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Here is my submission for Get Listed 2014 on the Imaginary Garden. In a way, I attached this story to the previous post that I made earlier, Life Magazine, and could easily be read together. This would be the moral of the story at the end of the rainbow. Enjoy! Happy New Year everyone!

"A Very Britain New Year" by Christmas Tree Shops

When the shadows of the distant past travels up your spine

A sort of tingle grips you from the inside out

In an embrace that is both chilling and full of enamor,

But those shadows are just water under the bridge

Because in the rise of an upcoming step towards the future

We have so much steam, and begin to realize that commodity

Doesn't always fit like a glove, but rather falls short

Of what few possibilities that may be in front of our eyes.

Taking opportunity in mid stride is like sitting on the bed,

Dangling your fit off from the edge of a cliff,

And listening to the musical notes of trepidation

Falling upon the floor-boards gentle as a feather.

Look to the horizon for something beyond near sight,

Upon the bridge of your nose, and take a leap.

Only then will you realize that all the shadows behind you

Are just simple patterns on the wallpaper of life.  

Here are the words that I used for this Real Toads challenge: music, few, grip, feather, glove, steam, embrace, rise, fall, water, shadow, bed.

Question: No question this time, just a Happy New Year wish from me to you, my readers! :)

Life Magazine

"Life Magazine Motto" by Pixgood

Flipping through the pages of this Life catalog:

Natural mountains miles high

Technological medical

Famous Amos, the fortune cookie

And various woman in pink.

Not quite sure where to climb,

Or what kind of surgery I want more.

I would certainly settle for chocolate chips

And the pretty blonde in the polka dots.

I'll try not to romanticize, if I can.

Change in the Wind

What are you thinking and feeling about the start of another new year?

"Seagull in Free Flight" by J. L. Johnson

There is a change in the trade winds

I can feel them flapping my wings

With a bird's eye view I can see

Something in the clouds up ahead.

Stirring with lightning I rescind

The pathways that are behind clippings

For past that lightning is a tree

From which I can perch and shed

All the feathers that are dull and old

Just like the tomes that I now hold

Fleeing south for the winter I will

For there are no storms in that still

And calm, the breeze carries forth

Unlike the coldness in the north.

A wise owl told me of the woodwinds

That lay beyond the bordering springs

I'll fly over that ocean blue sea

With my new feathers wide spread.

Palm Trees and Banana Leafs

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."

William Shakespeare

Sunny Shores (Stock Vault)

One hundred years, waves crashed the shores

Wrinkles omnipresent, like the furled up sands

And dull gray pearls, as far as the distant horizon.

On a creaking porch made of beach-wood stood

What was left of a full life, bones and strings

A sagging rucksack and a frail composure.

Wiry yarn laid crumpled like a robin's nest

A crown that revealed the years of service,

And for as long as the dusty library remembered

This view before pale pearls, a magnificent sunrise.

Bright rays covered the bones up in a blanket

A sparkle wetting the white sandy surface

Glinting from light that breached the shores

One hundred years, waves crashed upon paradise.

Question: "What life would you unravel if you lived 100 years?"  

Rhythm

This is a poem dedicated to the Play It Again, Toads! #12 challenge of revitalizing an archived challenge. For this one in particular I have chosen to revitalize the In Five Minutes or Less challenge.

"Musical Notes" by Pixabay

The heavy drop of the beat

Thump thump thumping

To the rhythm of the strings

Whose stinging slips through

ear holes

In and out of my brain

A symbol tings

with aluminum and brass

The percussion drift so smooth

I guess it is just a one man band

But then again it is simple sounds

Mashed together in perfect harmony

It is like ecstasy to my ears

My secret overdose of drugs

That we call music  

Question: "What tampers with your passions?"

Revolution

This is my first attempt at reading my poetry out loud. I hope that all of you like it, and please leave any tips or constructive criticism that you'd like to share.

Like clockwork we are pulled by strings

Of a theory that isn't full of shame,

But of triggers and springs, and revolving things

Inside and out we spread wanderlust and fame.

When the light comes over the dawn

And the singers of lore call out our song

We strode into that precipice and battled

All that we knew of our brethren's shadows.

Long hard stones were cast into the shores

With longboats and covered up whores

Like a pirate's booty we crumpled in fears

Of the possibility of something beyond our years

Something strange and unusual to the eye

Something that our crystal orbs could not scry

For when the battle was over it was already won

Cause that is how the story was sung.

