Famous Quoted Line Poetry Contest

[tailor STATELY]

L1 & L2 from William Hughes Mearns' song from the play "The Psyco-ed"; and poem "Antigonish"



Within the Silvered Pane

"As I was coming down the stair
I met a man who wasn't there."

A silvered pane hung near the staircase
where he - I met ourselves face to face

Realization soon became chagrin
when I grasped my bogey was my twin

But since I'd determined he wasn't there
I sought to awaken from my nightmare

T'was destined not to be much to my disdain
I remain nonexistent within the silvered pane

6/19/2014 r.6/20/2014

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[cacian]

As I was coming down the stair
I met a man who wasn't there
and as it were
before that then
many went to come again.

[Pendragon]

OK Showdown!

Dark Muse: Spooky and excellent. Love the lines

"I am frozen in place wishing
this where some nightmare
from which I could awaken."


Yesno. Clever! Like this line best:

"Like other friends I like a lot
Sometimes they're real. Sometimes they're not. "

Windblown I loved your rhyme scheme. Not many poets would think of this form.

Tailor STATELY You actually made the man who wasn't there real!

"Realization soon became chagrin
when I grasped my bogey was my twin"

Cacin Minimal, and I'm sorry, but I really don't get it.


*****WINNER******

Tailor STATELY! Congrats!


Pendragon

[tailor STATELY]

Thank you Pendragon !

My obsession with the silvered pane/has finally paid a dividend.

Next famous quoted line was quoted by Patti Smith:

I'm concerned more about the death of a bee
I have been preoccupied by death these past few years with the passings of family and friends; and am now care-giving for another with imminent passing. My feeble attempts on poetry about death are as ghosts in the whirlwind. Emily Dickinson thought deeply about death and wrote about it with power and grace and I thought to use her quote "Because I could not stop for death" but it has already been chosen... so off to Brainy Quotes I went and hope the one I've chosen hasn't been spent.

While not from an actual poem of Patti's I hope it's acceptable to the group.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[Dark Muse]

The Sting

It came upon me as a shock,
completely unseen,
until the searing pain
burst upon me,
seeming to throb endlessly,
but my gaze fixed
upon so fragile a creature,
in its staggering
downward flight,
such delicacy
to achieve such impact,
how it was made
for self-sacrifice,
it scarcely seemed fair
that it floundered so,
how its very preservation
must become it's end,
so it was how I became
concerned more about the
death of a bee
than the pain it caused
to me.

[Pendragon]

Musings

This July Fourth marked the twentieth year
That I have lived among the shadows
Full blown explosion of my undiagnosed and untreated bi-polar disorder
Met with Independence Day fireworks, starting down a road
With no going back, no chance of being cure, and often no hope
The Spectre of Suicide often haunts my every waking moment
But I drive the boney bugger away
My life will be defined by a regimen of drugs and counseling
But when it comes down to it all
I accept the things I cannot change for the pathway of the past is closed forever
All in all, I'm more concerned by the death of a bee
Life needs the honey

Pendragon
(C) July 5. 2014

[YesNo]

I'm concerned more about the death of a bee.
I'm concerned more about the fate of that tree
Than I am about what is much closer to me.

Let me die. Let it come. I just don't want to see
Some other one suffer on so needlessly
Like the death and the dying of that honest bee.

[tailor STATELY]

A good start !

Deadline: Midnight (California PDT) 7/25/2014

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[tailor STATELY]

Time almost up: Deadline: Midnight (California PDT) 7/25/2014

[tailor STATELY]

Dark Muse “The Sting”

Such praise for a dear creature. The language you employed as delicate as the bee itself.
Memorable: “my gaze fixed/upon so fragile a creature,/in its staggering/downward flight,/such delicacy/to achieve such impact”

Pendragon “Musings”

Your words about the protagonist bring pause to ponder and hope for a surcease of suffering for the brave soul. The last line comes off as flippant for some reason; an abrupt end to an otherwise thoughtful introspection.
Memorable: “I have lived among the shadows”... “But when it comes down to it all/I accept the things I cannot change”

YesNo “One View of Others”

More pathos from the protagonist as was offered in Pendragon's poem. L2 bothers me a bit (though I'm generally predisposed towards trees); perhaps because it seems redundant to me within the scope of your poem. The end rhyme scheme: e! might benefit from the form being a tighter 1-stanza of 5-lines.
Memorable: “Let me die. Let it come. I just don't want to see/Some other one suffer on so needlessly”

Another tough one to judge... the winner is Dark Muse. Congratulations to all !

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[Dark Muse]

Thank you, I will have a new line soon.

[Dark Muse]

Ok here is the next line:

The moon and its broken reflection

From The Bridge by Longfellow

Deadline: Aug. 20th

[Pendragon]

Moons and Hearts

The mirror reflects my broken life
The moon and its broken reflection
Little jewels scattered in the night
A step in the right direction

Shattering hearts make a terrible sound
Broken moons turn to asteroids and dust
I try to remember that what goes around
Comes around in due season, I trust


The moon and its broken reflection in glass
My heart and my soul torn apart
It is just about as easy to fix the moon I guess
As to restore a badly broken heart

So I'll pray for the moon, that its broken reflection
Is simply that, an illusion at best
And realize that I will never reach perfection
Allow my trouble mind and heart to rest

Pendragon
(c) 7/29/2014

[YesNo]

The moon with its broken reflection
Will soon get two lovers’ inspection
On a porch where the trees
Seem enchanted as breeze
Plays a tune that will sweeten connection.

[tailor STATELY]

the moon and its broken reflection


the moon and its
broken reflection
this countenance born
through introspection -
an effigy cast
of collected dews
reveals a poet
without his muse

8/9/2014
Dedicated to my Mother who passed through the mortal veil today shortly after I posted this poem. My poetry page was already dedicated to her, so it's appropriate she have this poem for herself. She encouraged my writing no matter how silly or far out or, well - you know if you've ever visited my page. So, in many ways she was my muse.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[Pendragon]

My sincere condolences on the passing of your mother, Tailor. May God comfort you in your hour of sorrow.

Pendragon

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

My condolences as well.

[Melanie]

Your poem and comment speak to your mother's legacy. A lovely tribute. You will always have her in your heart, in your memories...and thus, will ever be your muse. May God surround you at this time with the love of friends and family and fill you with peace.

[YesNo]

My condolences as well.

[tailor STATELY]

Thank you all for your kind words.

[cacian]

my condolences tailor I hope you are ok.

[Pendragon]

And the winner is?

[Dark Muse]

Lovely poems everyone. Sorry for being so terribly late but things have been hectic over here.

Sorry for not giving as thorough a critique as usual, but I will try and say a little something about each poem.

Pendragon: I enjoyed the way in which you compared the moons broken reelection with a broken heart. Also interesting use of the repetition.

YesNo: Beautiful little poem. I thought it created lovely imagery. I also liked your use of rhyme.

But the winner is

tailor STATELY: An elegant and somewhat haunting poem with powerful impact

[Pendragon]

Congrats. Tailor! :wave:

[tailor STATELY]

Thank you Dark Muse and Pendragon and cacian; and the aforementioned. Yes I am fine. Having an eternal perspective keeps me grounded.
.
.
Next: "If I should die" http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/If_I_should_die, by Emily Dickinson

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[YesNo]

Organisms get to die.
Machines work best man-made.
Moonlight blesses evening sky.
Mourning gets to fade.

Living grows our memory.
Machines don’t understand.
Breathe on, fulfill the mystery.
I held you by your hand.

If I should die--indeed I will--
And you will too as well,
I’ll wait for you
Like lovers do
With wondrous things to tell.

[tailor STATELY]

Any more entries ?

[Dark Muse]

Would You Die With Me?

If I should die
would you weep enough
to flood the skies
and make the gods themselves
mourn with regret?

If I should die
would you rage against
the night,
and tempt the fates,
fall to your knees before death's
gates, like Orpheus
beg for another chance?

If I should die
would you give way to time,
and allow the memories of me
fade away like sand slipping
through the hour glass?

If I should die
would you allow
another pretty face to catch your eye,
take your breath away,
steal away the last essence
of me upon your lips?

If I should die
would you die
with me?

