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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jun 21, 2018 18:05:01 GMT
Following on the initiative taken by a member, this is a thread for original creative works by members (and guests) of the forum. So...please feel free to post your poems, vignettes, cartoons, dialogues, monologues, photographs, songs, or whatever else you like.
The only real limit is length. Obviously a short story wouldn't really work on a forum, unless it was VERY short.
Of course, any work which exhibits the slightest departure from the time-honoured conventions of its form, and shows the slightest tendency towards experimentation, will be deleted immediately. (Only kidding.)
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Post by Séamus on Jun 29, 2018 12:45:38 GMT
Following on the initiative taken by a member, this is a thread for original creative works by members (and guests) of the forum. So...please feel free to post your poems, vignettes, cartoons, dialogues, monologues, photographs, songs, or whatever else you like. The only real limit is length. Obviously a short story wouldn't really work on a forum, unless it was VERY short. Of course, any work which exhibits the slightest departure from the time-honoured conventions of its form, and shows the slightest tendency towards experimentation, will be deleted immediately. (Only kidding.) For the first time, last night,I dreamt about the Irish Conservatives Forum. In the dream I was actually composing a short story for this very section; in the dream I was looking for some shop in a (really existent) shopping mall; it was a Woolf-style, train-of-thought piece, what was going through my head looking for the store. It seemed good but unfortunately, unlike Julia Howe and Freddie Mercury I didn't awake to find it written down. |
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Post by Deleted on Jun 29, 2018 15:55:11 GMT
Unbounded
The Light dissolves the shadows
And gently prods my eyes,
To see a greater world
Beyond the dreariness of ME.
I used to be the measure,
Of all the things I saw.
Without consideration
For the Maker of it all.
But then a rocket flared
On the border of my soul.
And saw that earth beyond,
Ran vastly far away.
It swallowed up my dullness
And spurred my quest to find,
The reason for the hugeness,
Beyond my dingy mind.
I found it in the Savior,
Who gives me light to see.
And journey past the limits
Of life defined by me.
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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jun 29, 2018 18:32:12 GMT
Following on the initiative taken by a member, this is a thread for original creative works by members (and guests) of the forum. So...please feel free to post your poems, vignettes, cartoons, dialogues, monologues, photographs, songs, or whatever else you like. The only real limit is length. Obviously a short story wouldn't really work on a forum, unless it was VERY short. Of course, any work which exhibits the slightest departure from the time-honoured conventions of its form, and shows the slightest tendency towards experimentation, will be deleted immediately. (Only kidding.) For the first time, last night,I dreamt about the Irish Conservatives Forum. In the dream I was actually composing a short story for this very section; in the dream I was looking for some shop in a (really existent) shopping mall; it was a Woolf-style, train-of-thought piece, what was going through my head looking for the store. It seemed good but unfortunately, unlike Julia Howe and Freddie Mercury I didn't awake to find it written down. Why not write something based on it? I love everything dream-like and based on dreams. |
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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jun 29, 2018 18:33:19 GMT
Unbounded
The Light dissolves the shadows And gently prods my eyes, To see a greater world Beyond the dreariness of ME. I used to be the measure, Of all the things I saw. Without consideration For the Maker of it all. But then a rocket flared On the border of my soul. And saw that earth beyond, Ran vastly far away. It swallowed up my dullness And spurred my quest to find, The reason for the hugeness, Beyond my dingy mind. If found it in the Savior, Who gives me light to see. And journey past the limits Of life defined by me. Very nice! Thank you. The Argument from Desire rendered in poetry, and metrical and rhyming poetry too! |
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Post by Tomas on Jul 6, 2018 14:30:33 GMT
Is it possible to insert a private image that has no online URL here? I didn´t find any button to click for uploading apart from web sites.
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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jul 6, 2018 15:03:55 GMT
Is it possible to insert a private image that has no online URL here? I didn´t find any button to click for uploading apart from web sites. I think you use the "add attachment" button. |
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Post by Tomas on Jul 6, 2018 19:42:08 GMT
 This is a photo I took in Lourdes. Liked it because to memory it added a sense of something that was not always tangible during Eucharistic adoration etc (impressions of the pilgrim worship were a "modern times"-mix of good and less good components). This Cross and Crown stood out as a symbol of something great in the midst of the influence from modernism or semi-modernism. Esthetic quality did not matter much compared to personal whim but I never found any wrong lines esthetically neither. |
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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jul 6, 2018 20:47:16 GMT
I love the picture-- very stately!
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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jul 10, 2018 10:39:04 GMT
I spent all day writing this poem yesterday.
Vistas
The man with silver hair hair rose with slow grace
And scanned the bookshelves lining every wall.
Outside, the summer night began to fall,
A rich, full-bodied dusk. He drew a book
About the later Kubrick from its place
And sauntered, browsing, back into his nook.
