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Member Choice Winners for Oct, 2003, Congrats to..... |
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Dec 6 03, 10:19
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Mosaic Master
Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,892
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep
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The October, 2003 Member's Choice results are in!
Congrats to Jox and Cybele for winning our October Member's Choice Award with their tiles, 'The World's Dog Days' by Jox and 'SCRUMPING' by Cybele!!
Your entries will be displayed along with a 'special graphic' in your signature! You have led your Muse to bask in the glory of the crown jewel.
Congratulations! You have added a tile to our Mosaic in style. Thank you! JOY to you, oh mighty ones!
Cheers! Mosaic Musings Staff
Copyright ©, James Oxenholme 2003. I, James Oxenholme, hereby assert and give notice of my right under Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (Law of Wales & England - as recognised by the Berne Convention) to be identified as the author of the following article: -------------------------------------------------------------------- The World's Dog Days Subtitle: The Splendid Futility Haiku (With acknowledgement to Wilfred Owen) by Jox (Writing as JL - December 1993 - # 0025)
Subsequently Dedicated to the memory of Mustardseed and Cobweb - The best friends I ever had.
Dogs jumping for flies; An ancient tree gently dies. Summer fades each day.
Summer fades each day; Ferns turn brown along the way. Winter's coming soon.
Winter's coming soon; Insects wrap in their cocoon. The World hibernates.
The World hibernates; Frosty hoar clings to the slates. All is quiet now.
All is quiet now; Snow covers every tree's bough. Spring awaits its time
Spring awaits its time; Magically, brown turns lime. The World in flourish.
The World in flourish; Life everywhere to nourish. The sun's rays give life.
The sun's rays give life; Why have a World full of strife? Dogs jumping for flies.
(end)
Notes:
OK, With Deb and Alan offering Seasonal Haikus I thought it an opportune time to drag one of mine which has been sitting in Karnak's over here for crit. This was written in December 1993 (I think it is the earliest piece I have put on MM, as can be seen by the number). It was written as an exercise in creative writing class.
This is a Haiku Cycle... (Though I cannot count syllables well so it may have one or two, too many / too few - by all means do tell me). The last line of each verse becomes the first of the next and the initial line of the cycle becomes its final one. Are not form poems great? Who needs Free Form? Anyway, I hope this is a pleasant saunter along the seasons but the my underlying message is, as usual, gloomy and may be found in the last two lines.
The poem was inspired by watching my dogs (Mustardseed and Cobweb) literally jumping in the air for flies. They almost never caught any but were tantalised by the opportunity and possibility. I now use that phrase "Dogs jumping for flies" to mean a futile attempt at capturing something we want.
Wilfred Owen's poem "Futility" (My favourite poem of any) seems to sum-up the ultimate futility of everything . I had that in mind whilst I wrote this. Actually, I am somewhat less miserable than I indicate. If there really is no point to life, the human race and the planet then it means we might as well jolly well enjoy ourselves whilst we're here. So we have to form a civilised society as anarchy might appear to be fun but ain't. In other words, ultimate futility is grounds for optimism; think short-term... or, as the rock band, Genesis, put it.. "Don't live today for tomorrow, like you were immortal." My dogs have since died but their lives were much more fun because they jumped for flies. And no flies were harmed in the making of this poem.
Toodle Pip!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ SCRUMPING by Cybele
Whenever I see a jar of Damson jam, I am transported back to those halcyon days of childhood. In the summer of my tenth year, my brother John and I were taken to visit an Aunt who lived in Rolvendon, in Kent. At that time, the village consisted of little more than a small cluster of cottages circling the village green. It was all very pretty and peaceful and therefore totally boring for rampaging youngsters. There was however, one ray of light. The local farmer had a small pond with a little jetty used for fishing.
My brother John (three years my senior) and his friend Frank decided to go swimming. Not without me, they wouldn’t! – and after lots of grunts from the boys and tears from me, it was decided, very grudgingly that I could accompany them.
Totally triumphant, I now addressed the problem of a bathing suit. It was fine for the boys – they could just wear underpants. I, on the other hand, had to improvise. Waiting till my mother and Aunt Kathleen had gone off to the village shop, I raided my Aunt’s sewing box. Armed with a white vest and black thread (the only colour I could find) I fashioned a costume for myself with the addition of six, enormous, strategically placed stitches. At nine, you understand, I was no purist!
Next afternoon, we set off, complete with old towels and a stone jar of ginger beer to slake our thirst after all the efforts of swimming. Arriving at the pond I jumped straight in. Ooh! Such deliciously cool water. I struck out for the middle of the pond when suddenly a thunderous roar assailed my ears. I glanced round. The noise was issuing from the throat of a man wearing huge baggy check trousers tucked into black Wellington boots, with a grubby torn undervest imprisoned under wrinkle braces. His bucolic face, a lively shade of puce was topped by a mop of unruly carroty hair. Gordon Bates, the farmer’s son!
‘Oi, you! Can’t you read’ shouted the apparition. I looked around to where his shaking finger pointed. There by the side of the lake stood a faded, lopside sign declaring
“NO SWIMMING OR FISHING – BY ORDER – PRIVATE LAKE”.
‘You’d better not put your feet down’ he continued now, leering at me, ‘there’s weeds down there that will pull you under and drown you’.
Had there been a record for reaching the side of the pond, I should have broken it, hands down! He grabbed my hand and dragged me out. ‘Now get out’ he yelled ‘and don’t come back!’. Then he stomped off down the lane without a backward glance.
Suddenly I realised that my bathing suit with its six black stitches was covered in green slime and had but two stitches remaining! The boys howled with laughter, to my fury. They hadn’t even been in the pond and had quickly hidden when Gordon appeared. Typical cowardly boys!
I gathered my things and we set off down the lane towards home, with me having to suffer their derision. Halfway home, we came to a house. Set across the lane from the house, was a separate garden, a common occurrence in the country. Just behind the hedge of the garden was a Damson tree, now gloriously laden with fruit. After some discussion it was decided that we should ‘lighten the tree a little’ or in plain English, scrump some of the fruit, a totally illicit pastime of all youngsters living in the countryside.
It was decided that I, being a mere girl, should do the scrumping whilst the boys acted as lookouts. This was fine by me, being a total tomboy. Up I climbed, out onto a limb and started shaking and throwing down the fruit to the boys. When I glanced down after a couple of minutes, I noticed that they were gone! From the corner of my eye, I saw them scampering down the lane towards home as fast as their treacherous legs would carry them. Glancing across the road I saw the reason why. The owner of the tree was fast approaching carrying a bucket!
I scrambled down the tree, scraping the skin from both shins in my terror and hid under the hedge, hardly daring to breath. In my panic, I overlooked the fact that if I could see him, he could surely see me. Crouched down, eyes shut, and praying irreverently, I waited. After a four or five minutes, thinking it might be safe, I cautiously stood up – to receive the full content of water from the bucket!
‘Perhaps that will teach you not to go scrumping young lady’an amused voice said- not unkindly. ‘Off home with you now and get dried off.’
I ran home as fast as my legs would carry me and never did go scrumping again.
Nor did I ever really forgive my brother.
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"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the RingsCollaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. KanterNominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here! "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner
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Guest_Jox_*
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Dec 6 03, 10:29
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Guest
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Hi Cleo and Everybody,
Firstly, many congratulations to Grace for her scrumptious story. As may be seen in the original posting, it was a greatly appreciated evocation of a Britain chronologically close, but socially very distant indeed, to UK 2003. The meaning of William Blake's "grain of sand" becomes apparent in Grace's story.
As regards the award for my poem: thank you very much indeed.
One is honoured; especially to win alongside Grace. Mustardseed and Cobweb would have been generously proud.
There is, however, an interesting irony here. Most of my writing is in prose and most of Grace's (at least on MM) in poetry. We were both, therefore, out of sorts but apparently in sorts; sort of. So, as the Yoga teacher always said, flexibility is most important. Ouch! Anyone have a spare leotard, please?
James.
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Dec 6 03, 11:44
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Group: Gold Member
Posts: 1,250
Joined: 2-August 03
From: USA
Member No.: 7
Writer of: Poetry
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Congratulations to Jox and Cybele on two fantastic poems!!!!!!
You are both deserving of the "MM Crown" as your poems are creative and evocative!!!
Enjoy your glorious reign!
Blessings~ Lindi
Jox, your poem made me cry. How I miss Julius, our German Shepherd. He has been gone for 15 years.:( Such a beautiful tribute to your babies)
Grace, a beautiful retrospective of family and frolic! Having two brothers and four sisters, I can so relate to "Childs play."
:rofl: :wave: :wave: :rofl: :rofl: :wave: :wave: :rofl: :rofl:
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Dec 6 03, 12:10
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Mosaic Master
Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,892
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep
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Congratulations you two! :lovie: :dance: :snowman:
As James points out, what is even more special is that both James and Grace wrote these tiles NOT from the comfort zone that they normally write in, James in prose normally, and Grace writes poetry normally. They switched hats and still won!
AWESOME! :cloud9: :operagal: :cheer: :sings: :king2:
Well done!
~Cleo :pharoah:
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"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the RingsCollaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. KanterNominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here! "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner
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Guest_Jox_*
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Dec 6 03, 15:44
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Guest
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Hi Lindi, Michelle and Lori,
Thank you all for your kind words.
Lindi; Sorry to make you cry... I have sent you a somewhat sad pm - but I am not trying to make you cry. Ultimatly they had a long and, I believe, happy life. One does miss dogs, however. Very deeply.
Lori: Thanks for your kind comments - but we'll have to revert - Grace's hat style really doesn't suit my beard.
James.
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Guest_Jox_*
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Dec 15 03, 17:31
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Guest
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Hi Grace, et al,
Good luck with your woes, Grace; I do hope things becomes all right.
Thank you for your generous comments yet again; they remain as appreciated as ever.
I would most strongly second your warm comments about Lori and MM. It is an excellent site, driven with great determination and skill.
You might be astounded about the success of your short story but I wasn't. It was interesting, well written, humourous and evocative. In short, it was an extremely good read.
Take care, Grace.
James.
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