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virgil, you are amazing. i wish i could include religious references in my poetry with feeling and tenacity like you do. (but i am a heathen). and i must agree that there is enormous talent in this room, i have not been exposed to good writing on a personal level for a long time. thank you guys. for the next poem, im going to actually contribute real stuff. if it wasnt for lack of time, id be writing incessantly... ah the burden of being po'.
Riesa thanks for the kind words and Virgil congrats, and I iggerly await the next picture.
Halograph and Rabid reader, I thought both your poems were excellent. After I re-read them now, it seems the three of us had similar themes. I'll have to look for a new picture.
Congratulations Virgil. Your poem was quite gripping. Not quite playing it like your namesake though, skipping eclogue and moving straight to epic ;). Looking forward to seeing the next pic.
And thanks to Riesa for taking the time to give all of us runners ups some criticism. Very thoughtful of you. I appreciated getting your thoughts on my submission,especially since I had been debating whether to leave off that last stanza myself.
Thank you.Quote:
Originally Posted by Petrarch's Love
OK. After a search through some of my favorite images, I've decided on this one. I hope you find it interesting, but more importantly, inspirational.
http://aha.missouri.edu/courses/aha3...man+Mirror.jpg
Thanks Virg. I've loved that Bellini ever since seeing it at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. Yet another of those exquisitely luminous paintings from the Venetian school. I look forward to reading the exquisitely luminous poetry it generates.
does marble ever dream, in its long-living quiescence?
or sometimes think of summer, which would bright its endless snow?
a mouth that cannot speak cannot reveal what souled quintessence
may have been chiselled into that sculpture long ago.
still and sweet in picture, uncomplaining these masques stand,
with not a sound from posing lips to keep silence at bay
beauty and decorum oft do not go hand in hand,
so though many come gawking, almost nude the forms must stay.
alabaster stillness, painted nymph of long ago,
on whom brighter colors look like only a mistake,
if you were a statue, where did your emotions go?
frozen like your form, ever in one unchanging state?
gazing in the mirror, could you your irony see?
mother of a family of poetry and dreams,
but once statues were all that those of curving form could be;
perhaps the sadness in your eyes is more real than it seems.
yeah. um. feminist social commentary. is it too obscure?
Okay, I'm not very happy about this one and I kinda want to explain where I got these images for the poem. I am not very into Art as I really have little eye for non-literary symbols and all paintings truly mean to me is a bunch of bright colours mixed with dark ones. Sure I can stare at a painting and impress on something or other that I can see and hold up a convorsation, but that is mostly my talent of eminse bullspit at work.
So I read this is a painting by Bellini and doing some research I find out that this is his first nude woman, painted somewhere in his mid-eights. I also remember from the novel Angels & Demons by Brown, that Bellini was hired by the Church to paint. I also know since he is part of the Renaissance, which is famous for its return to natural beauty, that he may of thought of nature the holiest form. So with out further ado, here is my entry:
The Incumbus
Quote:
They never know do they?
When I paint my skin,
They think I am one of them.
They think I’m their kin.
I know to be vain, and what to say.
I know their secrets that they hide.
I am their focus, their gem.
Through temptation I am Hell’s guide.
O’ the rolling hills do see,
The holes, and the truth.
The opinionated vineyards,
Know that I’ll never be Ruth.
They will always know me,
Through my never dying youth.
I am safe in my protect of guards.
Safe from nature’s tooth.
I am an incubus of temptation.
I sit here nude and knowing.
I must never return to nature.
For hell is where we’re going
I am pure of mark or adaptations.
It is my purity that is unholy.
Love me and your soul will fracture.
I feed on the unclean, souly.
[well done rabidreader and the rest of the excellent writers who submitted. kudos. :)]
[always by the window].
voloptuous and languid she sits
nervously naked
her small plump tits
anxiously peek from behind
a creamy vanilla arm
like an elephant tusk
[the reflection
of dusk
in her eyes]
rapunzel, rapunzel
open your locks
and push down the door
the renaissance clock
just struck [a
concrete black] four
and it's ticking
[pecking at your
hear-no-evil ears]
a cancer eating away
at your coarse
haughty fears
that raspberry robe shrouds
the truth, my dear--
your shame is evident.
it’s clear [you are
no chaste care
-free Eve]
your gaudy depiction
cannot deceive
the dry-ice in
your optic cones.
that robust torso
nurses a secret
walled in black
and packed
in forest green,
and the corpulent
clouds wait for
you
[forever entrapped behind
a frame].
Wow!!! Three great entries already. :thumbs_up I can already see this is going to be a hard one to judge.
I love to write, but lack confidence in my poetry. Here is my honest try. The letter in my poem refers to the paper lying next to the model in the painting.
*****
Beauty read the letter today,
It robbed her of her smile.
Her glow remained,
And eyes sustained
The musings of my soul.
Deep mocha eyes
That looked about
The hazy country side,
Fell upon her reflection
And tragically she cried.
My love and mirth
Were not enough
To maintain foolish pride
That tries to force its will upon
A heart refusing to abide.
