just mercedes
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(I'm posting this a day early, so if anyone isn't clear or has questions, PM me. Otherwise just post your poem as a reply. The next prompt will be posted on October 2. Remember NZ gets the day first, so you may become confuzzled. That's a good state to be in, for a writer.  )
Your prompt is Gold.
Bright, fine gold.
Start with the gold of the Otago Gold Rush, 1861
https://nzhistory.govt.nz/page/first-maj...ago-starts
and the luminous story told in NZ author Ruth Park’s 1957 novel ab0ut the Otago gold rush, ‘One-a-pecker, two-a-pecker’,
http://www.bookcouncil.org.nz/writer/park-ruth/
or the history of the song
http://folksong.org.nz/bright_fine_gold/brfigold1.html
or the song itself https://youtu.be/ycesI2VCvJo
or maybe just the sounds of the names Wangapeka, Tuapeka
or the fact that although gold was found all over Aotearoa New Zealand, Maori had never used or valued it - too soft for tools, and not attractive to them. They wore feathers, stones, shells, and bones, for decoration.
Minimum number of lines: 8
No maximum
Form: Free verse
Any other requirement: Have fun!
It's about having fun, encouraging each other, and writing. These are first drafts; finished poems not expected.
Poets are welcome to enter posts on any or all of the days, post catch-ups later, or just come and read through what others are doing. (Hopefully that will make you want to join in!)
Knock knock
Great-grandad's sister Agnes
ran away to the goldfields (the shock!)
where she gave birth to Ada Fann (a bastard!)
father rumoured to be (in hushed voices)
an American miner who died in the snow
before they could wed. Luckily
she met and married a Stitchbury, moved
to America with him, and took our genes
and stories with her, if not our name.
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One pecker two pecker
find bright gold.
This towns been dry since the big drop.
-the glory daze-
Glorious luminous explatipus,
God! where did all that come from?
One pecker two pecker
take a shot before a shot
and the little gold skyrockets.
-glittery even-
Gallantly valiantly exmowiently
DON'T ASK QUESTIONS
One pecker two pecker
Just another day looking for a dime
A doder, a little ditta, diddy
Find bright gold
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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Pretty
I see you chasing glitter.
Well all that glitters is
buried by rock and mud
thrown - rinsed - shaken
burned in a furnace
melted by coal.
Your worth
stamped on your chest.
Sold by the peice. A pretty trinket bought by the masses.
Magazine girl.
just mercedes
Unregistered
Yay, for both of you! This is great.
I said (my big mouth) that I'd write a sonnet as well, so here's a quicky
The colour green had vanished overnight
below the snow that claimed the hills again.
The creeks all ran in tunnels, out of sight
until unwary boots submerged, and then
you stumbled, hit your head, and cursed aloud
(enough to melt an iceberg, I'd have thought)
and dripping, limping, turned yourself about
to kick and punish where your foot had caught.
Great clouds of sweat and heated breath soon hid
your actions from me. I could hear you shout -
I'm sure they could, in Nelson - if they did,
they'd wonder what the laughter was about.
You'd used it as a seat, to pan for gold.
It weighed a hundred ounces, so I'm told.
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Excerpt from a Gold-hunter's Journal
Her name was Anahera
but we called her "May"
a cross-eyed, small-titted
Maori girl with scarecrow hair
and limbs like knobby branches,
built for navigating the rocks
and the bush along the Tuapeka river
and skin the dirty color of yams
But she could speak English
warbling it out lke a Kakapo
as she led us through the thick
country in search of gold.
And when we found it
glimmering lke cat's eyes
from the gulch
we plucked her crooked teeth
and filled her mouth with gold.
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All that glitters
in the eyes is not dust
is not debris
is not blood
is not anger
is not rage
is just this sheen
of wet
of lives lost
either death took one more
or the war did
what once was gold
is now buried
six inches deep
and Midas did nothing
because
he.could.not
and.did.not.want.to
change ashes and dust
what glitters
in those eyes
is the loss
of innocence
damn!
just mercedes
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Wow, Milo - strong! And Anna - lovely. Great to see you both join in!
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(10-01-2017, 03:33 AM)just mercedes Wrote: Wow, Milo - strong! And Anna - lovely. Great to see you both join in!
Thanks, JM, I haven't really been writing anything lately so i welcome the excuse.
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Faerie Gold
Their ground bones were the dust
that filled the pools of El Dorado.
For when the wee folk tired of spinning straw,
their shapes grew heavy as stone.
