He planted seeds with false intent
‘cause he knew what the harvest meant.
He wanted much to eat the fruit,
But had not time t’ experiment.
Her words were bouncing in his head.
It pleased him where the New Year led.
He thought her promise absolute
And stapled hopes to what she said.
She let him down with much remorse;
The downward spiral took its course.
A fake façade became his suit
As she rode someone else’s horse.
They braved through this, remaining friends
With diff’rent means to diff’rent ends.
Their bond he wouldn’t dare dilute,
Nor from his mind her picture cleanse.
He hid below the shadowed shade
Continuing his masquerade.
A girl or two he’d oft pursuit,
But then return to this crusade.
The summer came; they parted ways.
She counted blessings; he the days,
But of his feelings, he was mute
And kept his darkened, dull malaise.
When autumn sprung, the wintry pall
Of harbored worship’s wherewithal
Led this young man to re-recruit:
“If autumn comes, I’ll catch her fall.”
Alas, despite his best attempt
(And though she thought her mess unkempt),
His epic quest she rendered moot
Again from sorrow nonexempt.
They lasted still, two peas, a pod,
But many cooks had spoiled the rod
This child spared. He, then en route
To happy healing, lightly trod.
Until one day, our coy cadet
Had noticed that her face was wet.
He didn’t have to be astute
To snap-deduce she was upset.
O lonesome dove, so wise and svelte!
She burst and told him how she felt,
That she ‘n the horseman, sweet and cute,
Had folded cards that they were dealt.
They cried together on the chair
That made its home atop the stair.
He acted as her parachute
And slowed her fall by being there.
He thought this was the catalyst;
The "au contraire" he quick dismissed.
His feeble mind did not compute
The stops his train of thinking missed.
He felt for her, but in his mind
It seemed she saw who once was blind
And they were famous friends to boot.
So nat’rally, he’s next in line.
O Day of Sorrow, Day of Rage!
She locked his heart-bird in its cage
And forced into his head the truth.
He’d have her time, but not the sage.
How wrong he was, moronic toad!
His hopes had soared and then plateaued
And last, descended, crashing mute.
He felt his chest begin t’ implode.
Another summer passed them by.
Great friends remained through low and high,
Through thick and thin and in cahoots
And full of trust and free of lies.
His lesson he adversely learned
Though fire still within him burned.
He gave his final, brave salute
And to his life he then returned.
He thought it best to set her free
To give them both their jubilee.
So, toast your Melba! Drink your flute
And gaze upon their growing tree!
Author notes
2007RC019
On December 11, 1934, a fire destroyed the Hotel Kerns in Lansing, Michigan, killing thirty-four people. A little over fifty-one years later, in cities approximately forty and ninety miles away from Lansing respectively, two dynamic people were born a month apart who would change each other’s lives forever. Seventy years to the day after the blaze, those same two people began a friendship that would cause each of them to view the world in an entirely different light and to never look the same upon shooting stars, red shoelaces or eating dinner on Sundays.
The fire actually has nothing to do with their story. Rather, it is a metaphor for both the destructive power of flames and their beauty. A fire, if not maintained correctly, can wreak untold devastation to life and to property. So also, the symbolic flame that is out of control can tear friends apart and cause burns that may never fully heal. A properly-handled fire can be a beautiful thing to watch with its color and motion dancing in the wind. Moreover, a flame, whether a crush or love, can be one of the most exhilarating hopes one could ever wish to experience.
In a list
A contest entry
- Into The Fire by Mercury Rising.
600 points, ended May 22, 2007, 10 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - The Raven Contest: Uncovering Genius in the Written Word by Raven Contest.
14500 points, ended October 1, 2007, 53 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 18 of 18
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BRILLIANT
That was almost EXACTLY what I was looking for. My throats gone dry and my hairs are standing. I felt this.
Freaking Awesome!
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Loved the metaphor that you employed to the end of making your point in this piece. I really enjoyed reading this through to its atypical end that actually allowed me to derive more from it then if you had gone in a different direction. For the first time I can say that I find some serious wit in your rhyme scheme that works words to fit together in a sense that is just perfect. I think the fairly unforgiving structure that you chose to use for this piece (AAxA) is reflective of the mastery involved in your vocabulary. Throughly fun, suspenseful and worthwhile.
Thank you for your entry.
