Best Pygmalion Poems
Flip flops and straw hat adorn him, beach wear suits him nicely
Kind is he to her as he scoops into a bucket measuring precisely
Casted are his piteous passions in sunstruck warm sands
Gently shaping and capturing her likeness, she is in skilled hands
Stooping over chin to knee he bares bronze shoulders glimmering
Her features delicate, her hair etched in his mind flowing, shimmering
An energy is sensed as sand and water caress through his fingers
Behold if only Aphrodite answers his prayer, he pauses and lingers
Recollection clears a birth, breath of life be given this inanimate object
A saintly face faintly appears, he’s fallen in love with his imminent project
Sculpting feminine curves slowly surfacing, an hourglass figure shaped
An alluring amazon controls his very soul, an apotheosis angel draped
Belief in a statue which comes to life, vehemently pangs the phenomenon
Alas the last touches fini, fervently he unveils his seaside Pygmalion
And without further ado, emerging from the ivory sand, he prizes
An obsession his idée fixe at the edge of the pier, a sand goddess arises
In the library - for contest
Books are the ever- burning lamps
Of knowledge and wisdom....
It 's a well-established truth and I
also nod in full agreement...
But let me say this, I am not a nerd
And I am not a book-worm....
Nor do I have a flair for reading much
and all my friends know this too well....
But in these few days what surprised
them was my frequent library visits
My tryst with our town library..
was on a rising note day- by -day
My friends got curious and dubious!
Free-times or weekends my schedule
had changed,
My footsteps take me to the library road ....
All roads for me led to library not Rome!
Friends were not on my agenda as before...
Intolerable, all in a group they did approach
Asked me the reason for my library craze...
I shrugged, I smiled,I winked,
I blushed but didn't disclose....
My visits to library stay continued...
One fine morning greatly dressed I,
left my home as my perfume lingered
My destination, I need not say now
I know you readers have guessed it right!
My steps moved in well-paced rhythm
Hilarious spirits , morning pleasant!
Sun smiled at me and flowers wished!
Into the library i did step in...
And as his glimpse my sight caught
I blushed, I waved, smile creeping in
Bright face, so elegant , so handsome
Waved back and sent me a flying kiss
A research scholar and my new love!
Day in and day out he enjoys with books...
"The origin of species" by Charles Darwin
Rene Descartes and his philosophy of,
Cogito ergo sum !
My experiments with truth by Mahatma Gandhi!
Hereditary principles by Gregor Mendel..
Sociological thoughts of Max Weber
These are a few that I recollect..
Oh my dear soup friends...now that you all know
Please maintain silence.... is the board I'll point at!
My other friends are still curious....
I leave it to them to find on their own!!
My love has filled in me a new passion
my reading habit is slowly improving!
I sat with him last week with Pygmalion
Classic of versatile George Bernard Shaw
How hours passed like minutes, I never know!
I Worship library now as a repository
of knowledge of varied genre!
In reading and applying what we read
lies our real wisdom!
for contest: In the library
sponsorer-Isaiah Zerbst
by: Anulaxmi Nayak
on:13th August 2015
Here is the love story of Zhi Nu and Niu Lang
A romantic ancient Chinese tale of very long
Zhi was a nymph and Niu Lang was a cowherd
Cowherd-nymph love forbidden,secretly wedded.
Had two children, but their happy life ended.
As by the goddess Wang they were detected.
The goddess took Zhi Nu back to the heaven
Niu Lang chased them with his two children.
They were blocked by the milky way- sky river
And the children kept crying for their mother,
Shouting her name, Niu and children wandered
By their pain and grief, the goddess was moved.
She allowed them to meet one day in a year
Could be seen in the sky as Altair and Vega star
They meet and live happily ever after for a day.
Day celebrated as Qixi- Chinese valentine day.
Wish I had a beloved like the nymph Zhi Nu fair
So that I can live in the sky with immortal affair.
Like William Blake would say "Death be not proud"
I would have said unlike Blake "Life be proud".
II
Yet another story of Yeh-Shen, the orphan girl
A Chinese Cinderella living with stepmother cruel
She had a friend, a fish living in a nearby river
Once the fish was killed by her cruel stepmother.
Yeh-Shen was very unhappy for of her friend dead.
An old man told her that bones of fish were powered
One day she talked to the bones of her fish friend
Then eventually Yeh-Shen in a beauty transformed.
