The Monthly Poetry Challenge, September 2006

[bluerains]

a bit of Rockwell

smiles in these images...has a nice down home feel....like a warm hearth...blue

not sure i've got the hang of the idea of this, but here goes...

Polar Bear Pangs

I watched her shield
grumpy children
as she dodged rain and cars
to cross the road, watched

the kids' heads rise
at the hot chips and burger
smell escaping double doors

under the golden arches,
saw them pounce a puddle
with both feet. She nudged

them inside, cosseted
into a corner table
and smiled as they chomped

and talked fast, chewed
and played in the warmth. Hands
curled around the cappuccino
and she smiled.

 

[bluerains]

wispy and fairylike qualities

buzz in this tiny tumbles from a bees world...nice..blue

Not an apple, not even Eve's
would be had without the bees
and their dizzying dances
telling other bees where all the sexiest
flowers are (sharing resources).

Honeybees traipse the carpet of clover, dust
the simple singles
delve into doubles and tumble in
the trumpets of spring and summer
in love with nature's sex--talk about loving
your job! And we love them
enough to build them houses, to try
to keep them, busy and prophetic

but the sad truth is
they are dying except in Australia
(too many mites envy their honest industry)
so buy all the royal jelly
that you can. And if the bees seem
drawn to you, take it as
a compliment: you must smell
delicious.

 

[bluerains]

this type of read

is hard for me to concentrate because of my eye problems...my thoughts roam at random and from what I can gather its about critters and habitat..

see how they roll

see
how they roll
the lowly rollie-pollies,
of plates in 7 concentric rows,
they like a tiny rhino plowing its way
into most young hearts, playing backyard
games they hide and seek, under wet rocks
and stepping stones, oh these dull grey marbles
lives feeding on decay, ick and rot, 14 swimmerets
when threatened tuck in to become a bowling ball
crustaceans hurled in curled up hinges, pill bugs
terrified rolling upon those little grubby palms
as if cousins of armadillos, they play dead
as backyard opossums, but smaller
even than a hedgehog, we
see how they
roll
​

this was a 'round' as i could get it... : )

 

[bluerains]

powerful

use of words to describe a fish out of water...

One out of water
Is one far from home
I now assume that posture
Gasping on my side
Powerless appendages twitching
And I long for gills
As my throat is filled
I wished to be jawless
Or for a slit in my ribs
To detect subtle currents
Or for the nerves
Able to produce electric currents
For fending off predators
Anything
To contend with sandy grains of air

Oh
Moving eyes, because that’s possible
Pisces is rising
Consider the constellation
Its stars’ names and meaning
Alrescha: the ropes
Okda: knot
Fum al Samakah: mouth of the fish
The house of fish is 12th and last
The house of death
The tiny deaths
Ropes and knots and open mouths

Everything is underwater now
Thoughts coming further apart
Like: Anais Nin was a Pisces
Then: I wanted to be fluid
And: I have no control over this
Finally: I ask only for breath

His hook through the mouth
A tiny death

I no longer believe
Fish are below or beyond pain

Nor, I now realize, am I.

 

[bluerains]

I believe I have

read all the poems...please let me know If I missed one...blue

 

[wildsweetone]

please forgive me but something has come up and i need to spend some time on a project elsewhere. as soon as i have a chance, i will come back and comment on the poems posted here. i enjoyed them all! <--- that wasn't a critique by the way. lol

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Whale - From behind a glass curtain

cetacean songs sing through a moon
spangled cavern with crystal walls
and hands that press flat palms
no higher than the small insignificance
on the land can reach to send waves
of thought between the lines and bars
our ocean brother swims through currents
strong enough to wash man's cities'
corruption off soft birth water borne
mariner so ancient and fragile
that a blink in history and you're gone.

--- champagne1982​

Even though I think that one of the greatest strengths of this poem is the delicate way in which various possibilities of reading it present themselves, as a result of the carefully chosen language, enjambment and lack of punctuation, I must say that it was the lack of hyphens that made me stop more than once! Grr! I was also stopped at this line: "corruption off soft birth water borne". I was reading it as "wash man's cities' corruption off", which is fine, and I can also read "soft birth water borne / mariner" in at least two different ways: "soft birth-water borne mariner" or "soft-birth water-borne mariner". I can't, however, conjugate either of these possibilities with the first half of that line, "corruption off", unless I go by the sound alone and read: "man's cities' corruption, of soft birth-water borne". But to do that, I need to stop and go back and re-read "off" in a way that is different from the one I had read the first time, in order to be able to go on. Maybe it's just me - I wouldn't be surprised, since English isn't my language - but it's never a good thing when the reader has to stop just to get his or her bearings.

