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Deja Vu
We didn't start the fire burning
Said Hicksville's most sagacious poet
Yet for all the world still turning
It feels as if there's something to it.
I saw what I'd not seen before
I have seen what I'd not seen again
And yet I thought that what I saw
Was something that I saw back then
That feeling is the sense defined
By walking in Columbia's glades
A newer world than left behind
Yet full of memory's dim shades.
He didn't do it, didn't act
Within the compass of his days
And yet he feels the chilly fact
That he had trod those unknown ways.
She didn't say it, says it still
That wasn't said and yet it seems
Against her knowledge and her will
She said it once before —*in dreams?
You know it's new and never seen
A never-never scene to you
And yet it hovers in between:
These words, that act, this deja vu.
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Deja Vu ~Bougainvillia
You shivered outside
alone
in early morning chill!
The way your green blouse blew gently
in autumn breeze
still and will always linger in my mind.
The purple corsages
you wore
were intoxicatingly beautiful,
caught,
and opened my drowsy eyes.
It's a deja vu feeling!
A stroll down memory lane,
I vaguely recall
we made a promise a thousand years ago
to meet again
somehow sometime somewhere
whatever the cost!
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OK, I declare time up, and will forthwith give the winner.
First I'd like to say this: these are contests judged by a fellow poet who was fortunate enough to win last time. As such, they will always be judged on a manner of personal taste and expectations. That's just the beauty of these contests.
hillwalker You had a technically wonderful poem. But my own feeling is that profanity has no place in poetry beyond a single minor swear word for emphasis. My opinion only.
miyako73 I liked the poem, but I am not sure it fulfills what I was looking for. Sorry.
Dark Muse Totally loved the poem. I found this stanza particularly strong
I caught the glitch
when the overlay delayed
and I stood waiting by the bus stop
and I stood waiting by the bust stop.
Yes Deja Vu could be described as a "glitch in time."
AdoreroDio The reversal effect in your poem is sheer genius, like living it over again in reverse order so that you strongly remember what happened. Brilliant!
Autolycus You had perhaps the strongest ending to your poem.
You know it's new and never seen
A never-never scene to you
And yet it hovers in between:
These words, that act, this deja vu.
Loved it!
angliholic You also closed your poem on a high note that was very wonderful!
A stroll down memory lane,
I vaguely recall
we made a promise a thousand years ago
to meet again
somehow sometime somewhere
Great stuff!
But I must declare only one winner, and for her sheer brilliance with that reversed look at something happening over again, the winner is:
Andy Dio! Congrads!:hurray::hurray::hurray::hurray::hurray:
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Thanks for judging, Pen! And congrats to AD! :)
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Congrats to the winner, and thank you Pendragon for your kind remarks. I was inspired by the Matrix. As soon as I saw Deja Vu the first thing that popped into my head was a scene from the movie where there was an instantance of deja vu, and it was explained as being a glitch in the system.
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Thanks Pen, and congraulations to the worthy winner!!
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Wow I won, haha. Thank you!
Next Subject I suppose shall be... *drum roll*
The Last Meal
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The Last Meal
A man walks down the street
He says, "Why am I hanging alone down here?
Why am I hanging alone down?
Why has my life been so damn hard?
I need a psychoanalysis now,
I want a shot at redemption,
Don't want to end up in a poem
In a subject poetry contest!"
When I was young and dying
I was young and green as hell
Can I call on Dylan
Dylan Thomas he calls me
And I call me, Al!
A man walked down the street...
He is stringing out, stringing out the tension
Knowing he has no more pretension
He walked into an alley way
Unfortunate incident one day
Blood on the walls
Money for the lawyers
Many many lawyers
He sees lawyers in the architecture
Spinning out the legal system
The strings and webs of legal fiction...
When I was young and dying
I was young and green as hell
Can I call on Dylan
Dylan Thomas he calls me
And I call me, Al!
This is his longest walk, is he done walking?
He doesn't know, forever walking!
The sun is strangely hot at dawn
His necktie is oddly thick and strong
It's like the Third World!
He has no money,
He doesn't speak the language,
He is surrounded by the sound
Sound, sound, all around the ground
Then he's young and dying
He is young and green as hell
He calls out for Dylan
His Dylan thought bobbles at
The last:
Me
Al.
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Death is a Gentleman
Death has come to sit
at my table tonight
we dine before the
hallow candlelight.
The wind howls
at my door, with the
braying hounds,
seeking another soul
to drag into the
cavernous darkness.
But Death can wait,
he above us all
can sit king over time,
there is no need to rush
but like a fine wine
savor these last moments
upon earth.
I break bread with
the shadow that seems
to loom over all
and we share a drink
to reminisce over times
past and gone.
When you take the time
to get to know him I find
that he really is quite
the gentleman.
And even before
the most humblest affairs
is grateful to be invited
before the fire.
But all too soon
the hours slip by
and at last the moment
has arrived for my
companion and I
to prepare for the long
ride.
He leads me out
into the gentle night
with a final good-bye,
in his chariot I mount
and away we fly.
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The Last Meal.
The restaurant wasn’t crowded,
and the quiet pair
with silent smiles,
revelled in their intimate
reflections in the evening window glass.
Enjoying food for thought
and the music of their love,
they drank to each other
with their eyes, the woman’s kiss
a lipstick trace in red upon a rim.
A candle flame entranced,
and danced between -
a sinuous wisp,
that pooled in fluid amber light
which bathed two faces in its gleam.
And while they ate the food
that fed another hunger,
anticipation grew,
with quickening hearts
and thoughts of touching in the dark.
Until, a momentary glare of headlamps,
an engine’s dying scream,
the wine and blood that mingled
in the broken glass
amid their shattered dreams.
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Fantabulous start!
I'll set the deadline as September 28
:]]]
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THE LAST MEAL
The slingshot moon
sprays stars towards horizon
grey aurora barely lighting up the snowfields
caged beneath the tines of pine trees
as their mesh of shadow pins me down
but still I find an opening
where glaciers blaze with fire
yet bestow a chill upon
this haunting silence and the empty echo of an aching night.
The forest nurtures scents and tastes
distilled in one deep breath
an overload of hunger and decay
as every step shakes loose these bones beneath my pelt
the whistle of buran a constant gnawing at my tail.
Sometimes I stop and spin inside my judas tracks
I’m usually swift enough to shake them loose
that slinking predator, mortality
death dragging closer by the day
its chain of famine like a weight that never lightens.
Other times I sense its steel trap gaping
at the loose ends of my tether up ahead
one step too many for another meal.
This howl you hear is not of reckless rage,
my dying song;
it merely signifies my final meal
was something I no longer can recall
the taste of blood a week or more ago
this howl is winter
crying victory.
H
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Last Meal For a Convict
They brought me my steak and French fries today,
Told me to enjoy while there was still time—
The clock says the hours are counting down fast
At midnight the Grim Reaper calls
I don’t claim that I'm innocent and do not deserve to die
I know the cold mistakes that I made
But I wonder about the kids starving abroad
And the irony of giving a man a very fine meal
When he is to die in four hours by execution
While a good part of the world creeps towards death by starvation
Pendragon
© 9/12/2010
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Pen, I'm not questioning your judgement. Saying that I did not use "Deja Vu" correctly seems to me that you did not understand the poem at all. "Deja Vu" in my poem is both a Vietnamese woman's alias and a familiar experience.
Let's get real. Do you think "Knew I things past?" makes sense? That line assaulted the little grammar and good stuff I have known about the English language. Poetic license is old. Give another sensible reason.
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Pendragon sent me a private message:
"I find you latest comment on the Subject Poetry Contest to be in very poor taste. To complain about how your own poem was judged is one thing. To cast stones at the winner's poem is quite another. I feel you should delete your hateful post.
The choice of winner was mine and mine alone. I did not have to grace anyone else's poetry with a comment. That I always take the time to do so is out of respect for my fellow poets.
I told you when I posted that things were just my opinion. If you are going to be so sensitive about any criticism, you might not want to post poetry in these contests. Many has been the time I disagreed with both the choice of winning poem (feeling mine was much better) and the comments made about my poem. But these are contests judged by our peers. Tastes vary exceedingly.
My advice, lighten up.
, and get your knickers out of a twist. You sound a lot like sour grapes.
Pendragon"
My message:
Respect the English language. Get real. Have someone read this: "Knew I things past?"
With this line, "Many has been the time I disagreed with both the choice of winning poem (feeling mine was much better) and the comments made about my poem.", coming from you, now I know.
