François Villon Contest

[Jean]

Legend says that around 1458, Charles d'Orleans (duke, and prominent poet of his time) held a poetic contest, where everyone was to compose a ballade starting with the line

Je meurs de soif auprès de la fontaine
I die of thirst at the fountain side

Many beautiful things were created, but it was François Villon who, having composed the brilliant, deep, eternal Ballad of Contradictions, came out winner. Thus, our contest is named after him.

A new opening line will be given every Thursday, or, if the things go slower than expected, on the 17th of every month. It is offered by the one who was the first to post in the previous round; thus, s/he plays Charles d'Orleans in this very round. If s/he has already been Charles d'Orleans, the next one to post plays this part in this round, and so on, till everybody has been the duke once, - and then we restart.

If the round is over, but your inspiration prompts you to start with a line already used in one of the previous rounds, feel free to do so! The list of all lines will be at the bottom of this post.

And Nikolett must post a poem in every round.

Current opening line:

Where do I go from here? (Odetta)

Previous opening lines:

His king is dead. His army is defeated. (Jean)

[Odetta]

His king is dead. His enemy is defeated.
There is nothing left.
The throws of revenge have conquered his soul
The fires of hell await him.

His king is dead. His enemy is defeated.
The sweat falls from his brow.
Impending death is drawing nigh
A whisper in the wind.

His king is dead. His enemy is defeated.
The assassin draws his sword.
No prayers, no pleas, no cries for peace
His final breath is drawn.



(my first poem I've ever written)

[Matt]

That was great Odetta. I don't know poetry but I really enjoyed reading it and that's probably all that matters. :couple:

[Odetta]

yeah, I don't know much about it either... I think poetry can be pretty free form, if one wants it to be.

[John Blaze]

The Rise of Phoenix

His king is dead. His army is defeated.
and yet, there is no retreat.
Surrender is a word not in his lexicon
and he shall remain cold to this heat
he orders his men to bring his horse
and gallantly takes his seat.
"Men, today some of you become heroes;
making our legend complete;
for knowing you that today you die,
you wont leave this war incomplete.
So I challenge you, today, this hour,
to help me destiny cheat,
and we shall overcome our foes,
and tread them with our feet"
So saying he rose, and heard a cheer
that gods in hell did greet.
And while he thrust his sword into the air
prayed goodbye, to golden Marguerite.


Ok, there you go. Not much, but I tried to take it in a different direction.

nice job with your own, Odetta.

[Odetta]

thanks, John... I enjoyed yours as well.

[Nerak]

The king is dead, his army defeated
He hangs his head in woe.
His turrets crumble
His home destroyed
He has nowhere to go.

The king leads the last
remaining men
to the strong-hold
by the river

There he finds
in the nick of time
His conqueror fast asleep

And with his blade
The king ends his days
Of woe no longer defeated.

[John Blaze]

nice, Nerak!

[Jean]

the three poems are great - I will comment in details later when my server comes to its senses, but already now I can say it's amazing to see what different turns poetic mind takes

thank you friends! A new opening line will be offered every Thursday (that's our day), by the one who was the first to post a poem in the previous round (this time it should be Odetta, but no earlier than Thursday). I'll elaborate on the rules later.

:rose: :rose: :rose:

[Jean]

Ronin

My king is dead. My army is defeated.
My men are where the rivers flow with milk.
The drum is mute with nobody to beat it.
The banner is a piece of colored silk.

Now I am free. - All foundations shaken -
My honor gone, my pledge no more my doom -
Free like a seed the soil refused to take in,
Free like a bride deserted by the groom.

The cause was just, deals fair and dealers honest,
Until the righteous choked on their own right.
The summer scorned all that the spring had promised.
The die was cast. It rolled way out of sight.

[John Blaze]

nice poem, Jean, I like it.

[Jean]

thank you John... yes, it surely shows that the author read Kipling - and is, generally speaking, very well read. That's all. It is not real poetry, unlike some other stuff posted around here, including yours.

[John Blaze]

shut up, you know you're talented, stop fishing for compliments.

[Odetta]

the three poems are great - I will comment in details later when my server comes to its senses, but already now I can say it's amazing to see what different turns poetic mind takes

thank you friends! A new opening line will be offered every Thursday (that's our day), by the one who was the first to post a poem in the previous round (this time it should be Odetta, but no earlier than Thursday). I'll elaborate on the rules later.

:rose: :rose: :rose:

OK... I'll post a new line on Thursday.

[John Blaze]

there you go peoples, you have until thursday to still do one for this....

please don't be shy, we won't laugh. Unless it's funny.

[Jean]

I have updated the rules, they are in the first post

[John Blaze]

I have an addition to make to the rules.

Letti must post also. :P

[The_Nameless]

His King is dead. His army is defeated.
Now is not the time for heroes.
The myths that come, the tales ever repeated,
will be a reminder of this blackest of eves.

The majesty mounted his steed,
calling out for all to hear.
His invocations of bravery,
his declamations of freedom,
all lost as the crowd did cheer.

The arrows did soar, the swords did clash.
The sky roared, the field alight with lighting flash.
Clandestine archers strike from passing cart.
Their arrows piercing finding beating heart.

My king is dead. His armies are defeated.
My enemies will, his foes decree,
followed out for all to see.
Watch me now, he cried.
Your kingdom decimated, my actions completed.

Without home, I will now wander.
Without country, I will wallow.
To ramble along, my course to ponder.
And in my path, death will follow.

[Brice]

I have an addition to make to the rules.

Letti must post also. :P

I agree she should.

[Jean]

totally. I've edited the rules accordingly.

[Brice]

Ha, now it is a rule Letti. :huglove:

[John Blaze]

nice addition nameless.

[The_Nameless]

There you go, Letti. You have no choice now.:P


nice addition nameless.

Thank you, sir. I didn't really have anything until I was inspired by yours.

[John Blaze]

yeah, i noticed you stole my saddle line! :angry:

:P j/k!

no seriously, it's good.

[Candice Dionysus]

The King is dead, His army defeated,
No sooner won than lost again.
The land is gone, the King forgotten,
No sweeter life was destroyed, then.

The song is sung, the time flies by,
And though He's gone, His love is still sent.
The Summer is here, the Sovereign bested,
His men decimated, and His weapons bent.

The kingdom is gone, but not forgotten,
The riches of the land were quickly spent.
The time has come, the land lies in ruins,
Though mayhap His Spring will return again.




You can blame Daniel for that poem. If he hadn't said anything, I'd never have even thought of it.

[The_Nameless]

Haha! I triumph!

Thank you, Can. I told you that you could do it! And I'm not sure what you were so worried about; it is a wonderful poem.

I don't mind if people blame me or not.

[Candice Dionysus]

Good! Then I'm laying the blame all over you!

I wasn't worried. I just said its not generally my thing.
You, man, you have a weird effect on me, Daniel.
I end up doing things you mention I should do, even when I say I don't want to.

:huglove:

[Darkthoughts]

His King is dead. His army is defeated,
The ascension of a new champion completed.

His strategies and tactics have come to naught,
Though the battle was courageously and determinedly fought.

In the end, it was to no avail.
The White were lost, Blackness did prevail.

What pride that can be salvaged from such a mess,
Should be carried unto the next game of chess.

[Odetta]

Cool! Chess! What a unique perspective!

[John Blaze]

Darkthoughts, what a unique perspective. Me Likes, very much.

[Darkthoughts]

Thanks! Chess popped into my head as soon as I read Jean's lines, my train of thought is inclined to go off on tangents :D

[Jean]

Not only the perspective is unique. I very seldom (and here, before that, never) see someone writing in couplets. Great.

