EXERCISE National Poetry Month 2016: April 7

Discussion in 'INSPIRING MUSES' started by RiverNotch, Apr 6, 2016.

  1. Again, the rule is you've got to write something on the topic or form described, with yer poems being in different posts. And that month thing -- prompts'll stop by April 30.

    TODAY'S TOPIC: "Jack would like a prompt about lycanthrope so write a poem inspired by metamorphosing into an animal, being an animal or from the point of view of an animal."
    FORM: Any
    LINE REQUIREMENTS: 8 lines or more

    Credit where it's due; the idea and the prompts come from this site:
    Poetry Forum - - Post poetry, get feedback, give critique.

    The hero's journey
    cannot end in triumph. Death
    is not the abyss, it is
    the return, the final descent
    down the mountain. To the living,
    only the boon is truly known,
    the summit behind the hero
    reeking of corpses.

    The war came when he was a child,
    and afterwards, he joined his generation
    in telling tales only of this glorious past,
    choosing for himself a mundane path. He became
    an officer of the law -- a guardian,
    perhaps, or the dragon
    holding the goddess captive. He found my grandmother
    at an investigation in the provinces,
    falling in love
    first with her cooking,
    then with her quiet rural manner.

    Now the silence haunts him.
    He sits by the door of their house
    and dials up a channel
    on his battery-powered radio,
    a gift from his three daughters.
    Before my grandmother's sickness, it would be
    the news -- now that she lies on the couch,
    a bag of vomit nearly spilling out beside her,
    he prefers the worship channel.
    But even this must end. My mother,
    busy accounting for pensions,
    complains about the noise.

    Siegfried returned to the world of men
    with the Tarnhelm before his death.
    And as the flames of his funeral pyre
    rose to the heavens, the world of the gods
    burned down -- the hearts of men
    were purified. That is the real boon,
    the power to transform.
    If my grandfather is to offer us
    anything more than his life,
    he must die like a dog.
  3. Sibyl Vane

    Dorian, sweet Dorian, sprawled out on rich Egyptian cotton,
    Dorian, who bore the creamy-white innocence of youth
    To painter Basil, while summer flowers danced on the wind.
    Dorian, whose thin-tipped fingers traveled too far south
    On the idolized canvas, and thus he bound himself to be a fiend.

    Now Dorian opens jagged mouth and howls in laughter,
    Bays like a wolf at the ceiling of the opium den,
    Bites down hard on living flesh to taste new sensations
    Just like Lord Henry taught him. Women and men,
    No one is safe from the hooked claws of his fixations.

    He tore into society and it smiled, whispered behind, back at him,
    Like a finely-tuned violin, answered to every trill of the bow,
    Because upon his brow was beauty. But, in his heart, an animal.
    ... And one night Sibyl Vane took her last teary-eyed bow:

    Vane's veins throbbing, and rosy cheeks wet with tears,
    Dorian, oh Dorian, so vain, had torn her asunder to live like Harry, again,
    Like the devil himself - an aesthete. She was only a colorful canvas,
    One evening she was Rosalind, and the next evening she was Imogen.
    ... Then one evening she could not be any, and was found in the sea-grass.
    • Like Like x 1
  4. I also like that one! I think it could be cleaned up, but with a good scrubbing, it'd be a real kicker -- my favorite bit is the last stanza, which has that right sharpness to it. I could try and cut deeper, but I'm not sure this is the right forum (that is, this is for challenges, and a bit of commenting on them) -- and anyway, I know I'm no good critic [yet?].
  5. Thanks for the critique, I really appreciate it! c: Yeah, I also think it could be cleaned up a bit. Ah, this is the first time I'm happy to actually be forced to write everyday rofl. xD