December IBPC Nominations, January Competition Options

[Psyche]

Hi Lori!

May I nominate Ron's untitled sonnet, Sonnet 73 Paraphrased for the January IBPC? It's so perfectly written, with wonderful vocabulary and it has poignancy and reminiscences that convey pure emotion in deftly handled form. Such a sense of loss, with gentle pleading to be still loved...WOW...!!!

Cheers, Syl***


SONNET 73 Paraphrased by Ronald Jones

The fall of autumn leaves, denuding trees,
Regales in crispy crackling song-like sound.
A crunching tune arising 'round my knees
From boughs where boist'rous birds of song were found...
The price I pay is youthful years now passed,
For like their way, I too, have served my time
And so accept the years I have amassed.
Those waning rays, now set, forswear my prime.
But still in me, you see a spark, a glow,
Though ashes stifle embers, I'm still warm!
So let me crunch and crackle, you must know
We all return from whence we came, in form.
Let love abide, despite my dimming light,
And then, as darkness comes, my midnight's bright.

This post has been edited by Cleo_Serapis: Dec 30 08, 08:59

Reason for edit: Revision posted

[Cleo_Serapis]

Great nomination, Syl!

I'll send Ron the PM now!

Cheers,
Lori

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hello,

I'd like to nominate Larry's poem, Late Snow for it's beautiful imagery, wonderful enjambment, smooth end rhymes and personification. A lovely read!

Best of luck!
~Cleo



Late Snow by Larry D. Jennings


Emerging from my chrysalis, I see
the face of Winter’s crystal tressed milieu
abiding still. Her breath confronting me;
instead of flower petals washed in dew.

Something’s awry, for Nature’s call was clear.
“Emerge and go into a springtime’s youth!”,
away from prison chambers, which adhere
to limbs, still barren; gnawed by icy tooth.

I sense no respite near. With these furled wings,
a flight to other climes is not a choice.
Rime covered now from chilling wind which sings
my dirge. Life’s verdict read without a voice.

Upon the silv’ry shroud from fate’s wry hand
lies death, a rainbow frozen in time’s sand.

[Cleo_Serapis]

HI,

I'd like to nominate Eric's poem, December for consideration in the January IBPC. As mentioned in his companion poem's thread, Streetwalkers, I was thinking that both poems might work well as one combined poem (since only one poem per person is allowed in the IBPC per comp) with the titles merged perhaps to read: December Steetwalkers. I'll post December first below, followed by the combined effort. Let's wait to hear from Eric.



December by Eric Linden


December darkness nibbles bits of day
until there’s hardly any left, it seems,
at least not much. Ice covered ponds and streams
are Meccas for both young and old to play
a game of shinny. Children on their sleighs
go hurdling down embankments – mortal screams,
as off they spill into a drift. Two teams
in forts let snowballs fly each other’s way.

Electric lights in rainbow-colored hues
adorn the busy city streets and stores
where shoppers bustle back and forth, like bees.
And everywhere you look, each avenue
has yards and homes alit in bright decors;
wreaths hang on doors, garlands on leafless trees.


Footnote - It was brought to my attention that "shinny" is perhaps not known to everyone. It is very much Canadian, we being the frozen north. It's hockey, but not formal. It goes back to where a bunch of boys would strap on skates and take whatever shape of hockey stick available, then head for the pond or wherever there was ice. Not everyone had a store-bought stick, but hey - who cared? A good time was had by all.



The merging of both poems yields this:

December Streetwalkers by Eric Linden


December darkness nibbles bits of day
until there’s hardly any left, it seems,
at least not much. Ice covered ponds and streams
are Meccas for both young and old to play
a game of shinny. Children on their sleighs
go hurdling down embankments – mortal screams,
as off they spill into a drift. Two teams
in forts let snowballs fly each other’s way.

Electric lights in rainbow-colored hues
adorn the busy city streets and stores
where shoppers bustle back and forth, like bees.
And everywhere you look, each avenue
has yards and homes alit in bright decors;
wreaths hang on doors, garlands on leafless trees.

It’s almost solstice time. How woeful nights
appear to one misguided, tortured soul
who works nocturnal downtown streets where lights,
like bright electric stardrops, hang from pole
to pole, aglitter in December air.

A speaker somewhere overhead blares out
What Child is This, then Jingle Bells. “Who cares?”
she thinks, and moves away. “It’s all about
the mighty buck today, which I ain’t got
and by the looks of things, I’ll never get.”

Salvation Army bells. Their plastic pots
hold hope that expectations can be met
and no-one goes off hungry at this time.
Each contribution helps – five dollars or a dime.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Got the PM back from you, Eric. Glad you gave the nod for the combined effort!

Best of luck!
L