[Darkthoughts]

Thanks even more!! :D

I'm really not that au fait with poetry (much to my Dad's chagrin, hes a real poetry buff) but I do write a poem every year on Midsummer's Eve for my sisters and I, its a personal tradition - long story, and thats the form in which I always write them. I find it easier that way.

[Candice Dionysus]

I generally tend to save couplets for when I am writing spells. Spells in form of poetry are far more effective than normal ones.

[Hannah]

I wish I would have seen this earlier so I could have come up with something better. I don't write a lot of poetry, and when I do it's usually not that great. So here's what I got:

Her king is dead. His army is defeated.
Her Father, perished. Her hope depleted.
The King's only blood relation.
She ascends the throne.
Tears alone can not replace him.
Darkness plays a pretty tune
At her coronation.
The heartbeats of the envious
Foretelling her damnation.
She plays this royal game,
Her queenly gestures a flirtation.
She didn't want this royal seat
And doesn't struggle with temptation.
Her Father dead, his army lost,
She prays for salvation.

[OchrisO]

Usually not great? That's amazing. Seriously.

[The_Nameless]

DarkThoughts, I enjoyed the direction you went with your poem. I would've never in a million years thought of using chess. It's very clever, and I enjoyed it immensely.

Hannah, you don't give yourself nearly enough credit. That was a wonderful poem. I liked how you went with an heir to the throne in yours; the princess/queen perpective was fresh.

[Odetta]

OK everyone... it is Thursday... here is the new line...

Where do I go from here?

[John Blaze]

Where do I go from here?
Where do we go from here?
The battle's done,
And we kind of won
So we sound our victory cheer

Where do we go from here?
Why is the path unclear?
When we know home is near
Understand;We'll go hand in hand
But we'll walk alone in fear

Tell me
Where do we go from here?
When does the end appear?
When do the trumpets cheer?
The curtains close
On a kiss God knows
We can tell the end is near

So give me somthing to sing about
Please give me something to sing about!
-----------
Life's not a song
Life isn't bliss
Life is just this: it's living
You'll get along
The pain that you feel
You only can heal by living
You have to go on living
So one of us is living


Well, as much as I'd love to claim that as my own, it's not. It's two different pieces from the Buffy Musical.
Watch this Part (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEhDtePc1ow&mode=related&search=)

And, since I had this in my head, it's gonna be a bit till I can clear it and post.

[Darkthoughts]

Ah, the musical episode - totally redeemed that tragic season!!

Heres my offering...good line Odetta!

Where do I go from here?
I'm sure to end up there!
Travelling I've been, through each and every where.

Who do I talk to now?
Who'll tell the why and how?
Who can wipe this question mark, from my furrowed brow?

What do I wish to find?
Now I've left my past behind?
Lessons learned and some learned hard, will I be paid in kind?

When does the journey end?
Is time ours to spend?
I'd say its wisely spent, when well met by a friend.

[John Blaze]

nice dude.

btw, I loved that whole season so :P

[Jean]

shut up, you know you're talented, stop fishing for compliments.
I never said I wasn't talented. I did say I wasn't a poet, though: for a number of reasons, which I am going to list because they might help us understand (by the rule of contraries) what poetry is. First, I don't have to write poems. I do it just for the fun of the game, is all. I've written maybe three or four in my entire life, and would never have thought of doing it again if not for these threads.

Poets write because they can't contain these new universes within themselves, don't they? They write because they have to - see Nikolett's thread where they give their reasons.

Next. Poetry is not about ideas: not to be confounded with essays. It's about soul and inspiration and language. Mine is all composed rationally: those who have ever argued with me about freedom will understand that the whole poem was built around one line, namely "Free like a bride deserted by the groom". I am proud of this line. It illustrates my point perfectly. Does it make it more poetic? Oh well, it would, if the rest wasn't so artificially constructed around it. (The other line the whole precarious construction depends on is the closing one, of course.)

Poetry rolls from your tongue. To a great extent, it's about words and syllables and sounds. Try reading any of mine out lout, they will grind on your tongue.

All this said, and thus some basics being defined, I think I can go on to analyze other people's poems. I really do believe there are poets here among us. Which, as I already said in Golden Rule, doesn't mean the critic has to be complimentary.

I can speak only about these pieces that are traditionally, formally poems; that is, comply with at least such rules as the presence of rhymes and metre. Please don't get me wrong. I understand very well the claims of vers libres adepts - that fixed structure (ballad or sonnet or what not) makes it only easier for the poet, that rhymes help the words along, that metre alleviates the burden of looking for the unique, the only suitable syllabic alternation, while in vers libres the poet has to aspire for absolute exactitude with no devices to help him - but I still don't buy it. It still seems to me very close to shadow-boxing, or to playing a game with no rules, or, worse, playing it according to the rules you can recreate yourself at any moment you see fit: it is not fair. That's why I can't comment on vers libres here: I fully realize they may be great, and I believe there must be people who see it; it's only that I personally don't understand them, and, thus, would rather keep silence on that subject.

Thus, chronologically, my first object is His king is dead. His army is defeated by JohnBlaze.

Not only the idea is great (turning defeat so clearly indicated in the starter line into victory!), but the whole poem is pivoted on the -eet rhyme (with only even lines rhyming): retreat-heat-seat and so on, till the glorious "golden Marguerite" that crowns it all. The eighteen lines of the poem go up and up, starting with defeat, through becoming heroes, - challenging, - cheating destiny, - cheering, with gods in hell greeting! - and climaxing in that Marguerite. The choice of words is suggestive of a chevalier, used to using cunning and manoeuvre rather than sheer straight force ("making our legend complete"; "help me destiny cheat"); moreover, this very choice of words ("gallantly takes his seat", "you wont leave this war incomplete") lets the author distance himself from the characters, making them an historical vignette rather than a metaphorical expression of any immediate personal emotion or experience (although, even given that, I am still not sure the word lexicon doesn't stick out like a sore thumb), and that's what I personally liked.
I didn't like any of the rhymes, not even because the author rhymes complete and incomplete: after all, it's François Villon contest, and monsieur Villon rhymed espoir and désespoir in the very poem I refer to in the starter post. No, the rhymes are all very old, beaten to death by generations of poets. No tropes are used, either (though I might have overlooked something); but maybe they were just not needed in a poem as short, whose main aim was, I believe, achieved: turning defeat to victory in a graphic, viable, historically recognizable scene, helped along with recurrent rhymes.

I've only just noticed that the poem has a title (which to my mind is also a great advantage). I am not sure the title fits, though: I mean, it fits the idea, of course, but hardly the whole fabric of the poem. There's nothing mythologic or symbolic or metaphoric in the text, while the title suggests exactly that. The poem is rather specific, and gives a very concrete feeling. The title is general and could fit a countless number of other poems on victory vs. defeat. (I mean, I would much rather it was entitled something like Sir Watkin Pumpkin (24th Earl of Kneedmoor) Defeats the Outnumbering Forces of Chevalier Guillaume du Cochon in 1402. I'm expressing a strictly personal opinion, of course, here or elsewhere - but it would seem more consistent.)

to be continued

[Odetta]

well, I don't know much about poetry...
Any poem I would write would be free form in nature. To me, I think of poetry as music lyrics which, in turn, can take a varying degree of directions.

I am confused, are we saying that free form is OK or not OK for these games?

[OchrisO]

I think free verse is great. One only need read Whitman to see that amazing things can come from free verse.

