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Poetry Duel 20 featured Rebecca Bardelli and a poem, "Angels and Demons", from her recently published collection Soul Echoes against a classic written by Emily Dickinson, "Beauty be not caused - It Is".
Ms. Bardelli won with a 4.67 rating! The Dickinson poem was only 3.67, much lower than previous Dickinson poems. Soul Echoes is a fabulous collection, now out on both ebook and paperback. Angels and Demons I took the time to delve deep into your eyes. I saw winged seraphim in crystal skies. I also saw devils with fire starting rage Contained within a strong steel cage I chose to love your demons and your angels - To dip your flames deep into my loving well. To focus on the white wings within your soul - While loving you not in part, but in whole. Beauty Be Not Caused - It Is Beauty - be not caused - It Is - Chase it, and it ceases Chase it not, and it abides - Overtake the creases In the meadow - when the wind Runs his fingers through it - Deity will see to it That you never do it.
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Poetry Duel 19 was another close-run thing.
One of my poems from Scenes, "Dance", was on the left. It was intended as inspirational for kids as they transitioned out of high school. It "wins" with a rating of 4.00. On the right was a Carl Sandburg poem "Dancer" which has a decidedly seedier outlook. It is not of a popular style for Mr. Sandburg's poetry, though it is indicative of how, even for great artists, there are some works less well remembered. "Dancer" garnered the same number of votes but a much lower 3.5 average rating. Dance Dance Figuratively or literally Find the happiness And let it out. Dance No matter what comes For tomorrow the sun Will rise again. Dance Because the alternative Is to soak in the crying; To bend under the weight Dance There is always some joy, A bit of the beautiful Let it be your guide. Dancer The lady in red, she in the chile con carne red, Brilliant as the shine of a pepper crimson in the summer sun, She behind a false-face, the much sought-after dancer, the most sought-after dancer of all in this masquerade, The lady in red sox and red hat, ankles of willow, crimson arrow amidst the Spanish clashes of music, I sit in a corner watching her dance first with one man and then another. For Poetry Duel 18 I hinted at the start that I was going to mix it up and that is what I did!
Duel 18 featured a Robert Frost poem on the left, "Spring Pools", and "When Spring Goes By" by Duncan Campbell Scott on the right. Mr. Frost needs no introduction; Mr. Scott was famous for a while at the end of the 19th century and first half of the 20th, and may still be in his native Canada, but I had never heard of him until recently. So, technically, Duel 18 had two "famous" poets. Frost won, rather convincingly, with an average rating of 4.0 to Mr. Scott's 3.0. Spring Pools These pools that, though in forests, still reflect The total sky almost without defect, And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver, Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone, And yet not out by any brook or river, But up by roots to bring dark foliage on. The trees that have it in their pent-up buds To darken nature and be summer woods - Let them think twice before they use their powers To blot out and drink up and sweep away These flowery waters and these watery flowers From snow that melted only yesterday. When Spring Goes By The winds that on the uplands softly lie, Grow keener where the ice is lingering still Where the first robin on the sheltered hill Pipes blithely to the tune, "When Spring goes by!" Hear him again, "Spring! Spring!" He seems to cry, Haunting the fall of the flute-throated rill, That keeps a gentle, constant, silver thrill, While he is restless in his ecstasy. Ah! the soft budding of the virginal woods, Of the frail fruit trees by the vanishing lakes: There's the new moon where the clear sunset floods, A trace of dew upon the rose leaf sky; And hark! what rapture the glad robin wakes- "When Spring goes by; Spring! Spring! When Spring goes by." Poetry Duel 14 featured returning guest poet Cheyenne Bramwell and her poem "Never Turn Around" on the left up against Sylvia Plath and her poem "Mad Girl's Love Song" on the right.
