Thanks A.Dio :thumbs_up
I see we have 5 entries already! Okay I'll set a deadline now. Lets say November 1, 2007.
Lots of time. Enjoy spending it with bits of creativity. ;)
Printable View
Thanks A.Dio :thumbs_up
I see we have 5 entries already! Okay I'll set a deadline now. Lets say November 1, 2007.
Lots of time. Enjoy spending it with bits of creativity. ;)
Oh, oh, I got to start crackin.
The Magpie and Her Friend
Perched there, upon his back
The magpie's talons dig in,
Penetrating cover and hide
For she is gurdian of
The blanket covered mass
That was once her friend.
Rotting flesh, upon hard land
Beneath the midsummer sun
Attracts flies in their thousands
Ants by millions
All appearing from nowhere
Unperturbed by the heat of the day.
Magpie tries her hardest to defend her friend,
To chase them all away
Make them leave him in peace,
But she is overcome by their sheer, united masses,
Awed by their might.
Away she flies,
Disgusted by their greed and filth
Unable to bear the sight
of her poor, deceased friend,
Carried away piece by tiny piece.
MarileeRixon,
No title required. The only requirement is your poem's theme must be inspired by the picture posted.
Ok, cool...I don't like titling my own work because it's often hard to choose from the many different titles I come up with, so unless it's an important piece I don't title it until I've had input and suggestion from others.
BTW...Most people just call me Fred - It's easier to remember and pronounce than my actual name :)
Wow, well done everyone, i didnt expect so many entries, and good ones, so soon! :thumbs_up
And thanks Fred for the wonderful entry.
:D I expect u to.Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
C'mon everyone, lets see what u've got there! :lol:
C'mon guys and girls!! You've only got 11 days! Well, 12, depending on where you live....
I'm working on one. I'm not a fast writer. :p
Understatement of the week. :pQuote:
I'm working on one. I'm not a fast writer.
Anyway keep working on it, fellas, if the time's not enough, it can always be extended. :)
Shall it whither, and shall it soon fade?
As the bird and beast war in their hope
The gutter hosts a man’s promenade
Nervously pawing the Bridge, yet in scope.
Shall the ditch devour another?
Samaritans shuffle awkwardly by.
Another returns to the Great Mother,
Or can the bravely humble yet try?
Ramses played the fool, but, so did you
Will the birds be your only heralds as
You depart in a tomb of dust and dew?
No bulwark of deeds if you shall pass.
Would debunked arrogance be your wish?
Or shall you drain the hemlock-filled dish
In full uncertainty and be a great king,
Or chose unearthy dignity o’er wing?
Hi, I'm a newcomer to the whole poetry world, so this will be my initiation poem. Of course, I have absolutely no idea about poetry techniques and so on, so please feel free to enlighten me. I did use the picture as a basis for this poem, though it might seem a little vague- I was slightly discouraged by all the other poems, they were fantastic. Anyway, here's the poem, and please be frank, I have a problem with the "It was great BUT...." thing.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
We huddle under white sheets in the morning.
Sunlight streams through our windows:
a thousand golden fingers;
too thin to feel, and too frail to touch,
sending cold fingertips into our thoughts.
My mind is restless; it struggles for an answer,
Or perhaps for a better question,
But my soul is just tired.
The magpie-lark perches on the windowsill,
And I watch as it flies away.
We still breathe sterilized air,
We still hear processed sounds,
Our walls are smooth and pale,
Our feet still rest on carpeted ground.
Outside, the crimson trees are yawning.
The earth breathes into the air
a million inexplicable scents.
Dogs smell the musk of crumbling stones;
Too heavy to lose, but too loose to hold;
It rings with the eternal sadness of slow decay.
Their world is too large; they long for a barrier,
Or a cage to keep the air away,
But mine is too small.
Thoughts are never content with what the soul requires
Birds don’t fly, they only run.
And in the mornings, we will still lay under white sheets
With sunlight outside our windows.
streetlife
wake up shivering
hard cold cement
paper thin cardboard
makes an uneasy bed
it is of little value
in life on the street
an everyday occurrence
of sleeping in too many
yesterday clothes
friendships made
created to survive
love grows strong
sweet and fast
in quick short beats
life skills required
learning on demand
paid the toll
to invisible hands
oh weary days
written on wrinkled
empty faces
stake your piece of ground
like gold in a rush
shoes wore thinly
in abundance everywhere
laces untied, no longer worn
who needs shoes
when your heart is bare
contact made
this is home
..incredible entries as always...here is mine...lw
Here's mine.