[Jean]

I think free verse is great. One only need read Whitman to see that amazing things can come from free verse.
Sometimes it doesn't help. I love poetry, and have read tons of it; I was crazy about free verse when I was a teenager, but got disappointed later on. It's all a matter of personal taste, you see. There's, for example, the opinion that real poetry can be only free; I don't share it, that's all.


I am confused, are we saying that free form is OK or not OK for these games?
Of course we are not saying anything like that - I couldn't imagine my post was going to create this kind of misunderstanding. I said, in Golden Rule, that if one posts his works, he is supposed to comment on others', too, and that's what I was doing; I also wanted to explain why I was commenting on traditional pieces only. For example, the sentiment expressed here (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showthread.php?t=273) by OchrisO touches me deeply, and I wouldn't dream of depriving him of the right to put it in whatever form he likes... but I do deprive myself of the right to criticize it as a piece of poetry, for the reasons indicated in my previous post.

[OchrisO]

Understandable. I didn't think you were implying that people shouldn't use certain forms, I was just commenting on my enjoyment for free verse in relation to Odetta's saying that anything she wrote would most likely be free form. Honestly, I think that my enjoyment of free verse stuff probably comes from the fact that I am horrible at writing in meter. haha.

Oh, and thanks for what you said about my attempt at slam poetry up there.

[Jean]

I wish people would post more comments: I do believe free verse here should be analyzed by those who understand it. I hope with time they will. I also hope there'll be 36 hours in a day instead of 24, and I will be able to comment about everything I'd love to - for example, on the same free verse from the point of view of their content (which may be deep and true as it is the case with Sixteen years of school) not the form which I don't understand. I believe this small miracle of time growing elastic might happen in summer.

[OchrisO]

Where do I go from here?
In the end, do I care?
It is all the same now
Since she left me

Destination unknown
Apathy my lone guide
“Where is it you take me?”
Oblivion

“Oblivion sounds bad…”
But how can it be worse
Than this life of sorrow?
“I guess you’re right.”

Spiraling through the dark
Like some sort of lost soul
Is there no end to this?
Am I in Hell?

Along the path I find
A new friend by my side
“Who are you, burning bright?”
Rage, white, hot Rage

Like a sun, my new friend
Threatens to consume me
I rail at the heavens
With my new friend

“WHY ME, WHAT DID I DO?”
“WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER ME?”
“DO I DESERVE THIS FATE?”
Silence….Silence

A far away dim light
Seeks to challenge my rage
“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
I, friend, am Hope

Rather than speak more words
Hope looks away from me
“What are you looking at?”
A horizon


“Do you think she is there?”
“Maybe I should go see.”
“Will you walk with me, friend?”
I am with you

What I seek is not there
But Hope keeps me alive
The horizon is there
I walk to it

Questions without answers
Life’s eternal intrigue
We live inside a wheel
With all these friends

Apathy, Rage, and Hope
Will all be there in turn
To help us deal with life
And keep walking

[Odetta]

OK, I understand what's going on, thanks, Jean... just wanted to make sure.

LOVED the last poem, Chris!

[The_Nameless]

See, I knew I wasn't a poet.

[Jean]

See, I knew I wasn't a poet.
interesting... I was just going to argue that you were... I am still going to do so tomorrow morning (it's about 90F now, weather gone crazy once again here).

[The_Nameless]

See, I knew I wasn't a poet.
interesting... I was just going to argue that you were... I am still going to do so tomorrow morning (it's about 90F now, weather gone crazy once again here).

I was only joking. But, much to my disadvantage, the internet doesn't relay sarcasm very well.
You have piked my interest in what you have to say. I will wait 'till the morning. (I understand the heat problem. It isn't so bad today,but still pretty warm. I know this will change soon; it'll be blistering hot tomorrow.)

Chris, that is a wonderful poem. I am not sure what to say.
I love the way you incorporated the talking in between the verses; they add to the poem, not take away from it like I have seen so many times in the past.

[OchrisO]

Chris, that is a wonderful poem. I am not sure what to say.
I love the way you incorporated the talking in between the verses; they add to the poem, not take away from it like I have seen so many times in the past.

Thanks. I tried to make all of the dialogue fit into a 6/6/6/4 syallable pattern, but wasn't sure how it would come across.

[Jean]

His King is dead (http://www.thedarktower.org/palaver/showpost.php?p=7644&postcount=18) by The Nameless is another example of what I tried to express above.

The layout of the poem is perfect (even if the rhyming is sloppy and the meter stumbling - although the latter probably on purpose). It consists of five stanzas, arranged symmetrically: the number of lines is 4 - 5 - 4 - 5 - 4, with the culmination in the central stanza:

The arrows did soar, the swords did clash.
The sky roared, the field alight with lighting flash.
Clandestine archers strike from passing cart.
Their arrows piercing finding beating heart.

After that comes a reprise: the first line is repeated with variations - My king is dead. His armies are defeated is how it goes this time; it's as if dead silence set it after the clamor of battle so perfectly described in the previous quatrain, and we were given the time to count the dead and ponder and mourn. If someone repeated this poem aloud, this place would be breathtaking and heartbreaking, the pause, the reprise and all.

Now, the events of stanza 4 mirror those of stanza 2... just as the conclusion in the last quatrain mirrors the introduction given in the first, and the impersonal tone of the first part - by the increasingly personal of the second (myths and tales vs. I will now wander), anticipated by the alterations made to the key line.

The thing is, I bet my head and my last two teeth he didn't construct it. I'm sure it just came freely... as if he was throwing stones into the air, and they landed forming a perfect pattern.

[The_Nameless]

The thing is, I bet my head and my last two teeth he didn't construct it. I'm sure it just came freely... as if he was throwing stones into the air, and they landed forming a perfect pattern.

And you are right, Jean. I rarely sit down and construct poems, they usually just form themselves as I write down the lines. I am not sure how it works, just that it does work (at least some of the time).
When I do try and construct poems, it does not work, at least the majority of the time.

As for this week's line, I had the most difficult time coming up with anything, which is why it took me so long to post my addition.
This is probably one of my worse poems, but it all I could come up with.

Where do I go from here?
The question lingers in the air,
hanging against the pause.
Silence is the only response.
Although the answer lies at the end of her tear.

Where do we go from here?
The inquiry laced with glass.
His resolve deflating with every word.
The response fileted before reaching the tongue.
Everything her emotions mirror.

Their unity has been breached, another has crossed the defenses.
Mute he stays, silence chokes the comments.
Her voice wavers, the last question left unspoken.
The time has come to part ways, neither knowing how to mend fences.

[Steve]

Where do I go from here?
A sky boiled and angry like a god's blind eye
Not to say I had to fear
What lurked behind that pearly sky.

No, for when I saw what was there
My body suddenly began to flood
Great fissures ran through my mind laid bare
And my eyes filled with blood.

For what I saw, it was so clear
A terrible sight never before seen
For never in all my life did I fear
To see Dubya dancing to that tambourine.

[John Blaze]

Honestly, I think that my enjoyment of free verse stuff probably comes from the fact that I am horrible at writing in meter.

I've never really studied poetry that extensively, but I do know I am horrible at iambic pentameter and all that posh shit. Poetry is about expression, and rigidity in that expression limits the creative output, and the impact it has.

