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2010 Poetry Theme Challenges

#07 Paradise




Many a poet has talked of paradise, precious few have given the same definition of what it is. Indeed what paradise is for me may be hell for someone else, it doesn't lessen the beauty of it. So the challenge is for you to wite about your own thoughts on paradise, be they spiritual, physical, romantic or any other form of nirvana.

Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae bleak and bare,
sae bleak and bare,
The desert were a paradise
If thou were there,
if thou were there.

Robert Burns

Dry your eyes--O dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies.

John Keats

Perhaps there is only one cardinal sin: impatience.
Because of impatience we were driven out of Paradise,
because of impatience we cannot return.

WH Auden

I know you were all expecting William Wordsworth but you rarely get what you expect.

Happy Quilling!

Jem
XXXX




Paradise



Divena Collins

Our Paradise
Paradise Found

Jem Farmer

I Want To
Smile of Enchantment

Ryter Roethicle

Fall in Paradise
Kite in Hell
Of The Word
Paradise
Quantum Love
Right to Choose
Thousand Time

Khia Taylor

A Dream of Forever

Nia Wynne

Love In B Flat
Paradise
Standing Still

John Willowdown

Orange Tom
Violet Cat of Rhydymynn



Divena Collins

Our Paradise Of Dreams

Paradise my love is being close to thee,
When hearts beat as one both together
Desirous passions reign lavish and free
Sensative touches gentle, like a feather
Deeper is our love true feelings sublime
How precious now my thoughts are of you,
So tender thy lips are pressed upon mine
Thus I know my dreams hath all come true;
For we hath now laughed and we hath wept
Both together we hath grown much fonder
Through blissful dreams we two hath slept
In Paradise where our spirits shalt wander,
Brighter are the stars as we float on high
Deeper now this love betwixt you and I.



-----

Paradise Found

Paradise would just be a name
If I was without my love.
Your the one that lights the flame,
The moon and stars above,
I love you when you hold me near
Whisper sweet words in my ear.
I love you so
I love you so.
My love for you is held so dear.

Paradise would just be a name
If I wasnt in your arms
Nothing much would be the same
Without your loving charms,
You are the one, that I love as such
And when I yearn to feel your touch
You are the one
You are the one,
Oh man of my dreams, I love you much.

Paradise would just be a name,
Without a you and me,
True lovers we both became
Oh darling cant you see,
This love of ours is paradise found
In perfect harmony we are bound
This love of ours
This love of ours
Echos of fantasies are so profound.



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Jem Farmer

Smile of Enchantment --- Dodoitsu

She walks by with elegance, and beauty captures my eye with a smile of enchantment--- I adore geisha.

-----

I Want To...........Choka

I want to say it,
I want to say I love you;
but you are not here
or I would hold you closer,
whisper in your ear
the words that you long to hear.
Perhaps I should call
express my heart on the phone
in those tender words
that make you feel love's caress;
but you are not home
my call cannot be answered.
I could write letters,
sweet epistles from my heart
but that takes too long
and I want to say it right now.

Darling, I love you,
and though we are miles apart,
my heart is always with you.



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Ryter Roethical

Fall in Paradise

Ten thousand leaves meander down the road
The pace maintained by the autumn breeze
The occasional gust makes them explode
And they are joined by others from the trees.
The brown leaves fall casually by degrees
The still warm nights, are now sometimes damp
There’s not the harshness of the Northern freeze
Or need for creatures to store food in their camp.
As the nights begin to draw in so does the fall
In a few more days we will have normal time
And from nice warm beds we’ll reluctantly climb
Complaining of the darkness and hopefully a squall
Then in winter we’ll again long for the spring
And try to place orders for what it will bring.



-----

Kite In Hell

For a while we were so close you and I
We shared so much and then I made a mistake
I made you cry, and you made me pay.
You never forgave me.

Every now and again, you give me Hope
And tell me you love me
Then once again my spirit soars,
Like a kite caught in the wind
And like a fool I believe in you
Then like the wind you go
And I end up crashing to the ground
With no one there to help me.

I pick up the pieces And like a fool I wait for another gust of wind
So that once again I can soar
Blindly hoping that this time, possibly,
You will let me down gently
Aren’t I a bloody fool?



-----

Of The Word

“And the word became flesh…” John 1:14.

Each morn I hear the birds call out
And envy them their life
There is no fear there is no doubt
Certainly, there’s no strife.
Avian banter from tree to tree
Is this what paradise could be
Avian banter
Avian banter
There’s no finer sound you will agree.

