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

[symphony]

so who won?!?!?!?!
We'll know soon I guess. :)

[browneyedbailey]

thanks symphony

[Virgil]

The contest is now closed. I will review all entries and make a decision this evening, my time zone, of course. :)

[Virgil]

OK, so since you all wrote interesting poems I will highlight my favorite lines from each of you and then present the winner. Frankly it was tough to choose. In fact as I write this I may still change my mind by the time I reach the end. But we'll see.

My favorite lines for Pen's were right at the beginning:

Hey, Nefertiti,
Indeed, the beautiful one had come,
Was that perfect body filled with love,
Or eaten up with jealous poison?


Same for autolycus:


And you of the green eyes,
And you of the sharp mind?
How shall my remembrance speak
Of you with the long feet,
And you with the soft speech?


For Granny, I thought her best was at the end:


And when we are born again
you will know my touch
and know we are meant
to be as one.

For Bailey I leave the entire poem.

She sits silently,
Waiting, waiting.
Locked up in her father's palace.
"What?!?!" she cried to the heavens.
"Why not tell me? Who can relese me from my stone prision??"
As she weeps she finds it is to late.

I really loved these lines in Fifthelement's poem:


I followed at a distance
knowing only the
colour of his smile,
and the sharp edge
of this unexpected desire.


A fascinating poem by Petrarch. I loved this list of images:


Eye and feather, sliding serpent,
Ship that coasts on orange waves
Gilded lilies, mud-made houses
Wandering limbs and arms embraced
Hawk beside the kneeling priestess
All one enigmatic phrase


Symphony created an interesting opposition between the two:


And still I heard her voice,
Sonorous in the silence—
I am the Queen of Dance,
The Mistress of Music,
The One who fills the sanctuary with joy…
The joy of secreting the cosmos?
The Joy of Love, came the whisper,


I liked the hymnal tone of Nick's poem:

I
O Lady who hath conduct, what ground wears the day?
The lost, guided through foreign labyrinths, forsake labors on
Her hand.
O Lady, my Light, I shall follow thee.

[Virgil]

So the winner by just barely a nose is Symphony.


Hathor and Amon

Her existence within
Those withered amber scripts
Shone through the faded hieroglyphs--
Too bright for the parchment to hold.
The strength of his hand
Within the whorls of hers
Stirred through the pages.

Between her and me
Rests a long path of time,
Her existence is yellowed,
Obscure in a few blurry scribbles
By an unknown hand of forgotten years;
Mine, however, is fixed in present.
And still I heard her voice,
Sonorous in the silence—
I am the Queen of Dance,
The Mistress of Music,
The One who fills the sanctuary with joy…
The joy of secreting the cosmos?
The Joy of Love, came the whisper,

I have loved.
I have breathed
The Breath of Life.

And it was then that I
Felt her existence,
Not in the yellowed parchments,
But in the golden sun
And in the golden sand…

And through the Breeze of Life
Ran the voice of the celestial goddess…
I have loved.




I liked the opposition Symph created between the two characters. Plus I really liked the last line "I have loved."

[autolycus]

Congratulations, symphony! Very lush tones, which somehow reminded me of California. Heh.

[symphony]

Wow and yay! :D

Thanks Uncle Virg! Its these things that'll inspire me to write more. :)

And thanks auto!

I'll post a picture as soon as I find something good. :)

[symphony]

oh and by the way, i was wondering if paintings will qualify as pictures too....

[ampoule]

Congratulations Steph! Good job.

[TheFifthElement]

A well deserved win, congratulations Symphony

[symphony]

thanks fifth. and where's ur mm?!
and thanks amp, i hope u meant symph, but thats okay too. :p

[Virgil]

oh and by the way, i was wondering if paintings will qualify as pictures too....

Yes they do. I have used them.

[Petrarch's Love]

Well done Symphony! Certainly deserving of a win. I especially liked the passage Virg. excerpted in his comments and these lines too, in which you describe a kind of metamorphosis from paper to life:


And it was then that I
Felt her existence,
Not in the yellowed parchments,
But in the golden sun
And in the golden sand…

Looking forward to the next picture. And yes, paintings definitely qualify as pictures too.
Edit: Oh, I see Virg. just answered that too.

[AdoreroDio]

Congratulations Symphony, it was a beautiful poem. Can't wait to see the picture!

[Petrarch's Love]

A fascinating poem by Petrarch. I loved this list of images

Thanks Virg. I don't know if it was obvious that the images came from the hieroglyphs or not. I had recently been reading some 15th century Italian Neoplatonists who were fascinated with the subject of hieroglyphs. They thought of them as a spiritual pictorial language based on a connection between the things of this world and their higher essential forms, which in turn leads to God. Anyway, all that philosophy got me thinking about the hieroglyphs in this picture and the way they might connect with both life and afterlife.

[Granny5]

Congratulations Symphony! It is a beautiful poem. What picture do you have for us?

[symphony]

Thanks everyone.

And the picture for this round will be the following painting, by a renowned Bangladeshi artist- late Zainul Abedin.

http://www.banglagallery.com/gallery/data/media/6/za_painting-09.jpg

I dont want to set a deadline right now. Why not have a few entries first? :) I'll set a date once we have some.
But you probably have a whole healthy month. So take your time. ;)
I hope you find it inspiring.

[NickAdams]

Congrates Symphany.:D


Worn Sole ... Worn Soul ... Poor So-!

Perched fowl, guard of this blanked rest.
What of our weather'd tenant, who dines on a pavement blessed?

Worn sole ... worn soul ... poor so-!

Perched fowl, who obliges companion rest.
Below: prone and equal upon a concrete nest.

Worn sole ... worn soul ... poor so-!

Perched fowl ... pursed foul?
Who transcribed
These line
Differ both ... sight, sound.

Man-o-post,
Remove your post.
For traffic goes not far.
When vessels rest,
and companions nest,
whose weather'd soles are worn.

[firefangled]

Congratulations, Symphony! It is indeed a great poem. You should be very proud.

[Pendragon]

Congradulations, Sy! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/Appaluse.gifhttp://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/Appaluse.gif

[Pendragon]

Diogenes: Looking For An Honest Man

He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—
But inside the beggar’s clothing lived one whose eyes could really see
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog…

He must have seemed a fool walking through the streets with lighted lantern after dawn,
Asked what he thought what he was doing he proclaimed: “An honest man I seek!”
He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—

But when asked by a ruler what he could do for him, he told the Ruler “Move along,
You are blocking my light.” What a caustic reply to one who aspired to royalty!
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog;

He could look up from his blanket and see the things in life that were really going on.
His philosophy would be remembered and taught down through the course of history.
He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—

Just a person living on the streets, having to depend on others’ generosity if he ate at all.
Sometimes I wonder if the ones who passed him by ever knew how famous he would be?
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog;

His declarations and his statements were being copied down so they would not be lost.
He made a major influence on the way of thinking in those times and modern philosophy.
He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog…

Pendragon
© 10/8/07

[symphony]

Way to go, Nick & Uncle Pen! :thumbs_up
I'm looking forward to what the others come out with. :)

And thanks again to Nick, Fire, Pen for all the kudos. ;)

[browneyedbailey]

Sleeping in the feild.
Come, come.
A story to tell.
Share with family,
Share with friends.
Good-bye.

[TheFifthElement]

This I posted under the charles bukowski thread, but it occurred to me that it fit the picture here. apologies that this is recycled, but appropriate.

late night tv


up again at 1am

flicking through
the channels on
tv

and there’s
celebrity so-and-so
moralising about

global warming

and carbon footprints (etc)

whilst simultaneously
advertising their latest
designer-brand
perfume

and I think

of the pikeys and tramps and bums
huddled outside in

their recycled shoes
and newspaper
blankets

and I
drink
to the
future.

[NickAdams]

Diogenes: Looking For An Honest Man

He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—
But inside the beggar’s clothing lived one whose eyes could really see
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog…

He must have seemed a fool walking through the streets with lighted lantern after dawn,
Asked what he thought what he was doing he proclaimed: “An honest man I seek!”
He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—

But when asked by a ruler what he could do for him, he told the Ruler “Move along,
You are blocking my light.” What a caustic reply to one who aspired to royalty!
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog;

He could look up from his blanket and see the things in life that were really going on.
His philosophy would be remembered and taught down through the course of history.
He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—

Just a person living on the streets, having to depend on others’ generosity if he ate at all.
Sometimes I wonder if the ones who passed him by ever knew how famous he would be?
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog;

His declarations and his statements were being copied down so they would not be lost.
He made a major influence on the way of thinking in those times and modern philosophy.
He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog…

Pendragon
© 10/8/07

Wow! Pen, you have incorporated a huge interest of mine. Why didn't I think of it. Diogenes is the SN prefix for both my Yahoo and AOL account.

You've expanded on one of the most interesting stories: the lantern.

It would have been interesting if you would have used the dog and cynic (Greek for canine) as a metaphor ... or did you and I missed it?

Two other interesting stories:

The only item Diogenes carried was a cup for water, until he saw a child using his hands to hold the drinking water. He threw away the cup after that.

Once, Diogenes was kidnapped by pirates and made a slave. When asked his trade, he said that he knew no trade but that of governing men, and that he wished to be sold to a man who needed a master.

[Pendragon]

Wow! Pen, you have incorporated a huge interest of mine. Why didn't I think of it. Diogenes is the SN prefix for both my Yahoo and AOL account.

You've expanded on one of the most interesting stories: the lantern.

It would have been interesting if you would have used the dog and cynic (Greek for canine) as a metaphor ... or did you and I missed it?

Two other interesting stories:

The only item Diogenes carried was a cup for water, until he saw a child using his hands to hold the drinking water. He threw away the cup after that.

Once, Diogenes was kidnapped by pirates and made a slave. When asked his trade, he said that he knew no trade but that of governing men, and that he wished to be sold to a man who needed a master.Thanks, Nick. Diogenes is a favorite character of mine, and the picture just screamed his name to me! Cave Canium!

[AdoreroDio]

I have a question- I have an idea for a poem but I wasn't sure if it would be alright- is a parody poem ok or does it have to be completely from your own mind?

[symphony]

I have a question- I have an idea for a poem but I wasn't sure if it would be alright- is a parody poem ok or does it have to be completely from your own mind?

A parody will also be welcome.

[Xcape]

Oops posted in the wrong thread

[AdoreroDio]

This is my poem, a parody on Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven-

Once upon while I was teary, while I lay there thinned and weary,
Laying quiet, food and water by my side, laying quiet on the floor
There I lay head nodding slowly, napping when on my shoulder there was a knocking,
Like that of a person gently tapping, tapping like on a soft wood door
“Tis some beggar,” I whispered “wanting my small piece of floor
It’s just this and nothing more.”

Yes. It’s true I do remember it was in the hot September,
As I lay down under my worn blanket, upon the heated floor.
Eagerly I wished for tomorrow or to eat food that I didn’t ‘borrow’
or even better to forget my lost years with riches like those from days of lore-
I longed for money as I had when in my mansion from those days of lore
forgotten here for evermore.

Soon I finally turned over, mumbling ‘bout lost sleep and hunger
“Mr.,”I said with eyes still closed, “or Mrs., your exit I do now implore;
the fact is that I was napping, and now so slightly you came tapping,
indeed bothering me with you tapping ,tapping on my shoulder more
That I am now quiet annoyed' - here I opened wide my eyes so sore; -
My dog was there, and nothing more.

Back down I lay slowly turning, my bones and muscles from weakness burning,
But sadly again I felt a tapping somewhat harder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something truly in my mind purely
If not let me see, what the source is, and this mystery explore -
Let my fist be still no longer and this mystery explore; -
It’s my dog’s tail and nothing more!'

Turning here curses I did mutter until I saw feathers flutter,
From the street stepped a starving raven bigger than those I’d seen before.
On the street indeed he did not stay; instead upon my blanket his claws did he lay;
Caring not about this raven I lay my head back on the floor -
He perched on me for a few more seconds until slowly hopping to the floor -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this black bird stood in front of my drawn face,
Making my attempt at sleep even harder more,
`Even though you look quite handsome' I said, `you are bothersome.
Ghastly trouble maker who now comes from some distant shore-
Tell me what your awful name is on that cursed shore!'
Then said the raven, `Nevermore.'

My chin dropped to the ground in marvel to hear the raven speak so plainly,
Though its answer had little meaning, indeed little meaning it did bore;
For noone could be disagreeing that no living human being
Has ever heard a raven speaking on their piece of floor-
Bird or beast indeed speaking at all on any floor,
With a weird name like `Nevermore.'

Pretty soon I started guessing, what this bird could be expressing
by that word which he speaks which on this hot day chills my core;
This and more I sat finding, that even as my thoughts were winding
That the word still haunted me as nothing more than taunting,
But the bird said nothing to help only saying the word that was daunting
for the raven said “nevermore!”