But let us put our backs to the incoming winds

Whose trademarks cover every corner of the earth

Because when the shadows of our brethren comes

We will soon never forget the memories that birthed

Upon that hazy battlefield in the deep west

Forlorn to the conscience we had known best

But instead let thus pull every single string

Instead of embracing the peace we could bring.

Let us now remember the fallen for who they are

Because without them we would be lost by far

To the children of the desolate sands

Who tried to steal our grace and rightful lands

Home of the glory and the brave

For the two towers whose shadows we couldn't save

But will always be remembered in lore

As the beginning of a never-ending war.   

Question: "What revolutions do you remember or bring?"

Musings

This is my contribution to the Musical Inspiration Challenge. I decided to write about how writing gets a lot of stress off from my shoulders.

"Musings" by The Penultimate Word

Inside of my head there are musings

Some of which should be left unsaid

And when those musings are released

So are the words that follow the beast

Because sometimes those words are harsh

And sometimes they are kind, but all in all

They are definitely words of mine.

There are musings of singing and dancing

To the jazz and the waltz

There are musings of laughter and cheer

Although there is drinking involved

And sometimes there are musings unkind

Musings I've wished I never said

So instead I'll sit at my laptop desk

And type of the musings of my head.

Question: "What do you do to keep thoughts from stressing you out?"

Musical Inspiration Challenge #1

So I've been wanting to do this for a while now. It has been in the back of my creative mind for far too long. So here it is. I will be starting a new challenge every once in a while where anyone who writes poetry can participate. This isn't a competition to see whose poem is better than someone else, but a chance for those who participate to explore their writing roots further. It also gives people a chance to share their writing. I encourage all of you to write something, and to please comment and share with others. 

I've been listening to a lot of music lately and the song "The Only Way Out" by Bush has been giving me a lot of influence lately. In an interview with the World Famous KROQ 106.7 radio show with Kevin & Bean, Gavin Rossdale, lead singer of the rock band Bush, told them what his new song meant: 

“It comes from the record Man On The Run, Man On The Run being this concept, a cross section of all of our lives. Trying to fit everything in. Trying to be successful. Trying to be the best we can and the challenges that go with that, for guys and girls, and the only way out is through being the uplifting concepts of the way I try and do it.”

For this challenge I want all of you to think about the uplifting concepts of the way you try and find a way out of something.

Please share you poem links here, and don't forget to link your blog back to here.

Artistic Interpretations Challenge: Wonder

"Beauty is a form of genius - is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation."  -- Oscar Wilde

This poem is in dedication to the Artistic Interpretations Challenge at the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

"Landscape Composition" by M. Bednar

As I stand here in wonder

I can't help but to ponder

What is beyond those mountains?

Is it the endless blue sky

Whose clouds soar and fly,

Or the sea of endless mounds

That are upon earthly bounds?

Broken Glasses

So I stumbled upon quite a grievance the other day while cleaning my glasses. I was wiping them off and heard a small snap. As if the slight tremble in my hands wasn't enough to tell me the big picture. I looked down and saw my frame had snapped and broken. The funny thing is that it broke with the slightest applied pressure. As if it was destined to break. Of course, this happening a day after Christmas day, I was really unimpressed. Stomping and screaming, which wasn't getting me anywhere, I steamed and vented. So the next day I just went to Walmart and got a new frame for my lenses. Didn't much care what they looked like. Just as long as I could see without the hassle of holding my lenses in place. So here is a poem dedicated to that defining moment of my life. 

"Broken Glasses" by 1734 CUPE

The light seems to thicken, but only for a moment

For the light soon fades into antiquity

And my vision begins to form a Gaussian blur

I walk around aimlessly as my eyes become dormant

Because everything whips around and is bleary.

I need to find an answer soon, an eye-shot baler.

Awoken

"Window and Curtains" by Svenia Schreiner

(Flickr)

Enter the light tapping at my window

Before thought comes a storm relentless

Everything is all a rush of traffic

Swirling in circles around and around

Dazed by the rapid succession of movement.

The slothful nature of being lifts itself

Up and up from its natural surface

Bewilderment of the clock flying out the window

Reaching out to grab it, but alas a miss

Is it just a figment or is this deja vu?

