulls the cords
who swabs the deck
Who drinks scotch out of a moonlit glass
and watches for days on end the liquid sky
splattered with juicy marmalade and marshmallows
brooding currents below the surface

of the woman in her teeming summer dress
the city he left without beggars or winos
the bell of that trombone at Carnegie Hall
offering its white highs and black lows
That gallant flute player with timid elbow
stoked high as the boat’s warbling mast
But ah, those piping fingers that seared the smoky city
night

It’s just a windblown time, man
You’re heading toward the vanishing point
Buckling to the vaporous elements
Like the boat that returns
to a tattered woodpile
Still
against the backdrop of a sulky earth

[holograph]

you guys are amazing. i dont have time to write now, but ill contribute just for sport. this is my five minute contribution. it's hard to write without internal inspiration (at least for me), but here it goes, the photo was very thought provoking.
__________________________________________________ ______________
impending sky, impending sky
cast away your thick foam and I
will sail to you.

the sea has died [it’s shroud is
glazed by ice and my
strained fruitless sighs].

the vessel’s sailed
[it’s cracked and lies]
on your thin, cold and
bumpy loins:

the prospect’s filled
with bleak black tumors
rotting on your sadd
-ened groins.

relinquish me! disparate
earth [for you, I’ve
no fidelity];

let me sail airily to my
umber abyss in the fair sky
and float to a void melody.

impending sky, impending sky
cast away your thick foam and I
will sail to you.

the sea has dried
[forever shrouded by the
foam from your deep
melancholy eyes].
__________________________________________________ _______________

[mir]

once-bright future faded,
leaving only brown and grey;
beached fantasies
on the shore of time -

so a poet might say,
slyly turning
wood to memory,
sea to life,
broken oars to broken dreams.
what does it mean,
the forsaken vessel
stripped of poetry, stripped of words?
emotion contained
in the space of a painting;
pixels inspiring
an unforseen tear -
but in a heart filled with years
which losses have touched
like dust clouding color,
there is nothing but a boat
like any other, standing alone,
standing forsaken, like so many one remembers -
a boat forgotten by time,
timber by the sea,
waiting for the tide.

sorry - that sucks - short on time - but good picture, riesa!

[Riesa]

Mir, it absolutely does not suck!

Well, great contributions, once again. I'll pick my favorite, which is going to be quite difficult! next week sometime to give any last takers a chance to come up with something.

[holograph]

*clears throat* mir, that is an awesome poem!

[white camellia]

old boat,
stuffing scraps of withered seaweed,
looked sad and strange.
cracky gunwale was slightly tilted,
looking over the rim of the bleak ocean
into the endless deathly voyage.

old boat,
accompanied by a thousand tears
that were turned into pebbles flickering
against another break of the nightmare
when light crept up between the clouds,
said nothing about a hopeful return.

[Virgil]

Ok, here's my entry:


The Chantry

Where on earth does one go?
We sailed slowly out,
As if in rendezvous with the setting sun
Navigating ocean and whales,
Sea gulls suspended on a breeze,
Discussing surf and trees with sailors,
The soft sound of wings in our ears.

Once the mate over full of undulant and salt,
Questioned the fealty of the Captain to the crew,
Grubstake unwarranted, unwanted.
The Captain, angry in his black beard
Banished the mate to irons
While the ship skated on a slab of silver.

We sneaked below and watched the mate
Grow hair and beard, slim to bone,
Skin draped as a tunic.
“Beware, beware,” he said,
His eyes bright within the hair ball of his head.
“I curse you all from head to bow.”

Are curses the requisite yawp to disaster?
Clamor of the world, breath of winds,
It came upon us as the Captain stared silently
Across the bridge deck, black in his beard.
The ship wound into whiddershins
Cracking slats and columns,
Men overboard before dinghies were dropped.

Each sailor would strip the flesh off their bones,
The weight of Adam’s burden,
To stay afloat if they could,
Unbuoyant mass in a water world.
But the spiral of the deep sucked weight
And all were lost into the watery gyre.

All but me. Spinning in aqueous turmoil
Providence held my body from sinking,
Walking like the Lord on water,
Until this broken bark, this nailed pile of sticks,
With gash and fissure that creaked in its pulp,
Struck me in the muttonchops.

I clung to the sloop, more funeral box
Than scow, drifting to tree-lined surf.
And here I’ve stayed, unmoved, unperipatetic,
Bowed to a chantry on the surf,
Preaching through my beard,
Supplication to the sea
And to the God that rules the sky.

[miss tenderness]

thanks, no one's ever complented my poems before

Really!!rabid your poem touched upon my feelings, seriously. I loved your poem and your flooding words ,keep writing.

Dear friend Camillaa, my heart with you to win :

Jon ,deep deep poem, I read it two times and thinking of the third.

Virg, you write Poetry , and not any poetry but very neat and gifted.why we do not see yours around??

oh my, what talented people we have here. Resia, hard decision ,yah?The pic. Reminded me of the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Coleridge, can I just steal it and join the contest? :D :D

[Riesa]

oh my, what talented people we have here. Resia, hard decision ,yah?

Ha, you said it.

Okay,
first, thank you all for each poem submitted, every single one of them stands alone in my opinion. However, I must pick a favorite.

First a few thoughts:


Petrarch: The Beowulf quote left me breathless, and then I could have chosen yours for the first three stanzas. The twist into present day threw me off course and I wanted to be back where I was, but lovely nonetheless.

Rabid Reader: reading yours I felt I was rocking in a boat, nicely done.

Laura Amanda: yours made me think of a brightly painted clipper ship sailing the high seas, nice poem!

Orionsbelt:
Maidens set flowers floating/ on a river of soft falling hair is a beautiful image, there was a lot to like in the rest too.

Jon, I agree with miss t, I have read it over and over, and it is deep.
lots of favorite lines, and the second and third stanzas were absolutely amazing! I like where the image led you, and then me, by getting to read it. Thank you!

Holograph,


relinquish me! disparate
earth [for you, I’ve
no fidelity];

let me sail airily to my
umber abyss in the fair sky
and float to a void melody.

This is excellent, you have an impressive style, it's very distinct and well crafted.

mir, wonderful, beautiful poem that spoke to my heart, and I hope you never say anything disparaging about your work again, you are a gifted writer! and sheesh, I can't believe you are so young, and I expect amazing things from you from what I've seen so far of your poems. I think your words nailed my feelings most about the boat, and I loved it.

White Camellia,always a pleasure to read your poems, the second stanza was perfect...

but I have to say that Virgil's epic wins this one. I was spouting impressed expletives as I read it, it could have gone on forever and I would have been content to sit and let it play out in my head. So many images packed within a few words. I'm highlighting my favorites, the ones that had my jaw dropped open. (I could have done without the struck me in the muttonchops, though :lol: otherwise, damn near perfect.) Thanks.