`Are you a gypsy?' said I, `a thing of evil!? - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Even if you’re tempter sent, or if something worse tossed you here ashore,
alone yet scary , on this desolate street you’re found enchanted -
On this spot by horror haunted - tell me no lies I beg you this for-
Is there - is there any happiness out there? - tell me - I beg you more!'
Said the raven, `Nevermore.'

`I say that word must be our word of goodbye!' I yelled upstarting -
`Go back to the place you come from, that place in hell I once called a shore!
Leave no feathers as a token of that lie your lips have spoken!
Leave my pennilessness unspoken! - quit the that part here on my floor!
Take your beak out of my heart, and take your shadow from of my floor!'
Then said the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never moving , still is sitting, still is sitting
Next to my dog upon that small piece of the hot street’s floor;
And his eyes have that look so steaming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the street light over him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that stays frozen on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

[symphony]

Thanks A.Dio :thumbs_up


I see we have 5 entries already! Okay I'll set a deadline now. Lets say November 1, 2007.
Lots of time. Enjoy spending it with bits of creativity. ;)

[Virgil]

Oh, oh, I got to start crackin.

[MarileeRixon]

The Magpie and Her Friend

Perched there, upon his back
The magpie's talons dig in,
Penetrating cover and hide
For she is gurdian of
The blanket covered mass
That was once her friend.

Rotting flesh, upon hard land
Beneath the midsummer sun
Attracts flies in their thousands
Ants by millions
All appearing from nowhere
Unperturbed by the heat of the day.

Magpie tries her hardest to defend her friend,
To chase them all away
Make them leave him in peace,
But she is overcome by their sheer, united masses,
Awed by their might.

Away she flies,
Disgusted by their greed and filth
Unable to bear the sight
of her poor, deceased friend,
Carried away piece by tiny piece.

[ktd222]

MarileeRixon,

No title required. The only requirement is your poem's theme must be inspired by the picture posted.

[MarileeRixon]

Ok, cool...I don't like titling my own work because it's often hard to choose from the many different titles I come up with, so unless it's an important piece I don't title it until I've had input and suggestion from others.

BTW...Most people just call me Fred - It's easier to remember and pronounce than my actual name :)

[symphony]

Wow, well done everyone, i didnt expect so many entries, and good ones, so soon! :thumbs_up

And thanks Fred for the wonderful entry.


Oh, oh, I got to start crackin.
:D I expect u to.

C'mon everyone, lets see what u've got there! :lol:

[MarileeRixon]

C'mon guys and girls!! You've only got 11 days! Well, 12, depending on where you live....

[Virgil]

I'm working on one. I'm not a fast writer. :p

[symphony]

I'm working on one. I'm not a fast writer.Understatement of the week. :p


Anyway keep working on it, fellas, if the time's not enough, it can always be extended. :)

[Dante Wodehouse]

Shall it whither, and shall it soon fade?
As the bird and beast war in their hope
The gutter hosts a man’s promenade
Nervously pawing the Bridge, yet in scope.

Shall the ditch devour another?
Samaritans shuffle awkwardly by.
Another returns to the Great Mother,
Or can the bravely humble yet try?

Ramses played the fool, but, so did you
Will the birds be your only heralds as
You depart in a tomb of dust and dew?
No bulwark of deeds if you shall pass.

Would debunked arrogance be your wish?
Or shall you drain the hemlock-filled dish
In full uncertainty and be a great king,
Or chose unearthy dignity o’er wing?

[schadenfreude]

Hi, I'm a newcomer to the whole poetry world, so this will be my initiation poem. Of course, I have absolutely no idea about poetry techniques and so on, so please feel free to enlighten me. I did use the picture as a basis for this poem, though it might seem a little vague- I was slightly discouraged by all the other poems, they were fantastic. Anyway, here's the poem, and please be frank, I have a problem with the "It was great BUT...." thing.
----------------------------------------------------------------------

We huddle under white sheets in the morning.
Sunlight streams through our windows:
a thousand golden fingers;
too thin to feel, and too frail to touch,
sending cold fingertips into our thoughts.

My mind is restless; it struggles for an answer,
Or perhaps for a better question,
But my soul is just tired.
The magpie-lark perches on the windowsill,
And I watch as it flies away.

We still breathe sterilized air,
We still hear processed sounds,
Our walls are smooth and pale,
Our feet still rest on carpeted ground.

Outside, the crimson trees are yawning.
The earth breathes into the air
a million inexplicable scents.
Dogs smell the musk of crumbling stones;
Too heavy to lose, but too loose to hold;
It rings with the eternal sadness of slow decay.

Their world is too large; they long for a barrier,
Or a cage to keep the air away,
But mine is too small.
Thoughts are never content with what the soul requires
Birds don’t fly, they only run.

And in the mornings, we will still lay under white sheets
With sunlight outside our windows.

[littlewing53]

streetlife
wake up shivering
hard cold cement
paper thin cardboard
makes an uneasy bed
it is of little value
in life on the street
an everyday occurrence
of sleeping in too many
yesterday clothes

friendships made
created to survive
love grows strong
sweet and fast
in quick short beats

life skills required
learning on demand
paid the toll
to invisible hands
oh weary days
written on wrinkled
empty faces

stake your piece of ground
like gold in a rush
shoes wore thinly
in abundance everywhere
laces untied, no longer worn

who needs shoes
when your heart is bare
contact made
this is home

..incredible entries as always...here is mine...lw

[Virgil]

Here's mine.


Waddy

The snooty unbeknownst
Send me to the valley’s river, to hidden streams,
A preacher in the midst of fraught motorcars.

The quarrelsome horns
At busy intersections cavil
Their tinctures, their padre parades.

They come across the plains
Like tuna fish cans jogging.

Bah—Where are the days of waddys?

There was a time
Between hay and grass
A steer ended up in my lasso,
Rustling the day to the sunset,
Cavorting in the evenings
With the horses and the cowpokes,
Campfire in our faces.

After a cowboy cocktail,
A reprise of blanket in the night
A breath of prayer and then quiet sleep.
The dog may be a croaker,
But he don’t fuss much.
Biddy birds wake me in the morn.

[packersfan]

I'm confused...
Where's the picture?

[Virgil]

I'm confused...
Where's the picture?

On page 18. A few pages back.

[symphony]

For general convenience, here's the picture again:
http://www.banglagallery.com/gallery/data/media/6/za_painting-09.jpg


And again- the deadline's November 1, 2007.
10 entries so far. Well done everyone. :thumbs_up

[symphony]

Hi, I'm a newcomer to the whole poetry world, so this will be my initiation poem. Of course, I have absolutely no idea about poetry techniques and so on, so please feel free to enlighten me. I did use the picture as a basis for this poem, though it might seem a little vague- I was slightly discouraged by all the other poems, they were fantastic. Anyway, here's the poem, and please be frank, I have a problem with the "It was great BUT...." thing.


Firstly, WELCOME Schaden :)
My first poem in this forum was also a poem in this picture-poetry thread. :p
Please dont feel discouraged if the other poems are good, 'cause that never means yours is not.

And about the poem, I'll comment on all the entries before picking the winner. You'll read my review in there. :)

[Petrarch's Love]

I should preface this by saying that for some unaccountable reason when I looked at the picture for this round I instantly, and somewhat ironically, thought of the theme to Antony Dvorak's Humoresque. I found this very odd, since I have always thought of that piece only in terms of the most simple, unadulterated bliss, while the picture is anything but. Then I thought that perhaps that is the point. Anyway, since the piece was very much in my mind while writing my entry I thought I'd post a link to a recording in case others here do not know the music and would like to know what I'm referring to, or perhaps would like to listen as they read: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScSCILXXLnM


He once owned a violin
Which made his friends smile to hear
And made all people smile to see him coming.
On city corners he played
The old tunes people love
And Dvorak’s humoresque.
He loved that best:
The way the clear notes passed
Effortless through city air heavy with smog,
The way the joy of it was joy
Not unacquainted with grief
But laughing still.
The notes he played then
Were rich, full, satisfying
And the people who heard were fed.
Light delicacies of staccato
And the hearty richness of a low legato
Sated the nameless, unconscious hunger of their daily lives.
When he was done they cried:
“Encore! Again, again!”
And so he played again
And they stood, lips gently parted,
Eyes closed as they savored
The notes that held them transfixed
The notes that poured like warm wine
From the violin he once owned.

Then came the day in a dirty shop
And a quick exchange
(Better not to dwell on loss).
It bought enough to keep
Body and soul whole
For a few weeks.
Inevitably the empty arms,
That play the winds and sway
To unheard music in the city air heavy with smog,
Inevitably they wither as they play
Unseen strings. Inevitably they weaken
And they cannot hold
Even what is imagined.

Against the cold
He keeps a thin blanket
And a thinner dog
The only creature glad to see him coming.
His hair is a comic mop.
His body odd emaciated angles
Like the lines of a caricature,
Like a cartoon of himself
He has become
Humoresque.
He loved that best
He hears it last.

Silence
Broken by the cry
Of the magpie.
To those harsh notes comes reply:
“Encore! Again, again!”
Lips gently parted.
Hunger sated.
An hour after these words are exhaled on a penultimate breath the thin dog leaves to find warmth.

[firefangled]

You may have waited until you returned
to your home or studio, but I have heard
the parchment renderings, the scratching
of pencils, for some the soothing charcoal
and rubbing of the thumb. Nevertheless,
it keeps me here in your minds, asleep.

Once a man watched my dog while I shopped,
with money he gave me, for food and tea,
Don’t forget your dog, he said, as I left
to go inside the bright dream, full of eyes.
There, I remembered once I was an engineer
for shimmering towers of steel and glass

reflecting the eyes from what was inside,
from what happened each day, where slowly
the pencils started and parchment made way
for linen vellum and my shoes began to fade
with my coat and tie, my wife and child,
and the memory that I designed roofs and walls.

The worst are the silent images, instant,
the kind that show Joe Montana in mid air,
his arm back, about to be creamed, look
at his fingers relaxed as the release starts
for the winning pass, it is quite a pillow —
silent images of me, no protractor, you pass…

I am not asleep, you know, my dog also knows
not to look for fear of fear. He lays for hours
in this well wrought pose, nestled against me
as if to stay warm. And I — pail, dish and blanket —
listen to your footsteps, fast and slow, sometimes,
hesitating, hoping it is you, who knew me once.

[Granny5]

fire, this is wonderful! It's one I will read again and again. Perfect.

[Granny5]

Petrarch's Love, yours too is wonderful. I should have been reading these. I've missed a lot by not doing so.

[Granny5]

Here's mine.

Virgil, you words competely changes the picture for me! Great work.:thumbs_up

[Pendragon]

I read my fellow contest entries and I think, Wow! We all see the same picture and yet it sparks a different memory all of which can be seen relected in the picture. Somehow I don't think Sy could have chosen a more perfect picture. When the contest is over, I'd like to see all the poems and the picture posted in one place. It would be like a mini-chapbook of LitNet Poetry!

Wow, my friends!

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/DaMan.gif

[Virgil]

I read my fellow contest entries and I think, Wow! We all see the same picture and yet it sparks a different memory all of which can be seen relected in the picture. Somehow I don't think Sy could have chosen a more perfect picture. When the contest is over, I'd like to see all the poems and the picture posted in one place. It would be like a mini-chapbook of LitNet Poetry!

Wow, my friends!

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/DaMan.gif

Great thought Pen. I wonder if Logos can help us with that.

[symphony]

Thats an idea, Pen! :nod:


:eek: And wow fire, I've never seen you enter any of these contests before this! Well, join the little party! :p

[symphony]

Ahem...

I was just going through all the entries... 'wow'-ing at them... when I remembered that its got to be me who picks one of them as the best!!

After a long long time I'm feeling nervous.

Give me, O Lord,
pleasures, of beholding
excellence, through my athirst eyes.

But,

Save me, O Lord,
from dangling amongst
choices in excellence!


12 entries so far, all good ones.
*cough* This is going to be tough.

[MarileeRixon]

I sympathize with you Symph!! All of the entries are very good this time round...It's obviously going to be hard for you to pick a winner from all of the entries so far, and whichever are entered between now and November 1!
Good Luck!

[ktd222]

Because the eyes were hidden,
the rest of them exudes of him.

Any passerby knows nothing
of the beast in them. The ones
who lay down with the dog
are the ones who lay down for
the warmth, the heat of bodies
gone cold.

And the participant: the one
knowingly of the beast in him.
The one who takes note of the dog
is the one who sings to the heaven
is the one who takes hold of the blanket
and makes the heavenly connection.

[symphony]

Looks like we dont need to extend the time on this one. So it is then, November 1.

2 days left. 13 entries submitted. Anyone who feels like there should be more entries are most welcome to post theirs. :)

[Virgil]

Wow, this might be the best turn out we've ever had. Great going everyone. :thumbs_up

[autolycus]

Before they raised us to Godhood
They were a humble folk, the Staff.
They came in many forms of good,
They fed Us often, made Us laugh.

