We Need Your Votes!! in the Anthology Thread of the February 2012 SDMB Poetry Sweatshop!

Cafe Society
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It is 9 PM EDT on Monday, March 12 - the February 2012 Poetry Sweatshop will close an hour from now. In the meantime, I will start posting the poems I’ve received thus far, and I’ll start the poll at 10 PM. As I write this, interested poets still have one hour to submit something.

Past poets (and I) have greatly appreciated people’s comments and feedback on the works presented here. I have one simple request - please wait one hour until the Sweatshop officially ends at 10 PM before posting anything else. That way, the first replies are all just the poems. After 10 PM - yes, please, we welcome your input!

I just want to emphasize the importance of voting - the poets are depending on you for an outside opinion of their work. The poll is by secret ballot, so no one need ever know how you voted. As we have done for the last few months, I will make this a multiple choice poll.

Please note that the poll is seeking your favourite poem - no special knowledge of poetry required. Whichever poems strike a chord with you, please give them your vote. And, though the choice will be difficult, please take the time to choose at least one poem.

I also want to mention that because of our working method, all of the following poems will be posted under my user name, which may lead people to think that I am trying to claim authorship. Only one of the following poems is mine - the authors’ names may be found in the spoiler boxes at the bottom of each reply.

The three words this month (randomly selected from my copy of the complete works of John Milton) are:

Prophecy
Give
Wandering

And so, allow me to present our poets’ work for this February…

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An oracle told me, “I give
You only a few weeks to live”
My life, since this prophecy
Has been much less officey
More wandering, more joie de vivre.

Appallinggael

3

We with the gift of prophecy are given no honor.
So I will give you what I gave to John Connor
Close your eyes and keep your head down,
no one will take you so don’t buy the gown.
I told her you can’t be a good mother and be a bad wife,
that wise hearths do not foment anger and strife.
Has any one listened and has any one cared?
The dark master approaches, don’t think you will be spared.
Wandering minstrels now seem out of tune,
It all seemed so easy that cold morning in June.
My heart grew three sizes the day that we met
in order to make room for the pain that I’d get.
If not for contentment then why were we made?
I don’t miss the tree but I do miss the shade.
Never knew I was playing until I had lost,
he numbers the days while I’m counting the cost.
I am not like the others, I’m like crackers and jam.
Doesn’t anyone here know how special I am?

puddleglum

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Not for me a quiet life of hearth and home!
No, though I warned them I was not worthy
of the burden they placed on my frail shoulders,
it was decreed that I must take ship far away,
leaving those fair shores, that ineffable light,
and give my all to the cause of defeating the enemy:
my time, my passion, my spirit, indeed my very life.

I had no gift of prophecy, no talent for battle then;
what I acquired came to me only with difficulty.
Neither king nor master was I, but rather a counsellor,
wandering wherever I might, a sage, a friend in grey,
kindling fires of hope and courage and resolution
in those of great hearts and sinewy arms; and
thus, through the lonely, hopeful strivings of long years,
did I prepare the way for the dark foe’s downfall.

And while it was smaller hands which sealed his doom,
I played my part, I think, and soon will return to the blessed West.
Tired am I, weary to my bones; old, too old in body and spirit,
though content to have done what I could to bring about
this new golden age of which I have long dreamed,
and for which I have long striven,
but which I, alas, will see not.

Elendil’s Heir

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There was a prophecy foretold,
Neither young or either old,
That said the wandering man would give the world the sign.
I have wandered at my will
To find that man but still
I wander aimlessy about and have no rhyme.

Lover, I beg you take my hand.
I know it is no small demand
That you help me find the way I cannot see.
I am lost; no peace I find.
What I take just dulls my mind
And the cloudy haze no longer comforts me.

So I wander evermore
Hoping each and every door
Would but lead me to the one they say is here.
Yet each time I make it through
I find no other, save but you,
Could you be the he? Please help to make it clear.

First I cry, then I demand
But you only take my hand
And lead me back to what I’ve always had and known.
Now with sorrow I resign
Nevermore to seek the sign;
Instead to harvest all the wicked seeds I’ve sown.

melodyharmonius

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The woman at the counter notes my ravished face,
Presents my change, eyes averted and touches my finger lightly,
Sliding the ticket beneath the glass.
Continuing, I exchange an untorn token
For half of it back and a nervous glance.
“Thank-you-theater-eighteen-to-the-left?”
I keep moving so as not to spook the youth,
High shouldered in ill fitting jacket,
Indistinct as I am certain, timorous as I am brash.

