Just two days left and some of you are going to be busy with Thanksgiving. Join the 'jam'. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
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Just two days left and some of you are going to be busy with Thanksgiving. Join the 'jam'. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
This tale is of a time ago,
A tale of seven strings;
He sat alone in dark and gloom
And gave the angels wings.
He strummed them all, then each one slow,
As if he tested glass;
He plucked them lone with rare aplomb
To make sure all would pass.
The first string gave a fearsome tone
That broke the silent night;
He drawled alone in lightened room
"Land's sakes, that was a fright."
The second string was mournful sure
Like waters under earth;
He groaned alone like ancient tomb
"We need a bit more mirth."
The third string you could hear the leaves
A-rustling in the breeze;
He laughed alone in airy home
"Ah, that is sure to please."
The fourth string was the central one
And sounded middle G;
A proud cyclone of piercing tone
The stars came out to see.
The fifth string gave uneven notes
And even fishier thirds;
Within his bones he heard the moans
"Well, this one's for the birds."
The sixth string made his fingers sore,
It really was that thin;
Inside the zone of great unknown
It sounded black as sin.
He strummed them slow and made it grow
But Seven broke in twain;
So he intoned, "Well, that's all gone,
Let's take a break again."
And that is why on seventh day
We humans take a holiday.
Bad weekend to close a contest. Shame on me. I'll be back. Thanks to all who entered. I'll have to post the winner tomorrow.
Wow you guys. I love these poems.
Pendragon...for some reason as I read yours I thought of the lovely ballad sung by Tom T. Hall, "Old Dogs and Children and Watermelon Wine". I felt like I was sitting right there with your guitar player hearing him strum his life. I was very moved by that thought and your poem.
Silven...that first line, love it, and those first two verses knocked my socks off, and that ending, "the strings that know". Wonderful.
Aunt Shecky...loved your rhyme so much. You are so clever and your gentle humor, especially about that flubbed note at the end. At last week's jam session everyone was looking around because someone was just a bit out of tune. After awhile everyone starts looking more inward at their own playing wondering if they are the culprit.
Autolycus...I loved how you compared the strings to creation and how wonderful at the end that 'he' played it cool and didn't smash the smithereens out of the blasted thing.
I love them all. As everyone says in every contest it's almost impossible to choose just one, butttttttt......
Autolycus, I will go with yours. Now you get to choose the next fragment or subject.
And here is a little prize...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7qpf...eature=related
Aww... thanks very much, ampoule! And thanks for the video of one of my favourite songs too!
=====
The next subject will be: "someone steps out from the shadows onto a cold winter street..."
Let's make the deadline 6th Jan, which is Twelfth Night!
Autolycus, yes your poem is a clear winner here.
You had my vote from the time I read it but didn't want to influence the judgment.
And AuntShecky, I loved your three line verses, which gave the poem great melodic overtones, and separated its nature from the norm - which worked well with the light your poem shed on the humble guitar.
Great efforts by all.
I look forward to submitting an entry for "someone steps out from the shadows onto a cold winter street..." - A great, visual starting point.
Slant
When city streets are wet at just past dusk,
their lamps reflecting danger and romance,
the sidewalk catches strides both slow and brisk
as night arrives with darker ambience.
Then, unannounced the temperature drops.
It fronts the water with a knife-thin cloak.
The shore lights shimmer down in frosty drips
on the river's replies, winking like a clock.
Some footsteps echo like stinging slaps
against such chill, bone-deep cold won't compare.
On changing shadows uncertainty slips--
do secret allies or unknown foes conspire?
They could conceal a guerdon of golden grace
or hide a threat, insidious as black ice.
Whoa, AuntShecky! Beautiful images and half-rhymes there...
Plenty of time left; let's hope to see more excellent poetry!
Solitude
His cardboard box is all that he has ever known,
With newspapers for blankets to keep out the snow,
Perhaps he had different life before, but memory is gone
He hugs his bottle trying to drown out his nightmarish foe
His lunch came from the dumpster behind the usual place,
No breakfast this morning for this forgotten soul.
He’ll take dinner at the mission if he can find a space,
Sermon and soup and crackers to help body and soul.
He dreams of better things lying there in the dark,
One ear always open for people will even rob the destitute.
His small fire has died down to just a fragrant spark—
What keeps him going sometimes he wishes that he knew.
