Thank you, q -- are you going to send us a triad? And thanks again, Pen --this time for posting a fine entry.
Hope more LitNetters will post a triad.
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Thank you, q -- are you going to send us a triad? And thanks again, Pen --this time for posting a fine entry.
Hope more LitNetters will post a triad.
I will consider it AuntShecky. I really wanted to try the villanelle, but things came up.
Luna Lupus
Reborn beneath a Winter's Moon
now infused with nocturne sight
at the alter of blood sacrifice
To become a hunter of the night
bathed within silver moonlight
blood of the beast warms the cold
Taste of blood, life's vital wine
new found life as a stalker in the dark
serenade to Mother Moon.
the water at thirty two degrees begins to freeze
forming a tissue of insuperable delicacy
the freshet of water that lies beneath
flowing to the river, to the sea
the infant bird lies, its goggle eyes closed,
its beating heart palpable beneath
newly formed skin, a linen bandage lying
between life and death
in the turmoil of my mind, a freshet of questions
do I love you? do I know how to?
Can I love beyond the hurt? I grope for answers,
and in the groping, hold out my hand to you
Qimissung
Thanks for the entries so far.
To reiterate:
write a triad consisting of three or four 3-line stanzas OR three 4-line stanzas connecting three images, thoughts, or items associated with a fresh start.
Deadline: January 18, 2010
Oh I'll give this a shot. I have until the 18th. Good.
As if it were the dark device of dreams,
the road stumbled me early toward the shore,
from black to gray as day laid down its beams.
The waves rolled ‘round my legs from Tenneriffe,
from Portugal and Spain the waters came,
an ancient sea made new, so clear, though brief.
The realm of sleep dissolved with dawn’s bright fan,
flown with the mist that veiled the far bent line
that rent the sky and where the world began.
© Copyright 2010
Impressive entries so far -- keep 'em comin'!
Just a quick notice that the deadline entries for this leg of the form poetry contest will be one week from today,January 18. See Reply # 675 for the rules for this specific round.
Quick reminder that entries for this round of will be accepted through this coming Monday, Jan. 18, 2010. Specific rules in thread #675 above.
It is a peculiarity of time that in retrospect it appears so compact, an indivisible solid object, a dish with only one smell and one flavour ~ Cees Nooteboom
Each morning she pours milk into the cup.
She pours tea from the teapot into the cup.
The china cup, with the mandarin ducks.
It was her mother’s cup.
Each day she balances her books.
She pays bills, the taxman; she gives to charity.
She writes it all down in a hard, lined book.
The book was her father’s.
Each night she fingers the beads and prays.
She kneels, and her mouth moves imperceptibly.
Each night she prays for the world and its sorrows.
Repeated today. Repeated tomorrow.
Night
The dome of a sheltered man lies awake.
Animals with empty seashells cross its path
Taking the starry night's gentle rake,
Stealing what was long lost with the wind.
Woman's tears do glisten upon your dark blade,
You, with a frightening sight!
But your spine shivers from fair faces that made
Those compassionate sparkles of our cloudless skies.
The nymphs are departed.
Lonely, spectral spirits wander about our endless sea
While it remains uncharted,
While it becomes a mere bucket of our revolving history.
Here's my entry. Hopefully I did this correct and i beat the deadline.
Mountain Sun
At the onset of the mountain sun
In the freshness of the eagle’s air
In the snow of our journey’s road;
With the blessing of the early rain
With the gift of your love
Upon the acquiescence of the breaking sun;
Though the climb standing before us
Though the winds that hover above us
In the shudder before the cresting sun;
You leaned over to my face
In the unity of our common heart
And placed your lips to mine.
Here's my Triad submission (this was a fun challenge):
The Road's Memory
A life of memories paved this road
A life that’s not yet done
A life to carry memory’s load
On roads to walk not run
It’s death that ends all that’s begun
It’s death that can’t be slowed
It’s death that seals us from the sun
And is our last abode
Forget, delete your memory’s code
Embrace the death of one
Prepare to pave a brand new road
And raise a newborn son
In the Cards
Pick a day, any day, to be your first,
Just try to stop it and you'll surely burst.