[tailor STATELY]

Deadline: next Wednesday 10/15/2014 11:59 pm PDT

[Pendragon]

If I should die, who is it that will mourn me
Will I pass in the night or the hours of the morn?
To pass from this world into the vast unknown
Will my passing bring sorrow or unending joy?
Will I ride of the crest of a religious outpouring
With I discover there is nothing beyond
Will I simply return inside a new body
Born again as someone's daughter or son
If I should die is it end or beginning
Leaving one life for another somewhere
I'll never know until my final moments
When death comes for me, the answer will be there

Pendragon
(C) 10/9/2014

[Hawkman]

Think Only this of Me

If I should die
Dig a hole in the sky
And fill it with smoke from my pyre;
Let the maidens weep,
But don’t let them sleep
Or I’ll come back to show you my ire.

I'm to go off
With a jolly good scoff,
A feast for a king will do fine.
Then bury my bones,
Line the cyst with stones
And roof it with bristlecone pine.

Place by the trench
A nicely carved bench
Where people may rest and take ease,
There they can ponder
On spirits that wander
Eternally after decease.

But I'll be snug
In the hole that you dug,
Carousing with Odin and Thor.
Valkyrie kisses
(with one as my missus)
Will keep me from asking for more.

[Pendragon]

Long, long, long overdo. As Tailor seems to have forgotten this, I withdraw my own poem and give the victory to HAWKMAN...

[YesNo]

Congratulations to the recent winners of these contests! And now for another round of them.

[Hawkman]

What? Another one! Cheers chaps. Ok. Let's go with Hart Crane's "Southern Cross" and the opening line, "I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South,"

Get stuck in chaps...

Deadline 20th January 2015.

[YesNo]

I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South,
But you would have that fatter, wealthy guy
To hypnotize with hips and opened mouth
Except when you would break away, then I
Could be the fascination of your eyes.
That’s when I led you, hard like jealousy,
Till you were teasing truth from your own lies.
That’s when you realized that only he
Could touch the heart of you, but I don’t care.
I left you and he crucified you there.

[Pendragon]

Rebounding from a broken heart
Not really ready just to fall apart
I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South
I know how it feel when nobody needs ya
But you are as lovely as the Queen of Sheba
I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South

Do you think that you might find a place in your heart for me?
It's been a long time since I felt the tugging of my heartstrings!

Time is swiftly passing, it may be too late
Another tender feeling crushed by the hand of fate
But I still need you, nameless Woman of the South
I see you there as I drive away
Maybe I will return some day
Still needing you, nameless Woman of the South

Pendragon
12/28/2014

[Hawkman]

Keep 'em coming LitNetters... Only thirteen days left!

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Southern Fried Naugahyde

There she sits, with buttered grits,
cornbread crumbs stuck to her thumbs,
that nameless woman of the south.

Her big hair mane holds firm against the rain,
lacquered strands from aerosol cans,
that nameless woman of the south.

She fills my dreams, in quilted seams,
black-eyed peas in fatback grease,
that nameless woman of the south.

Every morn the corner booth she’ll adorn,
inside my diner, there’s nothing finer,
that nameless woman of the south.

She’s gone to Tupelo in a Faulkner snow,
her chicken fried steak still warm on the plate...
“I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South,”




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0x3vEjHl390

[prendrelemick]

Southern Rose.

O nameless woman of the south,
I wanted you, t'was plain
Till I heard by word of mouth
That Rodney was your name.

A Rose by any other name, OK,
But a rose that has a prickle?
I swear I'll never swing that way
Or my name's not Prendrelemickle

[Hawkman]

I have badly neglected this thread and the deadline is long passed. Time to make amends.

Prendlemick, yours was a tight and amusing comic take on the subject, and the levity made me smile.

GG, I almost heard the late great Phil Harris, singing your offering, the refrain almost mimicking, "That's what I like about the South." I almost expected to see a possum in there, but you spared us that one :D again, a humorous take, at least I thought it was. If it wasn't meant to be, then... Oops.

Pen. Again it feels like a sort of torch song, perhaps not surprising, given the nature of the quote, but I think it works.

Y/N. You were the first and as they say, the first shall be last, but only as we're running in reverse order. A very strong poem I felt, but I'd have liked fourteen lines... But the bard produced a twelve line sonnet, so I guess it can still count as one. So, on this occasion I'm going for the serious take. You win! Take it away Y/N...

[YesNo]

Thank you, Hawkman!

The next line is from Christopher Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to his Love":


Come live with me and be my love

The full text of the poem is here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173941

The deadline will be March 1, 2015.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

...GG, I almost heard the late great Phil Harris, singing your offering, the refrain almost mimicking, "That's what I like about the South." ...

Thanks for the comments and the heads up on Phil Harris, I was not familiar with that song and his name was only a foggy recollection, but now you have me you tubing.

EDIT
Hold on, now I remember, he's the voice behind Thomas O'Malley...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRET1vsfiJM


Well done Yes/No and I'll quote the next challenge to keep it fresh...


Thank you, Hawkman!

The next line is from Christopher Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to his Love":


Come live with me and be my love

The full text of the poem is here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173941

The deadline will be March 1, 2015.

[YesNo]

By way of bumping this thread, I thought I'd contribute a non-entry to the contest since it is Valentine's Day:


Valentine’s Day Offer

Come live with me and be my love.
Forget that guy you’re dreaming of
Although I know he’s nice and strong
And with him you could not go wrong,
He’s with another sweetheart, dear,
Who doesn’t like to share, I fear.
I know life isn’t over fair
And in the end it doesn’t care,
But all those stars that shine above
Are saying, “Stay and be his love.”
….
I didn’t think you’d want to stay.
I thought I’d try though anyway
And that’s OK. I think so, too.
We both have better things to do.

[YesNo]

Just a reminder that this contest is open. Write something with the phrase "come live with me and be my love" in it.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Vulcan Heat

All our yesterdays* doth stir barbaric passion,
inflamed emotions, contrary to your future code.
The grainy glow of Technicolor cheeks, Neanderthal fashion
would perforce hold you fast in her cavernous abode.

On her mammoth fur rug, entwined in push and shove,
held in Vulcan grip, her loneliness begins to thaw.
Zarabeth* pleads; “come live with me and be my love”,
green blood boils and hands begin to crawl.

Destiny is defined by logic and a nagging doctor’s word;
“You belong on a ship that sails 5,000 years hence.
And remember nurse Chapel, now there’s a lovely bird!
Forget your yesterday’s and find love in the present tense."


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95ymspEhBOA

*Title and character from Star Trek episode. Credit Roddenberry, et al

[YesNo]

Thanks, Gilliatt Gurgle! I will leave this open for one more week until Saturday, March 7th. There is still time for others to enter!

[prendrelemick]

The passionate Lothario to his love.

Come live with me and be my love
Or better still my turtle dove,
Put your mother in a home
Turn your son outside to roam
Give your cats some euthanasia
Send your ****su back to Asia
Then to prove life's pleasures' true
I'll come and move in with you.

[YesNo]

Thanks, prendrelemick! Now this is a contest.

Anyone else? Deadline is this Saturday!

[YesNo]

Time is up!

Gilliatt Gurgle: Nice one on Vulcan love, replacing emotion with logic and boiling green blood.

prendrelemick: Also a nice one stating the conditions on which one will move in.

The winner: prendrelemick

[prendrelemick]

Thanks y/n

Try this one.

"Nobody heard him, the dead man."

From Not waving but drowning, by Stevie Smith.

[YesNo]

Nobody heard him. The dead man
Had nothing he wanted to speak.
His fear was now gone.
What lingered stayed on.
What lingered was no longer weak.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Elegie to His Corpulent Generosity, the Benevolent Ernie Gorge

Robust in girth and giving,
his banquets did supply
to excess for the living.
(He preferred a catfish fried)
Chompers missed a prickly bone,
wherefore he choked and died.

Six feet under a clover clad dale,
a portly roast wrapped in clay.
Earthly guests pass through shale,
to feast on Ernie’s last buffet.
“Nobody heard him, the dead man”,
the poet Smith did say.

Though death be silent from above,
beneath the lawn is a chorus.
The murmured gnawing of fleshy cud
(fishing looks good come August)
Let us bow our heads in prayer,
as the worms work in dead earnest.

[Hawkman]

Landfall

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
as bloated he floated face down;
the tether securing him under the waves
rotted and broke, so they said.

