Lachrimae Challenge

[Angeline]

I don't think you're a geek.....



Tiny Matter

Is tiny matter silent,
but real like faith?

Moving like a dust mote,
revolving in the sun of science,
an atom is barely tangible.

Yet heavy with quantum secrets
it hides from the naked world.

Particles dance along its planes,
slide and roll like beads
strung on a wire,
attracting or rebuffing
other little matter.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

It still exists
to boil water,
bring me to a stand
or even crash the world apart

with one command.

 

[The_Fool]

oh God, since ya'll are confessing all this stuff, I feel compelled to do it too..see whatcha started ya sexy Fool?? I love math, but don't understand it the "right" way, but give me a formula and I am in heaven, except when it comes to poetry. I have been trying the triolet since I saw jsthera's Nocturne, which was lovely...

I'm working on a poem about, ( cringe) the periodic table...did I hear somebody say :GEEK:?? lol... oh well, I totally enjoyed your form(s) fool..more, more, Im a piggie, and Cordelia. I wanna see your math sonnet too

*groan* Maria...baby, you know I would do anything for ya...but...

 

[The_Fool]

Getting back on track

I thought the concept for this one was funny as hell.....

My sweet fair lady called out for her Fool,
“My day is melancholy and I crave
your witty sayings, breach this sadness cruel.”
For love of her fair laughter I would slave.
As Fool for her I sang and tales did tell
Of decadence and innocence belied.
For her the bawdy message boded well
The river of her passion he denied.
A tongue of talent was what she desired.
With loosened bodice she reached out to touch
My ego and create impassioned fire,
Which left me wanting her so very much.
The darkened bar helped me hide from her view.
Too shy to talk, my daydreams left me blue.

 

[Angeline]

My sweet fair lady called out for her Fool,
“My day is melancholy and I crave
your witty sayings, breach this sadness cruel.”
For love of her fair laughter I would slave.
As Fool for her I sang and tales did tell
Of decadence and innocence belied.
For her the bawdy message boded well
The river of her passion he denied.
A tongue of talent was what she desired.
With loosened bodice she reached out to touch
My ego and create impassioned fire,
Which left me wanting her so very much.
The darkened bar helped me hide from her view.
Too shy to talk, my daydreams left me blue.

That is just stunning. I'm very impressed--you're pretty darn good you know, foolio. Disposa is off somewhere swooning.

 

[The_Fool]

That is just stunning. I'm very impressed--you're pretty darn good you know, foolio. Disposa is off somewhere swooning.

Thanks Ange. Tell Disposa not to be swoon for too long. I might have to take advantage of her insensibility.

Fool

 

[Angeline]

I might have to take advantage of her insensibility.

Why do you think she's swooning?

 

[Angeline]

Sestina in Mood Indigo

Ocean Sesto

It's cold tonight at water's edge.
Beyond the horizon lies everything.
I've heard an ocean can carry blues
in waves catapulted by the wind
to whisper faith or sigh of loss,
echoed in whorls of hollow shells.

I've scanned shores for perfect shells,
sinistral curved with fluted edge
like porcelain treasures hiding loss,
beautifully bereft of everything,
but faintly singing like the wind
blows depths of boundless blues.

I've seen the world as seas of blues,
and brasses, woodwinds all as shells
that float their minor notes on wind,
and echo past a night's belled edge,
filling the heart with everything
that's fragile beauty tinged with loss.

A starless night embraces loss
as empty hearts fill up with blues,
denying naught but everything;
illusion overflowing shells
like Trompe l'Oeil tricks vision’s edge,
or breathless echoes ape the wind.

Perhaps distant shores blow wind
in constant faith construed as loss,
and traveled too far dull the edge
of understanding, blurred like blues
mute harmony and moan from shells
in rhythmic slurs, obscuring everything.

So sad songs seem like everything
on empty nights that sing with wind,
sighing through our echoing shells,
conducting symphonies of loss
or simply sounding wordless blues
that drown beyond illusion's edge.