Quote:
Waddy
The snooty unbeknownst
Send me to the valley’s river, to hidden streams,
A preacher in the midst of fraught motorcars.
The quarrelsome horns
At busy intersections cavil
Their tinctures, their padre parades.
They come across the plains
Like tuna fish cans jogging.
Bah—Where are the days of waddys?
There was a time
Between hay and grass
A steer ended up in my lasso,
Rustling the day to the sunset,
Cavorting in the evenings
With the horses and the cowpokes,
Campfire in our faces.
After a cowboy cocktail,
A reprise of blanket in the night
A breath of prayer and then quiet sleep.
The dog may be a croaker,
But he don’t fuss much.
Biddy birds wake me in the morn.
I'm confused...
Where's the picture?
On page 18. A few pages back.Quote:
Originally Posted by packersfan
For general convenience, here's the picture again:
http://www.banglagallery.com/gallery...ainting-09.jpg
And again- the deadline's November 1, 2007.
10 entries so far. Well done everyone. :thumbs_up
Firstly, WELCOME Schaden :)Quote:
Originally Posted by schadenfreude
My first poem in this forum was also a poem in this picture-poetry thread. :p
Please dont feel discouraged if the other poems are good, 'cause that never means yours is not.
And about the poem, I'll comment on all the entries before picking the winner. You'll read my review in there. :)
I should preface this by saying that for some unaccountable reason when I looked at the picture for this round I instantly, and somewhat ironically, thought of the theme to Antony Dvorak's Humoresque. I found this very odd, since I have always thought of that piece only in terms of the most simple, unadulterated bliss, while the picture is anything but. Then I thought that perhaps that is the point. Anyway, since the piece was very much in my mind while writing my entry I thought I'd post a link to a recording in case others here do not know the music and would like to know what I'm referring to, or perhaps would like to listen as they read: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScSCILXXLnM
He once owned a violin
Which made his friends smile to hear
And made all people smile to see him coming.
On city corners he played
The old tunes people love
And Dvorak’s humoresque.
He loved that best:
The way the clear notes passed
Effortless through city air heavy with smog,
The way the joy of it was joy
Not unacquainted with grief
But laughing still.
The notes he played then
Were rich, full, satisfying
And the people who heard were fed.
Light delicacies of staccato
And the hearty richness of a low legato
Sated the nameless, unconscious hunger of their daily lives.
When he was done they cried:
“Encore! Again, again!”
And so he played again
And they stood, lips gently parted,
Eyes closed as they savored
The notes that held them transfixed
The notes that poured like warm wine
From the violin he once owned.
Then came the day in a dirty shop
And a quick exchange
(Better not to dwell on loss).
It bought enough to keep
Body and soul whole
For a few weeks.
Inevitably the empty arms,
That play the winds and sway
To unheard music in the city air heavy with smog,
Inevitably they wither as they play
Unseen strings. Inevitably they weaken
And they cannot hold
Even what is imagined.
Against the cold
He keeps a thin blanket
And a thinner dog
The only creature glad to see him coming.
His hair is a comic mop.
His body odd emaciated angles
Like the lines of a caricature,
Like a cartoon of himself
He has become
Humoresque.
He loved that best
He hears it last.
Silence
Broken by the cry
Of the magpie.
To those harsh notes comes reply:
“Encore! Again, again!”
Lips gently parted.
Hunger sated.
An hour after these words are exhaled on a penultimate breath the thin dog leaves to find warmth.
You may have waited until you returned
to your home or studio, but I have heard
the parchment renderings, the scratching
of pencils, for some the soothing charcoal
and rubbing of the thumb. Nevertheless,
it keeps me here in your minds, asleep.
Once a man watched my dog while I shopped,
with money he gave me, for food and tea,
Don’t forget your dog, he said, as I left
to go inside the bright dream, full of eyes.
There, I remembered once I was an engineer
for shimmering towers of steel and glass
reflecting the eyes from what was inside,
from what happened each day, where slowly
the pencils started and parchment made way
for linen vellum and my shoes began to fade
with my coat and tie, my wife and child,
and the memory that I designed roofs and walls.
