Printable View
Simple in shape, In shade
In light, A box
Where we all reside
A place to keep
forgotten memories
Something to stand on
To reach a little taller
We all feel small sometimes.
A place to hide
unwanted emotions.
A place to keep
the socially unwanted.
A box
Simple
In shape
There's about a week left before I determine the winner, so entries are welcome.
Linear Evolution
1Twelve lines of the first dimension variety
2Arranged themselves with contained sobriety
3On a typical plane of the second dimension
4(They did it without too much pretension),
5And when well arranged they admirably
6Produced an image from dimension three.
7The twelve straight lines were, with pride, reborn
8Into the dimension of higher forms
9Where the box they made could contain a treasure
10Or be dice or ice or a house at pleasure,
11And the space outside it metaphorically
12Could represent individuality.
But still, these lines, which ascended disciple-like
From their thin, singular, simplicity to complex, tangible, fullness
In pursuit of something greater,
Still they lack the fourth dimension
Of unseen animation
And still they lack that numberless dimension
With the infinitely faceted simplicity
Of a spiritual geometry.
Home has 2 dimensions.
Every rhythmic knock
sends a hollow static
through the walls,
and these walls are
my bed, and
I lay like
spoiled sandwich meat
between them.
They aren’t as thick as
you’d think, but heavy:
the shroud of night
on the eyelid--
a child’s carriage veil.
I live within
the box outside the box enclosed
between
two integrals in these four walls
of fog, and the fog casually thickens
like a sad housewife
that eats and eats, and
precipitates its smog
on my tender cheeks, an
acidic red. I am x, and
I’ve no derivative.
And I’ve been miming for years
get me out
get me out
let me back in
But all I hear are the brooding
winds of nothing.
[amazing poems you guys!]
There is still a few days left for anyone else who would like to submit a poem.
OK, here's my entry:
Quote:
Cubic Haiku
The lines today stay
Upright for a framed pinfold.
Press out to find home.
Step back breathlessly
Find the cube’s open back side.
Lean over the edge.
Life within is sad.
Like a black bird in a cage,
Can you see the sun?
A corner vector
Gives dimensionality
To a world of lines.
Tomorrow’s boxes
Vanish unpredictably.
Will I be free then?
Dashed lines sum it up,
Sealed up in hexahedron.
A cube has six sides.
The contest is closed today at 12 A.M. PDT. I will tell you who the winner is on Monday.
I read some C.S. Lewis books recently, and when I came across this image of a cube it reminded me of an example he gave for knowing God’s identity. That each of us – even if we are unable to discern God’s identity in this world – is of Him. And that we are only able to see in components now. Just as the deconstruction of this cube results in only it’s component parts(or lines). And it is when we move beyond this world that we are revealed a clearer image of God. Just as the component parts begin to interconnect to form structure. Until we are totally enveloped into Him and the structure interconnect with structures to reveal the true image of God.
I preface this by saying these are only my opinions and may not actually be what you all are trying to achieve in your poems.
rabid:
This theme, even though a bit cliché, will never grow tiring for me. It is what keeps me growing and maturing into a capable adult. This is a poem about goals and dreams and keeping your focus and aim in order to achieve them. I like your symbolic use of the box/container as the barrier that ‘limits your sight and mind.’ The container is the thing with the fake ‘form.’ Even if in reality the container is what’s in front of you - the blank space outside the box is the ‘true form’ – the place where ‘thinking and living’ exists. I had particular trouble with phrases like ‘slight container,’ which I assume means flimsy or fragile container; and ‘seems empty in the eyes of those in side in coils,’ which gives the impression of huge amounts of potential energy, so I don’t understand how a ‘slight box’ could hold back such potential energy. The title correlates being outside the box to where ‘thinking and living’ is; and the whole of your poem is about living and seems so positive that the word ‘crime’ seems out of place. This is just me though. I do like the movement of point of views from outside the box, to inside the box, back outside the box, as you read on down the poem. It gives me a sort of first hand experience of these two ‘realms.’ I also think the use of the word can (third line from the bottom) is wonderfully placed in your poem. The only thing that we can see is not necessarily the thing we should ponder, because that will sideline our dreams; which will waste away our ‘thinking’; which is the actual type of ‘living’ we can have if we live for our dreams.