Once she visited the king’s palace, the king saw her
They were married soon, lived happily ever after.
Wish I was tiger as friend with cruel stepmother
So I could enjoy good things at this age forever.
Wish I was a sculptor like Pygmalion, not a poet
Make alive ivory Galatea by grace of Aphrodite
Married her blessed with the happiness and love
And to have enjoyed long and blissful life to live
**********
*Based on Greek and Chinese fairy tales of Pygmalion-Galatea, Zhi Nu and Niu Lang
and Yeh-Shen
================================================
Fifth place winner in:
Contest: Happily ever after sponsored by John heck
In all honesty,
I never learned your name.
I didn’t need to;
The look in your eyes is your name
Like fireflies, they twinkle and glimmer your name
A name I love saying
The way you stare at me
It’s like I’m the color yellow,
And I’m painting away the grey of your world
That’s what you tell me
As my head rests in the crook of your neck, and your fingers trail up the bare of my hip
You’re yellow, and sunshine to me you say
And I’m grey like a pebble, soaking up your rays
I laugh
But grey is my favorite color I tell you
It’s the color of the skies on the days I’m tucked in your arms, because its too cold and wet to go outside
It’s the color of my favorite blanket that I keep under my bed
Its only for special occasions
When I need to cry and shake and let the dreams of the night know I’m not okay
You’re not just for special occasions though
You’re for every occasion. Every fight, every dance,
Every laugh with my head thrown back and my fingers tightening around you for purchase because laughing with you is like an ******, it breaks me, it builds me, it loves me
Even when you’re not here
I still think of you
I sit you beside me, and tell you thoughts, even when reality speeds around us, and you’re not really there
Even now I can sit you beside me
And trace the figures of your love with my eyes
Black hair, straight and deep. Sometimes short, sometimes long; I can’t choose, you’re beautiful either way
Brown eyes, deep like the dirt flowers and dreams can only sprout in, that burn like the hearts of spinning stars
Tall, and I hate it, but you always use it to your advantage to capture me tight
I lied
I love it
Long fingers, and you pluck secrets and whimpers from me like notes from a harp
God, I love them
God, I crave them
You’re my all dreams bundled into one, my opposite, my piece of the puzzle, my favorite melody, my infinite addiction
I can’t live without you
A day that goes by without you is another breath stolen from my lungs but what can I do because you’re not even real
Like Pygmalion, I’ve fallen in love with my own mind’s tortured creation and now I can love no one but you
I can stare at no one but you, and when the night falls, I can go to no one but you
To Orsino, how can you say women can’t love like men?
I’ve fallen in love with a woman and now I’m dead.
September 25, 2018
People often judge each other according to their speech.
Your accent or your dialect it seems sometimes can breach,
The barriers of some protocol causing them to question,
The digits found in your I.Q. or how much education,
Could be lacking in your life or what could be your station.
Should they include you in their clique perhaps repeat Pygmalion?
Of course! That's it! Oh let's begin!
Oh this will be such fun! We'll take her in, teach her to blend,
Remake her head to toe! Refine her speech and then we'll teach,
Her when to speak and how, through us she'll reach a station close to ours.
But when at last the work is done and they see their creation,
And it's time for your debut, a kind of graduation,
You find that all is all in vain, you've done less good than harm;
For underneath you are still you, your speech is half your charm.
Why not leave well enough alone, to thine own self be true;
For nowhere else in all the world is there another YOU.
In ignorance, bliss!
This bottom rung,
we speak as we choose
and that gets the job done.
Yes, ignorance mired
in language unkempt-
the parlance of paupers,
ill-regarded, undreamt.
In tolerance, wise!
This highest rung-
we speak as the learned
and get the job done.
Where lofty words sing
amidst high-minded mind-
the old tongues of conflict,
new tongues now refine.
In limbo, angst!
This middle rung-
the higher won't save us,
the lower we shun.
Just enough rope payed out,
just enough slack-
For me and Pygmalion
to launch our attack.
~TH~ 2015
http://wrongwaywriteway.com
- By Olongapoet
Are those dragon scales, your reason’s hides?
That I’d need St.George’s lance to pierce thru.
Need I look for angry Odin’s lost eye?
To see through thy cynicism’s Stygian depths?
Why does the sweet ambrosia of my offerings,
Seem mediocre for your Asgardian gratitude?
I’m not too far away in this Olympian plane,
For mine eyes be blind to thy splenetic attitude.