The result...the most votes for a Duel yet AND...by a margin of one vote, Cheyenne wins! Both poems were very well received both getting an average rating of better than 4.5, being the fourth and fifth highest rated poems in all of the Duels! Cheyenne Bramwell is an adrenaline junky, poet, and author who runs a daily poetry blog, and is in the process of a handful of fiction projects, including one that's been going for over a decade! She's new to sharing her work with the world, so if you'd like to let her know what you think of this poem, tweet her at @PoemsbyCheyenne! You can find her poetry blog at poemafterpoem.weebly.com, or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/poemsbyCheyenne. You can also support her on at patreon.com/poetrybyCheyenne and get a personalized poem! Never Turn Around When the darkness has eyes that glow and claws that catch, and feet that slide unseen through the night, When their howls and moans raise the hair on your arms and neck- that is when you run. Have swift steps towards the light, and don't let them smell the fear that is gnawing at your insides, or hear the scream of mindless terror that is tearing at your throat. They are deadly enough without any encouragement. But if they know of your doubts and your nightmares, then you will never be safe. Once they have tasted that small part of you, they will use it. It will fuel them and turn every single monster, to a never-ending hoard. No matter where you go, they will find you. Everywhere you look, you will find their eyes and deep-throated whispers. Once you've met their eyes, they will never leave you. So whatever you do- even if their footsteps are charging towards you- even if their fetid breath is searing the back of your neck- if you can almost feel the grasp of their rotten hands on your skin- don't turn around. And never look into their eyes. ++++++++++ Mad Girl's Love Song I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan’s men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I fancied you’d return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.) Duel 13 was yet another tie and again, a complete tie. Both poems got the same number of votes and both had a 3.50 rating.
On the left was famous "beat" poem Allen Ginsberg and his "The Terms in Which I Think of Reality". Ginsberg rose to fame in the 1950s as the pre-eminent "beat" poet and was an icon through the turbulent '60s and '70s. On the left was Justin Bienvenue's "Brutal Mentality" from his self-published Like a Box of Chocolate. Justin's poetry definitely takes a different tack than a lot of the other "unknown" poets featured here but I like it and it has a certain dark optimism. The Terms in Which I Think of Reality Reality is a question of realizing how real the world is already. Time is Eternity, ultimate and immovable; everyone's an angel. It's Heaven's mystery of changing perfection : absolute Eternity changes! Cars are always going down the street, lamps go off and on. It's a great flat plain; we can see everything on top of a table. Clams open on the table, lambs are eaten by worms on the plain. The motion of change is beautiful, as well as form called in and out of being. Next : to distinguish process in its particularity with an eye to the initiation of gratifying new changes desired in the real world. Here we're overwhelmed with such unpleasant detail we dream again of Heaven. For the world is a mountain of shit : if it's going to be moved at all, it's got to be taken by handfuls. Man lives like the unhappy whore on River Street who in her Eternity gets only a couple of bucks and a lot of snide remarks in return for seeking physical love the best way she knows how, never really heard of a glad job or joyous marriage or a difference in the heart : or thinks it isn't for her, which is her worst misery. +++++++++++++++ Brutal Mentality To be considerate of others Is for the way of the wise There’s more fighters than lovers Leaving us with blackened eyes They give without taking Ask without permission Their actions they are faking Yet there’s no lining of suspicion If only the brain burned Upon thinking too much Maybe then they’d be concerned Of others feelings and such But they don’t and it’s a joke Only thinking of themselves The mind is but a broken yolk Your like dust on a shelf Collected and forgotten Looked upon from time to time It’s as if your aura is rotten It’s as if you’ve committed a crime But they are in the wrong Needing a check back into reality Perhaps their intentions all along Pushing us with brutal mentality There’s a party going on And everyone’s having a good time And if you haven’t done so already Lick the walls they taste like strawberries But the room is really concrete white There’s actually rats crawling out of holes Only one person is in the room Licking the walls will lead to lead poisoning The twelfth duel continues the series of close results. Both poems got the same number of votes but, in a change, the "established" poet's poem was rated higher. On the right was Maya Angelou's poem "My Younger Days" which gained an average rating of 4.5. On the left, finishing second, was my own poem "Overtaken" which was written for a 30 poems in 30 days competition.