(maybe next time you should sit out, and give someone else a chance?)



The Chantry

Where on earth does one go?
We sailed slowly out,
As if in rendezvous with the setting sun
Navigating ocean and whales,
Sea gulls suspended on a breeze,
Discussing surf and trees with sailors,
The soft sound of wings in our ears.
Once the mate over full of undulant and salt,
Questioned the fealty of the Captain to the crew,
Grubstake unwarranted, unwanted.
The Captain, angry in his black beard
Banished the mate to irons
While the ship skated on a slab of silver.
We sneaked below and watched the mate
Grow hair and beard, slim to bone,
Skin draped as a tunic.
“Beware, beware,” he said,
His eyes bright within the hair ball of his head.
“I curse you all from head to bow.”

Are curses the requisite yawp to disaster?
Clamor of the world, breath of winds,
It came upon us as the Captain stared silently
Across the bridge deck, black in his beard.
The ship wound into whiddershins
Cracking slats and columns,
Men overboard before dinghies were dropped.

Each sailor would strip the flesh off their bones,
The weight of Adam’s burden,
To stay afloat if they could,
Unbuoyant mass in a water world.
But the spiral of the deep sucked weightAnd all were lost into the watery gyre.

All but me. Spinning in aqueous turmoil
Providence held my body from sinking,
Walking like the Lord on water,
Until this broken bark, this nailed pile of sticks,
With gash and fissure that creaked in its pulp,Struck me in the muttonchops.

I clung to the sloop, more funeral box
Than scow, drifting to tree-lined surf.
And here I’ve stayed, unmoved, unperipatetic,
Bowed to a chantry on the surf,
Preaching through my beard,Supplication to the sea
And to the God that rules the sky.

Congrats, Virgil, well worth waiting for.

[Virgil]

Oh my. I didn't think I would win this one. There were quite a few I thought were better. I thank you both Miss T and Riesa. I had a lot of fun writing this. I'll have to search for a new photo and post it in a day or two. I urge everyone to play. Win or lose, this is fun.

[holograph]

virgil, you are amazing. i wish i could include religious references in my poetry with feeling and tenacity like you do. (but i am a heathen). and i must agree that there is enormous talent in this room, i have not been exposed to good writing on a personal level for a long time. thank you guys. for the next poem, im going to actually contribute real stuff. if it wasnt for lack of time, id be writing incessantly... ah the burden of being po'.

[rabid reader]

Riesa thanks for the kind words and Virgil congrats, and I iggerly await the next picture.

[Virgil]

Halograph and Rabid reader, I thought both your poems were excellent. After I re-read them now, it seems the three of us had similar themes. I'll have to look for a new picture.

[Petrarch's Love]

Congratulations Virgil. Your poem was quite gripping. Not quite playing it like your namesake though, skipping eclogue and moving straight to epic ;). Looking forward to seeing the next pic.

[Petrarch's Love]

And thanks to Riesa for taking the time to give all of us runners ups some criticism. Very thoughtful of you. I appreciated getting your thoughts on my submission,especially since I had been debating whether to leave off that last stanza myself.

[Virgil]

Congratulations Virgil. Your poem was quite gripping. Not quite playing it like your namesake though, skipping eclogue and moving straight to epic ;). Looking forward to seeing the next pic.
Thank you.

[Virgil]

OK. After a search through some of my favorite images, I've decided on this one. I hope you find it interesting, but more importantly, inspirational.


http://aha.missouri.edu/courses/aha3620/Woman+Mirror.jpg

[Petrarch's Love]

Thanks Virg. I've loved that Bellini ever since seeing it at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. Yet another of those exquisitely luminous paintings from the Venetian school. I look forward to reading the exquisitely luminous poetry it generates.

[mir]

does marble ever dream, in its long-living quiescence?
or sometimes think of summer, which would bright its endless snow?
a mouth that cannot speak cannot reveal what souled quintessence
may have been chiselled into that sculpture long ago.
still and sweet in picture, uncomplaining these masques stand,
with not a sound from posing lips to keep silence at bay
beauty and decorum oft do not go hand in hand,
so though many come gawking, almost nude the forms must stay.
alabaster stillness, painted nymph of long ago,
on whom brighter colors look like only a mistake,
if you were a statue, where did your emotions go?
frozen like your form, ever in one unchanging state?
gazing in the mirror, could you your irony see?
mother of a family of poetry and dreams,
but once statues were all that those of curving form could be;
perhaps the sadness in your eyes is more real than it seems.

yeah. um. feminist social commentary. is it too obscure?

[rabid reader]

Okay, I'm not very happy about this one and I kinda want to explain where I got these images for the poem. I am not very into Art as I really have little eye for non-literary symbols and all paintings truly mean to me is a bunch of bright colours mixed with dark ones. Sure I can stare at a painting and impress on something or other that I can see and hold up a convorsation, but that is mostly my talent of eminse bullspit at work.

So I read this is a painting by Bellini and doing some research I find out that this is his first nude woman, painted somewhere in his mid-eights. I also remember from the novel Angels & Demons by Brown, that Bellini was hired by the Church to paint. I also know since he is part of the Renaissance, which is famous for its return to natural beauty, that he may of thought of nature the holiest form. So with out further ado, here is my entry:

The Incumbus


They never know do they?
When I paint my skin,
They think I am one of them.
They think I’m their kin.
I know to be vain, and what to say.
I know their secrets that they hide.
I am their focus, their gem.
Through temptation I am Hell’s guide.

O’ the rolling hills do see,
The holes, and the truth.
The opinionated vineyards,
Know that I’ll never be Ruth.
They will always know me,
Through my never dying youth.
I am safe in my protect of guards.
Safe from nature’s tooth.

I am an incubus of temptation.
I sit here nude and knowing.
I must never return to nature.
For hell is where we’re going
I am pure of mark or adaptations.
It is my purity that is unholy.
Love me and your soul will fracture.
I feed on the unclean, souly.

[holograph]

[well done rabidreader and the rest of the excellent writers who submitted. kudos. :)]

[always by the window].

voloptuous and languid she sits
nervously naked
her small plump tits
anxiously peek from behind

a creamy vanilla arm
like an elephant tusk
[the reflection
of dusk
in her eyes]

rapunzel, rapunzel
open your locks
and push down the door
the renaissance clock

just struck [a
concrete black] four
and it's ticking
[pecking at your
hear-no-evil ears]

a cancer eating away
at your coarse
haughty fears

that raspberry robe shrouds
the truth, my dear--
your shame is evident.

it’s clear [you are
no chaste care
-free Eve]

your gaudy depiction
cannot deceive
the dry-ice in
your optic cones.

that robust torso
nurses a secret
walled in black
and packed
in forest green,

and the corpulent
clouds wait for
you

[forever entrapped behind
a frame].

