Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register )

IPB
 
Reply to this topicStart new topic
> MM's Represented Poems for 2008
Cleo_Serapis
post Jan 3 08, 06:13
Post #1


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



JANUARY SELECTION:



Time Piece by Frances Kennedy


Whoever said time heals all wounds has lied
like those who have will claim forgiveness brings
forgetting sooner. Sorrow, stripped of pride,
has little aptitude for hope that springs
eternally in hearts less slung by slings
and arrows, or with fortitude not mine.
Unreasoned passion, stemmed, stills everything
except a coiled impulse to unwind
pretending in the face of all that I’m just fine.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Feb 2 08, 11:52
Post #2


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



FEBRUARY SELECTIONS:


Past Presents by Larry D. Jennings


The warmth of morning cocoa dissipated to mere taste,
so too, the sweet aroma of a slowly roasting goose;
both swept away by Autumn’s breath, exhaled into the past.
As Winter’s respite ended, breaking season's yearly truce,

we walked together through the naked woodlands. Where the trees
lift barren arms imploring Spring to hurry on her way.
Out past the furrowed fields behind the tired barn began
our path, worn smooth, from long ago’s forgotten yesterday.

Dad’s old sleigh, broken down, now holds our logs for winter fires
upon its rusted runners… crooked smile of wooden teeth.
Piled high on tattered leather seats, where children used to ride,
are spicy scented pine boughs, harvested to make our wreath.

We traced old steps until the chill nipped noses, crimson red,
then hurried back before the first snow flakes came drifting down
to blanket our small world in white serenity and peace
where memories are neighbors and the forest is our town.


Hagarmor, the Raven by Eric Linden


Out on a cold December night,
one raven interrupts his flight
where, down below, a wildwood stand
with man and horses is in sight.

A senior member of his band,
old Nevermore once crossed this land
to visit Edgar Poe’s abode
and drop his name in Edgar’s hand.

A hundred years have quickly flowed
since Nevermore paused by this road
to rest and watch as snow descends;
now Hagar packs his precious load.

With twists and turns, the roadway wends
as man and team pass through its bends;
their coats, like everything, are white
but soon they’ll visit with old friends.



eagle-king by Jan Iwaszkiewicz



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 buttercupped 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


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Feb 27 08, 20:32
Post #3


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



MARCH SELECTIONS:


In Rion's Eye by Lorraine M. Kanter


I see through gossamery clouds
a world of hatred's tryst,
where pixies poise to tame cruel beasts
in homelands they resist;

of voiceless thoughts and hushed unrest
upon strong backs they ride
of changelings, coasting on the wind
through places where they'll hide.

I see through gossamery clouds
a most unlikely pair,
through paradigms of unity
defrock an evil heir.

Together sprite and dragon vow
like times so long ago,
to bring civility and peace
to those they come to know.

I see through gossamery clouds
a world of moral mien…
and sit upon this star of mine
where never I’ll be seen.

It matters not that I'm alive
to see what came before --
as dawn awakes, I’ll take my leave
but never close my door.

I see through gossamery clouds
a tear in Rion’s Eye,
where flights of faith obscure my view --
I quietly glide by.

Author's notes:
This is part of a longer story about a fantasy world and the actions of the primary characters. Changeling is a reference to a character of a dragon race that adopts the pixies/sprites desire to bring civility and peace to the world. Rion is the world they live in personified.




Colors of Hate by Larry D. Jennings


Winds ride
long empty schoolyard swings,
shake rusty snow on un-scuffed sand.
Orange clouds still glow from strange mushrooms
as bloated worms feed; garish green.
Another sunset, purple smears to blood red;
unseen! Sky bruises' glow soon fades to night.
Gray stones now resting, time-worn smooth,
once etched to mark a species...gone!
White silence, deafening. Unheard
knell's echo's stilled
by Time's sure hand.
Black comes at last,
on unshod hooves.
The Four in One
reap war's foul crop.




Waiting for Andromeda by Linda E. Cable


How do I fathom these atoms
that have aligned to make a me
and not this toast upon my plate?