There is no Trojan Horse in all that I bring,
And thou art no Helen my lovely dear.
Thou won’t launch mere thousands of ships,
It would be as countless as stars yet unnamed.
Why couldn’t my Persian barrage of gaiety,
Wither your Spartan recalcitrance away,
In this Thermopylean joust of wits,
And humourless tragic Greek play?
Is this task in all means Sisyphean,
The taming of your boulder heart,
That I couldn’t bring to a pedestal mount,
For oft it runs back to the ground?
Would it take a persuasion of Homeric scale,
To convince you of my pure intentions?
Am I an eternal Pygmalion whose efforts,
Means nothing to a Galatea forever a stone?
Even Apollo’s chariot is dimmed and tempered,
When I squint my eyes in perplexity and sweat,
In untying thy senses’ Gordian knot,
And slaying thy labyrinthine mind’s Minotaur.
I don’t have Midas’ touch to turn golden,
That stony and cold disposition.
Nor I in a siren’s voice soothe and calm,
The deadening intensity of thy inquisition.
gods damn it…
I only need thee to brace thyself,
And wait for all love’s arrow to fly true,
To quiver tremulously, finally,
Upon thy hard chest.
So thou might look up,
And see upon mine bloodied hands,
a worn bow.
While Cupid long after my relief,
Of his draining, Herculean task,
lies jaded,
Wheezing upon the ground…
A Sand Goddess Arises
Fervently unveils his seaside Pygmalion
At the pied a terre a sand goddess arises
Sand casted are his piteous passions in sunstruck warm sand
Stuck are her arms and legs trapped, controlling her very soul
The recollection clears, an object of his affection a birth
There is an energy sensed as sand and water caress his fingers
He beholds, if only Aphrodite answers his prayer
her breath of life be given this inanimate object
Her saintly face faintly appears
Features delicate, her hair etched in his mind
His fingers gently shape and capture her likeness
On Sandy Beach Lane he takes refuge from racing thoughts,
thoughts of her that cannot be silenced
An interview makes me ponder
I ponder on her significance
I listen to his cry, his laments
I grow fonder of the lovers
Inside their lifeless, godless, empty shells
consumed by echoes in refrains
I hear the volatile voices carry from both their lips,
exhaustion unfurled by angers dance
If she’d only see for herself, he bares a lost stricken soul
Beach wear suits him nicely, flip flops and hat adorn him
Kind is he to her as he scoops out sand
Stooping over are his bronzed shoulders
as he sculps feminine curves an hourglass figure
An alluring Amazon an apotheosis angel* emerging from the sand
At the pied a terre a sand goddess arises
Rolling down the contours of Iberian Peninsula
the picturesque highlands of lofty Andalusia
fringe the landscape of the great plain of Spain,
cradling the ancient cities of Madrid and Segovia.
In the frenzy arena horny bull charges as if tipsy,
gyrating matador’s muleta whipping it doesn’t see,
for his agile feet move in rhythm of baile flamenco
like the flurry of the trotting steps of the gypsy.
Travel from one city to the other by train,
you need not visit Pygmalion once again,
you’ll make out the aim of mnemonic device…
“rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain”.
July 18, 2019
The astral plane is leaving soon.
Once around the planet moon.
To capture hearts imagination.
A galaxonic fascination.
A feeling that seems alien.
Like ivory to Pygmalion.
With hopes hung up, upon a star.
You almost forget just where you are.
Atmospheric pressure fun.
Like being shot with a stun gun.
You'd think the end was soon to come.
But then you realize you're just numb.
Reentry can turn lives around.
When lovers find a common ground.
And hope begins to play a tune.
Of a trip once around the moon.
For Shadow Hamilton's Spaceship contest
THE SCULPTURE
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
He framed her face with charm of bright Moon light
His painful passion brought pearly luster
glistening on her wide eyes in delight.
Superfine cut by chisel with skilled stroke
designed curves of body on perfection.
On each point emerald emotion broke.
Elegant statue stood on completion.
Sculptor desired the statue as his wife.
His yearning tingled on earnest prayer.
How could the statue be blessed by life!
Her eyes blinked, she smiled at her creator.
Statue turned Galatia in rapture.
