Art is not beauty, it is the lie that leads to it. - Leonora Carrington
Hey!, you people from the future: These Challenges are forever! Feel free to add something new.
For links to all the Challenges, just click the P.S. button below:
Challenge #1 - Cut Up Folktale can be found here.
Challenge #2 - Death by Words can be found here.
Challenge #3 - Utterly Mistaken can be found here.
Challenge #4 - Word Dog Run can be found here.
Challenge #5 - Queen's Dreams can be found here.
Challenge #X - Bucket Brigade can be found here.
"Last Night" - Jacek Yerka
The Queen, when she gets up in the morning and remembers a dream, tries to write it down.
But most times she only remembers a scene, an object, something said, something that
happened, something she felt.
Challenge #5
This challenge is about interpreting the Queen's dreams. Look below to find some of the
things she's written down upon waking and write a poem(s) or prose about it that expands
the dream, and maybe, but not necessarily, interprets what it was about.
The Parts of Dreams:
seltzer exploded out of its bottle, it splashed my shoes, little princess shoes,
velvet, I was a child
she was holding a candelabra, my sister, she was motioning me towards the cave
a pear, just a single one, in an oak tree, hanging amidst thousands of acorn's
my porcelain figurine, wearing a gold dress adorned with sparkling stars, she
came to life and danced with me
the Gypsy woman revealed a curse placed on our family long ago, she offered
to remove it for my mother's memories
a feather floated past my tower window, I jumped for it and fell and fell
the sky was the color of copper, and as the sun set, its rays ripped it apart,
exposing the night sky
apothecary medicines, arranged on shelves that stretched far back into the
shop, and jars in many shapes, their contents shown so bright they hurt my eyes
Mercury and Venus and Mars and Jupiter and Saturn... all had their own
opinions, and spoke them out with voices so loud I couldn't understand them
sea grass waved in the tide, I swam beneath the water, and fish swam with me,
then I saw that they were porpoises and so was I
baskets and baskets of them, orange and yellow and red… I couldn't make them
out and then they spilled and covered me
their faces decorated the mountain like a Christmas tree and then the mountain
rumbled, it was a volcano, and all the faces, like ornaments, broke free
Future Challenges, Dates and Timing:
Challenges will be posted slightly before 6am GMT which is 1am in New York City,
6am in London, 2pm in Manila, 5pm in Sydney, and 7pm in Auckland.
There will be 3 more challenges. The next (6th) challenge will be posted Thursday Jan 25.
The 7th will post on Sunday, Jan 28; and the 8th on Wednesday, Jan 31.
IISZ Team:
rayheinrich: Head Chief Executive Head ( HCEH )
lizzie: Senior Executive Vice President for Creativity and Chaos ( VPCC )
quixilated: Executive Vice President for Narratives and Perplexity ( VPNP )
vagabond: Executive Vice President for Quonundra and Qwertyness ( VPQQ )
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
The stories we tell our children will spin like bright candy on their tongues, but as sweets are to the mouth too much magic will rot expectations. The young girl stands by her bed, awake but still dreaming that her parents are not her parents and that some prince will come to take her away. Her slippers transform to velvet or glass as she minces in royal steps to unheard music. She will meet three men who represent all the men in the world. In fairy tales, there are often threes—a nod to the Trinity, and the divine drive to find the one (three in person, one in nature) who will satisfy all unspoken cravings. She will meet them all: the older brother with the cruel look of a hawk, the middle brother who eats lavish meals in front of the hungry, and the young fool, who is noble in his stupidity, and surely a prince in spite of reason. The girl’s body will age, but she will hold her youth tightly like a clutched pearl until she places her hand into each of their hands in turn. She will dance oblivious through the steps of courtship, and meet the eventual reality that a kiss, no matter how sweet, cannot change a stooge into a prince.
Endless streams coloring the memory of fears and desires thicker, heavier. Catch loose ends tangling, and collapse. Although, weaving, unravelling always disorganized. Deafening weight from what you believe of familial pressure you yearn the righteous and the roles laid lessons to lead, run down by ancestors. Away with your needs. You are the earths farewell to fascism eruption to freedom and dream, come true, You are the births complete personification corruption, mutation. Be the change you seek. You are amazing, you can do anything You are unique. You can make mistakes You can be alone But You know you shouldn't You shouldn't have done that
Best to lose that feather tick,
at least your feeling for a pick―
Always yankin' out your quills,
serotonin's sleepy thrills?
You'll always find that calm delight
has disappeared into the night,
soon that pillow will go flat
cuz there's little fixin' that;
punch and fold 'til the dawn
your brand new mat
just made you yawn.
@sorry i had to edit-
couldn't get down
the meter...
(01-23-2018, 01:32 AM)Todd Wrote: You Will Meet Three Stooges
Legends of the Fall.
