October IBPC Nominations, November Competition Options

[Aphrodite]

I nominate the following poem for IBPC:

4rum's whimsical poem, "Where Are The Dragons". Good luck!

‘scuse me kindly M’lady but… where do you keep your dragons
Are they just hid away, or lock’t in magic flagons
I’d like to see them loosed a bit, if you wouldn’t mind
With proper care and feedin’, I’m sure they’d be just fine

By the way, I’ve looked a bit, I think you’re out of elves
Unless of course, they’re waaaaaay up high, on long forgotten shelves
And what of all the little folk… the pixies, sprites an’ trolls
I’ll lay they’d liven up the place, they’re such mis’ch’vious souls

And wizards, Oh yes wizards! I beg you, they’re a must
And while we speak of magic spells, some witches too I trust
Now lest you think me bothersome, I’ll quickly ask of faeries
Lovely little fee and faye, might make our moods more merry

I’ll take my leave ‘for you perceive, I’m tootin’ my own horn
But if you’ve a yen for kith an’ kin, I’ll saddle up me unicorn.

[Cleo_Serapis]

This is a nomination by Aphrodite.

"My Mother", by Liz (AMETHYST)


I thank my mother for rainbows.
For life's sweet memories, love's gentle glow.
For shinning stars and carousels,
white winged doves and wishing wells.

I thank my mother for peaceful dreams,
comforting moments, flowing streams.
For spacious skies on moonlit nights,
her wisdoms and her deepest insights,

I thank my mother for each sunrise,
for every sunset, majestic sights, I memorize.
For flowers that bloom in the fields I fall.
I thank my mother for it all.

I thank my mother for giving me life.
For sharing my triumphs, softening my strife.
Her love unconditional, can be compared to no other,
So I thank you Dear God, for giving me "My mother"
I love you

[Cleo_Serapis]

This nomination is by Aphrodite.

"Wine and Roses", by Ron (jgdittier)

In pantaloons with toe-curled shoes and mask,
Sashaying through the glade he strummed his lute.
His madrigals ahum, a pleasant task,
Such joys in simple song and motley suit...
I fear they'd strain an ear, just to hear,
The melody so dulcetly demure.
A gently lay, so soothing, pure and clear.
Bestilled the soul and honored times of yore.

Cute lute won't suit! The guitar rules today.
Now add the amps to make the walls rebound.
Sweet air was where the fireflies once would play,
Replaced by waves of noxious smoke and sound.

Those days of wine and roses didn't last.
Methinks that precious phase has passed too fast!

[Michelle]

I would like to nominate JaxMyth's eagle-king simply because of its excellence.

The Beginning

I a petty princeling and lord
of the dark brook and the dry-stone wall
keeper of the jackdaw and black chickens
son of the eagle my father king
wait for one gleam from his hazel eye


The Charms

the dog and I jump the stone
but the jackdaw squawks and plumps to stay
here is a fiefdom of field and wood
mine for the taking with dark dog
we dare and cross to the old trees
I spray gold to the wood spirit
and lower the dog follows suit
our territories set and sprites assuaged
we head out through the rye

I lie with my head on the black dog
under a glow of silver clouds
my neck butter-cupped with bright gold
my eyes dissolved in the distant dome
I sort the clouds into seats of power
and count blessings, gather and press
each into charms to be hidden against need
like bulbs of bluebell in the wild wood

I send the dog home and wander
past the wheel of mill house
over the stone bridge and over the brook
out to where the orchard lands wend
and other lords hold sway
I stoop beneath the broken stile
a quick scrump of plump apples
held safer than a wild fox
next to the lean of my spartan belly
victorious gatherer I bring the fruit
and whilever I plead the luck of windfall
clabbered cream will sit fat
on the glorious beauty of pied apple


The Foray

The queen-father and I set forth on foray
past mill castle and west
over the bridged brook bound
by its thin forest of browning leaves

hand on my shoulder the queen-father points
to murdered crows and the slide of pike
and how hedgehogs hog the edge
of hedgerows and where the cress grows
crisp and sharp and how the stinging nettles
should be garnered and how soft an apple
puckered and soft for cider should feel
our legs unminding lay the miles down

we reach the edge of the drystone walls
and our sweat cools I am chilled
the colour is taken from glorious day
his hand is gone and the pig-men wait

they stand in the yard next to a sty
hands polishing the trough wood
eyes fluttering like caged birds
and they mutter words that I cannot catch

dried blood blackens their nails
they look like the old ones
who hide hammers beneath their beds
smiling they seem to be small humans
they nod bobbing to the Queen father

we're given mugs of fresh blood
that holds a taste of salt smoke
I feint, but caught, drink firmly
they laugh and thumb the dregs onto my cheeks
I flame with an unknown feel of shame

we are taken to a squat stone building
stuck ugly behind the sties
into a room where knives and cleavers live
blood puddings drip from the rafters
sausages gleam in the soft gloom
and heads look down from the hooks

the stone floor is wet and cold
scalding tubs are tipped to the wall
carved runnels sluiced clean
end in rough iron grates
the echo of squeals is faint but catches
squalling against the shell of my ear

we go to where the apple boughs smoulder
and with a lazy grey intent curl
through cracks in the smoke house walls
hams and flitches turn slowly

the queen-father quickly cuts his mark
in a huge ham he picks from the choke
the old ones grow in anger
but their grim growls are beneath him

he strides smiling to the squat building
we buy fat black puddings
and thick slabs of pink bacon
a plump leg with extra skin
six pairs of fresh trotters
and half a pig’s head for brawn
a deal is struck between the palms

but the old ones no longer nod
nor smile nor mutter a single sound
their eyes no longer flutter but stare

I utter spelled words to ward
us from evil and we slowly leave
our backs burdened with more than meat
I scrub my cheeks bare of blood
that I dare gives me heart

I chant charms and place blessings
upon our path home

[Cleo_Serapis]

A wonderful nom Michelle - I'll forward the permission PM on to Jan now.

