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Olly Buckle
February 10th, 2010, 08:51 AM
A romantic challenge.
.
Dear God, the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still !
The image seems normal to us now, through familiarity, but presenting the City, probably the largest artificial object he knew of, as an organic, living thing was radical, romantic thinking in Wordsworth’s time.
The aim of the romantic poets was to reveal the charm and novelty of the prosaic and every day in new and different ways.
The challenge is to awaken wonder and surprise and to create revelations which present something everyday in a new light.

The Backward OX
February 10th, 2010, 12:45 PM
:thumbr:

Olly Buckle
March 27th, 2010, 09:58 PM
I told you Ox,

The one bar radiator, a modern miracle.

Part of the sun came down from the sky
In three great buildings placed by the sea
There is, in a bunker of concrete and steel,
Light you can’t look at, heat you can’t feel
Driving a turbine with steam to make power
That courses lines, strung between towers.

In a squat in a city, in a room with no door,
He put up a curtain and covered the floor
By-passed the meter, found a one bar fire,
Got close as he could to the glowing wire
Marked with black where he lit his fags
Or warmed up a spoon for a ten quid bag

Not much more than a temporary camp
In penetrating cold and insidious damp
Where drizzle and fog must be held at bay
By a single bar fire with a single bar ray.
Part of the sun has come down from the sky
And is giving the junkie a chance to get by.

The Backward OX
March 28th, 2010, 05:40 AM
(Erm...the device that records the quantity of electricity consumed, and the unit of measurement that equals 39.37 inches, are spelled differently...unless of course you're Amurrican, in which case your wrong every which way)

:smile:

Olly Buckle
March 28th, 2010, 08:31 AM
Thankyou, spell check can't catch everything. I like that Aussie ethic, no comment on the morality of it, only the spelling.

rainhands
March 31st, 2010, 02:40 PM
Nice challenge, Olly! It's ironic that "to awaken wonder and surprise and to create revelations which present something new in an everyday light" was also the prime aim of the Russian Formalists, who viewed themselves as rallying against earlier Romanticism. There was really quite a lot of similarities with what they were trying to do.

Geekiness aside, I love that you've written a poem about a one bar radiator. :mrgreen:

I'm feeling the urge to write about socks.

The Backward OX
March 31st, 2010, 02:49 PM
Wet woollen socks'd be better.

obi_have
April 21st, 2011, 11:44 PM
The more time spent with her,
The more that I thirst.
Her fragrance spells my doom,
Once pretense has been burst.

She's the salt of my earth
Her taste makes my heart run
Her kiss forbidden fruit,
I can't have just one.

She moves with crepetation
Yet her sound is still sweet
She's A visual beauty
She looks good enough to eat.

I savor each curve and ripple
With a touch of my lips.
She's not just all that,
She's an actual bag of chips!

Geometric Parable
April 23rd, 2011, 12:02 AM
Lamp.




Its light begins with the touch of fingers ,
The bright electric glow fills your eyes,
It kills the night time’s bloody, twisted smile.
No surprise that there’s shivers down your spine,
Jitters during bedtime, waltzing of heart;
Shadows haunting your overcrowded mind.




That's all i'v got for now. Not exactly an original take on lamp but was fun regardless

Olly Buckle
April 23rd, 2011, 12:34 AM
obi_have: I thought it was the revelation of the subject at the end that made your poem humorous and I tried writing one the other way round, maybe it is simply the subject has inherent humor.

My bag of chips,
Has sharp sweet sauce
To bring colour to my lips,
And salt, of course.

I pluck forth a pair,
Straight as new bamboo,
Like legs dangling in the air,
Luxury in twos.

Or, hold them upward,
“Victory will prove them liars.”
And after, greasy paper’s good
For lighting fires.

obi_have
April 23rd, 2011, 07:08 AM
Nice one! I didn't get the "straight as new bamboo" until until reading the "greasy paper" bit, then it dawned on me... You are writing about something I call french fries, while I was writing about crispy wafer thin potato chips, of the Frito-Lay variety. But I think you are on to something, there must be something inherently funny about anything potato related.

Olly Buckle
April 23rd, 2011, 09:37 PM
I tried another, but it doesn't fit into the 'romantic' box so I posted it in structured verse, it has got a bit of structure.

My first wife came from Japan, she said European's legs were straight as new bamboo, there was near starvation in post war Japan and a lot of rickets.

Glass Pencil
June 7th, 2011, 09:38 AM
we are ten-thousand hearts
rumbling in the echoes
as lights that flit and dart
revel in the throes

of undulating eminence
the holy clarion
the raucous, rampant penitence
of rails we ride upon

we are rhythm
like a train station
each quiv'ring hymn
uttered in placation

to gods of steel and steam
new and fierce and wrought
with hands and mortal dream
with lives and mortal thought

Trides
June 11th, 2011, 02:39 AM
The Chalkboard


The lights are on; my teacher stands,
The coffee cup in her left hand.
A sip is taken. The day begins.
The chalkboard, now a mural of words,
Is witness to bobbing brows and chins,
And crowds of questions, unspoken, unheard.

