The Extension ~ Bag End Poetry Relay 2006

2006-12-22T02:43:00.000-08:00

Bag End Poet Of The Year 2006 - Mary Davila.

With an amazing 25% of the votes the Bag End Poet Of The Year 2006 is Mary with her entry for August "In Lebanon". CONGRATULATIONS MARY!!!! Close behind her with 18.7% of the votes was Mal with his November entry. Well done to everyone and thank you to all of you for making this year long challenge such a success. I really appreciate all of your hard work at Bag End. Happy New Year to you all!! Here's to the next challenge in January 2007 - to be set by Mal.

Berenice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Winning poem)

In Lebanon

In Lebanon, the children cry
as missiles hit and fathers die.
Their brothers, sisters, mothers, too,
can’t be dispensed from death’s pursue;
they huddle close as bombs fly by.

Our souls have meshed; the human tie
unites us all within God’s eye.
I warn my heart and walk with you
in Lebanon.

I hear the roar blast through the sky.
Our throbbing veins keep asking why.
Amid the rubble, your son’s shoe;
the stench of death has filtered through.
Our mothers weep and say goodbye
in Lebanon

© Mary Davila.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Safely Home

Conversation
knotted for so long
unravels,
filling the heavens
with strands of chatter.

Patches of smiles
dapple the air
with satin and lace.

Bits of tapestry,
embroidered with love,
wrap our hearts
in Spanish keepsake

Song, draped in grace,
amidst choirs of angels,
elevates your voice
into a celestial symphony.

Your innermost fiber,
once prematurely tangled,
has transformed
into the perfect quilt,

edged with red velvet
and united with God.

© Mary Davila.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'll Lay My Head

Don’t leave me Lord; it’s You I need,
when on this thorny road I bleed.
When I’m fatigued and need some rest,
I’ll lay my head upon Your breast.

Please take my hand and don’t let go,
lest I digress, consumed by woe.
When I withdraw and get depressed,
I’ll lay my head upon Your breast.

And when I fall, please pick me up,
to give me drink from Your kind cup.
Thus when I’m weakened, when I’m stressed,
I’ll lay my head upon Your breast.

How can I live if You’re not here,
to comfort me and wipe a tear?
Lord, when You hear my poor request,
I’ll lay my head upon Your breast.

Your arms around me hold me tight,
to help me through the darkest night,
and in the morning, now twice blest,
I’ll lay my head upon Your breast.

© Mary Davila.

Challengers: Mkevs & Berenice. Date: November 1 2006.

2006-11-01T02:32:00.000-08:00

Ok peeps! after long consultations with B
B and I have decided to go with this challenge

The theme:
The first thing you see

The picture we have here is of saint Steven's tower which houses Big Ben (the hour bell).

We would like you to write a poem about this picture as it will be the first thing you see when you open your eyes
for what ever the reason maybe:
regaining your sight after illness,
being born,
waking up from a deep sleep
or even landing on this planet

The rest is up to you

Thanks to Ellen for the picture

best of luck B and M.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ Mal

Oh my lord, how can this be?
I’ve slept in late till five past three
the afternoon is nearly gone
and here I am, no trousers on
nor shirt nor shoes nor underwear
just me and all my bits quite bare
standing here at Steven’s tower
at such a busy, public hour
I’m drawing looks that turn to stares
and then to disapproving glares
as most can ill-disguise disgust
(though one gent could not hide his lust)
nearby a woman starts to scream
“Please God let this be a dream”
I could not help but to agree
just wake me up in time for tea.

Mal

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The green bits are Mike and the blue bits are B...so you know who to blame.

Not wanting influence each other's decision, B suggested we both send each other an e-mail at the same time (me to her and her to me) to see who we thought should win and to our surprise we both picked the same poem.

The question is why - when they are all so darn good. For two reasons; the poet's simple clarity, the reader knows exactly what has happened to the poor soul. And secondly, the humour....had me laughing each time I read the poem.

You had me laughing my socks off I think this is why both B and I have chosen your poem as the winner.

All the poems are good and each in their way fit the criterea but we have picked the one which stands up just that extra inch. You gonna tell them Mike....?

The winner is...

Come on, spit it out.

Mal.

CONGRATULATIONSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

And a huge thank you to everyone who entered this challenge.

2006-10-01T02:51:00.000-07:00

Challenger: Dawn. Date: October 1 2006.

You are on holidays in the country and lost your way. It is sunset and you come across this lone cottage .
Write a poem, maximum of 30 lines, any style, from any angle you wish.
You could just describe it or make the poem a narrative of what happens next.
Have fun.
Dawn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ Mkevs (Mike)

Mike

Winner ~ Berenice

Required Annual Vacation.

Maybe because its the end of day;
caught in lavender light and breathy air,
maybe because its you somewhere in there.

Legs scratched by passed through
shrubs will ever stain scent and
image upon your brain, long after, sunk
into city baths, poor head thrummed
with late night lights and too much
wine bought off plastic neon-exposed
shelves, adjacent to shriveled nibbles and
several variations on hell; all will be
briefly erased by a fingertip examination;

this scar is for joy

Maybe you should stop right here, trim
down that foliage which grows to etch
such hope upon your skin or blossom
psychiatric bills to ease your shrinking mind.

