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[Tomasque]

Here's the "underwater" poem. To put it in context: There's a story called "The Distance of the Moon" by Italo Calvino, and I really like it. In that story, there is a song that the characters sing, but only one stanza of it is written out. I took it upon myself as a challenge to write a poem that included that stanza, and that contained themes of the story. Well, I succeeded, though I owe the success of getting the themes down to the fact that they're already woven into the stanza, so it would have been pretty hard to write a poem around it and avoid the themes. Anyway, enough talking, here's the poem, in all its trochaic glory:

Here, the fisherman - with patience - baiting
fish below the ice of cold December,
shivers softly in the snow,

but his thoughts are elsewhere as he's waiting
- in the cold, the warmth of love remembered -
while the fish swim down below,

and he - as on loves afar he's doting
pitying the lonely one who's sought them -
sees them as they seem to be:

Every shiny fish is floating, floating;
and every dark fish is at the bottom,
at the bottom of the sea. . .

 (The last stanza is the one taken from the story, if you're wondering)

[birdy51]

Music

Floating sensations, vibrations on air,
God's great creation, David's own heir.

No single sound, no single breath,
Our heaven found, in earthly death.

[TD1]

The fiddle sings a merry tune,
To the barrel, me friends, the barrel!
Patrons crowd the pub room's floor
And wine like water flows.

When dusk is painted up above, it's
To the barrel, me friends, the barrel!
A jaunty song will heal all wrong,
And ale in tired hands.

For when from foemen you have fled
To the barrel, me friends, the barrel!
You'll find a ready friend
And beer to keep you well.

Oh, yes, it's to the pub
Where music swells and swings
Where wine and ale can never fail
And mankind can grow wings
That you and I, me friends, will go
Til all the harvest's over, boys
And we can reap what we did sow
At the barrel, me friends, the barrel!

For tomorrow: Norse mythology.

[birdy51]

Odin pets ravens.
How beautiful they both are.
Who is a good bird?

[TD1]

Come fire and lightning 'gainst the pane,
Come weather warring weather in the sky,
Come waves of froth and bloodied seas
Come ending times, when all must die.

There is no corner now for Odin

No Shrine is kept for Thor

The Wayward God is lonely, cold
Behind some never-opened door.
His son beats iron at a forge
When once he stood on heaven's floor.

There is no corner now for Freyja

No Shrine is kept for Freyr

The beauty goddess put down roots
And married to an oak -
Her brother, strong and virile Freyr
Is now unknown to common folk.

There is no corner now for Wonder

No Shrine is kept for Joy

The gods are gone from mind and heart
And search, search, search out signs
Come lightning, weather, waves
For new-come ending times.

For tomorrow: Slaves

[TD1]

Her name was Jennifer.
She was the world to me,
Cliched though that may be.

Her eyes were stars at night,
Light lit her hair in every line
And all her love was mine.

They came, with torch and chain
With manacle and pain.
And now I weep, for I remain

While she is taken, far away!
Oh, where she now is held
Dreams she of fen, and me, and glade?

I hope not. For, when in the darkness
Tears fall from my cheeks,
Thinking of her, my Jennifer....

I know. I would not wish such pain,
Such emptiness inside
Upon my fiercest, deepest foe

And so I stay, and curse the men
Who took her from my tender care,
My wife. My love. My Jennifer.

For tomorrow: Something less depressing.

[TD1]

The water as I walked the bridge
Was shining from the lamps
That hung about its Lagan length,
An echo of the snow....

Which has not come, just yet, it's true;
But still seems to be there
Twisting the moon-struck waves with ice
And painting all the scene.

And up above, the tiny birds
Flit through the twining lights
And flutter, as a group invincible
Contented in their nightly flights.

Each one who passed me, passed alone
And did not look above,
Nor see the gleaming joy below
But walked. And walked. And walked.

For tomorrow: Majesty.

[TD1]

Flip wrong thread

[Tomasque]

Flip wrong thread

?

 Also, I'll work on a poem now.

[Fniff]

Your majesty, might I request,
A change in manner and an upgrade of tact?
Your majesty, it's a simple request,
You are not the King of us,
We have decided that you are King.

You may find a man who claims a plot of land,
And calls to those around him that he owns this land down to the very bones of the earth.
And your majesty, you may call him mad,
But is he any madder than yourself, your majesty, claiming to own every river and ocean and swamp?

Your majesty, a word of advice,
We believe in you as long as the good times roll and the mead is plenty,
But when the wells run dry and the cattle are butchered,
And we see you in your fancy purples and your rolls of data,
Well, I'm sure you can connect the dots...

Your majesty.

[birdy51]

Claim ye Peace and Grace,
Majesty is a calm land,
Where all may find rest.

[Tomasque]

There was majestic splendor
in this valley long ago,
but the splendor had to go
and, as well, those who'd defend her,
for our Majesty said so.

My heart will strain, in sorrow,
with the words I'll never say:
How the Majesty, today,
can believe he brought tomorrow
when he took our past away?

In years, I've gotten wiser,
and I miss the land I knew,
but I'm guilty of it, too;
I'm the Majesty's adviser
and I told him what to do.

[TD1]

I like that one! Good ending in particular.

In throne of gold there sits the Fool
'Mongst precious gem and jewel.
His brow is furrowed deep in thought
Of all the Majesty had wrought.
The Prince had swept away the Lar,
He'd crushed all Babilar
And taken men to dig his mines
In endless, human lines.

The kingdom booms, and trade is fair.
Attacks? No one would dare
And though the river burst its banks
Through aid, the Prince reaped thanks.

The fool frowns deep. The King is old,
His children dead - or cold
To him. The mines enrich the state,
But for the King, too late
For soon he'll die, none to succeed
Of his own Princely seed.

A sigh. The throne bites deep his skin.
He does not see
The point of Majesty.

For tomorrow : sea serpent

[Rangalos Grajuriantilatos]

Prompt: Sea Serpent

She said, "It's a BIG snakey!"
"Up, down, up, down - it's back is shakey!"
I flip a thick and shiny page,
and ponder how she's just the age
where if I guide her chubby hand
across the scales and blue-green band,
she'll follow me where I have been,
and want to read it all again!

[TD1]

Nice! Can definitely tell you've entertained a child at some point, hah. Little blighters.

Ten times ten fathoms deep
The Worm awakens from his sleep.
An eye of emerald, ruby skin
And none alive of his own kin.
The Serpent lives.

For many centuries aloof
Sleeping with sea and wave as roof
The Dread Worm writhed with dreams
Which saw the death of ships and kings,
But not its own.

Each fang as long as laden craft
Which Jason steered, and merry laughed
To see the deepness of the blue
Beneath his keel, with all his crew.
The Serpent writhed.

Now comes uncoiled each brilliant length
Imbued with Herculean strength,
And now to plague Aegean seas
The serpent undulates, and breathes
Then goes above.

And is met by calamity.
No Argo sails the gleaming sea,
But on the waves are metal hulks
Which carry commonplace bulks
It knows not.

The serpent writhes! It moans,
And cataracts appear. Its head
Moves down once more, until
It rests once more upon its bed
For another thousand years,
Until the sea once more is sailed
By prey of worth to fight,
Or sun turns red and all seas boil,
To put an end to all man's toil.

For tomorrow: Illumination