[Virgil]

Wow!!! Three great entries already. :thumbs_up I can already see this is going to be a hard one to judge.

[Psycheinaboat]

I love to write, but lack confidence in my poetry. Here is my honest try. The letter in my poem refers to the paper lying next to the model in the painting.

*****

Beauty read the letter today,
It robbed her of her smile.
Her glow remained,
And eyes sustained
The musings of my soul.


Deep mocha eyes
That looked about
The hazy country side,
Fell upon her reflection
And tragically she cried.

My love and mirth
Were not enough
To maintain foolish pride
That tries to force its will upon
A heart refusing to abide.

I could not master
Beauty’s chasm,
Could not mend her broken heart.
When death came calling
Leaving me bereft, we had to part.

[Petrarch's Love]

I wanted to see how it looked on.
The fabric was the finest from the East.
With pearls of choicest luster sewn among
Swirls green like the earth and blue like the sky.
Indeed, the merchant told my lover
It was such cloth that when the ground was bare
And the sky grey I, his mistress, wearing this,
Would renew the color of the dead world.
My love believed and bought, and told to me
The nonsense, which I laughed at and loved him for.

I wanted to see how it looked on.
So I wrapped my long, loose hair in the cloth
And gazed at a reflection of reflection
To contemplate the way the pearled border
Divided colored silk from silken hair,
All the while half thinking of my young duke,
And partly of the letter from my sister
(Whose husband never bought her such fine gifts).
I did not see my beauty then but felt it.
Sometimes I felt it in the urgent press
Of the Duke’s body against my own,
But also when I sat alone I felt it
In the glow of my youthful blood and in
The strength of my young body. I did not see
My own beauty (that was just me, nothing novel);
I saw the beauty of the silk and pearls.
Delighting in my present, I forgot
The eyes of the aged painter looking on,
Over four score years, grey bearded, slow,
And hired by my love, the Duke Alfonso who
Wanted to see how I looked on canvas.

Because the artist looked like my old grandfather,
Looked drained of manly vigor to my eyes,
And waked no spark of passion in my pulse
My naïve self assumed no lust in his eyes,
Assumed his pulse a chaste paternal beat.
(If I knew then what I know now of old men!)
That is how it came that I forgot,
As women never can with young men,
That the old painter’s eyes were on me,
And that is how he asked me to pause
As I admired my new coif, and how he stopped
My movement, stopped my hand, stopped my breath,
Stopped my pulse, and kept all of me still
For everyone to see and none to feel.

[ktd222]

Here's my entry:

Even the eyes transcend a momentary cause…
a haze, as if the vast boundlessness
of fields were her.

(It would seem so)

The way the bedclothes slid away
and left her body bare,
a peach-touched texture,
nonspecific, gaining softer
against the soft lit air,

or how the greenery and sky
uplifts her hair, caressing softly
there and there.

She, like an Atmosphere of Land in part,
beside a bedroom abrupt and distinct

(in me)

[white camellia]

Dear friend Camillaa, my heart with you to win :

My heart smiles with your words, my tender! :nod:

And Riesa, thank you so much for your comment!

And Virgil, your epic is possessed of certain grandeur, like your name! Congrats!

Up to now these portrayals of this beautiful lady are all amazing and the one from k222 is very enticing with the ending words "in me" and it gives a feeling of the spontaneity of emotions, denseness of beauty.

Good luck to all the excellent poets!

[rabid reader]

Just wondering when the decision is going to be made.

[Confusecius]

this is short and soulful but rather rough.


The Muse

There sits she, by the window, nude,
'Tis her source of primal capers,
And if you examine to the right of her a**,
You'll lay eyes on her rolling papers.

There sits she, with tiny mirror in hand,
Her countenance couldn't be kinder,
It's surprising to see that she is not blonde,
As she didn't see the large one behind her.

There sits she, wearing naught but her curtains,
Her hair draped where clothing is not,
Onlookers have grown quite accustomed to this,
This lady goes nude quite a lot.

There sits she, in the pride of her womanhood,
Being immortalized by the artist Bellini,
Far into the future, with the ease of a keyboard,
Confusecius makes fun of her obscenely.


Do not take this seriously.
:D

[Virgil]

Just wondering when the decision is going to be made.

Oh, I'm sorry. I was away for a bit. I'm now back. How about I choose the winner on Friday? This way any last minute entries will get a chance.

[smoothherb]

Hey there with your golden eyes
Will you come down to save me
Shall I be left here to die
While your comradz recruit
The obedient and the vain
Us with a lack of virtue
Must stand up to the pain
In your glass eyes I see no sympathy
Like you face was frozen by power
As I watch the ritous rise
Like a child holds up a flower
I guess they win the final prize
A life continued in heaven
The rest of us will die
forsaken here forever

[Page]

Such wonderful poems by all. Holograph AND ktd222 have my vote.

[Virgil]

The winner will be announced within six hours. Last mnute entries can still be entered.

[Virgil]

OK, I've chosen the winner. It was a very hard choice. All of them were enjoyable and could easily have been selected. I liked Riesa's format from the last contest where I give a short little comment on each poem (I think everyone is at least owed that) and then I pick the winner.


Mir: Your poem was very elegant and really had some nice phrases. I almost selected it. What prevented me was that the poem kept addressing a statue and I was a little confused with that.

rabid reader: Very nice poem. Loved the line, "Safe from nature's tooth." The only reason it didn't win was that I couldn't invision the subject of the painting as an Incumbus. While it was imaginative, your poem didn't quite match for me the painting.

halograph: Also a very nice poem. Could have won easily. A lovely poem. The repunzal stanza hit an off note to me, but the "raspberry robe" and "optic cones" made up for it.

Psycheinaboat: Also close to a winner. The openning stanza seemed a little trite, but the other three were excellent, the last one being perfect.

Petrarch: I took it as a Browning-esk interior monologue, and excellent at that. I really loved the last stanza, some really fine lines there ("Assumed his pulse a chaste paternal beat" - !). The only thing that knocked it down a little for me was the frame of the woman wanting to try on this fabric didn't connect with the story line you created.

Confucious: :lol: I enjoyed it. A comic poem can win, but this painting was not a comic subject. So I couldn't give it to you.

Smoothherb: a good poem, but I think a disconnect (at least for me) with the subject of this painting.

And the winner is ktd. What i particularly liked about ktd's poem is the sounds that interlink the poem: texture/softer, bare/air/hair/there, greenery/softly, abrubt/distinct. The openning lines are wonderfully invocative, and I loved "a peach-touched texture"


Even the eyes transcend a momentary cause…
a haze, as if the vast boundlessness
of fields were her.

(It would seem so)

The way the bedclothes slid away
and left her body bare,
a peach-touched texture,
nonspecific, gaining softer
against the soft lit air,

or how the greenery and sky
uplifts her hair, caressing softly
there and there.