That being said, I hardly ever do free verse, per se. I write poetry the way I read poetry. I like sonnets, so I write sonnets, and different type of shit like that. But i don't sit there and measure syllables, or line length. To me, poetry is to be read aloud, for it truly to have impact. When you read poetry aloud you can hear the play on words and understand what the poet is trying to do better. I like playing with alliteration and rhyme in my poetry because it SOUNDS better. Not because it reads better.

my .02

[Darkthoughts]

Two cents well spent in my opinion :thumbsup:

[The_Nameless]

Nice one, Steve. The end was not what I was expecting.

[Jon]

I find this to be the most difficult type of poetry to write.

Hats off to all of you!!

[Odetta]

It is Thursday... JohnBlaze... you're up with a line...

[Jean]

http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/oops2.gif

JohnBlaze went to Mexico...

but he'll be back! And there'll be another Thursday!

Friends, let's wait till next Thursday, ok? Come to think of it, we don't have to introduce a new line every week, especially since the last one is so really good that more people can be expected to write something great!

[Odetta]

awe... shucks :blush:

[The_Nameless]

Wait another week, eh? That's cool.

I am still working on something for poetry circle, so this wait will help out.

[Jean]

I've never really studied poetry that extensively, but I do know I am horrible at iambic pentameter and all that posh shit. Poetry is about expression, and rigidity in that expression limits the creative output, and the impact it has.

That being said, I hardly ever do free verse, per se. I write poetry the way I read poetry. I like sonnets, so I write sonnets, and different type of shit like that. But i don't sit there and measure syllables, or line length. To me, poetry is to be read aloud, for it truly to have impact. When you read poetry aloud you can hear the play on words and understand what the poet is trying to do better. I like playing with alliteration and rhyme in my poetry because it SOUNDS better. Not because it reads better.

my .02
A poet doesn't have to study poetry. Of course you don't measure syllables, why the hell? What a sorry sight would that be, a poet endeavoring to satisfy some mythical "requirements"... having an poetic dictionary open in front of him and calculating his alliterations. No, a poet works from inspiration... but the point is, he gets all them tropes and things and miracles without thinking about them. It's the critic who can deconstruct it with analytical purposes, but the syntheses was done inspirationally, with the poet listening to his own heart. I always read poetry aloud (and, by the way, it emphasizes the weak points of a poem, too, making something the eye would have overlook really stick out). Another thing is that, besides talent and inspiration, a poet might also have some culture, which enables him to freely choose the most fitting form (ballad or sonnet or whatever) and to do some conscious experimenting, but this is neither necessary nor sufficient for him as a poet.

[OchrisO]

Actually, quite a lot of poets of the past measured syllables and plotted rhymes. All of Shakespeare's sonnets didn't end up having 10 syllables in every line with 5 meteric feet of an unstressed then stressed syllable(imabic pentameter), with 14 lines every time, with a pattern of 4/4/4/2 and a rhyme scheme of abab cdcd efef gg without fail by mere inspiration and coincidence. They only time Shakespeares sonnets fall out of iambic pentameter is when he was trying to make something stand out. It all has reason and planning behind it. This is true of many poets.
Shelly very purposefully made "Ode to the West Wind" in the interlocking tercets of Terza Rima, Coleridge very purposefully used Ballad Stanza with alternating tetrameter and trimeter lines in "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," Chaucer used seven-line iamabic pentameter stanzas with a ababbcc rhyme scheme almsot exclusivley, and Byron used eight-line iambic pentameter rhymed abababcc, and all of them did so meticulously and poets of Shakespeare's time often debated on what types of meter were the best to use. I think it is fallacy to thing that poetry forming into perfectly metered stanzas and rhyme schemes comes from pure inspiration and not the science that exists beneath the art form. In many writing courses, we are even taught that true moments of inspiration do not exist, and that authors, both of prose and poetry write good works by constantly continuing to write and learn about style. I think it is quite acceptable for a poet not familiar with certain metric styles to sit there with a poetic style book and counting syallables and reading their own lines outloud to make sure the stresses go where theyy need to to fit the metric style that they want to use. I have been known to count syllables on many ocassions, and even change the wording of a line because what originally came to mind was over or under the syallble limit I had in mine.

[Jean]

Yes. That's what I called culture. There was a time poetry was unthinkable without adherence to strict rules (in addition to the examples you gave, I could also remind classical French Ballad with its strict rhyming, same rhyming syllables repeating in every stanza). I think, however, that nowadays, although it might come as a bonus, it is neither necessary nor sufficient (not that it ever was sufficient, although it sure used to be considered necessary).


In many writing courses, we are even taught that true moments of inspiration do not exist, and that authors, both of prose and poetry write good works by constantly continuing to write and learn about style.
It all depends on how far we want to stretch the term "poet". If we admit that any versification comes under the category of poetry, then it's ok.


I think it is quite acceptable for a poet not familiar with certain metric styles to sit there with a poetic style book and counting syallables and reading their own lines outloud to make sure the stresses go where theyy need to to fit the metric style that they want to use.
Anything is acceptable, provided the result sounds good. The ways different poets achieve their results may be very different. As I said, if someone wants to follow specific form, he has to learn something about it. But whether the lines will in the end sound dead or alive, artificial or inspirational, doesn't depend on the quality of calculation, or on any knowledge of poetic techniques.


I have been known to count syllables on many ocassions, and even change the wording of a line because what originally came to mind was over or under the syallble limit I had in mine.
Why, of course, if you were writing following a metre, and a syllable didn't fit there, you had to change it. I believe you would have had to do so even if you didn't know anything about the theory and were only following your heartbeat. (unless, again, you were composing something formally sophisticated)

[Frunobulax]

Unknown Order

Where do I go from here??
Onwards to a future
Ordered not by knowledge
But replete with chaos??
Do I stop by the shoulder of the road
Hazard lights thrown on--my white flag??

Where am I???
Why am I sitting here with
This glazed look of disdain and
Disorder while ennui
Eats me???
Where do I go from here--
To the past or a future unknown?

[Jean]

thank you Fruno, I hope you'll post in all other poetry circle threads, too!

[Frunobulax]

OK. I understood all forms are welcome, but I put that because there's no rhyme scheme even implied.

Jean, I'm sorry you don't like free poetry. I wish you did so you could comment on mine and others. :D

[Jean]

I will comment, sooner or later, because besides mere form there's a lot of other interesting things in those poems. (Wish I had more time...)

[The_Nameless]

thank you Fruno, I hope you'll post in all other poetry circle threads, too!

Yes, please. You have an intriguing style, and I'd like to see more of your work. Plus, the more the merrier.


Jean, I'm sorry you don't like free poetry. I wish you did so you could comment on mine and others.

Agreed.

[Frunobulax]

Thanks, guys. I'm not 100% happy as I normally am with this last one, though. Too many integrated song titles...

[Frunobulax]

Holy shit! I just realized via profile that it's Daniel--I thought Nameless was somebody I didn't know...

[The_Nameless]

Holy shit! I just realized via profile that it's Daniel--I thought Nameless was somebody I didn't know...

Haha. This is the third time I have gotten this. Perhaps I should have just stuck with Roland_Delgado.

[Frunobulax]

Heh. Maybe. It's nice to mix things up, too, though.

[Odetta]

OK, we need a new first line... anybody care to post one?

[Jean]

John said he would post today.

[John Blaze]

Jean, i declined the chance to make a poem on this line already. If you'd post a new one, I promise I'll go.

open a book at random, choose a sentence, and off we go!

[John Blaze]

i guess it was my turn.

opening line is:

she faded from my heart and sight

Cliche' you say? Nay, make it your way!