So up to the surface he bobbed, like a cork,
missing for weeks, and then found,
released more by accident than by design,
they dragged him out onto the shore.

Fish-nibbled lips, that glisten and twitch,
as the sunshine tries lightly to dry them,
unnoticed by saviours who come much too late,
form words that emit not a sound.

What prayers do the dead mumble into the air,
do deities listen or mark them?
Are they heeded or granted; is anyone there?
But the silent reply is profound.

[prendrelemick]

just messing around


Nobody heard him, the dead man,
Though Hamlet claimed he had.
"He told me many, many things,
And sounded like my Dad."

"He sounded like my Dad, he did
Oh list, oh list, oh list,
He told me many dreadful things
And sent me round the twist".

The porches of my ear is full,
And so 's the vestibule,
With tales of horrid murder,
Most unnatural and cruel.

Now we've all been shuffled off,
With poisoned knife and drink,
Though we kept it in the family,
What will the neighbours think.

The rest, they say is silence,
But no one told my Dad,
And still he stalks the battlements,
In his old armour clad.

[prendrelemick]

Another week I think, then I'll decide.

[tailor STATELY]

Man of Mystery (Chapter 3 of 1)


Nobody heard him,
the dead man had left
as unceremoniously as
he had arrived; only with-
out aid and evidently
not hindered by locked
doors and windows

He would awaken in the
distant past - his failsafe
programmed for just such
an event; sub-molecular
processors managing trans-
time as easily as one might
fall asleep

Trans-time. It might just as
well be trans-dimensional,
not that dimensional travel
was possible, but what good
was trans-time if it only
served the past ? Not being
dead for one he mused

He now moved about in a
new reality, an identity
forged in mystery, a man
immortal - consigned to
progressing haphazardly
forward to his own time -
knowing all was lost

3/28/2015

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[prendrelemick]

Thanks to all who took part.

There were several highlights, and many good things, but with special mention to Hawkman for "as bloated he floated face down;" I declare Gilliat Gurgle the winner for his witty, clever and irreverent poem.

[tailor STATELY]

Congrats Gilliatt Gurgle !

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Thanks mate and Mr. STATELY, nice entries all around.
For the next line I'll borrow from Sir Edward Dyer's poem, My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is; both title and opening line.
Oh yes, that ^ is the line to use for the next round.

http://www.wwnorton.com/college/english/nael/noa/pdf/27636_16u22Dyer.1_2.tp.pdf

[YesNo]

My mind to me a kingdom is
That keeps sweet peace or heats up war,
That understands or fails at this,
That’s satisfied or grabs for more,
That hits its targets when it will
Or lets them be remaining still.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Thanks YesNo and just to clarify for you and others, I hope I didn't create any confusion.
I didn't mean to imply that the line must be used both in the title and in the body of the poem, that was just a point I added on Dyer's poem.
Use it however you wish; in the body, in the title, both as Y/N did, whatever...same routine as in the past.
Let's see where we are in a couple of weeks.
Carry on.

[_Joe_]

What care I if they laugh or play,
Or while the lazy noon away
To chase some idle fantasy?
A Kingdom is my mind to me.

What worthy thought can nurtured be
In their social cacophony?
Let me in solitude solace find:
To me a Kingdom is my mind.

This loneliness, though, I regret,
My "friends" will often me forget;
My only consolation this:
My mind to me a Kingdom is.

[Pompey Bum]

My mind to me a kingdom is
Where no flag flies at dawn.
No tyrant calls the morning his,
No merchants cry, no maiden's song
Disturbs the silence of the streets;
No echoes even there call on.
The walls, long breached, to Heaven reach.
Like ghosts at daybreak, all are gone.

[prendrelemick]

It's an age thing.

My mind to me a kingdom is,
And anarchy is rife,
Shaken is the sovereign state,
With rebellion and strife.

The barricades are going up,
Across synaptic gaps,
I can't recall your name at all,
It's another memory lapse.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Thanks all for contributing, I'll make a selection tomorrow (Sunday).

Edit
Here we go...

RE: Yes/No's poem
I drew from this, two possibilities; the conflicts within our own mind and the potential impact the outcome could have on those we encounter on a day to day basis if we allow the heat of war, for example, venture beyond the skull. My second impression was that of a dictator’s mind and those who are at the mercy of his/her whims.

RE: Joe's poem
The curmudgeons lament? This one hits close to home with me as one who struggles to understand the daily “cacophony” of facebooks, tweeters, ‘friends” as you quoted, etc., the need to be continuously connected, clicking, tapping, walking into sign posts transfixed on a device, folks who carry on audible hand device conversations in rood proximity to others trying to savor the last moments of solace on a train, in the elevator, before punching that time clock.
I know, I know, don’t knock until you try it…well that’s going to be a long time.
Sorry for the digression, heck I may be way off base with your intent, but that’s how your piece struck me.
Last but not least, I enjoyed the triadic scramble of the given line.

RE: Pompey Bum's
For me this evokes strong imagery of a village, perhaps the world, ravaged by war, but I’m struggling to understand whose mind it is that desires such a “kingdom”. Is this the sentiment of a frustrated God, who finally reached a point of saying; “to hell with it, I’m ready for a break”?

RE: Prendrelmick's
I had a good chuckle with this. Synaptic gaps had me thinking of spark plug gaps either too corroded or too wide. This one has hints of that earthy aged oak finish prevalent in Jim’s, or was that Joe’s poem above.

In conclusion-
I’m giving the edge to Joe for a piece that truly struck a chord and for his creative scrambling of the ‘famous line”.
Your turn __Joe__

[_Joe_]

... I may be way off base with your intent, but that’s how your piece struck me.

Thank you for your kind words and, yes, I'm afraid you have misinterpreted my submission. I was writing about someone who enjoys solitary intellectual pursuits, someone who sees their mind as a "Kingdom" unto him-/herself and the loneliness that accompanies such an attitude.
That said, I find your reading of it very interesting. The many different ways a poem can be read is the thing I love most about poetry :)

For the next quoted line, I choose a line from "Resolve" by Sylvia Plath:

No glory descends (http://allpoetry.com/Resolve)

Feel free to interpret it as you see fit and not necessarily in the larger context of the poem.

[YesNo]

No glory descends.
One expected as much.
What one sees though depends
How one’s heart aims to touch.

[Pompey Bum]

Congratulations, _Joe_, on another really great poem. It was my favorite of this group, too. :)


RE: Pompey Bum's
For me this evokes strong imagery of a village, perhaps the world, ravaged by war, but I’m struggling to understand whose mind it is that desires such a “kingdom”. Is this the sentiment of a frustrated God, who finally reached a point of saying; “to hell with it, I’m ready for a break”?

The image was meant to be a ruin (although that was not revealed until the second to last line, as a kind of denouement). No mind desires such a kingdom, of course, which was sort of the point. The speaker starts off defiantly: "No one bosses me around here, and I don't have to listen to bothersome prattle like merchants calling out their business." But lovely sounds, like a young girl's singing, are gone, too. And isn't the sound of merchants calling out merely commonplace? Isn't it actually better than the empty streets where not even an echo is left? Yes it is, the poem reveals, because this is not the free and peaceful kingdom the speaker thinks it is, but in fact a long dead one.

Ultimately the speaker was me. It was a satire of my own self-satisfaction in retirement. I was also spoofing Dyer's pedantic and self-satisfied tone in the original poem. Clearer now? :)

[North Star]

No glory descends.

Mourners at an empty throne
When a life ends
No glory descends
- It is but a loan.

[_Joe_]

Keep 'em coming, people.
Let's set the deadline for Sunday, May 3rd.

[Pompey Bum]

Here on these low, unshadowed salts
God's raptors bring a quick and brittle end
To frightened heartbeat scavengers;
They tell them: Brother, no glory descends.

Not from my yellow-tarnished talons,
Not from these gold and bloody skies:
No valkyrie stripped to angel wings,
No Nike to the battlefield come I.

Slow dust motes rise against their turning flight,
And reach a height, and settle back again;
And sing the only song the Basin knows;
They whisper: Brother, no glory descends.

[_Joe_]

Thanks for your submissions, all.

YesNo:

I like the simplicity and the music of your poem. It's sort of "you get what you expect" if I read it correctly: if you're looking for "glory" you will manage to find it.

