What Color is Your Challenge?

Neonurotic said:

That was a tough rule. You have no idea how long it took me to write mine without doing that.
I'm surprised Literotica didn't auto-log me off.

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Dayumn! I didn't see that rule - still, I blame Crayola.

champagne1982 said:

Georgian Bay Sunset

I will try not to use tired jaundice
or hem my thoughts with prose-tinted
violet, but instead linger on fuchia
limning distant vermillion,
over the bay that serenely coos
in dove grey beyond the wharf;
where statues dressed in verdigris
look solemn, and their lonely gaze
lingers on silvered magenta puffing
a last cigarette before bed.

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seriously, this is one of the most intriguing things I've found on Literotica. I know why I like it, it reminds me both of Baudaliare and an aurora borealis. As is it would be in my top 20. But this:
Consider dove... not as a bird but instead as what birds do into a wave. I liked the ambiguity.
is absurd, dove does not work as a verb, if you but in next to grey, the noun phrase would predominate. There is another ambiguity: "coos" as a noun is not a common word, about as common as "cuse" which is a vulgarism for vagina.
Baudaliare probably could have carried it off, maybe even I, because that is what I do cuse dove
Now I'm curious about the word "silvered", the reason for the choice, to see if we are thinking along the same lines.
Yeh, def in my top 20 as is

Angeline said:

Yeah but the way I always understood it is that it's not so much whether you can tease out meaning (which in the right context I suspect anyone can of any sentence), as it is that the syntax can create logical, grammatical structure without apparent meaning.

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apparent meaning
Chomsky used that as an illustration...
I think Pinksky*unsure here* did likewise to illustrate how the mind assigns meaning

but not the time nor place

great thread, good stuff, even Champsky bustin on me


PINKER

case of induction, due to discussion of sky colour

twelveoone said:

apparent meaning
Chomsky used that as an illustration...
I think Pinksky*unsure here* did likewise to illustrate how the mind assigns meaning

but not the time nor place

great thread, good stuff, even Champsky bustin on me

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I don't know this, specifically, about Pinsky. But I once studied with Jean Chall who was more a reading specialist. She talked (and wrote) about the importance of the world of context that each of us brings to our reading. Helped me understand that context is as individual and unique as each of us, right? Which is why meaning is a slippery slope. And that, I think, works to poetry's great advantage. It's why "coos" can work as noun or verb or just sound and is poetic without effort. I think.

So nu write a poem.

Angeline said:

So nu write a poem.

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funny thing, one of my abandons is titled "My rainbow"
but it doesn't conform the standards set

we are all hostages of typewriters
the black on white of life

gimme the pink instead




::

darkmaas said:

we are all hostages of typewriters
the black on white of life

gimme the pink instead




::

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whoa
or as Ash would say
whoa!!!!!!!!!!