The worst are the silent images, instant,
the kind that show Joe Montana in mid air,
his arm back, about to be creamed, look
at his fingers relaxed as the release starts
for the winning pass, it is quite a pillow —
silent images of me, no protractor, you pass…
I am not asleep, you know, my dog also knows
not to look for fear of fear. He lays for hours
in this well wrought pose, nestled against me
as if to stay warm. And I — pail, dish and blanket —
listen to your footsteps, fast and slow, sometimes,
hesitating, hoping it is you, who knew me once.
fire, this is wonderful! It's one I will read again and again. Perfect.
Petrarch's Love, yours too is wonderful. I should have been reading these. I've missed a lot by not doing so.
Virgil, you words competely changes the picture for me! Great work.:thumbs_upQuote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
I read my fellow contest entries and I think, Wow! We all see the same picture and yet it sparks a different memory all of which can be seen relected in the picture. Somehow I don't think Sy could have chosen a more perfect picture. When the contest is over, I'd like to see all the poems and the picture posted in one place. It would be like a mini-chapbook of LitNet Poetry!
Wow, my friends!
Pen
http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l1...Four/DaMan.gif
Great thought Pen. I wonder if Logos can help us with that.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
Thats an idea, Pen! :nod:
:eek: And wow fire, I've never seen you enter any of these contests before this! Well, join the little party! :p
Ahem...
I was just going through all the entries... 'wow'-ing at them... when I remembered that its got to be me who picks one of them as the best!!
After a long long time I'm feeling nervous.
Give me, O Lord,
pleasures, of beholding
excellence, through my athirst eyes.
But,
Save me, O Lord,
from dangling amongst
choices in excellence!
12 entries so far, all good ones.
*cough* This is going to be tough.
I sympathize with you Symph!! All of the entries are very good this time round...It's obviously going to be hard for you to pick a winner from all of the entries so far, and whichever are entered between now and November 1!
Good Luck!
Because the eyes were hidden,
the rest of them exudes of him.
Any passerby knows nothing
of the beast in them. The ones
who lay down with the dog
are the ones who lay down for
the warmth, the heat of bodies
gone cold.
And the participant: the one
knowingly of the beast in him.
The one who takes note of the dog
is the one who sings to the heaven
is the one who takes hold of the blanket
and makes the heavenly connection.
Looks like we dont need to extend the time on this one. So it is then, November 1.
2 days left. 13 entries submitted. Anyone who feels like there should be more entries are most welcome to post theirs. :)
Wow, this might be the best turn out we've ever had. Great going everyone. :thumbs_up
Before they raised us to Godhood
They were a humble folk, the Staff.
They came in many forms of good,
They fed Us often, made Us laugh.
They were a metal people; though
Prone to the rather grandiose
We respect skill (but even so,
We do prefer the cellulose).
Unfortunately, they left Us
In a time of richest blessing;
The alleys overflowed glorious
And We much enjoyed the messing.
This exhibit is cellulose:
A cryptic altarpiece We found,
Survived the Godhood-making dose
That raised Us radiant from the ground.
We interpret by context here,
Three members of the Staff We see:
The prone one a Producer dear,
Giver of all variety;
Against his fecal end is shown
The parasite at every feast,
A violent fiend and quite well-known
To Our parents in the East.
Upon his rump another one,
A stealer of the tiny crumb,
The terror from the skies, now gone,
And fortunately rather dumb.
This icon means a thing profound:
Note the implements to one side
Placed lovingly upon the ground,
Away from pest and parasite.
It shows the Staff-Producer's might,
Provision to the People then,
Reserved against the final Light
For they would leave Us who-knows-when.
Their wisdom left Us this to find,
That We might know their saving grace.
See how the blanket spurns the kind
That took the food before Our face!
It blocks the keeper of the flea,
And pest with wings that used to be.
And thus We know Our destiny:
The Staff-Producer's People We!
Thinking along the same lines, Virgil. :)Quote:
Wow, this might be the best turn out we've ever had. Great going everyone.
Makes me feel nervous though. I'm just hoping i'll be able to give a fare assessment! *gulp*
*waits patiently...figits* Can't wait for the results! There are soooo many good entries!
yeah i'm having a tough time here!
