Famous Quoted Line Poetry Contest

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hawkman

At El Ferrol I landed in 1982
from there to Santiago
this road I travelled too
but while upon this journey
no tigers did I see.
No wildebeests or jackals
inclined to bother me.

Now in the self-same decade
Sir John Moore’s tomb I saw,
not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
and not a tiger’s roar.
There at La Corunna
no metaphors, were found
just the grave of a British hero
still lying in the ground.

At Santiago de Compostella,
a cathedral quite profound,
no synecdoches either
were seen to hang around.
Such beasts, at which I wonder,
I’ve only seen in zoos,
they’re certainly not in Woking
and yes, I’ve been there too.

So in answer to your query
before it is renewed
Ask not to whom I should complain
for I complain to you.

:D

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Between the two of us you are,
beyond a doubt, the greater wit,
to which I can only retort
Damn!

Noble Prince, I will allow that you are half right ;)

I regret to be the one to follow Prince and hawkman but here I am

Divine Right

Tiger! Tiger! Burning bright
Hidden and clear; night or day
To shame the Sun and its ray
Tiger must prowl or plight.

Tiger! Tiger! Standing still
Deep in space it never leaves
Carried, mist a clever breeze
Tiger ready for its kill.

Tiger! Tiger! Why it eats?
Why desire the Blood it chills?
Why follow those it will still?
Why end life when instead sleep?

Tiger! Tiger! It disturbs
The games that make worlds turn.

Prince and hawkman:

You two are aware that there is only one poem per poet per contest?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Pendragon

Prince and hawkman:

You two are aware that there is only one poem per poet per contest?

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Yes thank you Pen. I think you'll see that only one of our respective poems contains the famous quooted line, the rest are just fun. H

Thank you all for your wonderful poems so far.
A reminder to those of you still dithering that the closing date for entries is June 1st.
Good luck.

Tyger! In the grass, hiding from its prey, no doubt
Waiting to for the time to pounce...
A lagging gazelle never to return to the herd

Tyger! In the den, yearning for escape to go out
Waiting for the toy mouse to bounce...
A whirling can opener, and the liver stirred

Burning bright...
the colors, orange and black to blend
like fire...
dancing on his majestic back...

in the forest...
outside the cottage along the backyard's end
his lair...
his jungle by the cul de sac...

of the night...
these two felines in their own right
live the lives by nocturnal sight...
are they really different, these two cats?

@BienvenuJDC: I much admire the way you broke the original line into its constituent parts, and what you wrote on the whole.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin

@BienvenuJDC: I much admire the way you broke the original line into its constituent parts, and what you wrote on the whole.

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Thank you...

closed?

Closing 15 minutes from now (midnight 1st June) - and I shall post the result as early as possible tomorrow (2nd June).

Thanks everyone for taking part

Damn, I started...

The Tiger

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
in the poacher's cross-haired sight:
what amoral world could see
your skin as mere commodity?

but didn't finish! Um, the tiger ate the rest, Sir??

Thanks everyone for your splendid efforts - now the judgement :

‘Tyger tiger burning bright…..’ was the line- and it seems to have tickled most entrants’ funny bones which made selecting a winner as much a joy as a chore.

DarkMuse – one of your trademark poems, seeking out and exposing the seductiveness of the dark side. In terms of imagery and expressive language this has to be a strong contender –
BUT somewhere along the way the ‘famous quoted line’ fails to put in an appearance so technically speaking this fine poem fails to meet the competition’s requirements.

Pendragon – I love the sharp, snappy wit of this little poem. Perhaps ‘But’ at the start of line 3 and the second ‘by’ from line 4 could be removed in order to maintain the rhythm. But a near-perfect piece.

Hawkman – what an image; enough to give cat-lovers the vapours. Perfect metre and rhyme throughout – I was, however, left anticipating a stronger final line.

hack – again an amusing take on the tiger image – this time the subtle rhyme is almost camouflaged like a set of stripes within the three verses. Very enjoyable imagery.

Prince Myshkin – first of all, of course, I'm fairly sure there aren’t any tigers in Africa, but that minor fact doesn't spoil the enjoyment of this poem. I loved the rhyming couplet form – paired with the list of animals it reminded me of a modern-day Noah’s ark, but these animals seemed to be on a conveyor belt of courses for the tiger’s dinner.

krymsonkyng – a brilliant image of anthropomorphism; a fedora-wearing, cigar-chewing feline. A touch of the T S Eliots, complete with cleverly symmetrical use of rhyme.

rabid reader – a worthy effort. Some effective use of vocabulary and partial rhyme created an arresting image but the overall sense of the piece became a bit confusing in places.