Caliope
June 29th, 2011, 10:53 AM
new romanticism:

Computer

White Light flickers from the screen.
Pulsing, waving words: Serene.
Tell me at once that you are still here.
Lest I forget and succumb to fear.

A memory chip will not enhance,
The victim of such circumstance.
Call to me, oh God...My Debt!
I'm at the end of the internet.

Etheric brains, Unite at once!
Release the ego, the liar, the dunce.
Plug me into the universe.
Electro-magnetic waves hum a verse.

Olly Buckle
June 29th, 2011, 01:58 PM
The contributions to this thread are not frequent, but I do like them very much sometimes, thank you for improving my day Caliope.

Caliope
June 29th, 2011, 06:43 PM
Thank you Olly, for the enlightening threads.

Nacian
July 24th, 2011, 02:40 PM
The Truth about A Book

It's heavy and it's ready
For those long standing words
It mimicks every steady
That takes a heavy mord

If taken with its truth
The meanings will knot ways
To even slunt it forth
Please do take it with flaws

It never means its role
It's there to wonder for
The reasons may forlorn
The feeling will soon shore

To keep it simply flaired
Do give it something glaired
To tease it flaunted plays
A book might slightly sway

Trides
August 27th, 2011, 02:59 PM
I liked the first two lines, Nacian. But what are "mord," "slunt," and "glaired" (if not nonce words)?

Nacian
August 27th, 2011, 03:05 PM
Thank you Trides.
Mord is a slight bite (does not hurt)
Slunt is sharp but not dangerous
Glaired something that is obvious.

Trides
August 27th, 2011, 11:39 PM
And these are made-up words?

Nacian
August 28th, 2011, 08:47 AM
And these are made-up words?
Yes and no...I looked them up and they are there..
I first wrote them then looked them up to check
Mord derives from latin for example..

Kieran
January 21st, 2020, 10:18 PM
The windows
Blessing the house
With outdoor light
Letting you see the stars
Without leaving at night
They let in a cool breeze
On a hot summer's day
And keep out the bees
Buzzing in spring
Bringing in the birdsong
Oh, how they sing!

Amnesiac
January 21st, 2020, 10:48 PM
Leaving the bar womb
Hard shadow stretches blackness before me
Like the sum of my every sin
Or the chariot of Death hurtling down on me
Since the day of my birth.

Olly Buckle
January 22nd, 2020, 12:35 PM
A pure plastic exterior,
An unintelligible interior,
Invisible connections
Allowing complex interactions,
Access to knowledge beyond understanding
Discussion of the forces now impending.
Such immense utility
From computerbility
On my tip top
Laptop.

-xXx-
January 24th, 2020, 11:59 PM
-worry-


minutia
needs no conventional voice;
deep crevasses
all echo
compounding


rush swells
wearing
canyons
round eyes
quickened
soft

;)

River Rose
February 11th, 2020, 04:01 PM
In the dark of night
I hear you call
Grabbing the lantern, I run down the stairs
Barefoot, running thru the cool sand
Hearing the waves crash against the rocks
Seeing only the beacon of light that shimmers against the water
From the lighthouse that has become my home
As I wait for u
Night after night
Closing my eyes
Longing for your touch
I reach out to nothingness
That my memory has become

Olly Buckle
February 16th, 2020, 10:14 AM
Some great poems turning up here, but I can't help feeling that some are more in the 'St Valentine' concept of romantic rather than that of the OP, an everyday thing described in a way that lifts it from the prosaic, nothing to do with Love.

Tirralirra
February 17th, 2020, 11:28 AM
Oh, that Hound of Heaven!

Tirralirra
February 17th, 2020, 11:49 AM
Red leaf drift
brittles in the cold
while cocoa browns the throat.
Scrunch of footfall -
and of sugar in the mouth.
The wind,
and over me
a roof.

Amnesiac
February 17th, 2020, 05:17 PM
Her breath stirs expectant leaves that
whisper sweetly under warm hymns
of the cicadas

Building higher and more majestic her
voluptuous cumulus rises in a shuddering sigh
as her face grows dark with growing ardor and
her ragged gasps of pleasure ring hot against my cheek

Thunderclap of her climax
silver rain laughs down on this withered ground,
quenching my parched lips.
I turn my face to the sky and laugh against her humid thigh.

River Rose
February 17th, 2020, 07:08 PM
Her breath stirs expectant leaves that
whisper sweetly under warm hymns
of the cicadas

Building higher and more majestic her
voluptuous cumulus rises in a shuddering sigh
as her face grows dark with growing ardor and
her ragged gasps of pleasure ring hot against my cheek

Thunderclap of her climax
silver rain laughs down on this withered ground,
quenching my parched lips.
I turn my face to the sky and laugh against her humid thigh.
Oh yes. This.