Famous Quoted Line Poetry Contest

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.

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.

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.

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.

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__

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Gilliatt Gurgle

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

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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

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

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

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

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Gilliatt Gurgle

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”?

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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? :)

No glory descends.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by _Joe_

North Star:

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

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Thank you very much, Joe & Pompey.



From Shelley's Ozymandias
"The lone and level sands stretch far away"

Deadline: Sunday, May 17th

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.

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.

Any more submissions coming?

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

You have time to submit until tomorrow afternoon, GMT.

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)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by 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)

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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".

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:

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.

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

Next Quote

My heart upon his warm heart lies

From The Heart of a Woman by Yeats

Deadline: May 30

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.

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.

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.

Congratulations, 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.

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.

10 more days :)

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.

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

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 :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by North Star

I'm a filthy liar..

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

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by Melanie

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

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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.

"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

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

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.