May 2007 IBPC Nominations, June Comp Options

[AMETHYST]

I would like to nominate this poem for IBPC June Competition. There is a aura of the poem that seems to link or connect to a spirit within the reader, the conversational tone leads the reader to an emotional response each time. Though the images used to set both scene and mood are not unique, it is for this reason the poem tightly grabs the reader and draws them in. Speaking of past and present, union and aloneness, growing and parting ... memories. This seemed to fit anyone who can relate to losing someone they shared a part of their life with and it is done, in my opinion, with a capturing voice. http://forums.mosaicmusings.net/index.php?showtopic=10262

The Graduation Photo

It's all that's left - your graduation photo -
since everything got tossed as time rolled by,
except, of course, my sack of recollections
which ought to keep until I, too, shall die.

This tangible's more precious than a diamond,
my talisman through sunshine, wind and rain,
which shadowed me up trails and tribulations,
along paved paths or bumpy local lanes.

My picture's on that shelf as well, beside you;
we both are young, with flowing chestnut hair,
exempt from age and rhythmic passing seasons.
Regrettably, we had so few to share.

[AMETHYST]

I would like to nominate this poem for its skill and delightful charm. The voice brings this to life and the underlying message, with the excellent twist at poem's end makes me want to share this with the world! :)

The Sharecropper's Prayer

"Every summer was so hot. I can remember heat waves dancing across the fields. I also remember my daddy praying for rain one night. He was sitting in the porch swing by himself. Farming was hard. One time my daddy and brothers poisoned cotton all day. Late in the afternoon a heavy cloudburst came and washed all the poison off the cotton. They did it again the next day." -Memories of the Depression, from my Aunt Alice

A SHARECROPPER'S PRAYER

I ain't askin' fer much, Lord, jes' thankin'
for the woman and six healthy sprouts
that ain't starvin' like some in the cities.
Bless the po'r out o' work down 'n' outs.

Lord, I know folks is keepin' ya busy
day 'n' night with their aches 'n' complains.
I ain't meanin' to whine, but I'll tell ya,
we'll be mighty obliged when it rains.

Maybe, Lord, if it's comin' tomorrow
an' it ain't too much trouble to swap,
you could turn it on loose in the mornin'
so we'll know not to poison the crop?

[AMETHYST]

Hi Mary,

I've updated the version of the poem to include the introductory quote.


Good luck! :) ... Hugs, Liz

[AMETHYST]

I would like to nominate this poem for the way it slides into heart and shakes sense in the reader. The lovely steady meter and wonderful skill in using sound tools through out make this a pleasure to read on all accounts.

Momentous Steps

At one you took momentous steps
and from that day you forged a dream...
You'd scoop up little hills of sand
to sculpt a fort with tiny hands
and bivouac army soldiers there.

Your thrill outran mobility
when seeking jeeps of camouflage;
sidestepping drums and wikiup,
you always ended bottom up...
with shining smile and impish flair.

A cadence now commands your steps;
distinctly military drums
with deep percussive rhythms start
to echo pride within your heart.
In tapping inner strength you dare

to march the hills of foreign lands
with liberty in fervent sight;
across the desert's palling sands,
an M-16 in able hands...
your eyes alight with freedom's flare.

Cathy Bollhoefer
copyright April 25, 2007

[AMETHYST]

I nominate this poem for the quality of images and how the enchanting scene develops in the minds eye and is lulled by the wonderful tone and sonics through a walkabout a lovely forest. I enjoyed this very much.

Forest Fair

We know the woods of Make Believe
where fancies fly and never leave,
calm crystal streams still trickle slow
below a wispy, misty bow.

The elves and pixies prance along
a harpist’s trail of merry song
to set the woodland green aglow
below a wispy, misty bow.

Delight pervades the forest fair
as silken wingspans flutter there
on stage of tiny person’s show
below a wispy, misty bow.

We know the woods of Make Believe
below a wispy, misty bow.

© 2007, D.E. Holmes
05 April

[AMETHYST]

I would like to nominate this for the masterful skill and imagery, with a fresh and powerful underlying meaning - that many can relate. reading this poem is such a pleasure.

imagine

In twilight's winsome glow we often wondered
through seas of Mother Goose and fairy tales
in pea-green boats: each book-- a treasure plundered,
each verse-- a gale that filled chimera sails.

We journeyed after lambs and cockleshells,
under bridges, once to trounce a troll.
Then, dragons cringed, old witches lost their spells
and crocodiles ate porridge from a bowl.

Though each abandoned ship for grown-up shores
and drew apart along life's compass rose,
those big bad wolves still hurl their threats at doors
and rulers stand as stark without their clothes.

Although our paths diverge as currents wend,
our kingdoms stretch the length we first pretend.

[Guest_Cathy_*]

Are you the original author of this poem? Yes

Has this poem ever been published? No

Has this poem been nominated by any other participating board (of IBPC)? No

Has this poem been reviewed as "best and final" to assure the latest revision is judged?
Not sure yet~

Is your email address on file up to date (what is it)? Yes

Do you accept the nomination to submit the work (if selected to represent MM)? Yes, with many thanks!

If yes to above question, what is your real name? Cathy Bollhoefer

[AMETHYST]

I nominate this Sonnet for its quality and skillful execution which maintains wonderful poetic devices and follows along with a strong metaphor. Wonderful poetry.

Baby Steps

In dreams I see my syllables in print,
and fashioned swiftly into works of art.
Awake these modest thoughts can't draw a glint
or sigh from critics with a hardened heart.
My words today are infants in a crib,
who watch as others give their daily show.
Someday, I hope to be profusely glib,
and plot to let the meter freely flow.

I am content to walk a laggard's path,
and creep a toddler's progress through the mire
of do's and don'ts, and learn to do the math
of metered lines that singe my brain with fire.

Today I'll try to make my words ring clear.
Tomorrow I will overcome my fear.

[Judi]

I nominate this Sonnet for its quality and skillful execution which maintains wonderful poetic devices and follows along with a strong metaphor. Wonderful poetry.

Baby Steps - Rev 4

In dreams I see my syllables in print,
and fashioned swiftly into works of art.
Awake these modest thoughts can't draw a glint
or sigh from critics with a hardened heart.
My words today are infants in a crib,
who watch as others give their daily show.
Someday, I hope to be profusely glib,
and plot to let the meter freely flow.

I am content to walk a laggard's path,
and creep a toddler's progress through the mire
of do's and don'ts, and learn to do the math
of metered lines that singe my brain with fire.

Today I'll try to make my words ring clear.
Tomorrow I will overcome my fear.

I am sitting here in absolute shock...thank you SO MJCH...I am teary eyed...My Best to you~ Judi

[Guest_Don_*]

Dear Amethyst,

Thank you very much for the honor of being nominated to represent MM at IBPC.

I must respectfully decline due to violation of IBPC contractual requirements.

Sincerely,

Don Holmes

[Cleo_Serapis]

Thanks Don for letting us know!

Cheers
~Cleo

[AMETHYST]

http://forums.mosaicmusings.net/index.php?showtopic=10333

Droit Du Dieu by JaxMyth

I

In that moment
when we meet chest to chest,
when we grapple together in twilight
with voices thickened by sap,

that moment
before the cords are severed
and we are left mewling, blind,
with bodies quickened by death,
will you know me brother?

...and when
a stone holds no weight,
in that breath
between a stone risen
and a stone fallen,
will you know me then?

Will our star be set?


II

....and after Cain, Eve
continued to give birth
until the first victim
squirmed upon the Earth.


III

My hand
once held a stone
that was harder than hate,
its ragged edge was knapped to rip
your flesh.

Anger,
scalded my lips.
I sang you songs of death.
Yet now, I kneel down beside you
to taste

the wounds
that are your head,
to give my heat to you,
to sing no hate, to use no stone.
I sound

my heart
and I wonder
why we shared a mother?
When you were not at all like me,
brother.


IV

...and at the edge of the field
God appeared suddenly to Cain

‘Lord.’ said Cain
‘Let me take breath.
Yours is always the first of all.
As you see, I still try.
Although this smoke is acrid to the eye and lung
its smell is sweet.

I am not able to offer you anything
better than my brother
but unfortunately,’ smiled Cain
‘I am not my brother’s keeper

or I would send him up to you.’


V

God and the Serpent have gone.

There is no green
and no-one able to express
the desolation.

Eve’s shawl
is a desiccated and sinuous skin
that drifts slowly around the tree bones,
each scale a pale echo
blind and graceful.

Below,
the red earth is burdened
by fertile seed.

[AMETHYST]

I would be honored to nominate this poem for IBPC. This poem is the perfect example of Show and not tell. This poem is exemplary of making great use of voice, imagery and sonics to build a story that maintains a dramatic, emotionally evoking and powerful response from the reader.

Jackie

FOUND
Final Revision

That little fellow, Jack, can hardly wait.
He'll soon be five; we'll walk with him to school
because we pass his house. "See ya!" he says
and waves, he lifts his brows and tilts his head
in Polynesian style. He's just so sweet!

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

The men are in the river side by side,
their bodies bright with sparkles as they wade
a long slow march, the ripples dance and shine,
and no-one speaks... I watch the shadows grow
until they reach like fingers that would hide

down inside the river by the pipe.

There's an awful cry, the postman stoops
and snatches, boiling up the water where
a child comes swinging out in fountain gouts
that stream in rivers down his little arms
spread out like Jesus' arms upon the cross.

Jackie, little Jackie-down-the-street.

Then suddenly the air is full of sound;
the women on the bridge let out a wail
that's crying on and on and I can see
the shape of it go spreading like a stain,
I see it beating like a wounded gull

flying up the river past the pipe.

Now Jackie's on the claypan by the bank.
His father sucks his mouth and spits a flood.
We stand and watch him press on Jackie's chest
and darkness grows around. We breathe the cold
but Jackie doesn't breathe; he doesn't move.

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

Doc Tommo's car spins arcing in a skid;
he runs and kneels, he fingers Jackie's throat
and looks into his eyes. "It's way too late,"
the Doctor says. "Give up. It's over, Sid.
Give up I said! He's dead! He's bloody dead!"

Jackie little Jackie-down-the-street.

His father picks him up in his big arms
and holds him close against him wordlessly.
We watch him trudging slowly up the hill
and Jackie's mother follows heavily,
and everything is still now as I sit

down above the river on the pipe

where Jackie fell and hit his head. He sank.
But no-one said a thing. They ran away
because they got a fright. Oh how I wish
we never took him with us after school
to fish, and play the way he did today

half across the river on the pipe.



Kathy Earsman

Reason for edit: Updated Revised Draft

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Yes, I accept the nomination.

I am blown away. Thank you.

[AMETHYST]

This will rock them at IBPC - Hugs, Liz

[AMETHYST]

Your welcome Judi, The poem is deserving of recognition! :) And what better way! Best Wishes to you and good luck in the polls.

Liz

[Guest_Cathy_*]

Congratulations Kathy on being one of the three chosen to go on to IBPC! Good luck~

Cathy

[Guest_Cathy_*]

Congratulations Mary, and good luck with IBPC~

Cathy

[Guest_Cathy_*]

Congratulations and good luck Eric!

Cathy

[Cleo_Serapis]

Congratulations Eric!

Best of luck in the IBPC competition!

This is already a winner!

~Cleo