Each morn I hear the birds call out
Wake up! Wake up mortal!
Watch us as we gather and fly about
Arise from your pedestal
You are not Gods you cannot fly
You are human, live in envy
You are not Gods
You are not Gods
All you can do is watch on high

Each morn I hear the birds call out
You’re nothing but a man
I bow my head hearing their shout
Not understanding Fate’s plan
I’m not a God, I’m not a bird
Being a man is being absurd
I’m not a God
I’m not a God
I’m a result of “The Word”.



-----

Paradise

When I was young I used to think that paradise
Was a great surf beach and blue skies
Or a well shaped slab of rock
That just might be possible to climb,
And always a glass of stout afterwards.

Years and Several broken bones later I realise
Paradise is not about having to prove things
Paradie is about being able to appreciate it
There is music, and wine, and natural scenes
And most of all… There’s You.


Music of the Woods - Vladimir Kush
-----

Quantum Love

I dream of walking along a beach with you
Sitting and watching the sunset together
Now we wander back to eat and drink
And in due time we will make love.
Making love is not paramount in my mind
It is as natural as watching the suns set
And of eating and drinking.
Is not making love an appetite of equal status?
As I look into your eyes, I see your answer
Like me you eat and drink, and make love
And you realize Paradise is not a place
It is certainly not a food or drink or….
Rather it is a touch, a look, a word
Touched, and sighted and spoken by a soul.



-----

The right to choose

What may I ask of thee, that’s not been answered?
Thy look tells me more than a thousand ways,
And I could gaze on thy sweet face a thousand days
Even ten thousand more and still not be sated.
Time spent with you is like nothing I have known,
I am content to spend my time learning about you.
The evenings and the nights, once days are through,
Will create a Paradise that we alone will own.
We’ll create a garden of flowers and scented trees
There will be fruit and other foods in abundance
Birdsong will make us smile and happily prance
When naught else, we’ll listen to the buzz of bees.
We have both seen Hell and have emerged sane
But now we’ve met we’ll never be the same again



-----

A Thousand Times

The first time I saw you
I knew that somewhere in time
We had met and fell in love
I knew that I loved you
And had for a thousand lifetimes
And would for a thousand more.

I knew the first time I held you
I had held you a thousand times before,
So familiar were you in my arms.
I knew that I would hold you again
A thousand lifetimes and more,
Each time as wonderful as the first.

The first time I kissed you I knew
I had kissed you a thousand times before
And would kiss you a thousand times more.
The first time we made love
I knew that you were mine
And were destined to share a thousand Eternities.



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Khia Taylor

A Dream of Forever

I dreamed that I was once a bird,
that dipped and soared without a word.

No lusty man could capture me,
and pluck my feathers for his glee.

In garden sweet I spent my time,
the wispy petal’s touch sublime.

Then came along a maiden fair,
Seduced me with her midnight hair.

She called to me in honey tone,
By light of moon her merit shone.

Then beckoned me to trust her hand,
And calmly sat for me to land.

She nestled me within her breast,
And there forever may I rest.

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John Willowdown

Bagpipes

The Moon is learning the bagpipes
and keeping me awake something rotten.
Why couldn't you have taken up the lute or the
guitar like any reasonable celestial body,
I asked him - some of us are trying to sleep at night!

Pshaw! says the Moon, do you think I do it
out of aesthetic choice? Its the only damn
instrument that will affright the wee mousies
that nibble at my mandolin as if it were cheese
and drink the dwindling waters of my seas
- you should see the mess they make
like hungry gremlins at an unwatched wedding-cake!

They only laugh at lutes and guitars just make them
want to dance like a pack of little gypsies,
clicking their castanets and stamping their feet
and all the lovely lady mice with roses in their teeth.
You'd get no sleep with that racket
going on, I can promise you!

All the same, I remonstrated, bagpipes are a bit much
- the skirling drives me up the wall.
Last night I only finally dropped off at a quarter to four,
unfortunately I was clinging to the candleabra at the time
and the jolt I got upon hitting the floor
woke me straight up again...

I'd get thicker carpets if I were you then
or move your bed beneath the lamp.
Whatd'ya want a candleabra for anyway?
Seems to me you've got airs above your station...
just open the curtains more and let me shine right in
- you can read the London papers by me
as soon as the five o'clock from Paddington pulls in.

