Poetry Contest

The camera never lies

“Why , because it was there and now I am here, do I want to be elsewhere”?
I am alone ,the picture testifies to my throne, but I am alone, so alone.
The air rips into my lungs searing my throat with every breath I take
I am not moving from this place ,I have no feeling in my face, but I am awake
Cold fire burns in the extremities, but no warmth is evident to me in this place
Up here where only the wind whispers your name ,life stands still. I feel no pain
Solitude fuels the philosophers and our true worth is understood and defined.
But it casts no shadow , only mine, only mine ,only mine.

My, looks like a tidy sheaf of entries has cropped up the last few days. Since interest seems to have just recently been rekindled, and to give all who are interested the chance to participate, I'm going to refrain from judging until the week is out. Saturday I'll name the next winner. Looking like a tough job so far. Best luck all. :)

Quote:

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whoa . . .that turned out interesting. oh well, anyone who likes canterbury tales or Kipling's just so stories

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I love how what you write takes you by surprise...the poems come inspite of and through you, not because of you. It's like a thrilling ride...

i know . . . it's so fun to start writing something with absolutely no idea what you want to say, and watch it evolve on its own . . .

Just a reminder for any interested parties...today's the last day before judging.

O.K., at long last we have a winner. There were some really intriguing ones in this batch, and I'll admit I was a bit torn but I finally decided the winner is (drumroll please)

Virgil, with this ascendant poem:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Virgil

The Climb

This purgatorial climb thins
The breath from my lungs.
The boulders lay like zebras
Drinking from a desert pond,
Mountain stones shaped by eternal storm.

I drink from my canteen
And reinvigorate the rivers of my spleen
Until the dryness behind my eyeballs
Awaken the vital flesh of life
Like a flower stem uplifted after
A dry day and moist night.

I reach the third ledge,
That of the proud, and remark
At my climb. How high?
Seven thousand feet perhaps
And I feel the eyes of God
Pressing me onward, upward,
Without guide, without even onlookers.

I rest here, unpack my camera,
The dry highland, brown terrain,
Making a picturesque moment.
Will God allow me this superbia
In the calefactive afternoon,
Gazing at Earthly veins,
Which are but negatives of human?

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Those last few lines really sold me. So congrats Virg., and have fun selecting the next pic. :)

great job virgil! nice poem!

Oh wow. Thank you all. All the poems were very good. I did get lucky with the last two lines. Those actually came to me first, and I built the rest around it. Let me go find a photo for the next contest. I have something in mind, but I guess it has to be on the internet.

OK. Here's the picture of the next photo contest. I hope we get lots of entries. For those who haven't played yet, it's fun. Just try to put together some lines that form a poem based on the photo. After several weeks and at least four or five entries I'll pick a winner.


http://www.oceansbridge.com/painting..._Behind_Me.jpg

Good pic., Virg. Reminds me of something out of a Bronte novel. Should get some nice dramatic entries. I'll meditate on it a little and pen something when I've the time.

O.K., here's my entry. It doesn't have a title yet, but maybe I'll think of one.


Mother dead, father dead
Only their names remain
Entered three times over:
Births, Marriages, and Deaths
Entered three times over
In the family bible
Held to her heart like a sheild
Her name entered just once.

Sky dark grey, ground dull brown
Yellow hair in the wind
Wind blowing to reveal
A firm little profile
Wind blowing to reveal
A vibrant, living red
She is the color left behind,
The others swept away.

One foot firm, one forward,
She stands and advances
The coming and going
Of parents is in her,
The coming and going
Of herself and her child
And of all those the wind sweeps away
While land stays and art stays.

This was it; no more decisions,
No more digressions. Her life had been decided.
Why should she fight?
For a split second it flashed
In her mind: resist, run, assert yourself...
But these thoughts felt just as other
Dreams she had recently encountered.
No. This was her time, she would accept it,
As everything else; just one more step.
She was silent...

They are her only friends now, those worn pages.
There is comfort in that, and yet
She is unconsolable.

Together, they look out over the dreary cliff
Into the weary looking span of sky
And she wonders.

A tear threatens to wet her eye and quickly
She forces it back, then finally
The figure turns, and breathes, and hopes.

The hill is bare now, and one drop that might
Have fallen upon its soil
Remains in her equally dry eye.

Nature

If you close your eyes and listen intently
You'll hear the voice that resides in the wind
It whispers secrets to the trees ever so gently
It soothes the raging soul of the beast.

If you watch the ripples of rain upon the lake
You'll see the movements of those who are lost
They twist the water; make it shimmer and shake
When the lines between living and dead are crossed.

Listen to the raindrops beat out a tune
A rhythm to calm and soothe the soul
Look out and see the mystery of the moon
Let it's healing powers comfort and console.

Bump......

Another person contributing a poem would round out the contest. Any takers?