They were a metal people; though
Prone to the rather grandiose
We respect skill (but even so,
We do prefer the cellulose).

Unfortunately, they left Us
In a time of richest blessing;
The alleys overflowed glorious
And We much enjoyed the messing.

This exhibit is cellulose:
A cryptic altarpiece We found,
Survived the Godhood-making dose
That raised Us radiant from the ground.

We interpret by context here,
Three members of the Staff We see:
The prone one a Producer dear,
Giver of all variety;

Against his fecal end is shown
The parasite at every feast,
A violent fiend and quite well-known
To Our parents in the East.

Upon his rump another one,
A stealer of the tiny crumb,
The terror from the skies, now gone,
And fortunately rather dumb.

This icon means a thing profound:
Note the implements to one side
Placed lovingly upon the ground,
Away from pest and parasite.

It shows the Staff-Producer's might,
Provision to the People then,
Reserved against the final Light
For they would leave Us who-knows-when.

Their wisdom left Us this to find,
That We might know their saving grace.
See how the blanket spurns the kind
That took the food before Our face!

It blocks the keeper of the flea,
And pest with wings that used to be.
And thus We know Our destiny:
The Staff-Producer's People We!

[symphony]

Wow, this might be the best turn out we've ever had. Great going everyone.
Thinking along the same lines, Virgil. :)
Makes me feel nervous though. I'm just hoping i'll be able to give a fare assessment! *gulp*

[AdoreroDio]

*waits patiently...figits* Can't wait for the results! There are soooo many good entries!

[symphony]

yeah i'm having a tough time here!

[symphony]

And finally, the reviews and results! :D
First let me say I’m fascinated by the diverse, and yet distinct, perspectives roused by this picture. Knowing the original context of this painting myself, I’m totally awed by how all these entries were totally different and yet perfect in their own ways! This painting by Zainul Abedin ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zainul_Abedin), was based on the Great Bengal Famine of 1943 ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bengal_famine_of_1943). I never could see it in a different context, it always meant that famine for me. Thanks to all the Lit-Net masterminds for opening up my eyes! :) All of you were great, just great! :thumbs_up
Here are my reviews on each entry:


To NickAdams:

Perched fowl, guard of this blanked rest.
What of our weather'd tenant, who dines on a pavement blessed?

Worn sole ... worn soul ... poor so-!
The first 3 lines in this poem are, in my opinion, the best. Plus I really liked the repetitive pronunciations that one goes through, though each word has a different meaning. :) I enjoyed reading this. :thumbs_up


To Pendragon:

He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—
But inside the beggar’s clothing lived one whose eyes could really see
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog…
I loved the theme in yours. Diogenes goes with the picture perfectly! And I’m glad that your “eyes could really see” that. :D
One thing though- I thought that around the last stanza the lines became too prose-like, which was a bit unexpected after the poetical flow during the first 3 stanzas. However, I also liked the story-telling touch in it, along with the last optimistic verse.


To BrowneyedBailey:

Sleeping in the feild.
Come, come.
A story to tell.
Share with family,
Share with friends.
Good-bye.
What a cute little poem. :) I look forward to more of these little verses from this little gem. :) :thumbs_up


To thefifthelement:

and I
drink
to the
future.
I haven’t read much of his works, but judging it by the ones I have, this poem pretty much sums Bukowsky up. What amazed me most is, though you were speaking in his style, your original tone wasn’t lost in this. The highlighted bit was my favorite part in this poem. The tone of irony stands out in here. :thumbs_up


To AdoreroDio:

And the raven, never moving , still is sitting, still is sitting
Next to my dog upon that small piece of the hot street’s floor;
And his eyes have that look so steaming of a demon's that is dreaming,
A very nice parody of The Raven. :thumbs_up And like fifth’s poem, yours too held the originality in it. I particularly liked the last stanza. And it’s great too that this pic made you think of The Raven.


To MarileeRixon:

For she is guardian of
The blanket covered mass
That was once her friend.
The 1st stanza stands alone as a poem itself. The 2nd stanza has strong imagery in it. The last line of the poem gave me shivers! All the expressions are very vivid. Well done. :)


To Dante Wodehouse:

The gutter hosts a man’s promenade
Nervously pawing the Bridge, yet in scope.
I think you meant “wither” in the 1st line? However, this is yet another perspective that left me awed. And you’ve put the woe of the ignored-- the dismissed, the put-aside-- so vividly, it felt like you’re pointing sharply at our very conscience. :thumbs_up


To Schadenfreude:

Thoughts are never content with what the soul requires
Birds don’t fly, they only run.
Yours is an excellent poem! I read it out loud a few times and it sounded great too. I liked the monologue tone in this where you’ve contrasted nature with the thoughts going on in your mind. I’d switch positions of the 3rd and the penultimate stanza if I were you, but it still stands out the way it is. The last 2 lines of both 4th and 5th stanza are very telling. :thumbs_up


To littlewing:

oh weary days
written on wrinkled
empty faces
First I was disappointed on the lack of punctuations and those torn-looking fragments since I don’t get poems like these most of the times. But as I started reading it, the abstract flow and the strong fragmental truths awed me and hooked me in. I particularly loved the highlighted lines. Very well done. :thumbs_up


To Virgil:

The snooty unbeknownst
Send me to the valley’s river, to hidden streams,
A preacher in the midst of fraught motorcars.
Loved the way you started with the mechanical city life and ended up recollecting the boisterous country life. Somehow it made me think of that Toby Keith song – “Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses” :p . The “tuna fish cans jogging” gave me a hearty laugh. :lol:


To Petrarch’s Love:

To those harsh notes comes reply:
“Encore! Again, again!”
Lips gently parted.
Hunger sated.
I’m awed, Petrarch! This is so touching. The occasional rhyming, the rhythm throughout, the closing stanza with the one-liner footnote- all add to this wonderful poem. And the flow that you maintained throughout the whole poem is mesmerizing. Keeps the reader going with it. And let me say: “Encore! Again, again!” :D


To firefangled:

listen to your footsteps, fast and slow, sometimes,
hesitating, hoping it is you, who knew me once.
No wonder I called u a hero. :p Look what you’ve done! This is marvelous, fire, and I particularly liked the last 2 lines, very moving, and vivid. Though I thought the bit where you say “once I was an engineer” was a bit too explanatory, I don’t think you need the word “engineer”. While it adds clarity, I don’t think it goes with the strength that holds the opening and closing stanzas together. A little obscurity could work better, like it did in the 1st stanza. But anyway it’s just a word and it’s just me. ;)


To ktd222:

is the one who takes hold of the blanket
and makes the heavenly connection.
I don’t know if the meaning’s too obvious- but I didn’t quite relate to what you meant by using the word “exudes” in the 2nd line. Forgive me for being so stupid. :(
The last stanza with the ‘heavenly connection’ was, in my opinion, brilliant. It stands in contrast to the rest of the poem and works well as a conclusion. :thumbs_up


To autolycus:

We interpret by context here,
Three members of the Staff We see:
The prone one a Producer dear,
Giver of all variety;
Clever and humorous! I had trouble understanding it at first... to be honest even now I don’t understand most of the poem from the 4th stanza! My bad. :(

[symphony]

Now the results. :)

I was torn between 4 great entries. And trust me I wanted to call it a 4 way tie! But anyway, that cant be done, only one has to select the next picture and be the next judge. But still I’d like to name the top 4 entries in this one. It’s just fair since all of them were almost equally good. :)


Top 4:
Pendragon: For the ingenious subject in his poem.
Schadenfreude: For that great contemplative tone.
Petrarch’s Love: Whose poem was really really touching.
Firefangled: For those exquisitely put recollections that come real.

Well done to all of you. :thumbs_up

And the winner this round is Petrarch’s Love, for this great poem:


He once owned a violin
Which made his friends smile to hear
And made all people smile to see him coming.
On city corners he played
The old tunes people love
And Dvorak’s humoresque.
He loved that best:
The way the clear notes passed
Effortless through city air heavy with smog,
The way the joy of it was joy
Not unacquainted with grief
But laughing still.
The notes he played then
Were rich, full, satisfying
And the people who heard were fed.
Light delicacies of staccato
And the hearty richness of a low legato
Sated the nameless, unconscious hunger of their daily lives.
When he was done they cried:
“Encore! Again, again!”
And so he played again
And they stood, lips gently parted,
Eyes closed as they savored
The notes that held them transfixed
The notes that poured like warm wine
From the violin he once owned.

Then came the day in a dirty shop
And a quick exchange
(Better not to dwell on loss).
It bought enough to keep
Body and soul whole
For a few weeks.
Inevitably the empty arms,
That play the winds and sway
To unheard music in the city air heavy with smog,
Inevitably they wither as they play
Unseen strings. Inevitably they weaken
And they cannot hold
Even what is imagined.

Against the cold
He keeps a thin blanket
And a thinner dog
The only creature glad to see him coming.
His hair is a comic mop.
His body odd emaciated angles
Like the lines of a caricature,
Like a cartoon of himself
He has become
Humoresque.
He loved that best
He hears it last.

Silence
Broken by the cry
Of the magpie.
To those harsh notes comes reply:
“Encore! Again, again!”
Lips gently parted.
Hunger sated.
An hour after these words are exhaled on a penultimate breath the thin dog leaves to find warmth.

Congratulations, not only to the winner, but to all the great poets of Lit-Net. Cheers! ;)

[TheFifthElement]

Congratulations Petrarch - it is a truly excellent poem :)

[Virgil]

Yes, congratulations Petrarch. Very good. I look forward to the next picture. And good job Symph. It must have been tough.

[ktd222]

Congratulation Petrarch!



To ktd222:

I don’t know if the meaning’s too obvious- but I didn’t quite relate to what you meant by using the word “exudes” in the 2nd line. Forgive me for being so stupid. :(
The last stanza with the ‘heavenly connection’ was, in my opinion, brilliant. It stands in contrast to the rest of the poem and works well as a conclusion. :thumbs_up



I thought the first two lines were the best out of the whole poem. Maybe we have different ideas of the lyric moment.

[Virgil]

To Virgil:

Loved the way you started with the mechanical city life and ended up recollecting the boisterous country life. Somehow it made me think of that Toby Keith song – “Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses” :p . The “tuna fish cans jogging” gave me a hearty laugh. :lol:


:D Yeah, that image of tuna fish cans will stay with me for a long time every time I see traffic.

[Petrarch's Love]

Thanks, Symphony! And thanks to everyone else for your congrats, but even more for your wonderful entries. I am especially honored to be chosen in a round that had an unusually high number of really top notch poems. If everyone keeps up the way they have I shall have a truly hard time judging the coming round. O.K., I'm off to find a new pic. Will post again shortly.

[Petrarch's Love]

Here's the next picture. I'll set the deadline for December 8th, which should give everyone plenty of time to knock my socks off with their entries. Happy writing!

http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e386/LeonardoD/vermeer2.jpg

[firefangled]

Congratularions, PL. I loved all the poems, but yours touched me the most.

Symphony, kudos to you for such a tough decision.

[autolycus]

Congratulations, Petrarch's Love!

Oh, what a painting to choose...

[Pendragon]

Congradulations are in order, I think, Petra! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/Whistle.gif

And thanks to Sy for my making the final four. You had a tough choice, and talent runs high around LitNet these days! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/DDM.gif

I'll think on this one for a while, Petra. Getting in the first poem just gives a mark for someone else to shoot at! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/Float.gif

[symphony]

You had a tough choice, and talent runs high around LitNet these days!Couldnt agree more!

[NickAdams]

Well deserved Petrarch.:nod:

[Pendragon]

What the heck, Petra. They won't fire without a target. Might as well be that target. http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/Tarzan.gif

Vermeer’s The Milkmaid

She has not had a life that’s been easy,
See how the work has leant strength to that arm.
Her features are strong but perhaps not really pretty,
Still she hasn’t lost all of her womanly charm.
See how carefully she pays attention to detail,
Pouring milk from the pitcher to go with the bread.
These days milk provides both drink and something to sell,
If she earns no money, how will she and her mother be feed?
She places the things on the tray for her Master and Mistress,
Time for breakfast is swiftly drawing nigh.
She double-checks the coins in the pocket of her dress,
For Master will want the money for the milk sold to Bligh
The tinkle of the bell calls her and she picks up the loaded tray:
The household has awakened and she curtsies “Good Day!”

Dale Harris
© 11/5/07

[Petrarch's Love]

Thanks Pen! Great entry, and clearly people need the benefit of your prolific example to motivate them to pick up their pens. O.K. folks, we've got our first wonderful entry and I'm looking to see more just as good follow. :)

[ampoule]

Pen...beautiful. I love the way you paint with words.