North Star:

Fantastic minimalist piece. I admire how you were able to paint such a vivid picture with only a handful of words.

Pompey Bum (I hope the streets of Pompey have been kind to you lately :) ):

A literal reading of your poem makes it about birds of prey (in the desert?) but I'm afraid I don't see the bigger theme behind it. I thought the structure and rhythm of the poem were great, though.


Finally, I pick North Star as the winner for that truly powerful submission.

[Pompey Bum]

Congratulations, North. :)

And Joe, my poem was about a God who brings us nothing but death, and a human yearning that comes to the same end. And yes, it was inspired by watching birds hunting in the Great Basin area of Nevada earlier in the year.

[North Star]

North Star:

Fantastic minimalist piece. I admire how you were able to paint such a vivid picture with only a handful of words.
Thank you very much, Joe & Pompey.



From Shelley's Ozymandias (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/learning/guide/238972#poem)
"The lone and level sands stretch far away"

Deadline: Sunday, May 17th

[Dark Muse]

The Wandering Soul

There are moments when your eyes become lost
and I feel myself begin to disappear,
shadows pass over your face
and I can see the phantoms lingering
behind your gaze.

There are places inside your soul
I can never reach,
the lone and level sands stretch far away
where a part of you still wanders
unable to find your way back home.

A walk among the endless dead,
there are no words for these moments,
only my undeniable presence,
a touch in those secret spaces that only I know,
to help guide you back to yourself.

[YesNo]

The lone and level sands stretched far away.
“You won’t be going that way,” someone said
And yet I did one Spring-drenched, hopeful day.
Not every dream must bloom before it’s dead.

[North Star]

Any more submissions coming?

[cacian]

the lone and level sands stretch far away
all the way
passed the planes
and mountain trail
further apart
and stay
awaiting a newer plating
a movement
stating
the wind perhaps to take them
back to where they began
it is nature
asserting
a distance to all that sway
with a closeness that may

[North Star]

You have time to submit until tomorrow afternoon, GMT.

[Melanie]

poetic songs lie dormant
in silenced echoes of time
lone and level sands stretch far
reaching for the oasis
of fertile imaginations

(This is "Writers Block 3" that follows
2 previous poems I penned in the
photo poetry game a while back)

[North Star]

poetic songs lie dormant
in silenced echoes of time
lone and level sands stretch far
reaching for the oasis
of fertile imaginations

(This is "Writers Block 3" that follows
2 previous poems I penned in the
photo poetry game a while back)

Lovely poem, but you need to modify it if you want it to qualify for the competition, as the whole line is "The lone and level sands stretch far away".

[Melanie]

Thanks but I checked the Original Post of this Thread and the entire first page of this thread and most of the original poets there did not use the quote in it's entirety, nor even verbatim. What I used was actually a quote within the quote (omitting only the first and last word) and didn't change the meaning of the quote at all nor leave off any of it's meaning. I like my original poem as is and it's just for fun anyway.:smile5:

[North Star]

Dark Muse
Very potent work, and the line was used beautifully.

YesNo
I see you changed the tense of the original. Oh well. Beautiful piece, nonetheless.

cacian
Very nice imagery, I like the use of 'plating' in particular.

Melanie
Beautiful metaphorical use of the line and great imagery.

Congratulations all for doing a great job, but there can only be one winner, so it shall be Dark Muse and her wonderfully vivid poem.

[Dark Muse]

Thank you, I will have a new quote posted soon.

[Dark Muse]

Next Quote

My heart upon his warm heart lies

From The Heart of a Woman by Yeats

Deadline: May 30

[North Star]

My heart upon his warm heart lies,
His heart still beating cries
Apart from its body.
My mind better him dead abides
In the gutter, knife still bloody.

[_Joe_]

My hand upon his loving hand,
His fingers tightly pressed.
My wretched ear by some command,
Lay trembling on his chest.

I feel his spirit in its cage:
It slowly ebbs and flows.
Now he has reached his final stage,
His presence comes and goes.

My heart upon his warm heart lies,
His fingers have let go.
Needlessly now my loved one dies
And I shall lay him low.

[Dark Muse]

Two great poems and while very different interstingly both took a somewhat dark tone.

North Star: I thought you fit the line seamlessly into your poem and really made it your own. And I loved the unexpected Poe like turn it took. I didn't see that end coming.

Joe: A beautiful, heartfelt and touching poem. I loved the emtion this one evoked and liked your use of repetition.

This was a hard one but I am going to have to give the win to North Star.

[_Joe_]

Congratulations, North Star :)

[North Star]

Thanks Dark Muse and Joe.


Alright, next line is: 'All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses' from Whitman's Song of Myself. Deadline June 19th.

[YesNo]

Well, it looks like the Big Bang is on.
What was nothing is now off and gone.
All goes onward and outward,
And nothing collapses, within-ward
Awake with surprise at each dawn.

[North Star]

10 more days :)

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

A Tale From South Central Texas

The following is in "random break, story form"

Guthrie was heading home after his shift,
from that little brewery down in Shiner.
Beer has been a big part of Guthrie’s life,
a story released over the years,
by installments,
just above the waist;
six pack at twenty
twelve pack at thirty
a doughy case at forty.
And now, fermented at fifty,
a keg strains the last hole on Guthrie’s belt.

One of Guthrie’s tires went flat.
Some would call it a blow out.
Guthrie’s distension, left him no choice,
he called "Lipo’s Fix a Flat" over in Yoakum.
Lipo arrived, spun the lugs, then paused,
pointed at the tire
then chuckled,
the chuckle of irony.
What is it Guthrie inquired,
(for he couldn’t see over his keg.)
The tire company’s slogan,
printed below the name boldly proclaims:
“All goes onward and outward, and nothing collapses”
Guthrie’s face turned red with shame.

[North Star]

What with the summer, I'll be judging this round early tomorrow afternoon latest, GMT DST +2.

[North Star]

I'm a filthy liar..



Delightfully different entries, and excellent use of the line. Winner of this round is Gilliatt Gurgle

[Melanie]

You're back in the saddle again. Congratulations Gilliatt :)

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

I'm a filthy liar..

Delightfully different entries, and excellent use of the line. Winner of this round is Gilliatt Gurgle


You're back in the saddle again. Congratulations Gilliatt :)

Thanks, I'm trying to find my way back, sporadic at best, mostly watching from the wings.

How about something from Joseph Conrad's Under Western Eyes..."An act of conscience must be done with outward dignity"

We'll start with 2 weeks and check progress at that time.

[Melanie]

"an act of conscience
must be done with outward dignity"
but toast not to your own courage
nor fill trophy cups with your righteousness
nor wear your deeds as ribbons
lest your reward be lost in the end

[YesNo]

An act of conscience must be done
With outward dignity
Since others doubting what I’ve done
Too often disagree.

[Pompey Bum]

One gets up on one's high haunches
When speaking of a choice of conscience;
With greatness (I might even say "bignity")
A flapping fig leaf of briefest dignity.

[cacian]

An act of conscience must be done with outward dignity
and if not
it must forget to the winds let
and a new set of thoughts will
appear instead
and
life is an experience met

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Thank you for the entries Melanie, YesNo, Pompey Bum and cacian, I enjoyed them all.
I'm giving the nod to Melanie as hers seemed to fit with the mindset I was in when selecting the line.
"...fill trophy cups with your righteousness
nor wear your deeds as ribbons' made a strong impression, very nice.

PB's "bignity" and fig leaf reference reminded me to put on some underwear.
(I ran "commando" this morning)

well done.

Melanie your up...

[Melanie]

YAY, thank you. I'll be back shortly with a quote

[Melanie]

Okay, we're going to do something different because I can't make a decision.
So you must be the one to choose which quote you would like to use. Pick one:

1. "under the scrutinizing prism of time" - Robert Penn ("Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce")

2. "which are you drinking, the water or the wave" - John Fowles ("The Magus")

3. "semper flamma flummo proxima" - Plautus (means: the fire is always near the smoke)

4. "idealism is what precedes experience" - David T. Wolfe (you are welcomed to omit "is what" from the quote if you want)

[Dark Muse]

Do you get bonus points if you mange to use more than one LOL?