Cut out that pain, step through the door,
hide behind walls, take your vow, cultivate
shrubs, live here not there, heaven not hell.

Around you is your today, fading gently,
below your span of globe, quiet stone,
roofs lowered, windows shuttered against
a promise of frost - bringing a shiver
to bones, pray that someone is in there,
that a fire burns, that a pot boils.

One second of hesitation, picture fades,
psychological virus destroys, personal hard
drive wipes, physical memory implodes;

Maybe you should have stayed.

Berenice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, what a task!
You are truly all winners. These poems show so much depth of feeling and human sensitivity, all written with fine craftsmanship.

I could say the award goes to nivek for his keen sense of humor and careful balance of style.
I could say the award goes to Berenice for her amazing imagination and wonderful choice of words.
I could say the award goes to Pam for her delightful magical mood she created so seemingly effortlessly.
I could say the award goes to Laura for her well structured sweet tale of romance.
I could say the award goes to Lynette for her thoughtful and quite touching poem we could all relate to so well.
I could say the award goes to mkevs for his haiga because it is a difficult genre and he has made it look so beautifully simple.

Six honestly great poems, all different in subject, even though that little cottage was in each one. Six poems with entirely different styles.

So two have tied for first place!
CONGRATULATIONS Berenice !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
CONGRATULATIONS mkevs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dawn
The photo.
Within about 10 minutes walk from my apartment there is a historic cemetery. It began in 1868 (which is quite old here in the coloniesƒº). I went exploring with my new camera and have lots of fab shots. This cottage is one of about three or four, scattered throughout the grounds, although this is the most appealing and largest of them. The cottage is barred up at the windows and doors and I don't know why it was built.
I'll post some more pics of the cemetery in the Dark Room but have only played around with one other and made it a haiga. I've entered that one in my first haiga contest so when that contest is over I'll post it too. There are so many beautiful wild roses and other glorious flowers and plants growing there plus sweet timber and stone archways plus a dramatic black iron gate at the entrance and much more!

Dawn

2006-09-01T09:25:00.000-07:00

Challenger: Mary. Date: September 1 2006.

Have you ever looked at someone, formed an opinion, but once you got to know them, realized you were all wrong. Appearances can be deceiving.

In this challenge, I would like to know how others see you - your character, appearance, personality, quirks, etc. Give me a glimpse into how you are being perceived by the world around you.

For this challenge, I would like you to write a poem in the third person, either in the voice of someone who knows you or someone in passing, who you don’t know, (such as someone who has sized you up without getting to know you). Include yourself as a person in the poem, from the speaker’s perspective.

To give you plenty of options, your poem can be set in any time frame, your childhood, adolescence, young adult, middle aged, old aged or anything in between.

Your poem can be any style or format, but please, no longer than 30 lines.

Have fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ Dawn

Child

She's a rosebud of a girl
tight, wrapped up in self,
living in a bedraggled
household.

Under a dazzle of black curls,
her dark blue eyes peer out
from her white face.
She looks and looks, and says nothing.

Lumpy knees and sharp elbows,
knobbly fingers and long thin feet,
she wanders in her own dream
of ballerinas and princesses.

Shadows and sunsets,
dappled sunlight and spiders,
cobwebs and blue wrens
remove her further from family.

Scribbles appear,
anywhere…exercise books,
margins of novels, theatre tickets,
even walls.

Will she ever grow up,
lose the dream in those eyes,
sharpen her senses
and live the humdrum of reality?

Dawn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This has been very difficult for me. Let me say that each one of these poems deserve to be chosen
as the winner. All the entries are great. But I have the task of only choosing one.

Pam, yours is absolutely beautiful. I love the rhyme and how it flows along so nicely. It felt like
you were describing me. Your last stanza is fantastic.

Berenice, yours is great. Lovely images. I was able to see you running, out of breath and opening
the door in your green coat. I could feel the moment. Wonderful writing.

Mike, I love your villanelle. Your humor is the best. You’ve given me a picture of someone who
isn’t going to go far in this world. I think you were perceived all wrong, because you are nothing
like that boy.

Dawn, excellent writing. Your imagery is so descriptive and vivid. Not only your physical
characteristics, but your personality. You’ve given me a excellent picture of how you were
perceived as a child.

Let me be the first in congratulating Dawn as the winner of this challenge.

Congratulations Dawn!

Mary.

Challenger: rhymetimeblue. Date: August 1 2006.

2006-08-01T01:36:00.000-07:00

My challenge for August 2006 is to write a Rondeau with the theme …”when I walk with you” and centered around one of the war torn spots of the earth.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Rondeau form:

The Form

The standard literary rondeau is usually found as fifteen octo- or decasyllabic lines divided into three stanzas, a quintet, quatrain and sestet. The refrain consists of the first few words of the first line of the first stanza. The rentrement, or refrain, ends the second and third stanzas, serving as their last lines. Only two rhymes are used throughout (Turco). The rhyme scheme is as follows: aabba aabR aabbaR.