[schadenfreude]

This may be a little late, but CONGRATS Petrarch, and great picture selection!
Thanks for the kind comments, Symphony.

[Pendragon]

Pen...beautiful. I love the way you paint with words.Thanks, Amp. It's all I have ever tried to do is hope that others catch meaning in the poem, for I don't write for myself. http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/Worm.gif

[NickAdams]

Bravo Pen!

[NickAdams]

An-
An-
Anura!
Thus spoke atlas from the peak.

Thou raised the bust
and I the lot,
Retorted cuckoo's beak.

An-
Sartre's scarlet.
An-
Maternal dews.
Anura!
Minor starlets
Under evening hues.
Rivet, rivet, saltare!
Rivet, rivet, saltare!

[TheFifthElement]

Pour-trait

He sees curves,
the roundness of shoulders,
soft arms muscle-bulged,
lips arched, complicit.
Captures it
with one deft stroke;
the brush goes where hands won’t.
He takes time over
her skirts, exploring each
dip and fold;
hints at the
suggestion of breasts,
untouched.
Her eyes he keeps to himself,
they might expose
the knowledge they both hold.
He hides it in sepia tones,
husks of bread,
the thin line of milk
slipping into the bowl.

[Pendragon]

Nice Nick and Fifth! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/Appaluse.gif

[schadenfreude]

Dappling Light

When he painted light they thought it was brilliant.
Look at the sun, they said, see how intensely it shines
upon the crooked wall. See how gold flickers across
tattered faces; see how silken glimmers fall; rising
only to capture the eyes and calm the senses.

It is almost as if you could feel the warmth
Descending down, down, down to your soles.

When he painted light we thought it was brilliant.
And our eyes reached out to bask in the tranquility
Of three centuries ago: when maids glowed in the
afternoons- when we accepted life with a quiet dignity
that we once thought we possessed. We think that
the sun no longer transforms our walls into gold;
and believing this we shamelessly wail; quailing
from the light in case it exposes our feared disgrace.
We deny and we distress and we despair- and then
we grow old. Perhaps if we realized that we only
yearned for grace in our memories, we would’ve seen
that even complaisant maids may be transformed into
resilient soldiers by brushing a fine layer of light.

But we exist in a dream and live dreaming:
wandering blindly in this tedious turmoil.

When Vermeer carefully dappled sunlight
onto that coarse landscape, did he already know
that he would evoke a nostalgia for an illusory past?
Still, the maid smiles- the epitome of endurance-
while her eyes look down towards the dusty floor.

[ampoule]

Hunger

The master comes riding into the courtyard, clip-clopping,
the dogs running ahead barking and nipping and he sees
his breath as he dismounts, his servant taking the reins,
this cold, brisk, early morning ride has been exhilirating, and
he pats him on the shoulder, thanking him, what a glorious
day, I'm starving, and with a swirl of his winter cape,
heads for warmth and nourishment.

In the house now, he hangs his cape and strides toward
his library where words and a fire beg to comfort him, but
he stops short at the sound of humming, what is that
lovely tune and the voice from which it comes?
A golden glow is ahead and the word heaven is on his mind
as he approaches and the voice is louder, making him stop,
peering secretively around the corner.

There she stands, glowing in the gambogian sunlight, fog lifting,
a goddess humming a siren's tune and he watches quietly
as she pours the morning's milk, wondering what thoughts
lie behind the eyes of that gentle face and he sees the buttons
rise and fall upon her breast as she breathes the common
breath that brings the haunting melody that fills the room
like the smell of the freshly baked bread.

He longs to speak and ask, what tune is this, and yet
he does not, for he does not want to break the spell
of the scene before him, but it is broken soon enough as she
goes round the table to lift the basket of bread, and he
rushes like some prankish school boy to his room, to his desk,
just in time to rise from his chair as she enters the room
with his morning refection.

He stands there in a pitiful state, staring, not wanting her,
but wishing he could gently touch the warm moist skin of
her face or feel the warmth of the sun-filled sleeve of her
golden blouse or kiss her hand or ask her thoughts on the
weather or the price of horse feed or if she has read this or
that particular volume of poems, but she curtseys, anything
more for you sir?

No. Yes. I mean, no. Thank you so much. This is perfect,
and as she leaves through the door he longs to call out,
but won't you stay and sing for me?

amp, November Fifteenth, TwoThousandSeven

.

[ampoule]

There is something about being the last one to post that makes me very nervous, as if the party ended and I have to turn out the lights. :(

[Virgil]

There is something about being the last one to post that makes me very nervous, as if the party ended and I have to turn out the lights. :(

I wouldn't worry Amp. I've yet to get any inspiration. Nothing is coming to me on this one. :(

[Pendragon]

Again congratulations are in order Amp and Schadenfreude ( would you mind the nickname "Shades"? Easier to keep up with.) http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/Shades.gif

[TheFifthElement]

Yes, looks like another interesting round - all great poems so far :D

[schadenfreude]

Pen, I would really prefer to be known as 'The Astonishing Magician in the Technicolour Raincoat'- it has more ring to it, don't you think? ;) Nah, you are welcome to call me whatever you like.

[NickAdams]

'The Astonishing Magician in the Technicolour Raincoat'

Now that is a great title for a painting! I hope to see it posted in the art thread.;)

[ampoule]

Here's the next picture. I'll set the deadline for December 8th, which should give everyone plenty of time to knock my socks off with their entries. Happy writing!

http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e386/LeonardoD/vermeer2.jpg

December 8th deadline...anyone else?

[Petrarch's Love]

Since I've emerged from the exam period blur, thought I'd just remind everyone that they still have a week or so to submit a wonderful poem on this picture before the 8th. :)

[autolycus]

Don't know what on earth I'm doing here. The deadline looms, 12 hours to go, and I have about 2/3 of a chapter left to write to meet it. Argh!

[littlewing53]

there's always time and not enough....

the quiet morning looms large
approaching the front gate of labor

early the light stirs commencing the day
dressed in robes rich in color

silently pouring the soup of devotion
catering to nurturing and love

thoughtful and focused
breakfast comes too soon

[Petrarch's Love]

O.K., since the deadline I set passed yesterday, I'm declaring this round of the contest closed barring any last minute appeals within the next couple of hours. I'll read over the entries and see about posting a winner either tonight or Tuesday morning after I'm back in California, depending on how busy things get today.

[Petrarch's Love]

O.K., folks. I've finally had the time to give these a thorough read through and determine a winner. I must say, that as usual it was a pleasure to read all the excellent submissions and a torment to have to select only one. It was interesting to see the variety of ways everyone chose to interpret this painting, and impressive to see the nuance with which everyone did so. Anyhoo, first the comments:

Pendragon—The quiet, thoughtful description in this poem really suits the mood of the painting well. I especially like the details of your physical description of her: the strength of the arm; the way “her features are strong but perhaps not really pretty.” It really brings out the things that make this such a beautiful painting.

NickAdams—First I should say that as a poem this one was great. I love the sounds in your diction and the way the words play on the page. An interesting read. I didn’t see how it fit with the picture for this round though. Either I’m just missing the tie in with the Vermeer or perhaps you didn’t realize that was the picture for this round? Still, a good poem that just didn’t obviously tie in with the picture.

TheFifthElement—This is beautifully done. I love the tension you have here between the intimacy of the act of painting her in every detail while leaving her still “untouched,” and the point that “Her eyes he keeps to himself” nicely opens things to speculation. Good job of evoking the merging of art and life. Love the way it ends.

Schadenfreude—I like this meditation of the way we receive art into our own lives: the ability to believe on some level that this sort of light must have existed sometime, somewhere, but the resistance to being able to believe it could ever exist in our own world. I like the end best: “a nostalgia for an illusory past”; “the epitome of endurance.” A pleasure to read.

ampoule—Always, of course, a delight to read a poem that finds a good way to utilize a marvelous word like “gambogian.” :) I enjoyed the way you explored the possible story behind the painting: the way you place the vision depicted on the canvas into a moment’s glimpse of the singing maid, and the way you describe what happens once the spell of that vision is broken. It gives a human back story about these two people separated by class and custom. It also hints at one of the things that is so attractive about this painting, which is that it encapsulates one of those glowing and pure quotidian moments that pass all too quickly in real life and that leave us yearning to recapture them.

littlewing53—I like the seeming sparseness of this poem. The lines give the effect of simplicity, while at the same time conveying a sense that each word has been selected with great care. The opening line is a real winner, and opens up a rich variety of ways to think and rethink what follows, and the end line circles back to the beginning sentiment, but with the feeling that something significant has transpired in the description of the day break and the morning’s tasks that comes in the middle. Nicely suggestive poem with some subtle word choice.

[Petrarch's Love]

It was a very hard choice, but the winner is.....

TheFifthElement for the beautifully composed entry below. Congratulations, Fifth, and have fun picking the next image. :)


Pour-trait

He sees curves,
the roundness of shoulders,
soft arms muscle-bulged,
lips arched, complicit.
Captures it
with one deft stroke;
the brush goes where hands won’t.
He takes time over
her skirts, exploring each
dip and fold;
hints at the
suggestion of breasts,
untouched.
Her eyes he keeps to himself,
they might expose
the knowledge they both hold.
He hides it in sepia tones,
husks of bread,
the thin line of milk
slipping into the bowl.

[AdoreroDio]

Congratulations Fifth!

[ampoule]

Congratulations Fifth. Yes, very beautiful.

[NickAdams]

Congrats Fifth! :thumbs_up


NickAdams—First I should say that as a poem this one was great. I love the sounds in your diction and the way the words play on the page. An interesting read. I didn’t see how it fit with the picture for this round though. Either I’m just missing the tie in with the Vermeer or perhaps you didn’t realize that was the picture for this round? Still, a good poem that just didn’t obviously tie in with the picture.


Thank you. I thought it might have been too abstract, or vague.;)

After seeing the painting, I wanted to incorporate two themes. The first, was the hierarchy of class. The second, was the empowerment of women. I saw the Vermeer as a classic Rosie the Riveter. I used latin to combine the themes. The first half is social commentary. The second is more intimate and is a portrait of the woman, so I try to paint her in the colors and meaning I find in what she was wearing.

I'm still learning to connect with the reader and leave better clues to strengthen the meaning. This is a great way to improve though.

[TheFifthElement]

Thanks Petrarch :D

I'm off to hunt for a picture. I'll post one in the next few days.

[schadenfreude]

Congratulations on your well deserved success, Fifth! And thanks to Petrach for all your time and effort in reading and assessing our poems.

[Virgil]

Very nice poem Fifth. Lovely texture. Sorry I've been tied up and couldn't participate. Perhaps the next one.

[symphony]

Thats a marvelous poem, fifth. Congrats!

[Pendragon]

Good going Fifth! :thumbs_up

[littlewing53]

congrats 5th...your poem is so very beautiful

thank you, PL for your time, efforts and comments...very much appreciated!

[TheFifthElement]

Here is the next picture :


http://i224.photobucket.com/albums/dd68/TheFifthElement_photos/TheMeetingPlace.jpg

I won't set a deadline yet, but once we've got 2 or three entries I'll set something then.

Good luck!

[NickAdams]

Grant me the likeness of my earth’y maid;
she who is burnt-umb’r.
Take my pattern and copy thence,
form to mass (modeled in clay).

The solemn rites perform’d
In the kiln of Old Paphos
Or Paphus,
and for a time, Augusta.

Then ten …
..
ten months to crown our bliss …
..
No!

Ten stadia from sea-
The birthplace of Love:
Rock of the Greek.

With happy skill,
Bed bless’d,
Our dear statues lay:

Unripe Idols,
Burnt-umb’r heifers;

with ardent eyes
and lips to lips,
a burning kiss impress’d.

O a livid mark!

[TheFifthElement]

excellent, an entry already! Keep 'em coming (thanks Nick) :)

[Pendragon]

Withdrawn...I just had a dart in the heart and it burns like unjust hell, Sorry Fifth, not your fault.

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/coyote.gif

[autolycus]

Congrats, Fifth! *grin* I just got here. Dropping by on a winter evening.

[NickAdams]

Withdrawn...I just had a dart in the heart and it burns like unjust hell, Sorry Fifth, not your fault.

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/coyote.gif

Get well soon Pen. The contest, and poetry forum, won't be the same without you.

[TheFifthElement]

Withdrawn...I just had a dart in the heart and it burns like unjust hell, Sorry Fifth, not your fault.

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/coyote.gif

Oh Pen, I do hope you change your mind. Feel better *hug*.

[motherhubbard]

working on the spacing

[motherhubbard]

how do you get the indention to show?

[NickAdams]

how do you get the indention to show?

Use the increase indent icon to the left of image of earth. Keep in mind that the indent is extremely exaggerated.

[motherhubbard]

nick, thanks for the help, but I tried it twice and it didn't work. Have you had any luck trying that yourself? If you have, do you mind if I PM you for help?

[motherhubbard]

A touch.