Time marches on, yes, time marches on,
Each hour, each minute, soon they'll be gone.
One-two-three, one-two-three; Hup! Two-Three-Four
Your cadence so stiff, your dance, asks for more,
Your life's metronome beats like your heart,
With each cleansing pass you've got a fresh start.
Pick up the tempo, add rhythm, add zest,
Be mindful, aware of just what goes best.
And when you sit down on this cold winter's night,
Just give it a rest and you'll do all right.
ampoule, January Eighteenth, TwoThousandTen
My, we have so many entries that it's going to be pretty darn difficult to choose just one! It's really gratifying.
If there are any more LitNutters who want to post an entry, you have the rest of today and this evening.
Then comes the hard part for your ol' Auntie!
Now it's time to face the difficult task of presenting the results of the form poetry contest.
There's a pleasant surprise in not only the goodly quantity of entries but also the overall quality of the material. Everyone --and I do mean everyone --should be proud of his or her effort. In their individual triads, all of our entrants composed the prescribed number of lines (9 or 12). To a greater or lesser degree, most contributors didn't forget that the triad hinges on three connected components and in this specific instance, the particular topic of "a fresh start." Additionally, kudos to the entrants who carried the idea of "freshness" into their poems themselves by making an earnest effort to avoid overused, banal expressions.
Now some comments on the individual entries:
--The untitled piece by Pendragon shows us life "starting over again." Connected by the effectively-repeated "song," are a tree, a cloud, and a flower-- all specific images of spring.
--A different type of spring comes in "To the River, To the Sea" by qimissung, who employs images of water, a baby bird, and love as the connecting element. Of particular interest is the word-play in the use of "freshet," both the literal little stream and the renewal that it brings.
--Dark Moon's "Luna Lupis" presents pictures of "Mother Moon," a hunter/predator, and blood as "life's vital wine." The looming darkness contrasted with the moonlight adds tension to this piece.
--The extended metaphor of firefangled's "Convergence" as lines such as drawn by a road, the edge of the sea, and the horizon--"the far bent line" is both logical and elegant. Just as most roads don't really end but merge into a new road, so does the line between the "realm of sleep" and waking, when a new or fresh line begins. I also liked the concrete, specific references, such as Tenerife, a Mediterranean resort (which, if my memory of history serves, is tinged with tragedy.) I loved all of this piece, but especially the line "an ancient sea made new, so clear, though brief." This is a finely-executed and thought-provoking poem.
--The image of a road also appears in "The Road's Memory" by MorpheusSandman. In this piece that employs an appropriate and unobtrusive rhyme scheme, the three components are life, death, and memory, with the "newborn son" providing the connecting, perhaps healing, element.
Another entry that is unafraid to use rhyme is "Night" by Dr. Jekyll, as with blade/made" and "departed/uncharted." The central image is that of night as a dome, under which woman's tears fall and spirit cavort, albeit temporarily.
A delightful dancing and/or marching rhythm enlivens ampoule's "In the Cards." With "tempo, rhythm, and zest" as the three elements, ampoule's poem has the best opening line among these entries: "Pick a day, any day, to be your first," a witty allusion to "Pick a card, any card" parlor tricks. The rhythm of this piece is very strong, and shows how effective a poem can
be when form and content are intertwined, when the poem does what it says.
--"Mountain Sun" by Virgil beautifully fulfills all of the criteria of the triad. Three perceptible items appear in the first three verses: sun/eagle's air/ snow, rain/gift of love/ breaking sun/, and the climb/winds/cresting sun. The concluding verse connects all with a first the kiss, the beginning of a new love. This evocative piece is an outstanding triad. Well-done, Virgil!