Will Press:
The box itself is the treasure, not what’s inside. ‘A crystal cube, a diamond box’: these are descriptions of value attached to the box; while the walls of this cube is described as wrapped with ‘unseen locks’ and ‘glassy chains,’ like the ‘faces clear as shallow streams.’ These are some wonderful descriptions lending clarity and palpability to what’s inside the box, – nothing. The ‘I can only dream of some secret,’ whatever this secret was. But this is where value, just like the kind attached to the cube, attaches itself to questions asked. You have movement from abstract value towards palpable value. The important question to ask is not ‘what or where’ this ‘secret’ is, because it’s long gone. The important question is to deal with what you do have and ask why this kind of box was used to store such a secret in plain view. I don’t see a use for end rhymes; or care much for cliché phrases like ‘a puzzle and a paradox,’ or ‘not asking what or where, but why,’ or ‘therein lies the mystery,’ but you’ve got plenty of positives things going on in your poem as I’ve mentioned above.
mir:
I have a sense you’re reconstructing the image of the box in your poem. You have this movement from primary lines, to secondary lines that form simple structures, to tertiary lines that interconnect to from complex structures. But it is beyond these primary lines the idea of what a line is defined as fails. I think the words ‘perspective’ and ‘elective’ are crucial to your poem. And I guess that’s why you’ve highlighted them by rhyme, right? The other rhymes I can’t figure out though. Anyway, those two words make me believe the definition of a line is dependent on perspective; but more than that, dependent on the held belief in that perspective. In this case, the perspective is the Math class’s – not even a perspective because of one’s choosing. The poem is restrictive in this sense. The word ‘but’ in ‘but in Math class’ is perfectly placed towards the bottom of the poem because it contradicts what you’ve set up throughout the poem: which is defining to me what a line is NOT. Which is coincidently what a line is in the perspective of an artist? So the words ‘but’ and ‘not’ create a mathematical equations where two negatives(or contradictory words) equals a positive:
Perhaps a true line is that which
does not bend, wriggle, or twitch,
but in Math class, is allowed to pass
For me the poem still succeeds without the last line, mir. I like how you deal with how different people defined what a line is in comparison with the image.
psycheinaboat:
I do like your poem Psycheinaboat. A simple reduction of the image 1 minute from now; 2 minutes from now; 5 minutes from now. The ice cube becoming less and less recognizable – just like the words of the poem becoming less and less like a word. But I guess I’m left with the question of why this reduction is happening? What is the reason for you seeing this ice cube dissolving?
lauraamanda:
I do like the functional element you’ve introduced into the image; turning the box into an actual place where ‘forgotten memories’ and the ‘unwanted’ things go to dwell or live. Hence the word ‘reside.’ And where ‘we’ go if ‘we’ want to use the box ‘to reach a little taller’. But there is also a lot of ambiguity that I can’t quite wrap my brain around. What is it that ‘makes us feel small’? This is a box that keeps both positive and negative things, right? Or is this a place for just negative things to dwell? I would like to know what is it about the things that reside in this box that makes it ‘something to stand on to reach a little taller’. Or are you just talking literally? Is ‘simple in shape, in shade in light,’ a reflection of what is in the box or just a description of the box itself? If it was the first, then that would match nicely with the positive and negative things that dwell in this box. I think with a little clarification your poem will be quite amazing.
holo:
Holograph, you have a lot happening in such a short poem. In any case, your poem almost succeeded on so many different levels.
The first is this ‘rhythmic knock.’ Is this knock coming from outside the eyelids? Is the structure of your poem, containing short stanzas, trying to mimic this opening and closing of eyelids? That would be a cool effect! But I’m not positive on this.
