I like your style, Silent X! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...s/ThumbsUp.gif
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I like your style, Silent X! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...s/ThumbsUp.gif
thanx, why do you like it so much?
I'll let you know that when I judge the contest, mon ami! If people get those poems in! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...lies/Benie.gif
Well let me first say i'm not much of a writer. I just love literature which is why i joined this forum in the first place. Writing is something i rarely dare. But this picture had something flighty in it...so here's my (untitled)attempt.
She gazed at the bars
Blocking her from the doors
To heaven, she lay there
In rue and in remorse.
Her hair disheveled,
Her rags worn out,
She cried, she bled,
In debt and in doubt.
Trussed within her heart
Were the birds of liberty,
Batting their wings,
Fighting to be free…
Seeking but freedom,
Ready to embrace
The Way to Wisdom
And the gala of Grace.
She found but chains;
And no force benign,
Where ruth still reigns,
Where dreams are divine.
Finally, she gave way,
Leaving behind
No chance to convey
Impedance of any kind.
And there they arose,
The birds from her heart,
With a hurtling force
They’ve never learnt to exert.
Bustling and jostling,
Higher they soared
Like a timeless being,
Like a nameless horde.
Swirling and whirling
With the wild wind west,
They rose, never bringing
A balk to their quest.
Some were aggressive,
Ablaze with fire;
Some submissive,
Moved by desire.
Some were little angels
Cloudy and white,
Shining like jewels
In a flourishing flight.
Way down the mountain col,
The evening bells knolled
Redemption of yet another soul,
Salvation of a spirit enthralled.
--------------------
Anyone is allowed to be critical of this or even edit this if need be. I feel more comfortable to think of it as a poem rather than a participation in a contest :lol:
Looking forward to the other poems :)
No edits or criticism, according to the rules at the first page, I believe. The contest Judge, myself this round, will provide comentary on the poems. Write you poets! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1.../AboutTime.gif
Hmmm i really WAS looking forward to reading some more poems on that beautiful picture :( Why is noone else participating? Dont let my wretched attempt at a poem be the only one in there, c'mon! :brickwall
I took mine more from the title than the picture itself:Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
Creation of the Birds
Grey suit with a red, pocket handkerchief
on the ledge of a window
takes off his wedding ring.
ah, an image that strikes a chord of thought to the soul, alas... alas the words fall like lead from mine eyes, seeing without the careful thought that pierced my soul...
Sunstruck
Whispered silk streams poar in torrents
intolerant, and indolent, blank faces stare
with white eyes at the wonder of feathers
dreams wrought with blind hands and heat
moulded and twisted with the love of artist
though a blind eye was turned to the sun
the cold shoulder saw and threw forth an arm
that which hardens as a pair, a clay and earth couple
wings launching them skyward, an icharus freedom
away from creators tender brow furrowd with worry
the mothers tear stained eye looking out
the fathers flat face and hunched shoulders
Once with wax wings they also left, lamenting love
Blinded with sunstruck freedom, with white wings
But feathers fall, echoing down with the past
Coming down to earth, down back to solid love
Going back, and watching, watchig with blind eyes
The next pair of birds take flight, and hit the sky
a bit of a side swipe at the picture, inspiration taken, but perhaps in the wrong direction.
:banana: thanks for those poems! i was feeling kinda lonesome! :lol:
Well, that gives me four poems, at least. Where are the usual crowd? Petra, Virgil, Uncle Lar, Drama, Il Pen, 'Dole, Niamh, and others? http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...es/Friends.gif
I'm feeling uninspired and have been having very little time... I'm just posting to encourage others. C'mon, people, this picture ought to stir something you you! :)
'His name no soul knows.
Not one man has ever beheld
Those crystal eyes, or ruby-like,
Or see-through lenses, hollow and wise.
But we do know he lived
And lives on still, eternal flame
Like that of the Sun.
We just know, just like we know
That Death awaits us all, even though
No one alive has ever met Her.
To whom to the birds chant?