Of course there was no arguing with him,
there never is with the Moon
- he has an answer for everything.
In the end I had to give up my day-job as a traffic-warden
and take to killing rats at night
but then I found it was difficult
getting to sleep in the daytime too,
what with buses, trains, aeroplanes
and all the animals in the zoo.
Naturally I complained to the neighbour, Burt Baccarach
but he told me where I could lodge it...
Then I began getting offensive phone-calls
from a fellow called Peter in Hamlyn.
I won't tell you exactly what he said
but he was definitely mental!

(he said the Moon had killed King Arthur
and had hidden away Excalibur,
keeping it in sorcerous sleep
with a constant diet of iambic pentameters
and that the bagpipes were merely
a clever ploy to disguise them...
but I had had quite enough of this
and had the the phoneline disconnected.
Which was all very well but this morning
I got a circular from the Reader's Digest
informing me that I had been especially selected
for a two week holiday in Hamlyn,
flute and tights provided... )

Bagpipes to that!

-----

In my white heaven

In my white heaven
peacocks preen upon the lawn
challenging the sun's refracted rays
to equal the emerald and turquoise
gemstones flashing on their tails;
streams and rivers flow down pleasantly to the sea,
parklands are filled with little lakes and fountains
at which gentle and fearless deer drink.
Wandering minstrels and musicians sit beneath
the shade of trees and fill the air with song,
beautiful young men and women take delight in offering
platters of the choicest fruit to chieftains and old-folk;
no-one is as welcome as the stranger
and children are honoured above all things.

In my white heaven
war is something only tribes of ants and bees engage in,
art and civilised conversation being more honoured
than expertise with blade or axe.
Learned men see poetry in the sprouting of each new blade of grass
and the falling of each autumn leaf.
It is the privilage of parents to bring up their children well
and harsh words are seldom spoken.
The intelligence of men is such that they have
learned well the lessons of the past and no more commit
their ancestor's mistakes than does the curious child
put his hand into the fire twice;
although the valiant deeds of old are remembered
men see no need to emulate and repeat them,
established in the wisdom that there is a higher truth and value
in opening a child's mind to the beauty and patience of nature
than there is in striking down a so-called foe.

In my white heaven
time moves slowly, time moves fast;
I am always amazed and aghast
at how the hours and days slip by,
at how a lifetime passes by so easily
and how even the brightest light in star or eye
vanishes at last.
Where do light and intelligence go?
Alas, even in my white heaven, nobody knows.

In my white heaven
joyful birds sing in the trees,
the silver rivers are always laughing, full of salmon,
their water cool and vigourous on the tongue.
Every morning the sun rises in the east
and in the evening it sets in the west
and takes delight in the love-play of the Moon
as he follows her across the heavens,
unmindful of the ribald comments of the stars
and the occasional diatribes of long-bearded comets.
Men and women play upon lutes and compose sonnets.
Boys and girls play hide-and-seek
in woodland groves and grottoes,
filling their stomachs with wild fruit when they are hungry
and drinking clear spring water when they thirst.
Laughter is always on their lips
and old people watch them with eyes like apples.
Men and beasts live in harmony together
and oft times in the forest the unicorn
is seen conversing amicably with the lion
and sometimes too, Lucifer himself is seen
by those with exceptional eyesight,
playing his flute in the meadows at dawn
or wandering the hills at night,
talking to invisible things.

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Nia Wynne

Love in B Flat

Love went flat for want of a chord
That struck all the minor trills
Drilled instead on a triple B flat sword,
Oh, the pain of it became out angry shrills.



-----

Paradise

The fragrance of spring
Is like Paradise in bloom
Under a rose moon



-----

Standing Still

In a long white dress she waits
Waiting and watching every sun set
Every sun rise and each new moon at her gate.
Gate of summer opens new nets
A net of new hopes to guide her,
Perhaps her once in a lifetime love will occur.
A net of new hopes
A net of new hopes
All that is wished for becomes sure.

In a long white dress she waits
Wondering and wishing upon a bright star
For her white knight, to find their fate.
Though he traveled to her from afar
She hoped he would stay to be held
To hold hands until their eyes welled,
She hoped he'd stay
She hoped he'd stay
In every age ans season bespelled.

In a long white dress she waits
Wanting to wear a lacy veil
So her love would someday be a true date.
Someone to have, hold and reveal
All the dreams held fast in her heart,
All the joys to share and happiness to impart.
All the dreams held
All the dreams held
Knowing you were the one from the start.

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John Willowdown

Bagpipes

The Moon is learning the bagpipes
and keeping me awake something rotten.
Why couldn't you have taken up the lute or the
guitar like any reasonable celestial body,
I asked him - some of us are trying to sleep at night!