The second is the position of the ‘I’ during this poem. You say the ‘I lays…/between them,’ and I’m assuming ‘them’ is the eyelids. What makes me also believe this is that you say ‘I live/within the box/outside the box/enclosed between/two integrals.’ Which points to the shape that an eyelid is: an integral. But then in stanza 5 and 6 you say the ‘I’ lives within and outside this box. Now I’m confused. Maybe you meant the different Parts of the ‘I’? One Part lives in one place, and the other Part(the living Part?) lives in another place; and you’re trying to unify those two Parts into the true ‘I’? I don’t know.
The third is the comparison of the box to eyelids. I’m not sure that is what you’re trying to do but it’s what seems to me. Such an abrupt alteration of this box, I can’t get to imagining eyelid from box.
One aspect of your poem I do see achieved is the vivid description of deterioration of the ‘I.’ A deterioration, that like fog, comes on slow, but gets thicker, or more severe as in the case of human deterioration, as time passes. A representation of fog as being acid adds that vivid element for me, to imagine the type of deterioration that’s happening. Nice use of word, describing the fog as ‘casual.’ Fog doesn’t seem harmful at first, but over time it can be blinding. Just like life doesn’t seem wasteful when your young; but towards the end of your life, the amount of time you have left becomes more important.
Petrarch:
I saw your poem more as ‘mental evolution’. Not evolution in the sense where organisms change in order to adapt, in order to reproduce more successfully than competing organisms. Because your poem involves interaction of component parts(or lines) in order to achieve something more than it is alone: a line. But the first step is to instill your lines with intellect. I don’t know how you did this, but you did. Referring to the lines as having ‘contained sobriety’: giving them a sense of awareness. And as having ‘pride’: giving them a virtue. These lines need certain ability in ‘processing’ to understand such things, as virtue and awareness! I wish I were able to see how the lines developed intellect. That would have been pretty awesome.
The voice in line 4 is interesting. It seems to be saying these lines that interact to form structures had no motive or end purpose. And that’s why I don’t think evolution in this first sense works. There is always an end purpose to evolution. But who is this that is saying, ‘in pursuit of something greater’? I’ll leave it at loving that you’ve instilled mere lines to contain something more.
The word ‘contain’- you’ve used a couple times – seems important in your poem, because it points to what is containable, or capable, for these lines to achieve. It seems to go well with the numbering of the first twelve lines, because maybe the content in these lines are all that such lines are capable of: forming more complex structures.
Lines 11 and 12 caught me off guard because your poem seems to be moving towards a building and forming of things, that suddenly jumping out into the void of this image just confused me.
So maybe it is within these twelve lines that nothing spiritual can be conceived. A space to create two paragraphs would have also been pretty neat: to show disconnect in evolving the intellect in order to understand the ‘spiritual geometry.’
I also like the rhyming you’ve set up in the poem. An end rhyming that stops passed line 12. You may also be using this to show the fracture between the two types of geometry.
Overall I loved your concept.
Virgil:
Your representation that this cubical structure, formed from lines, – forms the world(the place we need call home) – is amazing! Because what is discovered when ‘stepping back’ outside the box is that this world is just a world made from lines. Made because whomever it was before needed a place to call home; and as a result, turned the dimensionless into a world of dimensions.
The way the world is being looked over made me gasp, because in two stanzas you were able to encompass and represent the world in this box; as well, take the reader to a perspective where the world can be inspected.
I’m not sure who this ‘you’ inside the box is referring to. Is this ‘you’ referring to the reader or the ‘I,’ himself – that part of the ‘I’ that remains bound in this world? Obviously the ‘I’ shows up towards the bottom of this poem, but who is doing the ‘stepping back?’ Is the ‘I’ asking this of the reader? Even though I’m not sure yet, it is still a very imaginative way to try connecting these entities described in your poem.
