[x]

I paint your face in my mindI paint your face in my mind
On the canvas of my dreams
A picture of hearts entwined

When to duty I'm confined
Loneliness louder than screams
I paint your face in my mind

I see your eyes - loving, kind
Beauty that from the soul streams
A picture of hearts entwined

That's where I can new strength find
When yoke of fate so hard seems
I paint your face in my mind

When the resolve stays behind
It is the love that redeems
A picture of hearts entwined

Even if I would go blind
In the darkness your light gleams
I paint your face in my mind
A picture of hearts entwined

Ships of AlqualondeThe song of waters sounded clear and sweet
In light of Trees before its brightness dimmed
There white wood was with foaming sea-waves rimmed
The swiftest swan-ships in a mighty fleet
The sails were woven with a silver thread
As they sailed proudly through the storms and wind
Like graceful swans their prows were shaped, flanks winged
No better ship could sailor ever meet
Now white planks reddened with the Elven blood
In Swanhaven under the darkened sky
Where ships were taken together with lives
Then sky in Losgar reddened like rose bud
The fires rose on shores where the gulls cry
To Alqualondë only ash arrives

Of Names and DecisionsFair child without sorrow
Is your life hollow,
Noldorin prince?
Dreams are just small seeds
Adventures, great deeds
Ripen long since…
A burning fire
That’s your desire:
Onwards without wince

In the light of Two Trees
Noon of Valinor's bliss
Golden-haired child
Over the wide sea, though
Lie the lands you don't know
Distant and wild
Oh, eager child...

***
Faithful and steady
Is you oath ready,
Nargothrond’s king?
Reaping the visions
Of your decisions
Darkness will sink
For the oath spoken
Echoes unbroken
Loyalty true
A new hope is born
Grief of those who mourn
Up to sky flew
New day is coming
Dawning in blue

Beating drumThump thump
Night is wine
Drink, my love!
Cross the line
Take a sip
Drink it deep
When it's bitter
Do not weep
Thump thump
Beating drum
In your veins
Pain gone numb
Heady wine
Of the night
Song of life
Call to fight
Thump thump
Beating heart
Let the past
Fall apart
In your veins
In your blood
Dance of blades
Fire, flood
Thump thump
Heart is drum
Always new
Day will come

Dead MarshesOnce armies proud,
their enemies vile
Once armies proud,
now they rest in a mire
Side by side lie
noble Elf with a Man
Side by side lie
Orcs from a dark den
In dreamless sleep
Forever they'll rest
In dreamless sleep
Hosts of East, hosts of West
The waters cold
Are their murky grave
The waters cold
Above soldiers brave
Dead faces in water
Some noble and sad
Dead faces in water
And mud is their bed
Cold and pale faces,
Both evil and fair
Cold and pale faces
With weed in their hair
All foul, all rotting
Lit by corpse-lights
All foul, all rotting,
Fell barrow-wights
You should not look in
Or you'll lose your wit
You should not look in
When the candles are lit

The Ride of OromeThe stars were young upon the heaven’s dome
and darkness dwelt under the shade of trees
and in the darkness evil creatures roamed,
when a horn sounded clear and pure in breeze.
Like thunder rode there Béma on his steed
and Nahar's mane shone bright with silver light:
glistening dream, the music of his feet,
before them fled the creatures of the night.
Now hoofbeats silenced, Béma rides no more
in Middle-earth under the rays of Sun,
but Nahar's children still stay on this shore
and on the grass of Rohan freely run.
The lords of horses, Mearas free and strong,
the steeds of kings that came out of a song.