But now he hears the jingling pockets and approaching feet,
So someone steps out from the shadows onto a cold winter street…
Pendragon
© 12/20/08
A cold and quiet city night,
A restless mood - the vampire’s bite
A haze is cut by moons blue light
To offer you a dim lit sight
Buildings buttress from cobble streets
Foundations built from stone & brick
And rise beyond what you can see
You think – “the devils walking stick”.
But down here now sight aggregates
The chap of a lighter illuminates
A scarred face is offered break
From shadows that envelope sake
Light goes out, now a red glow
Lifted to face the burning ember grows
And smoke swirls round as think as dough
A man begins to move now, slow
Contest is closed... I will spend this weekend working on it!
Hi there!
Only three entries this time, but I liked each of them, for very different things.
'Slant' (by AuntShecky) has probably the best use of language of the three. It was chilling and exact, like a scalpel's edge. The half-rhymes were well done, and the image conjured was romantic in its foreboding.
'Solitude' (by Pendragon) is probably the most humanly intense of the three. The psychological word-picture, the feel and taste of the atmosphere — these are especially strong in the poem, with a sense of loneliness and loss.
Silven's poem is one that is almost cinematic. It reminds one of vampire movies, of a kind of Batman's Gotham City, and then it zooms down towards the lead character. I liked the movement, and the ambiguity of many of the lines.
=====
All that said, I'm going to go with Pen's poem 'Solitude'. The edge it had over its beautiful competitors was, I think, the sheer sense of humanity that ought to go with the idea of 'someone' — a person who is nameless but still has a clearly-defined self. It was not an easy choice!
Pen, congratulations, and it's your term to propose a subject!
Thanks, Auto
Let's see...
"pain dances in like an intimate friend..."
Decided to remove my entry. Sorry.
Come on, people, one poem does not a contest make. Skilled you are. There is no try...
Algo Lagain
I removed my slacks
and slacked my briefs.
In brief, I stood exposed.
So my caretaker,
dear caretaker,
could throwaway my clothes.
she said a word,
I disagreed,
she commanded me,
"On your knees,"
I disagreed,
for I had not reached a word.
We deliberated briefly,
before i whispered in Her ear
and later when i would repeat the word
She would say She didn't hear.
Behold the pine-implement,
behold he exposed,
behold a pale flog,
O! a bottom's glow.
Was it something I said? :bawling:Quote:
Originally Posted by Silven
It took me an hour to come up with that poem, so there could be more than one entry.:(
Not at all Pen'.
You may have noticed, that poem looked a little out of place for the title of your contest. In fact I wrote the poem years ago, and your title reminded me of it.
The reason I removed it was because that poem is very special to me, and I actually did not want it judged.
I will try and re-submit something soon.
pain dances in like an intimate friend
familiar and sadly comforting
lost in my own wick world of pretend
tear me from the smiles facade
let my pain show through
for all of them to see
give way to the taboo
of despairs embrace
the memories fade
and light grows soft
no longer afraid
no longer afraid...
{ I don't know about the dancing in, but it is about pain. . .}
For Medicinal Purposes Only
The pharmaceutical potentates gain
points with an endless game versus pain,
cranking out pricey capsules by the millions,
racking up sharp profits by the billions,
propping up ads whose tiny print occludes
the fearsome side effects each dose includes.
As alternatives to bait-and-switchery,
home brews bubble just north of witchery:
woodland herbs and blooms and backyard botanics
to snub corporate chemicals and mechanics.
Such irksome ailments as warts or bunions
may meet their banes in garlic and onions.
The nagging malaise which a callus hardens on
could soften with balm from the wort of St. John.
A sagging libido, with its play stopped at “fore,”
recruits a concoction to make it rise, shoot, and score.
Strange-smelling roots set a-boil in a pot
might spark a desired pregnancy (or not.)
When acres of crops, planted by folksy lore,
harvest sad failure, we're still mad and sore.
With scripted pills and discount drugs in bins
we fight on and on. But pain always wins.
End of February will be closing time for this contest. Still time to join in the fun. :D
I'll be writing one soon, though it will be horribly different from the current entries - how is the voting going to go?
The fateful wind
Fury,
In all his dimensions,
Carouses
Acridly
In the deep night
To get his bearings.
He beats on the absent milk pans,
Straightening out his auditory senses
And adjusting his course.
He whips on ,
Up the narrow streets,
Rain whistling too near his features.
Suddenly afraid of the slivering shadows
That stretch out in prisms --
They conduct him through
Some sudden onslaught
And turbulent tumult,
Stronger than turpitude,
Deadlier than dynamite.