And sing songs of longing and praise?
It is to Him, who sows and reaps.
Their lovely throats, their keen eyes,
Their fledging, fluttering, freeing wings,
All are his gifts to them.
The Lord of Birds is mild and kind.
The birds sing with joy
For they know that their last flight
Will be to His loving bosom.'
Look, look at the moon. How high it is!
It is late.
Be your dreams as sweet as this Summer night's warm breeze.
Think no more of Phiggy, now that you know
That he is gone to some place better.
Sorry pen i'm still trying to think of something!Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
Nice Kandy! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1.../CandyCane.gif
You other poets will have to do this:
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...lies/Brain.gif Hee-hee! As I recall, he had the same thing every night "Take over the world." Yours will be: "Write poems."! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...ilies/Grin.gif
Hey Pen, I didn't know the picture had changed. This is the best I can do right now.
Great spirit of the sky
Releasing all I know
May I glimpse with single eye
A truth from you that flows
With wisdom in my hand
I trek the mountains height
To wander to my land
Where my spirit takes it's flight
Sonnet (real this time)
And from His hands came the glory of the sky;
For the winds were barren and the clouds unknown.
Bidding them onward, he tossed them awry
So perfect were they, stable in that cyclone.
Them to the sky, the lot yet untaken
To Jove they answer, and nobody else.
Through their wings rushed the wind, freshly awaken
From peaceful Morpheus's deepest wells.
Zephyr rouséd, all the wingéd did soar
and clutched their lot in their taloned grasp.
He was much pleased with them yet more and more
When they struck at the ermine and the asp.
From contour to down, to birds was His heart
Unto them did he uncut grace impart.
They, the crown on his self-implaced duty
Divine joy stemmed from their simple beauty.
Sure about that?Quote:
Originally Posted by Dante Wodehouse
Certainly. Two added lines doth not a change make. Shakespeare twisted Petrarch's sonnets. I shall call my creation a DWian Sonnet. Or I can just knock off two lines and have no eponymous poem type. I shall do so next time, but I like this DWian Sonnet as is.Quote:
Originally Posted by Jolly McJollyso
The thunder crashed its mighty sound,
the lightning it did hit the mound,
Yet Old Bear sat and watched the sight
invoking his ansestors with all his might.
"I call on great owl, he that is wise,
And Hawk Eye and the leaders of the skies,
to show me wisdom, which path to take,
Away from the distruction white settlers make."
The wind did whisper and shook the trees,
The words were carried slowly on the breeze.
"Go." It spoke. "dont falter here to long.
For soon everything will all be gone."
"Go now, It's time for us to leave this land.
And head west before they take the food from our hands.
No longer can we call this our home, our place.
We must find a new and farther space."
And then the wind it calmed and went.
The storm lost the power the wind had sent.
And Old Bear turn his head mournfully to the sky,
and Let the tears of loss and sorrow fall from his eye.
Here goes, it's somewhat of a twist you could say- more on the man then the birds :
In this Blood
In this blood is the power of the eagle
majestic and strong.
The beauty of the sun
glinting off gold tipped wings
as he turns to the sky;
so he was chosen.
In this blood
is the all seeing eyes of the
owl and the falcon
by day seeing the smallest mouse
scurrying through the brush
hundreds of yards away.
By night not the slightest detail goes by unseen;
so he was chosen.
In this blood
is the hunter in both
attacking prey and protecting.
Killing all enemies in his path.
A quick and silent death
awaits those who oppose him;
so he was chosen.
In this blood
is the beauty of the bluebird,
whose wings spread out in protection
over speckled blue eggs
and whose song fills the empty air,
and rejoices over triumphs;
so he was chosen.
In this blood
is the humbleness of the sparrow,
simple and lowly,
but fast and intelligent.
In this blood
is the peace of a hundred doves.
Taking flight and
ready to spread peace
to all around;
so he was chosen.