(01-23-2018, 04:24 AM)CRNDLSM Wrote: Endless streams coloring the memory of fears and desires thicker, heavier. Catch loose ends tangling, and collapse. Although, weaving, unravelling always disorganized. Deafening weight from what you believe of familial pressure you yearn the righteous and the roles laid lessons to lead, run down by ancestors. Away with your needs. You are the earths farewell to fascism eruption to freedom and dream, come true, You are the births complete personification corruption, mutation. Be the change you seek. You are amazing, you can do anything You are unique. You can make mistakes You can be alone But You know you shouldn't You shouldn't have done that
Is the idea to make it readable vertically and horizontally? That would be killer.
I like the ending. Dreams sometimes help us metabolize difficult things that have happened, other times forcing us to relive them fruitlessly.
(01-23-2018, 04:24 AM)CRNDLSM Wrote: Endless streams coloring the memory of fears and desires thicker, heavier. Catch loose ends tangling, and collapse. Although, weaving, unravelling always disorganized. Deafening weight from what you believe of familial pressure you yearn the righteous and the roles laid lessons to lead, run down by ancestors. Away with your needs. You are the earths farewell to fascism eruption to freedom and dream, come true, You are the births complete personification corruption, mutation. Be the change you seek. You are amazing, you can do anything You are unique. You can make mistakes You can be alone But You know you shouldn't You shouldn't have done that
This is pretty amazing!
I don't know how you wrote such a poem so quickly into the challenge!
I keep seeing that little blonde curly haired girl who is standing in front of the mirror
cheering herself on, but then the ending of the poem is a big downer, an "uh-oh!"we can all relate to.
I love how you divided it so cleverly into columns, but the secret remains, how did you write it so quickly?
(01-23-2018, 01:32 AM)Todd Wrote: You Will Meet Three Stooges
The stories we tell our children will spin like bright candy on their tongues, but as sweets are to the mouth too much magic will rot expectations. The young girl stands by her bed, awake but still dreaming that her parents are not her parents and that some prince will come to take her away. Her slippers transform to velvet or glass as she minces in royal steps to unheard music. She will meet three men who represent all the men in the world. In fairy tales, there are often threes—a nod to the Trinity, and the divine drive to find the one (three in person, one in nature) who will satisfy all unspoken cravings. She will meet them all: the older brother with the cruel look of a hawk, the middle brother who eats lavish meals in front of the hungry, and the young fool, who is noble in his stupidity, and surely a prince in spite of reason. The girl’s body will age, but she will hold her youth tightly like a clutched pearl until she places her hand into each of their hands in turn. She will dance oblivious through the steps of courtship, and meet the eventual reality that a kiss, no matter how sweet, cannot change a stooge into a prince.
She will meet three men who represent all the men in the world.
What a grand line! Thank you Todd!
Is the idea to make it readable vertically and horizontally? That would be killer. Billy introduced me to the 'cleave' poem a while back. May be worth a thread in practice exercises. Like 3 in 1.
I like the ending. Dreams sometimes help us metabolize difficult things that have happened, other times forcing us to relive them fruitlessly. Thanks for commenting
[/quote]
And nibbed I'm sorry, I just get lucky, thanks for liking!
a feather floated past my tower window, I jumped for it and fell and fell
Highness, forgive me but this was not the first time
that you've tumbled for a bit of fluff, all nice and soft
with a tongue to turn and toss you late into the night;
I do not believe on this we need to dwell.
(Though, sdadly, 'going down' is a topic to which
we may yet have cause to return).
a pear, just a single one, in an oak tree, hanging amidst thousands of acorn's
Majesty I could be wrong, but surely this is classical,
the pear is famous after all, world renowned,
a ripe female form, and acorns do seem like small men
in the cold; so sad, but some suitors are simply suitable for scorn.
(Tis not so oft that mighty oaks from little acorns do grow)
she was holding a candelabra, my sister, she was motioning me towards the cave
You said she thought that she saw Herrn Freud in there,
doing something strange with her mother's hair,
tying himself up in knots, a spot of bondage,
just to stop himself from spinning in his grave.
(As an only child I think the message is clear,
madam you're looking rather pale, pray tell me
do you feel a little queer?)
the Gypsy woman revealed a curse placed on our family long ago, she offered to remove it for my mother's memories
My Queen, such a bargain is delusion, madness,
your mother has dementia or Alzheimers, I forget which,
but her memory it is lost, beyond medicine or magic.
Tragic, yes, but your subjects know the curse, if curse it is,
is that your family refuses to take anything seriously.
(Nor give much weight to cultural stereotypes,
or even, dare I say it, oneiromancy.)
baskets and baskets of them, orange and yellow and red… I couldn't make them out and then they spilled and covered me
I see, all this and vanilla also,
cornflour, eggs, milk, sugar, stirred slow
and then, just like a plot it thickened, next
if I'm right were you not given, a sponge
to soak it up, some red visco-elastic stuff
all a quiver, yes? No my lady, not a disaster, for see,
let me speak plain, it is nothing but a mere trifle in the end.