Cosmic specks, not a breath
between them, become content and color,
to compose a singularity between
my hand and the handle of a cup.

In this bowl of microcosmic soup,
I watch my body rearrange,
as if pressed for time,
anxious to disconnect
and join the incandescence
amid inconsequential worlds.

My dust desires to dance
in the dominions of Andromeda.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Apr 1 08, 18:13
Post #4


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



APRIL SELECTIONS:



Ciaron's Dream by Larry D. Jennings


Cluain Mhic Nois


Three saints stand watch o’er northern gate
to meadows of the sons of Nor
where chiefs and warriors laid in state
‘neath green and gorse of Shannon’s shore.

Thrice buttressed path from Ciaron’s hand
led all who trod this hallowed place
to masters, teaching in that land
a higher learning, pious grace

within a stark monastic clime.
The centuries are on display
from crypts and castles built through time
to broken cross in disarray.

A place of temples, church and walls
with blessings sprinkled on the ground,
the last High King rests in these halls
until the horns of Heaven sound.

Fair Erin, ravaged from afar
by Viking’s axe and Norman's blade,
returns to beauty from each scar
more lovely, strong and unafraid.



Crypt-Keeper's Irony by Lorraine M. Kanter


He wanders tombs through dark of night
in search of treasures to alight
a path to riches, sweet perfumes.
Through dark of night, he wanders tombs.

This thirst he seldom seems to quench
consuming dust’s archaic stench
whilst raiding chambers, sneers death’s curse...
he seldom seems to quench this thirst.

Inscriptions warn of punishment
in frail hereafter: life’s lament
defiled - lest one Pharaoh’s scorn
of punishment, inscriptions warn.

Adorned facade discreetly hid
Necropolis’ broken lid
that once beheld doubt’s living god --
discreetly hid, adorned facade.

In Thebes amid disunity,
Stonemasons’ opportunity
is shared in Nile’s mild reeds
amid disunity -- in Thebes.

Crypt-keepers feign incompetence
whitewashed in deben bribe's defense
while Ma’at is droned through priestly reign;
incompetence -- crypt-keepers feign.

This irony remains today,
the ones in power do betray
a nourishing of Ka campaigns.
Today, this irony remains.


Footnotes:
Necropolis: An extensive and elaborate burial place serving an ancient city.
Deben: A measurement of cost used as the unit of value for exchange.
Ma’at: The concept of order, truth and justice. After death, a person's soul is weighed against the feather of Ma'at to determine their fate in the afterworld.
ka (in Ancient Egyptian Religion): A spiritual ‘double’ of the deceased, living within the body during life, and surviving the body after death. It was believed to be one of two spirits inhabiting the body, the main component of the soul. The ka is closely tied with the ba, the personality or psychic force of the deceased.





GAIA by Sylvia Maclagan


To unwind, to dream,
beneath the canopy of a willow-tree!
I wander your prairies, Gaia,
picture sunflowers smile
at summer skies,
charting the sun’s orbit till nightfall.

Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines
and other unseen creatures of night.

I sleep beneath my leafy umbrella
as frogs croak the onset of dawn,
heralding showers flirting with rainbows.
In dreams I circumnavigate
mountain lakes, sight naissance of rivers.

I recite poems that nobody wrote,
wondrous words dormant in memories of the dead.
I gaze at Gothic cathedrals, the Taj Mahal,
Roman aqueducts dominating Italic olive groves,
Alexandria’s library perished beneath the sea.

Libelious lies and carnage disrupt my trance.

Where has love gone,
where the chubby toes of children?
Why does blossom wither by waysides?
Nuclear submarines inflame sapphire seas…

I've shared hope with shipwrecked migrants,
blending homage and heartache.
I am a refugee seeking a fresh life,
or just life...
I dream the dreams of all men.

I conjure up dust-bowls on Austral steppes,
Amazonia gutted by russet roads,
thawing glaciers thunder Andean slopes.

Ice cubes tremble in my crystal tumbler,
as I offer a toast to Gaia,
to mystery, unreason, riddles,
the paradox of her existence in space-time,
to reality.

