Poetry competition CLOSED 5th July 2013 2:18pm
WINNER
Kou_Indigo (Kara Lucielle Pythiana)
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What Was Joan Thinking?

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Joan of Arc! Read about her and write a poem about what you think she was thinking.
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9KP4rpODkBM/TSWEeOdpFBI/AAAAAAAALzQ/ICRPAg2BuiI/s1600/swynnerton_joan-of-arc_big.jpg

One poem per poet maximum.
No collaborations.
Good Luck.

And, thanks in advance for entering.

Strider

MadameLavender
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...

Solomon_Song
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(Joke) Looks phallic!

poet Anonymous

Solomon_Song said:(Joke) Looks phallic!

Solomon!!!  Where is your Medieval mind???

poet Anonymous

Intro to Joan of Arc : "disgraces and countless"


The signs I saw in the Heavens.  As the Earth trembled  
beneath.  The days of accountability drew ever closer.  
Though so many in denial walked onward ignoring these  
things with utter deceit.  

The youth grew ever more restless and hateful.  Having no  
compassion for humanity or love.  We all stand at the gates  
threshold of the coming Judgements.  
A destiny so inescapable from high and up above.    

My weary body tires from the battle facing evil.  It wears so  
many different faces.  It forever comes to test my mettle.  
An unending and perplexing states of disgraces and countless demonic riddles.  Throughout thoroughfares and unforeseen places.



Joan's Quest

Tis' a hard valor but you fight with the might of his great strength within you.
For you are chosen for this destiny and the secrets that I bestow to you.

"The Maid of Orléans" roman Catholic Saint.
Called upon for a greater power that shall be
blessed.  Anglo-French conflict into a religious war.  
For the Holy Spirit aids you and endows
you with great super natural wisdom's.  

Your spirit shall walk with me into a greater land someday.  Where my Kingdom lives on far beyond so many that have fallen and faltered
long astray.

Though your martyrdom Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois,
your sword shall be emblazoned
with the Judgements of Christ beholding and
directing this battle bore of the name of Jesus.
 
(Romans 3:10-18)
War is never a good thing, but sometimes it is a necessary thing. In a world filled with sinful people war is inevitable. Sometimes the only way to keep sinful people from doing great harm to the innocent is by going to war.






Solomon_Song
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No disrespect intended, Strider! (You asked Where is your Medieval mind?)

It is likely those who found themselves on the receiving end of her sword thought it sacrilege for a woman to be wielding what they considered a symbol of manhood - for the Medieval aristocracy getting one's sword as a knight was a sacred rite of passage, on similar plane to a Samurai getting his sword or a Zulu warrior getting his assegais. Joan's use of male attire - armour - were among the points (so to speak) used against her when tried as a 'witch'.  (It could be considered that Joan was the victim of a sex war as well as of an international war.)

poet Anonymous

Solomon_Song said:
No disrespect intended, Strider! (You asked Where is your Medieval mind?)

It is likely those who found themselves on the receiving end of her sword thought it sacrilege for a woman to be wielding what they considered a symbol of manhood - for the Medieval aristocracy getting one's sword as a knight was a sacred rite of passage, on similar plane to a Samurai getting his sword or a Zulu warrior getting his assegais. Joan's use of male attire - armour - were among the points (so to speak) used against her when tried as a 'witch'.  (It could be considered that Joan was the victim of a sex war as well as of an international war.)


Just jokin' with you man...all good points you raise Solomon!

poet Anonymous



FOR GOD ALONE


For God alone, I left my home

My valleys green and wide

Although I am but seventeen

I must lead armed men with spears, swords and shields

To the piercing, frightful cries of battle and death

I have listened to the voices of the Saints

I will gladly sacrifice my life to the cross

To save France, my country, my land

I am not afraid to die

Jesus comfort my mother tenderly!

And thou, St. Michael, strengthen me.




poet Anonymous

MadameLavender said:Joan’s Prayer


Lord, ‘tis thee, that I beseech,
If thy may, take this cup from me
I am merely but a girl from Gaul,
A simple lass who answered Your call.
Please tell me did I hear Thee correct,
When mine own army, I wouldst beget?
I am no soldier, to tear asunder
Those who would thine kingdom, plunder.
But prithee, tell, dost thou use the meek
And carry us whence at times we are weak
To prove the battle ‘tis not against flesh
Though girded with thine armored vest—
The one that is made of thy word,
That from the tongue, ‘tis a holy sword?
Ah, Lord, guide me thou Heavenly Father
Whence I fight for thee and burn as martyr.


This is just beautiful.......

MadameLavender
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Thanks Kitty! :)

Kou_Indigo
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Joan of Arc is one of my two patron saints, the other being Saint Ceclia, so there is much in her that I look up to and admire. It was a pleasure to pen a poem for a contest in her honor. Here is my entry, in it I tried to get inside her head and think as she. I came to realize, she was a complicated soul born in a sadly intolerant age that did not understand her. She struggled against more than foes on a battlefield, and this poem shows the depths of her struggles for equality and acceptance. A cause I myself fight and strive for, in my own way.