And he was chosen
to lead his flock
to bring strength, power
beauty, and peace to his people
He is The Chosen One
so he will lead
So he was chosen
Absolutely! Create a new style! I did with the reversibles we had for the last form competition! Makes for a batch of new blood infused into poetry. Who knows? 100 years from now, maybe they will be studying reversibles and DWian Sonnets as part of poetry!Quote:
Originally Posted by Dante Wodehouse
And Good entries, all. My job is getting harder, which is great! There is still time for more entries, so let your ink flow! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...mailSmiley.gif
Hello Pendragon, congradualtions on your recent 10,000nth post. I have come back temporarily after a fortnight of school work and a tedious schedule which has proved itself to be anything but flexible. My 'Get your poems Reviewed!' topic will have to be deleted due to my current situation. Although I promised reviews to all who posted, it saddens me to say I cannot do justice to my claims. I'm so mendacious :(
But to get back on topic! Nice poems everyone (especially Niamh). Good Luck(It's really not that good but I wanted to submit something!):D:
Profiteering Exploits
How implacably he twines those rods of gold,
Fettering the past oblivious to future,
From sapling young to proverbial old,
the many wings tell a tale of infamy---
Indellible wrinkles plow his face,
Extensive toil has effaced,
The dire necessity to deviate,
the future portending to eliminate
his profuse lands and monarch pride,
his symbolic bands and dogged stride,
on lands once his turned grey from plight,
purloined by the sailors promoting fright...
Dispatched to the pot on a course of tears,
Deluging their hopes and reaping fear.
From a scarlet iota to pompous crest,
We pillaged to gain and made our loot the best...
Hi Pen. Sorry I haven't been able to write lately. How much time do I have with this picture? When will you close it down?
May 28, so you have time, Virgil...
And thanks, 'Dole. I didn't realize. I had to go post that landmark! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...Kane/Greed.gif
thanks Pen. I'll try.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
We move around the centres of our space
At any time we cannot know our place
If we are running quickly round apace
Or if we know we find we are unmoved
This is the Uncertainty Principle.
The light is blinding and the grace profound
And if we listen hard we hear the sound
Of angel voices circling all around
A frequency so high that we are moved
This is the Photoelectric Effect.
We see what is to us our hearts' desire
The source and object of an inner fire
And yet we do not know, and to enquire
Invokes the risk that it might be removed
This is the Copenhagen Tyranny.
=====
Note: Heh, this is a challenge. That picture is way too obvious in some ways. I am attempting an abstraction of it, much as I did some competitions ago... :)
Perhaps. But I am of Native American blood... http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...Kane/chief.gif More meaning, perhaps to one of us...Quote:
Originally Posted by autolycus
Pen: Yes, I do accept it would have a lot more meaning to one of your heritage - that's why I think I am avoiding a more mythopoeic or cultural interpretation. I would probably not do justice to the spirit of the image in that sense! :)
Speaking of doing justice with the image.. Now that I look over my poem and see how mediocre it is in comparison to the other submissions I feel saddened :(. Talent permeates like a virus on these forums :D
:bawling: i shouldnt say anything about my "poem" then!!Quote:
Originally Posted by Adolescent09
and speaking of talents, yeah i do see a lot of it in this forum :thumbs_up :D
:blush: one of the reasons why i prefer to just sit and watch rather than to dare write something hehe!
I agree with Adol,Quote:
Originally Posted by Adolescent09
Nobody was posting so I sent in a lukewarm noodle, then all these great poems appeared. It was all I could do not to retract mine. :crash:
Whoa! Degrading yourselfs is the worst thing that you can do. "The road behind, not the road ahead is the one forever barred to our footsteps".
In this case, I will do the judging of the poetry. No one will go without a coment about their poems. If you don't believe me, go back and check the results of the last form poem contest.
But listen to this old poet. The way to publication lies through an ocean of rejection slips. And there are times that the poem you think a sure winner will not make it, while the one you are almost ashamed to enter becomes a masterpiece. So lets have no more self-depreciation, OK? Good luck!