--Finally, three sections of a day --morning, day, and night -- and three necessary tasks or requirements of life provide the frame for "Rituals" by TheFifthElement. The morning is symbolized by fulfilling needs to sustain life, the day by fulfilling social and civil obligations (paying bills and taxes), and the night by fulfilling spiritual obligations. The diction of this poem is colloquial with "homely" images, which remind me somewhat of the deceptively-simple language found in the poems of Frost and Auden. Indeed, the concrete details --such as pouring milk in a cup with a Mandarin duck pattern --all represent ingrained habits, obligations, and traditions --"rituals" if you will-- that stand in the way of a fresh start. Mention of the speaker's mother and father further link "rituals" to the past. An extra-added attraction is this poem's note of wit and tone of melancholy which hearkens back to the triad's Celtic origins. This truly exceptional piece which packs an emotional wallop takes the honors for this round of the Form Poetry Contest.
Sincerest thanks and congratulations to all of our contributors.
TheFifthElement, would you please select our next poetry form?
I loved this poem when I read it for the subtle way you presented the theme.
I can add nothing to what AuntShecky has said so well, except what struck me right away was how the repetition in your poem was so well executed to support the content and the title without becoming overbearing, drawing just enough attention to itself.
I'm very happy you won. It's a fine poem.
Oh I had forgotten to come back and look at the results. Thank you for your kind words Aunty. :)
Congratulations Fifth! I enjoyed your poem. :)
Congrats to everyone who participated! :thumbs_up
I couldn't imagine any other choice but Fifth's, though all were good, truly. I just immediately lost myself in her poem. It was beautiful.
And Auntie, you made me feel like a winner with your wonderful comments. Forms are difficult for me but now I'm going to make more effort. Thank you!
Congrads, Fifth. A truly worthy poem1
Congratulations, Fifth for a poem of such naked, pure simplicity. I can easily envision a clean and quiet kitchen and this woman, who seems unbearably lonely for some reason, still going about her daily tasks.
But, you know, these were all excellent poems. I enjoyed each one so much. Well done, my friends, well done!
Thank you AuntShecky, and also Virgil, Firefangled, Qimissung, Pendragon, Dr Jekyll and ampoule for your very kind remarks. They were all excellent poems, I enjoyed every one of them.
For the next form I would like to select the Terza Rima. This form was invented by Dante Aligheri, and consists of three line tercets with a specific rhyming scheme. The first and last line of each tercet must rhyme, but overall there is a 'chain rhyme' in which the end-word of the second line in one tercet supplies the rhyme for the first and third lines in the following tercet. This creates a rhyme scheme as follows : ABA BCB CDC DED and so on. The poem ends with a couplet which may adopt the same rhyming pattern as the first line, or the last. There's no limit on the number of tercets.
So if you had a 5 tercet poem, with a finishing couplet, the rhyme scheme would be:
ABA BCB CDC DED EFE (AA) or (EE)
As always, it probably makes more sense with an example. The following poem by Frost is an excellent Terza rima:
It's a tricky form so I don't propose to set a theme. Please interpret as you see fit.Quote:
Acquainted with the Night
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain — and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Robert Frost (1923)
Deadline is 19th February. If anyone needs any clarification on the form, please let me know.
I look forward to reading your poems :D
Full Circle
Often it seems that time is just wasting away,
The moments slip by as fragile as mist—
Far too soon today’s tomorrow is just another yesterday…
Flailing one’s way towards that terrible rift,
Each day one step closer to the end—
Life is an adventure and one that is so hard to resist…
What lies beyond once one goes round the next bend,
Will it be sorrow or unsurpassed joy—
Why can’t one just look forward to whatever fate sends…
Time is an enemy that makes old men out of boys,
That writes lines upon faces, crumbles mountains to sand—
Even on mountaintops the shadow of the grim valley annoys…
So I embrace the sorrow or joy of each day—
And quit worrying about time just slipping away…
Pendragon
© 1/23/10
Wow! Very moving first entry from Pendragon. Thanks ;) you've set the bar high already. Look forward to seeing more.
In the heart of the heart
lies the mystery of who we are:
queen, angel, saviour, tart.
And we can never get very far
from our origins, however hard we try,
or from our guiding star.
You may listen to us laugh or cry.
You will hear the same solitary child
who, helpless, watches the world go by,
frightened, alone, and yet beguiled
by the mystery, unfolding, but forever wild.
Excellent! Thank you Prince. Now we have a contest.
Any more for any more?