Reality is the destruction I have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
though Death is not her death
but mine.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Apr 26 08, 12:15
Post #5


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



MAY SELECTION:



Survival by Eira Needham


I wait … ensconced in my umbrageous hide
as unsuspecting creatures forage near.
My escalating hunger can’t subside;
their odours saturate the atmosphere.

Vibrations stir the undergrowth – I smell
a rat through flicking tongue and lie stock-still,
disguised in leaves. Anticipation swells;
unfocused vision won’t impede my skill.

Strike! … I quickly coil around him; death's
embrace, his limbs grow limp. Deprived of claws,
I seize head-on and taste his final breath,
while peristalsis draws him through my jaws.

Engorged, I glide towards my hiding place
where shadows camouflage from passing beast;
assailable I curl, yet heed them pace
nearby, as I digest this rodent feast.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post May 31 08, 08:12
Post #6


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



JUNE SELECTIONS:


Melodies of Life by Eira Needham


A rhythm gently stirs the dormant earth
with tranquil harmonies. All creatures browse;
inherently they couple, giving birth,
as woods deliver buds to gravid boughs.
Soft showers suckle buttercup bouquets;
a rainbow colours mama’s lullaby.
I fly away with blue birds while she sways
me, lids becoming heavy; hush-a-bye.

I leap awake to summer's bold refrains
in verdant fields, where poppies splash their hue.
I preen myself; sap surges through my veins,
perplexing urges rousing my debut
to adolescent days. Discordant sounds
of rock enthrall; my sensual desires
are vivid like the flowers. Life abounds
with energetic zest; true love transpires.

I dawdle into autumn and repose
beneath old foliage of rusty blends,
its slower tempo lulls until I doze.
I wake as desiccating leaves descend,
accepting life’s erosion with dismay.
Transformed, my look precipitates the fear
that fading blossoms wrinkle and decay;
the flush of summer fades … to disappear.

I hear the strains of winter’s chilled advance
and feel ambivalent to distant days.
As snowflakes fall, resplendent, they enhance
the stark reality of life’s malaise.
Will mist surround my mind’s befuddled dreams,
purloin my dignity when time seems false?
As cold entices sleep, the sun will gleam
once more for me to dance … that final waltz.

When winter leaves I hear its funeral dirge;
inactive life bestirs, becoming rife.
Sustaining water spills as shrubs emerge
in rhythm with the melodies of life.



The Ballerina In Apartment B22 by Linda E. Cable


Flapping pigeons remind Freda of applause;
she smiles, wriggling crippled toes
inside wide, fuzzy slippers, attempting
a chasse' around pots of purple pansies, bergamot,
stirring tea roses with a silver spoon,
the bittersweet clink of Tchaikovsky's A minor.

Dawn spotlights her
imagined plie upon the edge
of the palsied deck rail -
she grows momentarily tall within
memories of an arabesque beneath swan-clouds,
sighing in veneration of Vazem, Gert.

Her broken body totters toward
the coda of a peeling, padded chair,
the orchestra playing in her head.
Closing lids as dry as a moth's wing
she whispers,

“Sur' le cou-de-pied”.

In dreams,
she spins, and spins.



The Misting by Lorraine M. Kanter


From wastelands come clarity, visions await
encircled by heralded whispers of late --
this paradise green, for those who have seen
angelic life-forces, seek Heaven's vast gate.

I look as a brightened confluence of white
cascades in a lucid, baptismal delight;
in fantasy’s thrall, the deep yearnings do call,
I reach for the mist which then cradles my fall.

The waters are calm in this euphoric place --
I wade in a crystalline world of embrace.
In apathy’s den, soft ripples now grin
applauding contentment I’ve found from within.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Jul 1 08, 16:31
Post #7


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



JULY SELECTIONS:


Nature's Memories by Larry D. Jennings


What mysteries would be revealed
if only you could hear a field

discussing all the visitors
with Oaks, the Grand Inquisitors,
who hide those secrets deep within their rings.

What sorrows, buried 'neath the grass
forgotten... but as ages pass

remembered by Mariah's breath
and told to Redwoods ere their death,
now locked in stone where only lichen clings.