The last line also struck me as inferior, when comparing with the language of the rest of the poem. A little too colourless, and "gone" being a near-rhyme with "borne" adds a sing-song feeling that is a bit of a let down after what was a really good piece with clear-cut images.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

see how they roll

see
how they roll
the lowly rollie-pollies,
of plates in 7 concentric rows,
they like a tiny rhino plowing its way
into most young hearts, playing backyard
games they hide and seek, under wet rocks
and stepping stones, oh these dull grey marbles
lives feeding on decay, ick and rot, 14 swimmerets
when threatened tuck in to become a bowling ball
crustaceans hurled in curled up hinges, pill bugs
terrified rolling upon those little grubby palms
as if cousins of armadillos, they play dead
as backyard opossums, but smaller
even than a hedgehog, we
see how they
roll

--- HotKittySpank​

This one is just delicious to read. The image took me back to kindergarten and what now seem like hours at a time spent playing with those strange creatures. The repeated references to other animals dropped throughout the poem add a lot to it as well - a good strategy. It would be worth it to revise a number of tiny flaws - it almost look as if you suppressed some necessary or added needless commas in order to get the layout to be rounder, and things like "they like a tiny rhino plowing its way / into most young hearts": you left out the verb in the first part, and that "most" in the second is, I think a weak word to use in a poem.

One thing that can be said about the best examples of this sort of graphic poetry, and in this case it is definitely true, is that one can read the words and appreciate the poem completely, almost without realising the shape. It's difficult to do this without compromising the message or turning it all into a gimmick, but you pulled it off.


PS: It wouldn't be a bad idea, after you're pleased with the wording, to work this in a graphic suit to perfect the shape and submit it as an illustrated poem, as an image. If you're interested in that, I may be able to help with the technical stuff.

PPS: Dictionary.com says "roly-polies"

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Don't worry, Bee happy.

Not an apple, not even Eve's
would be had without the bees
and their dizzying dances
telling other bees where all the sexiest
flowers are (sharing resources).

Honeybees traipse the carpet of clover, dust
the simple singles
delve into doubles and tumble in
the trumpets of spring and summer
in love with nature's sex--talk about loving
your job! And we love them
enough to build them houses, to try
to keep them, busy and prophetic

but the sad truth is
they are dying except in Australia
(too many mites envy their honest industry)
so buy all the royal jelly
that you can. And if the bees seem
drawn to you, take it as
a compliment: you must smell
delicious.

--- cherries_on_snow​

Ah, a fellow admirer of the burlesque! Some animals really do ask for it. I enjoyed the way this poem read - from the prosaic down to the asides. I only stumbled on two occasions: at the word "resources", because it felt an awkward word to use immediately following "sexiest flowers", which linked sex with pollinisation - and juxtaposing "sharing resources" with sex made me think of the bees as exploiters, taking advantage of the poor Eastern-European immigrant sex-slave flowers. The other occasion was - curiously - at the mention of the word "sex" in the second stanza. It struck me as needless repetition, since you had already made use of that metaphor before and moved on.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Polar Bear Pangs

I watched her shield
grumpy children
as she dodged rain and cars
to cross the road, watched

the kids' heads rise
at the hot chips and burger
smell escaping double doors

under the golden arches,
saw them pounce a puddle
with both feet. She nudged

them inside, cosseted
into a corner table
and smiled as they chomped

and talked fast, chewed
and played in the warmth. Hands
curled around the cappuccino
and she smiled.

--- wildsweetone​

This is great! A total departure from what I was expecting when issuing the challenge, but very true to the spirit and yes - symbolism. That mother-bear is present all through the poem, much beyond the title. It made me smile as well, seeing this family through your eyes. The only criticism I have right now goes to the (to me apparent) randomness of some of the enjambments, particularly "with both feet. She nudged // them inside, cosseted". I don't see any advantage in either line from that break, and even more considering it's a stanza break. The break between the first and second stanzas, on the other hand, is perfect.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias)
Nisqually Delta, Spring 2006

His cry is more croak
than call, a reptile sound
that manifests
—with that wingspan,
with that neck—
a pterodactyl past.

