Poetry competition CLOSED 28th March 2019 7:19pm
WINNER
Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
RUNNERS-UP:
ImperfectedStone
and snugglebuck
A Door in the Hive
Poetry Contest Description
The Classic Corner: Denise Levertov Tribute
Co-Host - JohnnyBlaze ( also the amazing artist who rendered Levertov's portrait )
Part XII in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most well-known poets, both classical and modern.
Priscilla Denise Levertov (24 October 1923 – 20 December 1997) was an American poet who wrote and published 24 books of poetry. Among her many awards and honours, she received the Shelley Memorial Award, the Robert Frost Medal, the Lenore Marshall Prize, the Lannan Award, a Catherine Luck Memorial Grant, a grant from the National Institute of Arts and Letters, and a Guggenheim Fellowship.
Born in England, Levertov began writing at a young age, sharing some of her poems with T.S. Eliot when she was 12 years old. Levertov published her first poetry collection, The Double Image, in England in 1940. Seventeen years later, she had her American collection, Here and Now, released. In the 1960s, Levertov was active in the anti-war movement in the United States. Additionally, she worked as a poetry editor for "The Nation" in the '60s and for "Mother Jones" in the '70s.
Guidelines
Write a new poem honoring Levertov inspired by any of her poems. We feel listing particular poems may be constricting, and want you to follow the inspiration wherever it leads.
Do your best to make us feel as though we are reading poems by Levertov. The more we feel you "capturing her essence" in "your own words" , the higher you will score. This will involve choice of wording, delivery, subject material, formatting, target audience - a wide range of factors.
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 ( but studying the poet is advised ).
5. Hashtag your poem #DeniseLevertov and link to your poem here. Do NOT copy paste your poem to the competition. The point is to eventually direct visitors searching for Levertov to your poem via the hashtag we hope will eventually be implemented by the Webmiss.
6. In your poem's notes, provide a link to the poem(s) by Levertov that inspired yours.
Comp will be judged by a panel including myself. You have one month; best of luck to all entrants.
Being Observed In Lesser Than
The daily routine of others
never seems the way for her;
when traffic mills in gridlocked streets
with lines of yellow at a standstill.
Where a pedestrian believes
she’ll make better time,
until the subway entrance;
that disgorges commuters
up and out into the light of day.
Some racing for buses that slow
as people break away from the curb
and push frantically between,
to dodge and sprint
to the other side of the street.
In the midst of it all, distancing,
she forfeits subway catacombs
where the males of arctic bears snarl,
The vision of her flight from their grind
at a glance, reflects an invitation
she is not entirely unconscious of.
But still she blindly proceeds
from the discourse she finds
more urban than primitive.
The seams of her nylons run afoul.
The structure of her foundation
garment infuriates,
and the high heels of her shoes
become acts against nature.
She’s being observed in lesser than
her suit of woolen armor.
Even less than the satin halfslip
giving up the ghost in mid-swoon.
And it too, like she, slides inches
as if to wave a white flag
of imperfect contrition.
But instead, becomes the unfurling
of a matador’s cape in the ring
which has her think in conclusion,
of everything symbolic
a ring represents to a woman:
the chase, the capture,
the bond, bondage and divorce.
And the men watching,
being only what they are,
snort and score their hooves
across the hard ground,
holding back their rage
until they huddle, when to crash
the confines, to bellow their intent.
And a cabbie with his
hastily embarking customer,
resets the meter, to make their way
through Central Park, heading for
the Museum of Natural History,
where displays of taxidermy
and bones will grow eyes for her.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
[ CC ] Alone In The Creek Bed
Having toiled another morning away
with hoe in blistering hands today
weeding rigid rows of prose within
fields planted by other writers
we break in shade of poet trees
Stanzing knee deep in delighted sighs
feeling the warm rush between thighs
giddily drinking from brooked babblings
being our roughly drafted naked selves
splashing and laughing it up
alone in the creek bed
---this wonderful oasis
written just for us
Written by JohnnyBlaze
Go To Page
Non-entry entry.
Where are They?
Legions of old
once assembled
fervent voices spoke as one
Where are they?
Once hand-in-hand
Strangers yet bothers and sisters
Chanting out, wanting to be there
Where are they?
Old now
Age muting devotion
Comfort muffled rage
Where are they?
Progeny
Two generations, more
Coddled by false justice
Symbolism over substance
Justice warrior avatars
Where have they gone?
Written by ReggiePoet
(Reggie)
Go To Page
Modes of Being ( after Denise Levertov )
March wipes
its muddy boots.
Spring advances:
basilicas of tulip, forget me nots, blue—
the color of black birds.
The park bench facing east of an empty sun—
tangerine skirt, blouse akimbo
amid purple limbs.