[Melanie]

haha…I'm glad to see you laughing because I didn't know if this would raise anybody's ire over having to make a choice. But, no, only one poem per person in this round as the rule goes (I know you were joking though). oh wait…you meant more than one quote in the same poem? Sure, if you want. Who knows, it could generate more interest due to the extra choices. Now, maybe the winner could choose to offer the same choices but require each person to choose one they didn't use already….or the winner could just post a new quote of their own. Whatever works for everyone.

[Dark Muse]

haha…I'm glad to see you laughing because I didn't know if this would raise anybody's ire over having to make a choice. But, no, only one poem per person in this round as the rule goes (I know you were joking though). oh wait…you meant more than one quote in the same poem? Sure, if you want. Who knows, it could generate more interest due to the extra choices. Now, maybe the winner could choose to offer the same choices but require each person to choose one they didn't use already….or the winner could just post a new quote of their own. Whatever works for everyone.

Haha yes, I had meant if you used more then one quote in one poem.

[Melanie]

Okay, we're going to do something different because I can't make a decision.
So you must be the one to choose which quote you would like to use. Pick one:

1. "under the scrutinizing prism of time" - Robert Penn ("Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce")

2. "which are you drinking, the water or the wave" - John Fowles ("The Magus")

3. "semper flamma flummo proxima" - Plautus (means: the fire is always near the smoke)

4. "idealism is what precedes experience" - David T. Wolfe (you are welcomed to omit "is what" from the quote if you want)
The Deadline will be August 3.

.

[YesNo]

Which are you drinking, the water or the wave?
What were you thinking? The wind won’t behave.
Why are you blinking? There’s sparkles to see.
Who was that winking then waving at me?

[Dark Muse]

Lover's Idyll

You held my hand under the scrutinizing prism of time,
a shimmer of reflected light within a starry night sky,
watching in silence, there is a strange comfort
in her aloof, constant presence,
knowing she holds all the secrets we can never uncover.

I became lost within your ocean eyes,
you always loved the salty brine of the sea,
and I wonder, which are you drinking,
the water or the wave? Is it those untold depths
of mystery you crave, or the freedom, which resembles
flight when you plunge your body in and feel
gravity defied?

Your voice is but a whisper,
the subtle muted tones of moth wings,
warmth spreads across my skin.
the fire is always near the smoke,
so I know your body must be close,
somewhere within the darkness,
where we learn to find each other again,
by touch alone.

Your fingers which once danced
through the shadows to find mine,
hold me now, as we stand upon the edge,
we have seen too much of what the world
has to offer, and the sacrifice required,
in spite of our scars, our hearts sing to each other,
idealism is what precedes experience,
so for this moment let us simply be
nature's children again,
cloaked in naked innocence.

[North Star]

Sea Pictures


The waves hit the coast
time and again, but most
of the shore stays afloat
As returns the fishing boat


Generations, like ripples
following each other,
suckling the nipples
of their mother


On the shore, the two fishermen
drink from the sea
and one asks the other:
'which are you drinking, the water or the wave?'
After a while, the other replies:
'when the sea hits the beach,
the wave has hit its reach,
and only water remains -
the sea never drains'

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Okay, we're going to do something different because I can't make a decision.
So you must be the one to choose which quote you would like to use. Pick one:...

3. "semper flamma flummo proxima" - Plautus (means: the fire is always near the smoke)...



The Gallic Campfire Tales – Vercingetorix Surrenders to Caesar
Dramatis personæ:
N: Narrator, V: Vercingetorix, C: Caesar

N: Lectori salutem,
from quercus gilded slopes, the autumn of fair Alesia.
Past fossa and vallum,
we gather, to witness Gaul yield to Pax Romana….

V: Annus horribilis.
C: Absit invidia, you and the Gauls have had a rough time of it.
V: No thanks to Commius,
contravallation was too much, for that Belgian belligerent.

C: Sedere, let’s carpe canem.
V: I’m shrouded in smoke, but a fire is needed to cook a dog.
N: I will help them;
"Semper flamma flummo proxima", now sit on this ulmus log.

C: You may borrow my stick.
V: Gratulatus, I like to sear it until the skin is charred and black.
C: Squeeze mustard on thick.
V: Place on wheat ecce panis angelorum, and grab a six pack.

C: You’re always in the smoke.
V: Ut proverbium loquitur vetus…smoke follows beauty.
C: You deign to joke?
You haven’t bathed since I conquered the Helvetii.

C: Nunc este bibendum.
V: In vino veritas, pass the Burgundy and I’ll tell a ghost story.
C: You have a compendium?
V: Yes; and here’s a favorite; “The Ides of Martius”, it is gory!

N: Acta est fibula plaudit

[Melanie]

Three excellent entries! Gilliatt Gurgle's made me laugh and was the most unexpected. I almost thought for a moment that this was the avant garde poetry contest because I've never seen Latin mixed with beer, hot dogs, and ghost stories…haha. And poetry in the form of a drama, play. It all worked well with the quote, to my surprise…and I love the element of surprise. You're up Gilliatt.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Thank you Melanie, I had fun with that one, glad you enjoyed it.
I was inspired by my grandfather's 1907 copy of Caesar's Gallic War

http://i963.photobucket.com/albums/ae114/tabuka1/Books/th_IMGP2720.jpg (http://s963.photobucket.com/user/tabuka1/media/Books/IMGP2720.jpg.html)

A painting by Lionel Royer:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Siege-alesia-vercingetorix-jules-cesar.jpg#/media/File:Siege-alesia-vercingetorix-jules-cesar.jpg

Okay, on to the business at hand...
How about something from my go to poet, Goldsmith.

What! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,


^ From Oliver Goldsmith's poem titled:

PART OF A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABERIUS
A Roman Knight Whom Caesar Forced Upon the Stage
Preserved by Macrobius

Deadline: I'll say two weeks from today.

[YesNo]

“What! no way left to shun th’ inglorious stage.”
But what if life’s the stage as Shakespeare thought?
To be or not to be? Again we’re caught.
Ingloriously boring. Turn the page.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

“For life is ended when our honour ends.” * and so too this round must end.
Thanks for the entry Yes/No. I enjoyed your abbreviated monologue, something to reflect upon as I step out on life’s stage each day.

You're up Yes/No


*Last line from the Goldsmith poem referenced above.

[YesNo]

Thanks, Gilliatt Gurgle!

The next quote is from Emily Dickinson:


My river runs to thee.

Here is the whole poem. Source: http://www.poemofquotes.com/emilydickinson/my-river.php

My River runs to thee.
Blue sea, wilt thou welcome me?
My river awaits reply.
Oh! Sea, look graciously.

I'll fetch thee brooks
From spotted nooks.
Say, sea,
Take me!


Deadline? We'll see. Hopefully soon.

[Dark Muse]

Rivers of Moonlight

I stood amid
liquid moonlight
cloaked
as the Ferry Man,
a phantom in the dark
silent waters
follow me.

A song like
the piping
of Pan's pipes
found its way
into the shadows
of my heart.

Moved by the
the ethereal melody,
a primal force
to awaken the body
once long forgot,
a haunting cry
penetrating
into the soul.

My river
run to thee
and I can naught
but follow
within their wake,

I sail upon my
River Styx,
but it is not to death
I ride, for once
it is life which
has called me forth.

These still
dark depths
flow into the ocean
of your eyes
decloaking me
with a breath.

[YesNo]

Thanks, Dark Muse! Anyone else? The deadline will be this coming Sunday.

[prendrelemick]

My river runs to thee

Urgently
I'm bent in your direction,
The spate, the torrent,
The swelling current
That overflows its bed,
Runs to thee.
My river runs to thee.
Till bursting out,
Widening,
I meander through your gentle meadows.

[YesNo]

Contest is over! Thank you, Dark Muse and prendrelemick for the entries!

Dark Muse: I liked the idea of sailing on the River Styx to life rather than death and the cloaking and decloaking that started and ended the poem.

prendrelemick: I liked the change in pace from the running river to one that reaches its goal and meanders.

They both deserve to win, but I have to pick one.

The winner is prendrelemick!

Congratulations!

[prendrelemick]

Thanks YesNo.

