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aliens spin
a game of dice
they see through
wins but can't
device
the human shield
is deeper cast
it's steel and deemed
unmoved for life
aliens feel
they must trespass
but can't conceal
the earth is vast
its roads are heights
rockfelt and mast
impossible
seems real fast
Anymore entries here would be great!
Starchild
From where do you come
my strange one,
with galaxies in your eyes?
You who are of Nowhere
and yet Everywhere
are no Earthbond one.
You speak in tongues
but it is not mere gibberish,
the significance of your words
is something felt not heard.
You died too soon
and lived forever,
laughter in the rain
and tears in the sun.
Your beauty was painful
to watch, and awkwardly
you seemed aware
while doing your best not to care.
And every shooting star
broke your heart
in ways that were beyond
comprehension,
but silently, quietly
understood.
All you ever wanted
was the impossible,
and somehow when you
asked, was that too much?
It seemed absurd to say yes.
It was destined to be over
long before it begun
and though we could
never forget you,
and it all seemed like
a strange waking dream,
We never quite believed
you had been here at all
and too late we realized
we never remembered your name,
and just perhaps you never
had one.
Thanks for all the entries! It is time to pick a winner.
Pendragon: I liked the story of the aliens from D'vork which built up to the unexpected ending in the last line.
cacian: I liked the phrase "impossible seems real fast" that I think is related to the game of dice and perhaps chance that life happened at all, if I understood correctly.
Dark Muse: I liked the contrasts used to describe the star child such as dying too soon yet living forever or not remembering its name or perhaps never having one. They added mystery to this creature.
They were all good entries, but I have to pick one, so the winner is
Pendragon
Congratulations! I enjoyed the last line which to me was totally unexpected.
YesNo thank you very much and Pendragon congratulations!
Thank you YesNo and cacian!
Now I know this subject is very dark, but give it a chance. I am in the middle of extensive study of the Jack the Ripper murders. Recall that there were at least five victims, dozens of viable suspects, no one ever convicted!
So the subject of the next round of poems is:
Jack the Ripper
Jack's Victim
She hoped her poverty would end
But knew that could not be.
Jack slid the blade. It left its mark,
A message that when hearts grow dark
They act so needlessly.
Jack the Ripper
Does the eye deceive
or was there a flicker of movement
beyond the shadows
amid the London fog,
hanging heavy,
like the taste of fear
in the air.
Hollow footfalls ring
upon the cobble stones,
but what is that faint
eccho that seems to follow,
a sudden silence, strangely
ominous, bated breath.
Relief floods,
giddy laughter wells up,
as fear dissipates,
the carriage appears,
gentlemanly smiles,
an offered hand.
Dawn rises,
sprinkled sunlight
splashes across
blood stained stones,
where the body lies,
wayward lass,
eviscerated.
The last sight
she saw,
a gentleman's smile
in the dark fog.
Jack My Name.
Jack my name,
ripping is my game.
On mist full night with candle in it glass cage.
With my yummy ladies of night.
With my tall hat with swoosh of my cloak.
Silence strike with silver in the beam.
Against the they flesh with ruby flowing to cobble streets.
It was the perfect crime,
but it slayed him to know
that they'd never call him
by his real name.
Jack came through the dark,
and all he wore was black, and sad.
He was a son of a b-itch,
Rode on through the clouds.
His mother was a drunk,
She drank low spirits.
He blamed her of course.
He was a son of a b-itch.
And so he came through the dark.
He had his butcher's knife.
Let the games begin.
He was a son of a *b-itch.
(edited 'cause couldn't type "b-itch")
OK here are the results:
YesNo: Nice little poem that reminds me of poems printed at the time of the murders, in 1888
Dark Muse: A chilling account of what could be any of the murders
zoolane: I liked it, but the last line throws me
Jaked: Interesting, and I'll bet, true
jajdude: And a cold SOB at that!
One winner only can be chosen:
DARK MUSE you captured the horror that was Jack the Ripper best of all :seeya::seeya::seeya:
Thank you very much, I will think of a new subject soon.
Ok since it is almost October, the next subject is
"Graveyard"
Innards
With precision the surgeon aligns the knife,
For the operation intended to save your life.
They make an incision deep into your skin,
And pull it away to peer within—
For they want a look at your innards!
Now you lie in the morgue all cold and still.
And the Coroner comes in for his usual thrills.
He slices you open from pubic bone to throat,
And spreads your body-cavity open like a sacrificial goat—
He wants to examine your innards!
