Poetry competition CLOSED 28th January 2019 3:57pm
WINNER
ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
RUNNERS-UP:
eswaller
and PoetsRevenge
Bone - Celebration of Mary Oliver
Poetry Contest Description
The Classic Corner: Mary Oliver
Co-Host - JohnnyBlaze ( also the amazing artist who rendered Oliver's portrait )
Part VIII in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most well-known poets, both classical and modern.
Mary Oliver ( b 09.10.1935 ) is an “indefatigable guide to the natural world,” wrote Maxine Kumin in the Women’s Review of Books, “particularly to its lesser-known aspects.” Oliver’s verse focuses on the quiet of occurrences of nature: industrious hummingbirds, egrets, motionless ponds, “lean owls / hunkering with their lamp-eyes.” Kumin noted that Oliver “stands quite comfortably on the margins of things, on the line between earth and sky, the thin membrane that separates human from what we loosely call animal.”
Her awards include:
Pulitzer Prize for Poetry
1984 · American Primitive
National Book Award for Poetry
1992 · New and Selected Poems
PEN New England Award
1991 · The House of Light
Goodreads Choice Awards Best Poetry
2012 · A Thousand Mornings
Guidelines
Write a new poem honoring Oliver from one of the following poetry titles. Bonus points if you actually read the poem and include a reference other than the title within it.
1) The Journey
2) Sleeping in the Forest
3) Wild Geese
4) Poem ( the spirit likes to dress up )
5) Morning Poem
6) The Swan
7) Bone
8) Song of the Builders
9) Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does it End?
10) When Death Comes
11) A Dream of Trees
12) Mindful
The Rules
1. One entry per DUP persona.
2. No erotica; this is open to all ages and can't be viewed with an ECW.
3. No exact word limit; however, attempt to keep it no more than 250 - 300.
4. Any form is acceptable.
5. Hashtag your poem #MaryOliver and link to your poem here. Do NOT copy paste your poem to the competition. The point is to eventually direct visitors searching for Oliver to your poem via the hashtag we hope will eventually be implemented by the Webmiss.
Comp will be judged by a panel including myself. You have one month; best of luck to all entrants.
Wild Geese ( After Mary Oliver )
There are no instructions to glean wisdom;
no table of contents directing the living
to their appropriate chapter in life’s manual.
There is only an instinct for survival,
one deeper than holding your breath;
and no one taught you to do that.
In the intimate darkness of womb
you inhaled amniotic fluid
because it sustained your growth,
but no one taught you to do that.
No one taught you to hold your breath
in the birth canal or your first bath;
you just knew you were supposed to.
So why do you try so hard to understand
what cannot be understood by anyone;
knowledge flows in our veins.
All you have to do is listen to the drum
of blood in your ear when submerged
into the still depth of a bath or pond,
where language opens the memory
of being formed already knowing:
You were life’s prayer of becoming—
and its answer all along.
~
#MaryOliver
no table of contents directing the living
to their appropriate chapter in life’s manual.
There is only an instinct for survival,
one deeper than holding your breath;
and no one taught you to do that.
In the intimate darkness of womb
you inhaled amniotic fluid
because it sustained your growth,
but no one taught you to do that.
No one taught you to hold your breath
in the birth canal or your first bath;
you just knew you were supposed to.
So why do you try so hard to understand
what cannot be understood by anyone;
knowledge flows in our veins.
All you have to do is listen to the drum
of blood in your ear when submerged
into the still depth of a bath or pond,
where language opens the memory
of being formed already knowing:
You were life’s prayer of becoming—
and its answer all along.
~
#MaryOliver
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
I have tried all of these and keep failing, hopefully something will come of this one 😅
The Collector
1.
Unusual, in the distance, stillness
beneath a hanging
wispy algae as it waves
a flag. The pelican
whittled down
to its base form. Stark, stranded, smooth-
an orange beak
like a bird of paradise and I sought heaven
in your duplicity, in your triplicity,
in your multitudes, a million
lights emerge
as static on the sea, I did not see it.
I believe wishes come
2.
from the wing bone. Funny,
life is not a stranger, but death is.
You can touch it, taste it, feel it,
but not know it.
I took the bone and weighted less;
brought it home on one last flight.
Washed in the basin away most
of the miasma, tiny, white on white sins.