Just a moment caught eternal

in the minds eye,

remembering -


remembering-
The scent, and the heat that rose off of your body.

The mingle of breath that floated away on a winter’s wind,

and the hope for what comes next,


what could be.


No longer tangible.

Just a glimpse-

a half glimpse


vanished.
The memory of love lost before it was had

can be more enticing than that of one grown cold.


Was I happy then?

Wrapped in those arms feeling that body pressed-


pressing against mine

as if to say
‘now,

don’t wait,


don’t let this pass’in an urgent breathy whisper lost to the wind.

Or was I just wanting what I had not had

and could not?


Time is a strange friend that calls to mind

the memory imagined rather than what was.

[downing]

Reflection on love

I saw them in a sensual embrace:
he was holding her waist with one hand
in a warm, lovely way.
Gazing one at another permanently
praying to remain so forever,
they had rather been turned into clay
than torn apart in that moment.
He pressed his lips on hers
and a tear of hers fell on his cheek.
‘Promise…never…’ she uttered sighing
‘I will never…’ and I didn’t hear more
because he talked very slowly.
She put one hand on his cheek,
wiping the tears
and with the other she squeezed his hand,
passing her fingers through the void
between his.
Then a small breeze came from outside.
I had left the barn
and left them together forever.
It’s useless trying to separate two people
who’d rather be turned into clay
than torn apart.

[Pendragon]

thanks to many of you, especially Petra, I relent, and restore the removed poem.

Frozen Moment

His eyes dark, larger than normal,
Bore into her eleven features, equally strange.
Monocolored faces, hands, even the drab clothing.
All speak in eldritch whispers of something not right.
I draw back my focus, and caress the lovers’ faces with my shot.
Something in the tender “nose rubs nose” leaves a line of question.
Drawing back further on my focus reveals, cracks, and splits,
His jacket is chipped and stained in places, his pants seen better days.
She like him has become weathered, and her slacks are mostly cracks.
But for the support beam between them, they might have begun to fall apart.
But looking back upon the faces, I see a strong man
With a slightly petite eleven lady clasped tightly to him,
A moment forever frozen in the rushing stream of time…

Pendragon
© 12/15/07

[Petrarch's Love]

Yay! It's back. :)

[barbara0207]

Great, Pen! You know what, without your poem I wouldn't even have noticed the support beam. You explain the 'frozen moment' so well!

[TheFifthElement]

Great, we've got a few entries already! I'm going to set a deadline now which will be:

11th January 2008

which is quite tight I appreciate with Christmas and everything, but with several entries already I don't want to drag it on too long.

Good luck everyone, and keep them coming.

[firefangled]

We pass each day, under the tram platform—
they remain in their embrace, a moment,
and the moments around the small space.

Passing by, a woman sees the hand lifting, not yet
to his face, but for this she is in her own mind.
To have something, we steal its life and hide it
in stone and bronze. We imagine what is lost,
what is there a step before, a step after the touch,
beyond that, we are the exhibit and the observer.

You will never know, reader, that he was kind,
that her touch had been the first for years
and he shook with the excitement, laughed
with her as the artist insisted he concentrate.
I cannot tell you here the stagnant years
that dropped away as she followed instruction
and slipped the ring in her coat, how easy it was
to feel like something precious in his arms.

We will never know beyond mere words or thought or
form how they both went home with the other’s scent
on their clothing, for him a pleasant torture, for her
a legitimate reason to keep what was not hers, how
they lay awake those nights dreaming beyond that touch.

We will pass each day, under the tram platform,
and toss our hopes at them, like pennies in a fountain,
or write poems about what could have been. Some
will pass by silently, heads down, never seeing
the scattered copper dreams, eyes wide open in the sun.

[ampoule]

There is a lump in my finger and I can't write! This is so beautiful Fire.

[mazHur]

Happy Xmas !

http://www.uploadhouse.com/fileuploads/933/933006d96bba864f7c22c849ba09fe534360d2.jpg

[ampoule]

Just so no one gets confused, the following picture is the one we are writing about.


Here is the next picture :


http://i224.photobucket.com/albums/dd68/TheFifthElement_photos/TheMeetingPlace.jpg


Good luck!

[amanda_isabel]

emotions surge
pressed in stone
cold
immortal.
*end*


whaaaa can't think of anything right now!

[mazHur]

Just so no one gets confused, the following picture is the one we are writing about.

come close,
closer,
into my arms,
and lets stick
together
like two statues
in love! :)

[TheFifthElement]

Just a reminder - deadline for submissions is


***11th January 2008***.

[AdoreroDio]

The moment was frozen
forever ingrained in her being
in her mind
his warm arms
and warm kisses
his gentle whisper of assurance
I will be home soon.
The tear that flowed gently
down his stony face
as he became strong
for her
for himself
for the world.
but he wasn't strong
he was weak
as human as the rest of the world
who were smart enough
to stay in bed
safe
but he had a strong heart
he was invincible
he would be strong.
but he wasn't
his skin was penetrable
like soft clay
and his heart was vulnerable
she was his support
she made him be strong
as they embraced
as he left her
to fight a war that wasn't his
to end a quarrel
they knew nothing about
and he would be strong
but the years passed
and the heat of the war
turned him brittle
he crumbled like dry clay
without support
because he wasn't strong
not without her
by his side
in his arms
and he slowly disappeared
all it took was a bullet
to finish what had started
in that one embrace
and now all she has is a memory
a single tear
a single kiss
because he was
strong

[TheFifthElement]

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock...

[schadenfreude]

In the early summer, you told me
something true. We are alone, you said,
but we will stand tall, on a pedestal
high above the cold, tumbling world,
where we will be alone together.

And that was all we needed- fire in
our hearts and entwined hands.

But even statues crumble into dust;
eroded by the wind, sun and rain into
a million particles that you breathe in,
and out, and then in again, until one day
there will be nothing left except empty air.

We found ourselves falling into fragments
and then we were no longer alone together,
just alone. I should have known that time
would corrode the foundations; we should have
built our fortress with more enduring than dreams.

We could not seek passion with lined faces
and I do not write about love anymore.

It mourns for a moment lost in the ghostly past;
a memory frozen in the dead of winter.

[Petrarch's Love]

Pygmalian fashioned out of clay
The woman of his heart's desire.
His hand shaped everywhere.
Her form had no secrets
From his sensual touch:
His fingerprints upon her cheek
Her bust, her back, her hair...
When she was right in every way
She went through a trial of fire.

Pygmalian put the hand of clay
To his cheek and he desired.
"And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground"
And this man formed a woman of the dust of the ground
His dust touched her dust,
Held that form, formed of clay,
Formed from dust. They merged
Dust into dust; clay into clay
He went through a passion of fire.

Pygmalion, fashioned out of clay,
Stands clasped and clasping his desire
Soft clay of their bodies touching,
Merging beneath the studio's roof.
She seemed so real...and in his yearning
Bones, muscles, flesh softened into one
Motionless creation. Veins filled with silt,
Malleable heart became a lump of clay
Two statues formed in the heat of fire.

[mazHur]

When two hearts meet!

Love is a forward deal,
Lovers don't look behind,
Sky is not their limit,
the earth just a footstool
to step on and catch the stars,
the moon and the meteors;
flowers learn to bloom
seeing them in love;
the whole universe dances
in ecstasy, the sun shines spreading
the message of love
everywhere.
Time becomes just a moment,
Space the cosmos;
when the tide hits the shore,
when two lovers meet,
embrace each other in their arms
look in each other's eyes,
kindled with the glare of love;
heart meets heart,
sparkling with love,
conscription ensues
and the duality of lovers
sublimes into air
and transforms into
ethereal world of noble love
where even angels are forbidden
to go as a token of respect
to the loving hearts.

[dramasnot6]

"Everlasting"

Your scratches are the missing puzzle pieces to my dents
My hands hold your cheeks to prevent the tears from eating away,
I protect your icy flesh
Your arm secures me, holding on to the promise of dear life that frosts over our lips
I have betrayed each passerby,
We were built as whole in stone
We remain alone in flesh, molding, shaping
Desperate to secure ourselves in stillness
They will never know our secrets
Eternity spent in an ersatz passion

There ya go

[ampoule]

Frozen

Nose to nose, eye to eye, yet different,
You say hello, I worry about the next goodbye,
You search my eyes, have you been true,
I look in yours, I love you now, touch me,
All my erogenous zones pulsing, thundering,
My wrinkled waiting smoothed out as you press me,
Let us run from this place now, for more,
But I cannot move from this moment, help me.

[mazHur]

Frozen

Nose to nose, eye to eye, yet different,
You say hello, I worry about the next goodbye,
You search my eyes, have you been true,
I look in yours, I love you now, touch me,
All my erogenous zones pulsing, thundering,
My wrinkled waiting smoothed out as you press me,
Let us run from this place now, for more,
But I cannot move from this moment, help me.

nothing like this whimpering, this agony of love !
excellent !:)

[downing]

12th Jan! What's happening?:)

[TheFifthElement]

12th Jan! What's happening?:)

Flipping heck, it's only just 12th January where I live!

The competition is now closed.

Will be in touch.

[downing]

come on :(

[TheFifthElement]

Sorry guys, this is taking a little while. With some pain I've got it down to a shortlist of 4 entries, but there all just so darned good it's really difficult to decide. It's a great testiment to the talent at Lit-net.

I should be able to report back by the end of the week latest.

[downing]

oh Fifth take your time :)

[Anonymous Angel]

Since the Photo is entitled The Meeting Place. And the photo is truly beautiful.
I'll have to do a piece of art inspired by it--Rebecca Tacosa Gray

T here is a Beauty of Meeting
H ead to head, mind to mind...
E very time I look in your eyes I

M eet myself...and in
E ach meeting there is love..an
E ver soft speaking whisper...a
T rue attention to Beauty.
I am held, I am captured, I am
N ext to enthralled by your
G race as you touch me.

P lace your hands at my temples,
L ove me...for I am yours...
A ll that I am, all that I will be,
C aressed by your touch,
E tched into a Meeting Place with you.

Copyright January 14, 2008 12:28 p.m., Rebecca Tacosa Gray

[TheFifthElement]

Wow! So many wonderful entries, packed with love, passion, sadness, the whole range of emotions. It’s been a pleasure to read them, and a hardship judging. In the end I have to pick a winner, but I have to say that the quality of entries has made it truly difficult. I’d love to go into detail on all the poems, but then you’d all get bored and my fingers would be very tired, so I’ll offer my brief thoughts below.

Nick Adams your poem was certainly very different to the others here, and I was impressed with your ability to keep the language faithful to the theme. These lines really stood out, particularly so close to the beginning of the poem
Take my pattern and copy thence,
form to mass (modeled in clay).

Motherhubbard there’s a really ethereal quality to this poem, that ‘breathy whisper’, or a memory just out of reach. You’ve maintained a sense of mystery, the sense that there is more to read between the lines, and the poem is packed with emotion. The form and shape of the poem also add to its beauty. It is one I could read many times and still feel there was more to it.

downing another sad poem, which left me wondering what their story was. I liked these lines the most:
It’s useless trying to separate two people
who’d rather be turned into clay
than torn apart.

Pen you capture the spirit of the watcher really well here, and I’m seriously impressed with your powers of observation. There’s a sense of detachment and yet that intense exploration, down to the cracks which the casual observer wouldn’t notice makes me wonder. I love poems which make me think. I have just one question which is the reference to ‘eleven lady’ – I wasn’t sure if the lightening fingers had taken over and you meant ‘elven’, or whether this was me reading my expectation rather than your meaning. I kind of like the idea of an ‘eleven’ lady, it creates an interesting image.

Firefangled I’m always impressed with how much you can express in a poem, how you can condense a life story into a few lines. This is no different, you’ve really reached into the heart of the people, not just the statue but the real people behind it, given them depth. It was also interesting that you placed the piece in a tram station – this statue was part of the recent renovation of St Pancras Station in London which is the new Eurostar terminal, so the reference was quite uncanny!

Amanda Isobel your poem was short but powerful and neat. Every word has meaning, which is something difficult to achieve.

AdoreroDio you also have given them a story and a pretty sad one at that. I enjoyed the juxtaposition of strength and weakness as a theme throughout the poem. I wondered if it might be a more powerful piece if you trimmed it a little. The ending was really simple, but powerful :
a single tear
a single kiss
because he was
strong


schadenfreude I love the opening line of this, it really drew me in, made it personal from the start. You develop the theme nicely, and with control. These lines are incredibly sad
We found ourselves falling into fragments
and then we were no longer alone together,
just alone.

Petrarch’s Love I though this was really cleverly done, and looked at the picture from a different angle. I enjoyed the repetition in the first lines of each stanza (though the middle one was slightly different) and again your control here was very evident.

