I hope we're not running into the same trap again.


Fixed elements make the frame of a game, while variables keep the interest alive.


True, so let creation lead the game!

Right. I found this theme incredibly hard to write on so I needed to get it out of my system. Here goes.


The Only Child

Mouthful of wine
Daughter stumbles
Into the room
Her eyes searching
Through drifts of snow

She plucks a flower
White and fragile
From her hair
And plants it gently
In the palm of her hand

That it doesn't melt away
For she was born
of this madness
Into frostbitten scorn
As an end to decay

Mother
Where hast thou
Hidden father?

Daughter wakes up
And ascends from confusion
Her body, a meadow
Yearning for life
Her breath is wild

She dreams of the light
For it to warm her
And she makes her arms
Like trees
To greet the rain

That it feeds her desires
For she was born
out of lust
Into kingdoms forlorn
As a gift to His fires

Mother
Where hast thou
Hidden father?

With an undying thirst
Daughter reveals
What sun that shines
Is never brighter
Than she

And if death should come
With thunder and darkness
Ignition of a spark
Her majesty grows
Ever stronger

That none would deny
How she was born
out of this summer
And that none should mourn
'til she herself decides to cry

Mother
Where hast thou
Hidden father?

And as her tears
Finally begin to fall
Daughter smiles
For the world
Is falling with her

And if she kicks the leaves
And dances in cold flames
Might she find
what she seeks
right there beneath her?

That hell is her master
To be blamed for her birth
out of all that is dying
In the heat of the hearth
And that He will outlast her

Mother
Where hast thou
Hidden father?

Wintry


Awoken in the middle of eerie winter-tale
I nestle my palms to a windowpane,
As though trying to thaw a frostwork.
Is this calm distance just the same?
Or this is some old fair winter-tale?
Like one of those without bitterness...
Yet deafness and blindness I foresee.
Is there any cure for this dying place?
Perhaps I could adorn this surface by tears?
And make it shine by breath of pain?


Deserted in this sombre place of coldness,
Surrounded by deafness and blindness,
Lost in this horrid winter wonderland...
Failed my attempts to overcome it.
Solely distant glow shone forth my face,
Graphics of rimy sprigs whispered calm,
As though tried to compete with low relief
Of quitened pain carved like frosted lace,
Irridiated silvern beauty of despair,
Colder than nature can create.
Since a part of me has died,
Thrown away to those unknown,
Invisible and noiseless snowflakes...
Their silent cry in echoes whispered:
Veritas odium parit...


Stunned call for renascence
Vanished by chill air without response.
For all that, you tried to comprehend
From that calm distance just the same
`Cause I asked that tiresome - Why?
Desperate echoes carried my question away.
And I heard nothing in response to - Why?
Do you really think just the same?
As they, who tried to reverse evident?
From a distance of nebulous veil
Windless air brought implacable answer
And I heard response just the same,
Like your voice whispered in echoes:
Veritas odium parit...
And I locked myself in that horrid winter-tale.


That moment I knew, it was all in vain...
Survive it for winsome days and
To announce that desperate truth,
And call for deed fight off that hate.
But no one knows, even you
Who tried to comprehend...too late.
Your advice to keep a secret of truth
Then wore thin in windless air.
Again whispers echoed all the same:
Veritas odium parit...
Amid harsh landscape of despair,
I found impossible to escape,
To leave this desolate winter-tide.
That`s why I kept on asking
Just all the same:


"Wipe away my fears,
Thaw away this relief of rime,
Reverse it for some better truth,
Create a beauty without despair.
Erase these graphics of bitter cold.
And then...reverse it all once more,
Take my mind off this horrid truth,
Separate me from a blinding light,
Make me feel indifference,
Show me something to live for,
Give me a purpose to fight,
Save me from myself,
Save me from my fate."
Endless chain of questions
Will never fade away...


Still no one knows, if you can
Dispel a ghastly tale into fair.
I wonder why I bother?
I question the reasons.
Am I so different?
Is there any purpose to fight?
When a part of me is tired...
Ready to surrender...
But what I am giving up for?
Am I only separating
The sorrow from the pain?
Or the truth from delusion?
And it doesn`t matters anymore
Yet this sombre place is the same,
Uncanny destiny of mine.


...yet no one knows...
Still remains a chain of questions:
Where to find truth without hate?
How to create a beauty without pain?
Is this just the same winter-tale?
But silent whispers wept the same:
Veritas odium parit...
And stayed unheard in bonds of eerie calm.
I couldn`t deny it -
Yet no one knows...this wintry realm.