(Was that a groan ma'am, shall I summon your physician?
...Doctor, doctor, I think...)
Of three-quarters of Her Highness’ dreams her presence is a part. This presumption that, if not about herself as such, all things go on around her carnal body, speaks of a regal confidence— though, potentially, a certain lack of impartiality.
II. Metamorphosis
Though much changes in those scenes Her Majesty recalls from dreams, in only one case does her body change its form. This also speaks of confidence (and disregards the incident of slashing— or was it mis-corrected splashing?— tender shoes of youth, elucidation of which your humble servant must decline).
III. Motion
Jumped once, swam once (and that not in Her Majesty’s own body). Lack of motion signals self-perception as the center, still and imperturbable... but, imperfect, may suggest a certain lack of satisfaction with that immobility, an urge to swim and fly while sometimes acutely recognizing hazards of these courses.
IV. Porpoise among Porpoises
Her Majesty sometimes wishes she could be one among equals, but knows it cannot happen in this life thus avoiding cross-porpoises.
V. Family and Society
Mother, sister, child, no males intrude into her dreams. Only Roman gods or Zodiacal planets (and, perhaps, ornamental faces burst apart in flames, or that unmentionable seltzer bottle) are even slightly masculine. Her Majesty understandably cleaves to society of women even in her dreams.
VI. Cataclysm
Volcano, ruptured copper sky, that seltzer bottle and a terror-fall (self-initiated). Her Majesty broods on reversals, revolutions, blinding lights and sounds that deafen.
VII. Science and Technology
Partner made of porcelain and dressed in gold, as well as medicinal jars too bright and numerous for understanding tell of hope and fear of technical salvation and self-satisfaction in Her Majesty’s confided dreams.
VIII. Her Majesty’s Servant
Her Majesty need have no fear of abnormality or madness. These, her dreams, are similar to those of other crowned heads whom it has been my great privilege and honor to attend. Your servant, Faustus, Doctor of Philosophy (undecipherable signature and bill attached).
The shop smelled of sandlewood and something more familiar but somehow unobtainable. A heavy velvet curtain was drawn across the room just behind a very large and very old, oak desk. It was ornately carved with a tapestry that depicted, what appeared to be some kind of a story, a story of a child swimming with fishes, climbing mountains and journeying through dense forests.
On the right side of the room, behind the curtain, there was a thousand small drawers each one locked and only identifieable by a symbol etched into the wood. On the left side of the room, a shelf with a thousand brightly coloured glass bottles each one seeming to contain a liquid and a gas. Hanging under the desk was a huge key ring, one for each of the drawers.
A cloaked lady with dry, bleached hair and a face covered by wrinkles was standing just behind the curtain holding a solid silver candelabra with three candles, she whispered something in old Romany into one of the open drawers, it rattled and slammed shut, extinguishing one of the flames.
As it went out, a small bottle at the far end of the room glowed with a bright green light. The cloaked lady looked towards the light without turning her head and smiled.
Just a few moments earlier a young girl had entered the shop, pretending she was only stepping in to get out of the rain. She lifted a hand as though requesting to speak, before thumping it down on a brass bell that had an ink written note, cello taped to the desk infront of it, it read, please ring for attention.
Tbc it's late here in the uk, so I'll come back to this.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
(01-24-2018, 10:54 AM)Keith Wrote: ...
Tbc it's late here in the uk, so I'll come back to this.
Is Keith really intending to come back and finish this, or is this actually the end of the
story done in a way to break the frame and end with a meta-joke on us readers?
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
(01-24-2018, 10:54 AM)Keith Wrote: The shop smelled of sandlewood and something more familiar but somehow unobtainable. A heavy velvet curtain was drawn across the room just behind a very large and very old, oak desk. It was ornately carved with a kind of tapestry, depicting what appeared to be some kind of a story, a story of a child swimming with fishes, climbing mountains and journeying through dense forests.
On the right side of the room, behind the curtain, there was a thousand small drawers each one locked and only identifieable by a symbol etched into the wood. On the left side of the room, a shelf with a thousand brightly coloured glass bottles each one seeming to contain a liquid and a gas. Hanging under the desk was a huge key ring, one for each of the drawers.
A cloaked lady with dry, bleached hair and a face covered by wrinkles was standing just behind the curtain holding a solid silver candelabra with three candles, she whispered something in old Romany into one of the open drawers, it rattled and slammed shut, extinguishing one of the flames.
As it went out, a small bottle at the far end of the room glowed with a bright green light. The cloaked lady looked towards the light without turning her head and smiled.