A good example of the standard rondeau is the following renowned World War I poem, "In Flanders Fields" by John McCrae:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe!
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high!
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

rhymetimeblue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ Mary

In Lebanon

In Lebanon, the children cry
as missiles hit and fathers die.
Their brothers, sisters, mothers, too,
can’t be dispensed from death’s pursue;
they huddle close as bombs fly by.

Our souls have meshed; the human tie
unites us all within God’s eye.
I warn my heart and walk with you
in Lebanon.

I hear the roar blast through the sky.
Our throbbing veins keep asking why.
Amid the rubble, your son’s shoe;
the stench of death has filtered through.
Our mothers weep and say goodbye
in Lebanon

Mary

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whew! Talk about hard work! You poets who submitted entries did such an amazing job that it's taken days to deliberate. Finally, however, I have chosen. Please join me in applauding Mary's poem "In Lebanon" which speaks of the war torn areas and also the tie between us in more peaceful countries.

Thanks everyone for the outstanding poetry!

Pam

Challenger: Pritha. Date: July 1 2006.

2006-07-01T07:52:00.000-07:00

So! Is everyone ready for the July Challenge?Here it comes! I request a poem that has the following:
It must begin with
"And"
Last line to start with
"Because"
Two (or more) conflicting emotions/situations symbioticaly expressed- -- kids/adults,-- joy/sorrow,-- sunrise/sunset-- fantasy/reality etc (I would look for innovative thoughts here)
The entry name should have the reference of/mention some colour
Not exceeding 30 lines.
Any form. The clock has begun its tick! Let the challenge begin! Best of Luck! Hope this has your creative juices flowing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ rhymetimeblue

My Golden Child

“And all the king’s horses” echo from my past
The child in me is breaking free at last
I laugh and dance across the summer lawn
The sun is hot and all my cares are gone.

But wait! My God! A thought comes drifting in.
There are still worries buried deep within;
A task undone; a wild discordant bell.
Where was that born? The child in me won’t tell.

My feet are stilled for just that moment’s thought
Until the child in me is truly caught.
My feet return to concrete paths of age
My pen intent on writing one more page

But like a mist, once more it fades away
Because my golden child comes back to play.

Pam H. Murray
aka rhymetimeblue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I chose "My Golden Child" by rhymetimeblue. It was very tough to decide. But the one I chose kept coming back to me. The perfect rhythm of a sonnet, the contrast came out very well! A sonnet just fitted the challenge criteria...

Having said that I loved every other entry - it was very tough to decide....

Pritha

Challenger: Mike. Date: June 1 2006.

2006-06-01T10:13:00.000-07:00

It ‘s me again peeps
my challenge is an easy one this time (he said)

It’s to be about your first pet that you ever remember having as a child;
anything from a caterpillar in a glass jar right though to a lion in a cage.
if you had one.
I know some of us have to remember a little further back than others; so if you can’t remember, pull a memory from out of your childhood
Now if you didn’t have a pet then write about one you would have liked

Rules:
There’s only two:

You are not to name the beast
(your name for it or what make it was).
Show me don’t tell me let the rest of us see your pet thought you words

So all I want is for you write a poem of any type,
but not to long please say a maximum of 30 lines (or-there-about)
and with no names.

Also see my none entered poem
Link: http://pris2000.proboards18.com/index.cgi?board=websites&action=display&thread=1148821875

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ Pritha

You were the first
------------------

Chi-Chi-Babin!
How are you?

A tiny brown head looks up
like the morning sun gently waking!
Did she say something?
I smile back - for I am sure
she must have smiled too!

I stroke the soft brown head
with the back of my index.
Eyes close with every stroke.
My finger goes beneath the beak
to lift up the beautiful face.
She looks at me; still drowsy.

The hurt leg was spread out
and swollen. Food untouched.
Water sipped - tiny droplets spilt.
I frown. I stroke again.
I saw the eyes drooping.

I had to run.
School bus does not wait.

.....
.....
.....

Chi-Chi-Babin!
How are you?
I kick off shoes
throwing books on the table.

Silence.

The sun was setting.
Mom came to stroke my head.

Pritha.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank all of you who posted to this challenge I am delighted with the response

Now for the hard bit, a thankless duty as everyone has their own idea who is best.
You will also notice I’m not doing an enormous write up, as I don’t to that so well.

Mike goes into a judgely huddle with himself
We have two poems disqualified sorry but the rule is the rule.
Now how do I choose one from eight? I mean six
I know where to start; who didn’t post to my poem?
He he he sorry again I can’t do that to you lot, can I?
NO YOU CAN NOT (holds out his hand for a smack)
So I let myself be guided by the posts and comments you all made during the challenge.

ChiChiBabin = a team of endearment, I think not; have you seen this written out?

This is neither a name nor team of endearment for a pet and therefore I'll let it go
and hand over the baton to you Pritha.

The poems that where entered were all so wonderful
again thanks to everyone who took part.
Mike
I'm sorry this is a bit short but computer is palying up and not letting me post on line this post took 4 goes to get it here

Mike

Challenger: Mal. Date: May 1 2006.