[Frunobulax]

Ferst
"She faded from my heart and sight"
Thinks my overactive mind.
Marine layer obscura.
Coming in and out of view
Blocking light and dark alike.
The visage of her appears
A face in the mist.
An illusion? A vision?
Vita nuova??
Acrid taste of vomit lines
My tongue. How long
Have I been here?
Looking up at the mountains,
The large Hollywood sign illuminated
A light flickers and dies.
That image of her face
Vanishes, and a thought comes to my mind.
"She faded from my heart and sight."
Revolver sights, reclover slights.

[Steve]

She faded from my heart and sight
I sat watching the phone all night
On the coffeetable dead as a stone
I hate sitting here in the dark all alone

She called me that time, to give me the news
She said she was pregnant with our child--no, two!
And I jumped and screamed and cheered with joy
I wanted a girl and maybe a boy.

But alas, as I celebrated with strangers and such
She sat with the static and silence and didn't like it much.
For the call had been dropped, she knew it not and that's sick,
She said, "Well, wait to step up there, Rick."

[Candice Dionysus]

Wow.
Fruno's is awesome.
And so is Steve's, but I also just realized it was based on that one commercial that I saw the other day. XD
Which makes it not only great, but hilarious as well.

[Steve]

Heh.

[Candice Dionysus]

See? XD I don't know what to say. I always get nothing or a 'heh'. XD Go me.

[Frunobulax]

Those damn XD's make me remember I need more fibre.

[Frunobulax]

BUMP BUMP BUMP!!

Fuggit, I'll give you all a line!

Go over the plains

[Darkthoughts]

Go over the plains,
The place it mostly rains.
We'll find some fried remains
Of long dead frazzled brains.

Mostly rain falls here,
Our haunts of yesteryear.
We strutted in our gear
And life was oh so clear.

Fried remains of frittered hours,
Youth, but one of many powers!
A secret haven in shady bowers,
Where innocence falls and knowledge flowers.

Brain dead from hedonistic experiments,
Caution to the wind, make your own merriment!
No mind to what detriment,
But never repent the sentiment!


Not sure what thats entirely about...well...I am...I'm slightly drunk and a bit maudlin :P

[ladysai]

Maudlin or not, I like it, darkthoughts.
:)




go over the plains
as a hot summer breeze
skim above tassels of corn
in the vanguard of rain

now, soar above the plants
filling dead, fallow fields
rustle those skeletal sentinals
in a year's ending dance

[Steve]

Go over the plains, and into the skies
A land of fortune before your eyes
To see, to feel the wheat gone by
To pass the land as you die.

A world, lost to the ages of time and love,
Gone but not forgotten, below and above
For this is the world, the man, the law
Of the Kingdom of Arkansas.

[Frunobulax]

Go over the plains
Enter the wheat
As you smell the sweetness arising
Above you and under your feet.
The coolest of waters
Greets your dry lips
And you feel yourself growing tired,
So sleep slips so easily.
Go under the ocean
Ride the cresting waves.
Tsunamis are playpens
And the dry land is a grave.
So leave this mindset
And delve into your potential
Towards better and greater,
And walk out of the plains
To better things.

[Odetta]

OK... time for a bumpity bump!

new line...

"The bells were ringing"

[Darkthoughts]

The bells were ringing,
They tolled for me.
I missed my bus,
I had to pee!

And now I have to phone in sick,
I cannot get to work that quick!

The bells were ringing,
They're never tired
And nor am I,
Since I got fired!

:lol: Sorry, but there was a distinct lack of nonsense poems :D

[The_Nameless]

I should join the poetic contests again.

[Odetta]

yes! You should!

I liked yours, dark! ;)

[Darkthoughts]

:D :thumbsup:

[The_Nameless]

The bells were ringing,
their message, if not their meaning, was surely sent,
to be received by deaf ears, oblivious of the tune's true intent.

Foul riders come with the storms, their prey in delusive state.
Fleeting safety, overlooking the danger, their mistake.
The horror dawns, devoured by the abomination they did make.
The bells were ringing, the tune a lament for a dire fate.

[Frunobulax]

The bells were ringing
Much as my ears do.
Their off key sounds and
Disturbing timbre souring my mood.
The crows were cackling,
Counting off my days.
The cars all froze.
Time stopped.
But the pain remains.

[The_Nameless]

The bells were ringing
Much as my ears do.
Their off key sounds and
Disturbing timbre souring my mood.
The crows were cackling,
Counting off my days.
The cars all froze.
Time stopped.
But the pain remains.

Nice.

[Frunobulax]

Glad you like it.
I enjoyed yours more than mine...but so it goes with me every time.

[The_Nameless]

Glad you like it.
I enjoyed yours more than mine...but so it goes with me every time.

Same, but vice versa.

[Frunobulax]

Such is the way of the artist.

[Nerak]

The bells were ringing
the day is at an end
darkness comes
my dear friend

Come in
sit by my fire
warm yourself
And rest your weary feet

Working hard
all your days
You need to take time
To stop and play

Your family needs you
the children grow up
Too fast for you
to really see

The bells are ringing
The day is at an end
Join the family now
Love never ends

[Candice Dionysus]

Fear
The bells were ringing
Loud and clear
And everyone came
From far and near.

At one such event
There can be no cheer,
The community united
Solely by fear.


To look upon it in the past,
One might have found it queer,
But after that day
The reasons were quite clear.

Our buildings were hit,
With force they did veer,
The impact was striking,
The hatred sincere.


And so now they mourn,
Some even dare here
To remind us of pains in the past,
To feed off our fear.

[Odetta]

Very nice, Candice! Perfect poem to retire that first line!


new opening line...

"Up, up, and away!"

[Jon]

Up, up and away
My beautiful, my beautiful balloon...



Wait...that's been done...sorry.

[Jon]

Will a haiku do??


Up, up, and away!
Homosexual in tights
Hard, gay man of steel

http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff79/walterodim_photos/superman.jpg

[Jon]

Ok...I have a poem now.


*****Warning. The following poem is meant in total jest but contains content that the general, right thinking public would label as smut. You have been warned. I hope you take it with the humor in which it was written.


-Jon*******























Up, up and away!

Cried the effeminate man ready to save the day.

No lisp to be detected

But so many he’s erected

Tough man as catcher needs no lube

Be careful on horseback, Mr. Kent

Or you’ll be blowing another kind of tube

http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff79/walterodim_photos/superman1.jpg


*runs from the thread ashamed!*

[Frunobulax]

printf("9813c.94ba/a:\n");
Up, up and away
To a sunnier place.
Erase erase, you still have free will
Erasmus Erasmus was wrong.
Fly away, up and away
To brighter days.
Erase erase gray
Speak and say think and play.
Do and do and don't.
Up, up and away.
To Ypres, to Spain.
To Waterloo, to Moscow.
To me, to you.
Up, up and erase.
Wipe it over, punch me in.
Up, up and away.
Flit off to a better place in your mind.

[Frunobulax]

I'd like to lay claim as the only poet to title using a line of C code.

[Jon]

It's YOURS!!!

[Odetta]

you win, fruno!

[Jean]

that Fruno's poem is one of his best indeed

I wish he would reappear as soon as possible, and post more and more; I already know most of his poems by heart (the rhyming ones at least), and I'm beginning to get hungry for more.

Meantime, since Jon was the first to answer the challenge (with a perfectly shaped haiku), it's his turn to offer an opening line

http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/0134-bear.gif

[Jon]

"On a nightmare's edge."