Mine :


" Venerean Pleas "

Sombre breeze, how cold you blow
Like flocks of thorns and poison'o
What message am I doomed to hear
Sombre breeze, what should I know

In utmost apathy...a divine breath
Tales of glory, rhymes of death
You pour it all down unto me
Songs of suffering, scripts of wealth

Bless me with your endless night,
Oh breeze I implore your might
Let me be the Earth on which
Your golden apples grow so bright

Leaf so beautiful yet so far,
Ravage my world! Cold you are
A poet tear I shed on you
Ground this everburning scar

Uttered in silence, my pleas grow
Unheard but smoothly flow
in endless reveries embrace my soul
Sombre Breeze, what should I know!

'The Only Child' and 'Venerean Pleas' - both are really nice according to current issue frame. Looking forward to official start of commentary.

Seasons of Sorrow

The sun burns brightly
Yet you are cold
The sky so wide and beautiful
The clouds still float on by
In a hurry do the birds fly
As time waits for noone
The world spins so fast
Yet you are still
Waves still lap upon the shore
The wild wind blows so free
Breathes life into you
Lending you a helping hand

Burning orange sky
Reflects in your eyes
Sequin stars, velvet sky
Creatures come and go
Bathed in chill moon's glow
Yet you feel no peace at all
Leaves fall gently down
In crispy shades of gold
As winter calls her children home
Refreshing summer rain
Wash away earth's pain
But you cannot be clean again

The earth is full of colour
You remain grey
In a frozen world of monochrome
The beauty of a rainbow
Fails to move you
You isolate yourself below
A storm is brewing
Yet you won't shelter
Feel the power in the air
Silent night bleeds
Into the dawning of a new day
But for you it's only pain

Looks like it's just us 5 again!

Aye, just us 5 again, but at least we didn't loose anyone.

Updating the thread wth a poll now. Since all the poems for round 3 is on the same page (this page) I won't compile them into one post..

... some comments again:


The Only Child - impersonation of seasons is actually a guide and reader could follow her in this journey via changing landscapes. As a reader, in a flash I saw here also Botticelli`s 'La Primavera' picture, but contrary to spring - this picture refers to summer. And yet there is a mystery which could be hidden between the lines.

Wintry - ...not a poem, but something like...Actually, Wintry is based on essay I wrote some time ago. Then I "translated" a picture of severe coldness and included here some other components. Therefore, this piece is lenghty.

"Venerean Pleas" - well balanced sight of calm, pain, presentiments and impetuosity. This poem in itself reminds an old-school style approach in the best meaning of it. Dreamlike and impetuosity saturated this poem leads you somewhere far away.

Seasons of Sorrow - very subtle illustration of seasonal changes expressed by charming imagery. It creates a wide range of feelings, but season remains the same at least from the teller`s perspective. That`s why the whole atmosphere creates an impression of only one season - season of sorrow.

Inflorescence - ... and a cycle that continues. This poem creates an illusion of ambivalence. Like a look at the verdure from a teller`s point of view and from an entity of flora - its process of vegetation. Neverending cycle of birth - death and ... maybe there is a 3rd point too...

The Only Child is a fruit, and not any fruit: it is about the grapes and the divine/decadent liquor obtained from them.
The poem starts with silver winter (“as an end to decay”) – white text, continuing through the promising spring (“And she makes her arms/Like trees/To greet the rain” – just imagine the vine leaves growing and curling towards Life) – green text, then there's the golden summer yielding sweetness, but the grapes are not ripe yet (“And that none should mourn/'til she herself decides to cry”) – yellow text and finally there comes the glorious autumn taking pride in the tempting wine ("And as her tears/Finally begin to fall/Daughter smiles/For the world/Is falling with her")– dark/ripe text.

“Might she find/what she seeks/right there beneath her? - In vino veritas.



Wintry: Inner struggle whether to accept seclusion into the safe emptiness/silence of the Frost or to thaw into Life and get hurt again and again.



Venerean Pleas: Cosmic winter has brought death by devastation and darkness. The only living element is the sombre breeze itself ... “a divine breath/Tales of glory, rhymes of death”. And there’s another instance of existence in this frozen Universe that yearns to materialize: “Oh breeze I implore you might/Let me be the Earth on which/Your golden apples grow so bright”.



Seasons of Sorrow: the cursed existence of someone who lived too intensely much too quickly or too early (in both ways, negative and positive) and is now one with the emotional void: “In a frozen world of monochrome/The beauty of a rainbow/Fails to move you”.
This could also stand for the flowing of Time, constant, indifferent to mortals’ agitation/apathy or to seasons’ alternation, infinite, “stained” by glorious or shameful events, tired of all this endlessness (“But for you it's only pain”).



Inflorescence

Yes, there is. On a personal note.
"She is a broken leaf,/But pretends not to crumble".

What now?
I love challenging situations!
Any ideas?

That`s the name of the game.
...and that`s why I `m looking forward to the next round to experience the same challenging or predictable situation.

I think we should wait a while for an idea from author of the game.

* misspelled "your" in my poem, 3rd verse*

mm probably a "one verse" competition (regarding the same topic) to determine the winner?
Just a thought.

Sounds fair to me