And as I said above, this world is now a world made of dimensions. And the answer to the question whether we’ll ‘be free then’ will be, no. Because just like the cube’s perimeters being erased, we no longer recognize that we are actually inside the box. We are in a world of dimensions without knowing so.
A very unique way of interpreting this image, Virgil. I love it!
Petrarch, this contest was yours. And then I read Virgil’s poem; with its playful way in approaching such a serious topic, and in-depth inspection of the image, both literally and figuratively, that I have to declare him the winner. Congratulations Virgil!
Quote:
Cubic Haiku
The lines today stay
Upright for a framed pinfold.
Press out to find home.
Step back breathlessly
Find the cube’s open back side.
Lean over the edge.
Life within is sad.
Like a black bird in a cage,
Can you see the sun?
A corner vector
Gives dimensionality
To a world of lines.
Tomorrow’s boxes
Vanish unpredictably.
Will I be free then?
Dashed lines sum it up,
Sealed up in hexahedron.
A cube has six sides.
KTD: Good feedback. But to judge a "poetry" contest that way is a bit overanalytical, no?
thanks kk for the kind words, I love the indepth feed back. Truth be told I have to go read it again to see what your talking about.
I don't think so. Go read any poem that is analyzed and you'll get the same in depth analysis. Some poems just require that. I'm just showing you what I see. Poetry is more than just ideas expressed.Quote:
Originally Posted by jon1jt
Well, thank you ktd. I thought there were better poems. I played with my poem for a number of days and finally just went with it. I had a vague feeling for what I was trying to express and then it kind of of came together. I'll need a few days to find a new pcture.
Congrats once more to Virgil, the reigning king of the poetry contest forum. :thumbs up great poem. the rest of you guys also had very awesome poems. I loved them all.
Heh. Now, to ktd. Thank you for the evaluation. I am a firm believer that once the poem is written, it is subject to infinite interpretation, and no longer that of the poet. However, [please do not take this the wrong way] but your analysis of my poem was completely off. There is one mention of the word "eyelid" but nothing more. If the images yous saw were those of lashes and eyes, that's cool, but not an intention of mine. This poem was evoked by the image, and very personal for me. I wrote it in a fit of passion. The poem is my lifelong struggle, and I think it succedded on all accounts to convey that. There were many references to math, rigitidy, entrapment, and boxes, and when I looked at that picture you posted, I saw my struggle (that's why I was so happy to work with it). But this is all in good fun. Can't wait for the next one. :)
O.K. Did you not read the preface? I saw all of those references but didn't know what to make of them. So I had to use what I saw.Quote:
Originally Posted by holograph
Thanks for the feedback ktd. Virgil, good luck finding a new picture.
KTD, I appreciate the lengthy explanations you gave. I know it helped me.
Congratulations to Virgil for his/her excellent poem! I look forward to the image you choose.
unusual virgil
guiding us through many squares
a rectified hell
a rectified hell
it is fun to mix and match
random lit net games!
:D
I hope this isn't too difficult a subject, but it's a little dfferent from what we've had so far.
http://www.barjonsbooks.com/Windston...lf%20(wbg).jpg
OK so go write them. But take your time. I see some just rush in a submit whatever comes off the top of their head.
hey, that's fun! :)
When Wolves Had Wings
Long ago, in days when creatures
Talked to men, and so were heard
Life and Hope filled every feature,
Every sound of every word.
Long ago, in days forgotten,
When miracles went unheeded;
Tribes of men and beasts begotten
Good; no marvels such were needed.
Gemstones in the earth abounded,
lent glitter to every eye
Trumpets through the air resounded
As proud throats leased fearless cry.
But of all the wonderful things
Then, that are but Myth today,
Greatest of them were the bright wings
Which each creature could display.
Not just birds could loop and twirl,
Glory in the joy of flight -
Every man and every girl,
Every beast had such delight.
Then what wonder was upon us,
Upon land, and sky, and sea!