The fray will subside
But only after he is gone
And immemorially forgotten,
To be summoned back
On some unknown miserable chance.
lucid is the winner of this contest. Congrats!:thumbs_up
A letter to my Brother
you are the flower of Eden
Please always do leave in my Heart
I request the wind that blows
To touch you with my Warmth
please write your comments
wow.
thanks alot Pen, wasn`t expecting that.
haven`t been on in the longest time.
sorry for that.
ok um...so the next is
"a feather on my heart of lead"
The ranks drew in along the march.
We forded a slatted bridge that hedged
The slanted eye of the horizon.
Among the cliffs, our company wedged.
Once past the rocks, bean fields extended.
We hoped to cross the green unharassed,
But suspended our breaths when the glen came alive
And we traded fire in the morass.
When the sun had faded pale we garnered our retreat.
The youngest soldier of my men lost his fight this time:
All that was left with his effects was a lead heart locket
On a chain that bore the legend "Peace" in a serrated rind.
The residual seemed a weary load to send back to Mother.
I propped his clothes in to a crate but before I closed it up
I placed in a feather from the hawks in the canyon
That had swallowed the cliff face shut.
great poem alakungfu, would have never suspected that one.
looking forward to judging this:D
I agree, Lucid, that the first posting for your chosen subject is a good one, but could you please tell the rest of us when the deadline is ? ( As for the "feather" poem, I'm working on it, I'm "on" it, etc.)
I'll toss my feather into this contest. . .
A Feather on my Heart of Lead
I killed those ducks with buckshot
As they flew
D
O
W
N
To land in the marsh for the night
My blind was no blind at all: a fallen log near the shore,
Giving me a clear lane to fire
Pump!
and fire again.
Twenty gauge gun, lead shot: death now, death later.
My dog didn’t care.
Sundered feathers transfixed four-chambered pump with leaden grit and a spear of eiderdown.
Nobody knew what hit ‘em.
Net Weight
Among the rugged luggage that I've clutched
a cudgel, rough and heavy as a grunt,
makes tougher calluses on hands ill-dealt.
A noncommittal poker mug occludes
the ache from sticky grips. The better score
I couldn't grab, not with this life-long schneid.
The tickle of a feather’s wispy tip –
how irksome and annoying when one’s hands
are full! It’s pesky, like a tardy sneeze.
Yet there’s a capacity for the risible,
a soft spot for capricious balms:
the lingering sibilance of a snappy song,
a rustling bird who nestles in the brush –
a light and airy cache easier to tote,
its leather plushy, all swaddled in suede.
again 2 more great poems:D
i`m almost scared to judge them:lol:
as for the due date let`s say, April....11th sound good??
My attempt:
A faint memory can thus posses,
the crowning jewel of ones success,
- life's trials are cruel, and quite unkempt,
but force our hand to march for best
and force us thus to take effect
and peer with other brethren
we form the links, with passing tests
the chains that give our freedom strength
but as for one - must be for all
and break - a link does cause a roll
bouncing where it may - this ball
does damage down the line some more
but whence you ask does lead strike heart,
-when none is there to break ones strife,
when heavy heart puts out the fire
the world is driven by desire...
I don't know if we are supposed to comment here but I just have to say this gave me chills. Your poem reminded me of the wonderful novel by Geraldine Brooks, March.Quote:
Originally Posted by alakungfu
Thank you, ampoule I grew up watching war movies and one thing about them is that they keep getting better, so they inspire you to outdo the last one, they do for me anyway.
ok so it`s the 11th
congratulations alakungfu.
you wins
Thank you, lucidnightmares. I have a subject that's always appealed to me. I hope it appeals to the rest of you. It's "mermaid on the rocks" interpreted any way you want. We'll set the deadline at May 10.
[Okay, then, I'm going w. a new one]:
Any Port in a Storm
Said a salt left too long at sea
when a dugong climbed up on his knee:
“It might be the thick fog
or those three pints of grog –
But she looks like a mermaid to me!”
^^^ Love that AuntShecky! Think I'll be a touch more dramatic! http://www.websmileys.com/sm/violent/sterb232.gif
Dashed
Lorelei, Nymph, Siren, Mermaid -
all beguiling rockers of the sea.
Scaled notes decanting those
alluring urchins known
as the femme fatale - she.
But there is only one man
that can cause a woman to
fall from cliff to sea, bereft
of rhyme and reason, it is
the Poet known as - he.
I must remember to remember
it was not a twilight kiss that
ebbed the ocean blue. It was
the spill of a dark ink well that
drowned the dame formerly
known as - me.
http://www.websmileys.com/sm/violent/sterb064.gif