Pshaw! says the Moon, do you think I do it
out of aesthetic choice? Its the only damn
instrument that will affright the wee mousies
that nibble at my mandolin as if it were cheese
and drink the dwindling waters of my seas
- you should see the mess they make
like hungry gremlins at an unwatched wedding-cake!

They only laugh at lutes and guitars just make them
want to dance like a pack of little gypsies,
clicking their castanets and stamping their feet
and all the lovely lady mice with roses in their teeth.
You'd get no sleep with that racket
going on, I can promise you!

All the same, I remonstrated, bagpipes are a bit much
- the skirling drives me up the wall.
Last night I only finally dropped off at a quarter to four,
unfortunately I was clinging to the candleabra at the time
and the jolt I got upon hitting the floor
woke me straight up again...

I'd get thicker carpets if I were you then
or move your bed beneath the lamp.
Whatd'ya want a candleabra for anyway?
Seems to me you've got airs above your station...
just open the curtains more and let me shine right in
- you can read the London papers by me
as soon as the five o'clock from Paddington pulls in.

Of course there was no arguing with him,
there never is with the Moon
- he has an answer for everything.
In the end I had to give up my day-job as a traffic-warden
and take to killing rats at night
but then I found it was difficult
getting to sleep in the daytime too,
what with buses, trains, aeroplanes
and all the animals in the zoo.
Naturally I complained to the neighbour, Burt Baccarach
but he told me where I could lodge it...
Then I began getting offensive phone-calls
from a fellow called Peter in Hamlyn.
I won't tell you exactly what he said
but he was definitely mental!

(he said the Moon had killed King Arthur
and had hidden away Excalibur,
keeping it in sorcerous sleep
with a constant diet of iambic pentameters
and that the bagpipes were merely
a clever ploy to disguise them...
but I had had quite enough of this
and had the the phoneline disconnected.
Which was all very well but this morning
I got a circular from the Reader's Digest
informing me that I had been especially selected
for a two week holiday in Hamlyn,
flute and tights provided... )

Bagpipes to that!

-----

In my white heaven

In my white heaven
peacocks preen upon the lawn
challenging the sun's refracted rays
to equal the emerald and turquoise
gemstones flashing on their tails;
streams and rivers flow down pleasantly to the sea,
parklands are filled with little lakes and fountains
at which gentle and fearless deer drink.
Wandering minstrels and musicians sit beneath
the shade of trees and fill the air with song,
beautiful young men and women take delight in offering
platters of the choicest fruit to chieftains and old-folk;
no-one is as welcome as the stranger
and children are honoured above all things.

In my white heaven
war is something only tribes of ants and bees engage in,
art and civilised conversation being more honoured
than expertise with blade or axe.
Learned men see poetry in the sprouting of each new blade of grass
and the falling of each autumn leaf.
It is the privilage of parents to bring up their children well
and harsh words are seldom spoken.
The intelligence of men is such that they have
learned well the lessons of the past and no more commit
their ancestor's mistakes than does the curious child
put his hand into the fire twice;
although the valiant deeds of old are remembered
men see no need to emulate and repeat them,
established in the wisdom that there is a higher truth and value
in opening a child's mind to the beauty and patience of nature
than there is in striking down a so-called foe.

In my white heaven
time moves slowly, time moves fast;
I am always amazed and aghast
at how the hours and days slip by,
at how a lifetime passes by so easily
and how even the brightest light in star or eye
vanishes at last.
Where do light and intelligence go?
Alas, even in my white heaven, nobody knows.

In my white heaven
joyful birds sing in the trees,
the silver rivers are always laughing, full of salmon,
their water cool and vigourous on the tongue.
Every morning the sun rises in the east
and in the evening it sets in the west
and takes delight in the love-play of the Moon
as he follows her across the heavens,
unmindful of the ribald comments of the stars
and the occasional diatribes of long-bearded comets.
Men and women play upon lutes and compose sonnets.
Boys and girls play hide-and-seek
in woodland groves and grottoes,
filling their stomachs with wild fruit when they are hungry
and drinking clear spring water when they thirst.
Laughter is always on their lips
and old people watch them with eyes like apples.
Men and beasts live in harmony together
and oft times in the forest the unicorn
is seen conversing amicably with the lion
and sometimes too, Lucifer himself is seen
by those with exceptional eyesight,
playing his flute in the meadows at dawn
or wandering the hills at night,
talking to invisible things.

back to list




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