In honour of last night's super moon eclipse:

"The moon doth shine as bright as day"

[Pendragon]

What Moonlight Doth Reveal

Deep within the Pine Barrens
The moon doth shine as bright as day
Glowing eyes and horrid screaming
The Jersey Devil is on the way

Mama Leeds had a thirteenth child
But she cursed as he drew his first breath
He has never left these haunted pine woods
The Jersey Devil could be your death

Did you see that shadow, Mister?
Those eyes glowing in the hollow below?
The Jersey Devil is stalking us, Mister
See you latter, I gotta go!

It's dark down there in the hollow, Mister
But The moon doth shine as bright as day
I'm gonna outrun the Jersey Devil
Please now, Mister, don't get in my way!

Pendragon
9/29/2015

[YesNo]

The Moon doth shine as bright as day.
I cannot see the Milky Way.
Street lights, buildings, cars abound.
It’s safer: I can see the ground.

[Dark Muse]

At the Altar of Selene

In a shroud of gossamer
the Shadow Maidens
bear their Mistress
neath the midnight bloom.

The moon doth shine
as bright as day,
but she is a pearl
in the depths of a dark sea.

Ghostly as the moths flight
aer an unearthly light
the handmaids of Selene
bathe within her silver
pool.

Without fear all may
look upon her ethereal visage,
she has ne the jealous vanity
of the sun who turns every
face away, assured
within her naked purity.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

"The moon doth shine as bright as day"
Unless mother earth gets in the way.

[prendrelemick]

Anybody else?

[_Joe_]

Creature of the Night

When peaceful silence Earth enfolds,
And Hypnos reigneth in full sway,
The starlight its own magic holds,
The Moon doth shine as bright as day.

'Tis then that the creature stirs,
Untouched by old Sumnus' charm;
The Night, a mighty force that spurs
To mischief him, and harm.

He preyeth on the resting mind
And revels in the taste of thought.
His victim wonders him to find
By light of day all come to naught.

What awful musings doth he bring,
But faith unhinged and reason shaken?
Yet those who once have heard him sing,
Go back to sleep and never waken.

[tailor STATELY]

Through Spiritual Eyes

In my pre-mortal days in spirit
I beheld one-third of Heaven waste
Their folly to outer darkness' call

I pondered then multitudes of stars
The natural man in willful strife
Yet judged to receive immortal life

I imagined still a higher plane
Where the moon doth shine as bright as day
My reflective mind did trow me there

Impressed with feelings of love and grace
Through morceau melodic canto lays
I then beheld His pure countenance

He condescended to counsel with me:
Aspire to yet a greater glory -
Yea, the fulness of our Father

10/13/2015

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[prendrelemick]

Ok,
Gilliat ; Simple, topical, clever and hits the brief - but I can't give it to that, or can I ? Tempting.
Pendragon ; I liked the way the story -and back story is told so succinctly and the "mister" changing it to a colloquy and giving it a bit of light relief. Good stuff.
Yesno; Ah the yes and no of street lighting - I would've liked a bit more developement.
Dark muse; Classical allusions - love it.
Joe ; As above, only darker and with perfectly executed rhyme and rhythm - love it too.
Tailor stately; Dante? Virgil? Milton? I don't know, I am unworthy - love it though.

So very close, but one winner - Dark Muse- for those beautiful poetical images.

[tailor STATELY]

Congratulations Dark Muse !

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[Dark Muse]

Thank you! I will have a new quote shortly

[Dark Muse]

This is an old favorite of mine that I think is fitting for Halloween

She walks in Beauty, like the night

As many of you probably already know it is from She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron

Deadline: Oct. 25

[YesNo]

Saturn shines. The western sky
Has lost the sun. It went below.
A cloudless chill is blowing by.
The hypnotizing motions, slow,
Of stars that round Polaris fly,
Of stars that we don’t care to know.

The leaves may turn. The grays come in.
Winter’s death’s a dream away.
Let midnight’s oddities begin
While we’re asleep and wait for day.
They need no audience to win.
There’s nothing that they have to say.

Venus in the east will rise
Reminding us of brighter light.
We wake. She stares into our eyes.
She walks in beauty like the night.
The sun erupting later tries
To soften nightmares, calm the fright.

[Pendragon]

Mother of the Night

It is in the darkness before the dawn
She walks in Beauty, like the night
A face no artist has ever drawn
Among the silence, footfalls light

Majestic beauty, crowned by stars
She walks in Beauty, like the night
The Music of the Spheres softly blares
The footsteps tinkle, dancing bright

She has the look of old; she has the look of new
She walks in Beauty, like the night
Hair fades into darkness and the stars shine through
Half concealed, half disclosed, always bright

Comfort she brings after tormented days
She walks in Beauty, like the night
I fall into her loving, cold embrace
She truly loves me, mother of the night!

Pendragon
10/17/2015

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Uncles and Constellations

Byron once claimed "She walks in Beauty, like the night".
Ever since I met her, she’s had a bit of a limp,
like a flattened “w” or “m”, depending on seasonal sight.
My uncle says it was Draco that gave her that gimp.

The dragon stomped by like a Taurus in a china closet,
stepping on her foot, dipping past a big bear.
Now back to that beauty queen, looking like Fawcett
You fellas know the poster I’m talking about here.

Uncle told me that queen had a beautiful daughter,
claiming she was prettier than Poseidon’s nymphs.
Poseidon didn’t cotton to her boastful chatter,
and had the princess chained to Aethiopian cliffs.

Perseus happened along and rescued the princess.
Cassiopeia is forever bound to her royal seat.
Her beauty remains eternal as she limps around Polaris,
chastising Draco for stepping on her feet.

[tailor STATELY]

Cat of Black


She stalks her quarry: this huntress who

walks upon padded feet; calculates

in perfect control, 'cept whisker's twitch

Beauty, lithe; nearby a ravaged clew

like death's chosen cat's paw - understates

the familiar: a flash of tail which

night brings her prey to mortal peril

10/19/2015

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),

tailor STATELY

[prendrelemick]

The one.

Her hair, once velvet starred with shine
And heady with the scent of Jasmine,
Is silvered now through and through,
As if once more glimmered with moonlight.
And still to me, she walks in beauty,
Like the night when first I felt her draw.
The moon and tide we were that night,
A planet's pull between us,
Our orbits shifting in the night
To paths written down when time was young.
And though the words we spoke I now forget,
I remember still and always will,
The Celestial Music playing,
And the harmonies we sang that night.

[Dark Muse]

Great poems all, though it is a bit belated, they were a Halloween treat to read but very hard to choose a winner.

YesNo: I really liked your use of rhyme, I thought it worked wonderfully well in the poem. There was some lovely imagery here, and I felt the quoted line fit into the poem seamlessly.

Pendragon: Quite a haunting poem, I loved the mystery of it and it reminded me of a story I recently read for Halloween, "The Ebony Frame" I enjoyed your repetition of the quoted line.

Gilliatt Gurgle: I enjoyed your comical, and quite unique take upon the line. I loved all the mythological references, and thought it was a cleverly written poem.

tailor STATELY: I have to admit it took me a second reading to find the quoted line in this poem, but when I saw it I thought it was a very clever use of the line. Though the line is not directly used within the poem reading it I could still feel the inspiration of it in your every word, and I very much enjoyed the feline take. It is quite fitting.

prendrelemick: I like the way this poem invokes the senses. It paints a vivid scene, and there is some beautiful imagery expressed.

And the winner is:

Pendragon

[prendrelemick]

Congratulations pen, A very worthy winner, I almost didn't bother entering when I read it.

[Pendragon]

Thank you, Dark Muse. The new line is the last one from a famous poem by Dorothy Parker:

"You might as well live."

Two weeks from today, which is Election Tuesday here in my area. Need to get dressed and hit the polls! Good luck.

PS Prendrelmick never be afraid of entering a contest. You have as much chance of a winner as any of us. Glad you enjoyed the poem.

God Bless

Pen

[YesNo]

While you’re here what seems strange and unkind
May change shape. Who knows what you might find?
So, you might as well live
And let live, let life give
You a chance to enjoy what’s maligned.

[prendrelemick]

:hurray:

Whiskey and dancing is what I like the mostest,
I'm no longer young, but pretend I haven't noticed,
The debt to my body grows greater and greater,
And the price to be paid I'm going to pay later,
But you might as well live like the life of old Riley,
With a hey and a LOL and a big yellow smiley.

[Pendragon]

Still time for more poets!