They bury you deep in the damp moldy clay.
But the worms will come around one of these days.
With tiny mouths they burrow through your skin,
Desperately trying to get within—
They want to devour your innards!
Pendragon
graveyards
troubles passed away
silence has it laid
for pains to step away
to a quiet den and slow
adjourned they shall grow old
and fall apart and go
there is a place for all
no matter how grave the fall
a place where hurtful
blows
decide to stop
forever and for all
Walking Through St. Paul's Churchyard in Manhattan
The rain and wind attacked the stones
That marked where George and Sarah rest.
Somewhere their flesh and fragile bones
Decayed. The gravestones did their best
To let us know who's lying where,
But weather wore their faces bare.
These markers still have much to tell:
The chapel stood when towers fell.
Sorrow wanders absentmindedly down the grassy lane
lost, perhaps, in her daydreaming;
she stoops randomly, pulls weeds, picks flowers:
daisies, dandelions, a black eyed susan.
She pauses, inhales earthy scent, recalls Passion,
his bed, another loamy scar,
saline kisses; Sorrow licks cracked lips,
treads lightly past her stoic sentinel.
Closer, Sorrow slows, slips off her sandals;
wears goosebumps, mourning dew’s tears
upon this sacred ground, Sorrow’s mistress,
tightly grips her bouquet of memories.
Laughter, a glint of sunlight, Sorrow catches her sound
darting here and there through the mist,
she blushes, caught in her infidelity, lays her bouquet,
bends, and gently kisses Laughter’s head.
Thank you all, there were some great poems here to choose from.
Pendragon: I loved it. I very much enjoyed the darkly humors twist of your poem. I laughed out loud throughout the whole thing. A very fun and entertaining poem which approaches the topic death with a light hand and a sense of humor that I can appreciate.
cacian: A very elegant and beautifully written poem. I enjoyed your use of rhyme. I also quite liked that almost serene feeling that your poem catches. I really liked your interpretation of the subject. Death as the great equalizer and a means to offer peace at last.
YesNo: I enjoyed the way your poem told a story and I thought your poem was very atmospheric. It captured some very nice imagery and I liked the visual image which it produced in my mind.
And the winner is......
Jaked: This was beautiful with some wonderful imagery and really great lines. It was very moving and emotionally provocative. I really liked the way in which it balanced teh feelings of sorrow with the offerings of hope. A vividly descriptive poem.
Dark Muse thank you very much and congratulations Jaked!!
Well done to all and congrats Jaked.
Thank you very much, all. Well done to all the entrants.
Continuing in our seasonal theme, our next subject will be:
"and all (s)he heard was hollow laughter..."
(You do not have to use this line in your piece - this is the subject - but you may use the line if you wish.)
I look forward to seeing where folks will take this...
The submission deadline will be Halloween, 10/31, and the winner will be announced 11/1.
Hollow laughter. Hallow ground.
From the grave came not a sound.
Padded Cell
Forsaken in the darkness
where hope has no meaning
silence becomes a fiend
obstinately taunting,
but the voices,
they are a comfort,
abandoned by all others
they remain, always there
always a reminder,
even in the deepest darkness,
in the pit of despair
she is never alone,
the hollow laughter
becomes the only sound she hears,
but she never becomes aware
that the laughter
is her own.
hollow laughter
it bounces
real faster
ready to strike
fuss
when sound is
hushed
and all else
is rushed
how jealous must be the night
for only can she echo the day
like a shadow, trailing limp
behind the sun
chained to its ankles
dragged along
i hear her laughing
but it is hollow
only a thin reflection
of the jovial sunshine
and her face
pale, lovely
as her needle-thin beams of
light
Fractured Fairy Tale
We've all heard of Cinderella
The mice for horses and the pumpkin coach
But reality isn't always
In the tales that get told the most
Stepmother and sisters came home, found Cinderella in rags,
Legs astraddle an pumpkin, whip in hands
Mice attached with long white string
And she smiled as she cracked the whip o're their heads
Now stepmother and girls stood in shock
At the ruin of Cinderella, staring up into the rafters
The girl smiled manically, "Fairy!, Fairy Godmother!" was all she spoke
The cellar rang with hollow laughter
Froze even their cold hearts solid
Stepsister One used the telephone
The guys in white coats took Cinderella
They wonder if she'll ever go home...
Pendragon
(C) 10/28/2012
Drumroll, please, it is time for the results!