Left a few in the creases
for remembrance, the orbs of moments,
making up your life.
It’s your story to tell; here’s some tea
leaves falling on the floor.
I brush them under the couch,
as you only save what can be kept.
3.
The call of the sea
washes over me
at night. Fishing, as neon shines
through the gills- my blinds,
for compassion.
In my sleep, I do not hear, therefore-
from the shelf, I have put
them inside myself;
the ear bone and the wing bone
to substitute the gaps.
There then, I fly and collect like clouds
water in my throat. And I hear
the clouds gasping as I do
on the shore. What a treasure.
Would you two buffer me a while?
#MaryOliver
Unusual, in the distance, stillness
beneath a hanging
wispy algae as it waves
a flag. The pelican
whittled down
to its base form. Stark, stranded, smooth-
an orange beak
like a bird of paradise and I sought heaven
in your duplicity, in your triplicity,
in your multitudes, a million
lights emerge
as static on the sea, I did not see it.
I believe wishes come
2.
from the wing bone. Funny,
life is not a stranger, but death is.
You can touch it, taste it, feel it,
but not know it.
I took the bone and weighted less;
brought it home on one last flight.
Washed in the basin away most
of the miasma, tiny, white on white sins.
Left a few in the creases
for remembrance, the orbs of moments,
making up your life.
It’s your story to tell; here’s some tea
leaves falling on the floor.
I brush them under the couch,
as you only save what can be kept.
3.
The call of the sea
washes over me
at night. Fishing, as neon shines
through the gills- my blinds,
for compassion.
In my sleep, I do not hear, therefore-
from the shelf, I have put
them inside myself;
the ear bone and the wing bone
to substitute the gaps.
There then, I fly and collect like clouds
water in my throat. And I hear
the clouds gasping as I do
on the shore. What a treasure.
Would you two buffer me a while?
#MaryOliver
Written by yelluw_always
(Haley Quaquaversal)
Go To Page
Mindful ( After Mary Oliver )
God days, I call them—
creation aligned
with mindful being
despite contrast;
such as the truth
of this simple moment:
no accolade, award
or holiday exists as reason
to appreciate its breath;
only Life itself:
winter grass
a frozen lake—
this skeletal leaf
~
#MaryOliver
creation aligned
with mindful being
despite contrast;
such as the truth
of this simple moment:
no accolade, award
or holiday exists as reason
to appreciate its breath;
only Life itself:
winter grass
a frozen lake—
this skeletal leaf
~
#MaryOliver
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
Sleeping In The Forest
*
*Yes.*
*It was*
*an embrace*
*I felt when I ventured*
*into the embryo.*
*
*Of*
*when*
*I crouched*
*and peered, and was*
*the memory of*
*
*A*
*faintly*
*familiar feel*
*of freedom, that I had*
*merely saved*
*
*And*
*let slip,*
*till I was with*
*the earth while she had*
*softly whispered*
*
*The*
*first lesson*
*she ever taught me,*
*of the worlds in raindrops*
*and night wings.*
*
*It*
*had not*
*yet dawned on*
*the treetops or in my mind,*
*when a shower*
*
*Of*
*stars*
*suddenly erupted*
*in a perfect silence, while*
*the light of each*
*
*Ice*
*firebrand*
*quickly flickered*
*between the pine needles,*
*and raced across*
*
*The*
*warm*
*living soil*
*being turned,*
*that cradled me with*
*its lullaby, before dying out.*
*To sleep & sail by the reckoning*
*of the North Star.*
***
Written in the poetic form known as Concrete, which structures the poem with the words/lines to suggest the silhouettes of living and/or inanimate objects. In this case: Fir trees.