[North Star]

Dying is ugly and painful,
And it lasts a lifetime. Still,
Death comes to all in the end.
Meanwhile, you might as well
live - pretend that something
matters - and it does, in the end.

[Pendragon]

Time to announce a winner.

All of these are good. But I think that prendrelemick made the best use of the given line.

Congrats, P-Mick and you're up to bat!

[prendrelemick]

Thanks Pen.

The next line comes from Maya Angelou's Million Man March Poem, which begins -

The night has been long,
The wound has been deep,
The pit has been dark,
And the walls have been steep.


So up next is, "The Night Has Been Long".

[Dark Muse]

You Are My Love Song

I recite poetry
as your fingers
dance in slow
graceful movements
across the harp strings,
a twang within my heart,
making my soul vibrate,
each cord breathing life
into my words,
a ghostly melody
before a burning fire,
which adds its own voice
in whispered undertones,
the wind bleeds through
seeking entry
like death at the door
wanting shelter from
the storm,
the night has been long,
as the world rages on
but Hestia watches
from the shadows
of her firelight,
blushing at our
musical caresses
and lyrical kisses.

[Pendragon]

Dirge #25

I am a man who was born in the dark
I have kissed the lips of Mother Night
The Night Has Been Long a friend
Since I was birthed from the darkness
I know what men try to hide under the cover of darkness
Since Mother Night walks beside me
I know the secrets men try to hide beneath her starry skirt
Because I dwell among the shadows
I know the hidden secrets people would have the shadows conceal
The Night Has Been Long and weary
But the sun doesn't visit my land of shadow
You think that you have hidden secrets:
But I know...

Pendragon
11/17/2015

[North Star]

Of Life, Song and Wine

Let us embrace the night
With song and wine, bright
Lights keeping out the dark,
Wrapped in a nocturnal lark.

The night has been long,
Filled with wine and song.
Now, as the sun reappears
We stop denying our fears.

Finding hope in death is pithy,
Living now, before dark Lethe
Holds us in eternal slumber -
Live your days as they number.

[YesNo]

The night has been long. No daybreak is near.
The demons are eating. Tim gives the “All clear.”
We move our positions. It’s safer out there,
But where is it safer? We no longer care.

We fight and we kill building mountains of dead.
We fight and we die and we hope we are led
By those better than demons who die as we do
Since the night has been long for our enemies, too.

[prendrelemick]

I shall look at them this weekend. Any more?

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

She Never Lost a Passenger

The night has been long, the suffering great,
though darkness offered a welcome ally,
as she conducted her fight underground.
Moonlight reflects faces of a bartered people
burnished in the alloy of polished rails.

Put an ear to the ground and listen;
do you hear vibrations of twisted commerce,
the crack of a whip, the rumble of fear?
Or, is it the stampede of hope queuing,
to catch her next train?

[prendrelemick]

Ok, here we go.

Dark Muse. Once again a sublime layering of metaphor upon metaphor building up a surreal atmosphere, using heightened poetical language. Nothing is simply what it is, it feels to float unanchored to reality.

Pendragon. Anyone perusing these pages will know that Pen is in a purple patch with his poetry at the moment. Here the story and the mystery grabs your attention from the first line, The atmosphere of lurking menace is just right. The voice of the narrating presence is consistant and well drawn.

North Star. This is the kind of thing I would've done, light and bouncy, with a pithy homily at the end. It was good, I liked it, I feel though the rhyme is contrived in a couple of places, which I know is always a problem - you have to compromise either the meaning or the natural syntax to hit the rhyme.

YesNo. Here is the left field entry. Good rhythm, good rhyme, plain language. It is the opposite of Dark Muse's entry, everything is just what it is. We are landed in the middle of a much larger story, what's going on? we ask ourselves - is it Dante or Buffy? .

Gilliat Gurgle. I usually catch your drift about a month after reading one of your poems, and then go, "Ahh yes of course. Clever!" So I'm probably missing something here - a whole network of allusions and references and the like. Anyway let's say it's about the evening Metro commute with underworld connotations. I like the phrases you have used - bartered people, twisted commerce, stampede of hope, and best of all, burnished in the alloy of polished rails. adjectives/abverbs can be the ruination of a piece but you know what you're doing.

And the winner is....

Pendragon,...again - somebody break his keyboard or something.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Ok, here we go.

...Pendragon. Anyone perusing these pages will know that Pen is in a purple patch with his poetry at the moment. Here the story and the mystery grabs your attention from the first line, The atmosphere of lurking menace is just right. The voice of the narrating presence is consistant and well drawn.

...Gilliat Gurgle. I usually catch your drift about a month after reading one of your poems, and then go, "Ahh yes of course. Clever!" So I'm probably missing something here...

Hehe, yeah, I wondered if the locals might have had a better chance at catching my drift.
I'll spare you the agony of waiting a month...Harriett Tubman

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harriet_Tubman

Congratulations Pendragon, another fine entry.


edit - and thanks for the comments btw.

[Pendragon]

My blushes, Mick! And please don't break my keyboard! I surrender!

This is the first line of "The Cremation of Sam McGee" a longtime favorite of mine for the way that the rhyme rolls so smoothly.

"There are strange things done, in the Midnight Sun, by the men who moil for gold."


To accommodate Christmas, this is to be decided December 21st.

[prendrelemick]

Hehe, yeah, I wondered if the locals might have had a better chance at catching my drift.
I'll spare you the agony of waiting a month...Harriett Tubman

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harriet_Tubman

Congratulations Pendragon, another fine entry.


edit - and thanks for the comments btw.

Ahh, yes, Clever!

[YesNo]

There are strange things done in the midnight Sun by the men who moil for gold
And the gold grips tight to their minds’ dim light being heavy, bright and cold.

It is all they see and they work for free trusting fate to guard their dreams
When they have enough they’ll forget how tough all their loneliness now seems.

There are thieves they fear who are ever near who would take all that they’ve got
And they might confess they’d deserve no less than to die without a lot.

But for those who win and forget their sin a fine future could be had.
They would share their gold, give a thousandfold, so that all the Earth is glad.

But for Thomas Redd on the ground and dead all his dreams have reached an end
And the midnight Sun takes the hand of one who had failed to find a friend.

[Dark Muse]

Under the Midnight Sun

The gunman walked
dressed in black
across the burning sands,
the vulture followed
as his shadow,
black wings fluttered in
an arid wind,
ghosts walked at his side
his only true companions,
it was a barren land
devoid of all forgiveness
with strange things done
in the Midnight Sun
by the men who moil for gold
and the women
who toiled had hearts
blacker than
a miners pit
or the gunman's eyes,
they came, with hopes
and dreams
crushed to dust
beneath the heel,
and the scavengers
thrived upon the bones
the only thing
left behind.

[tailor STATELY]

