Accident
He dropped the weakened, plastic bag
That carried life-supporting grain.
And now he squats. His head is bowed
In prayer to ease his current pain.
Printable View
Accident
He dropped the weakened, plastic bag
That carried life-supporting grain.
And now he squats. His head is bowed
In prayer to ease his current pain.
Judge anyone?
Oh, sorry, I had just forgotten that I was supposed to judge!
The picture actually shows wastage of food and the guy taking it is a tramp.
None of the poems portrays the issue relating to wastage of food and its consequences. However, to close this contest I find YesNo's ditty quite extempore and somewhat close to the basic idea. Hence I declare YesNo as the winner.
Here is what I might have written
Resources are not inexhaustible
Use them with reasonable care
Eat as much as you can but
For others do some spare.
There are rich and there are poor
both need subsistence for food
The rich must not seize their morsel
or waste it in a manner rude
Better feed a hungry man than waste
the precious food you throw away dear
Fear the night when you will sleep on empty stomach
Fear the day when you'll hunger fear.
Thanks, mazHur!
Here is the next picture. That thing on the right is a gargoyle probably from Notre Dame overlooking Paris.
Deadline: Saturday, May 12th. That would be two weeks from now.
Well done YesNo, and a cool picture. This thread got buried for a while. Might try to come up with something later.
Thanks, jajdude! Looking forward to your poem.
Gargoyle
Daylight:
stony-eyed
lethargic
earth bond
waiting, watching
silent guardian.
Nightfall:
awakening
flesh and bone
rippling muscle
nocturnal flight
fearsome sentry.
Innocently
the city resides
beneath
unaware
of the best
in their midst
locked eternally
in the struggle
between
freedom and
chains.
I realize the deadline for the contest has arrived.
Since Dark Muse is the only entrant, it looks like Dark Muse is the winner. I do like the way the gargoyle was presented with a tension between a chained daytime and free nighttime reality. A worthy win!
Congratulations, Dark Muse!
My computer glitched yesterday when I tried to enter the contest. Congrads, DarkMuse! Sorry you had no competition, but it in no way detracts from your winning poem!
Well even if it was a win by default, thank you. I will work on coming up with the next picture.
I could not get the pic to show directly in the post, when I tried to do it the way I usually do it, it just came out as an x, and I don't know why the attachement doesn't show up with the pic, but you can just click the link to see it.
Deadline May 31
Tips on Using the Pillory Table
One way to keep your date from going far
When she becomes aware of what you are
Is pillory her head inside the table.
Her hands should be locked, too, if you are able.
Then help her sip the wine and scratch her nose
When itches come. She'll like you better then
Though not as much as she's liked saner men.
There are a few who dress in darker clothes
And morbidly prefer this kind of stuff.
When it's your turn, beware, things can get rough.
She stares from her prison at the man in the chair
Wondering if this time she'll be fed
She tries so hard to ignore all the humiliation,
The pain and the stiffness, the heart full of dread
She doesn't know that this all is illusion
A pillory table cooked up by her mind
Old age has provided the pain and paralysis
Her soul is now almost ready to fly
No bonds on this earth, real or imagined
Can bind the spirit when death opens the gates
Weary of battle, starving and unmoving
She is impatient; she simply can't wait
Soul fly away
From the world of seclusion
From the doubt and confusion
For now the solution
Is flying away
Soul fly away
Paradise waits for souls now in prison
Those with darkened vision
Harmed by hurt and division
The time has come to fly away
Death will release her from her pillory table
The soul knows no bonds to hold it in place
Rising up strong from her place of imprisonment
Past earth, moon, and stars; flying away
I see in the corner a pillory table, a man stands beside it
Reading a long manuscript
Calling the name of his next prisoner,
The key in the lock of this temporary enslavement
Soul fly away
Know what lies beyond...
(C) 2012
Pendragon
Gone are those days when women were weak
Past are those nights which women spent in disgust
No more accusations which men can lay on them
No more blames that could make hearts bust.
women are free, no men can harm them as they did
Long before civilization came to their homes
No more torture, pain and agony women will suffer
No more pillory to enslave them on suspicion dooms
Barbarism of the past shall be no more, no more
Men will behave and throw their penance gadgets away
If they don't women now can pay them in the same coin
Pillory, guillotine, the stake-- no more of this nonsense to play.
Box 17
Awash in red: The lines,
the times; the pillory'd
postmortems that shriek
to the eternities only to
languish as the vanities
of the ragtag and bobtail
Awake ! and write if only
with cankerous and withered
hand to feast upon what
foolscap is available; for
every revolution begins with
one word, one idea, one man
5/24/2012 r.