Thank you, I will have a new picture soon
Printable View
Thank you, I will have a new picture soon
Ok here is your next image
http://alexcolville.ca/wp-content/up...67_pacific.jpg
Dealine March 10
The stars are not with him today.
They all abandoned him last night.
His lover with another may
Enjoy their hours on the bay.
His gun will set things ruler right.
Young Tom
Young Tommy Cruise,
He done good
Got a house on the beach
All glass and wood.
Young Tommy Criuse
Got a famous face
He's packin some heat
just in case.
He leans by the door,
Watchin the waves
Tommy don't care
That Jesus saves.
Thanks for jumping in prendrelemick, being that at current there are only 2 entries so far I am going to extend the deadline until March 20th.
Looking out the door at the ocean
The restless wandering waves
My thoughts are running like a mill race
My frazzled nerves start to fray
There's a pistol on the edge of the table
Fully loaded and ready to go
I drink another shot of courage
Trying to get myself under control
I turn away from the window
Now my nerves are beginning to behave
So I reach out slowly and pick up the pistol
Walk down and throw it into the waves...
Pendragon
(C) March 11. 2014
Ah good, deadline extension. I'll see what I can do.
EDIT
Here's my shot at this one:
The 200 Grain Angler
Honey, is this Mullet Monday?
an angler's anxious request
as high tide rolls in blithely
delivering a feast with each crest.
Behind him a filet table
marked inches measure the catch,
along with an M1911 pistol;
his "rod and reel" ready to dispatch,
full metal jacket lures, cast
at 900 feet per second.
Whatever's left after each blast
is netted, bagged and sectioned.
The preferred appetizer for Mullet
is Fiddler Crab purée,
prepared with a hollow point bullet
from a .45 caliber ACP.
I haven't forgotten about this, I meant to get to it today but I got caught up in other things and now I am too tired to think straight let alone competently judge, but I will try really hard to get to it tomorrow.
Thank you everyone, this was another tough one, some great entries here.
prendrelemick: I really like the tone of this one, it sounds almost like a song in a way. Also enjoyed the story it told, it left me wanting to know more about Tommy Cruise.
Pendragon: Well written as always and very intense. It kept me on the edge of my seat wondering just what was going to happen next. It had a really great flow and rhythm to it. I enjoyed the unexpected direction this one took at the end.
Gilliatt Grugle: This is the most "innocent" or optimistic take upon the picture. I enjoyed the humor of it, and there was some good use of language. A fun playful poem which gave me a chuckle or two and cleverly written.
And the winner is.....
YesNo: Short but very powerful. Some beautiful lines and a very nice use of rhyme. The opening line immediately grabbed my attention and kept me wanting to read more, and I loved this line "His lover with another may."
I got inspired by the picture and had a cute idea...so I couldn't help but share this poem I wrote for the picture above. Hope y'all get the reference and idea I was going for! :)
I enjoyed reading the poems of all those who competed, looking forward to beating your hearts in the next challenge ;)
I like Prendrelemicks especially - felt it had a good sense of humour.
Ill crash my car into a bridge, I dont care. I love it.
Old man and Me:
What have the waves brought today?
Fish skeletons, scabs of papyrus shells;
ripped and peeled, flaked and foamed
salt water - advancing and rushing to shore -
like infantry lines pushing ahead, bring seized
by the gravity of bullets, a dance performed
through a swayful waltz on the front line.
I lose the present with an inhale of the past
brought by these never visually ageing waves.
Several years back...that old man and his boat,
carrying me to my horizon, which parallel
my closed eyes and closed smile.
Under every wrinkle on his face
laid a mystery. Days and weeks went by
and I could no longer look at the sea,
but now only the sky, and the glistening light
shinning from his forehead sweat – causing
a heavier sunburn. Oh my old man and the sea,
who is more real now.
After those dreadful stormy days
when neither my brother - the sky and the sea,
shed no light and brought no glea,
painted the other side of my window canvas in
beautiful tones of greys,
my old man friend and love, was carried away,
in all likelihood eaten by thousands of Godly fish by now.
Little did the old man know, his successor, my next friend,
would do not like to row. He loved to drink and do blow.
To feed the mouths of my little sister, and my mother,
I would have to take rum rumble and a pillaging pistol.
Oh old man, where are you now, today my face
was impacted by your smell, it ran through my hair,
and I think I'll try to catch a cod for old times sake.
As I measure my life, I realize my bullet extends far beyond my
hand's reach. Like a grain of sand trying to reach another ocean
only to end up in a souvenir bottle.
At times I see a forest's outline in falling part of waves.
Thanks, Dark Muse!
I'm looking for a picture. Hopefully, I'll have one by tomorrow.