What of the lovers, hand in hand
who strolled in silence, 'cross the land

or sat and watched the clouds roll by.
Soft cotton ships, which sail the sky
to give the field a drink when there is need.

The field, caressed by farmer's plow
lies fallow, contemplating how

the golden stalks of winter wheat
were trampled 'neath the cattle's feet
but left their wind-swept songs along with seed.

Oh what adventures could be told
by rocks and boulders, as they rolled

through all the many centuries.
Their tale, if told, would surely please
a listener. Their voices can't be heard.

For Nature's memories are Hers,
aware of all, as it occurs.

She sends her secrets through the land
to all Her children, small or grand
and they won't even say the smallest word.



Light the Candles by Sylvia Maclagan


Why is the flower daydreaming
so serene, so pale?
Savour of sojourns
in his arms, sounds, fondling
withered, wasted by wrath.

Storms flashing fierce symbols,
tremors, much darkness -
What does he whisper
kissing, biting her lips?

Fireflies and sparks
kindle their canopy,
eerie shrieks in the skies
echo all night.

So dead the flower!
Wounding embraces,
kissing, hissing,
fiery fangs of delirium
drink of death's vintage -
before dayspring releases.

- Is this who I am?

Light the candles…
she's not breathing any more.




Portal by Lorraine M. Kanter


Beyond the gated portal lies
a world of wonder, world of spies
where ancient legends teach us all
of knightly realms and Caesar's fall.

Impressive walls were built of stone
by servants of the Roman throne.
Beyond the gated portal lies
security in structured guise.

Protection sought behind the wall;
Praetorians assert the call
upon the sandy, desert floor
just north of Kingdom's gated door.

Its presence roused undaunted foe
who fitted war with blade and bow,
petitioning their mighty gods
to intervene. Immortal frauds!

They would not answer Call to arms
ignoring Man's fictitious charms;
beyond the gated portal lies
a sheltered truth... Statesmen's demise.

A holy quest: Defend the land!
reverberates through stone and sand;
bechanced through time, this wall remains
in spite of enemy campaigns.

Archaic scriptures illustrate
deceitful deeds suppressed to fate.
Tread lightly; trust is seldom wise
beyond the gated portal's lies.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Aug 2 08, 16:36
Post #8


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



AUGUST SELECTIONS:


Gardener's Sonnet by Larry D. Jennings

Green spring was but a promise dressed in sundry shades of brown
while winter’s ermine coat was gray and soiled; a filthy rag.
Cold rain had come and blessed the earth last night in this small town
as I began my yearly task to transform toothless hag

of flower bed. My pride and joy, a dormant butterfly,
reposed within cocoon-like earth, awaiting warmth and hand
of loving care. Sweet nourishment I shared in good supply
where winter weeds had flourished; thieves and squatters, all unplanned.

The memories of seasons past were goads I’d not begrudge
when pain of age and toil had sapped the vigor of that morn‘.
From Death's domain, I wrenched such wondrous sights from sand and sludge;
to share with any passer-by my own rainbow… reborn.

All gardeners, as springtime nears, want only to appease
the eyes of man, while feeling close to God... upon their knees.




Starlit Seduction by Eira Needham

The curtain’s drawn; a spangled velvet sheet
creates a welcome shade from summer’s heat.
A slumber blankets earth with dreams, as night’s
seductive moonbeams dance in shadowed light.

Big eyes entice the sky, they wink and flirt;
she fingers silver buttons on his shirt
to proudly flaunt her galaxies of gems
on midnight’s hand. He lifts her sequined hem
as stellar rays caress the dark. She sighs
when kisses scatter over sultry skies
to burst in supernova’s rising cloud;
the climax of the night -- she gasps aloud.

The curtain slowly opens -- there’s no rush;
as dawn appears, the sky begins to blush.




Flack Jacket by Beverleigh G Annegarn

I persist on furrowed path. Ducking
fire, stray bullets connect exposed flesh, slashing it
open with burning delight. Tissue ignites,
nerve endings sear, blood drips
a glistening pathway in the sinless dirt. Snarled
by barbed-wire, I crawl, each stretch
rendering me pierced and ensnared. My icy soul bleached
naked is drained and quivering from terror of life’s shrapnel.