Near the Northern Triangle
a migrant woman is raped
by an indigenous guide
as her child sleeps.
The park yawns
its saffron teeth emerge;
a nocturnal atmosphere awakens—
its stridulatory organs rub in unison
against ultrasonic mammals
sustained in flight, their elongated fingers
stretching membranes opalescent.
What a joy to witness silhouettes
become their own darkness!
Near the Southern border
a father's back is bleeding
prideless, broken—
pleading for his missing son.
Feet muddy
we transpire from shadows
directional depth of night. . .
Perhaps turning east
knowing fire will alight
ignite our kindling of bones
complacent in knowledge;
what do we do, beyond
knowing means, beyond
scaffolded heights
of barbed fences and walls.
Holly bushes puncture our veins
draw blood in remembrance
an alternative to wishes—
if we had enough
to grant relief of suffering.
Cherry trees bloom pink;
"lumps of snow are melting
in tulip-cups".
Near the southern border, in
kennels made in America,
children are molested—
their tiny mouths gagged
while outside, their parents beg.
It is happening today, now
March two-thousand nineteen
no different than January,
nineteen seventy-four, near
Saigon—when I was innocent
in jr high school.
What Liberty, beyond scales
of blindness, doth tip her flame
into the balance of humanity
to reach regardless
the heart-wing of lung
to breathe, scream
through lack of sight
where deaf see more
than ever a cry heard by us;
our tongues transform—
become deadly weapons
of defense, shedding
not one ounce of their blood—
nor a drop of our own.
~
its muddy boots.
Spring advances:
basilicas of tulip, forget me nots, blue—
the color of black birds.
The park bench facing east of an empty sun—
tangerine skirt, blouse akimbo
amid purple limbs.
Near the Northern Triangle
a migrant woman is raped
by an indigenous guide
as her child sleeps.
The park yawns
its saffron teeth emerge;
a nocturnal atmosphere awakens—
its stridulatory organs rub in unison
against ultrasonic mammals
sustained in flight, their elongated fingers
stretching membranes opalescent.
What a joy to witness silhouettes
become their own darkness!
Near the Southern border
a father's back is bleeding
prideless, broken—
pleading for his missing son.
Feet muddy
we transpire from shadows
directional depth of night. . .
Perhaps turning east
knowing fire will alight
ignite our kindling of bones
complacent in knowledge;
what do we do, beyond
knowing means, beyond
scaffolded heights
of barbed fences and walls.
Holly bushes puncture our veins
draw blood in remembrance
an alternative to wishes—
if we had enough
to grant relief of suffering.
Cherry trees bloom pink;
"lumps of snow are melting
in tulip-cups".
Near the southern border, in
kennels made in America,
children are molested—
their tiny mouths gagged
while outside, their parents beg.
It is happening today, now
March two-thousand nineteen
no different than January,
nineteen seventy-four, near
Saigon—when I was innocent
in jr high school.
What Liberty, beyond scales
of blindness, doth tip her flame
into the balance of humanity
to reach regardless
the heart-wing of lung
to breathe, scream
through lack of sight
where deaf see more
than ever a cry heard by us;
our tongues transform—
become deadly weapons
of defense, shedding
not one ounce of their blood—
nor a drop of our own.
~
Written by Ahavati
Go To Page
Tale to Tell
Glass bottle in the earth,
hidden as rats in the compost bin -
left when glass bottles were commonplace,
when the deeds were written -
when a Lady knew her power and laid her plans.
Earnestly, I turn it as it catches flecks of light
and makes mystery of them
across the shaded soil -
where wild garlic and anemone,
daphne and winter clematis are tipping
over, almost -
unnoticed -
and I see these colours set ablaze
in their final hours with a turn of glass,
upon it's jagged edges,
at it's mouth,
small spikes of light, sprung
from something unwanted, insignificant -
timeless
of a period one cannot find nor travel within, only appreciate, only wonder,
and I carry it in, with the head of an early crocus
to sit in the kitchen -
as a familiar friend.
#DeniseLevertov
hidden as rats in the compost bin -
left when glass bottles were commonplace,
when the deeds were written -
when a Lady knew her power and laid her plans.
Earnestly, I turn it as it catches flecks of light
and makes mystery of them
across the shaded soil -
where wild garlic and anemone,
daphne and winter clematis are tipping
over, almost -
unnoticed -
and I see these colours set ablaze
in their final hours with a turn of glass,
upon it's jagged edges,
at it's mouth,
small spikes of light, sprung
from something unwanted, insignificant -
timeless
of a period one cannot find nor travel within, only appreciate, only wonder,
and I carry it in, with the head of an early crocus
to sit in the kitchen -
as a familiar friend.