Here's the new picture. It is one I took somewhere in Door County, Wisconsin some years ago. It is a picture of a cedar tree growing out of the escarpment facing Green Bay.
http://www.online-literature.com/for...0&d=1395703166
Deadline: April 15
Cedar trees
Everyone says,
And I agree,
that trees should grow
vertic'ly.
But cedars are
A rebellious bunch
Their wooden brains
Are out to lunch.
Here and there
You'll often see
them attempt to grow
Horizontally.
They think that nature
Can be perverted
And hope one day
To grow inverted
Lignum et lapis, ex falli
I saw a monster in the forest
With empty eyes and granite claws
Tusks filled the mouth and rose towards heaven
A demon shape that made me pause
I wonder if in days gone by
Some hero rode in to engage the beast
And being unable to destroy it
Turned it inanimate at the least
But on moonlit walks into the forest
The silhouette still makes me pause
And stare hard at the fearsome shadow
And wonder: Did it move those paws?
Pendragon
(C) 3/27/2013
Two nice entries! The cedar does seem to have started out horizontally as prendrelemick notes and I think they might have stayed that way longer than they needed. Eventually they grow up. I liked the "wooden brains" phrase. They also seem like monsters as Pendragon notes especially when it is getting dark.
The winner is prendrelemick!
sorry, I've been very busy for once.
I'll get on with it now.
How about a Hockney landscape.
http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k7...lemick/123.jpg
I managed to find a moment to at least download the picture, we'll see.
Work wear has put a damper on creative thought lately.
My wife and I and other relatives saw an exhibit of Hockney's art while on vacation in San Francisco. It impressed all of us and overwhelmed me. I was going to put this entry in the "bad poetry" thread since it is in that rambling, rather unpoetic, "form", but I didn't. So here it is.
I told Gerald that it gave me hope going
through Hockney's iPad art in the deYoung
museum in San Francisco after he said I
shouldn't get my hopes up, but it looked
like anyone could be an artist now-a-days,
one just needed effective marketing, but
that was until I saw that massive, multi-
paneled landscape and I started calculating
how much I could make if I sold each panel
at a thousand dollars plus, feeling I would
be set for a while, but Gerald was jabbering
to me, his back to the entrance, telling
me that my poetry lacked that je-ne-sais-pas
quality and I told him, 'Wait!' and turned
him about 165 degrees around and as we
walked into the room with some holy ****
expression on our faces, Gerald sadly
realized he couldn't draw anyway, or so he
claimed, but the truth was he won't draw
thinking he can't, and then I grabbed out
my phone and started to draw and realized
that perhaps I can't draw either, not
admitting that Hockney can draw, but at least
he did produce something which is more than
we could say, but if hope dissipated at the
museum, it picked up at the Fisherman's
Wharf especially after an In-N-Out burger
and, sure, we should have tried the clam
chowder in a sourdough bread bowl, but we
can't get this burger back in Chicago and
we knew the awesome, simple truth that
there were good reasons to travel west.
Bump. This contest needs more entries. That's a lovely picture by Hockney.
Fresh Air Views
visions
where dreamers dream
and kite strings tug at hearts
and rainbow hued imaginings
take flight
This road makes me sleepy
It leads to a giant patchwork quilt
The mist in the distance acts like an AC
Pull over. Catch some Z's
That's four. Get yer entries in now, judgement is coming.
I'm really glad the picture stimulated that poem from Yesno. It's great when that happens, when the story goes way beyond the picture posted.
But the winner is cacian, partly because she likened a bit of Yorkshire (Garrowby Hill) to a vision of the Med. But mainly because of the way it trips off the tongue.
prendrelemick thank you very much.
and now the next picture if I can get it on the screen which I do not seem to can and so will have a link instead.
https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/i...whSGTvpHlZnWIC
sorry it is small I cant seem to figure out how to paste it otherwise.
good luck!!
Testing. Will he hold her up
Or let her drop? She kicks her heal.
In ready red she's all dolled up
To match him dressed in devil dark,
Red tie, black hair with skin to feel.
Around them nothing else looks real.
A haze of light and brown might mark
The places where observers sit
As if they aren't a part of it.
Opposites Attrack
The man in black
Dances with the lady in red
The zero tolerance UFO misinformation seller
Embraces the girl who just wants to have fun
Creepy science fiction melded into moulin rouge
Threats encapsulated by fiery passion
Play it again, Sam
Here we go...
Pendragon
(C) 6/10/2014
Tango
Dancers in the dark
spoke in a language which
requires no words,
they may have been strangers
but they understood
the inner rhythms of the soul
and body, it is a hunt,
as they prowl around each other,
inhaling the lingering scents
of smoke and perfume,
it is a game of power,
a passion for life, love, desire,
a whisper of the past,
a promise for the future,
a thrill of embracing
the moment.
Turn of the Century Tango
On the shores of the Rio de la Plata
where the Argentine Tango began
immigrants met on the docks at twilight
replacing their sorrows with dance
while Bandoneon sounds wafted through
the night air.