MazHur technically you broke the rules by submitting two entries, but I though, perhaps, that the second entry was the poem you intended to enter. This was a very classical love poem, with its references to the moon, stars, angels, the love that transcends time and space. Often this can be done quite badly, but I didn’t feel that the poem was clichéd, perhaps more touchingly innocent.

dramasnot6 I don’t think I’ve read any of your poetry before Drama, but I was very impressed. Again, there’s a clear sense of control, wrapped in beautiful language. I especially liked the image of them as a puzzle fitting together, though I had to look up ‘ersatz’ so you taught me something too!

ampoule
I love you now, touch me, Phew! A very passionate, very intense poem. There’s an underlying current of energy, the desire to run, the anticipation of the next goodbye. The ending is perfect ‘help me’. I felt it.

Anonymous Angel a nice acrostic, and a nice poem. Unfortunately as it was submitted after the deadline I couldn’t include it in the judging but perhaps you could join us next time?

Now for the winner. It was a tough choice, and I’ve been torn over the past few days between a number of the entries. In the end I’ve chosen the poem which touched me the most, which I felt was both visually and emotionally stimulating.

So, without any further prevaracating on my part, may I offer my congratulations to Motherhubbard who is the winner this time, but I think everyone deserves congratulations for their wonderful entries which it has been my great pleasure to read.

[NickAdams]

Thanks Fifth and congratulations Motherhubbard. I haven't been able to participate much on the forum and have been working on Virgil's gift for over a month, but I'm eager to see the next image and hope I can participate.

[symphony]

Ah i havent been around much, lately. But the optimist in me says i'd have missed the pleasure of reading so many good poems at a time if i were here before. :D
Congrats to you Mother. :) Looking forward to the next picture.

[motherhubbard]

WOW, I can't help but thinking there was some kind of mistake. Thank you very much, fifth. Well, I was certainly not expecting that so I'll have to look for a picture. I hadn't given it any thought. I doubt I would have even looked if it weren't for the PM- so thanks for sending it. This is my first win on lit net by the way. (I had to call my mom and tell her!) (I called my best friend, too!)

[mazHur]

Wow! So many wonderful entries, packed with love, passion, sadness, the whole range of emotions. It’s been a pleasure to read them, and a hardship judging. In the end I have to pick a winner, but I have to say that the quality of entries has made it truly difficult. I’d love to go into detail on all the poems, but then you’d all get bored and my fingers would be very tired, so I’ll offer my brief thoughts below.

Nick Adams your poem was certainly very different to the others here, and I was impressed with your ability to keep the language faithful to the theme. These lines really stood out, particularly so close to the beginning of the poem

Motherhubbard there’s a really ethereal quality to this poem, that ‘breathy whisper’, or a memory just out of reach. You’ve maintained a sense of mystery, the sense that there is more to read between the lines, and the poem is packed with emotion. The form and shape of the poem also add to its beauty. It is one I could read many times and still feel there was more to it.

downing another sad poem, which left me wondering what their story was. I liked these lines the most:

Pen you capture the spirit of the watcher really well here, and I’m seriously impressed with your powers of observation. There’s a sense of detachment and yet that intense exploration, down to the cracks which the casual observer wouldn’t notice makes me wonder. I love poems which make me think. I have just one question which is the reference to ‘eleven lady’ – I wasn’t sure if the lightening fingers had taken over and you meant ‘elven’, or whether this was me reading my expectation rather than your meaning. I kind of like the idea of an ‘eleven’ lady, it creates an interesting image.

Firefangled I’m always impressed with how much you can express in a poem, how you can condense a life story into a few lines. This is no different, you’ve really reached into the heart of the people, not just the statue but the real people behind it, given them depth. It was also interesting that you placed the piece in a tram station – this statue was part of the recent renovation of St Pancras Station in London which is the new Eurostar terminal, so the reference was quite uncanny!

Amanda Isobel your poem was short but powerful and neat. Every word has meaning, which is something difficult to achieve.

AdoreroDio you also have given them a story and a pretty sad one at that. I enjoyed the juxtaposition of strength and weakness as a theme throughout the poem. I wondered if it might be a more powerful piece if you trimmed it a little. The ending was really simple, but powerful :


schadenfreude I love the opening line of this, it really drew me in, made it personal from the start. You develop the theme nicely, and with control. These lines are incredibly sad

Petrarch’s Love I though this was really cleverly done, and looked at the picture from a different angle. I enjoyed the repetition in the first lines of each stanza (though the middle one was slightly different) and again your control here was very evident.

MazHur technically you broke the rules by submitting two entries, but I though, perhaps, that the second entry was the poem you intended to enter. This was a very classical love poem, with its references to the moon, stars, angels, the love that transcends time and space. Often this can be done quite badly, but I didn’t feel that the poem was clichéd, perhaps more touchingly innocent.

dramasnot6 I don’t think I’ve read any of your poetry before Drama, but I was very impressed. Again, there’s a clear sense of control, wrapped in beautiful language. I especially liked the image of them as a puzzle fitting together, though I had to look up ‘ersatz’ so you taught me something too!

ampoule Phew! A very passionate, very intense poem. There’s an underlying current of energy, the desire to run, the anticipation of the next goodbye. The ending is perfect ‘help me’. I felt it.

Anonymous Angel a nice acrostic, and a nice poem. Unfortunately as it was submitted after the deadline I couldn’t include it in the judging but perhaps you could join us next time?

Now for the winner. It was a tough choice, and I’ve been torn over the past few days between a number of the entries. In the end I’ve chosen the poem which touched me the most, which I felt was both visually and emotionally stimulating.

So, without any further prevaracating on my part, may I offer my congratulations to Motherhubbard who is the winner this time, but I think everyone deserves congratulations for their wonderful entries which it has been my great pleasure to read.



congratulations to MHubbard and all !

thanks, Fifth, for your valauable comments as well:)

[Petrarch's Love]

Congrats Mother Hubbard! :) An excellent entry and well deserved win.

[PrinceMyshkin]

This is glorious and so delicate throughout, but I was especially taken by:



in an urgent breathy whisper lost to the wind.

and:

[/QUOTE]Time is a strange friend that calls to mind

the memory imagined rather than what was. [/QUOTE]

Congratulations!

[Granny5]

Congratulations Baby Girl. I am very proud of you and your beautiful poem.
(I take full credit for your abilities, you know.)

[ampoule]

Thank you Fifth. You had a very difficult job. Congrats MH. :)

[motherhubbard]

Thanks everyone. I found three pictures and now I'm just going to choose between them

[Pendragon]

Way to go, Mother H! :) :) :) Picture, please? (Imagine a panting puppy!)

And Fifth it was ‘elven’, my "lightning fingers" got crossed up! :p Thanks for the comments!

[firefangled]

Congratulations, MH, for such a beautiful poem!!! A well deserved win.

Good job Fifth, I am sure this was not easy, there were so many fine poems.

[AdoreroDio]

Congrats Mother H!

[downing]

CONGRATULATIONS MOTHER H!!!! From the beginning, I saw your poem really was a different one (in a good way ;) ). Good idea with spacing and the poem is just outstanding!!!!!!!

[motherhubbard]

Thanks everyone for the congratulations! It was a very exciting and unexpected experience.

coming up with the next picture was hard- who knows if I'll ever have the chance again! But I loved this one and I hope you like it too.

http://www.courier-journal.com/blogs/vel08/uploaded_images/hands-766633.jpg

[Pendragon]

As you know, I hate to go first. But this picture, Lordy, Mother H! What a picture! Going first usually means doom but:

History in Hands

When you look at these hands—
You see more than just hands—
You see history in each wrinkle and fold.

How the lines and the folds of the skin
Could reveal history for each wrinkle—
If the skin’s stories were allowed to be revealed.

The skin might say “Once I was soft as a flower,
And this hand met his there at the altar in love.
He caressed me as gentle as ever could be.”

“Our love kept me young, but the work began
And over our years together, a family raised.
These hands held two sons and three daughters.”

“These little puckers mark where I sat up
Wondering in wee hours of the night—
Would death take my child this time—wrinkles from soothing brows…”

“Cooking three meals a day, plus things to snack on—
Loving to cook—wrinkles and puckers and folds from stirring spoons and handles,
Basking in the glow of ‘my Mom cooks the best food ever!’”

“Age began to take me, though he swore I was as lovely as ever,
Lines here and there, veins beginning to line the backs of my hands.
Children grown up, and grandchildren growing like prairie grass.”

“Shock to heart and body with the news that I have lost him.
Puckers and folds from just sitting and wringing my hands in despair.
The bones now show though as I age in an single instant by ten or more years.”

Now they are two tanned hands folded in the lap of a lady.
We have taken a journey, and tried to listen to the meaning of the story of skin.
There is a story there, we may have unlocked part, but the wrinkles and puckers and lines tell the rest.

Pendragon
© 1/18/08

[motherhubbard]

Thanks Pen. I was afraid I would be the only one who liked it. Thanks for getting things started for us. We'll see if we get a few more and I'll think of a date to end the madness!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Marvellous, Pen! And MotherH, what a provocative photo you've chosen.

[Granny5]

Pen, I won't enter, of course, but I wouldn't anyway after reading your beautiful poem. It tells the story so completely. (I love this picture, mh.)

[downing]

Heaven




‘Jimmy,
will you hold me in your arms
when we enter Heaven like you
did the first time we got in our house,
after the wedding?
Don’t be afraid,
I read that a couple dying
together is the biggest present offered
by God.
Think that while our poor children
will weep over here, next to our deathbed,
we will be climbing the stairway to Heaven.
Will you be kind to pick me a violet
from the edge of the stairway made of flowers
and put it in my hair?
I hope God won’t be mad at us.
We will probably behave like two little
children who discover a funfair.
But God loves children, I heard.
There is no other season in Heaven
than spring.
I hope there are many forsythia bushes…
I just could never enjoy them in life as much as
I would have wanted.
You know, there are many other things
you occupy your time with,
claiming they are priorities
and you rarely have the time
to smell a spring flower
as you should really do.
Did you hear that in Heaven
there are so many different kinds of flowers
than those from Earth?
We thought our garden was a big one,
but it’s million times smaller than
the one which we will visit soon.
I also heard that roses are so big there
that they reach the sky.
But I always wondered:
If those roses are in sky, where Paradise is,
how could they reach the sky?
But there are nine skies, aren’t they?
Perhaps we will go to the first sky
and if we are good angels,
God will send us to the other,
next year.
But what if years in God’s land
are different then those from here?
If I take my watch you bought me from Zurich,
will it be useful?
Please remember me to put it at my hand.
That’s the most precious thing I have from you,
except our children.
I felt so badly when I heard
that we can’t take our children.
They will come later, the angel said.
But it would be so good if they came with us,
they wouldn’t feel all the pains we felt
during this life.
Do you really have to pass through all these
pains to reach that great garden?


By the way, does your head hurt anymore?
Just a little? I guess that’s one of the signs that
we ought to leave.
No, no, not now. The angel from my dream
said that he will come after us.
We’ve got the same guardian angel, can you imagine?
I could have never thought of it, but this is another
gift offered by God.
How good He is when he lets us climb
that stairway full of flowers.
People are insane when they say that our Lord is bad.
They haven’t got the slightest idea of the freedom
we both feel now.
But they will all understand, someday.
Does your head hurt?
No more. Neither does my stomach.
I feel as if I have just been born.


The angel has come. Jimmy, wake up,
he is here.
He says: “No bags. Your soul is everything you need.”
Do we have a good soul, Jimmy?
You were always right, if you believe we have
then that’s it.
Jimmy, I’m lifting...
I’m floating
higher and higher...
Please pass your fingers through
mine and
we can go together.'

[Pendragon]

Nice, Downing! I can see that in the picture, yes... http://www.cosgan.de/images/midi/liebe/a070.gif

[downing]

thanks pen :)

[dramasnot6]

Congratulations Motherhubbard!!! :D It was a wonderful poem!

A very interesting picture...I will get to thinking about it right away.
Thanks for the feedback Fifth!

[dramasnot6]

Go Pen and Downing!! :banana:

[PrinceMyshkin]

These hands have found a home
in one another after plaster, lathe,
brick and the malleable stuff
of which the human heart is made
have failed her.

We go from hand to hand
seeking comfort and refuge
in love, in comradeship, in the hands
of the Creator but, one by one,
each refuge crumbles or is sacked.

The hands that held us, warm
and safe, let go, until we fall, at last,
into our own hands’ clasp.

[CdnReader]

^^^ This is so beautiful, Jerry. I love it.

[Sweets America]

These hands have found a home
in one another after plaster, lathe,
brick and the malleable stuff
of which the human heart is made
have failed her.

We go from hand to hand
seeking comfort and refuge
in love, in comradeship, in the hands
of the Creator but, one by one,
each refuge crumbles or is sacked.

The hands that held us, warm
and safe, let go, until we fall, at last,
into our own hands’ clasp.