Last Breath of the Dryad
Her blood seeps out with weeping sap
watching her life wither away
the rings of time a vanishing map.
Shuddering as a trembling leaf in dismay
lover oak felled beneath the axe man's blade
the body and heart of her soul fades to gray.
No longer will she paint the shade
every stroke rips her in shreds of pain
by roots which once sheltered her life betrayed.
Silent screams offered all in vain
splintered fragments of dreams take flight
and never again will she waken to the rain.
and as the tree falls at last, so dies the final light
a love now and forever blind to human sight.
Another excellent entry, thanks DM.
It's going to be a tough choice :D Still two weeks to submit your entries.
The field leans like shoal grass where the back bay
bends ‘round jetties in the shallow flats,
as the wind silvers the leaves and grasses lay
down their browning blades in autumn mats
of shadows dropped from a clouding sky,
and teatime flowers bow and tip their hats.
The day turns light toward the west and I,
moored in time, watch the world course by and reel
across a page, my hand a stranger to my eye.
Beyond the dunes, birds cry from salt marsh creels
concealed in palms; the waves crash in the earth’s shell―
the holder’s hand and ear unseen―the sun kneels
before the night where yesterday’s stars that fell
from unknown heights were discarded with a page
where emptiness eclipsed what I had tried to tell.
Yellow moon on the cool grass and the black bay,
inspire this night and lead me to what I need to say.
© Copyright 2010
Seagull
I’ve seen you on my way to work:
haranguing pheasants,
blueing the air with your squawks,
then bunking over the fence
to the school where my sister taught.
She says you cause quite a nuisance,
swirling about by the window, caught
like a crisp packet blown in the breeze,
and staring at the bad kid sat
where bad kids sit. One look and he's
gone: flapping round the room for a laugh,
caw-cawing, ignoring the pleas
to stop treating the board as a cliff.
He screams at you still hanging there:
you scream straight back – f-ck off ! f-ck off !
Later on, I'm leaving work, and wonder where you are.
Then see you've striped your sh-t across my car.
I seem to always struggle with this form and I don't know why. I'll really try to work on something and post it before the deadline.
This was not an easy form, at least not for English. Here's my entry.
Quote:
The Fall
Clamp the weight and curl it up,
The muscle distends before it fails;
The back folds over into a cup,
I lift to become as hard as nails.
Reflected in the silver glass,
The bicep rounds through other veils;
The mind looks inward to surpass
Shoulders, arms, and masculine chest.
Body disputes the soul, fixed mass
Inverts, metal strains, becomes stressed,
The mutability of steel.
The flesh curves, falters, crests,
What’s there is not there to conceal
The resolution but reveals
In shades the everlasting deal.
The broken body falls, doubts, feels
Gathers itself up, rises, heals.
It may not have been "easy" in English - I doubt it would have been easier in Slovak - but you made it seem easy and crafted novel but well-fitting rhymes.Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Thanks for the excellent entries everyone. The contest is now closed. Results will follow.
I think the first, and most important thing to say, is that these were all great poems. It’s a tricky, tricky form. Rhyming doesn’t come easily in the English language and the rhyme scheme of this form is complex. It is hard to create a poem which seamlessly uses the form without convolutions or awkwardness.
All these poems were great poems. You made it a very difficult choice for me :) But a winner must be chosen, so without further ado, here are the results.
Virgil
I loved the theme of the poem and the way it follows through. The poem strikes a very masculine chord, both directly and indirectly with lines such as this:
and the addition of the mechanical/engineering overtones, like here:Quote:
Reflected in the silver glass,
The bicep rounds through other veils;
The mind looks inward to surpass
Shoulders, arms, and masculine chest.
which is really nicely done. You handle the rhyme scheme well and I love the way it end with healing, such a positive note.Quote:
Body disputes the soul, fixed mass
Inverts, metal strains, becomes stressed,
The mutability of steel.
Pendragon
As always Pen you’re poems are wrought with emotion, beautiful and terrifying, a real emotional journey. This poem made me sad and I’m torn whether the ending is a message of hope or resignation. I’d like to think hope, but the rawness of the emotion makes me feel resignation. A heartfelt, heart-wrenching poem.
