First, I am so terribly sorry to have kept all those who entered my contest waiting for the results. I always post the winners list with a blog. I do this to???? highlight???? each winner?s take on my challenge, ensuring that I mention what dazzled me, what I ?saw? in their personal landscapes.
I have been mentally/physically and, yes, emotionally drained ? a lot going on, within and without. And I wanted to give each entry my full attention? it is something that you all deserve.
Two Soupers mentioned they had attempted to enter the contest but couldn?t. I?m not exactly sure what happened or how their poems failed to get to my "???? in" box!!!
I feel awful about this, as I had already opened another contest and two contests can not be "fully" open at the same time. See, my usual protocol is that if someone wants to enter and the contest has closed, I reopen it or add more spots, as long as I have not started judging.????
So, My VERY sincere apologies to Our Nette and Debbie!????
To everyone, I thank you for your time, your words, your energy, your spirit and for all your patience with me.
LOVE YOU GUYS!
YOU ARE AWESOME!
SELF PORTRAIT DEDICATED TO LEON TROTSKY (by Frida Kahlo)
By Victoria Anderson-Throop
If you dare the Truth
find the Heart of
Whip the whiteness
from the curtain on the left
Out spill my genteel manners
My true self,
Tears through the
Silky Latin-shaded skin--
I, the restless lioness
With undiluted joy
you, my unsuspecting lover
bold power makes you
I save your genitals 'til last
which your frantic friends will find
in a fragrant flowering tree--
Piquant dessert to be relished ere
I sink into
If your courage rages
seek my Soul
Loosen the line
of artistic perfection
on the right
Like a Hydra
my Soul will come a-screaming
with a shriek to free generations of
long dead and servile sisters
from their graves
Together, we will
Lick the poisons
from your soul
Force rancid politics
to fly like bees
into the eyes of your enemies
My Darling of Magnificence
of peaceful rest.
This poem is SUMPTUOUS, filled with meaning and clever subtleties. The format is ART, mirrors the subject and drives every ?message? home. The images fluctuate between???? loving/erotic and pain/despair, again echoing the life, the visual language, which IS FRIDA. Reading this is like discovering one of her paintings put into words...Reading this disturbs, nudges us to dig deeper, see MORE, squirm uncomfortably. Fantastic play of words, careful use of metaphor. My mouth keeps savoring the alliterations, wants to linger on certain lines, even while my brain is slip-sliding on all the allusions???? (like the phallic qualities of???? Sun and Life) Kudos on this wonder-work! I am truly dazzled by this piece. STUNNING!
On a???? Painting
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair, 12 Aug 13
Hey, what are you up to?
here is a sliver of earth
between two gravid rivers???? ?
Swelling???? with milk
they quelled???? dyslexic lands
that dried and cried in nobody?s tongue.
they too had a fateful beat.????
only it was random or circadian.
Obscurity is clarity, here and now,
of???? mitochondrial stuff.
inside???? a faceless river of black milk.
languorous flow to???? wet???? phenomenal???? banks.
Who???? would not notice
the hyperlinks???? dripping nectar?
like???? running nose, perhaps,
in a manner of speaking.
they flow into a fulfillment,
Or into wind-swept???? islets!
Inspiration: The Frida Kahlo Painting My nurse and I
By S.Jagathsimhan Nair, 12 Aug 13
I loved the contradictory feel of this piece? a harsh truth keeping pace with an embroidered use of language? all that startling duality. This is a poem one must contemplate, allow to settle ? and then unsettle.???? Obscurity is clarity, indeed. Also, I enjoyed how Frida?s art was a seed here, grew something new, different. I think that Frida would have liked that, too.
The Broken Column
By Richard Lamoureux
wrapped in female form
split down the centre
more than femininity exposed
Breasts capture the eye
head held high
Her long black hair flows
cascades across decades
Tears streaming down a saddened face
Doves crying to be understood
cheerful colors confuse the minds eye
What thoughts lie beneath that unibrow
Beauty within painted distortions
Who is her oppressor
Is this her living nightmare
broken yet standing tall
Immovable moving force
demanding to be seen
Silent yet speaking volumes
White flowing gown
What is hidden beneath
What does she wish to shield from our prying eyes
Yet if you look deep she reveals all
See beyond the physical
crimes nailed to her being
A heart pierced
hidden from sight
reacting with the unseen
contradicting female form
Symbol of all women
givers sustainers of life
Rising from the ground
We build upon her soul
celebrate her rise
Without her we fall
we cease to exist
Do not allow her to crumble beneath the weight of our iniquity
As most of you know, I?m mouthy. I could talk the sun into setting a few hours early. But this time I won?t. I will let the above poem speak for itself. It does so very well? clearly and intentionally. The last line resonates, as it should.
Form: Ekphrasis (Ecphrasis)
The Circle --- A Painting By Frida Kahlo
By Carrie Richards
Caught between one life and another
my pain lengthens like a shadow of the moon
I am crumbling into fragments
like a fragile leaf, played with by the wind
O' dark angel of the night
You've slashed your talons across my life
You have pounced, without a care...
declaring my flesh and bone your own
I only hear you in the silence of despair....
My world is now this moment that does not move
O furtuna, sternit fortem
O furtuna, rota tu volubillis
Never was my life my own, never could it bend
A circle, round, I cannot be........but just a line that ends
Quod per sortem .... Sternit fortem,
A leaf, no longer, on the tree
Reflecting then, upon a sky
I reach a hand upon my crown
and I feel of death instead
My heart shrivels dry, a blackened rose, ...
Do you feel my pain?
???? ???? Why must the flame of life grow dim?
???? ???? ???? With hope you soothe me in your whim
?? To take it all away?
This wretchedness is black as tar,
I taste the bitter blood!