YesNo: A fun little minimalistic poem. I like the play between hollow/hallow.
Dark Muse: A haunting and profound piece: "she is never alone...but...the laughter is her own." Well done!
Cacian: An interesting piece. I really like the lines "when sound is / hushed / and all else / is rushed."
Moonbird: I really like the notion of night being a shadow of day!
Pendragon: Ah, Pendragon, a fun piece as usual. Like passing a car wreck on the interstate, I cringed, couldn't bear to look but just couldn't help but gawk!
Great entries all, but there can only be one winner... And this time it is: Pendragon for ruining the story of Cinderalla for me!!! ;) Congratulations!
Sorry, Jaked, just meant to fracture the tale a bit! :lol: :lol: :lol:
Next subject... Mad Scientists
I'm taking that from a line in the novel Frankenstein by Mary Shelly, viz: "It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils." There is no obligation to include this in your poem except by your own choice. Good luck
The world outside need never know,
Asleep, amused with dreaming.
Bartholomew has left to go
Back to his work and scheming.
His back is bent. His robe is white.
His giddy eyes are red.
His victory will come tonight.
"Hey! Bart is not in bed."
The calculations look OK.
The chemicals stand ready.
"I'll show them death without delay,"
He laughs. His hand is steady.
"You've solved the problem, sir, I trust?"
His servant Terry wondered.
"I have and all that's evil must
Obey me now!" Bart thundered.
"That's nice, but now we have to take
You back to bed," scorned Jim
Annoyed by all the fuss some make
To fantasize with him.
I give up! This one goes to you, YesNo. Sorry about the lack of competition...
Pendragon
Thanks, Pendragon, even if I was the only contestant. :) Hmmm. Now I've got to come up with another subject. :idea:
Ah, I've got it! The next subject is
Autumn
Deadline: Sunday, December 16th
Congratulation YesNo and what a 'cosy' subject it could not have been better.
Will see what we can do.
autumn world
__________________________________________________ ______________________________________
autumn
a promise of a simple
rose
it comes in bows
to drench our lows
its colours symbols
of our hopes
it swiftly glows
our deepest worsts
and luminates each
life with growth
autumn
a lightful prose of
winds that blow
slightely
drifting cones
to rows
and lifting leaves
to skies in lows
bringing nature
to expose
feelings of a simple
rose
Autumn Lover
She was the November lover
but Autumn was always the season
of the dying, and she found only
coldness was left to greet her now.
No more flowers were in bloom,
while the flame within her heart
began to fade she fell, it seemed endlessly
among the fire colored leaves.
While the trees appeared in shades
of crimson just like her dreams,
the world spun as she closed her eyes,
bitter the early frost upon her breath.
It may be the last exhale she ever breathed,
while the color dissipates from her waning cheeks,
only those bone chilling biting winds
are left to touch upon her flesh in subtle mockery.
She died for love on the cusp
of the season which whispered of decay
but her grave would lie beneath a shroud
of natures beauty, beneath the gloomy skies,
as melancholy of the last beating of her heart
she was covered in all the shades of the sun.
Autumn Sonnet
The trees break out their glad threads
For one last ball before they go bare
The evening brings frost that everyone dreads
There's a touch of Winter in the air
The last of the flowers bloom and they fade
The migratory birds begin to drift south each day
The squirrels pad out the nests they have made
The hoar frost turns the mountains silver and gray
I'll sit by the fire with a good book
Sip coffee laced with rum to keep warm
I see out the window the ice on the brook
But Autumn has never caused me any harm
Autumn brings dog days, the summer is gone
No one ever mentioned that they were so long...
Pendragon
(C) 11/24/2012
anyone here to add a piece?
Before the Autumn Storm
While staring
out my window
a stir of wind brings
hundreds of brown
leaves carpet-bombing
our property
I think then of the
sound of singing
rakes to follow
soon after
the storm
11/27/2012
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
Autumn in Yorkshire
Whoosh
What was that?
That was Autumn mi lad!
Mists and mellow friutfullness?
Tha can forget it!
We don't have any of that up North,
Fall! Them leaves don't fall,
They get blown into Lancashire,
I 'ope tha's got tha coyle in
And thi longjohns on,
It'll soon be September.
We sat in silence
Watching the leaves fall
And the gentle grace
Of their quiet descent
Moved her to tears
They fell like rain
And whispered in the air
And kissed the earth
With a lady's soft lips
And the autumn wind blew