I watch him
snap and still a snake.
Posed, he swallows,
wriggling it down.

My wonderful shy fossil.

--- Tzara​

This is a strange one, but I like strange. It feels to me like two fragments of two different poems - the first stanza, and then the rest. That first stanza is perfect. Incomplete, yes, but image and the language complement each other in a very stark and effective manner.

The second part is different, though. I'm not sure if there was anything gained by bringing the narrator into the poem. There's movement added to the image, action, but it clashes with the fossil aspect - particularly "wriggling". I can see a living fossil snapping and stilling its prey, and I can certainly see it posing and swallowing, but for a fossil to wriggle, I think it would be shying away from being a fossil.

Still in this second part, I had some trouble juxtaposing the heron's reptilian past in the first stanza and last line with the fact that its prey is a snake. I mean, I didn't have trouble with these two things, but with the connection between them being completely absent in the poem. It just jarred at me.


Edited to add: OK, now I'm rereading and feeling like an idiot for missing this possibility. It's the heron that snaps and, still, it is a snake, a reptile, a living fossil. Is that what you meant?

 

[Hippokrene]

- "It's my worst nightmare," surfer Ian Kimball said -
- lifeguards claim Kathrein started screaming seconds before the attack, he doesn't remember -
- a friend saw his shredded shorts and a deep gash in his left thigh -
- bit a roughly 1 square foot out of Tiffee's back and left other bite marks on his buttocks, his left hand and the left side of his face -
- taking two bites out of his foot -
- 200 stitches to close after -
- dangling from its mouth -
- saying it felt like a vise or a bear trap bearing down on him -
- killed an elderly woman off a Cape Town beach -
- lost his right leg -
- legs were hanging over the sides of his surfboard -
- pulled me and my board under the water -
- it came out of nowhere, it came fast, and it killed his partner -
- then clamped down on the 11-year-old's right forearm -
- Coast Guard recovered the headless body of a diver -
- A red swimming cap was all that was found, despite a sea and air search -

 

[annaswirls]

Ah ha, values are not so black and white, panda sees that.

I liked the rambling panda language you used here....almost child-like innocent listing quality, written, of course, by a mature poet that pulls it off wonderfully. I wanted more about ladies, having read it again. Maybe I am missing something.

Thanks for the challenge! I can't believe I almost missed the comment date

Fine. I'll go first, you wimps.

Burlesque With Panda

I'm a ladies' man
said the guest with a wink
to the concerned chat show host.

It's true after all
I said to myself.
This time it was an artist
a crooner of romantic ballads
but I remembered the policeman
the intellectual and the doctor
and also the carpenter
and the famous footballer
and that one actor
and I don't know how many
television chat show hosts.
They all know each other
shop at the same supermarket
and are ladies' men.
And it's not that they are
but that so many people
enjoy listening to them
assuring that they are.

To my surprise
(but I'm by nature distracted)
I noticed that the woman
who said
I'm a men's lady
wasn't welcomed
with the same cheerfulness.
She was even
inscribed on the blacklist
of the shameless whores
but the famous ones.

I would like to understand
but I cannot.
Perhaps because I'm not
a man or a woman.

I am a panda.

Don't get me wrong
men and women
I can do without
but I like pandas.​

 

[annaswirls]

ha! I have often felt like the mama bear enjoyed!

not sure i've got the hang of the idea of this, but here goes...

Polar Bear Pangs

I watched her shield
grumpy children
as she dodged rain and cars
to cross the road, watched

the kids' heads rise
at the hot chips and burger
smell escaping double doors

under the golden arches,
saw them pounce a puddle
with both feet. She nudged

them inside, cosseted
into a corner table
and smiled as they chomped

and talked fast, chewed
and played in the warmth. Hands
curled around the cappuccino
and she smiled.

 

[annaswirls]

Excellent use of sound here, your hard C with cry and croak and call give a birdlike sound to start and your other alliterations work well too.

I love the idea of you watching a living fossil, and this is a well constructed piece, in my humble opinion, I was not crazy about the wording of the last line. Too cushy, the "wonderful" , I think could use a rehaul.

wish I had written this

~J

Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias)
Nisqually Delta, Spring 2006

His cry is more croak
than call, a reptile sound
that manifests
—with that wingspan,
with that neck—
a pterodactyl past.

