Any poets? - Comments, CONSTRUCTIVE critisism, ideas.

John Creighton · 2004-09-28 21:07:16

A little break from the previous... any comments, or is this thread the domain of John and I?

I wonder if the following will induce a response. I am alowed to have one troll post.

Dreaming of Martian Delights

In distant lands
Veagan Queens dine
Succulent juices drip
Lips wet with sinful delights
Chockalott Vanilla Strawberries
Pure dishes fatless indulgence
Stuffing in the pleasure

A meal to remember
With more delights then one
Has time to savor
Food that is pleasure
A Meal to remember

In rubie rooms
With silver utensils
Veagan Queens
Eat off Safire tables
LED’s reflect many colors
Complementing assortments of flavor
Bathed in alien water
Perfumes extracted from
Engineered flora
Smell enhanced taste
A dish of beauty and flavor decorate the plate

A meal to remember
With more delights the one
Has time to savor
A meal to remember

Enthralled with here supper
put of the edge with here desert
The queen relaxed smiles
Light breaks through the clouds
And shines through her patio door.
From the table she walks to the garden
And stars out the doom across
The red sand. She takes a banana,
Squishes out the juices and lays a
Few seeds on a moist paper towel
And dreams of the time here children
Can enjoy the fruits of her labor.

John Creighton · 2004-09-28 21:14:18

any comments

Comments? That is an awful long poem Clark I don't remember if I read the whole thing or not. I enjoy this thread it is a break for my natural tendency to be overly logical and analytical. I seem to use a lot less structure in my postings here then Clark. Does that imply a lesser quality in my writtings?

John Creighton · 2004-09-28 22:16:11

When Mars does rise
In morning skies,
I shall call to her;
And if she call
I will not stall,
As I fly to her.

Oh, I like this one let me try and expand on it.

In the cold of the night
I will warm her right
In the heat of the day
I bring water as she lay
In October I bring may
And the spring of life today

clark · 2004-09-29 11:59:10

You don't remember if you read it! Ah, you wound me. :laugh:

It is rather long, isn't it? I was considering a continuation, but perhaps it may be best if I not go further. It was merely a little dabble in the Epic. I thought some might enjoy it given the theme and this place.

I enjoyed your "Dreaming of Martian Delights", for some reason it reminded me of Pricilla, Queen of the Desert (movie). Odd connection, I know, but there it is.

I don't think there is any problem with not using structure within a poem. Really, in poetry, there are as many rules as you place upon yourself. I tend towards building some type of structure though for a challenge and to often focus my ideas. There is also another level you can add to poetry by following some of the more rigid poetic structures because you can introduce cadence in a more specific manner. This helps if you want to read it aloud and make your work a little bit more than two-dimensional.

But on the other hand, some of my favorite poets were from the latter half of 20th century- Ginsberg (who kills his poems when he speaks) or Kerouac, yet neither one followed any real structure in most of their work. Yet you can go to someone like Keats or Whittman and see what structure can do.

Try this if you would like, try writing six lines (or more) with only 8 or 10 syllables per line for a poem (choose a number and apply that number of syllables per line) for your poem. They can rhyme in any manner you wish (ABABAB, AABBAABB, ABCABC, AABBCC, etc.)

This is a basic form of a sonnet. By maintaing a consistent syllable count you can induce a quality of music to your verse- it will come out a bit more naturally.

clark · 2004-09-29 13:27:51

Here is an example John... of course I used 7 syllables, but whose counting.

Evening tales of flight have fled
Chasing dreaming child to bed,
Slumber casts its gaze once more
From lullaby’s gentle score,
Peace of angel does descend,
As this day comes to an end.

So basically, you take the idea/emotion/concept/whatever, and apply a formed structure to it to help shape the poem. This can help keep the overall idea in focus as you progress through the lines of the verse. Adding in a specific number of syllables per line will create a natural rythmn and harmony, which can add to the poem.

If I break it up...

Evening tales of flight
have fled
Chasing dreaming child
to bed,
Slumber casts its gaze
once more
From lullaby’s
gentle score,
Peace of angel
does descend,
As this day
comes to an end.

The breaks can cause a reader to place an emphasis on a line you may not intend, or can change the flow of a poem. The second version is more start and stop in reading it, and it loses some of the musical quality when placing the lines in a different form.

clark · 2004-09-30 07:00:42

This is what is called a "Petrarchan sonnet". Shakespeare used him [Petrarch] as a model for his own sonnet form. The Petrarchan sonnet is a 14 line poem consisting of 7 or 11 syllable's per line. The rhyme scheme is ABBA ABBA CDC DCD (the last six lines can be CDE CDE as well). While this explains the format, there is another level of structure within this type of poem. The idea, problem, feeling is presented within the first 8 lines of the poem, with a resolution or an understanding of the problem occuring within the last 6 lines of the poem.

So, a Petrarchan sonnet about Mars...

Mars arise from dust filled dawn
Where barren bloom craters lie
Beneath the red crimson sky,
Upon world with oceans gone.

To empty lands Man is drawn,
With rocket fire He will fly
And take planet ever dry,
With only His mind and brawn,

For Martian world is a test
Of the hearts of dreaming Men
This Frontier is ever West,

And empty void calls again,
Life does crave this endless quest,
So let the journey begin.

clark · 2004-10-07 07:51:15

Twilight, twilight
Before the night,
Crimson lonely star
Shines first light.

Beckoning beacon
To guide our flight,
Calling yearning
To set our sight

Above, upon, beneath
Red rock shores,
Giving waiting birth
To unmade lore’s-

Waiting, wanting
Distant seed,
This siren calls
With empty need.

Twilight, twilight
The stars alight,
Yet to red star
We set our flight.

clark · 2004-10-13 11:45:07

Tree2.th.jpg

Marble tree of Silver leaves

Where grows fast the wild marble tree
With silver leaves that never fall,
Spring shadows upon winter’s face
As life colors this crimson pall,

In memory this tree was sown
In answer to an earthly call,
To glitter with the hope of life
And hold us fast within its thrall.

Farewell to old pale pull of blue
No more than distant light now small,
For silver leaves of marble tree,
On Mars, is all I can recall.

full image:

http://img71.exs.cx/img71/941/Tree2.jpg … /Tree2.jpg

I put this together using Bryce5 (a 3D rendering program) and wrote a poem about it. Something that dosen't really show up in the thumbnail is the small blue star (earth) rising over the horizon (you can see it more clearly in the full image). The idea behind the picture is that this is something of a Martian monument.

I wrote the poem to accompany the picture, any thoughts?

Josh Cryer · 2004-10-13 12:16:32

Nice clark.

clark · 2004-10-15 09:15:17

Thanks Josh!

I tried my hand at another picture... this was an attempt to capture some of the imagery in part of a previous poem I posted in this thread:

volcano2.th.jpg

Full picture here: http://img76.exs.cx/img76/2584/volcano2 … lcano2.jpg

To riverbeds we soon did run
For my lessons had now begun,
Of the ways of our Martian creed:
That Mars is life, and life does bleed.

For miles beneath the sun we went
Down chasms deep we did descent,
Up hills and mountains ever steep
Across boulder valleys in a leap,
Until we came to dark black fountain
Placed upon volcano mountain,
From here we did drink dark green wine
Giving us visions so divine,
Of Martian paradise returned,
Upon my soul it seared and burned-
I begged them for but one more draught,
They counseled me that I could not,
For the delight bequeathed to me
From last waters of ancient sea,
Was but a fleeting whispered spell
Only in my dreams would it dwell.

Such sadness in my eyes they saw,
Reflecting hunger for the awe
Brought to me by this Martian wine
Pouring forth from this Martian shrine.

So they prayed to help ease my pain,
Yet even now desire does reign,
Such is the power and the might,
Of this second Martian delight.

clark · 2004-10-18 07:34:20

Our brittle bones from stardust formed, yearn
With aching passion in mortal breast,
As searching eyes upon stars discern
The black night waiting with timeless quest.

Upon this earth abundant life does burn
With each passing of a setting West,
Beyond rising Moon where Mars does churn
A sirens call pulls dreaming soul from rest.

Unknown questions, answers we may learn
From voids above our old earthly nest,
Living dust of stars long to return
And shine with light brighter than the best.

Mortal dust beneath burns ever bright,
With longing to set the night alight.

clark · 2004-10-18 09:38:18

Oh strange distant burning orb
Upon the night and twilight dance,
Red-orange-umber you absorb
Human passions in a trance,

Frail failing flailing falls upon
Around and from the burning fires,
Living being moving on
Pulled by your ancient desires,

Oh what hope beneath you shines
No choice before your offered fate,
While passing flesh by time declines
Your eternal call does not abate.

Madness yells to stars in night
Give mercy from a silent voice,
The stars do fall from human sight,
And distant Mars has made its choice.

Cobra Commander · 2004-10-18 10:15:32

Sleep-deprived again...

Shining in the darkness
mocking from a distance
Ever out of reach, for we let it be.

Yet the day shall come
when we seize that world
in the grip of life, and we'll make it breathe.

It won't be easy
nor free of pain,
will test us, push us, make us bleed.

But we will prevail,
as we have before,
from its prison, life bursts free.

clark · 2004-10-18 11:57:55

Well done Cobra, you should get less sleep.

clark · 2004-10-18 12:48:25

No breath do I breath of ancient earth
Nor wind or rain does fall,
Upon my cheek or hidden skin
Yet how those longings call,

Where is the blue that gleams afar
When small distant sun arise,
For red does bleed dead and dry
And fills both sea and skies,

No end of winter days are here
With Spring forever left unseen,
Cold and dry each season turns
As silent Mars remains serene,

I long to hear the sounds of paradise
Filled with bird and beast and life,
Where flowers bloom in every shade
With colors ever rife,

Alas, I yearn for what is not,
Not what took me to this plain-
Alas, I learned what Mars was not,
So now I sit and complain.

clark · 2004-10-20 11:29:46

I stopped doing this type of theme for poems because it takes a little out of me. It can be difficult to balance the emotions and not have it seem... too much. But, anyway, I would be interested in anybodies opinion on this.

The dark blood of many fallen hero’s spilled
With whole bodies by endless war consumed,
In broken pieces their life is resumed,
On battlefields where hope remains untilled.

No longer with might may mortal arms wield,
As death grows where once the flowers bloomed
Above these fallen voices fate has doomed,
To final slumber and in silence yield.

Now a memory marks their resting place,
Of cold earth, dried blood, and life’s scattered ash,
Where sun rises over a life now gone,

Yet time will grieve with fresh wounds to replace,
Filled with blooming voices in warring clash,
For none remember those who lost this dawn.

Cobra Commander · 2004-10-20 12:37:28

Overall I like it.

Defeatist attitude aside.

It's good, particularly that last line.

BWhite · 2004-10-20 13:52:08

Some say sincere poetry is usually bad. I offer proof:

A soldier’s blood, when first shed,
Glistens brightly and cries out why?

Another human spark is dead,
With gaping eyes that cannot cry.

And passions flare, bright and red,
Parsing cause for this pain and toil.

Evening comes; dried blood is tread,
By angry feet trampling soil.

Chasing glory did cause this strife,
Offerings made for the vanity of kings.

Or perhaps fame mistook for eternal life,
Something freely granted when the poet sings.

BWhite · 2004-10-20 13:58:39

I edit myself:

A soldier’s blood, when first shed,
Glistens brightly and questions why
With gaping eyes that cannot cry.

And passions flare, bright and red,
Parsing cause for this pain and toil;
While dried blood covers sandy soil.

Chasing glory did cause this strife,
Offerings made for the vanity of kings.
Or perhaps fame mistook for eternal life,
Something freely granted when the poet sings.

clark · 2004-10-20 14:08:34

I prefer the second version Bill. Well done.

Defeatist? I suppose. But then, dying in battle is always a defeat for someone. With that in mind, and taking a cue from the Dark One, Lord C.C.; I have beat the drums of war to embolden the hearts in the merry sounds of war! [I feel so dirty]

Then came the rumble tumble sound of war
In quickening thunder across the land,
And valiant men did march toward glory grand
To smite the infidel upon their shore,

The enemy gave fight, our men gave more,
Cowing the world until none dare to stand
Against our noble might and righteous hand,
That would never be restrained as before.

Familiar times of yesterday have past,
Nevermore will peace be as once ago,
Enemies remain throughout countries vast,

With their numbers and wishes they do grow,
Yet our will as before will ever last,
Until we have buried them all below.

BWhite · 2004-10-20 14:21:12

I prefer the second version Bill.

Well, d'oh!

clark · 2004-10-20 14:47:52

Ode to a D'oh!

I wrote a poem once before
Didn’t like it, so I rewrote some more
Until a day after many days
After exhausting all the different ways
I might express my singular thought
Showed someone else, “is that all you got?”
They said to my utter shock
So indifference led me to balk
At trying again for I had had enough
I didn’t realize this poetry thing was so tough,
Oh well, so what, se le ve
As the French froggies say across the sea
I rewrote that old poem as before
And refused to edit anymore.

dicktice · 2004-10-22 18:52:26

My friend, Bob Cunningham (85) is being dragged kicking and screaming into web-publishing, but hasn't mastered html yet. Here's a lovely little unpublished gem of a poem, he tossed off this week. It's about our part of the world (Nova Scotia's Bay of Fundy) ca. 150 years ago)—

THE FUNDY SCHOONERMAN

Up and down with Fundy tides,
In and out of tatty ports,
Alongl the wall where the eagle glides,
Away from where the whale cavorts.

Through the gut where the rip tides run,
Around Cape Split for apples and pears,
Nails and pails from old Saint John
And Truro Town for ladies' wears.

Down the coast with Joggins' coals
And grindstones for each harbout
To put an edge on Yankee tools
And whetstones for the barber.

Piles and spiles for New York docks,
Dried fish for Carib nations,
Spuds to trade for fancy clocks
And rum for celebrations.

South with shingles, shooks and staves,
The deckload all aclutter,
Watching the space the skipper saves
For a cask of Barbados Butter!

Boards and lumber, spars to boot,
Pit props for Georgia mining men
Scrounging a load of southern fruit
To peddle back up north again.

Back in the Bay of Shad Fish Nets,
Winding down the season,
Short of cash but free of debt,
With Fundy trade the reason!

Notes, for you youngsters:
gut = narrow passage, at high tide, between two bays
Cape Split juts out into the Bay, from Wolfville
Joggins = an old coal-port
Spiles = spruce posts used to assist tunneling under NY streets
Shooks = thin pinewood boards for making (eg. crates)
Barbados Butter = contraband rum
Staves = flat spruce boards for making barrels for shipping "slack goods" (eg. dishes and drygoods)

Josh Cryer · 2004-10-24 01:35:07

I like that one a lot Dick.

John Creighton · 2004-10-30 15:06:59

A Classic

Twikle Twinkle little Star
How I wonder what you are
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky
Twinkle Twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are

I forget was it the planets that were suppose to twinkle or the stars?
Is the poem/song about a star or a woman?
When and where did it originate?

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