New. Brimful as I am spent.

The concessions smell of entanglements:
Bright sweet candies to set a hook in my soul;
Rich greasy meats to reel me in, slathery buttered popcorns
And cheese laden nachos to anchor my soul and stay my wandering;
Cool gurgling liquids promising bouyancy,
Providing a strong current toward the proper alignment,
Directing my attention to the allowable passions
And the acceptable interests for a consumer of entertainments.
Smiling friendly faces to assure my comfort and inattention.
I have not come here to be entertained.

The seat is stained but clean, my shoes do not stick to the floor.
I sit alone in the first row, waiting for the credits to roll,
The lights to rise and the crowd to thin.
There is no message, no meaning I can take, no gift of knowledge.
I have been denied, or I have failed again, and I cannot quit this life,
Again. I must return.

I must wait for a clearer prophecy.

xenophon41

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dr valdez
was my best and most
treasured tutor.
what would i have learned
without his steady,
fluid influence
on my awareness?
his was a phd
in awake, and whenever
i close my eyes
to reminisce
about what he was able
to give me,
the prof i see
spread seeds of alertness
like magic beans.

this was
all i could give
to juan during
our collegian era:
petty relics of morgana.
her wand, her ring,
i found in the commons
beneath the dean’s window.
it was
a super office he
had the gall to transmute,
give the royal treatment
and resplendent renovation.

the magic is mine,
now, and the prophecy
i give to the wandering
soul of an adolescent:
you will be fine.

Dr_Doom

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Gathering in din and gloom,
fire sparks illuminate quick
faces. The wandering
diviners assemble thoughts and
reasonings to a heartfelt beat.
Old stoners repeat the prophecy of
a time when naysayers give way
to a better day, a better way; comprehend a
philosophy of Yes.

Becky 2844

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She was like a prophecy in flesh,
Some darker omen given human form
To curl about my spirit, to enmesh
My very essence in the growing storm
Of doom and portents dwelling in her eyes
As sweet distractions beckoned from her thighs.

For like Cassandra, tearfully ignored,
My eyes were blinded to the warning signs,
My ears were deaf to sirens as the roared
My fingers could not feel the dark designs
She had for me, and wandering there on
Her wicked curves, my lust became her pawn.

Such sweet oblivion upon her lips,
So lightly flavored with the burning heat
Of stars so hot, no form could dare eclipse
Their raging fires, nor any shield could beat
The great intensity of blows that rained
Upon my soul with every darting touch
Of her soft tongue, that leaves me weakened, drained,
As putty in her soft but gripping clutch.

And like a prophecy ignored, she sowed
Such chaos in her wake, and yet the truth
Is that was nothing more than what was owed
For basking in her wild, lustful youth.
Aye, no lover left destroyed could claim
They weren’t forewarned at what her kisses cost;
But they ignored the signs, in passions name,
And like a sirened sailor, they were lost
To seas of deepest blue, her drowning eyes,
Though wicked, never once gave life to lies.

Woeg

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This morning I invited the wind
into my kitchen and the offer
was accepted after curiosity
overruled the etiquette
of dust. I tell you, whole ghost

cultures bolted in defiance
of tact: a simple prism hanging
above the sink, which threatened
to give offense by splitting the sun
into prophecy, by means of welcome.

I searched the daylight
for hours and believed I would
recognize the wandering hazard
when it cast its baleful cape
around our genial cabal.

It is a riot out there now, a brawl
of silica surging across my forbearance
in challenge to the sun, to the crystal facets
that color my walls with the sparkle
of amity and then dissipate

before the obligation.

Koeeoaddi

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The snow falls like my thoughts
uncollected
unconnected
uncorrected.

This day is like any other
and yet, it has been
fourteen hundred and fifty one days
since the last leap year;
the one where I can’t remember where I was,
just like the one before,
or the one before that, where
I can’t remember where I was, but it was
either Calgary
or Victoria.

Am I Schrödinger’s cat?

Precipitation has its personality quirks -
rain falls in a straight line,
gives up like a resigned depressive.
Hail is an anger management drop-out,
and wants to take somebody with him when he goes.

Snow dances its descent,
waltzes with the chimney smoke,
an updraft here, a downdraft there.
Even at ground level, its wandering
fakes me out,
deking at the last moment to hit me
instead of my neighbour’s.
A celestial pie in the face.

