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[TD1]

Okay, life has sorta decided to calm down for a bit. I'll probably not be able to post here much over the weekend because of work, but I'll give this another shot.
Modern art Vs. Traditional

It's said it has a style all of its own,
A grandness to its sweep you need to
See, a colour painted bold that leaves you
Thinking of the tales untold. In short, it's more
More beautiful than the explicit, the sculpted
The profane (for they were pagans, they who
Formed the older art. God fearing men are
More abstract, subtler-thinkers). I dare to disagree.
Bold colour hints ten stories to be seen, but ah!
Have you not passed some gothic building
All amazed, and basked in it, as it were life?
Picasso never once did paint a thing
That made a man just stop, and breathe
Rather than think of what the thing could mean.


Flower:

Admiring every day its form, I pass.
It stands in that clean square of stone
Surrounded by the beauty of the Builder -
Amongst red clay, black brick and learning hall
It has its corner, of its kind alone.
Each day it stood, bare and neglected
Rude in its own sophisticated way
And dwarfed by man's accomplishment.

Now I pass it with awe, to see
The brilliant pink among the canopy,
The blooming life of that fair tree
Amongst man's carven panoply!

--

Yea, not particularly happy with either myself. Oh well - out of practise

For tomorrow: drawing

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

 A line, some shade
I pause, erase
I study her so slow
More lines still seem
Not to capture her

For tomorrow: Work

[TD1]

Drawing:
A line of thought from then to now
In charcoal or in pencil
Stretching, stretching from those old greats
To newer pen, and willing pupil.

Work:

Stretched muscles at end of day
Relaxing into bitter pain,
The feel of back that bent too much
Sliding into familiar chair.
Hearth, and fire, and book
Mixing with strain and ache
For him who ends a day of work.

For tomorrow: The last bard.

[Tomasque]

For tomorrow: The last bard.

This immediately reminded me of someone's sig I saw, which was the following piece from the song "The Minstrel Boy:"

    "Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
    "Though all the world betrays thee,
    One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
    One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

 Great lyric, in my opinion - I thought it was a standalone poem when I first read it!

 Anyway, a poem of my own, I suppose:

    They thought that he had met his end
    like all his fallen crew.
    'Twas right of those who were his friend -
    of him, it wasn't true.

    But long it was upon that hill,
    until the minstrel stirred.
    He saw them, and once more was still,
    then left without a word.

    It was that night that drives him on,
    the memory of friends long gone.
    He walks along,
    and sings his song,
    for soon his journey ends.

    Upon his back he carries now
    beside his harp a vengeful vow
    And in his ears
    He only hears
    The whispers of his friends

    Today he knows he will at last
    - with blade in hand - atone
    those long-sought specters of his past
    and make his grievance known.

    They'll be no joy in what he'll do,
    he's known that all along.
    His final words, he knows those, too:
    One final battle song.

 Looking over this, I'm pretty damn proud. The second stanza feels a little weak, though. Any ideas on how to improve it?

[TD1]

-Snippety-


----

For tomorrow: The last bard.

This immediately reminded me of someone's sig I saw, which was the following piece from the song "The Minstrel Boy:"

    "Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
    "Though all the world betrays thee,
    One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
    One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

 Great lyric, in my opinion - I thought it was a standalone poem when I first read it!

Have you a link to the song?

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

    They thought that he had met his end
    like all his fallen crew.
    'Twas right of those who were his friend -
    of him, it wasn't true.

    But long it was upon that hill,
    until the minstrel stirred.
    He saw them lying, and was still
    Then left with ne'er a word.

    It was that night that drives him on,
    the memory of friends long gone.
    He walks along,
    and sings his song,
    for soon his journey ends.

    Upon his back he carries now
    beside his harp a vengeful vow
    And in his ears
    He only hears
    The whispers of his friends

    Today he knows he will at last
    - with blade in hand - atone
    those long-sought spectres of his past
    and make his grievance known.

    There'll be no joy in what he'll do,
    he's known that all along.
    His final words, he knows those, too:
    One final battle song.

