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In the chat we discussed posting our work for comment. I said that most of my "real poetry" was "modern" and didn't rhyme. In the true spirit of pervesity, here's one that rhymes. It was written one morning sitting on a beach in Oludeniz. Dragons Above the sea two dragons fight Their wings ablaze with morning light They swoop they dive, they turn and soar Two titans in balletic war. Red, about to win the day Without warning falls away And Blue, quick with Angelic grace Dips sharply down to give the chase. Skimming on the waves they come Towards the shore they're driven on. Together as they reach the sand In silent symmetry they land. And the men who took them to the sky Shed their wings - the dragons die. Become only silk upon a frame Their dragon fight a human game. Bob Hale,2002 Vescere bracis meis. Read all about my travels around the world here. | ||
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I took the liberty to make some recommended changes in your poem, Bob, and zapped it to you in a private message. Thank you for introducing me to Oludeniz! I never heard of it before, and it looks extremely attractive. ~~~ jerry | |||
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Bob, I loved your poem. When I read it, I could actually envision the dragons swooping...see the colors...it was magical. Thanks for sharing it. While I can understand Jerry not wanting to post his suggestions, I would love to see what he had to say. Jerry, thanks for that link because I, too, had not heard of Oludeniz. | |||
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quote: Dear Bob, Kalleh's wish is my urgent command We do hope that you'll understand You requested comments On your dragon events And "Post Now" is here close at hand. edited poem Above the sea two dragons fight Their wings ablaze with morning light They swoop they dive, they turn and soar Two titans in balletic war. Red, about to win the day Surrenders; slipping, falls away And Blue, quick with Angelic grace Dips deftly downward, giving chase. Skimming over waves they sail Shoreward, driven by the gale. Together as they reach the sand In silent symmetry they land. As men who took them to the sky Shed their wings - the dragons die. They're simply silk sewn on a frame This dragon fight's a human game. [modified, for your approval, by ~~~ jerry] | |||
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. [This message was edited by TrossL on Thu Jun 5th, 2003 at 7:38.] | |||
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You're right again, TrossL. I surrender. The grossest of my gross errors is that I thought they were not kites, but hang gliders, for which OLUDENIZ is famous. Another error seems to have been my assumption that the poet was seeking suggestions. I surrender. The queen has spoken. ~~~ jerry | |||
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. [This message was edited by TrossL on Thu Jun 5th, 2003 at 7:38.] | |||
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quote: The poet was. And they were hang-gliders. Any and all critique is welcome Jerry so don't feel that your suggestions are unappreciated. Now personally I also like my original better but I have a feeling that this might be bacause my phrasing sounds more natural to an English ear. In the last verse I chose to use "Becomes" to emphasise the transformation aspect from mythical dragon to mundane artifact and the last line then is more or less forced to run on as a transformation from dragonfight to human game. I did appreciate the suggestions though and would appreciate any others that you, or others have to make. Vescere bracis meis. Read all about my travels around the world here. | |||
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Bob, your poem is Outstanding. Changing the original might be seen as carrying coal to Newcastle, or carrying water to the river, or ...... as Shakespeare wrote, To gild refinéd gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Onto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. [King John, Act 4, scene 2] Thanks again for widening my horizons. ~~~ jerry | |||
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But it's really hard to quit. This is the best offer I've had all week !! Quoth the queen: quote: No sooner said than | |||
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Comments are cordially invited. Sitting alone in Hawaii, looking eastward to the sea, the following occurred to me Out of the woods Out of the blue Out of the rain Out of the dew Out of sight Out of sound Out of synch Out of bounds Out of garbage Out of trash Out of verbiage Out of cash Out of control Out of time Out of step Out of rhyme Out of cilantro Out of thyme Out of lemon Out of lime Out of cousins Out of uncles Out of parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Out of Simons & Garfunkels Out of the future Out of the past Out of the present Out of the cast Out of my country Outrage tumescent Out of humanity Star, Cross, & Crescent Out of India Out of Outback Out of Korea Out of Iraq Out of the story Out of the plot Out with the truth Out, out, damned spot! Out of Limericks Out of fractals Out of puns Out of dactyls Out of place Out of focus Out of double- dactylosis Out of money Out of food Out of this subjunctive mood Out of vodka Out of beer Out of pot Out of here Out of print Out of sorts Out of boredom Outdoor sports Out of the east Out of the west Out with the least Out with the best Out of commision Out of date Out of omission Out too late Out of the windward Out of the lee Out of kindness Out of curiosity Out of sight Out of mind Out of ..... Oh, never mind. | |||
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I rather like this poem for its "stream of consciousness" feel. I think (and I hope you'll agree) that you could possibly tighten it up a little with some slight revision - nothing very major though. This kind of poetry stands or falls on two things - the rhythmic structure when recited and the juxtapositions of images. On the whole this stands pretty well in both areas. Some specific comments follow. None of it's meant to be especially critical (it's years since I wrote any Eng.Lit. criticisms at school and we were always encouraged to be overly critical of the works we were picking apart.) quote: All in all a clever piece of work. Vescere bracis meis. Read all about my travels around the world here. | |||
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Rather reminds me of something by Thomas Hood. No sun — no moon! No morn — no noon! No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day — No sky — no earthly view — No distance looking blue — No road — no street — no t'other side the way — No end to any Row — No indications where the Crescents go — No top to any steeple — No recognitions of familiar people — No courtesies for showing 'em — No knowing 'em! No traveling at all — no locomotion — No inkling of the way — no notion — "No go" by land or ocean — No mail — no post — No news from any foreign coast — No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility — No company — no nobility — No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member — No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds — November! | |||
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No no no November ...... might generate ... ...... Yes yes yes yesterday ....... May may may maybe | |||
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OK, here's one I wrote to pay tribute to one of my favorite poetic features. Please pick it apart! alliterative alliance alliteration always amuses in sounding out situations pinpointing prey and mutually-minded mates attentive adulation affectionate adoration for the astrally aswoon and ardently amorous keenly committed to digital devotion splendiferous spontaneity in wizened wit grand gregariousness sharpened smarts incisive intelligence monolithic mirth glandular glee and high-minded hysterics for our dynamic didactic duo terrific teaching twosome perfect perceptive pupils awesome academic achievers long-headed loving learners who share studious sessions and diligent ditherings savvy salacious smart-alecks they be rambunctious reading rompers witty wistful whizzes and voracious visionary virtuals perspicacious perambulatory perpetrators in partnership totally top-flight titillating titans acclaimed accommodating accomplished accolytes in accord she subliminally shivers in his enthusiastic embrace and humongous hugs while he caressingly cares and feelingly fondles this undoubtedly unfathomably understandably virtual vixen clamorous click jubilant junction fortuitous fusion for those who unequivocally ululate copiously copulate amazingly amalgamate and joyously join fuelled fired up firmed and forthcoming are these wonderful winners writing wreath-bearers wild Web wayfarers in intercontinental intercourse and alliterative alliance | |||
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