I could not master
Beauty’s chasm,
Could not mend her broken heart.
When death came calling
Leaving me bereft, we had to part.
I wanted to see how it looked on.
The fabric was the finest from the East.
With pearls of choicest luster sewn among
Swirls green like the earth and blue like the sky.
Indeed, the merchant told my lover
It was such cloth that when the ground was bare
And the sky grey I, his mistress, wearing this,
Would renew the color of the dead world.
My love believed and bought, and told to me
The nonsense, which I laughed at and loved him for.
I wanted to see how it looked on.
So I wrapped my long, loose hair in the cloth
And gazed at a reflection of reflection
To contemplate the way the pearled border
Divided colored silk from silken hair,
All the while half thinking of my young duke,
And partly of the letter from my sister
(Whose husband never bought her such fine gifts).
I did not see my beauty then but felt it.
Sometimes I felt it in the urgent press
Of the Duke’s body against my own,
But also when I sat alone I felt it
In the glow of my youthful blood and in
The strength of my young body. I did not see
My own beauty (that was just me, nothing novel);
I saw the beauty of the silk and pearls.
Delighting in my present, I forgot
The eyes of the aged painter looking on,
Over four score years, grey bearded, slow,
And hired by my love, the Duke Alfonso who
Wanted to see how I looked on canvas.
Because the artist looked like my old grandfather,
Looked drained of manly vigor to my eyes,
And waked no spark of passion in my pulse
My naïve self assumed no lust in his eyes,
Assumed his pulse a chaste paternal beat.
(If I knew then what I know now of old men!)
That is how it came that I forgot,
As women never can with young men,
That the old painter’s eyes were on me,
And that is how he asked me to pause
As I admired my new coif, and how he stopped
My movement, stopped my hand, stopped my breath,
Stopped my pulse, and kept all of me still
For everyone to see and none to feel.
Here's my entry:
Even the eyes transcend a momentary cause…
a haze, as if the vast boundlessness
of fields were her.
(It would seem so)
The way the bedclothes slid away
and left her body bare,
a peach-touched texture,
nonspecific, gaining softer
against the soft lit air,
or how the greenery and sky
uplifts her hair, caressing softly
there and there.
She, like an Atmosphere of Land in part,
beside a bedroom abrupt and distinct
(in me)
My heart smiles with your words, my tender! :nod:Quote:
Originally Posted by miss tenderness
And Riesa, thank you so much for your comment!
And Virgil, your epic is possessed of certain grandeur, like your name! Congrats!
Up to now these portrayals of this beautiful lady are all amazing and the one from k222 is very enticing with the ending words "in me" and it gives a feeling of the spontaneity of emotions, denseness of beauty.
Good luck to all the excellent poets!
Just wondering when the decision is going to be made.
this is short and soulful but rather rough.
The Muse
There sits she, by the window, nude,
'Tis her source of primal capers,
And if you examine to the right of her a**,
You'll lay eyes on her rolling papers.
There sits she, with tiny mirror in hand,
Her countenance couldn't be kinder,
It's surprising to see that she is not blonde,
As she didn't see the large one behind her.
There sits she, wearing naught but her curtains,
Her hair draped where clothing is not,
Onlookers have grown quite accustomed to this,
This lady goes nude quite a lot.
There sits she, in the pride of her womanhood,
Being immortalized by the artist Bellini,
Far into the future, with the ease of a keyboard,
Confusecius makes fun of her obscenely.
Do not take this seriously.
:D
Oh, I'm sorry. I was away for a bit. I'm now back. How about I choose the winner on Friday? This way any last minute entries will get a chance.Quote:
Originally Posted by rabid reader
Hey there with your golden eyes
Will you come down to save me
Shall I be left here to die
While your comradz recruit
The obedient and the vain
Us with a lack of virtue
Must stand up to the pain
In your glass eyes I see no sympathy
Like you face was frozen by power
As I watch the ritous rise
Like a child holds up a flower
I guess they win the final prize
A life continued in heaven
The rest of us will die
forsaken here forever
Such wonderful poems by all. Holograph AND ktd222 have my vote.
The winner will be announced within six hours. Last mnute entries can still be entered.
OK, I've chosen the winner. It was a very hard choice. All of them were enjoyable and could easily have been selected. I liked Riesa's format from the last contest where I give a short little comment on each poem (I think everyone is at least owed that) and then I pick the winner.
Mir: Your poem was very elegant and really had some nice phrases. I almost selected it. What prevented me was that the poem kept addressing a statue and I was a little confused with that.
rabid reader: Very nice poem. Loved the line, "Safe from nature's tooth." The only reason it didn't win was that I couldn't invision the subject of the painting as an Incumbus. While it was imaginative, your poem didn't quite match for me the painting.
halograph: Also a very nice poem. Could have won easily. A lovely poem. The repunzal stanza hit an off note to me, but the "raspberry robe" and "optic cones" made up for it.
Psycheinaboat: Also close to a winner. The openning stanza seemed a little trite, but the other three were excellent, the last one being perfect.