Just a few moments earlier a young girl had entered the shop, pretending she was only stepping in to get out of the rain. She lifted a hand as though requesting to speak, before thumping it down on a brass bell that had an ink written note, cello taped to the desk infront of it, it read, please ring for attention.
Tbc it's late here in the uk, so I'll come back to this.
"...exstinguishing one of the flames. As i went out...."
i like this story, keith. whether it´s continued or not.
gets me to imagine all sorts of things (from time loop to an old folk tale i read long ago to )
Thanks for the great reading, love the variety, each one grabbing.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips
series of short drafts (that maybe will stay drafts), trying to catch dreams.
----
the porpoises
with their purple purposes
believe they can swim with the fish
and stay in this world - yet,
though it might take a while,
they run out of breath.
--
i sleep
inside my wicker basket
with all those suns and moons and planets,
light as breeze,
i elevate them in my dreams
to plant them in the sky,
and when i wake their weight turns real,
comes crashing over me.
i sleep -
--
ready to explode
they made me wear those shoes,
too tame for boundless, dirty feet,
and still... so still...
i could adapt
and managed with the years
that went on malforming my toes.
i shoved the pressure
back into my heart.
all is swollen now.
--
puppet
i stumble in my precious dress,
shaped expertly from clay, it feels
as if the earth still burns.
my joints are creaking,
and the strings,
they almost strangle me.
there is no grace
in how i have to dance.
--
story
all the stories about prince and princess..
all the happy endings (and some sad)
but ours
is not to read.
as we enter in the cave
we have this light,
flickering as it may be,
it shows paintings from the stone age
and we recognize
it´s us.
--
hi knot, hi duke, it seems you heard her majesty calling for psychologic help, i like those professional analyses.
"indecipherable signature and bill attached" just as in real life.
-----
marachino, cherries, velvet, hearts, rudolph´s nose.. and the bloody carpet.
an impossibly red dream, lizzie.
(01-25-2018, 05:14 AM)vagabond Wrote: series of short drafts (that maybe will stay drafts), trying to catch dreams.
----
the porpoises
with their purple purposes
believe they can swim with the fish
and stay in this world - yet,
though it might take a while,
they run out of breath.
--
i sleep
inside my wicker basket
with all those planets, suns and novas,
light as breeze,
i elevate them in my dreams
to plant them in the sky,
and when i wake their weight turns real
comes crashing over me.
i sleep -
--
ready to explode
they made me wear those shoes,
too tame for boundless, dirty feet,
and still... so still...
i could adapt
and managed with the years
that went on malforming my toes.
i shoved the pressure
back into my heart.
all is swollen now.
--
puppet
i stumble in my precious dress,
shaped expertly from clay, it feels
as if the earth still burns.
my joints are creaking,
and the strings,
they almost strangle me.
there is no grace
in how i have to dance.
--
story
all the stories about prince and princess..
all the happy endings (and some sad)
but ours
is not to read.
as we must enter in the cave
we have this light,
flickering as it may be,
it shows paintings from the stone age
and we recognize
it´s us.
--
1. Seltzer explosion ejaculatory image. Shoes and youth as fetishes, or perhaps mementos of a childhood without latency.
2. Sexual jealousy, or unbirth.
3. Consider palpable fertility of the royal sister, along with recent rumors regarding Lady---
4. Porcelain figurine suspected to be about a poem written by one of her clients in praise of Saint Cecilia, as well as the incident at the masque. For a deeper reading, porcelain figurine and magnificent imagery surrounding evoke strongly if indirectly fashionable royal portraiture.
5. Sympathy for the Jews, mixed with appropriate self-loathing.
6. Anxiety concerning recent declarations of a Golden Age.
7.
8. Medicines literal, surgical, confessional. Shelf distance, distance of HMelancholy. Shop depth recalls womb. Jar burial urn (a most unconventional choice: possibly influenced by audience with Moroccan envoys? Shown shone. Brightness recalls portraiture.
9. Illness.
10. Relief at execution of former favorite? Imagery obviously tied to triumph at the channel, but such feels both too easy and too difficult, especially with the subject herself being underwater. Could be about disasters crossing the Atlantic, but reports came after the dream. Will consult colleagues.
11. Vision remains inscrutable. Mr. Dee willing to allow for the Supernatural:
9. HM judged by an actual vision of the gods, possibly concerning either , or her audience with Morocco. (Preposterous)
10. Prophetic dream, noting rumors .
11. With the crew's safe return, and tied to the other dreams referred, possibly blessings from three of the Gods, orange being the color of Copper, red Iron, and yellow Lead (paint. Insightful)
12. Erupting mountain phallic image. Faces and ornaments as fetishes: still anxious, but more comfortable, more genital.
![[Image: LastNight-JacekYerka.jpg]](http://wordbiscuit.com/im20/LastNight-JacekYerka.jpg)