Damaged flack jacket peels from torment…
exposing my gory body armour and me.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Sep 14 08, 07:49
Post #9


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



SEPTEMBER SELECTIONS:


Zambezi Storm by Beverleigh Gail Annegarn

Violet clouds roll
like dragon’s breath
over earth’s contours.
In their wake, sharp raindrops
spike expectant ground.

Lightning spears pierce
and lash chaotically
silhouetting baobabs
clinging to shuddering rock.

Rain licks my face,
trickles into my eyes,
traps my clothing
on my shivering flesh.

Water shards, beamed by
pyrotechnics, scurry down
hills and banks. Gullies
gouge and chisel toward
the engorged river.

A night -
when elements
scrape together:
energies connect like war drums
on heaven’s stage.

Daylight reveals
a cleansing…
animals dance,
pudgy plants perk and peek.

Sunshine kisses the wounded.




Ballad of iZamu by Walter William Schwim

Sketch of a Limpopo storm coming off the Soutpansberg mountains,
down the Mutamba river valley over the hill known as iZamu (The maidens breast)


iZamu slumbers in the heat between the sultry hills,
a dusky maiden's profile’s draped with dark cloud shadow fills.
Her moody sensual form’s backlit in pastel blues and mauves,
while riverine, Mutamba green,
winds serpine through her groves.

Limpopo sun since dawn has baked the humid valley air,
‘till nimbus clouds from endless blue now magically appear.
A hazy skyline, frowning grey, looks angry, smudged and strange,
pulls air in huffs and fitful puffs
toward the Zoutpan range.

A sense of expectation drifts across the valley floor,
then suddenly I know it’s there, I smell the monster’s maw.
On looking up, I glimpse its giant cumulating cheeks
roaring past the mountains vast,
clawing at the peaks.

Wenguli, smoking flail in hand beats cowering Sun away.
A dust cloud flees his naked wrath, while trees, in panic, sway.
With growls and groans he spits and moans, relentless in his march
destroying wills of guarding hills
and enters through the arch.

iZamu braces for the strike, submitting as the storm,
comes rolling down between her mounds, smothering her form.
He spreads upon the basin floor his overwhelming bulk,
with ill intent, destruction bent;
intimidating hulk.

Wenguli shreds and blasts the air with cataclysmic sound,
hurls stinging bursts of hail to thrash the wincing dusty ground.
A warrior of doom he seems with mighty flashing blades,
who swells and grows with throbs and flows
into her dells and glades.

Sky-burst torrent plumbing down, engulfing airborne tide,
inundated road becomes a raging river wide.
A dozen waterfalls appear and gush from rocky spouts,
‘mid fitful throws and body blows
there’s fireworks and shouts.

iZamu drowning from the weight, the storm is want to gloat,
but as the mayhem seems its worst, there comes a thread of hope.
She draws her rainbow sword of light to smite the brute away,
who shies with pain then flees in shame,
returns the light of day.

Wenguli flees the glowing foil with final flash and roar;
he grumbles beaten from the land and douses her no more.
Her vlies are shining loud and wet, all silver in delight
and swifts soar proud against the cloud,
rejoicing in their flight.

While sunlight warms iZamu’s breast, her languid stretch and sigh
shows fresh her maiden silhouette on glowing turquoise sky.
Mutamba's thunderous voice roars out, beyond the canyon bend,
a million flying-ants emerge
to seek the rainbow’s end . . .


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Oct 7 08, 07:26
Post #10


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



OCTOBER SELECTION:


The Nestling by Eisa Needham

She flinches; a featherless bird
tumbles, landing breathless.
Thoughts surge back forty years--

He arrived quietly
entwined in his lifeline,
hurriedly wrapped
in a hospital blanket.
Voices were hushed
as they rushed him away.

They thought it humane
to shroud his existence;
no whispered goodbyes.
She ached to nestle her son,
stroke his soft face and
sway him to lullabies.