the Sun, in Midnight/Dada & Anagram


the Sun, in Midnight,
strange gold done
who for the moil, things by
There are
men.

~~~~~~~~~

God ere morning within
the lasting holm -
The dear refined hymn
thus to be
song.

12/1/2015

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[prendrelemick]

Northern song.

There are strange things done,
And strange songs sung,
When the wolf howls at the moon.
Tales without reason,
In time and in season,
The hare dances with the loon.

In the midnight sun,
When the salmon run,
And the banks are lined with bear.
Then fox and crow,
Scavenge below,
And bigfoot leaves his lair.

By those who moil for gold,
These stories have been told,
Passed down from fellow to fellow.
For the swish of a pan,
Breeds songs in a man,
As he searches for the yellow.

[Pendragon]

And the winner is....

Pendragon,...again - somebody break his keyboard or something.

And with this comment, I leave the contests again. I don't think myself the best poet on here. But this comment really stung. It is like saying that if I put a poem in a contest, then everyone else might as well not waste their time. I dunno. I will finish judging the contests that I have left on Dec. 21 After that I'm gone

Pendragon

[bounty]

i typically don't come to the poetry sections of the forum, but I saw your comment pen on the "whats new" page and thought it warranted a reply from someone outside the thread. please don't mind my kibitzing.

no---it isn't like saying "that if you put a poem in the contest, then every else might as well not waste their time." it isn't saying that at all. its not a criticism of your winning, or your entering or a disincentive for anyone else to enter a poem.

all it is---is a comical tribute to how good you are at it/how much people are liking your poems.

stay encouraged, and stay here.

[prendrelemick]

It was a compliment.

[bessecar]

Is this still going? If so, then where are we? What's the line?

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

An Abstract Northern Tale
in the Manner of Johnny Horton
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSt0NEESrUA


Put a log on the fire, prop up your bipedal tire, I have a golden tale to tell.
Abstract fragments of lore, chipped from Alaskan ore, the year was 1913.
It was a party of three; Horton, Thornton and Kandinsky (a canine companion).
A shimmering team of salmon, pulled them up the Yukon, Kandinsky at the prow.
They pulled into Nome, their feet began to roam, to join the rush for nuggets.
Picks and shovels flew, and the ale did too, bladders began to stretch.
Kandinsky went to Ketchikan, to pick up some flour and spam, and a treat of colorful candy.
Zappa, the clerk, gave him a note, a burlap bag to tote, the staples back to camp.
Horton read the quote, as their bladders continued to bloat and here is what it said:
“There are strange things done, in the Midnight Sun, by the men who moil for gold."
Distended by excessive thirst, the party did burst, outside to etch pictures in the snow.
The two men stepped back to show, their yellow lithographs in the snow; two fine pieces of work.
Kandinsky however, left a colorful abstract shower, a result of the candy I assume.
All the moilers gathered round, to see Kandinsky’s masterpiece on the ground, he called it Composition VII.







https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b4/Vassily_Kandinsky%2C_1913_-_Composition_7.jpg/320px-Vassily_Kandinsky%2C_1913_-_Composition_7.jpg

[Pendragon]

Anyone else? There are still eleven days to go!

[Pendragon]

It's the 21st and time for the judging:

YesNo: Stayed true to the rhyme. Not bad at all.
Dark Muse: Very deep and mystical
Tailor STATELY: A unique interpretation
prendrelemick: Loved it totally
GG: Nice I loved Johnny Horton’s “North to Alaska.”

But in the end there can be only one:

Mick: The splitting of the given line into three pieces was I thought the cleverest use of the given line!

Congrats!

God Bless

Pen

[prendrelemick]

Thanks pen. I'll try to find something as inspirational for the next one.

[prendrelemick]

How about some more Neruda. From Love Sonnet XI

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,


And the line is:
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

[Pendragon]

Donald

There you stand you stuffed shirt blooming fool!
Looking down the sovereign nose of your arrogant face
You really are not the sharpest or brightest tool
But you bluster and bully you hopeless disgrace!

Your arrogant face looks down on the people
Your mouth doesn't open unless a lie escapes
You think yourself an angel under the church's steeple
You rant every time someone else wins and you lose. Sour grapes!

Where did you get that hairdo jackass?
What makes you not smell yourself with that sovereign nose?
You think being loud and obnoxious is going to pass?
You couldn't lead a honeybee to a rose!

Do you think that your arrogance will help you get elected?
Better keep that sovereign nose well protected.

Pendragon
12/20/2015

[YesNo]

“The sovereign nose of your arrogant face”
Is something my mind would like to replace
With prettier images--you as a child,
Inquisitive, sensitive, innocent, wild.

But that cannot be since my mind is so full
Of the arrogant face and the mouth dripping bull,
And that sovereign nose, upended in sight
And those nostrils, small caves, and that brain without light.

[tailor STATELY]

Anagram: 3-lines from Neruda: Love Sonnet XI/English translation



"I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes"



May our vanity, aglow, obey a thrill best not fed ennui
A fey frost graces age unto honor, I, ever on
O lies ! Thus thy altar hedges a fate none to wife

1/30/2016

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[_Joe_]

Household Demon
A voice that haunts my deepest slumbers,
Two spear-like arms that ever race,
And at the center, ringed by numbers,
The sov'reign nose of your arrogant face.

O trickster devil, household sprite,
That daily will appall and shock.
O thing of evil, dressed in white,
And going by the name of "Clock".

[Pendragon]

Like that one, Joe!

[_Joe_]

Like that one, Joe!

Thanks, Pendragon :)

[prendrelemick]

Right, another week and I'll pass judgement.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

You wield it around like a twelve pound Gribeauval;
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face.
Each spring you take in the royal gardens,
then shower us with your grace.

[prendrelemick]

Ok then.

Pen. Politics, ever a fertile ground for poetical comment, and in Donald an inspirational subject.
Yesno. Smooth and flowing, interesting sentiments.
Tailor. What! All that's an anagram - amazing.
Joe. Good stuff. Clever idea well realised. reflects my own relationship with clocks.
GG. A fine entry into the poetical canon of the forum.

And the winner is... Joe

[tailor STATELY]

Congrats Joe !

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[_Joe_]

Thanks, prendrelmick. Thanks, tailor. :)

Alright, for our next quote let's do something by the Belle of Amherst, the Debauchee of Dew, the great Miss Emily Dickinson.

From This World is Not Conclusion (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177120):


Narcotics cannot still the tooth/that nibbles at the soul

[tailor STATELY]

Lost

the bobcat hunts
lost is that
tacet clarion -
the still noon

tail bent
north to the lost
this still as bone
cat couchant

lost is the silent
tao blur -
that cool-tint
note chants bach

no cotton lace
that's it - still -
the sabbath
the unicorn lost

2/15/2016

Each stanza an anagrammatic representation of the lines: "Narcotics cannot still the tooth/that nibbles at the soul" by dearest Emily.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[YesNo]

“Narcotics cannot still the tooth
That nibbles at the soul”,
I read and hope the nibbling stops
Before it eats the whole.

“Before it eats the whole? You wish!
You do not understand.
You are what’s nibbling at the root.”
No wonder it feels grand.

[M4ngo]

that sky
endless and eternal
— what it knows
yet,

I don't ask
the point of it all
in a dream

[_Joe_]

Great entries so far, guys. Let's set the deadline to next Sunday.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Gates of Horn and Ivory

‘Narcotics cannot still the tooth
that nibbles at the soul”.
Torment deferred with a procain mask;
a false façade is short lived.
Gnawing returns like rats in the night,
incisors pierce the stream.
The cavity is filled once again.
And so, the cycle continues.

[_Joe_]

Alright. Judgment time!

Thank you all for your entries. They were great.

tailor STATELY Amazing work. Very creative use of the "famous line". Using anagrams alone would be impressive but you also managed to make it into a coherent whole. Hats off!

YesNo Good stuff. The way I read it, it's about self-doubt but that may not be your intent. Great execution of rhyme and rhythm, there.

M4ngo Welcome to the forum and thank you for your submission. Please note, however, that the rule of this contest is to use the given quoted line somehow in your poem.

Gilliatt Gurgle I really like the imagery in this one. I think the general atmosphere of your entry is closest in spirit to the original line. I would be interested to find out how "the [soul's] cavity is filled".

This was a close call, but in the end, I will have to give the win to tailor STATELY for a truly remarkable entry.

[tailor STATELY]

Thank you _Joe_ ! ... good entries all !

Next line is from the "Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám of Naishapur", 'translation' by Edward Fitzgerald/Quatrain 12, L4: "Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum"

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[YesNo]

“Oh, the brave music of a distant drum”
Is best felt through that distance drawing some
To make their present paths aim true and sound,
Pause fear, and place their faith in what’s to come.

[Pendragon]

In the Transvaal, 1901

OH! The brave music of a distant drum
The savages are out in the moonlight
Dancing like demons around and around
I hear the music of that distant drum
Roll over, and go back to sleep
Thanking God that it IS distant...

Pendragon 3/14/2016

[tailor STATELY]

Deadline: 1-more week or so... I'm thinking end of Tuesday... I guess that's 2-Tuesdays from now...4/19 PDT.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[tailor STATELY]

Enjoyed both poems very much.

YesNo - Enjoyed the poetics of your piece: A worthy quatrain (4X10) with an AABA rhyme scheme utilizing enjambment.

Pendragon - A poem perhaps depicting the Kipling era; eliciting the 2nd Boer War (googled) and the consequence of stirring up ill will with the natives, luckily a safe distance away. Kipling might have gone with a rhyming scheme (as in "Fuzzy-Wuzzy" http://www.bartleby.com/246/1128.html ), but your short form gives just enough to satisfy without rhyme.

Tough call... going with Pendragon on this one. Congratulations to both !

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY