Tag Archives: Book 10 Ovid’s Metamorphoses

‘Depths and Surfaces’ Glance 3/3: Transformations Poems (Book 10)

18 Dec

TRANSFORMATIONS

George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 10

.Featuring:

James Knight, Eleanor Perry,

Rebecca Audra Smith

_

Orpheus and Eurydice

by James Knight

1

Moonlit clouds
hard as bone

A row of houses
seen from behind,
some trees:
pieces of a stage set

A parked car murmurs
muffled music

Peek inside
through misted glass

She’s under him, twisting

A circle of yellow light moves over them

2

Afterwards,
humming a tune,
he sits up, runs a hand
over the back of his neck

That all you got?

He looks back at her
and she looks away;
she’s elsewhere
already

Somewhere else,
in another story:
a timer reaching zero

A curtain of cloud covers the moon.

.

Gathering

by Eleanor Perry

.

Gathering by Nell Perry Book 11 Snipped

Please click on the poem to enlarge

.

Reputation

by Rebecca Audra Smith

.

Reputation by Becca Audra Smith Book 10 Snipped

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Please click on the poem to enlarge

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You can find more about James, Eleanor and Rebecca here:

James Knight

http://thebirdking.com/

https://twitter.com/badbadpoet

Eleanor Perry 

http://themusicofbreakages.wordpress.com/

‘Depths and Surfaces’ Glance 2/3: Transformations Poems (Book 10)

10 Dec

TRANSFORMATIONS

George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 10

.Featuring:

Nat Hall and Richard Biddle

_

Wild Vows

by Nat Hall

You don’t want to hurt me,
but see deep how the bullet lies*

.

Before lone gods,
mice and strange priests,
we hunted down our wildest
vows,
I, da daughter of
nobody,
you,
the stringman
in love with chords…
But as we put words in a cage,
they grew feathers, talons and taste for
blood and flesh.
I carried mine on nameless hills,
through sly mires,
peat bogs,
cold swamps;
you long drowned yours
inside poison you always took for
night’s nectar, and
walked away,
………….walked away,
………………….. walked away.

No need to throw stones in the wind,
I walk though life with
brand new
drums.

©Nat Hall 2013

.

*echo from Running Up That Hill, 2012 Remix, Kate Bush.

.

Thoughtform (after Pygmalion)

by Richard Biddle

.

Plagued with perfection, I create you –

A mockery of bones. Unknown to flesh and
toy-doll-smooth,
you are fruitlessly beautiful; an ivory womb.

You are the mummified dove, flawlessly carved
in the clotted veins of my limestone heart.

Those pumice lips, counterfeit and teasing,
despairingly manifested as a sad man’s plaything.

An unbecoming bloom.

Entombed in a fanatical psyche,
you are born of an impotent selfing.

A plastic fantasy .

No teeth, no nails, no tears, no hair
no voice, no perfume, no name.

An unblemished, numb dummy unyielding
no reflections.

My secret, my lover, my shame.

 

  

You can find more about Nat and Richard here:

Nat Hall

http://nordicblackbird.weebly.com/

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird.

Richard Biddle

http://writings43.blogspot.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/littledeaths68

 

 

‘Depths and Surfaces’ Glance 1/3: Transformations Poems (Book 10)

3 Dec

TRANSFORMATIONS

George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 10

.Featuring:

Greg Mackie and Adam Wimbush

_

That Loser Pygmalion

(with apologies to Ovid)

by Greg Mackie

That loser Pygmalion
said he wanted perfection,
but he just couldn’t handle
yet another rejection.
He wanted a woman
with no heat, with no soul,
so he sculpted a maiden
of ivory cold.

He bathed and he dressed her
in fine cloth and in pearls,
and bruised all his fingers
on her stone curves and swells.
And when caressing cold concrete
was no longer enough,
he prayed for his fantasy
to become flesh and blood.

What wonder, what joy,
did fill his old heart
when her ivory lips
so softly did part!
“You’re alone now, no longer,
and I will share your bed,
but just not tonight, dear,
I’ve got a sore head…”

.

Cyparissus

by Adam Wimbush

.

Vision drips a landscape vast,
Where emerald shard sparks shine and,
Even the dust seems illuminated.

Paradise becomes pregnant,
Thus shadows are born.

Their silent music maps weird webs,
Echoes caught in the fragile framework.

Static veins begin to reverberate.
Their varied atomic structures,
Spiral beneath the surface,
Like alien antenna protocol sniffing.

The flesh of the cosmos ripens,
While dog noise hardens to skin.

Under the weight of atoms,
The slender supports of reality bend,
The luxuriant knots of DNA unravel.
All previous preconceptions discarded.

Camouflaged amongst this cosmic clutter,
A boy materializes from the organic mess.
Shy shadows sipped at his thinking juice.

This is the flavor of his thoughts…

Once besotted with an animal;
A creature, which nourished minds,
From its magnificent antlers.
See the crackling energy of synapses spreading,
Forking like lightening.
The tips telling stories which were never repeated.

So some magic mechanism was fashioned,
To delicately decorate its neck,
And record the data, but alas,
The delicious delirium dodged this device.

Anyway the being visited many people’s minds,
It’s brain-quenching menu spluttering with story sparks.
It caressed your sub consciousness,
With its dream fingers.
Welcoming all formats of adoration.

The boy desired a fix,
From the fable cables upon its head,
So he led his beloved quadruped to an oasis,
Were they got drunk on dream soup.

He fondled the fantasy filigrees,
And marveled at the intricate imagery,
Pulsating from the animals amazing antlers.
Stories injected straight into his head, and
Together they galloped across galaxies.
The boy riding on its back.

Afterwards as the “Story Stag”
Was resting its ‘Tale Tendrils’
Beneath the Crab Nebular.
The boy went hunting, and
While wandering in the twilight reverie of story-haze,
He accidentally spears his companion.

Upon realizing the error in reality,
The boy, distraught, decides to die too,
No god could convince him otherwise.

He cried continually, and cries still into infinity.
The boy’s tears turned to pollen,
And were blown into the ether.

Eventually his whole essence evaporated,
His melancholy molecules metamorphed.

You can see them now,
Every time you gaze into the night sky,
The billion bits of his broken heart.

The scattered sorrow seeds called Stars.
Ready to germinate more galaxies.

A J Wimbush 2013

.
Obscurum per obscurius, ignotum per ignotius

 

You can find more about Greg and Adam here:

Greg Mackie

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

.

Adam Wimbush

http://wrongtriangle.wordpress.com/

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