One glimpse; never seen again.

Memories are tucked away in the attic:
the blue unused crib,
a hand crocheted shawl
to snuggle him in her arms.


Mother bird screeches
from a lifeless nest …

grief swoops like a vulture
tearing her insides;
tears still flow after forty years.


Wrapping the nestling
in a pink print hankie
she hums,
Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree-top
resting it in a cardboard box.

She buries it in moist earth
beneath a sycamore that cradles
the half empty nest in its arms,
scattering poppy seeds; her memorial.

When buds bloom, crumpled crimson,
she still longs to know --
if his eyes twinkled blue, reflecting her image
and where he lies now
… to place a poppy wreath.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Nov 2 08, 12:08
Post #11


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



NOVEMBER SELECTIONS:


Love's Dues by Sylvia Maclagan

He left yesterday. Images of fallow roads
puncture solitude, then fade. The sun erodes
my thoughts like a dry sponge. They grow dim -
love’s tendrils wind their way around my heart
to build on solid ground a world apart
that may, by gentle force, go on and round him.

The sky is not my friend today; it casts a garish spell
on dales and dreams. It counterpoises Camelot.
O give my life a joyous plot!

I’m heartbroken, quite unwell,
denizen prisoner of inner space
where only elves dare tread and trim with lace
my memory of him; a rejected pawn
with bunker-shaped dome, afraid of dawn.
Weary nomad by my love accursed,
quarrying sadness and thirst
in uninhabited plateaus.
My life dissolves in threads...

Deities! Seers! Read the riddle of subterranean
fears, my eggshell life. Players in this game
deserve three lives, and I, poltroon,
dare not pursue the sentimental lane
with one puny chance of earthly gain.
To fall in line might take a thousand years
burrowing through love’s harsh confines-
Is it I who writes these lines?

Yet shining softly on my bed, mock moon,
a gray, autumnal calm spreads down my spine,
has stilled the pain, my oaths may undermine.

Aphrodite should have sung last rites
to my deadly wounds -- my heart’s plight.


© Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2008



Brood Parasites by Eisa Needham

A European robin serenades
from ivied stage … ooh twidlee dee; his hen
investigates low boulders, then invades
a crevice, moulding moss into a den
to lay her brood. Nearby, a cuckoo’s call
evokes the bubbling chuckles of his mate,
who spied the nest ensconced within the wall
and parks her eggs inside to incubate.

When hatched, those parasitic nestlings prise
the rightful babies from their cradle; feign
instinctively, their empty-bellied cries.
Dim surrogate is hoodwinked to sustain
her neonatal tricksters, picking ants
and worms, from farmer’s fertile shovelled earth.
Departing from their host, the fledglings chant
cu coo, perceptibly now twice her girth.

Soon autumn blows a cooler breeze; they crowd
to far-flung lands, enticed by warmer climes,
returning when the fields are freshly ploughed
as robins gather moss for nesting time.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
Cleo_Serapis
post Dec 7 08, 08:45
Post #12


Mosaic Master
Group Icon

Group: Administrator
Posts: 18,891
Joined: 1-August 03
From: Massachusetts
Member No.: 2
Real Name: Lori Kanter
Writer of: Poetry & Prose
Referred By:Imhotep



DECEMBER SELECTIONS:


A Poet's Voice by Sylvia Maclagan


I cannot stop the wind from blowing
nor still the ocean's tide;
a rose will bloom without my knowing
to adorn an Autumn bride.
Yet I can stretch a loving hand
to embrace a frightened child
by greed its rights denied.

I cannot halt empires from growing
nor make the rich provide;
a war will rage without foreknowing
to scourge fair countryside.
Yet I can join the crescent throng
refusing to abide
while innocents have died.

Let this be sculpted on my tomb:
that I did not my eyes blindfold
nor close my heart to doom,
but rather with a poet’s voice
all shameful deeds retold.


© Sylvia Maclagan, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2008



Shrine of the Red Hornet Queen by Walter William Schwim


In the dappled half shade of a Bhumbula tree
at the foot of a great granite hill,
lived a Wizard in rags who enchanted me
in his voice that was cracked and shrill.