#DeniseLevertov
Written by ImperfectedStone
(The Gardener)
Go To Page
Life at War ( after Denise Levertov )
To compensate for my father’s
muted choice, I turned to poetry—
backpacks of word folded
precisely as parachutes.
Bullets from a magazine
shell-shocked my faculties—
ricocheted off the metal floor
of a downed chopper in ‘Nam.
Levertov referenced Rilke—
formless lumps he carried about;
the irony, or not
referencing her raw dough:
pebbles that plague memory
decades after the same war:
Rilke’s bitterness, Levertov’s weight
both buried mines in my jungled-gut—
no closer to percipience
than decoding my father’s silence.
~
#DeniseLevertov
muted choice, I turned to poetry—
backpacks of word folded
precisely as parachutes.
Bullets from a magazine
shell-shocked my faculties—
ricocheted off the metal floor
of a downed chopper in ‘Nam.
Levertov referenced Rilke—
formless lumps he carried about;
the irony, or not
referencing her raw dough:
pebbles that plague memory
decades after the same war:
Rilke’s bitterness, Levertov’s weight
both buried mines in my jungled-gut—
no closer to percipience
than decoding my father’s silence.
~
#DeniseLevertov
Written by Ahavati
Go To Page
To The Best Of My Faith
From the strength of my conviction
Or is seen as my seclusion,
When you reckon self-restriction,
Yet I suffer no delusion.
Let it show by peerage recessed,
Gaveled quietly in judgment.
May it free-fall in their obsess,
Worn as glory on my raiment.
If conclusion renders payment,
Let my declaration follow;
In my truth holds no betrayment,
Nor my love of God be hollow.
As I kneel beside the waters,
Shows my face of vindication.
In my trust I shall not falter,
As the living Lord’s creation.
#DeniseLevertov
Or is seen as my seclusion,
When you reckon self-restriction,
Yet I suffer no delusion.
Let it show by peerage recessed,
Gaveled quietly in judgment.
May it free-fall in their obsess,
Worn as glory on my raiment.
If conclusion renders payment,
Let my declaration follow;
In my truth holds no betrayment,
Nor my love of God be hollow.
As I kneel beside the waters,
Shows my face of vindication.
In my trust I shall not falter,
As the living Lord’s creation.
#DeniseLevertov
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
Go To Page
Frogs
Near a lake shore I took a walk 🚶
When suddenly something green
Jumped up, leapt into the water
And with a splash, swam off
The sight brought back memories
Of my childhood when I and my friends
Were enchanted by polliwogs
As they turned from tadpoles
Into charming emerald frogs
We'd catch them just to feel
Their cold slippery skin
Then we'd squeal when they'd slip
From our grasp escaping in the grass
Every year that passes
There are fewer amphibian
Toads, salamanders and frogs
To capture a child's attention
I pray they never disappear
For future generations
#DeniseLevertov
When suddenly something green
Jumped up, leapt into the water
And with a splash, swam off
The sight brought back memories
Of my childhood when I and my friends
Were enchanted by polliwogs
As they turned from tadpoles
Into charming emerald frogs
We'd catch them just to feel
Their cold slippery skin
Then we'd squeal when they'd slip
From our grasp escaping in the grass
Every year that passes
There are fewer amphibian
Toads, salamanders and frogs
To capture a child's attention
I pray they never disappear
For future generations
#DeniseLevertov
Written by snugglebuck
Go To Page
The Quest (The Edge Of A Dream)
He hung on the edge of a dream,
wanting to go further,
to ponder, plunder it's depths.
It resisted him, but not for lack of desire;
it needed him to keep longing.
He scaled a cliff to get here,
he left all convention behind.
The dream wanted his attention,
it pined to reveal itself,
but it hungered for nothing else
other than that.
His pursuit was all that mattered in the end.
His reasons were mere rocks
tumbling under his feet.
.....
#DeniseLevertov
wanting to go further,
to ponder, plunder it's depths.
It resisted him, but not for lack of desire;
it needed him to keep longing.
He scaled a cliff to get here,
he left all convention behind.
The dream wanted his attention,
it pined to reveal itself,
but it hungered for nothing else
other than that.
His pursuit was all that mattered in the end.
His reasons were mere rocks
tumbling under his feet.
.....
#DeniseLevertov
Written by PoetsRevenge
Go To Page
(The) Web
A string vibrates,
a thousand hairs raise
on the flat plain of reception.
To run free on a mind with great abandon
a contrition traces it's steps
linking it's contrivances
making dark seem light.
Spun sugar, spiderlike and
unwoven at great speed;
a neural acceleration,
a locus unwinding.
All praise this intricacy
tied to my elation,
palpating my senses.
All praise this flytrap
forming forevers traceability.