Take that one step forward, do it,

Swing those empty logs upon the bridge

Cross the crosswalks to the rain room

And let the cold and warm waves crash down

Down upon the slothful surface that stands

So that it might escape the wild jungle

Gray Sky

"Gray Sky" by Aurrum
(Deviant Art)

The gray is unsettling and hurtful to the eyes

So I'll imagine a spring-like view in the sky

A deep aqua blue as large as an ocean

hovering over me

With puffy white boats to sail through it.

I'd rather patch pirates invade that sky above

Than look at the gray empty screen that covers it.

Their battles relentless as waves crash down upon my face.

Crash! Boom! The cannons roar back and forth,

Waiting to see who will come out in victory.

Any bit of excitement in that dreary gray sky.

Twas' The Life of An Every Day Gamer

"Gamers"
(Adweek News)

Surrounded by clutter in every corner;

Clothes piled upon the wooden floor,

Like a bag of trash ready for takeout,

Bowls of empty ramen soup,

Chicken flavored, stacked miles high,

McDonald’s big mac wrappers scattered,

Blowing around like tumbleweed.

The lights are dimmed down

Setting the mood, ready for the showdown.

Beep. The Xbox 360 console turns on,

Grabbing my controller in hand,

Time to escape for a little while.

The Shadow in the Light: Episode 1 - Enter the Light

"Druid" by 632Fan
(Deviant Art)

The stag prince and his thorns

Sat upon the Throne of Horns

His hand upon his stubbled chin.

He looked into the misty sin

That his younger brother had foretold

And contemplated what must be said

For the leaves were growing old

And soon his father, the King, dead.

A soldiers query could submit the eerie:

Shadows in the light, and surrounded by blight,

The death couldn't be any more dreary.

He could quest for the best in all the land

Hiring mercenaries, witchery, and knights,

In hopes of finding the beast of the night

Across that unhallowed hands of sand.

Deep in the crevices of the ground and dirt

Surpassing the fossils and layers of pert

Are the bellows of the deep abyss

Where the haunted river streams called Styx.

There the stag prince could find his key

To the troubles boiling in the kingdom's tree

So entering the light he would try

For his father's soul he would buy.

This is the first part of a new poetic adventure series that I will be writing. Please tell me what you think.

Real Toads Challenge: Year of Memories

"Memories Will Never Fade" by Franzey Fragility
(Frost Box)

This is for the Real Toads challenge Broken Hearts & Auto Parts as posted by Marian. Hope you all enjoy it! :)

It has been a speed-ball this year

Going from one place to another

As if the original didn't matter

Just to look over your shoulder

At the place you used to hover

Just for mere seconds it would seem

Although it had been for a century

An Unlikely Oxymoron

"Passive Activism" by Markwojtasiak
(Restless Beings)

Bouncing steadily in centered pace

It will collapse with tidiness and grace

Around in straight circles through the air

Like a square balloon in a chair

What am I you would say?

A deviant innocence or a mocking jay,

Perhaps a subtle jinx or common rarity.

No matter what questions answered

An oblique flatness is in the crossword

Between gregarious necessity and obstinate obesity

For nowhere can I be found

Inside the outside sound

Of the silent trumpet and delicious crumpet

That lays standing upon the carpet.

Maybe it is unlikely probable

Or maybe I'm cordial unsociable

But I know who I am, and who I am not

And that is an unwritten thought

Inside the outside part

Of a guy not named Scott;

Oxymoron, or not.

Question: "What opposites do you feel attract?"

Twelve Days of Christmas #5: Five Golden Rings

"Christmas Bells"
(CBC News)

Upon the sunrise a midnight dream

Passes over the mountainside with a gleam

It rings in the passing of the season

As the billowy winds bring in reason

On the fifth day the church bell ringed:

It first rang for the angelic fairy

Whose glimmering wings shone aplenty

Reflecting her presence with utmost grace

Like raindrops of silvery dew

Caressing the surface of the chalice.

Poet's United Midweek Motif: Musical Magic

There is a magic within us all, and this women stands out among us all. She weaves glamorous magic that entices the soul. So for this Motif I am reveling in her song. Lindsey Stirling is such a magnificent violinist, and her energy is always apparent. No matter how many times I listen to her, I always manage to feel enlightened from it all. So let us bask in her musical magic in this poem.

