Iron Poet, Round XII.
Welcome to the latest round of Iron Poet, the game where you give me three words and I give you a poem. This is an adaptation of a standard writer's workshop activity, and I do not claim the original concept. I just claim to enjoy doing it
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Comments 432
sickle
red
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Of the silver sickle moon or the winter chill,
Of the gloss-green holly or the owl which cried
Once
Twice
And then was still.
So many signs and portents ripe for plucking...
But they chose white
As snow and silence
They chose red
As blood and violence
They chose black
And then they wondered
Why I did not fear the poison.
Silly storytellers who designed
Their perfect little fable;
When she handed me the apple,
Red without, white within,
Black with silence and with stories
How could I not sense kinship
And spread my lips
And bite?
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Flaxen as candy, spun-sugar and air;
Frequent dismissals can make the heart fonder,
Never complain, dear, that love isn't fair.
Vinegar kisses can make resolve flounder,
Take it a'tumble in haystack or field.
If consequences should make your girl rounder,
Don't you complain, dear, that you chose to yield.
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Words: sudden, wild, magic (yes, I'm being inspired by a Diana Wynne Jones title, but I'm not expecting the poem to be related to the book at all)
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Subtle as ice hidden under the dust.
Secret the summer that sleeps in your skin.
Pride was her penance and passion her sin,
Lost in the labyrinth of love and of lust --
Sudden the snow as the winter comes in,
Sudden the silence as stories begin.
Yours was the hand that she never could trust,
Secret the summer that sleeps in your skin.
Now as the shackles of summer wear thin,
She will return, as she knows that she must;
Sudden the snow as the winter comes in,
Scattering secrets like leaves in the din,
Casting betrayals and blades down to rust,
Secret the summer that sleeps in your skin.
This is the battle that you always win,
Sealed by a magic both wild and unjust.
Sudden the snow as the winter comes in;
Secret the summer that sleeps in your skin.
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Thank you!!
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The only thing you're bound to be is you.
The measure of success is never crystal, never clear,
But in the end it seems to me that truth will carry through.
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The style should be your choice.
Hi, Seanan!
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If you're hoping you'll have mermaids;
They're a pretty something extra,
They'll bring in the tourist trade.
When you tell the wives of sailors
Why their husbands made them widows
Just remind them every siren
Has a price that must be paid.
Build your city in the valley
If you're hoping you'll have centaurs;
They're a special something extra,
They'll make travelers take note.
When you tell the wives of farmers
Why their husbands made them widows
Just remind them certain dangers
May be rare, but not remote.
Build your city in the mountains
If you're hoping you'll have dragons;
They're a dazzling something extra,
They'll make danger-seekers fly.
When you tell the wives of heroes
Why their husbands made them widows
Just remind them we have choices
They we sometimes can't deny.
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Makes me think of black widow spiders, going about things from a different direction.
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