2006-05-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

Choose a stanza from someone else's work, 4-6 lines. Use each of these lines sequentially as the final line in each stanza of your poem. Free verse, metered & rhymed, whatever you prefer. The new poem may embellish or expand themes in the original, or it may take a new direction. Judging will be based on how effectively the original lines are woven into the new poem, gramatically and thematically.

Here's an example:

Autumn
P.K. Page

Whoever has no house now will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone
Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening
And wander on the boulevards, up and down...
Autumn Day Rainer Maria Rilke

Its stain is everywhere.
The sharpening air
of late afternoon
is now the colour of tea.
Once-glycerined green leaves
burned by a summer sun
are brittle and ochre.
Night enters day like a thief.
And children fear that the beautiful daylight has gone.
Whoever has no house now will never have one.

It is the best and the worst time.
Around a fire, everyone laughing,
brocaded curtains drawn,
nowhere-anywhere-is more safe than here.
The whole world is a cup
one could hold in one's hand like a stone
warmed by that same summer sun.
But the dead or the near dead
are now all knucklebone.
Whoever is alone will stay alone.

Nothing to do. Nothing to really do.
Toast and tea are nothing.
Kettle boils dry.
Shut the night out or let it in,
it is a cat on the wrong side of the door
whichever side it is on. A black thing
with its implacable face.
To avoid it you
will tell yourself you are something,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening.

Even though there is bounty, a full harvest
that sharp sweetness in the tea-stained air
is reserved for those who have made a straw
fine as a hair to suck it through-
fine as a golden hair.
Wearing a smile or a frown
God's face is always there.
It is up to you
if you take your wintry restlessness into the town
and wander on the boulevards, up and down.

Two entries max per person, posted here by 8PM EST on May 14th. Have fun.

Mal

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ Mike

it seems we’ve been here
for the longest time
contemplating my world

constructing it just for us
thinking i have it just so
aligned at a perfect angle

but should we have put them here
or I’d move that over there we’re still
unable to make a decision

taking a breather exhausted
my mind splits on my own
i sit on horizon's ledge

at pace the other half runs amuck
now at top speed it is
absorbing a landscape of liquid

gone are the stars
and only just missing that
paper thin moon crowns my head

breaking up all that was once in place
my minds eye no longer lit having
no landmarks upon which to focus

my strength sinks to its lowest ebb
catatonic almost lifeless
all natural life un-displayed

"you’ll just feel a little scratch"
the reeking fug begins to lift and
the silence so strangely fulfilling

feeling we can find our way again
and start redesigning our world with
a Peace only He could have made

Thank you Ellen for letting me use your poem

Ellen untitled poem
contemplating my world
aligned at a perfect angle
unable to make a decision
i sit on horizon's ledge
absorbing a landscape of liquid
paper thin moon crowns my head
no landmarks upon which to focus
all natural life un-displayed
the silence so strangely fulfilling
a Peace only He could have made

Mike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SuZ, - you did a wonderful job with the Dickenson poem, unfolding it into a lush description the emergence of beauty.

Alan – As usual, very clever craftsmanship, using the Frost lines effectively as last lines in each stanza, forming something original in the process.

Mike – There are several reasons why I can’t declare you the winner. First, the challenge was to select a stanza of 4-6 lines to use as the last lines in each stanza of your poem. You chose an entire poem of ten lines. Ten lines, for God’s sake! Did you add 4 and 6 and come up with ten? And… it’s a religious poem, which we discover in the last line, thinking “I got tricked into reading a religious poem. I hate that!” And, to top it all off, you use the word “fug” (ninth stanza). Fug? That sounds like a vulgarity! Fugiddaboudit.

Actually, Mike wins. I like the fact that he chose a poem from a fellow bagender (hmm… gotta think about that phrase) and did a great job expanding it. Thumbs up Mike! Ball’s in your court.

Mal

Challenger: Suzanne. Date: April 1 2006.

2006-04-01T10:01:00.000-08:00

It’s Called Cut and Paste:

Sometimes it's the very contradictions in a poem, the presence of two or more opposing forces pulling at each other, or interacting, that give the poem its power and energy, as if it were driven along by that friction and struggle.
With this exercise you will end up with three pieces of writing with the third piece being the end result from blending the first two pieces.
Write a short poem or prose piece in gentle, happy, peaceful tones with
images of nature. Then write a poem or prose of the same length in sad, angry or upset tones on a totally opposite or different theme. Cut and paste the two together, alternating lines without trying to make too much sense of it at first. It is surprising how it seems to work. You can edit it and delete words or parts of it that really don’t blend. You can move lines to make it work better.
Another way of seeing this relationship would be to imagine the poem as a rope made up of two or more different hanks, dark and light, wound closely together, each strengthening the other.

You can also take two of your existing poems that you think might work with this method. Cut and paste them into a new document and then alternate the lines from one poem to the other. Make a title for the finished piece.

The following poem by Patricia Lee Lewis was written using this method.