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...winkyPen-1.gif
Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
I was actually criticizing my work to make the other posters feel a bit better :). I like making other people feel good because I'm always miserable. It makes me feel just a little bit better to make others enjoy the happiness I will never expierience.
That sounds brilliant and poetic. Perhaps you, the great bard, should make a poem pertaining to publication rejections... as I see you write poetry on literally everything on this forum :DQuote:
The way to publication lies through an ocean of rejection slips.
he occupies the sky
the one who stands alone
he rests amongst the clouds
and plays beyond the wind
the wonder of his power
embraced within his wings
who would know where he resides
to speak his mind to tell
our very thoughts are whispered
before they voice a sound
the treasured memories spoken
in the tall blue skies
he commands the story
strength and grace abound
told by the unseen hand
horizons without end
finely designed feathers
adorn his many friends
painted with absent hesitation
fashioned by a brush
silent noise reverberates
the chatter could not reveal
what was formed upon the plume
tho’ the beak did gladly tell
only one stoops there
the owl who knows so well
the depths of darkness dwell
in a hiss and a hoot
he turned his head around
the one who reflects
gently holds firm
the backward mind
that does recall
the smallness of it all
...i shudder, i utter, i squeeze and i submit...
Hee. I have one in my files. I'll have to dig it out and type it back up and post it. It's one I sent in reply to a very snotty rejection letter after I had changed a poem twice for an editor who still rejected it! And please, I am far from the "Great Bard". Others had more popular poetry when the post was working!Quote:
Originally Posted by Adolescent09
Today is the last day for entries. Last call everyone! http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...es/Friends.gif
Perched among the lofty clouds
He crafts the images from his dreams
Giving his secret thoughts flight
And his noble creation wings
His gazes knowingly at his flock
Sorrowful that they will not return
Their wings give them precious freedom
The liberty and escape for which he yearns
Trapped among the spiraling clouds
Hidden above the fog and mist
The bird man hews these noble creatures
Providing for them his earnest wish
Wow, deadline already. Well here's my effort then. Only wish I hadn't been so busy and had more free time to really do justice to that beautiful picture you posted, Pen.
He moved in circles with steady feet,
Spread borrowed wings to the drummer’s beat,
And raised his voice in a wordless song
That all who heard would remember long.
He reminded those who beheld the sight
Of the old, old tales, and their hearts took flight.
And he danced this dance until the day had come
When the rite was passed to his eldest son.
And now he sits in that time
Of pregnant silence when the beat
Has slowed and stilled in the drums and,
Wrapped in the feathers that are
As much a part of him as a part of the eagle,
He gazes outward, but looks inward.
Grandchildren gather, afraid of the distant coming thunder,
Gather to hear as the breath from his lips forms a steady wind
And his gesturing hands create a host of wonders
And his tales of the many birds begin
How the gentle and the fierce ones spread their wings
To the newborn wind at the start of all things,
How they raised their voices in a wordless cry
As their spirits spread across the living sky,
How this is where all earth spirits began
Even those of the earth-bound man,
And when the last wind blows at the end of things
These spirits take up their forgotten wings.
As his hands move swiftly to match his words
They produce the spirits of a thousand birds
He speaks the old, old tales in the falling night
And all who hear feel their hearts take flight.
:eek: now that I looked at MotherH's and PL's, i noticed(just now!!!) that the man in the pic is a man. Thought it was an old...
oh well may be I was misguided by that long hair, which of course is now too obvious 'cuz he's tribal... :brickwall
But well... may be a "She" would sound better in my poem!(now thats called wishful thinking!! :flare: ) :sick:
Something to make the deadline:
The Shaman’s Eye
Birds awaken from his sleeve
alive and fluttering
in a breeze,
beating strength against
his feathered chest.
At each stage of soaring
a lens is built to shear the air,
the glass refraction of an eye
clears raw pulsing clouds,
and shapeless a storm of air
bent by flapping wings
traces fleeting symbols
in lines across the sky.