[Jon]

On nightmare’s silent edge

Self doubt erodes sanity

Pushing the sleeper over

[ladysai]

On a nightmare's edge
impish creatures dance
to and fro they sway
with the rhythm of chance

Dark partners light
in the sleeping mind
performing their waltz of
good and evil entwined

[Odetta]

:)

[Jon]

On a nightmare's edge
impish creatures dance
to and fro they sway
with the rhythm of chance

Dark partners light
in the sleeping mind
performing their waltz of
good and evil entwined


This one I LOVE!

[ladysai]

May we start again with 'pushing the sleeper over'?

~rouses the drowsy Turtleback poets~

[Jean]

I suggest the next round's first line being any of the three lines of this haiku by Jon:

On nightmare’s silent edge

Self doubt erodes sanity

Pushing the sleeper over

[Jon]

I suggest the next round's first line being any of the three lines of this hailu by Jon:

On nightmare’s silent edge

Self doubt erodes sanity

Pushing the sleeper over


I am honored.

[Jean]

I suggest the next round's first line being any of the three lines of this haiku by Jon:

On nightmare’s silent edge

Self doubt erodes sanity

Pushing the sleeper over


I am honored.

[Frunobulax]

{Pan2.ar(SinOsc.ar (100, 0, 0.5))}.play
On nightmare's silent edge
We skate so deftly in fear
On nightmare's vorpal blade
We dance ever clinging to hope of brightness.
On nightmare's poisoned words
We take the supine to death,
And on nightmare's blackened cloak
We embrace that which is unknown.


[The code is to generate a 100hz tone in SuperCollider.]

[ladysai]

:o
Fruno!
Great to see you and your words again on Turtleback Lane!
:D

[OchrisO]

Crappy poem that I'll most likely regret posting later.




On nightmare’s silent edge
There’s she and I alone
Walking in pale sunlight
Comfortably silent

Her hand in mine, perfect
Like magic, it soothes me
Taking away the pain
And stress I left behind

When I entered this world
Where we are the center
Of everything and time
Slows down to watch our love

Arms around her, I sigh
And watch the ducks eat bread
Thrown by children with smiles
Almost as real as mine

We watch the sun sink down
Casting shadows all ‘round
And eerie gloom gathers
But she makes me content

Some say that’s no nightmare
I have to disagree
And I wake, heart rending
Because that time is dead.

[Odetta]

well, whether you regret posting it or not... I liked it!



and...
welcome back, fruno!

[Jon]

I like the sadness at the end to contrast the rest.

[ladysai]

well, whether you regret posting it or not... I liked it!


I hope you dont regret posting.
It's a good poem, and you should be proud of it. :)

[cozener]

Pushing the sleeper over,
the pale flesh of her back is exposed
The moonlight washes over her
And she is made luminescent
I trace my finger over her;
feeling the joy in the wonder of her
As if I am a Medieval wanderer,
I stumble upon this fairy landscape
Or better yet, a cosmic explorer
touching down upon a heavenly body
I begin my moon walk
a small step for my fingers;
a giant step for me
Warmth moves up through my digits,
pulling my palm downward to her
I flatten my hand on the small of her back
I experience the curve of her hip.
My mouth waters and my pulse quickens
I think to myself that once is not enough.

[ladysai]

Hot stuff, Cozener.
But, quite tastefully done. Nice job. :)

[Jon]

Pushing the sleeper over,
the pale flesh of her back is exposed
The moonlight washes over her
And she is made luminescent
I trace my finger over her;
feeling the joy in the wonder of her
As if I am a Medieval wanderer,
I stumble upon this fairy landscape
Or better yet, a cosmic explorer
touching down upon a heavenly body
I begin my moon walk
a small step for my fingers;
a giant step for me
Warmth moves up through my digits,
pulling my palm downward to her
I flatten my hand on the small of her back
I experience the curve of her hip.
My mouth waters and my pulse quickens
I think to myself that once is not enough.


Mind if I send this to my sister?

LOL

[Darkthoughts]

Does anyone have a line to revive the thread? :)

[Jean]

could that be you?

[Darkthoughts]

I was feeling very uninspired and hoped to pass the buck :lol:

[Jean]

ok

Don't cry for me, cry for yourselves

[alinda]

Don't cry for me, cry for yourselves
if you think thats going to help.
Your tears and fears are all you have
better use them sparingly.
This time it just may surprize you
to learn I am over you.
Don't cry for me, cry for yourselves
it's all that you can do.

[Jon]

Nice Linda. Sounds a bit close to heart.

[alinda]

A'yup, its not up to the writing usually posted here
but it sprang to life when I read Jeans line.

[Jon]

I think it fits quite well here.

[Jon]

Don’t cry for me, cry for yourselves

Yes I have lost sons and daughters

But your freedom is:

Just out of grasp

Tenuous at best

Unsound

Hollow



Don’t cry for me, cry for yourselves

Yes I am hated world wide

But your souls are:

Oppressed

Bound

Hungry



http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff79/walterodim_photos/iraq-cia-largeflag.gif


http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff79/walterodim_photos/American-Flag.jpg

[Patrick]

Wow, Jon, I like the flow of that.
__________

Hi, I just found this thread for the first time late tonight. Yeah, I'm a little embarrassed about that. Anyway, I read through this entire thread, and I am amazed and impressed at the whole concept and all the creative responses.

I know I'm late to the game, but I thought I'd try my hand, so I whipped something up. I thought about holding it back to reread it with a clear head (it's late here) which would be the prudent thing to do. Clearly it needs a whole lot of spit polish and reworking, but forget it. This is just a first draft, but there won't be a second. It's rather long, but all the same poem, so I'll put it in a separate post.

I think this should catch me up and bring me current. Good night.

[Patrick]

His king is dead. His army is defeated.
So he switched allegiance to his party’s presumptive nominee.
When it’s time to relax, I so hate to be greeted,
By a blowhard on a barstool who yammers politics with such glee.

I want to chill out and have a single cold beverage,
Don’t hammer me with every detail of all the races.
Extricate myself I must, and try my best to go leverage
My way into that pretty woman’s good graces.

Where do I go from here?
“Just one more for the road!”
I should not have had that final beer.
Why must I give in when they goad?

I was confident in my route and certain of my direction
But the battery died tonight in my GPS.
Every wrong turn seemed like a proper correction,
Now I’m drunk, it’s dark, and I can only guess,

She faded from my heart and sight,
So witty, so beautiful, I had so much to gain.
“We’re lost,” she screamed, nothing I did was right,
Finally I could no longer stand her admonitions and disdain.

“We should have stopped and asked someone!”
I simply pretended not to hear her.
When the cutie from the bar got out to pee, I made my run,
As she grew smaller in my rearview mirror.

Go over the plains,
Said that tiny interior voice,
There will be other Jills… or Janes?
Whoever she was, she had left me no choice.

In the ensuing blessed quiet and peace,
Through the fields the straight road was etched,
I could relax, my stress decrease,
It was so pleasant, I yawned, I stretched.

The bells were ringing,
Or were they sirens?
To the shoulder, my car was clinging,
And I barely recognized my environs.

I sat bolt upright as I realized,
In fact I almost started bawling,
Reality, my dreams had disguised.
I was not speeding, but rather crawling,

"Up, up, and away!"
I wished I were Superman
Not squeezed by fear and dismay.
I’m a regular guy, but I do what I can.

I pulled out of the gravel and back onto the road.
I blinked clear my eyes and slammed down the pedal
giving it all the gas, half-expecting the car to explode.
The water was boiling and I was in the kettle.

On a nightmare's edge.
I raced through every twist and turn,
Never again to drink and drive, that was my pledge,
The tires squealed, and I could smell them burn.