She, like an Atmosphere of Land in part,
beside a bedroom abrupt and distinct

(in me)

OK, ktd, you pick the next picture.

[ktd222]

Whoohoo!!! I’d like to thank Bellini, because without his painting my poem wouldn’t make sense. I’d also like to thank Virgil for accepting the cookie I offered him in the lobby for picking my poem. For how else could my poem have been picked over so many great poems.

Thanks a bunch Virgil, this means a lot coming from a person knowledgeable about poetry.

I’ll try and come up with an image later.

[smoothherb]

I didn't know anything about a painting lol

[miss tenderness]

congrats ktd,it was a lovely poem man. You all were amazing:)

[Psycheinaboat]

Ktd, congratulations on your wonderful poem winning. I look forward to seeing what sort of picture you choose.

[holograph]

awesome man. this is fun. ktd ure poem was fantastic. can't wait for the pic!

:) :banana:

[ktd222]

Thank you White, Psych, Holo, Miss, for the kind words. I was thinking about this subject for the past few days and would like to see what you all thought about it. I will explain why after the contest. I think the openness of this image will lend itself to a wide range of interpretations. I look forward to reading your submissions.

http://www.pballew.net/cube.jpg

[rabid reader]

Congrats ktd. Awesome poem
Thinking and Living Outside the Box
To live outside the box.
The slight container
of limited sight and mind.
To live outside the box
Leaves my dreams
to be the achievable kind.

A Life outside this box,
This blank and bleak
Welling up of spirit.
A Life outside this box,
Lives fantasy, love
or anything near it.

The sight outside the box,
Seems empty in the eyes
Of those in side in coil.
But the sight outside the box,
Is the mythical landscape
That makes creativity boil.

So to live in the box
One must sacrifice
their hopes and dreams.
To live in it
Is to never realize
the beauty in the seams.
TO never see this
Should be the only
true form of crime.
To ignore the wonderful
beauty of creation, is
the biggest waste of time.
So when their is a box,
A box that you can see,
Never think about what's inside
Never eliminate your dreams.

[holograph]

ill have one in soon. ktd i LOVE THIS PIC. THANK YOU.

[Will Press]

A crystal cube, a diamond box
With glassy chains and unseen locks
Transparent chest with treasures hid
Beneath its bright and shining lid

Its faces clear as shallow stream
Encases, I can only dream
Some secret, longing to be sought
Though covered, caged, and long forgot

But who, if sound in mind and health
Would cage in glass to shield his wealth
His secrets plain for all to see
Therein lies the mystery

A crystal cube, a diamond box
A puzzle and a paradox
A lesson learned to those who try
Not asking what or where, but why

[mir]

Line, Defined

when is a line not a line?
when its borders are too fine?
when it's points disconnected, ink in perspective,
and its straighness seems elective?

perhaps when dimensioned to two
so one single line gains three new
and clear, empty air, becomes no longer bare,
and instead now is filling a square?

Or when raised to a power of three!
What less like line could there be?
Not one simple stroke, but TWELVE - what a joke!
Was the artist off on coke??

Perhaps a true line is that which
Does not bend, wriggle, or twitch,
But in Math class, is allowed to pass,
As that with substance - but not MASS.

yes. yes, this is the first day of school. *falls over*

[Psycheinaboat]

I like this one. Here is a poem that for me captures the simplicity of the picture.

*****

Ice cube:
Melting
Melti
Mel
M

[ktd222]

I just wanted to stop in, before I leave for work, and say there are some great entries so far.

[Petrarch's Love]

I've been pre-occupied for a few days, so wanted to drop in now to congratulate ktd on her win. :) Looks like you've choosen a deceptively simple pic. for this round, an the competition's already heating up. I'll have to submit something myself if a good idea strikes. :idea:

[white camellia]

ill have one in soon. ktd i LOVE THIS PIC. THANK YOU.

holo, are you sure you've seen the picture? Why can't I see it?! :idea: :(

[Will Press]

holo, are you sure you've seen the picture? Why can't I see it?! :idea: :(
If you can't see it, it's pretty simple. It's just a cube drawn from black lines on a white background.

[ktd222]

Thank you Holo, Petrarch, I loved your poems as well.

I'll announce the winner sometime next week, so there is plenty of time for submissions into the contest, all.

[white camellia]

I appreciate your help, Will Press. That image sounds really appealing, a simple abstract touch.

[LauraAmanda]

Simple in shape, In shade
In light, A box
Where we all reside
A place to keep
forgotten memories
Something to stand on
To reach a little taller
We all feel small sometimes.
A place to hide
unwanted emotions.
A place to keep
the socially unwanted.
A box
Simple
In shape

[ktd222]

There's about a week left before I determine the winner, so entries are welcome.

[Petrarch's Love]

Linear Evolution

1Twelve lines of the first dimension variety
2Arranged themselves with contained sobriety
3On a typical plane of the second dimension
4(They did it without too much pretension),
5And when well arranged they admirably
6Produced an image from dimension three.
7The twelve straight lines were, with pride, reborn
8Into the dimension of higher forms
9Where the box they made could contain a treasure
10Or be dice or ice or a house at pleasure,
11And the space outside it metaphorically
12Could represent individuality.
But still, these lines, which ascended disciple-like
From their thin, singular, simplicity to complex, tangible, fullness
In pursuit of something greater,
Still they lack the fourth dimension
Of unseen animation
And still they lack that numberless dimension
With the infinitely faceted simplicity
Of a spiritual geometry.

[holograph]

Home has 2 dimensions.

Every rhythmic knock
sends a hollow static
through the walls,

and these walls are
my bed, and

I lay like
spoiled sandwich meat
between them.

They aren’t as thick as
you’d think, but heavy:

the shroud of night
on the eyelid--

a child’s carriage veil.

I live within

the box outside the box enclosed

between

two integrals in these four walls
of fog, and the fog casually thickens
like a sad housewife

that eats and eats, and

precipitates its smog
on my tender cheeks, an

acidic red. I am x, and

I’ve no derivative.

And I’ve been miming for years

get me out
get me out

let me back in

But all I hear are the brooding
winds of nothing.


[amazing poems you guys!]

[ktd222]

There is still a few days left for anyone else who would like to submit a poem.

[Virgil]

OK, here's my entry:


Cubic Haiku

The lines today stay
Upright for a framed pinfold.
Press out to find home.

Step back breathlessly
Find the cube’s open back side.
Lean over the edge.

Life within is sad.
Like a black bird in a cage,
Can you see the sun?

A corner vector
Gives dimensionality
To a world of lines.

Tomorrow’s boxes
Vanish unpredictably.
Will I be free then?

Dashed lines sum it up,
Sealed up in hexahedron.
A cube has six sides.

