Lands Challenge Thread

[JUDO]

Mother's Meadow's Memories
--- inspired by Xtaabay's 'Sound of Snow' challenge ---


The meadow near my house
Overflows in green summer
Underneath golden towers of fluffy clouds,
Drifting westward against the blue.

Full-leafed trees sway with the breeze
And tall grass dances 'neath the feet
Of a thousand playful souls.

Daytime's frogs' and hawks' cries
Echo across the riverbend's limestone cliffs,
Mixing down the screams of children
As they chase pets and playmates.

But now, Mother Winter has decorated
Meadow's joy with peaceful sleep.
Its residents hibernate in wet soil
Waiting for the Earth to tilt.

Pale piled blankets tucked carefully
Around the statuesque bald elms
Guard the lustful dreams
Of boys in their branches
And worms, tickling roots.

The steely blue river gathers drifts
Over the face of its waves in repose,
While it runs quietly, so quietly --
Just beneath the mask of ice.

Gently, softly from the gray heavens,
Messengers of delight glide home,
Touching, blending, building and sighing
The silent journey of Winter's night.


Christmas Eve, 2002

 

[MyOpinion]

Opi Applauds Judo's Meadow

Very nice poem!

*Opi finds himself yawning, maybe poem too mellow to read before coffee. Opi heads to coffee machine to get first cup of freshly brewed Zimbabwe java*

 

[JUDO]

Thanks, Opi! Now, Mother's Meadow's Memories is posted.


- Judo

 

[Angeline]

Bravo JUDO doll!

The steely blue river gathers drifts
Over the face of its waves in repose,
While it runs quietly, so quietly --
Just beneath the mask of ice.

Gently, softly from the gray heavens,
Messengers of delight glide home,
Touching, blending, building and sighing
The silent journey of Winter's night.

This is just about flawless. I'd add a few commas (after "breeze" in Stanza 2, line 1; and "soil" in Stanza 4, line 3). But my heavens, the imagery in this poem is vivid and compelling, and I love the way it glides across seasons. And it's free verse, too, darnit.

But beautiful!

 

[Angeline]

Snow Reflection

Soundless white is,

Whether slow, fat, and lazy,
Drifting without seeming,
Or sifting without intent,

Whether fast, sprite, and furious,
Decorating without design,
Or persisting without relent.

Snow makes no sound
Discernible in itself,

But like a mirror refracts
To reflect vision,

The world announces snow
In a reflection of echoes:

The crunch crack of twig
The muffle snuffle of breath
The tamp tramp of boot.

Soundless white is
A noisy presence.

 

[WickedEve]

Re: WICKED EVE CHALLENGED

WE, I challenge you to write a poem about why rowdy ted is better then men, and why Angeline can never have him!

Rowdy Ted is far from dead
he has even struck my thread
much to angelines dismall dread


_Land

Rowdy Ted is better than men?
Wouldn't that be a waste, a sin?
All that delicious warm skin...
Give Angeline Ted; I'll take men!

 

[Angeline]

Ted Lives!

he's not rowdy ted no more
his name is Al Pacino now
and were he like Pinnochio
to become really real somehow
if I could feel some arms and legs
and face if Al became more
than a member of the human
race it would be so very cool
and he could occupy the space
he needed: Angel ain't a fool!

 

[_Land]

Re: Re: WICKED EVE CHALLENGED

WE, it is lovely to hear your voice again, I hope all is well and your spirit is refreshed

_N

Rowdy Ted is better than men?
Wouldn't that be a waste, a sin?
All that delicious warm skin...
Give Angeline Ted; I'll take men!

 

[OT]

...
The world announces snow
In a reflection of echoes:

The crunch crack of twig
The muffle snuffle of breath
The tamp tramp of boot.

Soundless white is
A noisy presence.

I like it, Angeline.

(and it also happens to be a perfectly reasonable answer to the sound of snow)

 

[Angeline]

Thank you OT

was not sure if i communicated it well; appreciate the read and feedback.

 

[JUDO]

Re: Bravo JUDO doll!

The steely blue river gathers drifts
Over the face of its waves in repose,
While it runs quietly, so quietly --
Just beneath the mask of ice.

Gently, softly from the gray heavens,
Messengers of delight glide home,
Touching, blending, building and sighing
The silent journey of Winter's night.

This is just about flawless. I'd add a few commas (after "breeze" in Stanza 2, line 1; and "soil" in Stanza 4, line 3). But my heavens, the imagery in this poem is vivid and compelling, and I love the way it glides across seasons. And it's free verse, too, darnit.

But beautiful!

Thanks, Angie. Glad you liked it. Awfully fun when the muse just flows.


- Judo

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Re: Re: Re: challenge

Lauren,
When you post it, could you include the original (in Portuguese)? I am eagerly awaiting the poem!

--Xtaabay

Ah, it took me a while to track down the bastard, but I got it now. It's not really about the sound of snow, but the first three stanzas focus especially on that. From then onward it derives to 'snow' in general.

This poem's the first I ever read at school. I think over 80% of all Portuguese know the first couple of stanzas by heart. Only three or four other poems would fit that category... Curiously, I couldn't remember the name of the author... lol


BALADA DA NEVE
by Augusto Gil

Batem leve, levemente,
como quem chama por mim.
Será chuva? Será gente?
Gente não é, certamente
e a chuva não bate assim.

É talvez a ventania:
mas há pouco, há poucochinho,
nem uma agulha bulia
na quieta melancolia
dos pinheiros do caminho...

Quem bate, assim, levemente,
com tão estranha leveza,
que mal se ouve, mal se sente?
Não é chuva, nem é gente,
nem é vento com certeza.

Fui ver. A neve caía
do azul cinzento do céu,
branca e leve, branca e fria...
Há quanto tempo a não via!
E que saudades, Deus meu!