And finally, the reviews and results! :D
First let me say I’m fascinated by the diverse, and yet distinct, perspectives roused by this picture. Knowing the original context of this painting myself, I’m totally awed by how all these entries were totally different and yet perfect in their own ways! This painting by Zainul Abedin, was based on the Great Bengal Famine of 1943. I never could see it in a different context, it always meant that famine for me. Thanks to all the Lit-Net masterminds for opening up my eyes! :) All of you were great, just great! :thumbs_up
Here are my reviews on each entry:
To NickAdams:
The first 3 lines in this poem are, in my opinion, the best. Plus I really liked the repetitive pronunciations that one goes through, though each word has a different meaning. :) I enjoyed reading this. :thumbs_upQuote:
Perched fowl, guard of this blanked rest.
What of our weather'd tenant, who dines on a pavement blessed?
Worn sole ... worn soul ... poor so-!
To Pendragon:
I loved the theme in yours. Diogenes goes with the picture perfectly! And I’m glad that your “eyes could really see” that. :DQuote:
He had very little in this life beyond his lantern, his blanket, and his dog—
But inside the beggar’s clothing lived one whose eyes could really see
While all the world around him moved as if their very minds were in a fog…
One thing though- I thought that around the last stanza the lines became too prose-like, which was a bit unexpected after the poetical flow during the first 3 stanzas. However, I also liked the story-telling touch in it, along with the last optimistic verse.
To BrowneyedBailey:
What a cute little poem. :) I look forward to more of these little verses from this little gem. :) :thumbs_upQuote:
Sleeping in the feild.
Come, come.
A story to tell.
Share with family,
Share with friends.
Good-bye.
To thefifthelement:
I haven’t read much of his works, but judging it by the ones I have, this poem pretty much sums Bukowsky up. What amazed me most is, though you were speaking in his style, your original tone wasn’t lost in this. The highlighted bit was my favorite part in this poem. The tone of irony stands out in here. :thumbs_upQuote:
and I
drink
to the
future.
To AdoreroDio:
A very nice parody of The Raven. :thumbs_up And like fifth’s poem, yours too held the originality in it. I particularly liked the last stanza. And it’s great too that this pic made you think of The Raven.Quote:
And the raven, never moving , still is sitting, still is sitting
Next to my dog upon that small piece of the hot street’s floor;
And his eyes have that look so steaming of a demon's that is dreaming,
To MarileeRixon:
The 1st stanza stands alone as a poem itself. The 2nd stanza has strong imagery in it. The last line of the poem gave me shivers! All the expressions are very vivid. Well done. :)Quote:
For she is guardian of
The blanket covered mass
That was once her friend.
To Dante Wodehouse:
I think you meant “wither” in the 1st line? However, this is yet another perspective that left me awed. And you’ve put the woe of the ignored-- the dismissed, the put-aside-- so vividly, it felt like you’re pointing sharply at our very conscience. :thumbs_upQuote:
The gutter hosts a man’s promenade
Nervously pawing the Bridge, yet in scope.
To Schadenfreude:
Yours is an excellent poem! I read it out loud a few times and it sounded great too. I liked the monologue tone in this where you’ve contrasted nature with the thoughts going on in your mind. I’d switch positions of the 3rd and the penultimate stanza if I were you, but it still stands out the way it is. The last 2 lines of both 4th and 5th stanza are very telling. :thumbs_upQuote:
Thoughts are never content with what the soul requires
Birds don’t fly, they only run.
To littlewing:
First I was disappointed on the lack of punctuations and those torn-looking fragments since I don’t get poems like these most of the times. But as I started reading it, the abstract flow and the strong fragmental truths awed me and hooked me in. I particularly loved the highlighted lines. Very well done. :thumbs_upQuote:
oh weary days
written on wrinkled
empty faces
To Virgil:
Loved the way you started with the mechanical city life and ended up recollecting the boisterous country life. Somehow it made me think of that Toby Keith song – “Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses” :p . The “tuna fish cans jogging” gave me a hearty laugh. :lol:Quote:
The snooty unbeknownst
Send me to the valley’s river, to hidden streams,
A preacher in the midst of fraught motorcars.