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
05/18/22
Orphan sonnet
Contest by Emile Pinet
I know a butter girl who chomped a dragon fly
In the east of Doggonderry she found a good guy
He kissed on her cheek with his Pygmalion beak
And she sat on a rose of the garden of Mandai
They fell in love and lived on a Quidrillion sea
And bought honey cubes from store of Queen bee
They went to ladybug's hotel Ilk for a quart of milk
And returned home with a cup of black tea
They were in love for ten thousand years
There were no fruitflies, no jackal fears
They moved to the south with trench mouth
Trailing behind an ocean of tears
The wind that bends the sticks and stems
Sends a message that makes the lights grow dim
I don't know when, but I will transcend
This disaster and all its whims and trends
After fomenting rebellion I was soon rescued
And all I could think about was my niece and nephew
A modern Pygmalion sculpting flesh and sinew
waiting on life to be breathed into my statue
The narcissist's mirror has been shattered
And the barbarian's bravery has been battered
The scribe's scroll has been burnt and scattered
And the figurehead's ego has been flattered
Let's not forget, last but not least
We must remove the burden from the beast
Subsisting solely on scraps from the feast,
Prayers from parishioners and pedantic priests
That heavy yoke must be destroyed
And auxiliary forces must be deployed
That unfamiliar feeling of being overjoyed
Has been gone so long and left such a void
This last day of February two thousand nineteen
Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
unlikely to be inundated with heavy snowy scene
methinks buds will burst early issuing royal green
carpeting landscape, sans expert architects queen
"Mother Nature" commences to baptize spilling
purity, sans cerulean bajillion year celestial tureen
while refulgent solar beams massage tender shoots
thawing frozen earth, where frigid cold icy sheen
hermetically sealed, asper horizontal frozen wall,
when skaters waltzed stealing lovers kisses unseen
soon melted pools of water all a buzz with feeding
Gabriel trumpeting "NON FAKE" arrival herculean
powers unleashed since time immemorial worship,
and/or sacrifices made to deities of webbed skein
viz, animal and/or plant wide world rejoicing when
harvest yielded cornucopia primitive, yet overkeen
superstitious scattered bands of hominids plentitude
linkedin to sugar daddy's favorite colored jellybean
benediction rituals also included pagan dispensing
prayers believing obeisance necessitated cyclopean
appeasement lest death and destruction would rain
purple pearl drop monsoon, traced to angry spirits
subsequently drowning helpless prehistoric hygiene
cleansed *****sapiens ancestors possessing gene
and chromosomes latent within dormant flora lean
fauna coming alive with the scent of fragrant bouquet
while the hills burst with creativity healthy panacean
liberating tentative "cabin fever" wrought by polar
vortex, the spell of warm weather, a respite sunscreen
applied to ward off deadly ultraviolet solar radiations
something in magnitude bajillion extinctions obscene
spate of lost species as seasons greetings witness hot
untenable global warming affecting every calm serene
nook and cranny incumbent to relish approximately
twelve weeks of cold temperatures sipping my ovaltine
recollected from boyhood, when snowfall covered roofs
tops inconveniencing Rudolph, and his deer friends a teen
nee bit, and school cancellation required state requirement
resulting summer vacation shelving reading Pygmalion
for Shaw!
As an aperitif to understand the essence of thought
Blood of a young tortoise touched my lips
Seldom as it is - pure ichor – I whisper’d in a trot
Let me get drunk on it while deifying the lunar eclipse
That is what I deserve, that is what I ought.
Is loneliness a hook up with the animalistic self?
Wearing an anorak to withstand the wind of banality
In the midst of a blizzard of an entrenched life
Giving the advantage to the senses of vitality,
Not more than Dido ripping her heart with a knife.
Give me the rise of an insurrection I dreamt about as a boy
A rebellion that would let principles be a judge,
This would surely deliver the desire for joy,
Or an uprising of the loyalists that won’t fudge
But will steer clear off temptations or a ploy.
As a grey fakir I paint a picture into a smudge,
Away from an aureate garden of gild
Into a desolate dryness of a scorch’d land
With my sole soul strongly willed
And a single stroke of my angry hand.
I wished to give tonality in sound and in colour
While being smitten by the freshly cut grass
All the riches will never appease the dolour
As I stand next to a window made of the Venetian glass.
Here I am, in justice I fall
Being accused of playing Pygmalion
Exalted to the throne of Gaslight and all
Given the heart on the platter as a medallion
Draining an amassment of turbulence
From the cluster of words that smack the gob
And remain in our ears as stubborn permanence
And I run, and run, and run, non-stop.