IIce Challenge #2 - Spinning Brains

[rayheinrich]

The Carnival Bar


Her Grandiloquence was impressed with your attempts to fulfill Her first challenge.
"These peasants have outdone themselves. Our literacy rate does indeed belie the rude
opinions expressed by our sister Queendoms."

Our wonderful Queen, what a pleasure it is to bask in Her Radiance.
(And I couldn't help but notice the Chancellor of the Exchequer had been summoned;
perhaps the education budget needs a bit of trimming.)

Just a reminder to any who may be tuning in late: In an Ideal World -- where
cars don't break down and winter storms don't coat trees with specular ice
whose weight bends and breaks them across the power lines -- we would
have two challenges per week. But those hopes, unlike the ice, have melted
away and the challenges will appear when the fates allow.

So there really aren't any sort of deadlines; post them according to your abilities,
wants, and needs. Take your time, write something that pleases you.

Prose is just as welcome as poetry (and anything in between and on both sides).
You can post as many as you want. Comments are encouraged and should be posted
in this same thread. The goal is to mix them in with the writing and create a happy jumble.

"Fear distorts the space you inhabit, it distracts your gaze, it directly connects
you to an ancient brain. Thoughts you cannot utter, words only a muse could find,
appear before you." - Louise Glück (from "Literal Writing")

So on to the 2nd challenge:

First off, you should prepare yourself by reading the article that can be found here .
This might be optional; but it has spinning brains, who can resist spinning brains?


I'm probably going to get in trouble with the Queen for showing less-than-flattering
images of IIcelandia. But, in the service of art, I feel compelled to.

So... It's after 2:00 a.m. and you've just walked out of the Carnival Bar.
It's called the Carnival Bar as it was located next to the once popular
Karneval Sønbyen.

But that was years ago, before the depression, before the city lost its industry,
its workers, its tax base. The carnival went bankrupt, but the bar survived;
kept afloat by the profits from the owner's small, quasilegal import business.
Yep, history, stuff you already know. So you come out of the bar and start looking
for your car, but something catches your attention, it's the old carnival. Yep,
it's still there. The bank repossessed it, but, because of the economy, they could
never find a buyer. So there it sits, most of its fanciful facades still standing, even
the old carousel, its horses stolen long ago. But, except for a few security lights,
it's usually dark, but tonight some of its windows are lit. Intrigued, you start
walking towards a side entrance and come up to a broken-down fence.

Now, considering this is private property, any responsible, sober person wouldn't
take another step. But tonight, you're neither responsible nor sober; so in you go.

You walk a little ways in and stop. As you stand there, this is what you see:



You look at the red door on the right, the yellow ones after it, and the
dim path to your left that leads deeper into the carnival.
It's quiet, you hear someone speaking; speaking, but not to you.
Then you hear footsteps, short ones, a dog? No, it's a damn monkey!
A monkey, a bit unkempt, he's holding a basket. He holds it out and you take it,
without really intending to. You look in the basket and it's filled with small cloth
sacks, their necks tied shut with string. You look up, the monkey's gone, and
that little path seems darker now. In fact, the whole place seems darker.
Okay, this has gotten a bit creepy; you decide to turn around and head back
towards the bar. About halfway back you find your car; you must have walked
right past it. You unlock it, set the basket on the back seat, and drive home.


So, finally! Here's your task:
There are seven sacks in the basket. You need to open up each one, see
what items are inside, and write a poem (or prose) that alludes to at least
four of the items. Below your entry, be sure to include a list of the seven items.

And here's another article, related to the first article above. You can find it here

What's in the sacks? How would I know? The monkey gave them to you, not me.
But, just guessing, probably items that relate to the town, the bar, but mostly to
the carnival.

[TranquillityBase]

This really more prose than poem, but it's how I wrote it, so.....I'm under the gun here, the dog hasn't had a visit to the dogpark in three days and he's more than a little insistent that I stop this foolishness.



I’ve carried many a monkey
on my back
but never a monkey’s basket.
I feel like a servant
but I carry it to my hovel
and let the dog sniff it.
His nose spurns the bags,
indifferent.  He is my Don Juan,
so I’m reassured: no bad magic
in these bags, so I shut my eyes
and gently lift one out of the basket.
I untie it and reach in …….

I’m dancing with Dionysius
or is it Elvis?  Hard to say.
I fling the bag away.

I grab another.   This is fun.
But it’s not so delightful
as my partner now is Joseph Goebbels
and his limp makes him furious,
so I toss that one in an instant.

I guess it’s dance roulette
something you’d expect from a monkey.

But I’m old, I’m bored,
I grab another bag, and Circe takes the floor.
She looks like Elizabeth Taylor,
beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography*,
and soon I’m enmeshed in her flesh
and I hold on to her like grim death.
But like all drugs, the experience slowly fades.

At my age, I don’t think I can hope 
for better than that.  I stare at the bags.
What’s one more?  You don’t live forever!