There's darkness hidden in the depth
of who I used to be
I am like a leaf, played with by the wind
Do not turn eyes away...!
Torment me not, with heartless lust....
?? as flesh turns into dust!
Inside this Corset Made of Steel
By Andrea Dietrich
Five excruciating months I?ve spent
inside this corset made of steel.
It binds the soul beneath
my broken column.
See me standing here
naked before this bleak and arid landscape,
fissured like the furrows
of this barren yellow plain
on which a child to call my own
will never play.
See my flesh impaled by nails.
From head to toe
See the largest nail.
It pricks that part of me
from whence my love flowed freely
for the one man I adored. . .
See my chest, which houses
the heart that he has pierced
again???? ???? ???? ???? and???? ???? ???? ???? ???? again???? ???? ???? ???? and???? ???? ???? ???? again.
See my tears, white against my sullen face.
Only you who know true heartbreak
can feel the anguish painted in my eyes.
My body I laid bare
to help you see inside me,
but how can someone paint
the sorrowed soul?
Five excruciating months I?ve spent
inside this corset made of steel.
It?s only an extension of
my entire life?s ordeal.
Though it?s meant to heal me,
it is but a constant cruel reminder
that pain is my companion
???? ???? ???? ???? ???? ???? ???? ???? more.
I love how this piece?s format replicates the spine and my favourite line was done with alliteration: fissured like the furrows. what resounds, to me, in this poem is the demanding to ?See me? which is so much a part of Frida?s work. What Andrea has done so brilliantly here is to remind us that many of her paintings are biographical, filled with symbols of her struggles, her loves and her anguish.????
By Chriss Todd
Show me who you are and i shall paint out broken columns on the valleys of her back as if such figure is un-common
i have found no beauty bending as the vines that are her hair and the frailty of man upon her back is what she bares
bleed her body for the harvest let them feast upon her soul for the nurishment of mother is leaps beyond so bold
she is like the flower growing in the deepest of dark forests,amongst the ivy and hemlock but her skin is much too porous
to concern herself with games that tantalize the men, as they marry on crusade it is her children that she tends
sheath your swords with her ambition and tip your arrows with her will, craft your armour from her strength and in the battle you will kill
come now children from the pasture and lay each upon her side, suckle gently at your mother although theirs pain she does not hide
though the water leaks from rooftops her leaves are thick and block the rain, as the water level rises cling to her branches with no shame
she is the stone upon the beach, once a mountain pound and breached
yet still her disposition clear to love her children that are near
inspired by Roots Frida Kahlo, 1907-1954
I could write a page simply on the line, ?Her skin is much too porous/to concern herself with games that tantalize men.????? Stellar stuff . I wanted more... and yet, this is just as it should be. Such a skilled piece. One I reread with a great deal of awe. What I enjoyed about this was the free-fall this poet took...letting image take him somewhere different, wholly his and yet still so much a part of her.
my broken column by Karen Croft ? powerful poem in so few words.
Who???? by Collette Mbamalu ????? Truth, here. Such a potent call to arms!
The Colour of October by Sandra Adams. I liked the formatting of this piece and its approach to the subject.
The Curtain Call by Zara Bosman???? -???? I was so taken by the hands like doves... this is a moving poem... melancholic.
Anxiety by ?????? Ah, yes, there is an intensity here ... my favourite line... I am not free, I am without...???? there is the rub....
My Dress by Nancy Jones ? Complex simplicity: In this, I see???? all the stuff we carry in the stuff we have. I so enjoyed the honesty and lack of pretension in this piece.
Self Portrait in a Landscape with the Sun Going Down 1954 By Danesh Morgan. ????? there are times that art speaks directly to us. I felt the poet, here, experienced this.
We are independent by fransisca pretorius???? I especially liked the roots metaphor and the ?sisterhood? feel of this piece.
Okay ? so usually I am not a stickler for rules. I have an impossible time shunning great poetry simply because of some missing notation specifying what was the inspiration and how the poem ?exactly? connects to Frida. The following two poems placed HM, but I find them incredible. I mean, STELLAR STUFF... please, please, visit their pages if you can.
Lakebed Infractions Sheri Fresonke Harper
Adventures of a Moving Stature by???? Oluwatobi Kalejaiye????
AND I COULD NOT CLOSE THIS BLOG WITHOUT SHOWCASING THE POEMS THAT DID NOT GET TO ME (Or were somehow oddly removed from my contest??? WEIRD!!!!
CLINGING UNTO GREY FIRE
By Nette Onclaud
Her chest heaves in slow-burn motion
like pain etched on her clamped spine...
and deep into a night sighing death's nearness,
brows mark a skull tattooed upon mementos,
while lungs attempt to wake frail twilight.
And petals of long hair, unruly as ever
glide along her desire to roam
through a woodland???? of avant-garde trails,
sampling her rebellious womanhood with
grit and reserve... a mural of splattered coatings
bearing puebla clothes and???? beads pitched
on the nail of passion, of iced distance,
choosing instead to taste the remaining sips
of a Latin dance, clinging unto mist
that can not restore a flamed glow.
The skull resting on her head, does it weep
for the finale of a once beguiled life;
romancing lusty tracks of her exalted journey ?
Woman! Though in the grey of fleeting hours ;
she still rises to touch the moon, to inhale
bloated fruits and leaves ...how dauntless!
When morning crawls, she lives again for pleasure
before bones of age and soil melt her fragrance.
Dear Nette--- there are times I think every poet ?hears? you, dead and living, and that each sighs and moans, partially in appreciation, and partially in complete wonder and envy.???? This deserved a SUPER BIG win...???? stunning in every way. Not one word would I change... not a one (and you know what a HOUND I am for those words ;-)???? )