BienvenuJDC – the layout of this poem is unconventional as regards line lengths and metre, but the rhyme is true for most of its span. What really struck me about this was the clever counterpoint between jungle cat and domestic cat – quite separate at the beginning but almost the same creature in identical surrounding by the end of the poem. And a marvellous final line adds a touch more charm.

blankverse - a wonderful little poem, but unfortunately you missed the deadline by seven minutes.

At the end I had to make a difficult choice between krymsonkyng and Bienvenu – but BienvenuJDC wins by a whisker….. for closing off his poem in such a skilful way. Congratulations

Thanks all – and I hope you enjoyed writing your entries as much as I enjoyed reading them.

H

Way to go, Bien! :thumbsup:

Thank you, Hillwalker. I appreciate your comments and your choosing my poem.

Thank you, also, Pendragon.

I have chosen a line from the great Scottish Poet, Robert Burns', To a Louse:

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,

Have fun with this one. The deadline will be July 1st. That will give you all a whole month.

Bienvenu: I heartily concur with Hillwalker's decision & his comments on your witty poem. I'm somewhat apprehensive how contestants might respond to the Scottish dialect in your next proposal.

Hoots mon?

That's the sum total of my Scottish dialect - and I actually live in God's country.
Rabbie will probably be spinning in his grave but I'm sure we're all going to have fun playing with these lines!!

For those who find it too much a struggle, here are some cheat lines:

You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by saint and sinner,

But I'd love to hear us use the original.

Here is the poem, To a Louse in its entirety.

Congratulations to Bienvenu!

But Kry I have to say your poem was my favorite for being the only other person not to take the line litterally.

Thanks Prince & DarkMuse...

I wanted to add the paragraph that explained the inspiration for Burns' poem, but I decided not to. Reason: I don't want to affect your inspiration too much. We will leave it at that, but if your desire is to seek Burns' poem more in depth, then the poem, paragraph and more is available in the link in the post above.

Remember, there are no hard rules in poetry.

Well done, JDC. Your suggestion for the next competition could provide some interesting responses...

hillwalker - me and deadlines have never been the best of pals. I'm too much of an artist, man! Or lazy...

Chopped Burns

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Of ither vile, wanrestfu' pests—
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
Awa' wi' your witchcraft, ye frighten’ o’ bairns
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
I lea'e my cursin wi' you baith
Fareweel! Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
Alas! For me nae mair but creepin wonners
Wae saunt an’ sinner hate but muckle mair—
Can ye no lave me aloon I rede you a'
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,
Be ye off, haint me nae mair—
And tek ye creepin’, blastit wonner—
An' let poor damned bodies be
Whither be I saunt or sinner
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, ev'n to a deil,
Here's a health to ane I loe dear,
Gae ye gane, detested, blastit wonner,
I maun gae hame tae wife and bairn

Pendragon
©6/4/10

Hoot, mon! How did you do that? Did you summon up the ghost of Robbie or some other Celt? You're a wonder!

The man couldn't find an “any” key
and kicking the box only made it
growl and sputter gusts of dust bluster
as if in spite. He tossed the keyboard
shook the screen, took a breath, made to scream
but then stopped, and instead, cursing said
“Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner!
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an sinner!
Ah'll bust yer case to get mah fials
toss yer coarse in garbage pials
Infernal engine! Ye child of mon!”
and that was when the old man snapped.
Violence, sparks, a smell of sulfur
he tugged the machine clean from the wall
He wound up like a discus hurler,
lobbed his mac out the open window.
He arched his back and spat new insults
collapsed before the sound of impact-
A computer crash.
A broken heap of aching hardware
turned to software with time's erosion.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin

Hoot, mon! How did you do that? Did you summon up the ghost of Robbie or some other Celt? You're a wonder!

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Did a lot of research on Burns' turns of phrase. Borrowed lines here and there, then mixed it with my own colorful phrases, making sure to stick to the language. Always liked the Scottish since I read "Kidnapped" as a small boy. Burns is also a favorite poet.

TO A BED BUG

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
What made ye daur to shae yer heid
Inside yon bonnie lassie’s bed?
Perhaps ye felt the carnal heat
The fankle of her silken sheet,
Attracted by the lurid scent,
The dampened cloots, oor passions spent,
From doon inside yer tiny neuk
Ye daured to tak a closer look
Then made to hawk yer cootie’s jaws
Inside the waistband of her drawers.
Oh how I hate ye fer the stushie
To leave yer hickey on her tushy!

I'm glad I'm not competing against you guys, but I may have a harder time judging these....

WOW!!! Great job guys!! I am impressed!!!!!

Whoa! Stiff competition, indeed! You two guys will certainly give me a run for my money and then some. I am opposite of Bien in this case, I don't mind competition, but I'd hate to have to pick the winner! Good luck to you all!