Olho-a através da vidraça.
Pôs tudo da cor do linho.
Passa gente e, quando passa,
os passos imprime e traça
na brancura do caminho...

Fico olhando esses sinais
da pobre gente que avança,
e noto, por entre os mais,
os traços miniaturais
duns pezitos de criança...

E descalcinhos, doridos...
a neve deixa inda vê-los,
primeiro, bem definidos,
depois, em sulcos compridos,
porque não podia erguê-los!...

Que quem já é pecador
sofra tormentos, enfim!
Mas as crianças, Senhor,
porque lhes dais tanta dor?!...
Porque padecem assim?!...

E uma infinita tristeza,
uma funda turbação
entra em mim, fica em mim presa.
Cai neve na Natureza
e cai no meu coração.


I'll translate it later tonight or tomorrow.

 

[Guest]

thanks

Ah, it took me a while to track down the bastard, but I got it now. It's not really about the sound of snow, but the first three stanzas focus especially on that. From then onward it derives to 'snow' in general.

This poem's the first I ever read at school. I think over 80% of all Portuguese know the first couple of stanzas by heart. Only three or four other poems would fit that category... Curiously, I couldn't remember the name of the author... lol


BALADA DA NEVE
by Augusto Gil

Batem leve, levemente,
como quem chama por mim.
Será chuva? Será gente?
Gente não é, certamente
e a chuva não bate assim.

É talvez a ventania:
mas há pouco, há poucochinho,
nem uma agulha bulia
na quieta melancolia
dos pinheiros do caminho...

Quem bate, assim, levemente,
com tão estranha leveza,
que mal se ouve, mal se sente?
Não é chuva, nem é gente,
nem é vento com certeza.

Fui ver. A neve caía
do azul cinzento do céu,
branca e leve, branca e fria...
Há quanto tempo a não via!
E que saudades, Deus meu!

Olho-a através da vidraça.
Pôs tudo da cor do linho.
Passa gente e, quando passa,
os passos imprime e traça
na brancura do caminho...

Fico olhando esses sinais
da pobre gente que avança,
e noto, por entre os mais,
os traços miniaturais
duns pezitos de criança...

E descalcinhos, doridos...
a neve deixa inda vê-los,
primeiro, bem definidos,
depois, em sulcos compridos,
porque não podia erguê-los!...

Que quem já é pecador
sofra tormentos, enfim!
Mas as crianças, Senhor,
porque lhes dais tanta dor?!...
Porque padecem assim?!...

E uma infinita tristeza,
uma funda turbação
entra em mim, fica em mim presa.
Cai neve na Natureza
e cai no meu coração.


I'll translate it later tonight or tomorrow.

Hey, thanks! I like it! Not that I speak Portuguese, but knowing Spanish helps a lot. Although I'm missing some of the subtleties and nuances that are so important in poetry. If you can't get a translation it's okay. I know someone whom I can ask.
--Xtaabays

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Ooops... I completely forgot about it. Don't worry, Xtaabay. I looked all over for a translation and couldn't find it, but I'll do it myself as soon as I have some breathing time

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Ballad of Snow
by Augusto Gil

The lightest of light knocks
as if calling for me.
Could it be rain? Could it be people?
People surely can't be
and the rain doesn't knock like this.

It's perhaps a windstorm,
but only the shortest of short times ago
not a needle was whistling
in the quiet melancholy
of the pine trees up the road.

Who knocks like this, so lightly
with so strange a lightness
you can hardly hear, hardly feel?
It's not the rain, nor is it people,
and the wind it is definitely not.

I went to see. The snow was falling
From the grey blue of the sky,
white and light, white and cold...
It's been so long since I last saw it!
And how I missed it my Lord!

I look at it through the closed window.
It turned the world to the colour of linen.
People walk by and when they go,
their footsteps print and trace
upon the whiteness of the track...

I stand looking at these signs
of poor people walking by
and notice between the rest,
the miniaturized traces
of a child's little feet...

Let those that sin already,
suffer if you must!
But the children, Lord,
why bring them such pain?!...
Why do they suffer like this?

And an infinite sadness,
a deep confusion
enters me, and in me is trapped.
Snow falls in Nature
as well as in my heart.

 

[_Land]

Angeline dear

since you brought up the subject of challenges, how is literoticas gilligan island cumming?




for those of you unfamiliar with this little thread it is a direct challenge thread where you may challenge any poet who posts to do a poem within certain perameters of your choosing, form, subject words etc.....................



read back through here some fantastic poems came as a result of this fun little thread.




_Land

 

[Angeline]

Ok you bastard

here's your damn poem. Make sure you sing it.

_Landigan's Island

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
cause I don't have a choice.
_Land boonswaggled me into writing this
crap with my poet's voice.

Land came to Lit a year ago--
it's true he's a nice man,
but watch out for his challenges.
He'll trick you if he can.
He'll trick you if he can.

So here's the story of the way
we poets came to Lit.
We put our man _Land at the helm,
and ended up in shit.
For _Land's a mighty writing guy,
but he loves a good scam,
so he hoodwinked all us poets
with a three-hour slam,
a three-hour slam.

The poets did show up at Lit
They started with free verse,
then sonnets, triolets, rengu,
but see there was a curse.
It seems the poets could not leave
until old _Land said so,
and now in spite of all these poems,
he will not let us go.
He will not let us go.

So now we poets are stuck on this digital desert isle,
with _Land, and his Beth, too,
smithpeter, Wicked Eve,
Lauren.Hynde, darkmaas, perks, and Angeline,
so shut up, write, and smile.

 

[_Land]

I suppose I deserved that

LOLOLOL Angeline, after my hooking side of the street i spose I had it coming. very humorous )