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[birdy51]

I see you again,
Pale shade of memories gone,
Not lost, forgotten.

Darkness round me hangs,
My eyes glazed with age and wear,
Still recall the touch.

A glancing finger,
Sweet, siren softly calling,
Sorrow lost, returns.

[Tomasque]

One of my favourite by you, Tomasque.

Thanks!

[TD1]

The Nightingale sings out the glooming day,
Her feet the forests misty stay
And dance like autumn leaves and wind -
So goes in whom both love and faith are twinned!
By murky river rolling fouly
Through the rocky mountain valley
Sings the Nightingale her song
Of fences fixed and righted wrong.

Then from the bank of twisted holly
Comes the faithful Aravolly
In whose breast a heart doth beat
Desiring only for her feet
To ever tread that wholesome measure
Granting unto him undying pleasure.
He weeps to see the beauty bright
Where otherwise all would be blight,
And cries out loud "you flighty lady! Stay
A while your fleeting step! The day
Is near to close, and I would speak
To one as fair as feather-wing, as singing-creek."

The rivers sighed their misty tune
The trees were dark beneath the moon;
The Nightingale but smiled a smile
Yet on she danced, and sang the while:
"Oh man who seeks to shackle me
I have no thought for courtesy
And I have many ways to go
Through twisting ivy, heath and sloe.
The land benighted is, yet where I pass
Greater the mountains, greener the grass."

So Aravolly mused a while in thought
Then looked upon what she had wrought,
Then searched his heart, and with amaze
His inner eyes saw but her gaze,
Saw there her eyes of mellow brown
Of waters swirling dark, and softest down.
I have but met this fairy free, and yet already
Of all things, fairest she is to me!

And so he followed where she led
And fancied heard the sound of wings ahead
Where danced the Nightingale her path
Through seas of darkness, ruins of wrath.
Yet in her words he saw the truth;
Her path brought light and growth
Even unto the darkest land;
Heart aching, he observed green flowing from her hand
And like the gentle rains above, he wept
Knowing her touch from him was kept
Ere failed her flowing step so light,
'Fore darkness stole her piercing light.

Through fields of holly, under moon.
Over the mountain swept her tune
And in her spreading wake full grieved
The noble Aravolly weaved,
New-growth his bane and his desire
To view the Nightingale on fire
Her feet ablaze in darkest night
Her hair a wing to promise flight.
Ah, how he wept in silence still
To hear her haunting, mournful trill.

Yet found he foes among the way
Who sought for his fair maid to slay,
And drawing forth his gleaming sword
He struck them down with ne'er a word,
Their lusts revealed in crimson streams,
Hatred vented in useless screams.
No hand would he permit on her, not one.
Ay, though it pained him, nor his own.

They say they wander yet the world
Where evil's banner is unfurled
And she will sing a song of love
To bring once more the fox and dove,
And where there rest the darkest fears
They are swept clean as by his tears.
And if you seek for Aravolly,
Though in Wisdom or in Folly
Seeking, you may never hope to fail
If you first find the Nightingale.

---
Does that count as a retainer? Ah, it'll do.
For tomorrow: rivalry.

[dustywayfarer]

The Keys of Power

"To be the President or not to be"
This was the question that they asked of me
When I said yes, to my perfect chagrin
"You're him!" they pled, and drove me right in.
Not knowing, they could not then remonstrate;
No experience warned me of my fate.

A king's strict bridle controlling, his will,
Built cities of name while status sat still.
Status President, all pomp, rank, and praise,
Will not endure critical public gaze.
This status is something to hide behind;
When wounded, it cannot return in kind.

A president, true, has some of the keys
That emperors hold and all wish to seize.
But when things go wrong and escape his eyes,
In the dungeon of personal demise,
Disguised as an achievement and designed as a label
To capture his identity and chain it to the table,
He sits there helpless and cannot escape,
For plebians pass by, point fingers, and gape.