I watch him
snap and still a snake.
Posed, he swallows,
wriggling it down.

My wonderful shy fossil.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Fish

One out of water
Is one far from home
I now assume that posture
Gasping on my side
Powerless appendages twitching
And I long for gills
As my throat is filled
I wished to be jawless
Or for a slit in my ribs
To detect subtle currents
Or for the nerves
Able to produce electric currents
For fending off predators
Anything
To contend with sandy grains of air

Oh
Moving eyes, because that’s possible
Pisces is rising
Consider the constellation
Its stars’ names and meaning
Alrescha: the ropes
Okda: knot
Fum al Samakah: mouth of the fish
The house of fish is 12th and last
The house of death
The tiny deaths
Ropes and knots and open mouths

Everything is underwater now
Thoughts coming further apart
Like: Anais Nin was a Pisces
Then: I wanted to be fluid
And: I have no control over this
Finally: I ask only for breath

His hook through the mouth
A tiny death

I no longer believe
Fish are below or beyond pain

Nor, I now realize, am I.

--- SpectaclesInSkirt​

This is the first poem by SpectaclesInSkirt I read, and I'm completely hooked. I had some trouble initially, with a fish "out of water / Is one far from home / I now assume that posture", because I don't think that the image given by the rest of the poem, an image of (approaching) death, is easily conjugated with being (already) far from home. Perhaps it's only a matter of the way I am reading it, or my background.

The rest of the poem is spotless, really high-quality. I especially loved the progressive fragmentation. I'm not sure if the last line is absolutely necessary, but it's all good.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Ah ha, values are not so black and white, panda sees that.

That's good! The world isn't black and white even for pandas. Damn, I should have thought of it!

 

[annaswirls]

That's good! The world isn't black and white even for pandas. Damn, I should have thought of it!

oh shush, you did

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Kangaroo (rat?)

Is it their big eyes
or cartoonlike tail
the way they hop not scurry or scramble?

I cannot call them by their name.

They may steal seed from our birds
tear insulation under the house
who knows if they carry some sort of disease.

I promise my husband I will kill them.
but it is a lie.

--- annaswirls​

Thank you for bringing the kangaroo-rat back. I didn't know this animal, but now that you made me google, I see how close I was to knowing it after reading your poem. Those "big eyes" and "cartoonlike tail" are too cute! There's a full-stop too many at the end of "I promise my husband I will kill them" - or maybe it is correct and you need to capitalise the last line.

 

[annaswirls]

Kangaroo (rat?)

Is it their big eyes
or cartoonlike tail
the way they hop not scurry or scramble?

I cannot call them by their name.

They may steal seed from our birds
tear insulation under the house
who knows if they carry some sort of disease.

I promise my husband I will kill them.
but it is a lie.

--- annaswirls​

Thank you for bringing the kangaroo-rat back. I didn't know this animal, but now that you made me google, I see how close I was to knowing it after reading your poem. Those "big eyes" and "cartoonlike tail" are too cute! There's a full-stop too many at the end of "I promise my husband I will kill them" - or maybe it is correct and you need to capitalise the last line.

good catch, thank you

the dog is now trying to eat them. never a dull day.

wheeeee!!!

 

[Never]

Lauren Hynde

And it's not that they are
but that so many people
enjoy listening to them
assuring that they are.

I think this is my favorite line of the poem. When I read it, it makes me want to know who the 'people' are and why the narrator thinks they want to be assured that these are ladies' men.

I noticed that the woman
who said
I'm a men's lady
wasn't welcomed
with the same cheerfulness.

Solid.

The poem until this point has felt like a set-up and this is where I as a reader say, "Ah, this is a poem about social inequality between men and women."

I would like to understand
but I cannot.
Perhaps because I'm not
a man or a woman.

I am a panda.

At which point, Never gets this confused little bug-eyed expression because the poem has leapt off the roof without her. I scan back up the poem, trying to understand where the panda come from and how it has anything to do with what's been said. I scratch my baldhead, continue with the poem, and never do figure it out.

The panda just feels random to me. I don't see how this poem "represents or illustrates the symbolic meaning of [a panda]." For a moment, I wondered if this might be cultural as pandas aren't exactly back of my cultural background. I did some searching and it turns out that in Taoist images, the panda is symbolic of Man. I'm not certain how that fits into your poem.

