Fifty Cento by Peteskid at All poetry

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
Life is passing like a stream,

And on this moral sea
where the smoldering memory of slave ships
elects the men to become Prophets,
Of a dream deferred

In what distant deeps or skies
In vacant or in pensive mood,
whose web within me growing
At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade.
and the sadness becomes so great
and so does the perception of tomorrow
That my days have been a dream;
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
For the soul is dead that slumbers,

To break this shadow into a thousand lights of sun,
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
reflects the moon, falls on the sea.

The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Resembles Life what once was held of Light,
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Do you come to me to bend me to your will
with one key, one door closed to shadow.
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
but here in the struggle for fame and wealth
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
and wiped the last tear from My eyes

This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
In its autumn tint of gold,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
I saw the brown leaves dropping from their tree
Next to the sea in the autumn,
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,

Hope is the thing with feathers
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Like great pulsing tides of wine

Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
Long live the rose that grew from concrete

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
It is good to be weary from that brilliant work

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Because I could not stop for Death,
We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Then the gentle brook will speak
And when my voice is silent in death, my song will speak in
your living heart.

Author notes

A contest entry

Joining lines in Oldpoetry (contest) by Mari Goes. 5500 points, ended March 19, 2008, 8 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest

Please tell me what you think

Comments

1 - 6 of 6

By me, right now

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Yemassee
March 19, 2008
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Congrats on the Bronze!
Mari Goes
March 17, 2008

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The last but surely not least
A very good debut in the cento form!
You composed a sad poem with the lines you chose. Still it does show bright images, which I associated with the dreams there.
I liked it how the poem evolved, with solid imageries but also with space enough to let the reader fill in their own thoughts.
Knowing how hard is to write a cento that makes sense, I much appreciate your work and am very glad with the result.
Very good cento and great choice of authors!
- Peteskid
  March 17, 2008
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  Thank you Mari-
  
  you are very kind, thank you for the contest, i never would have tried one of these on my own. I enjoyed this and learned a lot... i think it is a wonderful form, and such a good way to reflect the poetry of the old masters that we enjoy...PK
Yemassee
March 17, 2008

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Here's my current theory on centos, oh yes, I have a theory, lol.

Even though no lines are actually ours, the poem still takes on a resemblance to our own style. I know mine took on my style, Mariza's took on hers, and from the few of yours I've read, this seems to have been in your style...or one of them, I don't mean to imply that any of us have just one.

Yes, I had way too much free time tonight.

But the cento, it had a calm, intelligent tone, and that was obviously created from your own choices of what you wanted said, and more than that, in the tone you wanted it said in...if that makes sense.

Yours (from my perspective) read like a monologue, someone expressing deep emotions that suddenly he is able to convey...maybe because for him it's an epiphany.

Or I had too much Moxie.
- Peteskid
  March 17, 2008
  
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  Thank you Yem-
  could use some Moxie myself, thanks so much for reading and your kind words...although it is in a contest i am still working on this, and i agree there is such a wonderful opportunity for expression in this form, a pattern of note taking, mental notation, emerges too...an added skill... i will do this form again, enjoyed it ...again thanks...PK
secberm
March 17, 2008

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Isn't this more like "Sean Puffy" Cento? LOL Well done my man. Truly enjoyed this. And they thought those with two turntables and a crate of records had no imagination. I now dub you, "DJ OldPoet" but where your "Furious Troupe of Bards"? One.

Dez