Why do shells sing everything
the ocean's edge carries on wind?
Why must I love this loss, these blues?

 

[HomerPindar]

I just got off the Roma Metro (yeah, the city Keats is burried in )while playing the blues on harmonica and was reconnected by random happenstance of Rybka's... and what's the first thing I see...

to know the feel of love with you, oh babe
oh babe, you know these words are all for you
my heart would n'ver know the blues again
I'd never have to play again, oh babe

tho'I know I'll always be sing'n' the blues
those blues that God gave me when you he made
the sight of you caused me to sing again
'cause all ya have ta give ta me'z the blues

to know the feel of love with you, oh babe
tho'I know I'll always be sing'n' the blues
I will always have more to play, oh babe
'cause all ya have to give ta' me'z the blues

But now I've left the train and you behind
and lo' she comes, a new woman I find

a little improvized blues sonnet in (or close to) iambic pentameter...

HomerPindar

 

[Angeline]

I just got off the Roma Metro (yeah, the city Keats is burried in )while playing the blues on harmonica and was reconnected by random happenstance of Rybka's... and what's the first thing I see...

Basta you bastard! You have to rub it in that you're still in Roma? And I love the um poema. And ah welcome homa.

And you have to try the parallelismish-mosh thread (lol, it's my thread and I can't remember what it's called, but it's way cool--you'll like it I bet).

Cordie??? Look, look! It's Homie.

 

[HomerPindar]

Basta you bastard! You have to rub it in that you're still in Roma? And I love the um poema. And ah welcome homa.

And you have to try the parallelismish-mosh thread (lol, it's my thread and I can't remember what it's called, but it's way cool--you'll like it I bet).

Cordie??? Look, look! It's Homie.

What is the blue-bloody-blazes is a parallelismish-mosh-thread? (and can you eat it with garlic?) ok ok, seeing as I'm not working anyways, let's have some fun looking for it...

HomerPindar

 

[Cordelia]

Homer! You gregarious lothario!

SMOOCH!

I hope we see you here more often. I miss you.

Cordelia

Roma...I am sooo jealous...

 

[The_Fool]

Re: Sestina in Mood Indigo

Ocean Sesto

It's cold tonight at water's edge.
Beyond the horizon lies everything.
I've heard an ocean can carry blues
in waves catapulted by the wind
to whisper faith or sigh of loss,
echoed in whorls of hollow shells.

I've scanned shores for perfect shells,
sinistral curved with fluted edge
like porcelain treasures hiding loss,
beautifully bereft of everything,
but faintly singing like the wind
blows depths of boundless blues.

I've seen the world as seas of blues,
and brasses, woodwinds all as shells
that float their minor notes on wind,
and echo past a night's belled edge,
filling the heart with everything
that's fragile beauty tinged with loss.

A starless night embraces loss
as empty hearts fill up with blues,
denying naught but everything;
illusion overflowing shells
like Trompe l'Oeil tricks vision’s edge,
or breathless echoes ape the wind.

Perhaps distant shores blow wind
in constant faith construed as loss,
and traveled too far dull the edge
of understanding, blurred like blues
mute harmony and moan from shells
in rhythmic slurs, obscuring everything.

So sad songs seem like everything
on empty nights that sing with wind,
sighing through our echoing shells,
conducting symphonies of loss
or simply sounding wordless blues
that drown beyond illusion's edge.

Why do shells sing everything
the ocean's edge carries on wind?
Why must I love this loss, these blues?

Masochist......

 

[champagne1982]

I'll weep and fall down at your feet,
If you'd but forgive
A moment spent so indiscreet
That I find I cannot live
With knowing that I've done wrong
There's foul air blowing through my mind
With your departure goes the happy song
Leaving my dirt and lust behind
Tragedy in my telling of the lie
Anguish at my hearing
Your voice, as tears you cry
And I, quivering, truth fearing
The answer to your question, "Why?"
My love, it's for your trust I long
I've lost it though, I've done you wrong.