Sir Gawain and the Green KnightStay true to your word
In the code of chivalry
Ride to meet your fate
E
A
P
I
N
Game of the green knight
At New Year in Green Chapel
Waits beheader's axe
I
L
D
S
E
And peaks of mountains
In search of it you will pass
Nobody will write
O
V
E
L
L
About your journey
Never will you tell, for at
Dawn you will pay your
E
B
To the challenger...
Howering above your neck
Eternal sleep, life's
N
D
I
N
Girdle as token:
Righteous knight is still human
Even you can try
Evade death for honour's price
Now you bear a scar on your
E
C
King welcomes you back
No shame can the ruler find
In deeds of his knight
N
S
P
I
R
I
N
Gallantry and pure
Heart: now all will wear green sash -
Token of

WavesCartographers cannot trace your ever-changing landscape
So I hike through your caverns pathless and unafraid
You are the siren boy with a head like waves
Thrashing about and yet you still allow
My meek little figure to lap at your ear
And slowly crawl in like a curious why

Thunderheads roar in your skies, calling me home
I venture through your woods of crystal and smoke
To find you singing me forward on storm etched stones

I spend years at the beach fumbling with rope, to build a steady craft
That will reach your throne
I bow at your feet, but you wear terror like a crown
My hands lick up your thighs and into your mind
As I crash

lovesongif you've got the time, sweetheart,
i've got the love
and no one needs to know the whies
or hows—
the whens are up to you of course—
and we can be beautiful together
melodic, even
and if we happen to be tone-deaf, well
who cares?
there are intervening seas, love, but we are oceans of ourselves,
and through tides and inlets and streams rushing headlong
from the peaks
to fall in veils and land catsoft
and tumble through the subterranea
collecting gold dust and all the
little particles the light has never seen—
and somehow connecting—
somewhere inside that hungering expanse

because you see, love
we are
ju

something in the oceanthere's something in the
ocean that demands a
eulogy, something loud
and commandeering.
bit by bit he is losing his
mind in this heat and the
weather fluctuations
have him tossing and
turning in the middle
of the night. he tells me

that the moon no longer
brings him good tidings
(he would never admit it
but the only news he
receives nowadays is
from the sun). he knows
he is the last of all the
ponds, pools, lagoons,
waterfalls and riverbanks,
and he also knows
that he can be easily
forgotten. at his request

i describe in vivid words
and colors his rippling tides,
roaring cries and shimmering
clear skin. he insists i

FitsJosiah's tears were fat but silent, first glimpsed in the rearview mirror when Noel asked if he wanted to talk to Jamal before they arrived at Nana's. Rather than answer, he began to wail, and the volume of his wailing increased with every minute that passed. By the time they were on Pinecrest Road, the final stretch of their short drive, the radio could not drown out his screaming and gargling and hiccuping. "What are you crying about, Jojo?" Noel repeated desperately, but Josiah whined and thrashed and coughed.

Noel pulled up his parents' driveway and parked, resting his head on the steering wheel before he yanked Jamal's keys from the ign

He isn't you.He isn't wishful paper cranes,
or Paris dreams during cold
Autumn nights. He isn't You.

But, he's trying so hard to
make me forget  [ you you you… ]
like pressed flowers hidden
between the bindings of
unfinished books, placed
at the top of dusty shelves.

His eyes are supernovas,
dead and lonely.
They don't sparkle like
your blue ocean iris's.

But…He loves me.
I can feel it through
shy smiles and the way
he touches me with
gentle artist fingers.

[ He makes
  me want to write
  p o e t r y.         ]

He still isn't

We Who Worship the Morning StarMonuments burn into moments
And moments, to memories;
Memories fade to fiction
And fiction, to muses.

            (I) Sunlight Through Shutters

They, the nephilim rulers,
            Who perceived thriving landscapes
            While perched atop their assumed thrones,
Through adages of the abyss,
Adumbrated the fate of man,

Sightless BluesWe have found new ways to address light
And the answer was not 42.

There used to be a story
-Do you remember?-
About the propagation of sounds she made in silence
And the music that they play when people are dying.
A soundtrack composed of a spectrum of all blues,
Dripping with ultramarine and violins.

There was something about broken bones too,
But that never seems to convey pain the way it used to.

