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

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.

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!)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by 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

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.

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congratulations to MHubbard and all !

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

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

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

Quote:

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Originally Posted by motherhubbard

in an urgent breathy whisper lost to the wind.

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and:

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

the memory imagined rather than what was.

[/QUOTE]

Congratulations!

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

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

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

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!

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.

Congrats Mother H!

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!!!!!!!

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...nds-766633.jpg

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

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!

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

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.)

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.'

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

thanks pen :)

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!

Go Pen and Downing!! :banana:

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.

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

Quote:

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Originally Posted by 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.

---

I love it so much!!:) ;)

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...nds-766633.jpg

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by 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.

---

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

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.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin

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:)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by 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.

---

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.

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?

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! :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by motherhubbard

Well, Prince- are you going to write one?

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

Quote:

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Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin

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:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin

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

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

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

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.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by NickAdams

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

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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

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

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.