So close now, no time to unnerve,
Imagining bullets: a hail, a barrage,
I rounded the last, final curve
And pulled into my own garage.

Don't cry for me, cry for yourselves
I mumbled through bitterness borne of fear,
You naughty pixies, you mischievous elves.
Who made me drink just one last beer.

I’m as innocent as a wee little cherub,
I’m not to blame for any trouble or sorrow.
It’s not my fault all my friends love the pub,
Now to sleep, I’ll see them again tomorrow.


- Patrick

[Jean]

fantastic! another Great One is here, please please write and post more and more! The bear is very excited and very impressed!

hopefully, I will be able to come up with something like critics later, but so far only one thing: rhyme pedal/kettle is one of the best I've seen in months!

Also: maybe you would like to break that big post into separate posts, that would make it easier for those who will navigate here from the Index

[Patrick]

fantastic! another Great One is here, please please write and post more and more! The bear is very excited and very impressed!

hopefully, I will be able to come up with something like critics later, but so far only one thing: rhyme pedal/kettle is one of the best I've seen in months!

Also: maybe you would like to break that big post into separate posts, that would make it easier for those who will navigate here from the Index

Thank you, Jean. I really don't do creative writing, poetry or anything else. I'm pretty darn sure this is the first time I ever wrote anything like this for a website.

I wish I had found this thread sometime before midnight. By the time I read through the entire thread, it was even later. It would have been helpful to be a little more awake writing it. It's 3am now and I'm exhausted (and babbling). Thanks for the pedal/kettle recognition. :)

I don't mean to be a bother, but I do want to keep it in one post as it tells one story. As I said earlier,

[Jean]

ok then, I just thought it could be, you know, the same poem but in different posts. I am afraid it would be separate entries in the Index; look at it tomorrow and tell me how you would like to alter your entry there.

[alinda]

I read them , as one continuous story....
Glad you made it back home safe Patrick.
Did you leave her in a safe place? :huglove:

[Patrick]

I read them , as one continuous story....
Glad you made it back home safe Patrick.
Did you leave her in a safe place? :huglove:
Thanks. It's fiction, my friend. :)

[alinda]

ideas are real, but this had the feeling of being something one of us had experienced on some level. :wtf:

[Patrick]

ok then, I just thought it could be, you know, the same poem but in different posts. I am afraid it would be separate entries in the Index; look at it tomorrow and tell me how you would like to alter your entry there.
I guess I better check out this Index then, so I'll understand.

Thanks again for the compliments up there.

Like I said, I would consider it a first draft, but have doubts that I'll bother to work on it much. Mainly I just wanted to see if I could include every opening line in the contest thus far, and in the order they've appeared in the contest. I think the rhymes all work, but it clearly leaves a whole lot to be desired from a poet's perspective (rhythm, meter, whatever), so feel free to critique away.


ideas are real, but this had the feeling of being something one of us had experienced on some level. :wtf:
Maybe posting at 3am on a Friday night added to the realism? But speaking for myself personally, I've never ditched anyone by the side of the road. :lol:

[alinda]

Must of been me then....:wtf: j/k

[Patrick]

Must of been me then....:wtf: j/k
:rofl: I hope you left him somewhere safe.

[alinda]

I think it was in England...

[Jon]

Hey...lets get this going again. Respecting the Mod...I'll wait for her/his subject.

[Jean]

alinda's turn

[alinda]

Each time I look at you



Is this enough to get started then?:huglove:

[Jon]

Each time I look at you



Is this enough to get started then?:huglove:

I think so... And I'll start this show!







FUEL


Each time I look at you

I am amazed at how drunk I was that night!

Now I curse and resent the devils evil brew.

I cry for the mountains and rocks to fall upon me and end my plight.

Your once sultry whisper, now a horrid shriek.

My tears, now fuel for your fire

Once a peck, now a slap on the cheek.

Eyes clouded with hate, once eyes of sapphire

[Patrick]

Wow, Jon. I didn't see that angle coming at all.


I'm still waiting for Jean to critique my Francois Villon Contest magnum opus posted upthread.

[Jackie]

His King is dead, His army is defeated.
His city burns in ruin.
He stands watching helplessly.
Frozen in time and space.
He is unable to fix, the damage that has been done.
He can not claim a victory, this is a battle that has not been won

All hope is lost,
In the flames of his lost King.
His city lost, his army too,
And nothing he could ever do
He stands and watches
Tears burn his eyes
As the flames engulf,
what was left of his pride

His King is dead, His army is defeated
He walks away, shoulders slumped over
His feet drag in the ash,
that was once a beautiful city
That once had a king,
that once had an army,
that once protected his city
where people use to live in harmony
But now nothings left, but ash, regrets and loss

Oh, and only him
Don't forget about him
He is left to wallow in his sorrow
Of the greatest loss of all
He sat there and watched helpless
As the crimson king made the tower fall

[Patrick]

Nice work, Jackie. :thumbsup:

[Jackie]

Thanks Patrick :) It was all completly off the top of my , but I'm pretty happy with the finshed product.

[Jon]

Thanks Patrick :) It was all completly off the top of my , but I'm pretty happy with the finshed product.


A poet and a House M.D. fan...can't beat that!

[Jon]

Wow, Jon. I didn't see that angle coming at all.





My old friend...you expected different?:cowboy:

[Jackie]

Each time I look at you
I wonder if the love i see is true
Your known to lie,
Your know to deceive
So why on earth should i believe,
That your love is true?
Or that your heart is pure?

I sigh and wonder if i should walk through that door
Shall i take the chance?
And possibly the fall
Should i believe what you say?
Forgetting your past,
and your previous reputations

When i think about this i wonder
Is it even worth the fall?
Are you worth risking it all?
I hear sometimes, people change
But does that apply to a person like you?
I just have such a hard time
Believing your feeling are true

I look in your eyes
and i want to believe
But my heart doesn't let me
It reminds me you deceive

So this time I'll walk away
With my heart still intact
Because it and i have made a pact
To stick together
and not let you break us
because your known for just that

So with that said,
I’ll turn away
With out looking back
Because I’d rather not think
Of what we could have had

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

I AM NEW TO THIS SITE, AND TO THIS THREAD, SO I WILL ATTEMPT A RESPONSE TO THE FIRST LINE.

A Disposable Past

The King is dead, His army defeated.
Vanquished is his name.
Soil now rich with fallen Crimson,
King's blood springs life again.

Fallen are his minions.
Each one has met his fate.
The battlefield has quieted,
And only hell awaits.

Victory is ours,
Though bitter in the end.
Many lost along the way,
Like whispers in the wind.

This battle is eternal.
Our quest will never still.
A future of a thousand pasts,
For Ka is still a wheel.

Jeremy Gooch

[Jackie]

I AM NEW TO THIS SITE, AND TO THIS THREAD, SO I WILL ATTEMPT A RESPONSE TO THE FIRST LINE.

A Disposable Past

The King is dead, His army defeated.
Vanquished is his name.
Soil now rich with fallen Crimson,
King's blood springs life again.

Fallen are his minions.
Each one has met his fate.
The battlefield has quieted,
And only hell awaits.

Victory is ours,
Though bitter in the end.
Many lost along the way,
Like whispers in the wind.

This battle is eternal.
Our quest will never still.
A future of a thousand pasts,
For Ka is still a wheel.

Jeremy Gooch

I like it :). It's very good.

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

Thanks,
I've written a few poems. Never written in this manner before, without spending anytime composing or editing, but its pretty fun.