Two Hundred Wings

You are pregnant, the doctor says, I am sorry, leaves
float golden orange, he turns away, his white coat, his big
shoulders, between twig and ground, are you sure, the girl says,

a hundred starlings, it’s all she can think to say, light
among red oak branches, except then she cries, their voices
like the voices of the thousand leaves, what else to do
with shame and sin and no one will forgive you now, beyond
the trees, you little whore, she can hear the baby’s father, a
woman stands, except then, she says, inside the sobs she says,
she raises both her arms in salutation, is there anything you
can do, it being 1954, it being Texas, two hundred wings,
and this being unforgivable, he turns and says, a single
bellows whooshing, No, I’m sorry, and when her mother
slams her hands against the steering wheel, pushing air,
and says, what have you done to me, in close formation, and
when her father says, like a cloud, I will have to resign
from the ministry, she breathes the risen wind, she knows
there was nothing anyone could do, and she enters the small
cottage among trees.

There is a maximum of 2 entries per poet. Poems should be 30 lines or less. I look forward to reading
your creations. Good luck to all.

Poems should be posted by April 14th.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winner ~ Mal

First, the bathing, then an awkward gown,
Ta-ta Jeeves, I must leave, but I’m not able
Like a patient etherized upon the table
crisp linen I dare not clutch,
and betadyne.
Eat no peach, walk the beach in my trousers

She runs a catheter into a vein on my left hand,
and I’m delivered to Ether,
Blimey mate, it’s getting late, so good night-o

his forgetfulness dripping…..

For twelve hours I am nowhere.
Hay-On-Wye, kidney pie, let’s bowl some cricket
Brush your teeth once a week you sticky wicket

Light crystallizes in my eyes and I awake
The moment flickers, ignore the snickers, but pass the mutton
with mechanical breath,
My God, man, tell me can you possibly bear it
Tygon snaking out below my ribcage
Come and go, let us know of Michelangelo
draining fluid.
Afternoons of coffeespoons, a bit of claret
The man who split me open and held my heart,
Eat no peach, walk the beach in my trousers
replaced my aorta with fabric
Toast and tea, bring to me a boiled potato
and tricuspid flesh with titanium,
Because tonight I must go light on the mayo
stands over me and smiles.

“You’re in sinus rhythm
for now”
Tally-hoo, go to the loo on the hour
The monitor dances in time.
There’s an eight-inch sneer in the center of my chest
I grow old, my trousers rolled, my vest is buttoned
held shut with hidden thread
lest it devour me.

Mal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First up let me say I truly enjoyed all of the entries.
This is the first time I have been in the position to judge a challenge such as this so in setting the criteria for what each poem should meet I came up with this.

I wanted the poems to reflect a feeling of someone faced with a huge crisis whose mind seems to take them into a reverie of escape, almost like a form of hysteria.

In this way the lines would be harsh reality with some floating in of lines that escape to a happier time or are just complete escape from this reality too hard to be with.

Thus, here is my rundown on these entries.

Berenice & Mike:
I think yours worked quite well but tended to be somewhat rigid in a theme –not floating in and out of a suspended state of disbelief –if you can follow me. This is in no way a judgement of your poems I really enjoyed reading them.

Mary : I thought yours succeeded a little more in catching that elusive conflict/peace
split, but I could still feel that temptation of trying to bring order to it.

Alan:
Yours was clever but even if you hadn’t told me I could feel your resistance against immersing yourself into the conflict / peace theme. I feel that end rhymes do limit the possibilities of really taking flight with this exercise {same comment to Mike}

Mal:
To me your poems really captured the spirit of the challenge, as set. I really enjoyed
“the summons came yesterday.” Almost a spoof on Chasing Jack Keourac.

Still, I felt your poem “First the bathing, then the awkward gown…”
was a wonderful example, of what I wanted to be achieved by this exercise.

I could really feel the patient floating into the anesthesia and the involuntary thoughts of a TS Eliot poem in his head, mixing up with the stark reality of being operated on for a life threatening condition.
I enjoyed the whole poem but want to post this highlight…it all works so well.

“Light crystallizes in my eyes and I awake
The moment flickers, ignore the snickers, but pass the mutton
with mechanical breath,
My God, man, tell me can you possibly bear it
Tygon snaking out below my ribcage
Come and go, let us know of Michelangelo
draining fluid.
Afternoons of coffeespoons, a bit of claret
The man who split me open and held my heart,
Eat no peach, walk the beach in my trousers
replaced my aorta with fabric
Toast and tea, bring to me a boiled potato
and tricuspid flesh with titanium,
Because tonight I must go light on the mayo
stands over me and smiles.

“You’re in sinus rhythm
for now”
Tally-hoo, go to the loo on the hour
The monitor dances in time.”

Well done. I vote this poem the winner- so Mal…really
sorry to overwork you but it is up to you now, to bring us the next Challenge for May.

Thankyou all for your wonderful participation.

SuZ

Challenger: Mary. Date: March 1 2006.

2006-03-01T10:00:00.000-08:00

G.K. Chesterton is a great poet and author from London, England. Here is a link that gives a short biography and some of his works.

http://www.dur.ac.uk/martin.ward/gkc/

I have selected 15 of the first lines, from some of his poems.
The challenge is to pick one of these lines, and use it in a poem.

It doesn’t have to be your first line. It can be your first, your last or anywhere in-between.
You are not limited to one line, if you are feeling creative, you can use as many lines as your heart desires.

