I've won again! Another of JanieBelle's poetry competitions. This time the seed phrase was 'Quietly naked in the pouring rain'. You can see what I did with it here.
And the best bit, as well as getting a guest post, is that my poem is the new starting point for the next competition. If you want to have a go, read the poem, and then write about the same event from a different point of view. The closing date is 30th June at midnight in the States, or in the wee small hours over here.
That's three poems now that wouldn't have existed were it not for these competitions. The second one didn't win, so I don't get it all my own way. It's important when writing to have something to focus on, such as a seed phrase, or picture, just to get you started.
So have a go! It's fun!
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8 comments:
Sorry no one has congratulated you on your poetry success. Well done. My brothers used to recite this poem which started " The boy stood on the burning deck" But after that they collapsed in fits of mirth and I never learned the rest of the words. I asked the girls at Girton but they were no use either.
Hi Martyne:
Casabianca ["The boy stood on the burning deck"]
Felicia Hemans (1793 - 1835)
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.
The flames rolled on–he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud–'say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?'
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
'If I may yet be gone!'
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
'My father! must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound–
The boy–oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!–
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part–
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
Here.
And congrats again, Deacon Barry.
Kisses,
JanieBelle
That link is not correct!
My apologies, my browser had been boogered up by some movie trailer thing...
The proper link is here
Apologies again,
With kisses,
JanieBelle
Thanks for the poem janiebelle. Not one I have read before but it is beautiful. Much though I like the ocean wave, it has put me off sea travel. Air travel is a bit dodgy these days as well. How is a girl to get about these days. Any ideas?
Love and Kisses, Martyne
Thanks for the poem. I love narrative verse as you can tell by my most recent post. This one is like an old building that once was an ornament to its surroundings, but has been left to go to ruin by years of neglect - or years of parody.
Love old buildings whether they are ruined or not but I don't see where parody comes in to it. Please explain Mr Barry.
You're welcome, both of you.
It's a shame that this poem is mostly forgotten, I think.
If you don't care for boats or planes Martyne, then you haven't many choices left to cross the water. Swimming comes to mind, but it's a bit far from my home to London (and I'll never give up trips to London as long as I can help it!)
On the plus side, Sailors and Marines seem to enjoy watching me swim. I tend to feel uncomfortable in a swim suit, so I ditch it every chance I get.
;)
Oh, and Deacon Barry, I hate to add to your workload, but tag.
Crap. Bad cut n paste.
I do seem to have issues with links on your blog.
Here's the link I meant to give.
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