In lands long forgotten

And over mountains bold

Lies a journey full of wonder

For those who have the courage.

Real Toads Challenge: Fighting Is For the Reckless

"Fighting in the Streets"
(Art of Manliness)

Is it plausible that man kind could do

Such a thing as revel in a slew

Of accusatory actions, that will lead

Into a horrible Greek tragedy?

Everywhere there seems to be plight

Devastation in the air, bombs take flight

Shaking the very foundation we stand

Upon a deserted company of land.

What qualms could there be

To break that breaking point

Where weapons are the key

Poetry Jam: Pages of Joy

"I Can Read You Like An Open Book" by Francois Phillip
(Flickr)

Over and over the pages turn

Dust from the cover, and serve

A platter of words delicious and trite

Words that smother me in the night

Over and over the pages turn

Without suicidal cuts I assure

This mystery is an extraordinaire

At capturing criminals, out of thin air

Over and over the pages turn

Where the breath of fire serves

As an adventurous blight

For the warriors of light

As we climb atop that castle

Over and over the pages turn

Full of a clamor of choice

And abstract voices

Who beckon and call

For a reader who'll read them all.

Question: "What kinds of things make you joyful?"

Check out this poetry blog: Poetry Jam

Twelve Days of Christmas #4: Roasting of the Blackbird

"Blackbird Pie"(MWC Board)

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

In some cultures the bird is a treasure

Its charcoal wings covered in soot

As it flaps through the air

Encircling the prey that is below

For they are carrion eaters

And they see through people's eyes

Piercing the veils in which we hide

Inside our warm and comforting stockings.

It is tradition that old Mother Hubbard

Look into her pantry for flour

Butter, and a silver pan.

She licks her fingers of the sauce

And tastes of chicken after the stir

And into the oven she will bake

A blackbird pie, or rather a cake.

Although it may be frowned upon

In most cultures they say

Sense Deprivation

"Cafe Central in Vienna" by Andreas Praefcke
(Wikimedia)

As I sit and ponder in this armchair

I can't begin to describe each feature

That surrounds me in this room

Where a gray light glimmers down

Upon my shoulders.

A faint reflection of a tree

Grows upon a mirrored screen

Just behind my self portrait,

It's limbs extend beyond

The spaces that I stand upon.

Who Are We?

This poem was inspired by a fellow poetic enthusiast, Kenia Cris, from the blog "An exercise on existing." She wrote a beautiful poem about how our culture seems to have developed a sense of labeling other human beings with certain stereotypes, and how it isn't right for us to be pinning this labels on people. In fact, I couldn't have agreed with her more on this subject. We do live in a culture that is accepting this kind of behavior, when we shouldn't be. So here is a very raw poem that I had just written in response to Kenia's poem, "No immutable observation is true." 

"Be Yourself" by David Hudson
(Blogspot)

What is invisible to most

Only the heart can see

For when you cover both petals

You can see only darkness.

There is a light in this though.

A light that will shine through,

a light that will reveal

happiness, strength, loyalty,

So many of the things that WE

Take for granted.

Open Link Monday: A Murder of Crows Left Behind

"Wheatfield With Crows" by Vincent Van Gogh
(Wikimedia)

When I saw the crows that morning

I knew there would be a murder

Nothing too typical, but caustic

Stains on my relished ego.

I can’t help but wonder

About you, who I loved

Those many years…

Twelve Days of Christmas #3: Three French Hens

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

"Three French Hens" by Dylan Meconis
(Etsy)

A clutch of them chirped and stared

Their beady black eyes up in the air

They watched as goslings did

Until their mother came and they fed.

Not the hardened corn spread,

But the warm milk that was heaven's sent.

It was upon each Christmas day

That a glass would be put by the hay

Left for the father rooster and pheasants

Who would leave the most wonderful presents

So in the morning they would say,

“I have three french hens in the hay.”

Poetry Jam: The Noises Inside My Head

This poem is in response to Peggy's jamming Tuesday challenge. The topic was to talk about what we feel the word "quiet" means.

"Jake the Dreaming" by Android Jones
(ImagineFX)

The noises inside my head,

they are like tantrums of a little boy:

the pounding and kicking like drums,

the fighting and the clashing of swords.