Snow reveals the shape of wind,
the patterns of prophecy
without direct meaning.
Snow’s individuality is too
subtle for us to see;
it collects in a blanket
like a magician’s handkerchief,
concealing the earth’s workings until
Hey, Presto!
Spring.

Le Ministre de l’au-delà

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pleasant prophesies of
peppy playmates
labor saving
flavor flaying
super soldier
building bolder
mighty men
that penmen pen

gives way today
with much dismay
as the dreamers dream
is led astray

the possible made pragmatic
when a personality automatic
artificially from schematic
is married to the man mechanic

yet marvel not
for this cybernaut
he is no dashing autobot

they left a chink
in his interlink
and now this drone is error prone
drowned in drink and over think
playing pervert with his heat sink

schizoid android
perpetually paranoid
always accessing the abyss
wandering wayward towards the void

melancholy mental machinations
scientifically unsound sensations
routinely running infinite summations
inevitably only finds cessation

of this toil, trouble, and terror
when dividing by a zero error

what hope for our robotic neurotic?
take a hint from his panoptic

open your eyes
and realize
we now need wise
eliza

jackdavinci

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The poll is established. Now comes the fun part - reading, savouring and commenting on everyone’s work.

And, of course - voting!
Enjoy!

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Some great poems here. I’ll comment more after there’s been more votes. I was amused by the serial use of “hearth” - had there been one or two more I might have wondered if it was a secret bonus word or something :wink:

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As usual, I am delighted by the talent of our SDMB poets - the following speak to me particularly:

Olórin: I didn’t need to click the spoiler box to know the author. Delightful, evocative, very neat. The good Professor would be pleased.

Scrying in the Dark: I love this one - there is, for me, an underlying tension here, a deeper feeling of paranoia and…well, I hesitate to say it because it sounds negative, but creepiness, that rather than being negative really works for the piece. Loved it!

Leap Year: Such whimsy and delight! Snow really is the most upbeat of precipitations, and this piece almost makes me homesick for Colorado. I haven’t seen a real snow storm in years.

neurotic robotic: Alliterative beat poetry, man - I dig it! Seriously, this has such a cool undertone, a rhythm about it that makes the entire piece flow so well that it is almost easy to miss the depressive undertone, of the inherent flaws in man and mandroid. Way cool.

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Rhyming goodness abounds! I voted. Secretly.

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Very cool entries this time!

I usually vote these things on first impressions, because the more I read each poem the harder it becomes to not vote for all of them.

Untitled (An oracle told me…) Succinct counsel. I like both the message and its delivery.

Advice Some good aphorisms here, and a pretty nice one-liner too.

Olórin As Woeg said, easy to tell whose poem this is. Very nice small-as-life reflection written from the point of view of a character commonly seen larger-than-life.

Escape This gets better every time I read it. I love that it elucidates absolutely nothing with such economy. Does the title refer to the signifier or the seeker? Are they the same? Was the sign missed or never given? Does meaning escape all of us or only me? And is that the point of the poem?

Scrying in the Dark A word change or two, a punctation fix here or there and this one might be OK.

post-secondary brew Refreshing. This poem is a steaming cup of get-on-with-your-bad-self, kid. Best served strong and early.

Altered States Far out! This is a groovy and hippielicious stanza. Let the sun shine in, man. Peace will guide the planets.

Cassandra’s Tears It’s really hard to sustain meter and rhyme while keeping not only the sense of the poem but of each line, and while making the poem a sheer pleasure to read aloud. In one hour. This is the type of thing that makes me want to be a better poet.

Haboob In Illinois this week, spring has come and it made me invite the wind into all of the rooms in the house. Our windows high in the living room have a prismatic privacy film that throws rainbows on our walls. It was easy for me to love this poem.

Leap Year This made me glad there was no leap year or snowfall or “seasonal change” theme to the workshop, or we’d all have been outflanked.

neurotic robotic I bet this one was as much fun to write as it is to read. Well done!

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On rereading, I noticed something else I wanted to callout, in Advice. The following stanza:

My heart grew three sizes the day that we met
in order to make room for the pain that I’d get.

Is absolutely brilliant. I seriously felt a stab within my own chest of rueful understanding. Brilliantly worded.

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Impressive crop o’ poems - good to read them all!

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I particularly like Cassandra which was very writerly and Scrying which was very mysterious. I’m still wondering what it was about exactly though other than going to a movie.

Actually I think it’d be interesting to hear from all the poets what they were trying to express in their poems and see how that compares with the readers initial impressions.