Posted: Oct 20, 07 9:25pm
Three more (me, two - eh) for consideration and comment. As all three have won awards as written (except for phrasing of couplets - due to TBD's formatting), change is therefore not possible.
For the person who wrote offlist: Free verse does not rhyme. It is not meant to rhyme. It is considered poetry, despite your opinion, because of severe limitation of form, line length, line scan, effectiveness of imagery, and does word usage evoke meaning per word, per line, per poem. At times even the shape of the word has an artistic statement to make. Does the free verse poem resonate with the reader; has the poet stirred imagination, emotion, memory, empathy.
Or not...
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Beauty Greets the Day (cc-ncd) by author
Eyes, half clothed in sleep lead
the feminine berobed form
to the dining table; flared light and
curl'd coffee mist, molding gracefully
'round the curved wrist shrouds
the awakening face which submits
to machine-made metamorphosis,
as Beauty greets the day.
Telephone rings, and I am
welcomed with woman's maturing youthful
voice that bathes my ears
in flood of warm and golden
brightness; lightens and overcomes grey
clouds of world's cares
in varying degrees of sunlit promise,
as Beauty greets the day.
Days flow into years of
loyal, joyous marriage that tolerates
stupid foibles and rejoices with
shared triumphs; comforting, glowing, generosity
shields the heart bruised by
slings and arrows; heartaches
from the rest of the world,
as Beauty greets the day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ACES & EIGHTS (cc-ncd) by author
At eighteen I flew high,
bulletproof,
invincible; even bombs of kryptonite
could not down my dreams
as I flew
toward the sun, Icarus-like,
with my Lana.
At twenty seven, I flew, too,
like a star burning brightly at both ends,
bumbling through the lost days,
reporting as I spent my nights,
and strength
with Lois.
Where's Lana?
At thirty six. Lex folded me
into my cape and seduced me,
grounding me not
with the turf of my home,
but the crippling reality of a yuppie's quest.
I was driven then.
Where's Lana?
Now at fortysomething, I've crashed,
and survey my Fortress of Solitaire.
Lois is gone, and with her
our daughter, Lana,
who once cried as I flew by her
so fast and far
I barely heard her,
climbing the rushing wind;
or was it a familiar echo
trailing the plaint,
"Daddy stop! You're hurting the clouds.
Now see what you've done
The bandaids to keep the blue
from leaking are
torn
and now
the sky is
cry
....
ing
.........!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
UPROOTED (cc-ncd) by Author
Two toned paint
marks a hallowed dusty frame
staring blankly
from its wall station.
Decisions;
stays with or goes
to bargain hungry sale addicts
who care not for -
The memories tied
in dreams and wrapped tightly
in tears
and laughter well spent.
Rough hewn strangers
load 'midst prolonged, rushed-farewells;
diesel-van beckons,
blazing new Life paths.