Empty pockets and broken dreams
soothed by the Tango's spell
fast tempos enlivened the Barrios
while instruments of other cultures fused
in a universal language of music, tango,
and love.
A close embrace, long elegant steps
gliding in syncopated rhythmic grace
as two dancers shared one heartbeat
"el Tango no esta en los pies"
esta en el corazón",
as they say.
Over the years, the Tango has changed
like a dance from rags to riches
now sequined gowns, tuxedos, and tails
but one thing will never change, not ever
"el Tango esta en
el corazón"
3rd stanza translation: "the Tango is not in the feet. It is in the heart."
Last stanza translation: "the Tango is in the heart"
I was listening to Patti Scialfa's Spanish Dancer and it reminded me of cacian's picture for this thread. So, here is what I am listening to at the moment:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmLGh2hAKNo
Ok guys this is up
and here is the winner
YesNo
the following lines are lovely:
Red tie, black hair with skin to feel.
Around them nothing else looks real.
this piece moves as thougth with music.
Pendragon
this is an enchanting piece. I enjoyed it a lot.
especially the last line it is classic :)
cool lines:
The zero tolerance UFO misinformation seller
Embraces the girl who just wants to have fun
Dark Muse
a splendid piece beautiful words.
these are catchy lines:
it is a game of power,
a passion for life, love, desire,
a whisper of the past,
a promise for the future,
a thrill of embracing
the moment.
Melanie
I never knew you spoke Spanish.
an elegant piece.
and yes I agree:
el tango no esta en los pies
esta en el Corazon
the tango is in the heart
not in the feet
because
the feet are for dancing and the heart is for holding.
a clever piece.
and the winner is , this one is has been a difficult one, goes to
Pendragon
the Sam catchy line at the end did it for me.
and so yes
Play it again Pendragon
suggest us another round of this context :D
http://static.freepik.com/free-photo..._19-133045.jpg
Y'all should have fun with this one! Deadline July 16, 2014
His feet are bare, but nothing else is there
To make me want to entertain old Joe.
I look inside his robe. Where did he go?
Why does it stay upright when he's nowhere?
Some say his life was hard. He didn't care
And he's someone that no one cared to know.
One day, some claim, his robe will hit the ground
Though some have claimed all sorts of foolish things.
Remembering when he first sat there brings
One back to winter and a lack of sound
With thoughts of how old Joe forever frowned
Most angry at the brightest, hopeful springs.
They studied him but when someone went near
His aura forced those scientists away
And turned them crazy on the very day
They thought they understood his inner fear.
His inner silent emptiness they'd hear
Then far away from Joe they'd have to stay.
The weather doesn't bother him as well.
He's like a statue bronzed for us to see.
He sits without a breath aware that we
Have tired of all the things that he could tell.
Alone upon that spot he gets to dwell
And we got used to him eventually.
The Devil & Death
The faceless man
(If man at all he can be called)
whispers temptations
in the language of the dead,
speaking in tongues
in a way that licks my soul
up and down.
I am speared
half-way between horror
and allure,
is he all illusion?
A nightmare or a dream?
I gravitate towards his promises
of immortality.
He beckons
to come perch atop his bony knee
yet I fear if I touch him
he will crumble away to dust,
but if I consent
my flesh may be rendered into stone,
and we will sit together
as lovers of the tomb
watching the dead dance
and life drain away.
He can liberate my soul
from these mortal bindings
of flesh and bone,
that are so limiting,
or so he says, though
he has not mouth of which to speak,
and the voices
may yet be within in my own head.
My heart becomes traitorous as I yearn,
I want to kneel before him,
but I might find nothing there
but air and falsity,
I would mortify myself
if he could release me,
and with but a kiss
bestow upon me the power of the gods,
I could travel among the crowds
like a shadow,
knowing that with but a touch,
their souls would unravel
around my fingers.
But in the end
he may just be another charlatan
carved from stone,
a fork-tongued devil,
who promises infinity on his left hand,
while the right hand strips you of everything
The Statue
represented death as best as it could
Cold, lifeless, stony.
Head hung low as surely death would,
Incapable to hold a gaze,
perpetually lonely.
Wise choice, dear artist, to chisel of rock not wood
Hard, resolute, final.
And to leave emptiness hidden under it’s hood
A critical decision,
Unspeakably, most vital.
Still
What puzzled me,
sundering my mood,
Cruel, flawed, neglectful.
The feet were left uncovered, nude.
A mistake perhaps less insightful.
Is death not the most complete of shroud?
Absolute, scrupulous, unforgetful.
Which leaves nothing once endowed
but those left perpetually mindful.
For the nothingness that remains
belongs to those of who remain.
Heart’s clasped memories
Eyes teary stains
Enduring, unending, eternalizing pain.
Which to the learned is realized
is not in vain
For nothing to them forever will remain the same.