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[TD1]

I don't think I've ever seen someone rhyme bliss with piss before

Come foam, foul weather and the spray!
I'll mix the three on this dark day.
The salt and turquoise of the wave
Forged are for me, to be mine slave.
Come cataract and hurricanoe,
I will rupture this fair bay!

Green silks from out the deep,
I wake you from your sleep;
Rise now as red as thunder's blow,
Wake all the monsters from below.
The day is now to take the land,
Our ancient holding and our oldest keep.

Ten thousand years we have been kept,
The whale has floundered, Kraken slept
But on this day the heavens will obey
And help the ocean on its way.
Unleash the powers of the skies,
Bring flood for every drop you've wept.

Hear us, oh man! Listen now with wonder
To the rage of those who were your plunder
Since time immemorial. Splinter of rock,
And streaming froth against the dock
Call to you now. Sleep, if you dare -
Our coming echoes with the thunder.

For tomorrow: a poem based on another poet's work. (For example, use the same style as Tennyson, Coleridge, etc. or keep the same theme or subject.)

[birdy51]

Aye, the highs and low of the human experience all in one rhyme. ^.^

Rise, ye saucy mates!
Blast, damn ye crew oh savage.
Beware ye the storm!

[TD1]

Same theme and scheme as Yeats' "Sailing to Byzantium," written as an ottava rima. Comparing the two is a great help in that it shows the distance I've yet to go!

The city of the golden lights delights
In youth and patronage. The father's face,
Before the closing day restrains the sights
Most humbling to us of the human race,
Brings peace. But we have seen the brighter lights
Shining from fair Byzantium, and raise
The banners of the angels high. What age
Can poison we who live within that cage?

Perhaps some Grecian Urn will bring us life
And we will live in orchards, red-rimmed fair
Before the setting, rising sun. The knife
Of youth oft cuts those who do not beware
Such visions, seemingly devoid of strife
Yet offering the temptation of the snare -
Ours is the subtler path, who fleeing come
To grace the streets of artifice, Byzantium.

The Empire sleeps, yet still it dreams the song
That lifts us to the golden boughs of spring.
Who is to say the way of art is wrong,
That we aught not to raise jewelled wings and sing
Full throated as the poets did in days long gone!
None but the hands our fathers left to ring
Last season's bells, that we may listen thoughtfully
And see our pleasures in the light of melancholy.

For tomorrow: Tolkien. Okay, I'm being biased because I love his poetry, sue me .

[Tomasque]

I'll join soon.

[TD1]

More...err...figurative blood for the poetry gods!

Oh Theoden the wandering king
Who lived a life of war -
His brow was covered with the locks
Of hair the colour of the sun.

His hand held spear and sword,
His horse was fleet and strong.
From foal to sire the blood was given,
Through years of plenty, seasons long.

Now hear the Southron clash of steel!
They feel your noble blood, and fear
That they now face the Rohan King.
Rohirrim horses they can hear!

Race now o'er vale and field
Ride on the horses swift and sure
Come down to Gondor in its need
And of the dangers take no heed.

The burning brand has come
To smite the Witch King's army,
Hear the thunder of the hooves
Look where the horse-flesh runs.

Oh Theoden! Blood from Gondor
To Gondor goes, and in its hour
Raises the honour high, gives life
For pledges old and times long gone.

For tomorrow: An encounter at the circus.

[birdy51]

I'll join soon.

Huzzah!

As for Tolkien... Well I'll give it a shot. He was known for alliteration, aye? So we'll give that a go.

From home to horrors, the homely hobbit had away.
Narry tea, nor noonfeast, oh nay!
To travel to the lands afar to try his lot.
To cast a curious ring callously into a cragged pot.

Now none could nag him for his task.
Bale and brooding that bling, in evil did it bask.
Charms and chilling powers had it, that chained the soul.
Frightening the freemen and the forest men of ol'.

Alone, all would anguish beneath it's weight.
For freemen, foresters, aye, for all that was fate.
However, a hobbit had a friend, a helping hand.
Lightening the load, and lending him aid through the land.

Together, this time alone, they took to Mordor's might.
Even through evil evenings and the ethereal realms of night.
For a friend is a friend who will help you to do,
All that they can, and then be there for you.

Together, they went farther than when alone.
Together, they took down mountains made of stone.
For when you're with a wily, wonderful friend,
Then there no telling when your story might end.