A pen in hand, and ink pot next to that,

I draw the fantasies inside my head:

Dragon breath, flames emblazoned

Upon a shield it clashes like a hot temper.

A war cry sounds forth from the trumpet

and all of the battlefield can hear

as the slicing and dicing comes, like tomatoes

their limbs fall upon the ground, 

dead and limp.

Twelve Days of Christmas #2: Two Turtle Doves

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

"Two Turtle Doves" by Trudi Doyle
(Fine Art America)

Elegantly the snow falls down onto my finger tips

I put my sultry wet finger to my lips

It is cold to the touch, but boils deep red.

The warmth comes closer to bare

As our wings clasp around each other

And I can't stop this delightful feeling

The feeling of hearts soaring in the sky

Higher and higher, as we delve into a pile of snow

Its cold embrace nothing like the snowmen

But just cold enough to leave prickles on our nose.

Like two turtle doves who dive to the ground

Their hearts leaping over bounds

Knowing that this could be their last wish

But trust with each other a loving kiss

Underneath the twinkling stars at night

When the aurora shines most bright;

Like an ocean of green and red waves

Purple hairs and a yellowish haze.

It crashes upon us, but we don't care,

Because she is my turtle dove

And forever our lives we will share.

Question: "If there is someone who you love this holiday season, please show them how much you love them."

Poetry Pantry #231: Ice Skating

"Ice Skating" by Kafubra
(Wikimedia)

The winter chill settles around you

         And it feels like you are numb

                 But then you feel the gliding pull

                         And sudden warmth from your thighs

                              To your feet.

                                                        Eventually the winter becomes elegant

                                    Like a dove or snowflake falling to the ground

                         When you spin around and around

                 In twisting somersault of perfection and expertise.

            Zig zags

                                     Cover the icey floor you’re upon

                                                And you begin to feel the shift and sway

                                                        Carrying on to the music in the background

                                                                      Like jingles and jangles of Christmas air

                         Escaping from the outside world for just a glimmering moment

                Just to crash to your bottom

   And stand up tall.

Question: "What wintry past time do you enjoy? Leave your answer below in the comments."

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/

Twelve Days of Christmas #1: Partridge Feathers And Pears

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree!

"Partridge in a Pear Tree" by Etsy
(Polyvore)

High above in the sky was a whistle I heard

A whistle vibrantly sung with elegance

And when I heard the song I wondered

In my head, whether I would dance

Upon the clouds perhaps?

Kind of like jumping on your bed as a child

Except that the blankets and pillows flew

Higher and higher as you jumped

With the tears at the seams sending feathers

Up like a partridge and back down again.

“Hey look at all the snow!”

I'd point my fingers at all the feathers.

“The partridge left us a surprise”

Though I didn't quite believe my eyes

Not even for a moment, until now

Sweet as a pear was the moment

That I cherished it with a hugging embrace

Fly Away

"Xubuntu Fly Away -- Take Two" by leogg!
(Flickr)

Flying in the air on a string

I am tethered to a little hand

This little hand that holds me king

King of the circus and faire

I like how the wind blows

Across my facets and curvatures

As I sway to and fro, and side to side

Gasping at the crowds that go by

Then I look up at the blue world above

And can’t help but wonder

The Escapist

"The Open Door" by La Duque
(Deviant Art)

Within these four walls--

Like a box--

Unable to escape, to the rim

Where sparks of lightning stream

Flowing like a waterfall.

I question whether this is reality

Or is this my tamed mind?

Is all this scuffle and scattered

Paper all I need?

Poets United Midweek Motif: For Your Right

"Freedom of Thought -- Ben Franklin"
(Wikimedia)

Freedom is without a definitive word

For only you can make it or break it

When you speak before the worldly jury

Taking a stand against the reckless

The ones who mock and shackle

The ones who torture and kill

The words that come from your mouth.

The Crow

"Crow On A Branch"
(Brooklyn Museum; Wikimedia)

He preys upon the frail and mortal

He escorts the sun out into the nocturnal

Into the depths of Hell

The crow has pierced you

Eating upon thy carrion

Apollo asks the crow to journey

Into the aquatic domain below

He commands thee

“Return with the purity below

Replenish the aqueduct of the sky above”

Instead the mocking bird feeds

On figs a plenty

A tree born unripe

Yet he lingers upon the tree

In delay of the tasks at hand