My Younger Days When I was in my younger days, I weighed a few pounds less, I needn't hold my tummy in to wear a belted dress. But now that I am older, I've set my body free; There's the comfort of elastic Where once my waist would be. Inventor of those high-heeled shoes My feet have not forgiven; I have to wear a nine now, But used to wear a seven. And how about those pantyhose- They're sized by weight, you see, So how come when I put them on The crotch is at my knee? I need to wear these glasses As the print's been getting smaller; And it wasn't very long ago I know that I was taller. Though my hair has turned to gray and my skin no longer fits, On the inside, I'm the same old me, It's the outside's changed a bit. Overtaken Work! Deadlines! The mad rush to get the errands done Without much thought The eyes lose focus, the head spins All you want is the merry-go-round To stop. A single brown and white bird Sits on the branch outside the window A few brave buds dotting its length. The bird, a sparrow, bursts into song And a blast of sunlight Speckles its beak and wings. You listen And the argument in the cubicle Next door fades; the insistent Reminder on the computer is a little Less insistent and you notice The daffodils blooming by the walk For the first time Overtaken by spring. For Poetry Duel 10 I am very pleased to welcome Cheyenne Bramwell who graciously contributed one of her poems for the duel. And she WON!
Cheyenne's poem "Grim Insights" tied for most votes on any duel and got the highest rating yet (4.67)! Cheyenne does something that I find amazing - posts a new original poem every day. She is self-described as an adrenaline junky, poet, and author who runs a daily poetry blog, and is in the process of a handful of fiction projects, including one that's been going for over a decade! She's new to sharing her work with the world, so if you'd like to let her know what you think of this poem, tweet her at @PoemsbyCheyenne! You can find her poetry blog at poemafterpoem.weebly.com, or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/poemsbyCheyenne. You can also support her on patreon.com/poetrybyCheyenne and get a personalized poem! The "losing" poem, with an average rating of 4.4 (third best in the Duel so far) was Emily Dickinson's "Because I Could Not Stop for Death" which I found in The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Grim Insights Death is haunted by humans. Who says that Death is evil? Depicted as he is, with a black cloak and a curved blade, ready to rend souls from their mortal shell. It's unfair and biased. For someone who has to watch the best and the worst of all human experiences, who holds the hand of the lonely dying, who cradles the forgotten children in his arms as they waste away before his eyes, who sees an endless sea of flickering candles extinguished one by one by a phantom breath, he is saddled with all of our fears, worries, and nightmares. But don't you think he has his own memories of us all? Don't you think he dreams of our tear-soaked faces, our last words and thoughts? Does he hear our voices as we sing, shout, scream, or whisper our last breaths? Does he wonder why some of us struggle and fight with our last ounce of strength to live, while others leap into oblivion because of hopelessness, sorrow, or desperation? I think he wonders at the worlds going on inside our hearts and our minds. Because he only gets a glimpse into our final moments on this earth. His everlasting collection of last pages must fill whole volumes. Imagine how much you'd want to read the rest, if the last page was the only gift you were ever given. Because I Could Not Stop for Death Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility – We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun – Or rather – He passed us – The Dews drew quivering and chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle – We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground – The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground – Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses’ Heads Were toward Eternity – TIE! Both poems got exactly the same votes and both had exactly the same rating, tied for second-highest rating in all of the duels (I guess the voters liked the poems this week!)
The "established" poem was the one on the right, "Tableau at Twilight" by Ogden Nash, that I have, in my library, in a collection called Poem Stew, published as a book for middle grades and available at Biblio (out of print) for as little as $3.97. The poem on the left was my own "Competition" from my collection Transitions. Tableau at Twilight I sit in the dusk. I am all alone. Enter a child and an ice-cream cone. A parent is easily beguiled By the sight of this coniferous child. The friendly embers warmer gleam, The cone begins to drip ice cream. Cones are composed of many a vitamin. My lap is not the place to bitamin. Although my raiment is not chinchilla, I flinch to see it become vanilla. Coniferous child, when vanilla melts I'd rather it melted somewhere else. Exit child with remains of cone, I sit in the dusk. I am all alone, Muttering spells like an angry Druid, Alone, in the dusk, with the cleaning fluid. Competition I like to see the eyes of my opponent I like them to know I’m there I like it when I watch the hope Of victory fade from their eyes I like to see the triumph played out And the agony of defeat I like to watch the satisfaction Of a victory well-won No vindictiveness, no taunting No “trash-talking”, no “head games” Play hard, play to win But remember, it’s only a game For the fun is in playing well And the fun is in the challenge The fun is in a worthy opponent And in learning a new stratagem Smile and laugh and do your best Come back and play again Life’s too short to hassle on it But I want to see you play. |
AuthorMe as a critic (be careful! the harshness will be well concealed!) Archives
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