I love it so much!!:) ;)

[mazHur]

Dreams and Desires
by mazHur

Most of my dreams and desires,
the covetings of my heart,
my aspirations, my yearnings
seem to have been fulfilled,
yet thousands of them still smoulder
in the hearth of my heart
yet unfulfilled;
Ah, the mere inkling of these unearned wishes
pulls my heart apart;
each wish being sufficient enough
to make me feel like dying;
Like a heart full of a myriad of desires
yet to be fulfilled,
A victim of the brutal hands of time,
Here I sit with my fingers crossed.






http://www.courier-journal.com/blogs/vel08/uploaded_images/hands-766633.jpg

[PrinceMyshkin]

Dreams and Desires
by mazHur

Most of my dreams and desires,
the covetings of my heart,
my aspirations, my yearnings
seem to have been fulfilled,
yet thousands of them still smoulder
in the hearth of my heart
yet unfulfilled;
Ah, the mere inkling of these unearned wishes
pulls my heart apart;
each wish being sufficient enough
to make me feel like dying;
Like a heart full of a myriad of desires
yet to be fulfilled,
A victim of the brutal hands of time,
Here I sit with my fingers crossed.







This is magnificent, Mazhur, that rush of great, heartfelt images, ending with the bare simplicity of that last line!

[NickAdams]

Their skin,
the film of a cooled winter’s drink,
holds the night
in its tactile paving.

-How often do we
come together?
-When was the last
Time?

-Minutes, hours, days,
Moments?

-We were younger then:
Minutes, hours, days,
Moments
Younger.

Their fingertips,
Ten cliffs;
A shell-bed apiece,
for five knolls to rest.

-How often did we
come together?
-When will be the last
Time?

-Minutes, hours, days,
Moments?

-We will be older then:
Minutes, hours, days,
Moments
Older.

-We will have come together ...
One last
Time.

[mazHur]

This is magnificent, Mazhur, that rush of great, heartfelt images, ending with the bare simplicity of that last line!

Prince, am glad you liked the poem; a bundle of thanks for your most valued and generous comments which I sincerely appreciate:)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Their skin,
the film of a cooled winter’s drink,
holds the night
in its tactile paving.

-How often do we
come together?
-When was the last
Time?

-Minutes, hours, days,
Moments?

-We were younger then:
Minutes, hours, days,
Moments
Younger.

Their fingertips,
Ten cliffs;
A shell-bed apiece,
for five knolls to rest.

-How often did we
come together?
-When will be the last
Time?

-Minutes, hours, days,
Moments?

-We will be older then:
Minutes, hours, days,
Moments
Older.

-We will have come together ...
One last
Time.

How delicate! And how wonderfully effective is your repetition of



-How often do we
come together?
-When was the last
Time?

-Minutes, hours, days,
Moments?

-We were younger then:
Minutes, hours, days,
Moments
Younger.

[motherhubbard]

Well, Prince- are you going to write one?

It looks like we have a lot of really great entries. Who thinks I should go ahead and set a deadline?

[dramasnot6]

I have one I need to edit- but I am going to California for a few days, so if it is not too much trouble please set the deadline later than a week from now mothehubbard. Thank you! :)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Well, Prince- are you going to write one?

Hunh? What the heck are you talking about? See message 424!

[motherhubbard]

Hunh? What the heck are you talking about? See message 424!

:eek: Good grief! :blush: HOW EMBARRISING. I just keep seeing your name with all of the other poems and thinking I don’t know what. I totally remember and don’t know what came over me. AND I had taken A LOT of various pain medication- I’m spending this morning going back over what I posted both here and for my homework and you are not my only regret of the day. I’m so sorry Jerry. SO TOTALLY SORRY!!! :blush: :bawling:

[NickAdams]

How delicate! And how wonderfully effective is your repetition of ...

Thanks. I almost stayed out of this round, because of the strong entries, yours being one of the strongest.;)

[motherhubbard]

It's going to be tough on me. I'm excited about what is to come. I think I'll set the deadline for Feb. 16. Let me know if you have a problem with that. I was thinking that there is another poetry contest and that would give people time to enter both

[schadenfreude]

Once she picked berries by the brown sludge they called a river;
and her sister raced the clouds to catch a flighty butterfly;
and her youngest brother crouched down to find a fish;
and the dog yapped and splattered mud about their ankles.
And- her mouth painted cherry red- she thought about the boy she loved,
and how their children would brighten the house they’d live in,
and how he had smiled when he asked: “Where will you be later on?”
But now,
her hands are old and empty.

[Pendragon]

Thanks. I almost stayed out of this round, because of the strong entries, yours being one of the strongest.;)I wouldn't count yours as a weak one, Nick, as Jerry said that repetition throughout the poem that binds it together is powerful! :thumbs_up

[motherhubbard]

I think this needs a bump- there are a lot of great poems, but a lot of great poets that haven't posted!

[dramasnot6]

Maize

They grind the maize
Soft leather upon yellow kernels
Back and forth knuckles worn to bone
Pain unto the marrow
Sweet powder settles on the stone
White flesh bubbles and splatters
Tortillas flat and smooth
Luminescent on earthen plates
They grind and pat and splat
Witness to every
sigh,
grunt,
shriek
and silent tear
Each callus, every line
Tells a story.

[browneyedbailey]

Old and worn the washing hands.
used for her babbies,
over and over.
Can you see the cutting scars?
Washivg, sewing, baking, and such,
who knew it would lead to this?
Worn from work the results of time.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Maize

They grind the maize
Soft leather upon yellow kernels
Back and forth knuckles worn to bone
Pain unto the marrow
Sweet powder settles on the stone
White flesh bubbles and splatters
Tortillas flat and smooth
Luminescent on earthen plates
They grind and pat and splat
Witness to every
sigh,
grunt,
shriek
and silent tear
Each callus, every line
Tells a story.

This is SO FINE! "Soft leather upon yellow kernels"! WOW!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Old and worn the washing hands.
used for her babbies,
over and over.
Can you see the cutting scars?
Washivg, sewing, baking, and such,
who knew it would lead to this?
Worn from work the results of time.

This needed to be a little bit longer, I think - not much, because you do such a wonderful job in such a short space! (I assume "babbies" is not a typo, because I like it so much in place of "babies".)

[browneyedbailey]

oops I'm not the best speller. although I'm better than mum and my grandfather (not poppy)

[dramasnot6]

This is SO FINE! "Soft leather upon yellow kernels"! WOW!
Thanks Prince! That means a lot coming from you! :D

[motherhubbard]

http://www.courier-journal.com/blogs/vel08/uploaded_images/hands-766633.jpg

Time is getting short and I wanted to post the picture again so it wouldn't be so far back.

[Granny5]

bump...

[mir]

Once upon a time

I remember
watch these hands, stormed and weathered, too many days
I remember when
wordless they clasp each other, old now, no others' grips left to warm
I remember when I
loose with memories, rising from the skin veins, grey-blue rivers of lumpy time
I remember when I was
alone to their thoughts, thinking of younger dreams, tighter skin unmarked and held
I remember
hands old time held
I remember when I was young.

[dramasnot6]

Nice mir! :thumbs_up

[motherhubbard]

six more days...

[dramasnot6]

and 5 more days until I depart,once again, for Australia...I will be so anxious about the poetry contest whilst on the plane!

[autolycus]

Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard...

Her hands lay bare upon the cushion
I saw them flutter briefly there
Her breath ragged in faint confusion
And sudden onset of despair

Her fingers looked each a chrysalis
I wondered about butterflies
Trapped in the moment of what is
And what would never now arise

Before she went I asked the question
As she drowned she answered me
In the moment of stark perception
Before her answers ceased to be

The cupboard was bare:
Three sons over there,
Not even a bone;
And her, all alone.

[motherhubbard]

tomorrow is the deadline and I will judge and try to post on Saturday.

[ampoule]

It's going to be tough on me. I'm excited about what is to come. I think I'll set the deadline for Feb. 16. Let me know if you have a problem with that. I was thinking that there is another poetry contest and that would give people time to enter both

Don't mean to be a stickler but I think Saturday is the deadline, isn't it?

[motherhubbard]

Don't mean to be a stickler but I think Saturday is the deadline, isn't it?

Yes it is. Saturday is the deadline and Sunday the judging. Thanks Amp

[Anonymous Angel]

H ere they are, my hands, weathered
A nd old, but beautiful. I have
N ever thought how hands hold
D reams, but mine are right here, and
S o are the dreams they've made.

Did anyone notice that his hands form a heart? It's beautiful to me...Rebecca Tacosa Gray

[motherhubbard]

I'll try to post on this tonight- I'm sorry for the delay

[motherhubbard]

Pen, This was such a strong start and finish and I loved all that was in between. I love the way you focused on the story that can be read in the lines on those hands. You can see history and there is a story here. I hear love for your mother and the mother of your children in this.




When you look at these hands—
You see more than just hands—
You see history in each wrinkle and fold.

We have taken a journey, and tried to listen to the meaning of the story of skin.
There is a story there, we may have unlocked part, but the wrinkles and puckers and lines tell the rest.
Pendragon
© 1/18/08

Downing

You took a very different turn with your poem and I really liked your interpretation of the picture. You let those hold love all the way to heaven.
I like to think of those hands feeling like this




I feel as if I have just been born.


Please pass your fingers through
mine and
we can go together.'



Jerry
This is wonderful, just wonderful. You are so good at being concise. I love the how these hands do find comfort in themselves. I loved the description of the human heart and the going from hand to hand to get there. I’m not going to pick just one part to quote, I liked all of the parts.





MazHur
This is a great image. I had not looked at those hands and seen unfulfilled desire and I’m glad you showed it to me. Young heart and old hands. This ending was brilliant.




Like a heart full of a myriad of desires
yet to be fulfilled,
A victim of the brutal hands of time,
Here I sit with my fingers crossed.





Nick
This is a great poem Nick. I love the repetition drawing emphasis to the passing and running out of time. I especially liked the way it moved from youth to maturity and left time for one more union. And this imagery was wonderful.





Their skin,
the film of a cooled winter’s drink,
holds the night
in its tactile paving.


Schadenfreude

I love the scene you created at the opening of this poem. I smiled at the berry picking. It was interesting to go from where will you be later straight to the end



Once she picked berries …
and how he had smiled when he asked: “Where will you be later on?”
But now,
her hands are old and empty.


Drama

Wow, Drama. This was a wonderful and unexpected turn on the picture. This poem was full of imagery, sound and texture.






They grind the maize
Soft leather upon yellow kernels

Each callus, every line
Tells a story.


Bailey
Darling Bailey, I love your poem. I especially love the way you call them the washing hands. This last line is great I think that these hands are the result of work and time.



Old and worn the washing hands.

Worn from work the results of time.



Mir
Weaving these two poems together was a fantastic idea. I like the use of repetition and the image of stormed and weathered hands. The ending was very strong.





watch these hands, stormed and weathered, too many days
…
I remember when I was young.



Autolysis

Very clever! I had to read this several times and I liked it more each time I read it
This was my favorite stanza. I wonder what the question was and what answer it got.






Before she went I asked the question
As she drowned she answered me
In the moment of stark perception
Before her answers ceased to be


Anonymous Angel
Short and sweet. I thought this was lovely. I think that old hands are beautiful. I like this part the best-




N ever thought how hands hold
D reams, but mine are right here,



Everyone did such a great job. I have a new appreciation for those who have had the hard job of judging. I’ve been so challenged by this, and I have spent hours trying to choose. There were three that I loved above the rest. It must come down to just one winner and even as I type I’m trying to decide. But the decision must be made. And so congratulations to our winner, Pen for writing a wonderful poem that I captures so much emotion.

[NickAdams]

I thank you. What amazes me is how fertile the blank page of Pen's is. So many threads, so much quality.

[autolycus]

Thanks very much for kind words and encouragement!

Pen, excellent! Truly mightier than the sword.

*grin*

[symphony]

Woo-hoo! Congrats uncle Pen! :D Awesome work! :thumbs_up

[Pendragon]

Thanks to you all-- I don't know what to say... I am so amazed at winning that I cannot think...You are all too kind...

A picture now...

Well, this is surreal, and I drew it for a poem I once wrote. Let's see what you people can get out of it...

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Newest/CreatureWithin.jpg


Best of luck. Will set closing date after I have three entries...http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/MightWork.gif

[downing]

wow amazing picture, Pen! Congrats again for winning!!

[lucidnightmares]

i hope alot of people respond to that pic
i`m curious as to what they think of it
anyway`s i think i`ll give it a try


the widow sleeps within a rose
hides within beauty, fangs exposed

a demon rests inside our soul
losing patience, i lost control

my heart is racing, i need you now
my mind is tainted to a vow

i must have you, this i know
this dark seed, i must sow

pain gives me pleasure
death is my treasure

so rip it out, my roting heart
take this sorrow, tear it apart

only then will i show my face
when i`m lost inside your endless grace

[Granny5]

Congrats, Pen! Great poem and great pic.