Some slept next to rivers: Tuapeka,
or the fork of the American near Coloma.
For years, they went unnoticed gray
as river rocks, or as mist stretching
beneath a long white cloud.
Their dreams seeped
into grasses, mingled
with horsemint and silver tussock,
and the water glittered
under the burnished gold of morning.
When the rivers dulled, their bodies sank
further into the earth. Descending
as did the fortune hunters. Who collected
the song from the sky into cages,
and hope became a melody
rarely played and seldom heard.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
just mercedes
Unregistered
Todd - I love seeing my country through your eyes. This is magic, as if you have been by a creek here, under the ferns, as the sun rises.
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(10-01-2017, 04:35 AM)Todd Wrote: Faerie Gold
Their ground bones were the dust
that filled the pools of El Dorado.
For when the wee folk tired of spinning straw,
their shapes grew heavy as stone.
Some slept next to rivers: Tuapeka,
or the fork of the American near Coloma.
For years, they went unnoticed gray
as river rocks, or as mist stretching
beneath a long white cloud.
Their dreams seeped
into grasses, mingled
with horsemint and silver tussock,
and the water glittered
under the burnished gold of morning.
When the rivers dulled, their bodies sank
further into the earth. Descending
as did the fortune hunters. Who collected
the song from the sky into cages,
and hope became a melody
rarely played and seldom heard.
A pleasure to read, Todd
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Thank you, both. Like, milo, I haven't written anything for awhile. So, I'm looking forward to participating.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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Rutherford
Make me a tube, clear glass,
the length of a man,
one end exposed to silver-white
blackening in the air
as its decay phosphoresces
in a neat pattern. Remove the air.
Insert a foil of thinnest gold.
Observe.
Let others wallow in greed
and filthy yellow mud to turn
entire lives into trinkets
for the callow. I need only
the smallest part of their
blooded product to leave
the earth
and open the stars
It could be worse
just mercedes
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This is very golden. Thank you for joining in! I love that last line 'and open the stars.'
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(10-01-2017, 08:56 AM)Leanne Wrote: Rutherford
Make me a tube, clear glass,
the length of a man,
one end exposed to silver-white
blackening in the air
as its decay phosphoresces
in a neat pattern. Remove the air.
Insert a foil of thinnest gold.
Observe.
Let others wallow in greed
and filthy yellow mud to turn
entire lives into trinkets
for the callow. I need only
the smallest part of their
blooded product to leave
the earth
and open the stars
Lovely. The last line is sublime, because understanding the structure of the atom was the first step in a series of steps that led to Hans Bethe's work.
~ I think I just quoted myself - Achebe
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Cheers 
Truth be told, I couldn't think of anything to remotely compete with what has already been written so back to high school physics hero (and Kiwi legend) I had to go.
It could be worse
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![[Image: KeplerMountainsNZ.jpg]](http://wordbiscuit.com/im19/KeplerMountainsNZ.jpg)
< under the mountain >
here in your underground
you've filled with gold
your metalwork
your paradox
yet you have lost
here in your underground
with your fine touch
your paradox
of strength and yet finesse
the minute movements of your hand
precise with avarice and love
the contradiction of your strength
precisely setting precious stone
with patience and finesse
with your fine touch
but then you must possess
your gold
yet you have lost
in that small moment
looking back
the gold
the yellow glow of it
unlike the iron of your sword
enough
it filled your eyes
your heart
it cannot hold
it cannot smile
it just reflects
your sword that stands without a hand
your finial without a roof
your room
now empty of your voice
your heart
lies brutish
rough
and fierce with dark
and mad with gold
below these mountains
as their mist rolls quiet
into the lakes
you make your own
here in your underground
your gold
yet you have lost
- - -
* Photo: Kepler Mountains, Fiordland National Park
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions
just mercedes
Unregistered
Ray. What a treat! Thanks for joining in.
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No reserve
Belly full of summer
now cramps in winter's hold,
Otago runs away with hope
and snows so deep
depression creeps, so cold.
Let me sleep,
I've carried children, wife and horse
followed Aussies yellow road,
sang songs that ward away old ghosts
that tell the tale of miners gold.
The river now feels my feet,
my breath falls shallow to panning pools.
Soon I'll become the white
shores edge. Just let me sleep.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
just mercedes
Unregistered
Keith - yes! And your last line lingers. My family was involved in the Gold Rushes of NZ, Australia and California. That was after the whales were harder to find.
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