November Challenge: "An Answer"


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Thread: November Challenge: "An Answer"

  1. #1

    November Challenge: "An Answer"

    The prompt for this month's anonymous challenge, as chosen by sas is: An Answer

    KINDLY BE ADVISED THAT ALL ENTRIES ARE ELIGIBLE TO RECEIVE CRITIQUE WITHIN THE VOTING THREAD


    You are free to interpret the prompt in any way you wish, though of course, site rules apply.
    If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board.

    Your entry must be submitted anonymously and therefore should be PMed to me, Chester's Daughter,so that I may post it for you. Please be sure to indicate in your PM on which board you prefer your work posted, PUBLIC or WORKSHOP.

    All identities will be revealed upon the close of the poll. IF YOU WISH TO REMAIN ANONYMOUS, PLEASE SPECIFY IT WITHIN YOUR ENTRY PM.

    ***VERY IMPORTANT*** Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you PM it to me as you will be unable to edit your work once I have posted it.


    The inclusion of explanatory text or links of any kind within an entrant's Challenge entry is prohibited. As always, only one entry per member is permitted.

    PLEASE ALSO NOTE THAT ANY ENTRY POSTED DIRECTLY TO THE BOARD WILL RESULT IN THAT PARTICULAR WORK BEING DISQUALIFIED, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO SELECT ANOTHER WORK TO ENTER ANONYMOUSLY THROUGH THE REQUIRED CHANNELS.

    Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussion related to the challenge can take place in the Bards' Bistro.

    Now that the 'like" function is again blessing us with its presence, we respectfully request that you refrain from using it until this thread has been closed and the poll has been opened.

    This challenge will close on the 15th of November at 7pm EST.


  2. #2

  3. #3

    The Knowledge of Leaves

    This much is known of leaves...
    As halcyon days of summer fade,
    bowing to the patina of time,
    Autumn emerges trailing among
    the smoky blue hazes once more.

    The leaves take up the banner
    of the halcyon's passage
    from bright days into
    fall's breath of Frost and Flame,
    echoes of lore tarnished by time.

    True colours are revealed.
    Crimson...Aspen Gold...Maple Fire
    Marmalade and Sailor's Warning.
    From the verdant shadings
    of the green and growing things...​

    That Siren's Song,
    those errant breezes,
    become a clarion chorus
    among the vibrant leaves.
    Teasing...pleasing...tempting...​

    Bow and ripple.
    Billow and flow.
    Tugging and flexing,
    relinquishing their hold…
    Leaves dancing into the air.

    Up and away...Gone…
    In the Monarchs' wake,
    coursing on the wind,
    those brilliant banners,
    scions in scattered flight.

    Far below, these scions,
    they see history unfurling,
    passing as they fly.
    They hear the murmurs of the dead,
    the secrets of stars, so high​.

    Slowly, gently,
    the tempting breezes fade.
    A thick cloak forming
    as upon the earth,
    the leaves are laid.​

    There upon the moss,
    they stare up at the sky.
    As numerous as the stars,
    while still more of their kin fall,
    now, so brittle and dry.​

    They hear the murmur of stones,
    the prayers cast by evening dew.
    They know the secrets of the fey.
    Yet they still linger, muttering,
    waiting...Aching for the echoes,
    answers, whispered in the snow.​


  4. #4
    Untitled

    Seashells are God's phones—
    listen when you pick one up...




    ... he might be busy


  5. #5

  6. #6

  7. #7

    Reflections

    Petals far past first blushing bloom
    fragrance no longer enchant the room
    stiff and brittle, beauty faded with age
    flower pressed between the page

    She is far past youth's first bloom
    no longer able to leave her room
    brittle bones now stiff with age
    faded rose pressed between the page

    Fragile fingers tremble with age
    opens book, finds the page
    in memory, sees petals in full bloom
    the sweet scent of roses fill the room

    Her frail heart falters in her chest
    pins the rosebud to her breast
    funeral flowers scent the room
    memories of love gone too soon

    Love defies logic and time
    not just hers but yours and mine
    no less beautiful though faded with age
    memories pressed between the page


  8. #8

    Anxiously Awaiting His Reply

    I want to die
    sans fanfare
    with eyes asleep
    and too weary to weep.
    In an instant
    from dark to light.

    No wake nor burial
    just me alone
    (as I was in life)
    in a pine box plain
    purified by flame
    sooty remains sprinkled
    into an inconspicuous
    pickle jar
    (not B & G, only Claussen will do)
    with label removed
    so as not to obstruct my view
    as I watch my kids
    and blow my lid
    whenever occasion
    calls for it.

    Mom's on a rampage
    go get the Dustbuster
    but make sure you empty her
    back into her briny abode.


    Are You listening God?
    Mistakes are not something
    that You make
    but flinging me into reverse
    as I got to the Gates
    and stuffing me back inside
    this body I hate
    isn't on the same scale
    as the birth of the earth
    and I know that You see
    what he does to me.
    So I humbly plead for mercy.

    I know the dole
    is never more
    than one can take
    but I've had my share
    and I just can't bear
    another curve thrown
    by fickle fate.
    I'm eight years past
    my expiration date
    isn't it time I shed
    my rancid wrapping
    and make my way Home?

    The decision is Yours alone
    I'd never book passage
    on my own
    but just this once
    can you throw this tired dog
    a beautiful bone?


  9. #9

    Unplugged (senryu)


    I will remember
    that fateful day
    loony's tuned in

    searching for answers
    into ivory tower,
    there is no clue.




  10. #10

    Bohemian Dream

    There has to be an answer, he sang,
    as he watched the fireflies dance.
    The promise of eternity shone
    in a weed and mushroom trance.

    She had silently sought the answer
    in the greyness of his eyes.
    Hiding the pain of lotus pose cramps
    she tried to internalise.

    His answer was on the underground,
    a gloss of ebony hair,
    a classical first class art degree
    and truth in that sultry stare.

    She packed up Krishna along with him,
    her trust in nirvana impaired.
    Answers, she found, come one at a time
    and are very seldom shared.


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