- Joan of Arc’s Whisper -

I need not a single gender to define me!
It is a maid I am, aye, but so much more.
My steel must be as sharp as any man’s,
My voice a cry to battle for God to hear…
And oh, such visions do mine eyes see!
I have stepped beyond constraint’s door.
And ere time runs the course of its’ sands,
I will take the field, of death to bring near.
I relish it not, but who else can stand tall?
No man, nor woman, hath seen as I hath.
Whether in skirts or mail, I shall deliver…
The will of God: which, I ever held dear.
Let them call me witch before I shall fall!
It is they who judge me that fall to wrath.
Let God’s arrows be in my slung quiver!
It is my enemies who hath cause to fear.

I will face my foes whether on the field…
Or in the courts of kings cunningly cruel!
They see in me, either a male or a female,
But I am like the angels; I define myself.
How many times must my enemy yield?
The mores of this age, written by a fool!
They long to shape me, or see me to fail.
Even the Dauphin with all of his wealth…
But I shape my destiny, under my God,
And the whispers of angels guide me so.
It is not for men to judge me, or my will…
For, by that will, I serve a higher calling.
Why must men look at me so very odd?
Because they cannot make me bow low!
All they know is the craft, of how to kill.
But, when I battle, they find it appalling?

Michael, the warrior angel, I am as thee,
As much as the more passive Gabriel…
But angels are not masculine or feminine.
Nor am I and for this I am so despised!
In another age mayhap I would be free,
Not told that I am going to burn in Hell.
Is being myself so wickedly awful a sin?
Too much, is normality imposed, prized!
But, what are the norms in time of war?
In an age of battles that hath not end…
Must women wait to be raped or slain?
I will bring the battle to the brutish ones.
Because I am neither lady nor whore…
But an angel, which God doth so send,
To end the endless cycle of harsh pain!

Men will not end war by their accord…
Kingdoms rise and fall like burnt wood.
No forest will bloom, nor children sing,
Unless, I can teach men to respect life!
Would that I need not take up sword…
But I must, because no one else could,
And still, a measure of healing so bring.
I must be a warrior, in an age of strife…
To heal the land, to heal mankind also!
My white armor will shine not of metal,
But of my spirit: and thus so of Heaven.
I will be hated, by the wicked, entirely!
My foes gather, seeking to bring woe…
And I go forth to give them their battle.
I whisper, the names of angels, seven!
The righteous will see my soul’s dignity.

marielavoue
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she a fav. I'm here too

marielavoue
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Mon dieu, tis getting a hot in here!

http://www.tabathayeatts.com/JoanOfArc%20strom.jpg


Why dost thee roast me,
when yonder dost there roam
a perfect swine?
Happily me thinks to change places
with thine beast
there by avoiding cooked feet!
Oh, the stench of over ripe cod,
rotting carcass, hark fore it be mine
thus in continued distress,  
could thee see fit to digress?
Comely I was, till thine decree
to burn me at the stake
cometh unfairly!
Ah, but knowest this well
thee shall be well met in hell
for this transgression I foretell!  
Whilst I wither until dead
I curse yee all to be
unto the hell hounds feed!
Orevuar mon ami,
may thine arse shrivel and pucker
when Lucifer cometh and fucketh thee!

Gypsy Red


poet Anonymous


JOAN OF ARC

Crucify me
Lie, to me
Nail me, to your cross

Noone shall mourn the loss
Noone shall know
That of which does not show

Inquisition
Descision
Devided by words

And patriot mouth
Who knows what truth is about
My soul inclined to heracy

Arise now, my spirit to be
Arise now, my spirit to come
The damage done

The arrow
The archer, the bow
My will enflamed by my piercing tongue

I, who inhaled right from wrong
I, who dared, I dare you...!
Weak is strong

A snake never sheds its skin
All ends to begin
Again

Burn me in your wood
Where the spirits live
Misunderstood

Alter my image
I shall never be torn
By mock and scourn!

Bow now, your head
To the tears , unshed
All now, has been said

I do not regret
I do not regret!
Sentence me
Crown my head
Wish me dead

I do not regret
I do not regret
May the bell
Now toll
My head shall roll

Sword almighty
Shines in utter dark
I am of light
I, Joan of Arc

Magdalena
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I wrote a poem based on her childhood rather than adulthood.


Jeanne D'Arc


Wrapt in the thoughts that caught her up
in the soft recesses of her padded mind
the whispers hung from artery's
calling her hand to power the need


'follow the pull that I fire in your core'


from a young age
such a very young age
the dreams held her through the night
in messages on parchment scrolls
she held each image inside hidden
often of Saints and their mightiness


Saint Catherine walked the chambers
of Jeannettes's mind
the beauty of her days inside flesh
was that she carried this spirit within her
she would shudder at the frolicking of others
in thoughts a vow of none of that


in the fields the voices would come
to her knees her weakness grabbed
where she fell hopelessly in love
with the supernatural calling
the instigation of her long crusade


she gave away so little of the world that lived within her







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