Subject Poetry Contest.

Thank you very much, I will have the next subject up shortly.

Homecoming

Sometimes,
In the mellow and mature twilight of dusk,
Heavy and laden with
tender memories,
One glimpses the rose bud like face
Of morning
with its promise of renewal and rejuvenation
The flames of hope are rekindled
And mysterious evening unfolds

Recently I have been having this fixation with owls, so I have decided to make your next subject "owl"

I know this will be a busy time for a lot of people so I am going to hold off an a deadline and see how things go before establishing one.

People claim that the old owl says "Who"
They only show the facts that they don't know
Some eared owls indeed mummer "Who! Whoooo!"
But other have different voices as we will show
There's a owl called a "Screech Owl" which actually wails
There is a "Barn Owl" that actually screeches
Some owls are huge, massive shadows that sail
Some are small enough to hide in a crack in our beeches
An old hollow "Whooooo!" can give me a start
The wails sound like lost souls adrift in the night
The screeches are harsh, demanding voices that quiver the heart,
Silent shadows in the darkness, who scan the woods at low light
So read up on owls, the large and the small
Learn their sizes, their names, and the sound of their call
But you know little or nothing, yeah, nothing at all
If you think that they all say "Whooooo!"
Study their feathers that make them stealthy and quick
Study their eating habits. WARNING: You may get sick!
Study their prey, so tiny and yet so quick
And remember, they don't all say "Whoooo!"

Pendragon

Owl

Songbirds fear the owl's strike
And torment it by day.
With darkness near the owl's like
Death coming out to play.

OWL

oblongs are wings in flight with speed of light,
willows in awe of such, a wonder bird,
leaps upon cretes are raised in joy of splendor owl.

My thoughts on the possibility of the next subject (Love)

Loving an Amazon

There she was,
The rough tomboy
Could ride the horse
And float with the buoys

This was her fourth
Of many such
Delicate ways as befits a court
And Amazonian (yet maternal and feminine) ways like a butch

A cloth around her neck tied
Like an adventuring fisherwoman dressed
Dagger against her dress pressed
Her opponents like brides cried

Could gut the whale
And cut the wolf rabid
Take care of her followers avid
Yet tame and shear the recalcitrant male

She takes her fifth shot
I am struggling with my second
Her scars the “medals” from battles fought
Mine arise from feelings for her heightened

She treats me by turns
As a fool, a stool pigeon, a clown
And at times an idiot to be controlled by treatment stern
Or more often ridiculed and humiliated for the edification of the town

She hoists me up to be exhibited like in statues
In tarred finery, hugging mannequins
Prompting me to ask : Is My love for her fatuous ?
Am I doomed to be hoisted on pedestals only to be let down by my self indulgent sins

One day, like a painted and (pinned and pained) bird,
I rise on the wings of my feeling seared
I cry out both for myself and the amazon I have loved
Who across the oceans of the world has rowed

Like a ruddy and swarthy female version of Othello
Myself the male Desdemona to whom she at last consents
To relate the tales of the seas , black to yellow
Through which she has sailed up to times present
The characters whom she has met , rascals and saints
And of every hue in between
Her tales were enough to give a delicate lad like me the faints
Telling of a world beyond what he had ever seen

She wonders and marvels at my innocence
Like a diver , she means to torment and bully me out of my shell
And extract the pearls of good sense
That lies buried in my dell

At last we give way to the feelings of mutual affection and love
A mating like that between land and sea
Between the fiery eagle and a gentle dove
Each loving the other, both know “Who is me ?”
The Amazon warrior in star like hues her lover dyed
Who in pain filled ecstasy cried

Zen like, In the morning after,
Things are the same fore and after,
The sun still shines, the birds still sing
But the lovers view it as the beginning of eternal spring

Unlucky Owls

We brought the owls in
'twas above the hearth
from which they did survey
And lo! before our eyes
our beloved raccoon
was kil't to our dismay

:tailor STATELY

Actually, the whole process of pearl formation in oysters seems to be linked to the following universal themes :

- Creation / Birth following labor
- The act of shedding tears / crying as a cleansing . cathartic process, whatever the catalyst (Of course it may be private and be subdued) and in a sense enriches and realizes our most delicate emotions in a profound manner, no cause is shallow in this sense
- The act of sex

There seem to be actual similarities between the process of tear and pearl formation with the tear drop acting as a metaphysical hologram of reality

Also swarthy is intended to mean wheatish complexioned and not dark

Because I do not know how much time I will have for judging this month and so not to leave people hanging I decided to set the deadline for January 1st.

Thank you to everyone who participated. This one was a very touch call.

Pendragon: A very charming and humorous little poem, as well as being quite educational. I enjoyed the exploration into the various different types of owls and dispelling the common misconception and stereotype about "who." There was a child-like feel to the poem. I cracked up on the line "Some are small enough to hide in a crack in our beeches"


YesNo: I enjoyed your more dramatic approach to the subject in exploring their expertise as predators. I liked the darker aspect of the poem and loved the last line "Death coming out to play."

cacian: I loved your use of the acrostic form for this poem. I thought you had some very beautiful imagery and portrayed the owl in an elegant and haunting way. It was a very worthy tribute to these most fascinating birds.

And the winner is......

tailor STATELY: Your poem cracked me up. It reminded me of something by Edward Gorey. I loved the humor of it and its originality. And the classical feeling of the language of the poem gave it an extra charm which I quite enjoyed.

Dark Muse I thank you again for such a lovely feedback and congratulations to the winner

tailor STATELY
well done a very well deserved win:hurray:

Thanks, Dark Muse, although "beeches" are trees and I fail to see the humor of that line! :) :) :)

Anyway, congratulations to tailor STATELY! Our newcomers are showing their skills quite remarkably! :seeya:

Thank you everyone ! I'll have to look up Edward Gorey.

My inspiration came about over a rough wood carving of four or five owls that we put above our woodstove. The subject of owls being unlucky in the home had come up but ignored. Prior to the owls roosting we had a ceramic raccoon which shared the tile floor with the woodstove. Evidently the roost was too unstable and the wood carving fell directly on the poor raccoon. No more owls grace the inside of our home... in fact, where did the owls disappear to ?

Next subject: music.