offering in yellow, p'raps

outside
all raspberry and cherried
creamed and straw-berried

inside she's green
crisp
not yet summered

confusing palette
on palate
left amber for chocolate

Date Night

A night of potential,
after working out the
wan strain of canary I
had found settled down
my back, had begun just
swimmingly--all velvety
black dotted with the
extra bright silver she
wore about her neck and
wrist--but left me holding
cold compresses in the
bathroom mirror hoping
the scarlet would settle
into a deep violet-and-mottled
lime that would be a much
better match for the jade
that looked back at me.
~~~~~

twelveoone said:

seriously, this is one of the most intriguing things I've found on Literotica.<snip>
Now I'm curious about the word "silvered", the reason for the choice, to see if we are thinking along the same lines.
Yeh, def in my top 20 as is

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Thank you for the compliment about this poem. I'm not going to get all puffed up about your praise now that it's been given but I do enjoy being in that top 20. I keep good company there.

To explain the use of "silvered" in that line I'd like you to visualize the figurative silver lining of every cloud. In this scene I literally saw the cloud tops gleam like polished silver, it was stunning. I failed to describe the glint of gold that kissed the tops of some of the earlier puffs that evening; because later on I was struck dumb by the beauty of sunset's last hurrah and chose instead to laud that moment.

champagne1982 said:

To explain the use of "silvered" in that line I'd like you to visualize the figurative silver lining of every cloud. In this scene I literally saw the cloud tops gleam like polished silver, it was stunning. I failed to describe the glint of gold that kissed the tops of some of the earlier puffs that evening; because later on I was struck dumb by the beauty of sunset's last hurrah and chose instead to laud that moment.

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"silvered" purrs to me, thought you picked for the sound

twelveoone said:

I think Pinsky exploded that, something like 5 different meanings can had.

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Well, as I think I said, Chomsky designed the sentence to be semantically meaningless, but the poor guy was not an artist.

Artists fuck up the way more logical people view the world. That is their function.

twelveoone said:

"silvered" purrs to me, thought you picked for the sound

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The poem appeals to me sonically all the way through. I usually try to use words that do double duty, first they're accurate descriptors of what I'd like to convey and second they need to fit physically into the space, be that aurally, visually or as dictated by a formula.

champagne1982 said:

The poem appeals to me sonically all the way through. I usually try to use words that do double duty, first they're accurate descriptors of what I'd like to convey and second they need to fit physically into the space, be that aurally, visually or as dictated by a formula.

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well champ, I have 6 buttons, that may have been the first to hit the "I'm in love" one without going through the WTF? button first.
For what it's worth.
Are you taking anymore comments? If so, I'd love to copy it and poke it around a bit.

twelveoone said:

well champ, I have 6 buttons, that may have been the first to hit the "I'm in love" one without going through the WTF? button first.
For what it's worth.
Are you taking anymore comments? If so, I'd love to copy it and poke it around a bit.

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Why! I do declare, Mister Oone. I have never been offered a poke before dinner and drinks before, but I reckon if you copy it gently and take your time, we may have a pleasant experience ahead.

black splattered on virgin white
coalesced into subliminal images
pages stuck with a glutinous tar
Rorscharch blots when parted
sanguine smears dragged
where my cut finger leafed

incidently, kut in Dutch means cunt
the monthly manifestation of pigment
on your white onderbroek
I remember your shame at my find
and how your laundry basket
never more overflowed

I captured it all in this book
my forgotten memories remembered
in doodles and cryptic notes
I had forgotten how puritan you were
as you tried to unlearn the unlearnable
a confusion by which we crashed

Our poems, taken as a group thus far, say a lot about color in poetry. Color can be a theme or a tone in a poem, especially when it isn't used mostly to directly modify nouns. Not that I think that's wrong to do, but it makes for taking the easy way out, describing instead of showing. It's fine to use modifiers judiciously imo but also good to try to stretch past the easy way out.

Thanks for all this feast for the eyes and mind. Please keep them coming if you are so moved. I'm trying to do an illustrated poem. I forgot how hard they are, even with a good photo editor. [/frustration]

But really thanks for the poems so far. I love seeing what we can do.

bogusagain said:

why orange you may ask
it was in fact
a principality in France
should you follow the line back
far enough
might as well be sepia....

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bogusagain said:

black splattered on virgin white
coalesced into subliminal images
pages stuck with a glutinous tar
Rorscharch blots when parted
sanguine smears dragged
where my cut finger leafed....

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These feel like two parts of the same something. Connected by blood.

chipbutty said:

outside
all raspberry and cherried
creamed and straw-berried

inside she's green
crisp
not yet summered...

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This makes me hungry (for you, Ms Narrator).

Remec said:

A night of potential,
after working out the
wan strain of canary I
had found settled down
my back, had begun just....

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Bruised metaphor. I like how metaphorically you're using color here. Much of the imagery is disturbingly vague which works for the poem, imo.

Giving In

Did my best to keep
Grey, but fell into Black
and let Green fuel me
into pursuing something
all White and Yellow, only
to turn it into a bright,
painful, Red and walk away.
Now I am Blue, calm
and quiet, but Blue.

champagne1982 said:

Georgian Bay Sunset

I will try not to use tired jaundice
or hem my thoughts with prose-tinted
violet, but instead linger on fuchia
limning distant vermillion,
over the bay that serenely coos