Sweet hubris of winds failure
to waver anchored vacillations of thought.
A mind of merging composed
of tripwires,
multiplicities of replication,
complicities of conscience.
To not be encrypted
here in your web of entrapment
forever linked to your domain.
.....
#DeniseLevertov
(a non-entry)
a thousand hairs raise
on the flat plain of reception.
To run free on a mind with great abandon
a contrition traces it's steps
linking it's contrivances
making dark seem light.
Spun sugar, spiderlike and
unwoven at great speed;
a neural acceleration,
a locus unwinding.
All praise this intricacy
tied to my elation,
palpating my senses.
All praise this flytrap
forming forevers traceability.
Sweet hubris of winds failure
to waver anchored vacillations of thought.
A mind of merging composed
of tripwires,
multiplicities of replication,
complicities of conscience.
To not be encrypted
here in your web of entrapment
forever linked to your domain.
.....
#DeniseLevertov
(a non-entry)
Written by PoetsRevenge
Go To Page
[ CC ] Posteriority
I thought life was over
but then another had begun
when my back was turned
I was certain I left the Past behind
but there was still plenty ahead
shrewdly disguised as Future
I believed I was done
making a complete jackass of myself
but realized I wasn't ass-whole material
I was sure I was beyond making excuses
but ... but ... but .....
#DeniseLevertov
Written by JohnnyBlaze
Go To Page
Non-entry entry
Rock pool # Denise Lavertov
The beach its pebbles hard beneath
for childhood dreams we bear the pain upon our feet
and shout with glee and wave the net upon the stick
Try and stride between the rocks
youth its balance is the stuff of fun
that learning curve is easier for some
To mix with academic greats
the pools of knowledge that they share
a prodogy to find a foothold with the words of sage
To carve that niche upon the typeset face
the hemit crab it shell so weak
inhabts and finds a home that is unique
That rock pool, refilled with each new tide
its life, a small aquarium within it hides
apparent sillness camoflaged upon the shaded sand
The creation forming waves that wand
reflections of the clouds, the sun, the moon
the bubble breaks and throws its rings
Talent just to spread, each corner flung
to reach into our hearts and resonate
man and nature the symbiosis to create
To look and see what lies beneath
and always constantly refresh the drying kelp
all clarity, were that belief within yourself
for childhood dreams we bear the pain upon our feet
and shout with glee and wave the net upon the stick
Try and stride between the rocks
youth its balance is the stuff of fun
that learning curve is easier for some
To mix with academic greats
the pools of knowledge that they share
a prodogy to find a foothold with the words of sage
To carve that niche upon the typeset face
the hemit crab it shell so weak
inhabts and finds a home that is unique
That rock pool, refilled with each new tide
its life, a small aquarium within it hides
apparent sillness camoflaged upon the shaded sand
The creation forming waves that wand
reflections of the clouds, the sun, the moon
the bubble breaks and throws its rings
Talent just to spread, each corner flung
to reach into our hearts and resonate
man and nature the symbiosis to create
To look and see what lies beneath
and always constantly refresh the drying kelp
all clarity, were that belief within yourself
Written by slipalong
Go To Page
A Farewell to Decency
My friends,
I can no longer understand
The way the world is today,
Why the politics have gotten so…
Dirty,
It seems as if common politeness
Has given way to greed and avarice.
Farewell to the days of decency,
The care for our fellow man,
Living in the time of excess
Seems to be the goal.
Perhaps we as poets, writers,
Dreamers,
Those who envision a world without pollution
Without hate
Strive to write
And compose until our fingers ache,
Our minds united
Raising our voices together
Until the riot is heard.
Gone are the days of kindness,
There is too much negativity,
The way it has decayed
Into the souls of those in power,
While the masses cry out
“No more”.
Farewell I say,
Revolutions are coming,
As the times change
Tumultuously,
For after the dust settles
We’ll see the sun rise,
A new beginning
With hope.
#DeniseLevertov
I can no longer understand
The way the world is today,
Why the politics have gotten so…
Dirty,
It seems as if common politeness
Has given way to greed and avarice.
Farewell to the days of decency,
The care for our fellow man,
Living in the time of excess
Seems to be the goal.
Perhaps we as poets, writers,
Dreamers,
Those who envision a world without pollution
Without hate
Strive to write
And compose until our fingers ache,
Our minds united
Raising our voices together
Until the riot is heard.
Gone are the days of kindness,
There is too much negativity,
The way it has decayed
Into the souls of those in power,
While the masses cry out
“No more”.
Farewell I say,
Revolutions are coming,
As the times change
Tumultuously,
For after the dust settles
We’ll see the sun rise,
A new beginning
With hope.
#DeniseLevertov
Written by wallyroo92
Go To Page
