Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Shakespeare's Kingdom is a creative realm that welcomes actors, film makers, artists, photographers, models, dancers, designers, graphic designers, musicians, poets, essayists, story writers, and the aspiring talents to share, compare, inspire, and discuss.

You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board. To access full board, you must be a member. If creation is your passion, join our community today and share your passion with others.

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
  • Pages:
  • 1
  • 3
Favorite Pieces
Topic Started: Feb 4 2009, 03:23 AM (249 Views)
King Lear
Member Avatar

The Elfin Artist

In a glade of an elfin forest
When Sussex was Eden-new,
I came on an elvish painter
And watched as his picture grew,
A harebell nodded beside him.
He dipt his brush in the dew.

And it might be the wild thyme round him
That shone in the dark strange ring;
But his brushes were bees' antennae,
His knife was a wasp's blue sting;
And his gorgeous exquisite palette
Was a butterfly's fan-shaped wing.

And he mingled its powdery colours,
And painted the lights that pass,
On a delicate cobweb canvas
That gleamed like a magic glass,
And bloomed like a banner of elf-land,
Between two stalks of grass;

Till it shone like an angel's feather
With sky-born opal and rose,
And gold from the foot of the rainbow,
And colours that no man knows;
And I laughed in the sweet May weather,
Because of the themes he chose.

For he painted the things that matter,
The tints that we all pass by,
Like the little blue wreaths of incense
That the wild thyme breathes to the sky;
Or the first white bud of the hawthorn,
And the light in a blackbird's eye;

And the shadows on soft white cloud-peaks
That carolling skylarks throw,--
Dark dots on the slumbering splendours
That under the wild wings flow,
Wee shadows like violets trembling
On the unseen breasts of snow;

With petals too lovely for colour
That shake to the rapturous wings,
And grow as the bird draws near them,
And die as he mounts and sings,--
Ah, only those exquisite brushes
Could paint these marvellous things.
Alfred Noyes


A very well-structured piece, I appreciate structure in poetry. The scheme is perfect, and the writing is fluid. It reads well, as many of Noyes poems.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Midsummer Night
Member Avatar

To me the scheme is boring, it's too "ryhmey". I like free flowing poetry, and personally, I think Plath is far better than Noyes.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
King Lear
Member Avatar

Wow, really? To each his and her own, I guess. I love Noyes.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
our*eclipse

It's really pretty, that's what I like about it. I see a lot of poetry that's 'real' and kind of in your face with attitude, so it's refreshing to read something that is so well put-together and has so much attention to all the little details. From the beginning to the end I could see the story unfolding in my mind, and that's not always possible with poetry.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
mydyingbreath
Member Avatar

Charlotte Bronte's poems are like books. This is part 1 and 2 of The Death Baby by Anne Sexton.

1. DREAMS

I was an ice baby.
I turned to sky blue.
My tears became two glass beads.
My mouth stiffened into a dumb howl.
They say it was a dream
but I remember that hardening.

My sister at six
dreamt nightly of my death:
"The baby turned to ice.
Someone put her in the refrigerator
and she turned as hard as a Popsicle."

I remember the stink of the liverwurst.
How I was put on a platter and laid
between the mayonnaise and the bacon.
The rhythm of the refrigerator
had been disturbed.
The milk bottle hissed like a snake.
The tomatoes vomited up their stomachs.
The caviar turned to lave.
The pimentos kissed like cupids.
I moved like a lobster,
slower and slower.
The air was tiny.
The air would not do.
*
I was at the dogs' party.
I was their bone.
I had been laid out in their kennel
like a fresh turkey.

This was my sister's dream
but I remember that quartering;
I remember the sickbed smell
of the sawdust floor, the pink eyes,
the pink tongues and the teeth, those nails.
I had been carried out like Moses
and hidden by the paws
of ten Boston bull terriers,
ten angry bulls
jumping like enormous roaches.
At first I was lapped,
rough as sandpaper.
I became very clean.
Then my arm was missing.
I was coming apart.
They loved me until
I was gone.



2. THE DY-DEE DOLL

My Dy-dee doll
died twice.
Once when I snapped
her head off
and let if float in the toilet
and once under the sun lamp
trying to get warm
she melted.
She was a gloom,
her face embracing
her little bent arms.
She died in all her rubber wisdom.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
King Lear
Member Avatar

Part 1 is hard for me to follow because it's like a continuation of metaphors, but I want to say that it's good, but I couldn't absorb it. A lot of poets do that to me. Part 2, I could like only because I understood 'a meaning' behind it, which is a shame I can't say the same for Part 1. I'm no good at absorbing things that don't make sense to me right off.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
mydyingbreath
Member Avatar

She thought she was a still-born baby, put in the fridge but the dogs found her and ate her. There isn't a 'deep' meaning behind it, it's confessional poetry. Still it evokes feelings in me, like nausea, and how many poems can say that? Here.. try part 6.

6. BABY

Death,
you lie in my arms like a cherub,
as heavy as bread dough.
Your milky wings are as still as plastic.
Hair soft as music.
Hair the color of a harp.
And eyes made of glass,
as brittle as crystal.
Each time I rock you
I think you will break.
I rock. I rock.
Glass eye, ice eye,
primordial eye,
lava eye,
pin eye,
break eye,
how you stare back!

Like the gaze if small children
you know all about me.
You have worn my underwear.
You have read my newspaper.
You have seen my father whip me.
You have seen my stroke my father's whip.

I rock. I rock.
We plunge back and forth
comforting each other.
We are stone.
We are carved, a pietà
that swings.
Outside, the world is a chilly army.
Outside, the sea is brought to its knees.
Outside, Pakistan is swallowed in a mouthful.

I rock. I rock.
You are my stone child
with still eyes like marbles.
There is a death baby
for each of us.
We own him.
His smell is our smell.
Beware. Beware.
There is a tenderness.
There is a love
for this dumb traveler
waiting in his pink covers.
Someday,
heavy with cancer or disaster
I will look up at Max
and say: It is time.
Hand me the death baby
and there will be
that final rocking.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
King Lear
Member Avatar

No, I don't like it, I couldn't finish reading it. I must be hyper-critical of other writers. No, I don't like it.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
mydyingbreath
Member Avatar

Oh dear lord... here...

Life

Life, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall?
Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily
Enjoy them as they fly!
What though Death at times steps in,
And calls our Best away?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway?
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair!

by Charlotte Bronte

See there.. she's so cheery, that should please you.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
King Lear
Member Avatar

An easy read, a good piece. The other pieces bring back my same feelings of Sylvia Plath, I find them harder to read than maybe... maybe simpler pieces.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today.
Go to Next Page
« Previous Topic · Discussion · Next Topic »
Add Reply
  • Pages:
  • 1
  • 3