I loved this line in particular:
because it is so true. Our bodies may decay on the outside, but on the inside we’re still the same person we were as a child.Quote:
Time is an enemy that makes old men out of boys,
I hope the writing of this was a carthartic process Pen, and thank you, as always, for sharing so much of yourself in such poetic form.
blank|verse
Your poem was the most original, most contemporary out of the submissions. It really made me smile. The theme was interesting and well handled, somewhat coarse but I like it better for that. I loved the idea of ‘blueing the air’ and ‘haranguing pheasants’ I think you have a real talent for observation, and a wry sense of humour which comes across in the piece, especially in the ending. You’ve really captured the seagull well. I loved this part
However, in some places I found the observance to the rhyming scheme a bit too tenuous – and as the poem is decided on form I didn’t feel I could pick this as the winner, though, in truth, it is my favourite amongst all the poems submitted. Excellent work.Quote:
swirling about by the window, caught
like a crisp packet blown in the breeze,
and staring at the bad kid sat
where bad kids sit.
Dark Muse
I loved the theme of this poem and you worked the rhyme scheme really well throughout. Again, this was a sad poem, sad because, as is often the case, the terrible wrong could so easily have been avoided. Your poem is unflinching against the brutality of the act, which makes for painful reading in parts and yet it is right to be unflinching. There’s such finality in this line:
and I loved the ‘rings of time a vanishing map’ and the idea of ‘a love now and forever blind to human sight’. A beautiful, painful poem.Quote:
and never again will she waken to the rain.
firefangled
As always there is so much to your poetry I became almost lost, lost in the dense musicality of the words and images. It is impressive that in amongst all of this you retained faithfulness to the form. In some respects this poem reminds me of Stevens’ The House is Quiet and the World is Calm which is one of my favourite of Stevens’ poems, perhaps it is the reference to the ‘page’ which creates this link? I’m not sure. This part is wonderful:
and I love the way you present nature throughout the poem, a natural world you are somehow separate from and yet intrinsically linked to. There’s a sense of need too, as though you need the world to give you poetry and yet somehow ‘even the stars are not enough’. Yes, I liked this poem a great deal.Quote:
The day turns light toward the west and I,
moored in time, watch the world course by and reel
across a page, my hand a stranger to my eye.
But the winner, for me, was PrinceMyshkin’s untitled poem. This wins, for me, because of the way the form is invisibly knitted into the structure of the poem, so much so that the form becomes almost invisible. It’s almost effortless, though of course it is probably truer to say that the effort is cleverly concealed. The poem is deceptively simple, it’s theme one of identity, frailty, mystery, finding oneself? Perhaps? There’s also a sense of something untamed, perhaps it is the use of the word ‘tart’ which struck me straightaway as somewhat brave and fitting, and of course the lovely couplet at the end:
which is a wonderful way to look at it: ‘beguiled by the mystery unfolding’. Yes, that is life: scary, out of control and fascinating. Excellent.Quote:
frightened, alone, and yet beguiled
by the mystery, unfolding, but forever wild.
So, congratulations PrinceMyshkin you are the winner. Could you please select the next form?
Frankly, I don't know whether I'm more gratified or astonished. There are at least two others I'd have chosen ahead of mine!
As to the next contest, I don't know whether this next form has a name but a stunning example of it can be seen at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15301
That would be ABABCC, and the C rhyme becomes the opening one of the next verse: CDCDEE and so on.
As for a deadline, shall we say a month from now, March 21?
I had not read the other poems. That is wonderful Prince, and I burst out lughing with the "queen, angel, savior, tart" line. I'm trying to recall the rhetorical term for such humor. I'm thinking of litotes, but it's not excatly that, I don't think. But whatever, very nice poem. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Thank you for your kind words Fifth. :)
I'm going to put my poem in my blog if anyone wants to comment on it.
A well deserved congratulations, Prince. Yours would have been my choice as well for the very reasons Fifth explained.
For someone who has said many times that he eschews formal poetry structures, you were very skilled at one of the most difficult ones.
Il miglior fabbro!