[browneyedbailey]

Deep down a demon possesses me.
Help, I cry, help me rid of this curse
None come to save me.
I failed.
I fell.
Death overtakes me.
Gone.

Yet light anew.
Someone has come to save me!

Oh, only judgment.
Sentenced to a pit of fire.
Burning for eternity.

[Pendragon]

Ah! Two great poems for a start! I must confess neither comes close to expressing (well, depends on your point of view), the original poem, which I will post with the winning poem, but show sides of my weird art. Keep them coming!

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Newest/CreatureWithin.jpg

[Petrarch's Love]

Wow, Pen is judging both contests this round! Better get out my best pen and write something worthy of such an illustrious judge. :)

[PrinceMyshkin]

Thanks to you all-- I don't know what to say... I am so amazed at winning that I cannot think...You are all too kind...

A picture now...

Well, this is surreal, and I drew it for a poem I once wrote. Let's see what you people can get out of it...

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Newest/CreatureWithin.jpg


Best of luck. Will set closing date after I have three entries...http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Four/MightWork.gif

A little belatedly, congratulations:thumbs_up :thumbs_up on winning the last competition!

[browneyedbailey]

Ah! Two great poems for a start! I must confess neither comes close to expressing (well, depends on your point of view), the original poem, which I will post with the winning poem, but show sides of my weird art. Keep them coming!

Pen



does that mean you drew the pic and wrote the poem? And does that mean we're not worthy writters?!?!?!:mad:

[NickAdams]

Picking the phantom pocket of a mirror silent;
In-season-parents
assist the dextrous-abasement. Replacements
are assimulated
(and easily stitched).

They peel back the curtains to the papilla frame
to let hang,
the judges gaveled fangs, staged
below scarlet witnesses
(shadowed in the hollow trunk).

Herd the flock
to flock when heard
and ‘round and ‘round
the globe will turn
(to the tick of a one-hand clock).

[NickAdams]

does that mean you drew the pic and wrote the poem? And does that mean we're not worthy writters?!?!?!:mad:

I think Pen meant that the first two poems had a different take on the picture and his original intent. If he thought you weren't worthy he wouldn't have started his post with "Ah! Two great poems for a start."

[browneyedbailey]

true.....

[Pendragon]

does that mean you drew the pic and wrote the poem? And does that mean we're not worthy writters?!?!?!:mad:Whoa up! Yes, I drew this picture, and wrote the original poem but there is no one on this forum whose poetry is not worthy to outshine mine at any darn time! I got a little touchy a while back over poor voter turn-out in forum-sanctioned contests, (which is pathetic!), but my poetry is no better than the next person’s and I am no Prima Donna. Young Bailey, your poem is as dear to me as any that will be presented in this contest. I will not judge it unfairly or think it poor because it came from you. No. Ask anyone who has had me judge their poem before. I take my time with each poem and write to each poet personally.

LET ME REINTERATE. THERE ARE NO BIG “I’S” AND LITTLE “U’S” HERE. WE ARE POETS!

EVERYONE WELCOME TO SUBMIT A POEM by 3/17/08 (tentatively)


Pendragon
2/27/08

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/EasterCross.gif

[browneyedbailey]

I know, Just Kidding.

[alakungfu]

Jewels of Custom

Marry the sky to the horizon
and what do you have?
An image both typical and sublime,
treasured in every land
and idealized by empires,
since the bed of all seasons
began yeilding gilded fruits,
those edible
and those that are purely a feast
for tempted eyes.
Nature exists,
is abstracted,
stylizes forms and designs
in the homes of beauty
and invention
for the enlightened to conjure
at will
like a mutant, mosaic silkworm of destiny
spinning its tailored sleek gauze
in detectable grains
at the tenured periphery outlined
by civilized arrangement

[dramasnot6]

Fabulous pic,Pen! Hmm...I will commence brainstorming :D
Great poems everyone!

[autolycus]

Yours is the rose
Whose vibrant thorns pierce me
But I suppose
That though my tears fierce be
Nobody knows

For while the dead
Might think their sleeping cold
My love unsaid
Sleeps now unvoiced untold;
I lost my head

A demon hate
Within this shell abides
Love spoke too late
And now in fear still hides
Behind her gate

I am bereft
My right is wreathed in pain
My hands, once deft
Alarm with clumsy strain
And nothing's left

Lyrics I wrote
Which made all joy to men
Now slit my throat
I have become again
An awkward poet

[Pendragon]

BUMP! http://smilies.vidahost.com/games/dbz/dragonball-wishdragon.gif

[mazHur]

who said the devil is ugly,
who said he doesn't have a heart?
who said he has not seen him,
who said he hasn't experienced him?
He lives in every heart
which is bereft of goodness
He beckons you to come,
to come and be his comrade,
He has no face, no arm, no legs,
yet he manages to grow up
a hand and hold a bough of flower
to attract, to lure people
towards him and be his disciples.
Do not judge him by his proffered kindness
look beyond that and further
all that appears pink is not rose,
even the best wine may seem amber,
crystal clear
but there are lees to it
which normal eyes cannot see !

[Pensive]

Pen, that's an interesting picture. Would be thinking about it and hopefully would post something soon.


all that appears pink is not rose

That's a good expression.

[AdoreroDio]

There is a demon in me
a poor devil
screaming
screaming from the cage
I put it in
waiting
waiting to be let out
but it does not wait for long
it scratches and pulls
at my weakest points
through my heart
it crashes through
slyly
oh so coyly
it peels back my thin armor
and shows its nasty face
yet I am still beautiful
still loved
still the same to the world
holding a single rose
a sign of love
but really I am clenching it
this lie in my hands
this hatred
the thorns are digging
digging into my weak flesh
for I know
know that my demon is loose
and it will destroy me
it already has
but no one sees me bleeding
bleeding from this demon
they only see
the rose in my hand

[Pendragon]

The old clock is ticking now people! Get those poems in! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/eyes_1.gif

[browneyedbailey]

What's up with the bloodshot eyes?

[lucidnightmares]

anxiety?
pressure?
stress?
haha, maybe all of them, besides i`m anxious to see who wins this one.

[prema]

Here is my poem sweethearts:

I worked five long years in my red coverall.
Hey body, get out and play
get out and play rock and roll!

[browneyedbailey]

anxiety?
pressure?
stress?
haha, maybe all of them, besides i`m anxious to see who wins this one.

Me too. come on!!!!:flare: :( :bawling: :sick: :p :D

[Pendragon]

Flaring won't help, nor frowning, the judge is immune to tears, (not really!), the judge is currently quite ill himself, (so the Doctor says, I feel fine!), it is naughty to stick out your tongue, (your mother taught you much better, I'm sure!), the grin might help, but St. Paddy's day is the day I chose to end my contests on. Fear not, the day after the wearing of the green, someone will wear the winner's crown! And everyone else will be honorably mentioned. :lol:

[browneyedbailey]

I got sick from crying, that's why I stuck my toung out! SHESH!!!1

[NickAdams]

but St. Paddy's day is the day I chose to end my contests on. Fear not, the day after the wearing of the green, someone will wear the winner's crown!

I'll drink to that! Cheers!

[Pendragon]

Due to death in the family and my own health being bad, the contest being ended today, and no poems having being submitted for days, this is the final judging. Thanks to everyone who entered!

Pendragon


Picture Poetry Contest Winner:

Lucidnightmares: Your poem was, like the picture, very surreal. You did not give it a title, “Point of Grace” might have been worthy of this romp through your nightmares, as you insist that

“a demon rests inside our soul
losing patience, i lost control”

And then you are asking for some unnamed someone to:

“so rip it out, my roting heart
take this sorrow, tear it apart

only then will i show my face
when i`m lost inside your endless grace”

A wonderful expression of the battle within between good and evil. Well done.

BrownEyedBailey: Your poem expressed things I have said to myself so many times that even though it was not the words of the original poem, it was words expressed by me.

Deep down a demon possesses me.
Help, I cry, help me rid of this curse
None come to save me.
I failed.
I fell.
Death overtakes me.
Gone.

You see, people have accused me of demon possession due to my Bi-Polar, about which they refuse to educate themselves. And I have felt cursed to hell. A good title for your poem would be “Misunderstood”. You show the hopelessness and helplessness of the person with the demon or feeling of possession very clearly. Well done.

NickAdams: Nick, you pulled an e.e. cummings poem style on me, for which I was totally unprepared! I must have read your poem a dozen times before one line opened the secret of the poem and I understood.

Herd the flock
to flock when heard
and ‘round and ‘round
the globe will turn
(to the tick of a one-hand clock).

That line was the very last one—“(to the tick of a one-hand clock).” What is in the heart? The beat of that clock runs the world. But we assist at putting fanged monsters in there. Well Done!

ALaKungFu I had thought the picture itself was rather surreal, your poem about it reached into the depths of the metaphysical:

and invention
for the enlightened to conjure
at will

Indeed. Though I might find shades of William Blake in your poem, I don’t think I could find him in my poor artwork. Great poem, I’m just not really certain it fits the picture.

Autolycus: I would title your poem “The Sin of Hate”. You turned the green “daemon” into hate. Hate that once was love.

“A demon hate
Within this shell abides
Love spoke too late
And now in fear still hides
Behind her gate”
I like it very much. Well done!

And you had one of the most interesting styles of poetry with it:

mazHur: I would have to title your poem “The Lure”. You interpret the picture as a daemon holding up a rose as a lure, when the trap is already set and if one falls for the lure one is doomed.

He has no face, no arm, no legs,
yet he manages to grow up
a hand and hold a bough of flower
to attract, to lure people
towards him and be his disciples.
Do not judge him by his proffered kindness
look beyond that and further
all that appears pink is not rose,

The only way to avoid the already set trap is not to fall for the pretty lure. Very well done. I love it!

AdoreroDio: I think I would title yours “Efforts At Denial”. You make the bold statement that there is a daemon in you, even if it is but a poor shriveled one.

yet I am still beautiful
still loved
still the same to the world
holding a single rose
a sign of love
but really I am clenching it
this lie in my hands
this hatred
the thorns are digging
digging into my weak flesh
for I know
know that my demon is loose

Despite this, you are going to hold your pink rose out to the world and lay claim on beauty, yes, and subtlety, behind that, innocence—but the thorns cut your hand and you know in your heart you are merely lying to yourself. Very well done. I love it!

Prema: Well, your poem was so short that I can just reproduce the whole thing right here:

I worked five long years in my red coverall.
Hey body, get out and play
get out and play rock and roll!

Which body becomes confusing? Is it the one that holds the rose, as in Guns N Roses (get out and play rock and roll!) or the one peering out of the body cavity? Does this make the torso the (red coverall)? A neat little evil twist.


This one is a very hard choice. I narrowed it to three. Bailey, you came close to the original poem. That is something I cannot overlook. AndyDio, you also hit elements of the original poem, perhaps even closer than Bailey, so I cannot overlook you. But maHzur saw something in the picture that maybe I was trying to get out from my darkness and drew without knowing—a warning: Beware of false innocence, for even the mighty have fallen. Remember King David’s fall and his repentance.

This was my poem to go with my picture:

THE CREATURE WITHIN

He stands shirtless in the drifting snow,
offering a pale pink rose in his left hand,
unmindful of the thorns that prick his flesh
causing the ruby drops to stain the white carpet.
The creature within reaches out jade-green claws
and parts the venetian blinds of his ribcage,
to peer with distinct malevolence at the world
that it viciously hates…

Dale Harris
© 1996

maHzur, I declare you the winner of this round! You may choose the next picture:

[dramasnot6]

Congratulations MaHzur!

[toni]

This is exciting! I will join the next one. :D
Congratulations, mazhur

[lucidnightmares]

good job MaHzur:D

[AdoreroDio]

Congratulations Mahzur!!!!!!!

[downing]

congratulations!!!

[autolycus]

Well done, mazHur! :)

[NickAdams]

NickAdams: Nick, you pulled an e.e. cummings poem style on me, for which I was totally unprepared! I must have read your poem a dozen times before one line opened the secret of the poem and I understood.

Herd the flock
to flock when heard
and ‘round and ‘round
the globe will turn
(to the tick of a one-hand clock).

That line was the very last one—“(to the tick of a one-hand clock).” What is in the heart? The beat of that clock runs the world. But we assist at putting fanged monsters in there. Well Done!


I have never read Cummings, but I will try and get my hands on a poem of his now.

The one-hand clock symbolizes uncertainty and a mindless allegiance. We can know the minute, but not the hour or the hour and not the minute. And that it runs the world.:thumbs_up

Congratulations MaHzur!

[browneyedbailey]

Thank you pen and congatulations MaHzur!

[Pendragon]

um, hello, mazHur? Are you aware you are to post the next picture, mon ami? You won the contest! ;) :)