I wrote this a while ago; it probably doesn't fit rivalry perfectly.
EDIT: Clarity & meter & SPELLING! Thanks, Th4DwArfY1

[TD1]

Emporors should be emperors.

Otherwise, a solid poem! It doesn't really fit rivalry at all, but to be completely fair I've bent the meaning of prompts a fair few times myself

So, for my poem I'll use your title 'Keys of Power.' I'll work under the assumption that you don't mind, and get stuck in.

One key for him, the other went to her
Whose heart most precious was, most fair.
One opened doors to power, yet not both;
The other was the key to love and growth.
Who held each key would keep them up
Long over night, and though they'd sup
Together, once the food was gone each key,
The keys were taken out for each to see.

One night, he took both keys, the one
To power, one to love, so that before the sun
Could rise he laughed. The problem had
An easy answer after all! It was not bad
To hold the both at once, and be a great
Great man. Together, he was loved by all,
From greatest politician to man most small.

But with no key to warm her heart, no hope
Left in her soul that there could be
A better dawn at the end of the tunnel,
She...she, bereft of key, faded as he grew strong
And in the shadow that he cast
She breathed her last.

For tomorrow: You're on a world with two suns, and there's a singing forest nearby.

[Tomasque]

For tomorrow: You're on a world with two suns, and there's a singing forest nearby.

I feel like you already wrote a poem for this, and just want an excuse to post it. 

 I'll bite. Writing something weirdly specific is going to be fun.

[Tomasque]

You're on a world with two suns, and there's a singing forest nearby.

The day is over; I am all alone.
The twin suns set;
Can I forget
the promise I had known?

And echoing my memory,
the forest sings it's song:
"But who would do but this, that knew
the end would mend the wrong?"

The deed is done, and I am all alone.
The world is dead,
but I, instead,
am bound to flesh and bone.

And as the wind comes whistling,
The forest sings along:
"But who would do but this, that knew
The end would mend the wrong?"

The stars have risen; I am all alone.
Can I amend
this bitter end?
I've done no wrong - or less of wrong, than good.
I've waited long, and long you understood.
You know my reason. How shall I atone?

"Before the war, 'for good' you swore,
and still the will is strong,
But who would do but this, that knew
The end would mend the wrong?"

I am the last, and I am all alone,
but for my past, I beg, can I atone?

"You now allow regret, and how
For end's amends, you long!
But who would do but this, that knew...

...It seems the means were wrong?"

[TD1]

A foreign land awaits.
I forded stars like rills
And passed through heaven's gates
To reach Elysium hills.

Now am I here where in
The sky, two suns are hung.
Great brands celestial run,
And all sky red as rum.

And it is beautiful;
The spreading wings of flame
Make gems of Earth seem dull
If they dared shine again.

My heart is filled. The hills
Sweep pleasantly their way
And hide soft sounds of rills
That sparkle in the day.

But whist, the calm is broke
As though a person far
Had raised his voice, and spoke.
A touch of ice, of hoar
Is on the eldritch wind
Which passes o’er the land.

A forest; mighty, old
With leaves of silver-gold
Is in my view. Alas!
How did I miss this mass
Of darkling branch and bud
Which holds
Raw beauty of the stud.

In all the hollows ring
The sound of trees... which sing.

And it is sharp. So sharp
The very air is rent
With music. All world hears
A forest made a harp
And I, amazed, regret
My prior gloried thought.
For it is sadness that I hear
In softer, whispered tone
And all I thought of cheer
Is turned to stone.

I find a tear on cheek
Which rarely saw its sort
And turn away. To seek
Some newer planet’s court
I travelled hard and far
Around this comet’s path
And near that blazing star.

Yes, much I saw betimes
But never, never heard
A sound so sweet or sharp
To wring a tear from me
Or pierce this hardened heart
----
Note: whist is a local term which means 'be quiet'
Also, I made it specific for a change of pace

For tomorrow: Native peoples.