[Tomasque]

Up in the gallery

 I was up inside the gallery and she was riding down below,
and I watched her ride around and around in the Direktor's show.
 He held her by the waist then let the gray horse run around the ring.
She was as free as she could be - or was she really suffering?

 I heard a good man say once that if the same people down below,
were clapping like steam hammers as the master forced her through the show,
 one could find the courage to run down into that performing ring
and yell "Stop!" loud - make the whole crowd halt - and then end her suffering.

 But the circus leader wasn't hurting anyone down below,
and even seemed to hesitate before putting her on the show.
 He watched her with worried eyes as she ran the horse around the ring.
He gazed with fear - I shed a tear - who is to say she's suffering?
 
 
 Based on a story by Kafka (of the same name). 16 syllables in every line and a "inside rhyme" in every fourth line. I'm pretty darn proud of this.

[birdy51]

Be proud. That's pretty damn good sir!

[TD1]

Tres bien!


Such ruffled fur, a mighty roar.
Left in the grasses of the plain
It would seem dull, blend in
But here its colour is like rain -
Refreshing and redeeming.
I smile to see it, hear the yells
Of infant voices – the squabble
From this strange primate.
Its ears prick, its eyes flash once:
You disturb my rest. Begone,
Or we will see what iron holds
And what it will let through.
I sighed to see it so, massed muscle
Caught and preened and taught,
Found in the wilderness then wrought
To suit this newer purpose.
But it wasn't until I got home,
With lightness in my heart
The memory of jugglers, flame
And beast still heavy on my mind
That I could feel the heaviness,
The rainbow, rainbow, rainbow
Of the fur, and think how I had
Seen a beast of Paradise, not only
Passed it by but left it be
And never spared a thought for it,
No drop of common empathy.
And suddenly the day fell flat,
Peace left;  with fullest fervour
Mind and thought turned back,
Back through the hours
Until I walked once more
Through the gleaming artificial arch
And saw that beast, and didn't pass
But looked it in its wild-still eye
Before nodding, as an equal to its match,
Though knowing it was greater still
Then turn for home, with thought for
Claw and tooth, fur, tempered by
One green gleam of an unrestrainéd eye.

For tomorrow: the grounds of an estate. Either describing them, or an occurrence on one.

[birdy51]

Oh God, not the clowns.
No! I am too young to die!.
Please, don't stop running!

[TD1]

Haha, that one was unexpected. I laughed 

[TD1]

Sweet Manderley! The lawns that sweep
Down to the gravel of the luring sea,
The buttresses of gleaming stone
Before an ever dawning sun.

Blood rose, blood rose blooms there
Where forest meets the tame. Ah Manderley!
Infamy is your mantle, and your shame.
In what dark corner lies her bones?

Her whose hands opened doors, whose
Footsteps echoed with proprietorial air
With each assured disclosure of the shoe.
Come, Manderley! Reveal her grave

For time is going on, and now the autumn
Leaves the grounds in disarray -
It does not care that colour be drained
Or that hair once brilliant may be dimmed.

The mighty roar the sea exhales
Is as the sorrow of the men.
Washed through her dress, and in her shoes
To kill that calm proficiency.

Most Noble Manderley, most sad as well.
Gleam seasons on the lawn, the well-cut hedge
Breathe life into its paintings and its elegance.
Somewhere she lies, in life more fair than thee
Before she went....before the sea.

My posting will be infrequent after tomorrow as I'm going on holiday. If I don't post a prompt, feel free to improvise.

For tomorrow: Gold, jewellery and silver.

[Tomasque]

Oops. I missed that last one.

[TD1]

It doesn't have to be time perfect. The day-by-day thing is more of a guideline - just post for whatever prompt is current, if you feel like it.

[birdy51]

Not sure if I've ever been on or around anything that can be qualified as an estate. So I'll go for the nearest social equivalent. Farms!

Fields of green and ears of gold.
A little bit dull all truth be told.
Wave upon wave of amber grain,
Can nearly drive a man insane.

With cows for friends and hens for fun,
One day's work has at once begun.
Feed the fowl and milk the cow.
All the worse if you keep pig sows.

But perhaps there is joy in all this work.
Fulfillment found beneath all the murk.
There is joy in all that work.
So let your duties, ye never shirk.