It's a pity really;
That we can't see what we hear
Without tearing our eyes out;
Begging for an end to the melody you made in Autumn,
When guns sang about blood.

And it's sad too,
That this is always about you.
The words slipping

For The King I shall Fight! Prologue
An old man sitting on the shadowed terraces among the huts of Islik Kenti puffed smoke into the dark night. As the moon rose high he heard scuttling of little children, whispering and giggling. He smiled as he turned around...

I
"Oh lad and a lady, do gather round,
For listen to a tale, as gallant as you ever heard!
Do c

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Details

Submitted: April 17, 2012
Submitted with: Sta.sh Writer

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Death of Cu Chulainn

by =MirachRavaia, Apr 17, 2012, 12:57:03 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Still your hand holds a sword

Still enemies shiver
Still death didn't take hold

Your blood is a river
Still in your veins it flows
And burns like a fever

But now your brave heart slows
Though standing you remain
Like avaiting more blows

So a hero is slain
Belt keeps you on your feet
Tied to stone with blood-stain

Soon you'll your father meet
After a raven lands
And your heart stops to beat

Though saying farewell to mortal lands
True warrior does not bow, but stands

Death of Cu Chulainnby =MirachRavaia

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

13th poem for

A dicciotto for the #formfindsfunction's contest [link]

Cú Chulainn is an Irish mythological hero who appears in the stories of the Ulster Cycle, as well as in Scottish and Manx folklore. When mortally wounded, Cú Chulainn ties himself with his belt to a standing stone in order to die on his feet. Due to his ferocity even when so near death, it is only when a raven lands on his shoulder that his enemies believe he is dead.

Critique by *Parsat Jun 1, 2012, 12:04:10 AM

I applaud your choice of setting in a less popular mythology...it's not every day someone chooses to pen about Irish mythology. I also admire your choice of the diciotto, a form I myself would not write in, to convey the heroism of the protagonist. However, I couldn't help but feel rather underwhelmed when I read the piece. This is for a couple of reasons.

1. The rhyme is essential to diciotto form. There's only two requirements: the 18 syllable three-line stanzas, and the terza rima. I felt that some of your near rhymes fell flat and lacked that prosodic power (shiver/river and fever, sword and hold). The repetition of lands in two different lines, while employing different meanings, was simply not very fresh.
2. The flow of the piece is disrupted by uncomfortable grammar. For the subject of the piece, the grammar either feels too colloquial at times, or too forced. Lines such as "Soon you'll your father meet" or "True warrior does not bow, but stands" are very awkward to read, both on a visual and an auditory scale.
3. The poem doesn't move sufficiently beyond the sensory. It is dramatic, certainly, but I couldn't help but shrug off the feeling that there was not much more past a simple description of things. The beginning was better in this regard, but as the poem ran its course I couldn't really empathize with what was going on.

These three issues, I feel, are really hampering the poem from reaching its full potential. In the end, I had a feeling that the form was cramping the content...I would like to see the story stand firm just as Cu Chulainn did, fighting to the death, but in the end it only felt constrained by the diciotto.

Still, congratulations on your victory in our contest! I hope you'll continue to submit to FFF!

*Parsat

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=deinktvis May 15, 2012 Student Writer

congrats! you placed 1st in :devformfondsfunction:'s first real contest!

=MirachRavaia May 15, 2012 General Artist

Wow, thank you very much! To tell the truth, I didn't think this one would place, I wasn't really content with it

=deinktvis May 15, 2012 Student Writer

i very rarely think my most popular pieces are my best

=MirachRavaia Jun 4, 2012 General Artist

But the critique confirms what I think as well, I would rather like if something else would win...

*DragonRider3 Apr 30, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I really must say, this one is one of my favorites poems of yours!

It's little painful that I have to choose one favorite part, for whole poem is simply outstanding, but last lines are really wonderful touch that circles everything:

"Though saying farewell to mortal lands
True warrior does not bow, but stands... "