Cheers
~Cleo

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hello,

I'd like to nominate Merlin's poem, So Long Summer. It is a wonderfully crafted Rondeau that expresses the seasonal change of Autumn in a vivid array of creative imagery.

Best of luck!
~Cleo


So Long Summer by Eric Linden

So, long summer days have headed west
again, and in their wake, cool winds expressed
their firm desire to rule the autumn air
by chasing sunshine down its southern stair
and pushing rain clouds off a mountain crest.

A polka dot delight, Oktoberfest
ignites the sky at night, a sequined vest
of starlit, sparkle-spangled silver ware;
so long, summer days.

Not many weeks before another guest
arrives, who’ll send Boreas on his quest
across our landscape, laying down with care
his ermine mantle, spotless outerwear
that he arranges at his own behest.
So long, summer days.

[Cleo_Serapis]

I'd like to nominate Larry's poem, Peace. It is filled with wonderful images, smooth rhythms and rhymes and is a wonderful expression of the title, in a first write of the form too. WOW!

Best of luck!
~Cleo


Peace by Larry D. Jennings

Dawn’s light spears through a morning mist
from mirrored mountain lake, wind kissed.
Blurs crests of white, sky -- opal blue.
A morning mist, dawn’s light spears through.

Near shrouded shore, two herons wade
within the pine and aspen’s shade.
Search for repast on glacier’s floor;
two herons wade near shrouded shore.

Awakening, I watch the day.
Afraid to speak; I only pray
my thanks, as heart and soul take wing.
I watch the day awakening.

Sweet song I hear from unseen birds.
A symphony without mere words
intruding here, where none belong.
I hear, from unseen birds, sweet song.

I see her face. Her name is Peace.
Her beauty shared, brings care’s release.
Serene, she lives within this place.
Her name is Peace. I see her face.

[Terocon101]

I'd like to nominate Sue's beautifully flowing poem "Going Home". It takes on a tough subject and shows it in such a tender and compassionate light that I was really touched.

This is the first time I've nominated a poem so maybe that says more...




Going Home by Susan Eckenrode

He sits in silence
beneath a moss-draped tree,
its branches spreading
nearly to the ground
like arms that reach
and bid him
to come home.

With ripples smoothed
behind a
dying west wind,
the lake reflects
lush lawns
and stately trees
that line its shore.

This spot has been
his refuge
but no more.

Now it’s pain
that holds him in its grasp.
It’s all he knows–
it’s all he feels.
He can’t conceive
of anything more real.

As warming fluid flows
into his frail veins,
his eyes behold the
wondrous scene
one last time
before he’s
free to go
home.


.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Thanks Terry! I very much enjoyed this poem as well and am glad to see it nominated here.

I've just sent Sue the permission PM.

~Cleo

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hello, Judi has asked to nominate Michelle's poem, The Lore of the Rings for the IBPC.



The Lore of the Rings by Michelle

The sapling’s breached the fallen season’s womb
and climbs above our quilted sacrifice;
the future rises from a winter tomb.

The sunshine bathes my limbs; I want to bask.
The wind’s caressing fingers tickle me
and droplets freely fall from heaven’s flask.
Green shoots and pithy trunk: I am a tree

Though spring traverses softly- hurls no ice
to thwart the sapling’s vim or test his sap,
let’s share a shady branch of wise advice.

a tree, a tree, a tree, a pillar bound
to touch the vaulted sky, deliberate
with clouds and house the birds that flit around
this grove. I need no guidance- life is great.

While summer aims to sear our leaves and zap
our vigor, gusts of autumn crook our boughs
and sudden blizzards force a winter’s nap.

I bow to know my brother’s shadow in
the August drought. I dodge the gales behind
a massive trunk. As elder trees begin
to draw their sap to earth, I match my kind.

Our sapling hears as ancient groans espouse
the wisdom found in bands of weathered rings
and hidden pools our deepest roots can dowse.

A tree must learn the lessons trees accrue
to scale the zenith held in cloud and blue.

To reach the height of noble wooded kings,
the sprout must tap the wells of deepest springs.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Congrats Sue on having this poem selected for the November IBPC!

Best of luck!
~Cleo

[Cleo_Serapis]

Congrats Eric!

This poem has been chosen to represent MM in the Nov. IBPC.

Best of luck!
~Cleo

[Cleo_Serapis]

Congrats Larry!

Your poem has been chosen to represent MM in the Nov. IBPC.

Best of luck!
~Cleo

[Merlin]

Thank you for the nod, Cleo. Let's see what comes.

Merlin