The same mother Earth that spawned us,
Gave us wings to set us free.
But.
Look around now, spare my story.
Tell me what such things are there?
How much of this place is glory;
How much glides free 'pon the air?
I do not know how it happened,
Do not ask me when or why
But from Heaven tightly fastened
All but few fell from the sky.
Lions, fish, the bugs and turtles,
Men and women, snake and wolf,
From the clouds to Earth all hurtled
Gravity their dreams engulfed.
The one return we were given -
Curse or blessing, ask the sky -
Was the chance to make hearts shriven;
Was the painful gift to cry.
Most these days have long forgotten
swallowed in the maw of time -
Except those, as I, besotten
By those Sirens, art and rhyme.
We few, through tears carved or written,
Mourn for pasts where peace was king
Though by fate our dreams are bitten -
In shadows, we find our wings.
I love it Mir! Thta's an interesting picture Virgil....I'm going to try but I'll have to think first.
Guardian
guardian i was made
who bore a sword of flame
i kept the secret
of the sacred name
i was in eden
when fire sealed the gate
i sat with adam
as he learnt his fate
i gave him daughters
who wouldn't have my wings -
he would have children,
poor defenseless things
years passed in thunder
man's paradise is gone
i sit still waiting
in my skin of stone
he never called me
from all his billion homes
where my children guard
all the world he roams
angel of the flame
and guardian still on post
eyes hard as gemstones
knowing what i've lost
very nice, autolycus!
mir: well, I must admit that your poem actually points out that mythical creatures require a mythical setting, so I followed...
This is such a good idea! I usually just use this site for reading but I clicked on this thread out of interest, and I've ended up spending the whole afternoon reading poetry when I should have been working! oops! Anyway, now I am totally inspired and I actually joined the community (which I've always been a little shy of doing before). So just as soon as I figure out how this whole business works, I'm gonna post a poem! Hooray!
This is actually kind of scary. Posting a poem, I mean.
Blue Eyes
My ears were pricked and my senses whetted
I could run with the wind in its starry soar
My home was the forests, my heart was intrepid
And my sinews and strength were my body’s law.
Now my nose is not wet and my breath has abated,
I chafe at the bonds that myself I created
A life carved in stone which for years I awaited
My pride in my beauty my ultimate flaw.
My eyes were the colour of sky and sea,
My coat was the softness of silk in the raw
Now tourmaline bright is my spiritless sight
And my petrified fur ripples windswept no more.
I asked for the life that is given to statues
I begged for the fortune that comes with the fame
The prize that I sought has long palled in reflection
For years I have dreamed of my freedom of yore -
Before I fell prey to a life of indebted-
ness, longing to flee to a life I regretted for-
ever I dream of my past silhouetted, while
frozen alive in a candlelit fetidness
Frozen in stone in a prison of pride
With no door but my eyes,
My blue eyes, which though sightless,
Though silent and lightless,
Forever implore.
snowpetal, that's AMAZING! great job! and welcome to the forum!
Yes welcome Snowpetal. And thanks for contributing to the poetry contest.
Thanks! I have to confess, I was kind of nervous - all the poems I read have been *so* good!
Fun picture, Virgil. All the poems entered so far are well done. My vote is for Mir's though if you need help deciding.
Early this morning, right before I woke,
A Vulcan came by and hovered near the ceiling
Quoting wise sayings from seven different planets
Like
a Carcin Ott Ott should beware of upside down shoes,
For even one sight of a sole can rupture friendships.
Or
water dwellers with ears often speak the native tongue
Better than the natives. (that one is from a planet called Tark, the Vulcan assured me.)
The one that seemed to make the most sense to me
Was the one from Landis Five, it went something like this:
Fiery quadrupeds wing farthest
In search of satisfaction,
Often finding their eyes
Just where they left them
Most of them forget to look
Where they belong;
So seek out new sights, blind
Only finding at the end that
They were just so,
this was the way
they were to be
and nothing could be finer
Than that.