in dove grey beyond the wharf;
where statues dressed in verdigris
look solemn, and their lonely gaze
lingers on silvered magenta puffing
a last cigarette before bed.

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I want this woman, which is another way of saying, objectivity is shot
these four lines entrance me, I read this I get lost:
over the bay that serenely coos
in dove grey beyond the wharf;
where statues dressed in verdigris
look solemn, and their lonely gaze

one thing I don't like: puffing, puff or puffs, even puffed, no ing

Some possible problems, few immediate objects, cigarette, statues, I didn't count wharf, nor bed which is not an object in usage
This is not that much of a problem, except the only common or rooted thing here is cigarette
A few things for consideration:
prose-tinted violet, I would even consider the mundane "purple prose" as something more familiar to the reader as a jumping off point, because he is going on a trip, better would be a common object, something more rooted. You are there
I will try...but the reader doesn't land on anything until statues, (I didn't count bay as solid)

silvered doesn't work tied to the clouds, tie it to the cigarette

if you could find the right "golden" word to describe the cloud ridge that would be fantastic, best I could think of is "saffron" which doesn't quite do it

There is a parallel visual structure you might want to try
golden ridge around the clouds
silvered stream of cigarette smoke
and the statues...gaze
with the physical you, remember the I in the beginning, bring it back, someone has to hold the cigarette

the way it is now, I'm not sure who is puffing, you or the statues, grammatically speaking

but I am serious: those four lines transported me, there is no "other" or even an inference of an "other", I felt as if I was watching an aloof and mysterious woman and falling in love.
Maybe, it was just the colour scheme, or maybe just a redemption of sorts, I know that cloud, in one of mine it was "wine puke and flame". That's what it was, redemption!
Good Luck with this.

bogusagain said:

black splattered on virgin white
coalesced into subliminal images
pages stuck with a glutinous tar
Rorscharch blots when parted
sanguine smears dragged
where my cut finger leafed

incidently, kut in Dutch means cunt
the monthly manifestation of pigment
on your white onderbroek
I remember your shame at my find
and how your laundry basket
never more overflowed

I captured it all in this book
my forgotten memories remembered
in doodles and cryptic notes
I had forgotten how puritan you were
as you tried to unlearn the unlearnable
a confusion by which we crashed

Click to expand...

doesn't quite have the same inference, just sayin, but it is a cut above hatchet mark

twelveoone said:

...one thing I don't like: puffing, puff or puffs, even puffed, no ing

Some possible problems, few immediate objects, cigarette, statues, I didn't count wharf, nor bed which is not an object in usage
This is not that much of a problem, except the only common or rooted thing here is cigarette
A few things for consideration:
prose-tinted violet, I would even consider the mundane "purple prose" as something more familiar to the reader as a jumping off point, because he is going on a trip, better would be a common object, something more rooted.I went with prose-tinted violet simply because of the modifying adjective involved with purple prose.
You are there
I will try...but the reader doesn't land on anything until statues, (I didn't count bay as solid)

silvered doesn't work tied to the clouds, tie it to the cigarette

if you could find the right "golden" word to describe the cloud ridge that would be fantastic, best I could think of is "saffron" which doesn't quite do it

There is a parallel visual structure you might want to try
golden ridge around the clouds
silvered stream of cigarette smoke
and the statues...gaze
with the physical you, remember the I in the beginning, bring it back, someone has to hold the cigarette

the way it is now, I'm not sure who is puffing, you or the statues, grammatically speaking

but I am serious: those four lines transported me, there is no "other" or even an inference of an "other", I felt as if I was watching an aloof and mysterious woman and falling in love.
Maybe, it was just the colour scheme, or maybe just a redemption of sorts, I know that cloud, in one of mine it was "wine puke and flame". That's what it was, redemption!
Good Luck with this.

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I didn't particularly like the cigarette image in the poem but it seemed descriptive of the ember of sun as it finally sank into the horizon annnd it was exactly what the clouds were doing on that far western shore where the sun still had enough heat in it to boil the humidity into clouds.

You've given me some ideas to work with and I will perhaps try to bring in the golden thrones of heaven somehow into this piece, or maybe a completely different poem. Lots of mind candy in that dish. Thank you!

champagne1982 said:

I didn't particularly like the cigarette image in the poem but it seemed descriptive of the ember of sun as it finally sank into the horizon annnd it was exactly what the clouds were doing on that far western shore where the sun still had enough heat in it to boil the humidity into clouds.
!

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I would leave the cigarette in, it puts into play the arm, hand and the mouth. And it could give you openings for parallels, a zooming in. SR or annaswirls had something called "green awning" , the whole setting closed in on a cigarette, ash or waiting to be lit. Very seductive piece, as your's is.
And with the don't pollute my air crowd running rampant, the cigarette is almost decadent.

purple, paling hue
her left eye
red her lips
passion red, but not hers
swollen into black
her soul resides in the grey
the place where it is
all nothing
where gourmet
dining taste of gruel
every meal tastes grey
feelings are simple there
pain

emotions, fearful terror
fueled
and it is all grey

we called him blue
and he called us his
family

I bob and weave my way down this river
of smoke. Smile as burnt sienna and umber
uproot to stalk my cracked egg shell
loudly contemplating scrambling me up for breakfast
until I fry them with my muzzle flash wit and
flash my grasp of moonless midnight
with a side of gunmetal gray.

Blue pitter patted but the hard earth
turned her brand new coat
into nothing but brown rivulets
that although quenching
did nothing for her pristine face
now covered with dripping mascara
until she could take no more of this
ignominy and went to weep
among the green.