*Yes.*
*It was*
*an embrace*
*I felt when I ventured*
*into the embryo.*
*
*Of*
*when*
*I crouched*
*and peered, and was*
*the memory of*
*
*A*
*faintly*
*familiar feel*
*of freedom, that I had*
*merely saved*
*
*And*
*let slip,*
*till I was with*
*the earth while she had*
*softly whispered*
*
*The*
*first lesson*
*she ever taught me,*
*of the worlds in raindrops*
*and night wings.*
*
*It*
*had not*
*yet dawned on*
*the treetops or in my mind,*
*when a shower*
*
*Of*
*stars*
*suddenly erupted*
*in a perfect silence, while*
*the light of each*
*
*Ice*
*firebrand*
*quickly flickered*
*between the pine needles,*
*and raced across*
*
*The*
*warm*
*living soil*
*being turned,*
*that cradled me with*
*its lullaby, before dying out.*
*To sleep & sail by the reckoning*
*of the North Star.*
***
Written in the poetic form known as Concrete, which structures the poem with the words/lines to suggest the silhouettes of living and/or inanimate objects. In this case: Fir trees.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Sleeping in The Forest (Make Earth Your Heaven)
Mother-Earth remembered her,
She took Mary back so tenderly.
Like the willow tree, her mother’s hair swayed so gracefully.
Mother nature’s tune humming as she blanketed her in leaves so lovingly.
She slept as never before, a breeze billowing her bedroom curtains,
nothing between her and the white streaks of falling stars.
Her childhood dreams feathered as Autumn leaves
beneath her favorite tree branch.
The small kingdoms of insects in her bedchamber
buzzing throughout the moonlit hours.
Mother always said at bedtime, “make earth your heaven.”
Geese and swans outside her bedroom window whirring in their song.
Tossing, turning and tearing at night,
coping with the glow of yellow, eerie moonlight.
By morning the swans had carried her away many times
into the sun of her serene dreams, leaving the moon-glow.
#MaryOliver
She took Mary back so tenderly.
Like the willow tree, her mother’s hair swayed so gracefully.
Mother nature’s tune humming as she blanketed her in leaves so lovingly.
She slept as never before, a breeze billowing her bedroom curtains,
nothing between her and the white streaks of falling stars.
Her childhood dreams feathered as Autumn leaves
beneath her favorite tree branch.
The small kingdoms of insects in her bedchamber
buzzing throughout the moonlit hours.
Mother always said at bedtime, “make earth your heaven.”
Geese and swans outside her bedroom window whirring in their song.
Tossing, turning and tearing at night,
coping with the glow of yellow, eerie moonlight.
By morning the swans had carried her away many times
into the sun of her serene dreams, leaving the moon-glow.
#MaryOliver
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
Go To Page
A dream of trees # mary oliver
the dormant state after leaves have dropped
I dream't that spring would stop the rot
what happened to the Do-Do tree
they burned down to a stump
the pyrenean ibex that stood upon the hill
the branches just like antlers
the golden crested Quagga
that stood upon the plains
these all were living forms
but now alas are lost
the planet warms and the virus bites
the ash falls sick with deadly blight
poison fungi its spores like mites
suck the sap and brown the lingered death
I do not wake refreshed
the forest like me has a troubled sleep
I dream't that spring would stop the rot
what happened to the Do-Do tree
they burned down to a stump
the pyrenean ibex that stood upon the hill
the branches just like antlers
the golden crested Quagga
that stood upon the plains
these all were living forms
but now alas are lost
the planet warms and the virus bites
the ash falls sick with deadly blight
poison fungi its spores like mites
suck the sap and brown the lingered death
I do not wake refreshed
the forest like me has a troubled sleep
Written by slipalong
Go To Page
SatInUGal said:Is the poem I wrote in the other comp eligible for this? Feels appropriate.
It wasn't written specifically as a tribute poem, though I'm sure you'll have no problemo writing another inspired by one of her poems listed above! Let me speak with Johnny in the morning and I'll get back with you.
It wasn't written specifically as a tribute poem, though I'm sure you'll have no problemo writing another inspired by one of her poems listed above! Let me speak with Johnny in the morning and I'll get back with you.
SatInUGal said:Is the poem I wrote in the other comp eligible for this? Feels appropriate.
Hey! Spoke to Johnny and we both feel that the other would not be in the spirit of the comp because it was prewritten for another comp. Prewrites are not allowed in this one.
After the way you unscrambled the Poetic Medic comp, we both feel you'll have no trouble with a new entry here!
Thank you for understanding; we look forward to your entry.
Hey! Spoke to Johnny and we both feel that the other would not be in the spirit of the comp because it was prewritten for another comp. Prewrites are not allowed in this one.
After the way you unscrambled the Poetic Medic comp, we both feel you'll have no trouble with a new entry here!
Thank you for understanding; we look forward to your entry.
