MM's IBPC Noms for August Competition Options

[Psyche]

Hi Lori and All,

I would like to nominate Arnie's excellent poem 'Tunnel Vision' for August IBPC. His striking style and personal rhyme scheme, along with up-to-date hyphenating and line breaks, make it a highly worhty piece, in my opinion.

(I'm nominating it now, even tho' I intend to make one or two crits, because I'm always in a rush and I don't want this piece to slip by unnoticed)


Hugs, Syl***



Tunnel Vision by John Macleod


Bobbing heads, eccentric,
restive rustling feet
and scintillating colours
as people come and go.
For most who walk are strangers
and if friends do-chance to meet,
it’s only scant acknowledgement
to— so and so--.

The dank darkened tunnel
the rumble, the pound,
and syncopating rattle
from archway to the hall.
With clear glass eyes the newborn
hurtles from the womb unbound,
and with red-hot brakes a’ screeching,
welcomes one and all.

Animated puppet dolls,
sweat filled summer days,
and suffocating carriages
where luck fills empty seats.
The unfriendly— unnoticed—
stand in crowds of cramped malaise,
their bodies tired and worn from the city
and the streets.

Wheels, slip metal brake shoes,
slowly turn on rail
as stimulated motors breathe
out babbled blatherskite.
Untethered, the silver train
moves on down the chequered trail
to vanish, as a ghost, with the
spirits of the night.



This post has been edited by Cleo_Serapis: Jul 12 09, 10:05

Reason for edit: Revised version posted

[Arnfinn]

G'day, Sylv,


Hmm... Don't know what say...


Xcept...


Thank You, Amigo.YeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHa.


Well...


I'm lost for words


John

[Psyche]

Dear Lori & all,

I would like to nominate Thoth's (Wally's) poem, Sickle Hand for August's IBPC. It's a poweful allegory of nature and lost love, with wonderful form & rhyme. It's charged with emotion that's defly handled in objective, poetical style.

Hugs to all,
Syl***



Sickle Hand by Walter Schwim


Shifting hopes like windblown sands
form ordered rows of crescent moons,
on which a scything wind expands
her heart from un-touched drifting dunes.

When twilight slowly stills the land,
the angry wind abates its blast.
I gently take her wanting hand
and hold her warm and safe at last.

Before the cautious morning beams
paint red her perfect desert sky
my briefest kiss intrudes her dreams
to be repulsed with scant goodbye.

Relentless wind blows through my mind
and sweeps up every tender thought.
My fading footprints left behind
are fast eroded, leaving naught.

I curse the those fickle pseudo moons
that hold my empty arms at bay
and curse the wind and crescent dunes
that whisked my whispered kiss away.

Favors shift like fickle sand
to cover perfect lips un-kissed,
extends for love her sickle hand,
that with the dawn will be dismissed.


This post has been edited by Cleo_Serapis: Jul 31 09, 17:34

Reason for edit: Revised

[Cleo_Serapis]

Excellent ! Permission PM sent...

[Cleo_Serapis]

I'd like to nominate Snow's poem, Sky Wars for the upcoming IBPC competition. I really enjoy reading her imagery of a storm and the metaphors she cleverly uses to describe the events.

This deserves a larger audience.

Good luck!
~Cleo


Sky Wars by Eira Needham


Conflicting forces brace for battle, dressed
in charcoal camouflage. Prepared to swarm
the sky, they mobilize and fly abreast
while nimbi squadrons activate the storm.

Descending bombs crescendo; roaring booms
provoke the sun to disengage his rays.
Grenades explode, their flashes herald doom
so startled creatures dart in disarray.

Machine guns fire, barraging foes in bursts;
torrential rains unleashed soon drench the land
to quench the dehydrated flora’s thirst.

New cirri squads arrive to take command,
belligerence retreating. Peace pervades
as sunrays rally; victory parades.

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

I would like to nominate Sylvia's Poem, Bewitched for the IBPC for Aug or if it is too late then for Sept.

I think this is a very powerful and erotic piece and deserves to be given a wider audience.

Steve


BEWITCHED by Sylvia Maclagan


Summer air quivers. A butterfly unfurls
its wings on my bare chest.
I hunger for you.
Picking blades of grass beside a river
where I come to rest,
desire arouses me to dazzling bliss.
I lick ripples from your breasts,
my body surfing unimagined heights
from our together nights.

Hummingbirds flirt with flowers.
I feel the radiance
of your kiss under silken bowers,
intoxicated with jasmines’ fragrance.

When night falls,
will I have forgotten your love call
among those whistling reeds,
vibrations of infinite chords?
I know moonlit willow-trees
will tempt me to tarry awhile.
I’ll succumb to sensual smiles
in that glade beyond,
where nymphs mirror their flesh
on surfaces of serene ponds.

Yet April fled.... Cool May moon!
I grow old. I might lose my way
among the sumptuous shapes of night.
The essence of my life may be a dream.
I’ll stoop like a cypress weighted with snow,
scorned by moonbeams on mountain peaks.

No! I’ll sip only from your fountain:
one day it will whirl me to the ocean.
I’ll make love to you with fevered heart,
engage the teasing motion
of your thighs, your impulsive lips.

Yet now, until Morning Star departs,
I’ll bask on the banks of alluring creeks.


Note: Seasons of Southern Hemisphere.

Copyright: Sylvia Evelyn, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2009.
All rights reserved.

This post has been edited by Cleo_Serapis: Jul 21 09, 05:43

Reason for edit: Revision

[Cleo_Serapis]

Got your PM John - thanks mate.

This poem will be sent next month for the September IBPC.

Best of luck then - if you make any further revisions, please let me know!

Cheers
~Cleo

[Thoth]

Thank you for the nom, I'm flattered!

I have finally revised it. A big thanks to Liz for those excellent suggestions.

Sickle Hand (Rev 1)

Shifting hopes like windblown sands
form ordered rows of crescent moons,
on which a scything wind expands
her heart from un-touched drifting dunes.

When twilight slowly stills the land,
the angry wind abates its blast.
I gently take her wanting hand
and hold her warm and safe at last.

Before the cautious morning beams
paint red her perfect desert sky
my briefest kiss intrudes her dreams
to be repulsed with scant goodbye.

Relentless wind blows through my mind
and sweeps up every tender thought.
My fading footprints left behind
are fast eroded, leaving naught.

I curse the those fickle pseudo moons
that hold my empty arms at bay
and curse the wind and crescent dunes
that whisked my whispered kiss away.

Favors shift like fickle sand
to cover perfect lips un-kissed,
extends for love her sickle hand,
that with the dawn will be dismissed.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Got it! Thanks Larry and best of luck!

~Cleo