Famous Quoted Line Poetry Contest

Life poetry.


It was in that age
that poetry came
In search of me.

But I was watching my mother's hands,
Thumping out the rhythm of the dough,
Pushing back a loose strand of hair,
Leaving a streak of floured sable,
The first touch of grey,
Recalling times yet to come.

And later.

But I was away gathering sheep,
Striding across the high moor,
In the company of skylarks,
Watching the sleek black dogs,
Lift and plunge like porpoises,
Through purple heather billows.

And again.

But I was holding my grand daughter,
And feeling the light of her existence
Suffuse each atom of myself and of every other thing,
With a warmth like a poem of spring,
Melting away an old man's rime,

So it never found me,
But did not need to look,
I was never lost,
Nor held by any book.

I'm sorry for the late verdict. I just could not easily decide. All three are good. Maybe the winner wins only by .1 in my imaginary pointing system.

I like Dark Muse's use of words.

I like Pendragon's narrative.

Prendrelemick has both. He wins, and this is the .1 that makes him win:

"But I was away gathering sheep,
Striding across the high moor,
In the company of skylarks,
Watching the sleek black dogs(,)
Lift and plunge like porpoises(,)
Through purple heather billows."

Thanks,

Miyako

Thanks .

Next up some Christina Rossetti

My heart is like a singing bird.

My heart is like a singing bird
Responding to what it has heard,
A lonely lover in the spring,
Responding to a tease, something
That's waiting out there, like a friend,
Who gives my fear a fearless end.

Heartbeat

His heart beat
was like an eagle's wings,
thunderous, strong,
beating freely, wild
at times seeming untamable
ungraspable,
yet there were moments
it could soar silently,
barely perceptible
and within these
moments of serenity
I knew its warmth,
it's life, were for me
and only me,
and then my heart
is like a singing bird.

My heart is like a singing bird
Enclosed within a golden cage
I sing to keep from weeping
I laugh to still the rage
I weep sometimes and tremble
Often I cannot find the words
But engaged or free, sorrow or sunshine
My heart sings like a tiny bird...

Pendragon
(C) 3/10/2014

Bump.

One week to go.

Presence of Evidence

My heart is like a singing bird
The Lark within is gently purred
My master is none too pleased
Feathers flew out when I sneezed

GG. Beautiful allegory of the dangers of trying to swallow Morpheus Sandman's arguments on that other thread. Explosive plucking is the best result one could hope for.

Yesno. Simple and straight forwards as usual

A tie between Dark Muse and Pendragon. Pen as usual has a story I can relate to, while the Muse has poetry perfection. Hmm...

On re-reading I shall give it to Dark Muse. such a well crafted poem, it grows on you at each reading. Lovely imagery.

Time will say nothing but i told you so,
eat that pill so you will imagine no more;
remember the metaphors poets used
are common language and ancient tools
discarded in time and recycled again.
what is new? you asked,while carrying
a gene of your father's dad.

what is there to say or make?
we spent all life hallucinating
about existential eternity
when nothing gold can stay.
all things will die!
all things will crumble,
shall i compare life to a gameshark'ed pokemon game?
there is no fun anymore,
the day you know
is when you choose to lie or go.

tonight i can write a list of dead people,
the march hare spoke to me
in multiple voices; nautilus's hermit
reminded me the simplicity
of writing something imagined
and not experienced,
we are never passing facts,
given that we never were facts.

let me have my decided end,hemingway
with red eyes spawned from a corner;
a large figure essentially begging.
a choir of patients rambled:
the world is too much with us..
i know,when
they have fears that they may never cease to be,
that misery shouts: back out of all this now too much for us.

we are all judges of each other's show,
the stage is disfigured from our disapprovals;
together we make the caged bird
lose its voice.
what then? Asked a common life.
maybe we should all believe
perhaps the roses really want to grow.

^Nice work your Majesty.

Entering a supermarket with
my glossy new red sunglasses.
The shelves, crates, fridges
are all filled with bear, pumping,
breathing, spitting blood hearts.
On the shelves in neat rows,
with students cleaning up
the bloodied floors.
Long and tall corridors of shelves
and a frosty wall of bloodied refrigerators.
Walking through you hear one big thump every 3 seconds,
you're eyes report that all heart's beats are apart.
Its easy to lose your sense of this rooms capacity
and air, and get absorbed in the inconsistency of
your eyes and ears, its clear your heart closed itself
and is humbing only that melody your mom sang you
before going to bed, before the monsters reached your head.
The selves have different prices and different tags
all the products differ by their fat coatings and shining valves.
Walking through, and losing my
appetite, I'm not sure if I should take a heart and
spend my comfortable luxury at home
by bringing this messy product home.
I don't want to lean on any counters
I don't want to clean the trail I'll
leave after.
I'll put them in my basket and they'll drip
from the market, to the street, to my
home, and then in my stomach.
I miss the days I could see the grocery store
without a heartbeat.

Two nice poems posted above, but alas too late. Judgement has already been pronounced, and Dark Muse has been declared the victor of this particular round.

Thank you, I will have the next line up soon.

Ok your next line is:

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

From The Two Trees by Yeats

Dealing April 10