So. Another week, another poetry task for you to get to grips with.
This week, I am giving you a PHOTO PROMPT
How did this ship come to be here in this field? Was the field once an ocean, or was the ship grounded by some disaster? Who was on it? Who owns it...all questions you might consider, or not!
As ever, what the ship is, real, imagined, wreck, or deliberately placed, is up to you.
So, Give us your nautical yarns.
Rules: Your task is to give us a poem based on the photograph. No rules as to form, length, or tone. All up to you.
General Rules: The week's subject will be posted on Sunday. Poets can then post until Thursday evening. Poems must not be already written, or from a longer previously written poem. They must be written off the cuff, to the subject/theme. Unless a particular form/length is specified there will be no restrictions on poetic form, or length.
Voting will take place from Friday morning until Sunday evening, when the week's winners will be announced along with the new subject.
Voting Scores - 3 points for 1st choice, 2 for 2nd and 1 for 3rd.
I was built to move, To ply the ocean, My sturdy keel Challenging the waves In all weather. But now here I sit, Landlocked, stilled by the great storm That sent me here Amid the moveless grass and flowers. Here I've become a home, Strange shelter for the mice and rats and squirrels Scurrying across my slanted decks, For ants, bees, beetles, wasps crawling, flying in every cabin, For countless spiders spinning countless webs, For bats and birds, for snakes and centipedes, My full menagerie of living things. Instead of being harbored between voyages I have become a harbor, Content to rest Until my mouldering timbers Sink into the welcoming earth.
Last Edit: Jan 30, 2018 21:25:40 GMT by profbill43
Imagine a ship in which the captain Is somewhat deaf, somewhat blind, and ignorant of navigation The crew competing for the right to steer All ignorant of star charts, wind paths and sounding weights Praising their captain in the hopes of being chosen To hold the wheel, to navigate
It does not matter what is in the belly of the beast But who sets the course, shouts the orders, turns the wheel The captain, degenerating, picks his First Mate By how low the man will stoop to rise By how he polishes the mirror in the captain’s quarters By how he follows random stars, named in the captain’s praise
In the belly of the beast, the passengers Dream of a homeland of religious sanctity and racial purity They pick out random continents in the hopes of God’s good grace Praying the captain will deliver them to eternity In a land they deserve; he unintentionally Obliges, stranding his ship of fools on the foreshore of stupidity
I went looking for photos of boats in unusual places to embellish my poem (not yet written but embryonic) and got sidetracked as one does. Came across this - fascinating. Link is below to the full story:
These waves Which move us Through continents and Eras Into relentless fog Angry uprooting storms And the places where We do not belong, Ever
Stranded on hostile shores Looking with eyes Clouded with hunger and Stubborn loneliness
Then One day We float in Unexpectedly On a shore where The small pink flowers Have taken over. We roll over to one side Lopsided we wait And allow the light blue sky The grasses The flowers and the scent To fill us to the brim
The tempest rages, the waves they heave Like a paper boat, I am tossed by the sea. “Man overboard,” I hear them shout, To a vicious, watery end, no doubt. I pitch and whirl, rise then plunge, By this roaring monster, I am flung. They battle for survival at my helm, But against this enemy, they are overwhelmed.
Their shouts, their cries become drowned out, I feel their bodies being thrashed about. They have lost the fight, I am now alone, And like a feather, I am tossed and blown, By the navigator of my destiny, So I surrender to its supremacy. My fate is sealed, I’ll join the crew, On the sea bed, in waters blue.
My structure is shaken by a sudden jolt, As I find I’ve come to a sudden halt, On a grassy destination, my new domain, The sun’s gentle rays, dry my skeletal frame. Fragrant floras, a sight to behold, Adorn nature’s garden, my new home. The colourful blooms, so delicately Honour the lives that were lost at sea.
ReconPilot: I suspect most of the people who are going to vote on the page length have voted. In the interest of voter suppression, I will change the end date to 30 November. Vote now, if you haven't. One vote per person, please.
Nov 27, 2018 0:07:19 GMT