I had grown weary of him; of his breath
That night the whole world mingled
A bird flew out at the break of day
You will find me drinking rum
For every tiny town or place
Impetuously I sprang from bed
If sunset clouds could grow on trees
When I came back to Fleet Street
Before the grass grew over me
I remember, I remember
In a tree that yawned and twisted
The still sweet meadows shimmered: and I stood
Beyond the trees like iron trees
If trees were tall and grasses short
When fishes flew and forests walked

There is a maximum of 2 entries per poet.
Poems should be 30 lines or less. I know you will all be very creative.

Good luck to all.

Poems should be posted by March 14th. I will be away from March 8th until the 19th. I am hoping to have Mal judge the entries since we are joint winners from February, but he is currently away, and I have not contacted him yet. If he is not back in time or cannot judge, then I will do the judging when I return

Mary

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Winner ~ Suzanne

Between the Morning Glory and the Dewy Spider Web:I am renewed

The still sweet meadows shimmered: and I stood
between a blue vine and a spider web

Immersed in true beauty - unfolding day

Drawn into each pastel cloud display
each mystery of mist on trees the metaphor of each new bloom
and every sweet cool breath of air
my own renewal from morning

Suzanne

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Alan and Prithar: Both of you produced very clever poems comprised entirely, or at least nearly so, from lines from the list. Well done, great craftsmanship.

Perhaps it’s not fair to have Mary set the challenge and then me judge, as we might have differing notions of what we’d value most, but I was looking at it more from the standpoint of taking one of G.K. Chesterton's lines and running with it. The other entries fall in this category.

Here is my rundown on these entries. Pardon if I digress and draw reference from personal experience, but that’s what we’re all about, no? No particular order except the winner is last:

Mike, very fun, those of us of a certain age need to find the humor in short-term memory loss. Otherwise, … sigh… It reminds me of a cartoon showing a cymbalist in an orchestra poised to clash his cymbals with his thought balloon: “I won’t screw up, I won’t screw up”. The caption read “Roger screws up”. Sometimes, no matter how on top of things we think we are.. I like your use of dialogue, the inexorable voice of reality.

Laura #1: There are memories that seem to have their own magic. Do you find certain experiences or events set these off? For me, an afternoon nap outside in the summer does it, just as I'm falling asleep, and it’s warm, the sun filtering through…. then I remember a moment of a sense of wonder from my youth. What do you remember of these rippling wheat fields? The sound of the breeze through the crop? The shimmer of the ripening grain? The color of the grain against a clear sky?

Laura #2: This is a wonderful notion of gathering multicolored sunset clouds from trees and spreading them about to share with others. Like this poem itself, we want to share beauty. I like how you took off from that one line,

Suzanne: How love became: The allegory is told very succinctly. The “fallen wings” connote a fall from grace, but this is the flip side of Genesis. It tells us that the world didn’t start in a condition of divine grace only to have sin come to us in an apple, but rather the opposite?

Berenice: This is well-structured and I like how it moves from childhood, or a longing for childhood, to a realization that we can still be youthful in adulthood. You seem strong-willed. Suzanne: Renewal. This is a lovely description of finding renewal in the morning, the opening of the day, not just from the beauty, but from the metaphor of bloom. Couple of crits: Don’t hit us with the word “metaphor”. Let the metaphor be a metaphor. And I wouldn’t use “true beauty” in that way. How do you convey “true beauty” without saying “true beauty”? I offer these crits only because it’s the winner. Great job.

Well done, everyone! Thank you for entering.

Suzanne, the ball’s in your court.

Mal

Challenger: Alan. Date: February 1 2006.

2006-02-01T09:57:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends, Here is a well-known poem by Joyce Kilmer, which I have spoofed 6 or 7 times.

TREES

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

The challenge is to write your own spoof of it, which can be either straight, or satirical, or best, one of each ! Closing date 14 Feb 06.

As I understand the rules, each entrant has to comment on every other entry, and I would like to offer 2 prizes - 1 each for the straight and satirical winners.

I will be the judge of who wins, but will give due weight to the reception each entry has with all of you.

Each winner will receive a copy of my chapbook "Blindsight v. Hindsight, Ex-rated poems", if they want it, and send me a snail address.

Enjoy !

Love
Alan

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Winner ~ Mary

I thought that I would never see
a man so perfect, just for me;

a man who always looks to God,
does not put on a fake facade;

a man whose arms keep me secure
to hold me tight as we mature;

a man who’s blind to all my faults,
a perfect partner as we waltz

into our twilight hand in hand
with all my heart at his command.

Good men are found by fools like me
and I thank God on bended knee.

Mary

Winner ~ Mal

Cheese

I think that I shall never see
A poem as awful as a cheese

That’s overripe and turning blue,
And green in spots, a mottled hue;

A cheese that grows a fungal beard
Of stems and spores and sprouts most weird;

Whose perfume wafts upon the breeze
To bring us to our buckled knees;

Upon whose bosom flies have lain
Their eggs in every rotten stain.

Poems are made by fools like me.
I take no credit for foul cheese.

Mal

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Hello Friends,

I have 4 funny -

Mal 1 & 2,
Mkevs 1 & 2

and 5 straight -

Laura
Mary
Berenice
Pris
Ellen
although in one or two cases the funny and the straight tended to mix, with perhaps a strong touch of "wry".