[Tomasque]

 I really like that poem. I ended up minimalizing the whole singing-forest thing (I didn't try to - it just kinda happened), but you made it all fit nicely.

[TD1]

It actually took me two reads to see what your poem meant, Tomasque.

Native peoples:

Where all the wing and fowl would be
The limsom beech, that supple tree
Rivalled by willow for its subtlety
Stands firm from wind-blown destiny.

The winds were raging in the dark
When people came, as from an ark.
Their feet touched sand and left a mark
When they first thought to disembark.

Then heard they stranger sound
Than they had heard before abroad
From beasts which on that land abound,
And dappled birds still long unfound.

Their guns were stashed in hidden haunts
And went unused.
People they found, and well-like fonts
They shared. Great thoughts ensued!

Then dreams of Pocahontas,
Of the bronze-skinned maid,
Were whispered and not spoken;
Tenets of peace were left unsaid.

Green grows the native tree
And beautiful the scenery
But red as sin the rivers be
And man there acts instinctively.

But land goes on
And sings its song.
Who cares man's wrong?
The earth will still strive strong.

Where all the wing and fowl would be
The limsom beech, that supple tree
Rivalled by willow for its subtlety
Stands firm from wind-blown destiny.

For tomorrow: a wild hunt drives a fox from its den .

I've decided the odd specific prompt is not bad

[TD1]

Red are the roses
Growing on the bank
Crimson the sun light
Streaming from the clouds.
Sweet tastes of dawning
For the horseman’s prey,
The fox is from her den
With the coming day.

Hear horns a-sounding,
Feel the fleeting feet
Of hunter, manly
In his glut of sport.
Hounds chase the foxes!
Cubs cry out the dawn.
Red as the roses
Is a mother’s blood.

Down through the gullies
Over autumn’s stems
Of striving nettles
Like dying gems
The cubs go racing
Fearing hunter’s mark
The cubs go racing
Before all goes dark.

For tomorrow: A gem, a woman, and a knife.

[Tomasque]

I recently had a prompt given to me by a friend. It was "not recognizing yourself in the mirror." It made me think if this thread.

I guess it's been longer than I thought. To necro this thread, I'll make that the new prompt. I won't post my poem until later, because I don't want to influence you guys.

Lets make this a thing again.

[TD1]

Why not?

Long have the years passed in this place.
The river, like a crooked smile,
Has smoothed and faded
And the house is grey and squat.

I have been here since childhood rang
Unwitting bells of bliss.
We fished that river, made a keep of stone
And laughed. And lived. And loved.

The mirror hangs magnificent, yet faded.
Its gilt is grimed, its surface - once a gleaming pool! -
Bears tendrils of a creeping dust.

What life I've lived has come to this.
My eyes are closed, and I recall
A boy. His eyes gleam, aware as mine are not,
Hair tousled, trousers torn.
Oh how I know him, oh how the house longs for his return.

I look into the mirror. Grey frames a sagging face.
Eyes peer, yellowed, disenchanted.
I know him not.

Prompt: something (or someone!) unobtainable.

[Tomasque]

Reflection:

Another night, a new motel;
It's nice, compared to most, as well.
But still you've got that idle thought:
You're feeling out of place.

But everyday you're somewhere new;
This time the problem might be you.
Flick on the light, to find the sight
Of your reflected face.

What lurks behind those bleary eyes?
That's not a face you recognize!
What happened to the one you knew
This stranger did replace?

You've run too long, and now you find
That all along, you left behind
Yourself, instead, to get ahead,
And now you've been lost in the chase.


Unobtainable:

To hold in your heart unobtainable dreams
which others have said never seem to come true.
and still live your days with the hope that you'll meet
a stranger, one day, who'll complete them for you.

[Superdorf]

Heyy, this is fun! I'll have to try and cook something up sometime.

In the meantime... anyone up for a little comedic verse? Prompt: BEEEEEEES

If not-- Prompt: Betrayal