[ktd222]

The contest is closed today at 12 A.M. PDT. I will tell you who the winner is on Monday.

[ktd222]

I read some C.S. Lewis books recently, and when I came across this image of a cube it reminded me of an example he gave for knowing God’s identity. That each of us – even if we are unable to discern God’s identity in this world – is of Him. And that we are only able to see in components now. Just as the deconstruction of this cube results in only it’s component parts(or lines). And it is when we move beyond this world that we are revealed a clearer image of God. Just as the component parts begin to interconnect to form structure. Until we are totally enveloped into Him and the structure interconnect with structures to reveal the true image of God.

I preface this by saying these are only my opinions and may not actually be what you all are trying to achieve in your poems.

[ktd222]

rabid:
This theme, even though a bit cliché, will never grow tiring for me. It is what keeps me growing and maturing into a capable adult. This is a poem about goals and dreams and keeping your focus and aim in order to achieve them. I like your symbolic use of the box/container as the barrier that ‘limits your sight and mind.’ The container is the thing with the fake ‘form.’ Even if in reality the container is what’s in front of you - the blank space outside the box is the ‘true form’ – the place where ‘thinking and living’ exists. I had particular trouble with phrases like ‘slight container,’ which I assume means flimsy or fragile container; and ‘seems empty in the eyes of those in side in coils,’ which gives the impression of huge amounts of potential energy, so I don’t understand how a ‘slight box’ could hold back such potential energy. The title correlates being outside the box to where ‘thinking and living’ is; and the whole of your poem is about living and seems so positive that the word ‘crime’ seems out of place. This is just me though. I do like the movement of point of views from outside the box, to inside the box, back outside the box, as you read on down the poem. It gives me a sort of first hand experience of these two ‘realms.’ I also think the use of the word can (third line from the bottom) is wonderfully placed in your poem. The only thing that we can see is not necessarily the thing we should ponder, because that will sideline our dreams; which will waste away our ‘thinking’; which is the actual type of ‘living’ we can have if we live for our dreams.

Will Press:
The box itself is the treasure, not what’s inside. ‘A crystal cube, a diamond box’: these are descriptions of value attached to the box; while the walls of this cube is described as wrapped with ‘unseen locks’ and ‘glassy chains,’ like the ‘faces clear as shallow streams.’ These are some wonderful descriptions lending clarity and palpability to what’s inside the box, – nothing. The ‘I can only dream of some secret,’ whatever this secret was. But this is where value, just like the kind attached to the cube, attaches itself to questions asked. You have movement from abstract value towards palpable value. The important question to ask is not ‘what or where’ this ‘secret’ is, because it’s long gone. The important question is to deal with what you do have and ask why this kind of box was used to store such a secret in plain view. I don’t see a use for end rhymes; or care much for cliché phrases like ‘a puzzle and a paradox,’ or ‘not asking what or where, but why,’ or ‘therein lies the mystery,’ but you’ve got plenty of positives things going on in your poem as I’ve mentioned above.

mir:
I have a sense you’re reconstructing the image of the box in your poem. You have this movement from primary lines, to secondary lines that form simple structures, to tertiary lines that interconnect to from complex structures. But it is beyond these primary lines the idea of what a line is defined as fails. I think the words ‘perspective’ and ‘elective’ are crucial to your poem. And I guess that’s why you’ve highlighted them by rhyme, right? The other rhymes I can’t figure out though. Anyway, those two words make me believe the definition of a line is dependent on perspective; but more than that, dependent on the held belief in that perspective. In this case, the perspective is the Math class’s – not even a perspective because of one’s choosing. The poem is restrictive in this sense. The word ‘but’ in ‘but in Math class’ is perfectly placed towards the bottom of the poem because it contradicts what you’ve set up throughout the poem: which is defining to me what a line is NOT. Which is coincidently what a line is in the perspective of an artist? So the words ‘but’ and ‘not’ create a mathematical equations where two negatives(or contradictory words) equals a positive:

Perhaps a true line is that which
does not bend, wriggle, or twitch,
but in Math class, is allowed to pass

For me the poem still succeeds without the last line, mir. I like how you deal with how different people defined what a line is in comparison with the image.

psycheinaboat:
I do like your poem Psycheinaboat. A simple reduction of the image 1 minute from now; 2 minutes from now; 5 minutes from now. The ice cube becoming less and less recognizable – just like the words of the poem becoming less and less like a word. But I guess I’m left with the question of why this reduction is happening? What is the reason for you seeing this ice cube dissolving?

[ktd222]

lauraamanda:
I do like the functional element you’ve introduced into the image; turning the box into an actual place where ‘forgotten memories’ and the ‘unwanted’ things go to dwell or live. Hence the word ‘reside.’ And where ‘we’ go if ‘we’ want to use the box ‘to reach a little taller’. But there is also a lot of ambiguity that I can’t quite wrap my brain around. What is it that ‘makes us feel small’? This is a box that keeps both positive and negative things, right? Or is this a place for just negative things to dwell? I would like to know what is it about the things that reside in this box that makes it ‘something to stand on to reach a little taller’. Or are you just talking literally? Is ‘simple in shape, in shade in light,’ a reflection of what is in the box or just a description of the box itself? If it was the first, then that would match nicely with the positive and negative things that dwell in this box. I think with a little clarification your poem will be quite amazing.

holo:
Holograph, you have a lot happening in such a short poem. In any case, your poem almost succeeded on so many different levels.

The first is this ‘rhythmic knock.’ Is this knock coming from outside the eyelids? Is the structure of your poem, containing short stanzas, trying to mimic this opening and closing of eyelids? That would be a cool effect! But I’m not positive on this.

The second is the position of the ‘I’ during this poem. You say the ‘I lays…/between them,’ and I’m assuming ‘them’ is the eyelids. What makes me also believe this is that you say ‘I live/within the box/outside the box/enclosed between/two integrals.’ Which points to the shape that an eyelid is: an integral. But then in stanza 5 and 6 you say the ‘I’ lives within and outside this box. Now I’m confused. Maybe you meant the different Parts of the ‘I’? One Part lives in one place, and the other Part(the living Part?) lives in another place; and you’re trying to unify those two Parts into the true ‘I’? I don’t know.

The third is the comparison of the box to eyelids. I’m not sure that is what you’re trying to do but it’s what seems to me. Such an abrupt alteration of this box, I can’t get to imagining eyelid from box.

One aspect of your poem I do see achieved is the vivid description of deterioration of the ‘I.’ A deterioration, that like fog, comes on slow, but gets thicker, or more severe as in the case of human deterioration, as time passes. A representation of fog as being acid adds that vivid element for me, to imagine the type of deterioration that’s happening. Nice use of word, describing the fog as ‘casual.’ Fog doesn’t seem harmful at first, but over time it can be blinding. Just like life doesn’t seem wasteful when your young; but towards the end of your life, the amount of time you have left becomes more important.