I am thrilled with the number of entries, and indeed, with the quality.

The funny winner is Mal's Cheese, which although not as off as his Sneeze, is closer to the original in spirit.

And the serious winner is Mary, with her pean of praise to her lovely husband - what a lucky/deserving pair they are !

ALL the other poems win HONORABLE MENTION status !

I offered a copy of my chapbook to each winner, so please send me your addresses so I can mail. Mal, did I already send you one a few months back ? If so, do you want another ? If you have one, and don't want another, please say, I'll offer it to mkev instead.

Love,
Alan

Challenger: Mike. Date: January 1 2006.

2006-01-01T09:53:00.000-08:00

May I take this opportunity to wish everybody a happy and prosperous new year.

OK peeps
It my turn again!! It is the same as last time but slightly different.

Below you will see some pictures numbered one to what ever I post
The rules are as before with some changes:

please! only Post one poem per picture.
(So you can if you like post 8 poems to all 8 pictures)

Also this time I am excepting all types of poems
long, sort, formed, rhymed, free verse and KU’s

So on to the points this time I think we will mark the poems out of ten
Ten being the highest- i.e. publishable
and one being the lowest- i.e. should have not been posted
if you can please give points to all the poems post
This will make it a little more equal

How to:
Posting your poem
First mark it “Mike’s challenge picture No.#”
then post your poem,
(without the picture).

When you post a reply to a thread at the top of your post
Please mark it
"get it"
or
"don't get it"
then rate it with points, with a small crit of why you “get it/don’t get it”

Two or more "don't get its" and that poem will be disqualified.
as will all the points for that post

Modify it and re-post it in a new thread
B’s rules:
1. A poet posting an entry must comment on all other entries.
2. all entries must be in on the 14th of the month so I can announce
The winner and or winners on the 16th.

the one poet with the most points will win
good luck to all of you who try this one
Pictures are as follows:
Mike

There are 8 pictures to view.

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Winner ~ Alan

Pic 1 VIAGRA FALLS

The purple haze has set me straight
bedroom from hell pulls me, it’s bait
to get my act up, no Viagra pill
convince my body, bypass the will

See on the bed a picture clear
of what it is I’m doing here
some Dali limbs depicted there;
I can’t compete, please, a chair ....

Pic 2

THE CHILD LEAVES

Winter’s child is huddled small
Springtime’s child will stand up tall

Summer’s child is content to lie
while Autumn’s child knows how to die ....

Winter’s child is but a seed
Springtime’s might be called a weed

Summer’s child’s a lusty brute
while Autumn’s could be called a fruit !

Pic 3

THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT ON

Niagra Falls,
Niagra sings
but not suffering under
industrial-strength “blings” !

Pic 4

NIAGRA RISES

Its white water falls;
such impact that vapour rises,
praising to the skies

Pic 5

VALDEZ

Pour oil on water :
environmental trouble
millions of dead birds ....

Pic 6

NATURAL ORIENTATION

Wind, do your damnest;
you can’t keep this good tree down,
so which way is up ?

Pic 7

CLOUD-SCAPES

Cloud schooner, sail on
the sunset is your harbour
the dawn a rebirth

Pic 8

WHO IS CALLING WHO “UGLY” ?

When you make my age,
two-legged, offensive oaf,
you can call me gnarled !

Alan McAlpine Douglas

The First Bag End Challenge.

2004-03-21T06:27:00.000-08:00

The first official Bag end challenge was set by our loyal and trusted member Dawn on March 21st 2004. It was the start of many more challenges to come.

Following Dawn's challenge and the excellent response it received, our Administrator Berenice decided to draw up a rota on the board and commenced a weekly Sunday challenge which was then extended to the fortnightly one.

All members were invited to set a poetry challenge, and those who wished to contribute were allocated a date for their individual challenge.

The challenges soon became very popular and have been ever since.

Here is the first official challenge with all the entries included.

Berenice and all the members would like to say a big thank you to Dawn for starting it all off.

So here is the original post of that first challenge...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DAWN'S "ME IN ONE SYLLABLES" CHALLENGE!!

This idea has been brought onto the board by Dawn...check out her post below.

We challenge you to write about yourself...in ten minutes...in words of one syllable.

Good luck....the best will be hung up on chains of finest silver...lol...in the Bag end Gallery.

You've got until the end of next week...or thereabouts.

Dawn

Laura

Ok, here it is. It was really hard to write with one syllable words. And, yes, "clime" is a word. Look it up in a therausus under "weather."

I was born in the midst of the wheat fields in a wind swept plains state, near the lands of the red man. Mom, Dad, two sons and one baby girl formed a clan of five.

Grade school was my joy in life. To learn to read was like a prize of gold, of jewels in my crown. I sat for hours bathed in the glow of words on the page.

My mind was quick and keen. I was at the top of the heap, but that was a case which would not last.

At the age of ten I wrote my first verse. Though this write was short and drab, I was glad I had that skill. My mom wrote her own rhymes, so the fruit fell close to the tree.