I offered the Vulcan a cup of coffee then,
Because I heard the automatic coffee pot
Began to bubble and hiss
Unfortunately he was late for some appointment with one of the C.E.O.’s
Of Horizon’s Unlimited, Inc.
Snowpetal I really liked your words!
Riesa, I was wondering how much coffee is required to meet Vulcans on the ceiling. I am curious about your referances. They seem fun.
I considered this for a while. I couldn't really come up with anything that struck me solid about this one.
So I just had some fun with it. I hope you all have fun reading it;)
In the council of the insect kingdom
On the root of an old oak tree
The ant set forth the proposition
“A hero” said he
The Butterfly objected
With a laugh both loud and long
“Such an idea is prepostioous,
I insist, we agree, it’s wrong!”
The mosquito considered the grey staunch wings
“It flies there is no doubt!
Can you imagine how the wind would flee,
when stretched and moved about?”
The lightning bug pondered the electric gaze
“A wonder not a whim.
Such power was not given by accident
blue fire pours out from in!”
The potato bug wondered at the hard stone coat
“A hard and durable shell!
Through the valley of death I could walk with it
and storm the gates of hell.”
The grasshopper cried of strong rear legs
“To the moon in a single bound!
An entire continent would be required
for the daily hoppings around”
The fly was heard to comment
“An obviously sensitive nose.
No delicacy would be missed
In any direction you chose”
The spider called
“A predator of the most advanced skill!
See how very patient,
Absolutely still”
The council conviened far into the night
The gargoyle consigned by fate
for all the grace in heaven
stone lips will not enter debate. :D
you know, we should really do something with these poems. only one can be selected each time, but they're all so great! we should make a book or something . . . like haiga (haiku combined with paintings or pictures)
virgil . . . ? i really don't want this thread to die . . .
Orionsbelt, I appreciate that you found the fun in my poem, I know the quality is subpar, but I did want it to at least amuse someone besides myself.
All the references are just made up, but I need at least a three cups of coffee before my mind starts thinking that way. :goof:
Mir, great idea! and I believe Virg has been busy lately, he'll get around to it, I'm sure.
and I also like the idea of an Haiga thread! Hmm?
OK let's set a deadline for Friday as the last day for this. And then I'll pick a winner that evening.
On the contrary - Subpar is not a word I would have used.... Unless I was talking golf but then they say "birdie" which was more applicable to bad mitten I think, at least before they used a ball and changed the name.
I was seeing all sorts of cool connections. Something like a Finnagan's wake thing. At least some of them..
"a Carcin Ott Ott should beware of upside down shoes,
For even one sight of a sole can rupture friendships."
My friends aren't real kick about my socks sometimes either.
"water dwellers with ears often speak the native tongue
Better than the natives."
I live in Pittsburgh (LOL to fellow citizens)....;)
almost always true when grass grows anywhere.....
"In search of satisfaction,
Often finding their eyes
Just where they left them
Most of them forget to look
Where they belong"
I thought it was great.
PS. Vulcans .. at least as presented on Star Treck always struck me as tea drinkers... It's proper if at least not ah ... logical?
hey! a pittsburgher??? i didn't know any litnet people lived here! where in pittsburgh?
and Riesa:
http://www.online-literature.com/for...193#post262193
Went out to the carpet store
to buy a brand new rug
When the sales guy on the floor
came up and gave a hug
He thaid how can I help you
I said I needed sisal
he thaid no Thir, thath incorrect
I think that you mean thithal
I was a little red cheeked
words just came out I guess
Don't know what made me say it
but I answered yeth !!
Tho he thowed me all his thithal
thix rugth to be ethact
We found the one we wanted
off to the car we packed
Thtopped by to get thom dinner
a cafe near the lake
The waitreth thaid "and you Sir?"
I thaid the t-bone thtake
Medium, rare or well done?
whilth writing on her pad
I thaid it did not matter
ath long ath ith not bad.