I mainly write songs, as you can probably tell by rhythm and rhyming pattern.

[Patrick]

Both are great poems, Jackie and Browning's Childe.

[Jon]

Thanks,
I've written a few poems. Never written in this manner before, without spending anytime composing or editing, but its pretty fun.

I mainly write songs, as you can probably tell by rhythm and rhyming pattern.

It works well!

[cozener]

Wait, are we doing his king his dead or each time I look at you?

[Jean]

Wait, are we doing his king his dead or each time I look at you?
yes, because it was a brilliant line! http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_tongue.gif

::scratches himself behind the ear::

[Jon]

Wait, are we doing his king his dead or each time I look at you?
yes, because it was a brilliant line! http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/bear_tongue.gif

::scratches himself behind the ear::



So... we're doing "The King is Dead?" Your answer was unclear.

*scratches Jean behind the ears*

[Jean]

actually, we are doing Each time I look at you. But if someone hasn't done any of the previous, they are very welcome to do so any time! http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k291/mishemplushem/Facilitation/0134-bear.gif

[cozener]

Ah, doesn't matter. I'm not feelin' it with either one anyway. :beat:

I'll wait for the next one. :)

[Jackie]

Reality

Don't cry for me, cry for yourselves
For all your losses
Dreams, and hopes
The reality you knew
was nothing but a hoax

I wish I could tell you different
But that would be a lie
You’ll find out yourselves
On that day which you die

It was all a hoax
None but an illusion
Brought on by your mind
And mine

A story thought up
Although its very far
From once upon a time
Because once upon a time
Always ends with happily ever after
But after this you’ll see
Far from happy you’ll be

Reality is not what we see
It’s not what we breath
Not what we hear
And not what we touch
Our brain deceives us you see
This is a reality that will never be

It’s really a good one,
A trick I mean
For your brain to pull it off
And make you think
Your feeling reality
But the truth is, you see
There is no reality

[Jon]

Crap...I had a "The King is Dead" one ready.

With Jackie's permission, I'll put it in "Poetry, Dark and Light."


Jackie?

[Jean]

why don't you post it here, too?

[Jon]

I just fear stealing Jackie's first line.

[Jon]

I just fear stealing Jackie's first line.


Jackie...I cry your pardon. I have two bursting out.

[Jon]

The King is dead.

His final wish given

His kingdom in flames

His army riven


The King is dead

His last wish never heard

Cries of his subjects

Leave his wish obscured


The King is dead

Was his dream so absurd?

A defeated general

Orders his body interred


http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff79/walterodim_photos/King.jpg

[Jon]

I KNOW this one needs some work but it just kinda fell out of me. I'll square it up at another time.









The King is dead

Most say he went to hell

But Tchaikovsky had the news

Tchaikovsky says he once lived at The Heartbreak Hotel


I saw him in a Wisconsin 7-11

But Tchaikovsky says he hit skid row

Now he’s living with a Hound Dog

In the Ghetto


The King is dead

But he took Carl Perkins’ Blue Suede Shoes

Incarcerated, now pounding on The Jailhouse Rock

Just like Sisyphus, he has A Mess of Blues.



The King is dead

He looks to the Hawaiian Sunset

Thinking on a lonely Blue Moon

Whispering to himself of the girl I Forgot To Remember To Forget


The King is dead

He exclaims to his Lord, I give All That I Am

Ready for his Earth Angel,

His parting words, Softly, As I Leave You to The Bosom of Abraham




http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff79/walterodim_photos/elvis_presley_on_stage.jpg

[Odetta]

It's time for a bump of our poetry threads!

Let's go with a winter/festive theme!
New line...

Time to celebrate!

[Jon]

I'll get to it if I don't have a flood.

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

Time to Celebrate!
A headache lie in wait.
But, for now my thirst I'll sate
And have the world upon my plate

So raise a toast, and have some more
Drink until we hit the floor.
Tomorrow, we shall see for sure,
That celebration is a whore.

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

Time for a new line.....

In the eye of the storm....

[Jon]

In the eye of the storm...a prosthetic

a contact, seawater it's saline solution.

The better to see you with, my pretty!

[Odetta]

anyone else want to work off of "In the eye of the storm"?

[Nerak]

In the eye of the storm
We shall see
Just who the survivor will be.

In the eye of the storm
In every way
We fight the battle today

In the eye of the storm
The hurt the pain
The terror that reigns

In the eye of the storm
Will you be there
In this love affair

In the eye of the storm
I shall be
The one that you will see

In the eye of the storm
We are one

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

The Tempest

In the eye of the storm,
Fleeting serenity envelopes the soul.
A moment to clear my head,
Before the tempest regains control.

Chaos swirls on all four fronts.
A deluge of emotion before and behind.
White hot rage,
Blackest despair,
Envious green,
Tangled,
Entwined.

A tiny vessel on an infinite sea,
With darkness all around.
Electrified, oppressive sky.
Ominous thoughts abound.

Tranquility depleted,
The waves begin to swell,
With cacophony of thunder,
And screaming winds from hell.

With heavy heart and burdened soul,
I plunge into the night.
Behind, the light leaves me,
As the eye, it closes tight.

[Jon]

In the eye of the storm...a prosthetic

a contact, seawater it's saline solution.

The better to see you with, my pretty!


SHIT this sucks...I must have been sober!

[Jon]

So... maybe a new line?

[Odetta]

OK, a new line...

For he's a jolly good fellow

[Gaberax]

For He's a Jolly Good Fellow

For he's a jolly good fellow
Held up in the highest esteem
A man that other men follow
A leader raised up from the team

With a charm that is rather deceiving
And a smile that’s not easy to read
With a few words he’ll have you believing
And eager to follow his lead.

He wades through disaster while smiling
Worlds fall with a casual glance
His stories are strange and beguiling
Fortunes garnered and squandered by chance

He’s quick with a word to inspire
He’s first with a slap on the back
He laughs when the outlook is dire
And sings when the forecast is black

He’d walk with you right through Death’s hollow
And stick with you, right to the end
Yes, he’s a jolly good fellow
And I’m damned proud to call him my friend.

[Odetta]

:)

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

A God Among Men

For he is a jolly good fellow,
Least thats what he'd have you believe.
A facade of a smile, and a "Hello",
With maniacal hate up his sleeve.

He's tidy and neat in appearance,
Yet inside, he boils with rage.
A master of more adherence,
The beast he keeps in his cage.

A spurious imposture by day,
Until he returns to his den.
At work, by the rules he will play,
But at home, he's a God among men.

He quietly tallies his victims.
He dreams of his glorious day.
No jury will ever convict him,
As he'll die soon after his prey.

And after his bloodthirst is slaked,
Confused and bewildered they'll be.
A life of camaraderie faked,
For a jolly good fellow was he.

[Jon]

Thinking on this one.

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

A new line perhaps?

Deep within the darkness....

[Odetta]

Deep within the Darkness
the dreams come
wrenching me from peace

Deep within the Darkness
the shadows come
I turn my head in fear

Deep within the Darkness
the spirits come
calling me home

Deep within the Darkness

I sleep

[BROWNINGS CHILDE]

I like it, very thought provoking. Abstract enough to allow for interpretation.

[Odetta]

Thanks! I was going for abstract!

[Jon]

A new line perhaps?


"After such a failure..."

[ladysai]

A new line perhaps?

Deep within the darkness....

deep within darkness
blind souls languish in silence
light is forgotten

[ladysai]

A new line perhaps?


"After such a failure..."

after such failure
cries of despair resounding
hope shall yet whisper