Nice poem! Obviously my changes to the second stanza are just advisory - but you're right that it does need changing somehow.

For tomorrow: Lost

[TD1]

I wander in this place, for all of time
And breathe the steady air, hear the normal
Voices of my friends and family.
And yet I'm lost.

Each thing is known and understood,
I've gathered here or wandered there,
And home and sustenance has never
Been an issue of survival.
This place has seen my like ten times
Ten thousand times, and yet despite
My living here as free of cost
The bridges burn, the paths all twist,
The people lie, the work men lie.
I am lost.

For tomorrow: Something based off this picture:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It can refer to the source material - Patrick Rothfuss' Kingkiller Chronicles - or be entirely image - orientated.

[Urist Mc Dwarf]

Kvothe the Arcane
The bandits slain
To Severen
He went to claim
His rightful reward
Won with spell and sword
But was tricked by the wife of the Maer.

For tomorrow:Lightning

[TD1]

Urist, you missed one small detail between killing the bandits and Severen.....

O Felurian silver-fleet
Of midnight down and twilit flower,
Of blossoms tempest shook
And night’s most secret, sacred hour.
Lithe form and Faeish grace
The hair a liquid darkness ‘round your face,
Your skin as lilies, white as lace.

O Felurian of the storm-tossed skies!
Whose face would raise a thousand ships
To drown in wonder at your eyes.
Felurian, ca thra mien ca te!
Your lips are soft as love,
As warm as life.
To go without would be a knife.

O Felurian! I would willing pay
To die each night within your arms
Safe from the coldness of the night
And warmed by outer glory’s inner storms.
Such beauty and vitality!
If ever woman chanced to me
Such danger and mystery
I would throw a kingdom at her feet;

All men would bow before her, as their Queen
And I would pray, pray, she’d raise me for her King.


I'll do one on Lightning in a bit.

For tomorrow: a scene in which the sound of water features.

[birdy51]

Thunder and lightning.
Very, very frightening.
Bohemian songs.

[Tomasque]

Thunder and lightning.
Very, very frightening.
Bohemian songs.

That's pretty funny. I'm short of time, so I'll just post a haiku I made in middle school:

Dew drops on the leaves,
Dripping, dropping to the ground,
Where do they come from?

[Tomasque]

 Hey guys. Sorry I haven't been posting for a while. I've been working on a videogame version of the Storm Poetry Text-Adventure for school and it's been taking up a lot of my time at home. The code is almost finished, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to playtest it when it is done. I'v made a post about it here if you're interested.

[Tomasque]

Well, my big project is almost over, so I'll be back to posting soon. I've just put up the code for it, so you can play it now, if you'd like.

[Tomasque]

Echoes thundered;
Clouds aflame.
Things remembered
In the rain.
~
Hot like tears,
The rain of Spring,
Rolls back years;
Awakening.
---
In the ears,
The echoes sing.
One still fears
the lingering-
~
Cold December;
Holding canes.
Thought, an ember,
Still remains.

[Tomasque]

Wake UP!

...



    Prompt: Attempting to achieve something unattainable

[TD1]

Em, about your previous poem, I just reread it and realised that "Once Upon a December" (Which was playing in the background while I read it) matches it eerily well.

Attempting to achieve the unattainable:

When honour shines the darkness through to dawn
And sips the cup of honesty,
When virtue, nobly, speaks through lips of men
And thought is turned to chastity.

Then, as the hour slips by with none to cry
Will I be glad, and smile, and sing.
For I have striven long and hard to fly
On honour's oft forgotten wing

But never found it held my weight. I'm flawed.
For I can never see a thing
That's pure, or dedicated unto God
Without the feel of envy's sting.

And pride is my standard, replacing steel
In thought and sinew. Fools will please,
Not turn with grit the great ship's guiding wheel
For fairer fortunes, calmer seas.

I strive for honour, hope for strength and truth
But know that in myself I fail.
But still I try, and hold those virtues not aloof
And grab the wheel. But can it sail?

Prompt for tomorrow: Childhood fancy.