Petrarch:
I saw your poem more as ‘mental evolution’. Not evolution in the sense where organisms change in order to adapt, in order to reproduce more successfully than competing organisms. Because your poem involves interaction of component parts(or lines) in order to achieve something more than it is alone: a line. But the first step is to instill your lines with intellect. I don’t know how you did this, but you did. Referring to the lines as having ‘contained sobriety’: giving them a sense of awareness. And as having ‘pride’: giving them a virtue. These lines need certain ability in ‘processing’ to understand such things, as virtue and awareness! I wish I were able to see how the lines developed intellect. That would have been pretty awesome.
The voice in line 4 is interesting. It seems to be saying these lines that interact to form structures had no motive or end purpose. And that’s why I don’t think evolution in this first sense works. There is always an end purpose to evolution. But who is this that is saying, ‘in pursuit of something greater’? I’ll leave it at loving that you’ve instilled mere lines to contain something more.
The word ‘contain’- you’ve used a couple times – seems important in your poem, because it points to what is containable, or capable, for these lines to achieve. It seems to go well with the numbering of the first twelve lines, because maybe the content in these lines are all that such lines are capable of: forming more complex structures.
Lines 11 and 12 caught me off guard because your poem seems to be moving towards a building and forming of things, that suddenly jumping out into the void of this image just confused me.
So maybe it is within these twelve lines that nothing spiritual can be conceived. A space to create two paragraphs would have also been pretty neat: to show disconnect in evolving the intellect in order to understand the ‘spiritual geometry.’
I also like the rhyming you’ve set up in the poem. An end rhyming that stops passed line 12. You may also be using this to show the fracture between the two types of geometry.

Overall I loved your concept.

Virgil:
Your representation that this cubical structure, formed from lines, – forms the world(the place we need call home) – is amazing! Because what is discovered when ‘stepping back’ outside the box is that this world is just a world made from lines. Made because whomever it was before needed a place to call home; and as a result, turned the dimensionless into a world of dimensions.

The way the world is being looked over made me gasp, because in two stanzas you were able to encompass and represent the world in this box; as well, take the reader to a perspective where the world can be inspected.

I’m not sure who this ‘you’ inside the box is referring to. Is this ‘you’ referring to the reader or the ‘I,’ himself – that part of the ‘I’ that remains bound in this world? Obviously the ‘I’ shows up towards the bottom of this poem, but who is doing the ‘stepping back?’ Is the ‘I’ asking this of the reader? Even though I’m not sure yet, it is still a very imaginative way to try connecting these entities described in your poem.

And as I said above, this world is now a world made of dimensions. And the answer to the question whether we’ll ‘be free then’ will be, no. Because just like the cube’s perimeters being erased, we no longer recognize that we are actually inside the box. We are in a world of dimensions without knowing so.

A very unique way of interpreting this image, Virgil. I love it!



Petrarch, this contest was yours. And then I read Virgil’s poem; with its playful way in approaching such a serious topic, and in-depth inspection of the image, both literally and figuratively, that I have to declare him the winner. Congratulations Virgil!


Cubic Haiku

The lines today stay
Upright for a framed pinfold.
Press out to find home.

Step back breathlessly
Find the cube’s open back side.
Lean over the edge.

Life within is sad.
Like a black bird in a cage,
Can you see the sun?

A corner vector
Gives dimensionality
To a world of lines.

Tomorrow’s boxes
Vanish unpredictably.
Will I be free then?

Dashed lines sum it up,
Sealed up in hexahedron.
A cube has six sides.

[jon1jt]

KTD: Good feedback. But to judge a "poetry" contest that way is a bit overanalytical, no?

[rabid reader]

thanks kk for the kind words, I love the indepth feed back. Truth be told I have to go read it again to see what your talking about.

[ktd222]

KTD: Good feedback. But to judge a "poetry" contest that way is a bit overanalytical, no?

I don't think so. Go read any poem that is analyzed and you'll get the same in depth analysis. Some poems just require that. I'm just showing you what I see. Poetry is more than just ideas expressed.

[Virgil]

Well, thank you ktd. I thought there were better poems. I played with my poem for a number of days and finally just went with it. I had a vague feeling for what I was trying to express and then it kind of of came together. I'll need a few days to find a new pcture.

[holograph]

Congrats once more to Virgil, the reigning king of the poetry contest forum. :thumbs up great poem. the rest of you guys also had very awesome poems. I loved them all.

Heh. Now, to ktd. Thank you for the evaluation. I am a firm believer that once the poem is written, it is subject to infinite interpretation, and no longer that of the poet. However, [please do not take this the wrong way] but your analysis of my poem was completely off. There is one mention of the word "eyelid" but nothing more. If the images yous saw were those of lashes and eyes, that's cool, but not an intention of mine. This poem was evoked by the image, and very personal for me. I wrote it in a fit of passion. The poem is my lifelong struggle, and I think it succedded on all accounts to convey that. There were many references to math, rigitidy, entrapment, and boxes, and when I looked at that picture you posted, I saw my struggle (that's why I was so happy to work with it). But this is all in good fun. Can't wait for the next one. :)

[ktd222]

Congrats once more to Virgil, the reigning king of the poetry contest forum. :thumbs up great poem. the rest of you guys also had very awesome poems. I loved them all.

Heh. Now, to ktd. Thank you for the evaluation. I am a firm believer that once the poem is written, it is subject to infinite interpretation, and no longer that of the poet. However, [please do not take this the wrong way] but your analysis of my poem was completely off. There is one mention of the word "eyelid" but nothing more. If the images yous saw were those of lashes and eyes, that's cool, but not an intention of mine. This poem was evoked by the image, and very personal for me. I wrote it in a fit of passion. The poem is my lifelong struggle, and I think it succedded on all accounts to convey that. There were many references to math, rigitidy, entrapment, and boxes, and when I looked at that picture you posted, I saw my struggle (that's why I was so happy to work with it). But this is all in good fun. Can't wait for the next one. :)

O.K. Did you not read the preface? I saw all of those references but didn't know what to make of them. So I had to use what I saw.

[Will Press]

Thanks for the feedback ktd. Virgil, good luck finding a new picture.

[Psycheinaboat]

KTD, I appreciate the lengthy explanations you gave. I know it helped me.

Congratulations to Virgil for his/her excellent poem! I look forward to the image you choose.

[autolycus]

unusual virgil
guiding us through many squares
a rectified hell

[mir]

a rectified hell
it is fun to mix and match
random lit net games!

:D

[Virgil]

I hope this isn't too difficult a subject, but it's a little dfferent from what we've had so far.


http://www.barjonsbooks.com/Windstone/2012%20Spirit%20Wolf%20(wbg).jpg

OK so go write them. But take your time. I see some just rush in a submit whatever comes off the top of their head.

