Elizabeth Bishop Snippet Challenge, For the Poet in You! Options

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi all. YEP - here I go again!  ???

I thought it might be fun to try and use several of Elizabeth Bishop's Poetry snippets and form a new poem using partial lines from her various poems.

I will supply the lines. You can use them as the beginning of a line or mix them up as long as the snippets remain intact. Good luck!

Here are the snippets you must use in your poem (in any order). Feel free to rhyme or write free verse or any other type of poetry style to your liking!
There are 12 snippets. You must use at least 8.

Cheers and good luck!

~Cleo  :pharoah:

heavy with gray crochet
with what clamor
some realms I
paint the meadows with
in burning rivulets
turning to marimba music
in the arms of rhythm
of controlled panic
in the fallen leaves
sun-cracked thwarts
no such illusions
Happy days are

[Guest__*]

Dear Cleo

This one turned out a little sad, although that was not my intention. Again, this is a poet for ladies, perhaps ?

A note for non-Brits - the cardigan is reknowned as the garment of choice for the elderly gentleman, tho at 61 I cannot see why (yet !).

Seniors occupy their time in various ways, one of which is "Painting By Numbers", boxed sets of oils and a crude pic with numbered spaces matching the numbered paints. Do these still exist, did they ever, outside the UK ?

Sorry for all the explanations, I do want my non-Brit readers to get something from this poem, even if it is a desire never to read another one of mine again !

Love
Alan

HAPPY DAZE

No more fashionable, I,
in this sea-green cardigan
heavy with gray crochet,
think of controlled panic :
it turning to marimba music,
as I give in, the arms of rhythm,
with what clamour, embracing me.

Happy days are here forever,
reflected in the fallen leaves;
brushed not by greatness,
I paint the meadows
with careful attention
to the printed numbers
in burning rivulets of brilliant runny oils.

Some realms I fail to conquer,
not least this runny bladder,
seemingly fit to burst,
delivering but trickles when relieved,
while my old skin, sun-cracked,
thwarts all attempts to charm the mirror;
no such illusions, like beauty, left .....

Alan McAlpine Douglas


Elizabeth Bishop phrases used (by verse) :

heavy with gray crochet
of controlled panic
turning to marimba music
in the arms of rhythm
with what clamor

Happy days are
in the fallen leaves
paint the meadows with
in burning rivulets

Some realms I
sun-cracked thwarts
no such illusions

[Guest_Dove_*]

Acrylics


In some realms I see clouds
heavy with gray crochet.
Others weep of controlled panic,
listlessly nodding off and on.
Happy days are fading there...
                                                     ...and there.

In the fallen leaves, I lay puddled
in burning rivulets of red, orange and purple.
I long to paint the meadows
with pastel proclamations of
pink Apple Blossoms,
yellow Black-eyed Susans
and lavender Chrysanthemums.

I yearn to faint in the arms of rhythm,
to feel the air turning to marimba music.
With what clamor
of whistles and wallops it would bring;
what light to fall upon green grasses!

[Cybele]

Oh Dove,

This is as vivid as your avatar, such wonderful language.

The yearning so brilliantly described and I absolutely love 'whistle and wallops' - fantastic phrase!  :cloud9:

You've risen to the challenge wonderfully. What was that about an absent muse?

Love

Grace  :cheer:

[Guest__*]

Dear Dove

As Grace says, a brilliant evocation !

One query (not a nit, just poss a typo ?) -

"Happy days are fading there
                                                 and there."

Did you mean Here and there ?

Love
Alan

[Cleo_Serapis]

Alan and Dove!  :sun:

What excellent responses to this challenge!  :cloud9:  :operagal:  :cheer:  :sings:

I MUST get in here one of these days, and see what my muse stirs up!

I love these for those moments of writers block!  :alien2:  :detective:  :footballhelmet:

Well done! :asrtist:
~Cleo  :pharoah:

[Guest_Dove_*]

First of all, many thanks to everyone.  

Cybele--

 thank you. I think the phrase "paint the meadows" stirred my muse up. I'm going to see if I can keep him up and moving for a little bit longer. I shall ban hibernation! lol.  as to "whistles and whallops" i haven't a clue of where that came from, it is a phrase I've heard and it seemed to fit, plus spark the majority of the rest of the piece.

Alan--

actually, no typo. I meant..."there...and there". I was trying to use the spacing to show/express someone taking a breath, stopping and pointing from there to...............there. now I'm wondering if it worked. thank you so much for taking a glance at this.  

Cleo---

you should try bishop's. I've seen your take on others, and they've proved most excellent of reads.   thank you for scanning this.

[Guest__*]

Dear Dove

Got it ! Don't wonder, just becuz of one thick reader !

You could perhaps do it this way :

Happy days are fading there .....
                      ..... and there.

With your explanation I went back tho, and it seems fine to me now.

Love
Alan

[Larry]

Elizabeth Bishop Snippets




Season’s Tears

In burning rivulets the tears descend,
splash in the fallen leaves of Autumn’s death
which paint the meadows with their bones. They lend
no such illusions to Winter’s first breath.

Clouds, heavy with gray crocheted edges fill
the sun-cracked thwarts in fields, Summer’s remains.
While cycles, in the arms of rhythm thrill
each child with what clamorous joy contains.

But of each year, my happy days are Spring
when sounds of controlled panic roll… repeat
as thunder crashes, rains begin to sing
then turning to marimba music’s beat

upon the roof. Within some realms I keep
how people change and much like seasons, weep.



Snippets used in order of appearance: in burning rivulets, in the fallen leaves, paint the meadows with, no such illusions, heavy with gray crochet, sun-cracked thwarts, in the arms of rhythm, with what clamor, happy days are, of controlled panic, turning to marimba music, some realms I

[Rhymer]

Having sight problems today it seems, and I entered a wrong entry here. Sorry. Rhymer.

[Luce]

Solace

In the arms of rhythm she danced possessed
of a controlled panic swaying like waves of wheat
in a storm. Her feet were dug deep in the fallen leaves
and there was no such illusions that she was sane.

It had overcame her like a small headache,
to be ignored, until the shopping was done
or the sewing basket heavy with gray crochet
– unfinished – was empty.

“Some realms I have entered through dance,” she said.
“Oh what happy days are those.”

In burning rivulets of grief for father
she was drowning. Then one day, with what clamor,
she heard shouting and music played on the marimba.

Seduced by its notes, like a deer
to a hunter’s flute, she lost her grief
and then her mind, starved long of reality.
Her soul trapped in the bars of the Marimba.

Luce

Snippets used in order of appearance: in the arms of rhythm, in the fallen leaves, no such illusions, heavy with gray crochet, some realms I, happy days are, in burning rivulets, with what clamor.