Petrarch: I took it as a Browning-esk interior monologue, and excellent at that. I really loved the last stanza, some really fine lines there ("Assumed his pulse a chaste paternal beat" - !). The only thing that knocked it down a little for me was the frame of the woman wanting to try on this fabric didn't connect with the story line you created.
Confucious: :lol: I enjoyed it. A comic poem can win, but this painting was not a comic subject. So I couldn't give it to you.
Smoothherb: a good poem, but I think a disconnect (at least for me) with the subject of this painting.
And the winner is ktd. What i particularly liked about ktd's poem is the sounds that interlink the poem: texture/softer, bare/air/hair/there, greenery/softly, abrubt/distinct. The openning lines are wonderfully invocative, and I loved "a peach-touched texture"
OK, ktd, you pick the next picture.Quote:
Even the eyes transcend a momentary cause…
a haze, as if the vast boundlessness
of fields were her.
(It would seem so)
The way the bedclothes slid away
and left her body bare,
a peach-touched texture,
nonspecific, gaining softer
against the soft lit air,
or how the greenery and sky
uplifts her hair, caressing softly
there and there.
She, like an Atmosphere of Land in part,
beside a bedroom abrupt and distinct
(in me)
Whoohoo!!! I’d like to thank Bellini, because without his painting my poem wouldn’t make sense. I’d also like to thank Virgil for accepting the cookie I offered him in the lobby for picking my poem. For how else could my poem have been picked over so many great poems.
Thanks a bunch Virgil, this means a lot coming from a person knowledgeable about poetry.
I’ll try and come up with an image later.
I didn't know anything about a painting lol
congrats ktd,it was a lovely poem man. You all were amazing:)
Ktd, congratulations on your wonderful poem winning. I look forward to seeing what sort of picture you choose.
awesome man. this is fun. ktd ure poem was fantastic. can't wait for the pic!
:) :banana:
Thank you White, Psych, Holo, Miss, for the kind words. I was thinking about this subject for the past few days and would like to see what you all thought about it. I will explain why after the contest. I think the openness of this image will lend itself to a wide range of interpretations. I look forward to reading your submissions.
http://www.pballew.net/cube.jpg
Congrats ktd. Awesome poem
Thinking and Living Outside the Box
To live outside the box.
The slight container
of limited sight and mind.
To live outside the box
Leaves my dreams
to be the achievable kind.
A Life outside this box,
This blank and bleak
Welling up of spirit.
A Life outside this box,
Lives fantasy, love
or anything near it.
The sight outside the box,
Seems empty in the eyes
Of those in side in coil.
But the sight outside the box,
Is the mythical landscape
That makes creativity boil.
So to live in the box
One must sacrifice
their hopes and dreams.
To live in it
Is to never realize
the beauty in the seams.
TO never see this
Should be the only
true form of crime.
To ignore the wonderful
beauty of creation, is
the biggest waste of time.
So when their is a box,
A box that you can see,
Never think about what's inside
Never eliminate your dreams.
ill have one in soon. ktd i LOVE THIS PIC. THANK YOU.
A crystal cube, a diamond box
With glassy chains and unseen locks
Transparent chest with treasures hid
Beneath its bright and shining lid
Its faces clear as shallow stream
Encases, I can only dream
Some secret, longing to be sought
Though covered, caged, and long forgot
But who, if sound in mind and health
Would cage in glass to shield his wealth
His secrets plain for all to see
Therein lies the mystery
A crystal cube, a diamond box
A puzzle and a paradox
A lesson learned to those who try
Not asking what or where, but why
Line, Defined
when is a line not a line?
when its borders are too fine?
when it's points disconnected, ink in perspective,
and its straighness seems elective?
perhaps when dimensioned to two
so one single line gains three new
and clear, empty air, becomes no longer bare,
and instead now is filling a square?
Or when raised to a power of three!
What less like line could there be?
Not one simple stroke, but TWELVE - what a joke!
Was the artist off on coke??
Perhaps a true line is that which
Does not bend, wriggle, or twitch,
But in Math class, is allowed to pass,
As that with substance - but not MASS.
yes. yes, this is the first day of school. *falls over*
I like this one. Here is a poem that for me captures the simplicity of the picture.
*****
Ice cube:
Melting
Melti
Mel
M
I just wanted to stop in, before I leave for work, and say there are some great entries so far.
I've been pre-occupied for a few days, so wanted to drop in now to congratulate ktd on her win. :) Looks like you've choosen a deceptively simple pic. for this round, an the competition's already heating up. I'll have to submit something myself if a good idea strikes. :idea:
holo, are you sure you've seen the picture? Why can't I see it?! :idea: :(Quote:
Originally Posted by holograph
If you can't see it, it's pretty simple. It's just a cube drawn from black lines on a white background.Quote:
Originally Posted by white camellia
Thank you Holo, Petrarch, I loved your poems as well.
I'll announce the winner sometime next week, so there is plenty of time for submissions into the contest, all.
I appreciate your help, Will Press. That image sounds really appealing, a simple abstract touch.