[mir]

hey, that's fun! :)

When Wolves Had Wings

Long ago, in days when creatures
Talked to men, and so were heard
Life and Hope filled every feature,
Every sound of every word.

Long ago, in days forgotten,
When miracles went unheeded;
Tribes of men and beasts begotten
Good; no marvels such were needed.

Gemstones in the earth abounded,
lent glitter to every eye
Trumpets through the air resounded
As proud throats leased fearless cry.

But of all the wonderful things
Then, that are but Myth today,
Greatest of them were the bright wings
Which each creature could display.

Not just birds could loop and twirl,
Glory in the joy of flight -
Every man and every girl,
Every beast had such delight.

Then what wonder was upon us,
Upon land, and sky, and sea!
The same mother Earth that spawned us,
Gave us wings to set us free.


But.

Look around now, spare my story.

Tell me what such things are there?

How much of this place is glory;

How much glides free 'pon the air?


I do not know how it happened,
Do not ask me when or why
But from Heaven tightly fastened
All but few fell from the sky.

Lions, fish, the bugs and turtles,
Men and women, snake and wolf,
From the clouds to Earth all hurtled
Gravity their dreams engulfed.

The one return we were given -
Curse or blessing, ask the sky -
Was the chance to make hearts shriven;
Was the painful gift to cry.

Most these days have long forgotten
swallowed in the maw of time -
Except those, as I, besotten
By those Sirens, art and rhyme.

We few, through tears carved or written,
Mourn for pasts where peace was king
Though by fate our dreams are bitten -
In shadows, we find our wings.

[thevintagepiper]

I love it Mir! Thta's an interesting picture Virgil....I'm going to try but I'll have to think first.

[autolycus]

Guardian

guardian i was made
who bore a sword of flame
i kept the secret
of the sacred name

i was in eden
when fire sealed the gate
i sat with adam
as he learnt his fate

i gave him daughters
who wouldn't have my wings -
he would have children,
poor defenseless things

years passed in thunder
man's paradise is gone
i sit still waiting
in my skin of stone

he never called me
from all his billion homes
where my children guard
all the world he roams

angel of the flame
and guardian still on post
eyes hard as gemstones
knowing what i've lost

[mir]

very nice, autolycus!

[autolycus]

mir: well, I must admit that your poem actually points out that mythical creatures require a mythical setting, so I followed...

[snowpetal]

This is such a good idea! I usually just use this site for reading but I clicked on this thread out of interest, and I've ended up spending the whole afternoon reading poetry when I should have been working! oops! Anyway, now I am totally inspired and I actually joined the community (which I've always been a little shy of doing before). So just as soon as I figure out how this whole business works, I'm gonna post a poem! Hooray!

[snowpetal]

This is actually kind of scary. Posting a poem, I mean.

Blue Eyes

My ears were pricked and my senses whetted
I could run with the wind in its starry soar
My home was the forests, my heart was intrepid
And my sinews and strength were my body’s law.

Now my nose is not wet and my breath has abated,
I chafe at the bonds that myself I created
A life carved in stone which for years I awaited
My pride in my beauty my ultimate flaw.

My eyes were the colour of sky and sea,
My coat was the softness of silk in the raw
Now tourmaline bright is my spiritless sight
And my petrified fur ripples windswept no more.

I asked for the life that is given to statues
I begged for the fortune that comes with the fame
The prize that I sought has long palled in reflection
For years I have dreamed of my freedom of yore -

Before I fell prey to a life of indebted-
ness, longing to flee to a life I regretted for-
ever I dream of my past silhouetted, while
frozen alive in a candlelit fetidness
Frozen in stone in a prison of pride

With no door but my eyes,
My blue eyes, which though sightless,
Though silent and lightless,
Forever implore.

[mir]

snowpetal, that's AMAZING! great job! and welcome to the forum!

[Virgil]

Yes welcome Snowpetal. And thanks for contributing to the poetry contest.

[snowpetal]

Thanks! I have to confess, I was kind of nervous - all the poems I read have been *so* good!

[Riesa]

Fun picture, Virgil. All the poems entered so far are well done. My vote is for Mir's though if you need help deciding.



Early this morning, right before I woke,
A Vulcan came by and hovered near the ceiling
Quoting wise sayings from seven different planets

Like

a Carcin Ott Ott should beware of upside down shoes,
For even one sight of a sole can rupture friendships.

Or

water dwellers with ears often speak the native tongue
Better than the natives. (that one is from a planet called Tark, the Vulcan assured me.)

The one that seemed to make the most sense to me
Was the one from Landis Five, it went something like this:

Fiery quadrupeds wing farthest
In search of satisfaction,
Often finding their eyes
Just where they left them
Most of them forget to look
Where they belong;

So seek out new sights, blind

Only finding at the end that
They were just so,
this was the way
they were to be
and nothing could be finer
Than that.

I offered the Vulcan a cup of coffee then,
Because I heard the automatic coffee pot
Began to bubble and hiss

Unfortunately he was late for some appointment with one of the C.E.O.’s
Of Horizon’s Unlimited, Inc.

[Orionsbelt]

Snowpetal I really liked your words!


Riesa, I was wondering how much coffee is required to meet Vulcans on the ceiling. I am curious about your referances. They seem fun.


I considered this for a while. I couldn't really come up with anything that struck me solid about this one.

So I just had some fun with it. I hope you all have fun reading it;)

In the council of the insect kingdom
On the root of an old oak tree
The ant set forth the proposition
“A hero” said he

The Butterfly objected
With a laugh both loud and long
“Such an idea is prepostioous,
I insist, we agree, it’s wrong!”

The mosquito considered the grey staunch wings
“It flies there is no doubt!
Can you imagine how the wind would flee,
when stretched and moved about?”

The lightning bug pondered the electric gaze
“A wonder not a whim.
Such power was not given by accident
blue fire pours out from in!”

The potato bug wondered at the hard stone coat
“A hard and durable shell!
Through the valley of death I could walk with it
and storm the gates of hell.”

The grasshopper cried of strong rear legs
“To the moon in a single bound!
An entire continent would be required
for the daily hoppings around”

The fly was heard to comment
“An obviously sensitive nose.
No delicacy would be missed
In any direction you chose”

The spider called
“A predator of the most advanced skill!
See how very patient,
Absolutely still”

The council conviened far into the night
The gargoyle consigned by fate
for all the grace in heaven
stone lips will not enter debate. :D

[mir]

you know, we should really do something with these poems. only one can be selected each time, but they're all so great! we should make a book or something . . . like haiga (haiku combined with paintings or pictures)

[mir]

virgil . . . ? i really don't want this thread to die . . .