Eyes agleam in the dusk as spirits grew bold
scurried soft while the smoke swirled around;
from his dry withered lips spilled stories of old
and the tales of lost battle ground.

On the sand by the camp fire glow he would kneel
with a body all broken and frail,
till a throw of the bones in the dust would reveal
to the crone what the ancients bewail.

"If you cross the five hills going east from the graves
to the land maLindzimu ignored;
follow me to the south where the bones of slaves
fed the flames when the smelt furnace roared.

Where the great bellows huffed amid smoke, sweat and blast
till the eye of the forge shimmered green,
where the spearheads birthed and the bronze shackles cast
for the guard of the Red Hornet Queen.

Sweep your eyes to the ridge as you search for a slit,
for a cleft in that grey granite wall;
through a thorn chaparral where the rock has split,
cross a bridge with its stern sentry tall.

Do you see where these boulders were rolled to the side,
hide a path to the nest of the Queen?
Now we edge past the ledge where the wasp-men would hide;
it is clear their defense was supreme."
Then as clouds swirled grey in the old man's eye
to the visions rushing out from the past
and a thousand summers or more flashed by
when the bones once again were cast.

"Over here are the pits where the slaves were restrained,
it was done so that none may oppose
that Cannibal Queen who was thus entertained,
and imbibed of the blood of her foes.

From the caravans rich there was loot for the bold
on the road to King Solomon's mine.
They would raid for the ivory, slaves and the gold
for their Queen and the Red Hornet Shrine.

As a pack on the scent chased troops of the King
while the Wasps would look down from on high.
The assault would begin and the war-cries ring
'till the death-stones rained from the sky.

Each attack was repulsed and Solomon's men
would retire to the mines for a rest.
The lieutenant chastised and threatened again
should he fail to annihilate the nest.

Well the Hornets grew rich, with their arrogant Queen
every year in their fortress of stone,
and the crew of the mines and the tribes grew lean
for the wrath of their King to atone."
iSangoma of old, with a mystical smile
stroked softly the gray granite wall,
the Ancestral spirits to coax and beguile
then he rose with his staff proud and tall.

"I can see, that at last 'twas a weakness revealed
in a cipher received by the Chief.
Betrayal for the price of a curse was concealed
by a plan that was bold and brief.

Like a beast of the night, came Solomon's curse,
past the guards as a humming of bees.
Sheer face of the rock but a simple traverse,
as it entered the sanctum with ease.

No-one said what befell, not a soul would re-tell
what became of the Red Hornet clan,
It was rumored by some they eventually fell;
the result of this treasonous plan.

They were all disemboweled, every man, woman, child
and their cruel Queen impaled on a spear,
just a Forge-Master's boy escaped to the wild
where he lived out a lifetime in fear.

If you scratch at your feet among shards in the dust
you may find a small clue or a sign
but the Ghosts of this tomb keep a secret in trust;
it's the gold in a Grey Granite Shrine."
Then a great wind rushed and the trees bowed down
while the Sun turned away in his shame,
for my blind Wizard's eyes stared up white in his death
and I fled like a buck from the flame.

The ancestral blood runs no-more in his veins
yet his story's still told at the feasts,
it is oft' whispered down from the hills to the plains;
finds a voice in the howling of beasts.

The graves of Cecil John Rhodes (maLindzimu) and other founders of Rhodesia lie on a famous sacred hill in the Matopos. The area is steeped in legend and African Myth, and many things still remain unexplained. As a child I grew up here and spent a great deal of time exploring the granite wilderness.


·······IPB·······

"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 Rings

Collaboration 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. Kanter

Nominate 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
 
+Quote Post  Go to the top of the page
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Reply to this topicStart new topic

 

RSS Lo-Fi Version Time is now: 15th September 2019 - 13:12




Read our FLYERS - click below



Reference links provided to aid in fine-tuning your writings. ENJOY!

more Quotes
more Art Quotes
Dictionary.com ~ Thesaurus.com

Search:
for
Type in a word below to find its rhymes, synonyms, and more:

Word: