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The "TommyP" Memorial 15 day Poetry Challenge (currently 7267 views)
mcornetto
Posted: May 25th, 2011, 1:08am
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Who is TommyP and why is there a Memorial 15 day challenge for him?
No, Tommy isn't dead - he just rarely posts - though I see him lurking occasionally. But when he was posting more often about a year or two back he came up with this idea - a poetry challenge where you write one poem a day for 15 days. I had a lot of fun with it and I know a couple of other members who had some fun with it too.
I'm sure some of you are saying "Oh No! the dreaded P word!" And some of us are thinking it sounds easier than it really is. But I figure while we're waiting for the next OWC it will help pass the time and give us some helpful word exercise.
So here's how it going to work. I'll post a topic every day for the next 15 days starting tomorrow morning when I wake up. Write a poem based on the topic and post it in this thread. The day ends when I post the new topic.
Even if you don't intend to do 15 poems, give it a go anyway. This will end when the OWC begins so it's likely none of us will make it to 15 poems anyway. Use this as an opportunity to expand your skill set. Maybe you'll even find something new to be good at.
I think I shall never see A poem as lovely as a tree A tree whose hungrey is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; A tree that looks at G-d all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear, A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who ultimately lives in rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only G-d can make a tree. By Joyce Kilmer (1886-191
I stand on a ragged cliff top, A pale face Lies beneath me, Watery eyes, stare sightlessly at the Beyond. Behind those eyes, Depth Eternal. A face I've seen a Thousand times, But never recognise. I look closer, intoxicated with yearning. The eyes are windows on the soul. Can He see mine? I see his. Pain, cold, suffering, suffocation of existence. And yet. An invitation. I step. Air rushes around me. Two worlds collide. I am violated by water. My lungs burn in darkness. Blood pounds in my head. Time becomes infinite, And I become Truth.
Hate it? I don't. Love her, never me, no. Him? To Hell with him. I say what I want. To Hell with your god, too. To Hell with your politicians, your family, your dog.
I'm not changing that, but I do have it. You're not changing that, but you do have you. Understand?
The bird-like screech came suddenly. A hawk—a habicht, pierced through my vision.
Down as feathered lightning To its target A small deer, gripped by talons The deer rolled, scrambled back to its feet Flight again for the hawk Pursuing the deer again and again Sharp jabs
Ma havinah? Ma havinah? What is understanding? He screeched again, Needling the deer Pecking, gripping
The deer’s dahm flowed tasty Teasing Vampires Teasing me Little rivers of red Little trenches in flesh Gashed for Zamin
Miraculous, The deer fled More miraculous, The hawk released, Riding innocent Upon his back Flapping then, In front then, Leading him, the hawk then-- Away is away is away.
Still I am. Still I stand. I know, I stood-- This way, before. And I go back to nevermore.
Behind me, a sound Tramping dead leaves Old bones I failed to turn Feared to turn
Paw paw pawing It pawed at my back I couldn’t turn wit I couldn’t face it
Panim beh Panim Might be it kill me
Ma havinah? Ma havinah? It growled.
It smelled of wild compost Burning My lungs did burn I had to turn
Around-- To see The Wolf His eyes like Jack Dainty killer, Burlap sack Unknown Unknown He glazed at me unknown.
There were the white things I remembered. The failed bride's dress. And all that horned mess.
Yes.
White nods for the morrow Black whips of telling Black whips of story telling
He spoke As storm clouds arched with black cat spine His howl ached as nephilim The volcanic sky Like apple pie
So I turned…
Ma havinah? Ma havinah? He leapt upon me Meaty will to eat I saw his teeth I heard his howl Ma havinah? Ma havinah? His hate and fondness tramped my senses. Only though and three; yet he did not bite.
Please, I said. Ani lo mevinah. Ani lo mevinah. I do not understand. I do not understand. Please tell me,. Please tell me. I pleaded When he gripped my throat with something Something clenched my veins Something held me tight, inside me. Frozen Nirvana— Inside me…. I cried-- Kshar! Kshar! Bond! Bond! Kshar! Kshar!
His fur brushed my forehead. His teeth kissed my breasts Breast that weep They weep with milk Now still-even-still, No child in sight, And still they give, The milk of mothers--
Mindless mothers Mindful mothers Scorned in restless never-will Laid in beds of luster-kill
Eat, goddamit anyways! Is what I say. In ever sway— Of my Tormentor! Of my love grantor! Eat! You bloodless dahmless sovereign!
Whence I forced the hand. Both left and right together!
He cinched the hairs upon my head To a tightly rung tail By that he grabbed He grabbed so hard each piece and part And lifted me
Whereby is by He bowed his head. Stood up straight and became a man.
Why didn’t you follow the hawk? His graveled voice crisped the metal Shot the sham Stealing air, the wayfare damn
Hushing me. Stuffing me. He crushed my heart. He then continued…
With hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium...
The hawk had sense, he said.
What sense?! I asked. Shelot? Shelot?
Questions? Questions? If I may?
He answered, in a breezy way.
Sense to lead the deer from harm. Away from me and my left arm.
Squibbles crawled before me. Ants. Just ants, I thought.
My flesh felt alive with bass and baritone, Hitting me, pounding me. Prickling my skin, weeding it.
His words corrosive as drain cleaner, I could eat you even now. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand?
Ani lo mevinah, I said… Ani lo mevinah! I cried. I soared and bombed. I flew and fell. I felt you behind me. I felt the chill. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Ani lo mevinah. Why do I love?
His naked arms held me under the noir. And I knew.
I know you. I know who You are. And…
I’ve waited a long time.
For this moment.
He hailed me with a silent sniff of his black nostrils.
I run away when it does seek me out the mere sound of its voice I go astray at the nags of self-doubt there's never any choice there's just this wall that's far too high to climb which I could never scale ever, at all even with all of time I'd still find I would fail that's why I run and that's why I tremble it's the reason I stress but once begun it's painful to dispel impossible unless I run away
Michael
PS and Sandra WOW! You wrote a whole poetry book! You going to do one of those a day?
I run away when it does seek me out the mere sound of its voice I go astray at the nags of self-doubt there's never any choice there's just this wall that's far too high to climb which I could never scale ever, at all even with all of time I'd still find I would fail that's why I run and that's why I tremble it's the reason I stress but once begun it's painful to dispel impossible unless I run away
Michael
PS and Sandra WOW! You wrote a whole poetry book! You going to do one of those a day?
After reading Presentiment, all I can say, is
That's how I feel and it cuts deep into me to feel a connection in that.
The young fire grows, but too much warmth escapes; Rocks pile round higher and higher, Matching the wind that pulls sparks unforgiving Into the darkness.
But each rock cools the last 'Til each is more feebly warmed And, inexorable Night rises within as well.
The young fire grows, but too much warmth escapes; Rocks pile round higher and higher, Matching the wind that pulls sparks unforgiving Into the darkness.
But each rock cools the last 'Til each is more feebly warmed And, inexorable Night rises within as well.
Unsafely enclosed. What should I have done?
"Matching the wind that pulls sparks unforgiving Into the darkness."
Made me think of the recent wildfire that destroyed the entire town of Slave Lake, here in Alberta.
The blackness and night rising from sparks and flames-- it's a familiar feeling.
"Unsafely enclosed"
Has me always begging,
"Release the captive!"
I appreciate the fact that perhaps,
Although I might interpret it wrong:
In youth, too much warmth might escape.
Our passion burns us into feeble warmth unless we capture the resultant sparks, saving them for their worth as many pennies add up to a great sum.
Were wishes real I would hold you again. Drop coins in wells and exorcise pain. I'd search for Fairies in forgotten lands. Rub golden lamps with eager red hands.
Were wishes real I'd see you once more. Find magic rings of Old Folklore. I'd break every wishbone, pray to a star, Keep Monkey's Paws in broken glass jars.
Were wishes real what dreams we would share. But all magic died the day you weren't there.
Were wishes real I would hold you again. Drop coins in wells and exorcise pain. I'd search for Fairies in forgotten lands. Rub golden lamps with eager red hands.
Were wishes real I'd see you once more. Find magic rings of Old Folklore. I'd break every wishbone, pray to a star, Keep Monkey's Paws in broken glass jars.
Were wishes real what dreams we would share. But all magic died the day you weren't there.
It's so very strange. That the thing that remains when a loved one isn't there anymore, emotionally, or physically, or maybe they have indeed, died-- the magic was there all the time, but how much did we appreciate them? Acknowledge their presence. Hug them absolutely every time they ever walked out that door.
The family I grew up in never ever left each other before giving one another a hug before leaving. Maybe that was magic. Maybe they are still there.
Kate wishes she were thinner. The reasons, she reasons, are many -- Sex with a different type of person; People with a different personality; (There will be less of her to hate, too) And what they want will change considerably.
What Joel wants, actually, is more of her. His reason, he reasons, is only one -- (Regardless of what she can offer) She's such a lovely lady.
Kate works to be thinner, oh yes, daily. What hell! She lies to the judging glass that it's beautiful; She wears the right clothes, the ones Joel rages don't suit her; At least, on the days she knows what she wants.
Joel knows what he wants. What hell! Just her, after all.
Hey all! Well done on the three days we got to do this Poetry challenge but the OWC is off and running so we'll have to stop here. I'll do this again some other time.
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