[Riesa]

Orionsbelt, I appreciate that you found the fun in my poem, I know the quality is subpar, but I did want it to at least amuse someone besides myself.
All the references are just made up, but I need at least a three cups of coffee before my mind starts thinking that way. :goof:

Mir, great idea! and I believe Virg has been busy lately, he'll get around to it, I'm sure.
and I also like the idea of an Haiga thread! Hmm?

[Virgil]

OK let's set a deadline for Friday as the last day for this. And then I'll pick a winner that evening.

[Orionsbelt]

On the contrary - Subpar is not a word I would have used.... Unless I was talking golf but then they say "birdie" which was more applicable to bad mitten I think, at least before they used a ball and changed the name.

I was seeing all sorts of cool connections. Something like a Finnagan's wake thing. At least some of them..


"a Carcin Ott Ott should beware of upside down shoes,
For even one sight of a sole can rupture friendships."

My friends aren't real kick about my socks sometimes either.

"water dwellers with ears often speak the native tongue
Better than the natives."

I live in Pittsburgh (LOL to fellow citizens)....;)

almost always true when grass grows anywhere.....

"In search of satisfaction,
Often finding their eyes
Just where they left them
Most of them forget to look
Where they belong"

I thought it was great.

PS. Vulcans .. at least as presented on Star Treck always struck me as tea drinkers... It's proper if at least not ah ... logical?

[mir]

hey! a pittsburgher??? i didn't know any litnet people lived here! where in pittsburgh?

and Riesa:

http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?p=262193#post262193

[Juzjon]

Went out to the carpet store
to buy a brand new rug
When the sales guy on the floor
came up and gave a hug

He thaid how can I help you
I said I needed sisal
he thaid no Thir, thath incorrect
I think that you mean thithal

I was a little red cheeked
words just came out I guess
Don't know what made me say it
but I answered yeth !!

Tho he thowed me all his thithal
thix rugth to be ethact
We found the one we wanted
off to the car we packed

Thtopped by to get thom dinner
a cafe near the lake
The waitreth thaid "and you Sir?"
I thaid the t-bone thtake

Medium, rare or well done?
whilth writing on her pad
I thaid it did not matter
ath long ath ith not bad.

[Orionsbelt]

Hi Mir,

I live in West Deer Township... most people never heard of it but its the furthest northeastern township in Allegheny county. I love this board. There are so many good ideas floating around. You?

[mir]

Allison Park - another place most people have neve heard of. :) it's in Hampton Township. but i go to school in the city.

is Allegheny near Hampton?

i love this forum too! it's really interesting to make friends with people you've never even met. and there are lots of great literary games.

[Petrarch's Love]

Don't know if this is in time for Virg. to consider for contest purposes, but thought I'd post it anyway. By the way, great poems this round everyone. :)

Modern Mythology

He is the light bearer
Like Lucifer
But unfallen.
He is the sharp toothed
Like Fenris Wolf
But unbound.
He is the winged
Like Icarus
But unmistaken.
He is stone
Like the Gargoyle
But Unworn.

He came from the far East
(Made in China).
He emerged from a womb
(Of styrofoam packing).
His blue glass eyes guard
Everyday rooms
Where he is many things to many people.

He is stone,
A beautiful statue
For the one who admires the Gothic.
He is winged,
An angel
For the one who misses a departed pet.
He is sharp toothed,
An image of strength
For the one who imagines running with wolves.
He is the light bearer,
A candle
For the one who is tired of the dark.

[Petrarch's Love]

ktd--Since I was away when you gave out the responses and decision, I wanted to say thanks for the detailed feedback now. It was nice of you to take the time to write a careful response to each poem.


Petrarch, this contest was yours. And then I read Virgil’s poem

I'm honored to have come so close ;), but I think you made a great choice with Virgil's streamlined haikus. :nod: A belated congrats to Virg. as well.

[Virgil]

Thanks Petrarch.

The current contest is now closed. I will post a winner this evening.

[Virgil]

First, let me apologize for taking so long. My father's illness and ultimate passing took me away from this. OK we have a winner. Let's start with the others.

Petrarch's: The repetition of "He is" at first seemed a little boring, but then I realized it reflected the fixed nature of a statuette. I partcularly liked the ending:

For the one who imagines running with wolves.
He is the light bearer,
A candle
For the one who is tired of the dark.
What I didn't care for was I felt were two opposing tones, one of seriousness ("He is the light bearer/Like Lucifer/But unfallen") and one of comic ("Made in China" and "from a womb/Of styrofoam packing).

Juzjon: Your poem had nothing to do with the image. Perhaps you don't understand the rules? I also didn't understand your spelling, which I at first thought was a mistake but now I believe to be intentional.

Orionsbelt: I thought this was very interesting. This could easily have won, but what confused me was why the insect kingdom? I liked the form and I liked quite a few lines:

The potato bug wondered at the hard stone coat
“A hard and durable shell!
Through the valley of death I could walk with it
and storm the gates of hell.”
and

The council conviened far into the night
The gargoyle consigned by fate
for all the grace in heaven
stone lips will not enter debate


Riesa: :eek: :confused:

Snowpetal: Very nice. Could have been a winner. Some great lines: "I could run with the wind in its starry soar" and

I asked for the life that is given to statues
I begged for the fortune that comes with the fame
The prize that I sought has long palled in reflection
For years I have dreamed of my freedom of yore -
I felt the ending was a little weak, though. I think if you had deeted the last stanza, the poem would have ended just right. I hope you continue with us, Snowpetal.

autolycus: a good poem. I really liked the flame/fire imagery that ran through it. It's drawback was that I couldn't find any superlative lines that overwhelm. But an interesting story around the statue.

And which brings us to the winner, Mir: A really fun poem. And the rhythm and rhyme was maintained throughout and it complimented the fun and exotic nature of its theme. For instance: notice how this stanza reflects the mood:

Not just birds could loop and twirl,
Glory in the joy of flight -
Every man and every girl,
Every beast had such delight.
But the fun also has the sense of darkness, "the painful gift to cry". I really like that phrase. Here's that stanza:

The one return we were given -
Curse or blessing, ask the sky -
Was the chance to make hearts shriven;
Was the painful gift to cry.
And the concluding stanza marries together the dark with the auspicious:

We few, through tears carved or written,
Mourn for pasts where peace was king
Though by fate our dreams are bitten -
In shadows, we find our wings.

Very good Mir. Now you can select a photo.

[Riesa]

Riesa: :eek: :confused:



:lol: :lol: :lol: Oh, Virgil. :p

Congratulations mir! You deserved it, one heckuva poem.

[Petrarch's Love]

Congrats Mir. A well deserved win. :)

[autolycus]

Congrats Mir! *grin* the inspiration for my own poem anyway. Can't wait to see your new image.

[Orionsbelt]

Well Congats mir... I agree. Virgil, the answer is just a whim... I do appreciate your comments. I am not so concerned with winning, I just love making these things up. Looking forward to the next one.