One more point, stories sometimes make use of a character called the 'innocent observer.' Many times this is a child but Brave New World and Stranger in a Strange Land are two well-known examples of adults who haven't been indoctrinated into a cultural milieu. This character provides the audience with fresh eyes with which to see elements of civilization.

You seem to want to set up the panda as an innocent observer. I'm making this assumption the "I would like to understand but I cannot" line and the use of an animal to view human interactions. However, many of the comments made don't fit that mindset. An outsider could pick up that the men are giving a positive reaction for say they're ladies' men and that the women aren't for the equivalent. But the observation that "it's not that they are but that so many people enjoy listening to them assuring that they are" is shaky and "She was even inscribed on the blacklist of the shameless whores" sounds like the voice of someone who was raised on the inside of the gender wars.

 

[Never]

Tzara:
His cry is more croak
than call, a reptile sound
that manifests
—with that wingspan,
with that neck—
a pterodactyl past.

I feel you on this one. I'm an avid bird watcher and often see them as reptiles with plumage.

Posed, he swallows,
wriggling it down.

Again, this is something I've seen myself and enjoyed. The way a bird's body can be utterly still while it tosses back its head and then distends its neck as some poor beast slides whole into its belly.

My wonderful shy fossil.

This is my only niggle. The bird you're describing sounds wild while I tend to reserve the word 'my' for pets, children, lovers, and friends. The discord seems to be in the way we view our relationship with the animal instead of a flaw in the poem, however.

 

[champagne1982]

An Ode to the Doves of Lovelady grove

The sinking sun tickled tall timbered pines
cues a Dove to sing a song without rhyme.
Carrying her cries across a lazy green meadow
a breeze that blows by Lovelady Grove's widow.

Sitting on the front porch in a bench swing
a Lady alone with thoughts and her dreams.
Wrapped in her past and humming a tune
swinging and gazing at the slow rising moon.

Paired partners fly and unite out of love
one will survive and become a solo dove.
Every evening she sings her lonely song
nestled in the forest till her days are gone.

Patiently she waits as her loneliness grows
an Ode to the Doves of Lovelady Grove.

This is a solid start to a longer poem, I think. It doesn't feel quite finished. I know, much longer and you're gonna flog the hide off that dead horse dove/love/glove rhyme. It's lovely to see you playing with near and eye rhymes though, Art. Please continue this story and edit the hell out of it when you wrap it all up. Lovelady has good bone structure.

 

[champagne1982]

Fine. I'll go first, you wimps.

Burlesque With Panda

I'm a ladies' man
said the guest with a wink
to the concerned chat show host.

It's true after all
I said to myself.
This time it was an artist
a crooner of romantic ballads
but I remembered the policeman
the intellectual and the doctor
and also the carpenter
and the famous footballer
and that one actor
and I don't know how many
television chat show hosts.
They all know each other
shop at the same supermarket
and are ladies' men.
And it's not that they are
but that so many people
enjoy listening to them
assuring that they are.

To my surprise
(but I'm by nature distracted)
I noticed that the woman
who said
I'm a men's lady
wasn't welcomed
with the same cheerfulness.
She was even
inscribed on the blacklist
of the shameless whores
but the famous ones.

I would like to understand
but I cannot.
Perhaps because I'm not
a man or a woman.

I am a panda.

Don't get me wrong
men and women
I can do without
but I like pandas.​

I did some symbolism searching just through google. I didn't get too much apart from pandas are the national symbol for China and represent happiness.
I can feel happiness in your poem as you show your reader how to avoid long standing gender issues and just simply, be happy with what you are -- in your case, a panda.

 

[champagne1982]

not sure i've got the hang of the idea of this, but here goes...

Polar Bear Pangs

I watched her shield
grumpy children
as she dodged rain and cars
to cross the road, watched

the kids' heads rise
at the hot chips and burger
smell escaping double doors

under the golden arches,
saw them pounce a puddle
with both feet. She nudged

them inside, cosseted
into a corner table
and smiled as they chomped

and talked fast, chewed
and played in the warmth. Hands
curled around the cappuccino
and she smiled.

I love your poem and you're not far off about the mother bear's sacrifices she makes for her cubs. They represent a major genetic investment on her part, not to mention the caloric strain she must be under.

Hunger pangs indeed.