I declare Nick the winner for his delightfully used alliteration. Congrads !
Next picture please, Nick!
Printable View
I declare Nick the winner for his delightfully used alliteration. Congrads !
Next picture please, Nick!
Thank you and without further delay:
http://blog.oregonlive.com/visualart...altermants.jpg
Baghdad Bolthole
It’s dark down here in the rubble—
The wind hisses like a serpent through ruined walls
We had no quarrel with the enemy,
We were simply in the line of fire
Most of our processions burned on the death pyres of the war
Yet we have hope, which for the moment is personified
In this old piano, slightly out of tune
Our lives are like that, slightly out of tune to a world
That calls us “collateral damage”
In conflict that knows but one Lord and Master—
Grim Reaper, what hath thou wrought…
Pendragon
© Sunday, November 22, 2009
Anymore?
a modern knight's tour
war black and white stares
duty death fear remorse hate
find peace where you may
© tailor STATELY 12/3/2009
And then there were two.
Dark Days
Memories of you
of what you have been through
of what once you were
haunt me
for the pain
that you took away
from those smoke-filled
blood and fear days.
Always between us
this part of you
forever beyond my reach,
however much I strive
I cannot reconstruct
the ruins in your mind
now filled with bad dreams.
But you may feel me close
my voice in your ear
my presence
surrounding you
to try and ease away
the echoes of gunshot
that ring true
with the skull-grins
and dead eyes
mocking
through the sleepless nights.
May my love
burn like a candle flame
through that darkness
of your past
which flash like photographs
that will never fade away,
but I will never cease
with sweet kisses
and words of comfort
gentle touches
to quiet those
screams.
Very inspiring picture! made me think of the film "the pianist"
The youth blanky glances
through where once was a wall,
seated before the object
of the peace, before the fall.
Clad in uniform martial
and dedicated, in cause;
the youth plays piano,
for once, without a pause.
His comrades stop their banter,
the rubble stoops to hear;
what could be mankinds only
possible escape from fear.
Has it been but a day?
Or far more than a year?
However old the youth may grow
to here he shall always be near.
And as the rifle is slung
over each willing shoulder,
the youth touches a last note
that he might hear, should he become older.
Aerie and fairie and fluffee and floss,
The future in essence belongs to us.
We sift and discover it,
Part ways to deliver it,
And circumnavigate that which we have dislodged.
Ode to the resilient,
Ode to the wise,
We spend our life retaining
The rote they have dispensed
And narry a regret have they despaired.
My horse for a future
I decry to the stars!
What is their's is my right,
I'll assert solemnly
To the knaves within the range that I'll smite,
And I'll pilfer the peasants
And sequester the virtuous
For want of an edict
That they would mine accost!
All for this a glorious captive audience,
And the tribute shall follow.
The horseless troops back to the citadel,
Supported in the hearts
Of the prostrate multitude
Who partake of their rigorous rewards,
The common lists of spoils.
That's enough to set a deadline: Dec 13
Oh definitley :nod:Quote:
Originally Posted by MGK
I suppose I'll join in.
Century Rolls
Keys in tune, century rolls through the cities like
The Gestapo tanks through Moscow.
Like Siberia in the cold, dead snow;
Christmas, was that time of year
In which Lenin was God and
God stood in Red Square
1919
Century rolls.
like ghettos of Stalingrad
these pieces and blocks of memory;
like stars in the sky, you were
so small you could hardly breathe.
These fumes of spring's rite.
Rachmaninoff, the piano is out of tune
Out of place, In memory.
the deadline has come and gone .. new picture please!
I will announce the winner this evening.
MGK
I enjoyed both the narrative and rhythm of the poem, which I found to be quite similar to The Night Before Christmas, but it was the final stanza that won me over. The use of "willing" was particularly interesting.
Pendragon:
Your opening line made this first-person poem hauntingly immediate.
tailor STATELY
Short but effective. The lack of punctuation gives the impression of words thrown together, but a closer look highlights the process of "A Modern Knight's Tour".
Dark Muse
Very interesting. It reads very personal. You definitely used the image as an inspiration, but made it a backstory of the the person addressed in the poem. Very nice take.
alakungfu
Your poem went clear over my pumpkin.:brickwall
DanielBenoit
I enjoyed many of the lines:
"Christmas, was that time of year
In which Lenin was God and
God stood in Red Square"
" ... you were
so small you could hardly breathe."
"Rachmaninoff, the piano is out of tune"
But, I found the similes too spoken word for my taste.
Yay, congratdulations MDK! The rhythm is curious, a bit like a lulliby to me, but a very nice juxtaposition as it reflects the image in which there is brief comfort in a time of chaos.
Congrats go MGK, great poem
I was worried that my poem might have abstracted from the photograph a bit, but it did take me to a very personal place.Quote:
Originally Posted by NickAdams;816902[B
wow, thanks for the winning vote nick! and thanks for the congratulations, daniel spotted exactly what i was trying to bring across.
Congrads, MGK! Next picture?
Hello! Anybody out there going to put up a picture? Hello!
:confused:
MGK hasn't logged on since the 22nd.
There should be some kind of rule here about posting pictures, like if you don't post within a week then the picture is given back to the previous poster.
Off-topic comment: Really nice avatar Pendragon :cool:
i post the picture? i thought the threadstarter does :?
Oh no, it is always the person who wins that than posts the next picture.Quote:
Originally Posted by MGK
my bad! i'll post one up asap
http://i138.photobucket.com/albums/q...sego_amigo.jpg
artwork by otsego-amigo.deviantart.com
The Eye of the City
Among the chaos my eyes are drawn
to a splash of crimson
which signifies
as an electric angel
winking without
blinking an eye.
From this perception
I descend below from the heights
in sweeping blows
upon your dusty wings,
where order begins to arise
and I see patterns
and different shades of color
where once I thought
it was all just cast in hues of beige.
You awaken me from your stoic throne
atop a pillar not made of salt or sand
but glass reinforced by steal
the new king and symbol of mans
desire.
Ah, there it is
I see it now, on the horizon
the city of my dreams
a tangle of gold and silver civilization
hovering on the edge of my consciousness,
devoid of life
I have only to reach out
a finger to touch it
and the spark will fly from me
to its liquid latent core,
and it will spring to life
all full of torment and evil and despair
and lost humanity
what will they see
but others like themselves?
the golden beauty that has
grown around them as invisible to the
eye as a grain of sand
green cannot abide here
but dawn lingers
floating on roseate wings
and hoping that man will look up
with eager eyes and see
what he has wrought
Qimissung
two brilliant entries! difficult choice already, i wonder what the next poets come up with.
deadline: 15th of january
(play record)
I like to drink
the brown water
and
eat the sky
and
make bets
on horses
and
eat cherry pie
i once climbed mount everest
until i found that i was climbing the sears
step-by-step
drip-by-drip
I am God in my apartment
and when I bring mice over
They call me God
I once stood at the top of a building
Between the land and the sea
And everyone down below thought I was going to jump
I've injected herion on 3rd Avenue
But never on 5th, I'm not ready for fifth
I go to St. Mary's for some reformation
they smile under their Black Veil
and pass me the paper cup
smile, grainy
old
grandmother
smile, my city
and the winner is: DanielBenoit!
i greatly enjoyed all three poems so it was a very tough decision.
Dark Muse's poem has great imagery and diction, but i feel it does not consider the human element enough.
qimissung was my original choice, the raw imperfection but unfailing spirit of man and the greatness of his achievement is very nicely portrayed here.
But i decided on DanielBenoit's poem because it conveyed to me the idea of the rock-like city, against which wash the waves of humanity. The city will always be there, the human souls that populate its streets are there in one second and gone in the next.
Thank you MGK, I am honored :angel:
Great poems quimissung and Dark Muse, vivid imagery as always :)
Will post the next picture as soon as possible.
Thank you, and congrats, I really enjoyed your poem, a well deserved win.
The Watcher
The watcher stands high on the cliff face
Overlooking Crater Lake and Wizard Island below
The watcher is bent and twisted by the decades
Of solitary fortitude in performance of duty
The watcher stands tall and silent for the most part
But when the wind works as accompanist
The elderly tree whispers secrets of bygone ages,
Of all that is, that has been,
And even glimpses into what is yet to come…
Pendragon
© 1/19/10
First poem, yay :D
Deadline is on the 30th. Sound good?
