vast in greenQuote:
Originally Posted by cacian
winding in purple
straight in red
bordeaux bred
squared in yellow
citrusy mellow
the view
ahead
a vision of the med
floods a splendour
in a
summer wonder.
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vast in greenQuote:
Originally Posted by cacian
winding in purple
straight in red
bordeaux bred
squared in yellow
citrusy mellow
the view
ahead
a vision of the med
floods a splendour
in a
summer wonder.
That's four. Get yer entries in now, judgement is coming.
I'm really glad the picture stimulated that poem from Yesno. It's great when that happens, when the story goes way beyond the picture posted.
But the winner is cacian, partly because she likened a bit of Yorkshire (Garrowby Hill) to a vision of the Med. But mainly because of the way it trips off the tongue.
prendrelemick thank you very much.
and now the next picture if I can get it on the screen which I do not seem to can and so will have a link instead.
https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/i...whSGTvpHlZnWIC
sorry it is small I cant seem to figure out how to paste it otherwise.
good luck!!
Testing. Will he hold her up
Or let her drop? She kicks her heal.
In ready red she's all dolled up
To match him dressed in devil dark,
Red tie, black hair with skin to feel.
Around them nothing else looks real.
A haze of light and brown might mark
The places where observers sit
As if they aren't a part of it.
Opposites Attrack
The man in black
Dances with the lady in red
The zero tolerance UFO misinformation seller
Embraces the girl who just wants to have fun
Creepy science fiction melded into moulin rouge
Threats encapsulated by fiery passion
Play it again, Sam
Here we go...
Pendragon
(C) 6/10/2014
Tango
Dancers in the dark
spoke in a language which
requires no words,
they may have been strangers
but they understood
the inner rhythms of the soul
and body, it is a hunt,
as they prowl around each other,
inhaling the lingering scents
of smoke and perfume,
it is a game of power,
a passion for life, love, desire,
a whisper of the past,
a promise for the future,
a thrill of embracing
the moment.
Turn of the Century Tango
On the shores of the Rio de la Plata
where the Argentine Tango began
immigrants met on the docks at twilight
replacing their sorrows with dance
while Bandoneon sounds wafted through
the night air.
Empty pockets and broken dreams
soothed by the Tango's spell
fast tempos enlivened the Barrios
while instruments of other cultures fused
in a universal language of music, tango,
and love.
A close embrace, long elegant steps
gliding in syncopated rhythmic grace
as two dancers shared one heartbeat
"el Tango no esta en los pies"
esta en el corazón",
as they say.
Over the years, the Tango has changed
like a dance from rags to riches
now sequined gowns, tuxedos, and tails
but one thing will never change, not ever
"el Tango esta en
el corazón"
3rd stanza translation: "the Tango is not in the feet. It is in the heart."
Last stanza translation: "the Tango is in the heart"
I was listening to Patti Scialfa's Spanish Dancer and it reminded me of cacian's picture for this thread. So, here is what I am listening to at the moment:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmLGh2hAKNo
hi YesNo thank you for the link and what a great picture of that lady in the red dress .:)Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
Ok guys this is up
and here is the winner
YesNo
the following lines are lovely:
Red tie, black hair with skin to feel.
Around them nothing else looks real.
this piece moves as thougth with music.
Pendragon
this is an enchanting piece. I enjoyed it a lot.
especially the last line it is classic :)
cool lines:
The zero tolerance UFO misinformation seller
Embraces the girl who just wants to have fun
Dark Muse
a splendid piece beautiful words.
these are catchy lines:
it is a game of power,
a passion for life, love, desire,
a whisper of the past,
a promise for the future,
a thrill of embracing
the moment.
Melanie
I never knew you spoke Spanish.
an elegant piece.
and yes I agree:
el tango no esta en los pies
esta en el Corazon
the tango is in the heart
not in the feet
because
the feet are for dancing and the heart is for holding.
a clever piece.
and the winner is , this one is has been a difficult one, goes to
Pendragon
the Sam catchy line at the end did it for me.
and so yes
Play it again Pendragon
suggest us another round of this context :D
http://static.freepik.com/free-photo..._19-133045.jpg
Y'all should have fun with this one! Deadline July 16, 2014
His feet are bare, but nothing else is there
To make me want to entertain old Joe.
I look inside his robe. Where did he go?
Why does it stay upright when he's nowhere?
Some say his life was hard. He didn't care
And he's someone that no one cared to know.
One day, some claim, his robe will hit the ground
Though some have claimed all sorts of foolish things.
Remembering when he first sat there brings
One back to winter and a lack of sound
With thoughts of how old Joe forever frowned
Most angry at the brightest, hopeful springs.
They studied him but when someone went near
His aura forced those scientists away
And turned them crazy on the very day
They thought they understood his inner fear.
His inner silent emptiness they'd hear
Then far away from Joe they'd have to stay.
The weather doesn't bother him as well.
He's like a statue bronzed for us to see.
He sits without a breath aware that we
Have tired of all the things that he could tell.
Alone upon that spot he gets to dwell
And we got used to him eventually.
The Devil & Death
The faceless man
(If man at all he can be called)
whispers temptations
in the language of the dead,
speaking in tongues
in a way that licks my soul
up and down.
I am speared
half-way between horror
and allure,
is he all illusion?
A nightmare or a dream?
I gravitate towards his promises
of immortality.
He beckons
to come perch atop his bony knee
yet I fear if I touch him
he will crumble away to dust,
but if I consent
my flesh may be rendered into stone,
and we will sit together
as lovers of the tomb
watching the dead dance
and life drain away.
He can liberate my soul
from these mortal bindings
of flesh and bone,
that are so limiting,
or so he says, though
he has not mouth of which to speak,
and the voices
may yet be within in my own head.
My heart becomes traitorous as I yearn,
I want to kneel before him,
but I might find nothing there
but air and falsity,
I would mortify myself
if he could release me,
and with but a kiss
bestow upon me the power of the gods,
I could travel among the crowds
like a shadow,
knowing that with but a touch,
their souls would unravel
around my fingers.
But in the end
he may just be another charlatan
carved from stone,
a fork-tongued devil,
who promises infinity on his left hand,
while the right hand strips you of everything
The Statue
represented death as best as it could
Cold, lifeless, stony.
Head hung low as surely death would,
Incapable to hold a gaze,
perpetually lonely.
Wise choice, dear artist, to chisel of rock not wood
Hard, resolute, final.
And to leave emptiness hidden under it’s hood
A critical decision,
Unspeakably, most vital.
Still
What puzzled me,
sundering my mood,
Cruel, flawed, neglectful.
The feet were left uncovered, nude.
A mistake perhaps less insightful.
Is death not the most complete of shroud?
Absolute, scrupulous, unforgetful.
Which leaves nothing once endowed
but those left perpetually mindful.
For the nothingness that remains
belongs to those of who remain.
Heart’s clasped memories
Eyes teary stains
Enduring, unending, eternalizing pain.
Which to the learned is realized
is not in vain
For nothing to them forever will remain the same.