Bump-bump! Bump-bump! Bump-bump!

bump!

re-bump .....

Sorry...I've been offline for a couple of weeks...but I'm back. I will judge the poems tonight!!

Pendragon...fantastic job that I think Robert Burns would be proud of...

krymsonkyng...I love your humor with the "any" key reference. You did a marvelous job.

hillwalker...it was a tough call between you and Pendragon, but this line won it for you!! "To leave yer hickey on her tushy!"

Congratulations!!

Thanks, Bien..... and also congratulations to my two worthy adversaries (in particular Pendragon who managed to sound more Scottish than most of my neighbours) http://www.online-literature.com/for...pictureid=6965

And no, I did not have the geographical advantage over you because I'm a wee Welsh man.....

So - moving swiftly on -

The ‘famous’ line I have chosen comes from ‘Fair Weather’ by Dorothy Parker – a vastly under-rated writer. It is the opening line of her poem but you are invited to include it anywhere in your entry – but you are reminded; include it you must.

This level reach of blue is not my sea;

Deadline for entries – 3 weeks from today (midnight 31st July/1st August)

good luck

She Fell For Love

She fell like a pale rose
wrapped in saffron
with wings plastered,
what was her crime
but to choose to love
with a passion
more mortal than divine.

She wearied of
the chaste fraternity
and purity defined
as stiff sterility,
so she ran without remorse
and without regret
towards freedom
and the feel of a body
physical and full of life.

And how they wept
despair at her courage
that they lacked,
and she was sent
tumbling over the ledge
while casting her eyes
upward to the heavens
one last time,
and catching the
celestial skyline
she thought
this level reach
of blue is not my
sea.

She choose instead
to dive into a sea
of emotion where
love is something
felt more than just
an aloof concept
she wanted the risk
of sometimes
crashing against
rocks and washing
ashore.

She learned
if an angel truly
wanted to fly with
the birds she must
give up her wings
and feel with
every fiber of her
being.

Blue Memories

This level reach of blue is not my sea, but my sorrow
For ever fall the glistening drops from my eyes
Since the sea swallowed her up and she was gone
The good Lord gives and the good Lord takes away—
But the blue sea sounds with haunting voices
Figures seen rising in the mist from its watery depths
I must go down to the sea again
All I want is another chance at love
If the deep blue will return my lost love
With a star to guide her by…

Pendragon
© July 17, 2010

(sorry about the second famous quoted line, from John Masefield, Sea Fever the seventh line here)

This level reach of blue is not my sea.
It is the grammar of my mind.
Those who swear the earth is round,
who live by proof and proof alone,
cannot prove love, nor understand
when it is gone. This level reach of blue
goes out from heart to heart. Without it,
there is neither love, nor art.

Promises

This level reach of blue is not my sea,
nor this, the only shade of sky for me,
and hope, then prayer, begs a less cobalt hue.
I search horizons that cleave blue from blue.

Then soft, a timid, tinted wind descends
to proof the line where azure sky begins.
Beneath, the darker stain of oceans deep,
my blues are promises you did not keep.

Four wonderful entries so far - if anyone else feels they can do the 'line' justice, there is only a week remaining before the deadline.

H

The deadline has now passed - thanks to the four entrants, and my gratitude also to those who have visited here for a read without leaving their mark..... next time perhaps you will also enter the fray.

These excellent poems make use of metaphor in four quite different ways, which perhaps shows how each writer approached the quote itself 'this level line of blue is not my sea.....'

DarkMuse : on first reading this a poem about suicide, the poet throwing her body 'tumbling over the ledge' - but then it becomes apparent this is actually about abandoning a conventional love (rather than life itself) in order to fulfill a dream.
I particularly enjoyed 'a pale rose/wrapped in saffron' and 'catching the/celestial skyline' - a beautiful poem very skillfully executed

Pendragon : a poignant poem about physical loss - the sea taking from us, also reminding us constantly of what we have lost - the Masefield line was a welcome addition (although line 4 seemed rather out of place) - a commendable effort nevertheless

Prince - an elegant reflection on the different ways the world may be observed -by the pragmatists 'who live by proof and proof alone', or the romantic where 'this level reach of blue/goes out from heart to heart' - very simple and thought-provoking

hack : almost an elegy on blueness - then comes 'a timid, tinted wind' to separate blue sky from blue sea, hope from despair almost, and reveal that powerful closing line - a very neat piece.

All are worthy of far greater praise than I have scattered here - and it was not an easy task to pick the winner, but under stiff competition the prize goes to Prince for encapsulating so much in just 8 lines.

Congratulations - and to the other 3 for giving him a run for his money.

H