My garb of choice was jeans each and every day. I could not climb trees, jump fences or ride a horse in a dress! I could whip any boy my age. I chose to be a girl at last when I reached my teen years.

In ninth grade I went from my small school to one in town. I felt that I was of a low rank when I saw the cute, well dressed girls who walked down the halls in their fine clothes…and why were they all so smart?

Why was I all at once the dull one? As you can see, I was in a world not known to me, and I was, I thought, worth less than my peers. That was my plight for many years.

As a teen, my love for my horse (which I rode each day as a young girl) soon made a shift to boys, fast cars and flicks. Those were cruel years while I tried to deal with the pain of my aim to fit in.

At last I found my one true love and we moved to the land of green trees, blue bays and a mild clime. The beach sand took the place of red clay and dry grass on my bare feet.

I’m now at peace with my path of choice, and the love of my life who thinks of me as his queen…the best of the best. Life is good!

Nivek

"this is me"

you know my name.If you don't, look at my name from the back of your head.Go from the back to the front of it,and you will know it.

I am a man that comes from the flat land.The land that has six months of snow, more or less, and a month and a half where the snow melts,plus a month and a half where it gets cold once more.So for three months, there are a few nice days,as long as it does not rain...

My mom and dad were poor folks,but did not choose that life.A hot blaze gave it to them.Dad sold all his cows to get lights and plugs in the house,when the line came through.Then the house went up in smoke,and with no stock to sell, he had to scrape.

Mom and dad did good, if you ask me.Dad just had a plot of land that was one mile long by half a mile wide, but there were ten of us in all.We got the best that they could give.At times,it was not much,but it was good.

i was the "babe" of six.I came to this world three weeks too soon,and close to dead,and part deaf.Folks ask me at times if i miss what they hear...but how can i miss what i have not heard in my life?

i used to get mad a lot as a child...kids can be mean to those who are not quite like them.i stomped.i cried. i beat my fists on the wall.But i made it through it. then i wrote a line or two that rhymed for school.I found out that i like to do that, and that it helped calm me when it got too bad.Then a friend said i was good at it, so i wrote some more.Now,i could not count the lines that have came out of my pen, but i will say this:

i am sure there are no "long" words in this note!

lilripple

It's me...Nan

There are no words
to bare who I am
but a poor soul
with tool in hand
whose muse
stamps thoughts
in my brain
both sweet and gross
then leaves me
to cruise the page
to search for a word
that will stand
OUT!!

icyheart

Me is all I can be
Just me.
So you see.
So what you see
Is all you get
Just plain ole' me.

Ellen

I need to boost my e and go
If I'm to make this small verse flow.

You see my con and fin and dence
Sits small and stiff on my back fence.

My thoughts of self have far to go
The sign and post of life lies low.

My name is El, that's where I've been
A place on earth and I have seen.....

Berenice

I was born in a year of flared pants and bad hair. In a year when my land changed from old coins to new. At my birth both mum and I just missed death. We were strong and both lived.

I was the babe of my home, self willed but not spoilt. Five years on, I went to school. I knew how to count, read and write, but they thought not. So I grew cross and shy.

In my school I was the odd one out and learned to fight for my space. I was picked on by my peers. If they knew me now they would ask why they did this. If I saw them I would smile, then walk off. I have my space now.

Twelve years from my birth we all moved to a new land, where they spoke in two tongues. This was Wales.

School was good now, but I still hurt. I could not wait to grow up and be free. When I reached those yearned for years, I found "free" was not all it seemed. I had to fight once more. This time for peace of mind.

It was through huge loss and grief that I found true joy. Yes, that sounds mad I know. But in the face of such loss, I look at what I have left.

It is these: Love, life and each new day. Thank you all for your time.

Dawn

In my eyes I am a girl
but in their eyes I am old,
the no-smile tells me.

They know me as
quiet, thin and one who loves poems,
one who likes to dress
in soft tones of blues, greens, pinks
plus the odd brown or black.

They note I wear slacks and flat shoes
each day and drink tea, eat lots of fruit
and love good music.

I hate skirts or frocks but love blue skies, sweet things to eat, art, pearls, the bush, books and I love to talk.

I like my home to be neat and clean and smell fresh.

I fear rats and mice and large birds.

I still feel deep love for my Loz though this is the fourth year since his death. He is my Love for the rest of my days.

Nivek

kev in poem

kev in his room,
sits on a chair,
looks at the comp screen,
thinks,who is there?

he must write a short poem,
that will tell his friends,
the kind of man that he is,
by the time it ends,

and so he sits and thinks a bit,
of just what he should say,
and then he sees that star treks on,
and his mind drifts out to space,

he knows he could say this and that,
to tell you what he's like,
but all his friends know that by now,
and foes can go fly kites!

it's me again...

i am from the flat land,
where the wind blows cold white snow,
in six month's time the snow will melt,
but the wind will stay to blow,

i am from the grain belt land,
miles and miles of feild,
where the price of bread is set,
from how much the crop yeilds,

i am from the land of lakes,
and the land of sky,
the place where folks reach out a hand,
to those who just pass by,

i am from my life,the past,
it has put me here,
and if you ask me where i go,
will be to get a beer!