He flicked through twenty pages. Ah yes, here,
The Shining-- the Prince Charles in Leicester Square--
Munich and Watergate were in the air.
He raised his glass of Redbreast, took a sip,
And held it on his tongue. Kubrick's career
Unspooled within his memory, a trip
Through darkened auditoria, bright screens--
From fuzzy black-and-white to Blu-Ray. So
He swallowed, bathing in the subtle glow.
"The movie's aura only grows with age",
He read. He saw again the well-known scenes,
Viewed through the prism of the printed page;
The screen seen through the word, and life itself
Seen through the screen; the flickering mystery
Best seen obliquely, darkly, partially;
The shadows on the wall, the images
Pondered in every book upon the shelf;
Dreamworlds less dream-like than the thing that is;
He drained the glass, and poured another. Light
Streamed through the blinds, an amber-sepia.
A hush fell on the world. That cinema
Whose screen is bigger than the sky was filled
With images too vivid for the sight;
Life filtered, heightened, gloriously distilled.
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Post by cato on Jul 10, 2018 11:11:21 GMT
I spent all day writing this poem yesterday. Vistas The man with silver hair hair rose with slow grace And scanned the bookshelves lining every wall. Outside, the summer night began to fall, A rich, full-bodied dusk. He drew a book About the later Kubrick from its place And sauntered, browsing, back into his nook. He flicked through twenty pages. Ah yes, here, The Shining-- the Prince Charles in Leicester Square-- Munich and Watergate were in the air. He raised his glass of Redbreast, took a sip, And held it on his tongue. Kubrick's career Unspooled within his memory, a trip Through darkened auditoria, bright screens-- From fuzzy black-and-white to Blu-Ray. So He swallowed, bathing in the subtle glow. "The movie's aura only grows with age", He read. He saw again the well-known scenes, Viewed through the prism of the printed page; The screen seen through the word, and life itself Seen through the screen; the flickering mystery Best seen obliquely, darkly, partially; The shadows on the wall, the images Pondered in every book upon the shelf; Dreamworlds less dream-like than the thing that is; He drained the glass, and poured another. Light Streamed through the blinds, an amber-sepia. A hush fell on the world. That cinema Whose screen is bigger than the sky was filled With images too vivid for the sight; Life filtered, heightened, gloriously distilled. Beautiful. Definitely one for your "selected Poems" "He drained the glass and poured another ... " He has a refined taste in whiskey too. |
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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jul 10, 2018 11:31:48 GMT
I spent all day writing this poem yesterday. Vistas The man with silver hair hair rose with slow grace And scanned the bookshelves lining every wall. Outside, the summer night began to fall, A rich, full-bodied dusk. He drew a book About the later Kubrick from its place And sauntered, browsing, back into his nook. He flicked through twenty pages. Ah yes, here, The Shining-- the Prince Charles in Leicester Square-- Munich and Watergate were in the air. He raised his glass of Redbreast, took a sip, And held it on his tongue. Kubrick's career Unspooled within his memory, a trip Through darkened auditoria, bright screens-- From fuzzy black-and-white to Blu-Ray. So He swallowed, bathing in the subtle glow. "The movie's aura only grows with age", He read. He saw again the well-known scenes, Viewed through the prism of the printed page; The screen seen through the word, and life itself Seen through the screen; the flickering mystery Best seen obliquely, darkly, partially; The shadows on the wall, the images Pondered in every book upon the shelf; Dreamworlds less dream-like than the thing that is; He drained the glass, and poured another. Light Streamed through the blinds, an amber-sepia. A hush fell on the world. That cinema Whose screen is bigger than the sky was filled With images too vivid for the sight; Life filtered, heightened, gloriously distilled. Beautiful. Definitely one for your "selected Poems" "He drained the glass and poured another ... " He has a refined taste in whiskey too. Thanks! It's hilarious you picked upon the whiskey. It's based on a person I know who is a connoiseur of whiskey. Although I've heard him talk about whiskey at great length, I couldn't remember what whiskeys he drank. And I couldn't really ask him, I don't know him that well. So I turned to Facebook and got a few suggestions from that. I'm not a fan of whiskey myself-- more a brandy drinker. |
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Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2018 14:57:19 GMT
Bravo Maolsheachlann,
Vistas wonderfully captures sweet rivulets of reverie flowing through a world of beauty, both of Divine and distilled origins.
f’Man
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Post by Maolsheachlann on Jul 10, 2018 15:02:10 GMT
Bravo Maolsheachlann, Vistas wonderfully captures sweet rivulets of reverie flowing through a world of beauty, both of Divine and distilled origins. f’Man Thank you! |
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Post by cato on Jul 10, 2018 15:56:53 GMT
Is it about Michael D Higgins reading about post Modern movies while drinking expensive whiskey in the presidential library?
The last line is obviously a clear reference to the last 7 years of joy , new thinking and general progress for humanity.
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