It was Zen Master Joshu
and he took the bag from my hand
and replaced it with a sprig 
of mountain laurel blooms.

Now I dance without moving
in the fragrance of the flowers.

Smart monkey.



_______________________

*quote from Richard Burton's diaries

As to another three characters, well, take your pick: Marquis de Sade, Lenin, innumerable lost loves.....I didn't like, plan this out.  Just waited for the voice in my head.

[Wjames]

A string slides across your leg as you unfasten
the loops of a black velvet pouch
half the size of a paperback.

A silver stone pearls in your palm,
demanding to be placed on the neck
of a model from Wakiki, wielding
sun as moon.

Two halves of a molar shake out,
the long roots brittle as a vase
in the shed, weathered brown
decaying with mulch.

The carving of a dog
you use as a paper weight
settles into your palm.

A cigarette butt warm with recent smoke
stains your palm, red lipstick
kissing the damp filter.

------------------------------
I am hoping the other three items are a cold beer, a silver american half-dollar, and a corn dog.

[rayheinrich]

I’ve carried many a monkey
...
Smart monkey.
...
As to another three characters, well, take your pick: Marquis de Sade, Lenin, innumerable lost loves.....I didn't like, plan this out.  Just waited for the voice in my head.

Prose entries are just fine ,though, considering how it's formatted, it easily fits
the definition of a poem as well. And yeah, dogs, I have one that goes over to
the door and barks when he thinks it's time to take him for a walk -- which he
thinks is necessary more often than I do sometimes.

I'm impressed with your poem, especially what's in the bags. I was prosaically
thinking of physical objects that were literal or direct metaphors. I'm delighted
you extended the metaphor to human characters and dancing. It fits so naturally,
but I never would have thought of that in a thousand years (or in Circe's case
almost three thousand).

Don Juan, Dionysius, Elvis, Goebbels, Circe, Elizabeth Taylor, Joshu... What an
amazingly diverse smorgasbord you have concocted. I'm dazzled by the voices
in your head.

And even associating Zen with "dancing without moving". Wow.

---

---

A string slides across your leg as you unfasten
...
kissing the damp filter.

------------------------------
I am hoping the other three items are a cold beer, a silver american half-dollar, and a corn dog.

I was thinking the poems would just weave the physical objects into the poem,
but you worked the entire bags parable into your poem. What a great idea,
I'm going to change my poem to include the bags in the body of my poem
as well.

Corn dogs, cold beer, and the Yankee dollar... I'm thinking your hopes have
been realized.

"A string slides across your leg as you unfasten the loops of a black velvet pouch",
"the neck of a model from Wakiki, wielding sun as moon", "red lipstick kissing
the damp filter" and all the mentions of body parts... I'm sitting here in a boring
room sitting on a dull chair and yet I'm overcome with sensuous emotions.
Wonderful.

[Wjames]

A string slides across your leg as you unfasten
...
kissing the damp filter.

------------------------------
I am hoping the other three items are a cold beer, a silver american half-dollar, and a corn dog.

I was thinking the poems would just weave the physical objects into the poem,
but you worked the entire bags parable into your poem. What a great idea,
I'm going to change my poem to include the bags in the body of my poem
as well.

Corn dogs, cold beer, and the Yankee dollar... I'm thinking your hopes have
been realized.

"A string slides across your leg as you unfasten the loops of a black velvet pouch",
"the neck of a model from Wakiki, wielding sun as moon", "red lipstick kissing
the damp filter" and all the mentions of body parts... I'm sitting here in a boring
room sitting on a dull chair and yet I'm overcome with sensuous emotions.
Wonderful.

Thanks Ray.

Including the bag was moreso about having no ideas if I'm being honest. 

I couldn't think of a subject for a poem, so I just followed what the prompt said to do: open up a sack(s), and see what's inside.

[TranquillityBase]

I’ve carried many a monkey
...
Smart monkey.
...
As to another three characters, well, take your pick: Marquis de Sade, Lenin, innumerable lost loves.....I didn't like, plan this out.  Just waited for the voice in my head.

Prose entries are just fine ,though, considering how it's formatted, it easily fits
the definition of a poem as well. And yeah, dogs, I have one that goes over to
the door and barks when he thinks it's time to take him for a walk -- which he
thinks is necessary more often than I do sometimes.

I'm impressed with your poem, especially what's in the bags. I was prosaically
thinking of physical objects that were literal or direct metaphors. I'm delighted
you extended the metaphor to human characters and dancing. It fits so naturally,
but I never would have thought of that in a thousand years (or in Circe's case
almost three thousand).

Don Juan, Dionysius, Elvis, Goebbels, Circe, Elizabeth Taylor, Joshu... What an
amazingly diverse  smorgasbord you have concocted. I'm dazzled by the voices
in your head.

And even associating Zen with "dancing without moving". Wow.

Thanks Ray.  I really enjoyed writing it.  Sometimes, when they are not plaguing me with my short-comings, the voices in my head let me have a little fun.  I hope there's one more challenge before January expires.

TqB