To Petrarch’s Love:
I’m awed, Petrarch! This is so touching. The occasional rhyming, the rhythm throughout, the closing stanza with the one-liner footnote- all add to this wonderful poem. And the flow that you maintained throughout the whole poem is mesmerizing. Keeps the reader going with it. And let me say: “Encore! Again, again!” :DQuote:
To those harsh notes comes reply:
“Encore! Again, again!”
Lips gently parted.
Hunger sated.
To firefangled:
No wonder I called u a hero. :p Look what you’ve done! This is marvelous, fire, and I particularly liked the last 2 lines, very moving, and vivid. Though I thought the bit where you say “once I was an engineer” was a bit too explanatory, I don’t think you need the word “engineer”. While it adds clarity, I don’t think it goes with the strength that holds the opening and closing stanzas together. A little obscurity could work better, like it did in the 1st stanza. But anyway it’s just a word and it’s just me. ;)Quote:
listen to your footsteps, fast and slow, sometimes,
hesitating, hoping it is you, who knew me once.
To ktd222:
I don’t know if the meaning’s too obvious- but I didn’t quite relate to what you meant by using the word “exudes” in the 2nd line. Forgive me for being so stupid. :(Quote:
is the one who takes hold of the blanket
and makes the heavenly connection.
The last stanza with the ‘heavenly connection’ was, in my opinion, brilliant. It stands in contrast to the rest of the poem and works well as a conclusion. :thumbs_up
To autolycus:
Clever and humorous! I had trouble understanding it at first... to be honest even now I don’t understand most of the poem from the 4th stanza! My bad. :(Quote:
We interpret by context here,
Three members of the Staff We see:
The prone one a Producer dear,
Giver of all variety;
Now the results. :)
I was torn between 4 great entries. And trust me I wanted to call it a 4 way tie! But anyway, that cant be done, only one has to select the next picture and be the next judge. But still I’d like to name the top 4 entries in this one. It’s just fair since all of them were almost equally good. :)
Top 4:
Pendragon: For the ingenious subject in his poem.
Schadenfreude: For that great contemplative tone.
Petrarch’s Love: Whose poem was really really touching.
Firefangled: For those exquisitely put recollections that come real.
Well done to all of you. :thumbs_up
And the winner this round is Petrarch’s Love, for this great poem:
Congratulations, not only to the winner, but to all the great poets of Lit-Net. Cheers! ;)Quote:
He once owned a violin
Which made his friends smile to hear
And made all people smile to see him coming.
On city corners he played
The old tunes people love
And Dvorak’s humoresque.
He loved that best:
The way the clear notes passed
Effortless through city air heavy with smog,
The way the joy of it was joy
Not unacquainted with grief
But laughing still.
The notes he played then
Were rich, full, satisfying
And the people who heard were fed.
Light delicacies of staccato
And the hearty richness of a low legato
Sated the nameless, unconscious hunger of their daily lives.
When he was done they cried:
“Encore! Again, again!”
And so he played again
And they stood, lips gently parted,
Eyes closed as they savored
The notes that held them transfixed
The notes that poured like warm wine
From the violin he once owned.
Then came the day in a dirty shop
And a quick exchange
(Better not to dwell on loss).
It bought enough to keep
Body and soul whole
For a few weeks.
Inevitably the empty arms,
That play the winds and sway
To unheard music in the city air heavy with smog,
Inevitably they wither as they play
Unseen strings. Inevitably they weaken
And they cannot hold
Even what is imagined.
Against the cold
He keeps a thin blanket
And a thinner dog
The only creature glad to see him coming.
His hair is a comic mop.
His body odd emaciated angles
Like the lines of a caricature,
Like a cartoon of himself
He has become
Humoresque.
He loved that best
He hears it last.
Silence
Broken by the cry
Of the magpie.
To those harsh notes comes reply:
“Encore! Again, again!”
Lips gently parted.
Hunger sated.
An hour after these words are exhaled on a penultimate breath the thin dog leaves to find warmth.
Congratulations Petrarch - it is a truly excellent poem :)
Yes, congratulations Petrarch. Very good. I look forward to the next picture. And good job Symph. It must have been tough.
Congratulation Petrarch!
I thought the first two lines were the best out of the whole poem. Maybe we have different ideas of the lyric moment.Quote:
Originally Posted by symphony
:D Yeah, that image of tuna fish cans will stay with me for a long time every time I see traffic.Quote:
Originally Posted by symphony