Spirit of the Land
Untouched purity
captivates the soul
and propels the mind
into the embracing solitude,
as echoes carry across the mountains
their songs speak of legends
which are whispered within each
ripple of the water, for faces which begin
to fade away into the mist, and watching eyes
from those who touched the spirit of the land
knowingly with quiet reverence,
now preserved with the passage of time.
A thousand stories which can be read
into the changing landscape,
the passage of the seasons
altering natures course,
winter's encompassing touch
erases the memories of a passing year
heals scars and conceals old wounds
to make virginal once more in its glistening
white touch, and soon to melt away
into new life reborn free from the collective sorrows.
Beauty which entrances and transcends
beyond human thought
to touch the pulse beneath the land,
listen to the Earth's heartbeat,
and feel the passage of the spirits
in the bone-numbing cold of
winter's fog, they know you
even if you have forgotten.
Abandoned By The Light
Peeping around the tree, i see a union of evil sea and evil shore.
No chance of escaping, no chance of departing this desolate destination
The jagged rocks at my feet cut to my souls core
Devoid of colour, no green, tangerine or carnation
The trees branches, like witches fingers
Casting evil upon the land.
The fog, that fills the air always lingers.
At the shore no tiny gold crystals of sand
The only music this place has known
is the most melancholic of a durge.
The only sound is the trees low drone and groan,
Unlike other waters this cannot purify only purge
This could be the very coast
that is patrolled my Charon.
The air is haunted, by lingering lamenting ghosts
who glide along the water like a smooth satanic swan
The sea and sky both hollow,
Like a murderers eyes and soul
This land has been abandoned by both Apollo
And Sol
a place to be, to exist,
this is my spendrift quest;
A place from which to
watch the sun rise and set, and
pirate dogs and whales cavort
to feel the wind lay back in my arms,
her cloudy hair hanging down, trailing like fertile damp and portent tendrils
and sailing on a downdraft
inhaling exilaration
I found it, looming
over the sea's riotous waters,
balancing precariously on the border
of the wilderness and dreams
from this spot I wandered freely in my brown monk's robe
rescinding the sensual pleasures that most demand
I turned my mind to the
healing of their souls
it was here that I fought my
nemesis in a battle that lasted eons
as my tortured thoughts
wandered on the midnight stormy moors
I thrashed my head in bitter, futile terror at the loss of self,
my desolate soul raging against the
night and the churning sea
there was no refuge
from the hawk like swords and feral rain
my enemy unleashed upon me
skies so grey that nothing grew
earth thought it was the night
and cowered
bunching up her crinoline skirts
until it threatened to tear my home
from its iron bound roots
I had grown so that my fingertips could gently brush
the tears from the moons' gibbous eye
my feet the while curling round the
river styx
and in the folds of hubris that wind round
me like swaddling clothes
or a shroud
I beat back the storm of
my insanity and dear despair
and when morning came
then she did thread her rosary through my lank hair
thus blessed I left open
the door, let the malachite fountain of
life find me, weaved a leafy thicket with
another, and sometimes,
in our dreadful conjoining, felt,
as her hand touched mine,
as we lay resting from one recondite battle or another, watching the moon
toss handfuls of bright confetti
on the waters at her feet
sometimes, then, I feel
between the two of us,
a great quiet, an acknowledgement of the martello tower
wherein is locked away from the four winds that
roam the earth
that which we call our hearts
it falls on us, like night and snow on places that
had once been bare
Qimissung
By the way, DanielBenoit (so much fun to say :D) congratulations on your winn. I really liked your poem. I laways love those gritty urban modernist poems. I thought I caught a little whiff of James Joyce when I read it. Good one. I especially liked:
"I've injected herion on 3rd Avenue
But never on 5th, I'm not ready for fifth"
so random. Anyway, congrats!
Hmmm, time's almost up. We should really set shorter deadlines, because what usually happens is that everybody posts their poems within a few days and then, silence, and everybody forgets.
The thirtieth??? Yikes! That's today! I printed the picture and have been carrying it around to get the feeling of it. ;) I agree that shorter deadlines might be good.