~Das -
The moral to this tale is a strong clear message to the reader. That sometimes playing it safe and end up hurting someone. Like staying in a loveless marriage for the sake of honor. It because it safe and it what they know. Instead of stepping out to rekindle the love or letting it go. Sometime we need to let go of the old to let in the new. We as human look at limits or past hurt. Which color our reflective mirror. It is very well wrote in style and form with a wonderful concept.
Hope you do well in the final round. -
I personally find stories of this nature lend themselves extremely well to rhyme styles and the author’s choice of using Rubaiyat form for this particular poem is an excellent choice, even though it is not interlocking. Writing a piece as long as this while retaining meter, flow and rhyme is a feat in itself when done to this standard. I found the rhyme to be excellent with the possible exception of “truth” in stanza fifteen.
The story is logical, the message clear and I think it is one that many readers may find reflects a truthful situation in the lives of many. I think this poem could permeate through many circumstances where we hold on in hopes rather than letting go for the better, but I feel this is part of human nature. What ever the reason is, I think the moral of this tale is one we should take on board more often.
After reading the author notes I feel the author’s intention in using the fire as a metaphor is good but it could have been expressed through the poem rather than explained in the notes, however, though that is the case for me, I feel this is a very worthy piece of work which has obviously been enjoyed and hopefully will be by future readers. It has certainly been a real pleasure for me to read this afternoon.
Congratulations on reaching the final round of the Raven Contest 2007 and good luck with this entry.
Northern Raven
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Very interesting story
Sometimes the rhyme seemed forced and the flow withered. But it was very entertaining. Thank you for the entry. and good luck -
I've written quite a few Rubaiyats myself, although of the Interlocking variety, so I really appreciate this very well-crafted poem. Although you didn't really mnetion fire directly in the body of the poem, I understand the metaphoric significance. Best of luck in the contest, and tanks for entering this wonderful poem.
David
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Yeaaah this is absolutely what I was looking for. I realized halfway through that you were keeping the same rhyme on the third line of every single stanza, which is quite impressive. It does make the one stanza where you missed a bit stand out, but that matters less because you did so well for the rest of it. I like the tale being told here as well, told expertly.. not too quickly or too slowly... with enough killer lines peppered in to keep people from dozing off or getting too carried away with the mechanics of it all.
Verrry nicely done.
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Heroic rhyming scheme! I lost the story at some points, I thought it would end violently.
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have I ever told you that you are an AMAZING poet?... with every poem of yours I read... I fall more and more in love with your poetry... have you ever thought of publishing?... you are most definitely good enough... well, talk to ya later
am
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Yes
~Ryan~ -
Yes
It was way too long, I felt this could have been told much.. shorter. I see potential though, so I'll give you another shot.
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Whew, that's a long piece of work here but well worth the read. Great job and best of luck to you in the contest
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One more thought...
The grail, if I'm interpretting this analogy correctly, would like to apologize for turning out to be chrome-plated tupperware, but would also like to point out that had it realized what the future held, it would have found itself and saved everyone a lot of headache. Although then the world might be without this amazing poem and, sadder still, this very intriguing tree. -
Thank you so much for entering! Best wishes to you in the contest!
Just a reminder, PLEASE do not respond to this comment! Thanks!!!
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uh...
... Speechless, as usual. Which means, of course, I'll fill the silence with meaningless noise in the absence of a napkin to throw.
Praying hard.
If I knew how to up the star count, I'd do so.
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I have not the words to express how this made me feel, but of course I'll try anyway. The backstory on this poem is simply amazing. Whether it's real or fictional, it's an incredible story, and your explanation of the fire's role is awesome. The rhyme and meter are impeccable as always. Fantastico! --->pixxie<---
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i could say holy crap....
i could say I saw every scene displayed here, even the hidden ones.
I could say I know the two horsemen and their "holy grail"...
i could say so much more my friend, but frankly words wouldn't do this honor.
Not only does this tell an amazing and true story, but it actually fits the conventional methods of rhyme and rythmn, something I personally try not to tamper with. Kudos to you for writing the type of poem I had longed to...
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and it is for things like this that i can just bow my head in humility, for reading your pen is quite the humbling experience.
as always, i enjoyed this, but perhaps moreso, given the background. i only found myself objecting to one line -- perhaps you know which one.
still, a great, an exemplary pen. would that i could write with such dexterity and wit.
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