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Last Line First Challenge

arielsgoddess

arielsgoddess

Really Really Experienced
Joined
Jul 22, 2009
Posts
458
This one is twist on the word games on the boards. Choose a poem you like written by another person--either on board or off if you're worried the author might be sensitive. Take the last line of their poem, and make it the first line of your poem. Here goes an example--my line comes from Blake's "Tiger, tiger" poem:

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
The fabric that wraps tight over your form
Like a black film, the brave shadow of night itself
Slips in soft hiss about your hips and thighs
Laps like water about your breasts
Two hard sentinels, your nipples, threatening
To tear through the fabric and rend the dress
That I must have bought you to protect me
 
My protector?

That I must have bought you to protect me
Is a claim calculated to shame.
Though ’tis true I feel the sting
of reckless tongues beyond
any pain that's ever meant,
you are mere comfort
in moments of respite.
 
'In moments of respite.'
Or is it re-spite
The thought of your tongue
Carving anything but me
Is inflammatory indeed
Leaving me too long to wonder
Which one of us is stoking the flame
 
Bonfire

Which one of us is stoking the flame,
building a bigger base from which
the blaze can become an inferno
to consume whatever should enter it,
willing or not,
and which of us is merely watching
the dancing pyre--shovel in hand--
waiting to see if we have a phoenix egg,
or merely ashes and soot.
----
:cool:
 
...or merely ashes and soot.
painted tear trails down my face
black of course
iridescent white for the tears themselves

scattered tattered shattered
dreams of yesterday
burned beyond recognition
sift the ashes for the memories
so many similes
so little time
juxtapose my egos for awhile
split me down the middle into twins
that’s the Gemini for you
leaning forward looking back
two trails trials into neverwhere

my hands are black
playing in the ashes
not on my white shirt
clean them so no one cares
 
Clean them so no one cares....

I told you we shoulda put something down
But then you called me tarpgoddess
And the fight was on
As delicious in its ferocity
As it was licking the chocolate
Off of faces and walls and everywhere else
Only you could get me so riled
Horny, violent, passionate to some crusade
A pissed-off ethnic Joan-of-Arc in Victoria's secret
Get out of my way, I'll light the fire myself and do it right
Not even my heart will be left this time
And you will have the same shocked expression
That you always do at my wild adventures
The same look you do now
Ahh, come now (;))you wouldn't be my lover
If your eyes did not always lock onto mine
Laughing with devilish mischief across the flames
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
References, FYI: wrestling-match post in PoetryOrgy here, and recipes in Chocolate Domination under BDSM. 'Tarpgoddess' coined by DGE--but thank you to Remec for the phoenix idea...and The Fool, of course:kiss:
 
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Laughing with devilish mischief across the flames
has my muse deserted me, flying to another,
leaving me lost and like a lover bereft.
She flirts but does not leave her words with me,
my fingers cannot grasp the meaning
and mourns the passing of tranquility,
the bonfire flares then dies in scattered ashes.
 
Sorry, UnderYourSpell--but Remec took his lighter out first....

The bonfire flares but dies in scattered ashes
As darkness gathers deeper into another form
Eyes open in unearthly blaze from the shadow
The crowd gasps as the new phoenix is born

Peasants say it was a mere maid upon the bonfire
Others whisper of the companion of a god himself
As far as where these hypocrites will spend eternity
The true identity of the ones they burn lends no help

Rising now from the pyre of her own ashes
Casting her old life away with one last smoky gaze
She catches the eye of her lover best not forgotten
The knowing arsonist smiles and replaces his shades
 
Sorry, UnderYourSpell--but Remec took his lighter out first....

He always did play with fire ......
 
arielsgoddess said:
This one is twist on the word games on the boards. Choose a poem you like written by another person--either on board or off if you're worried the author might be sensitive. Take the last line of their poem, and make it the first line of your poem. <snip>
Click to expand...
From ladybug

Complacent in my own ineptitude
I fumble for the smiles to light
tears and flip the switch
only to discover the bulb has blown.

In the dark my stumbling footfalls
tread on toes while I move against traffic
and ignore the hiss of patronizing voices
sibilant in shushes and pleas

to just sit down...
 
The knowing arsonist smiles and replaces his shades,
their mirrored surface brimming with a burnished glow
that flickers and dances for his amusement. It bades

him stop and stare, pleads and begs him not to go
out of view, but his hungry tongue brushes his lips.
His appetite is awakened, how can he tell it no?
-----
:cool:
 
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
but echoes still from wall to wall
the smell of saltypine with every wave
his hair and mine knotting in the wind
flying down the highway
the truckers said "Hop in!" and off I'd go
ending who knew where, or cared.
and holding her the first time
beginning life over still with no map
to guide me. I wouldn't have looked
anyway. I do remember that!​
 
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Hello all y'all!! I said Hi a couple weeks ago but no one heard me. Hmmm....

Hii y'all!!!​


Its so good to be back. Well, in and out anyway. Ha! *hand over mouth!
 
Yes you did, Milady! My bad. *walkings away kicking my ass...

How is this Challenge working? Just writing or is someone judging or what??

I have totally forgotten how to put a link in here!! grrrr...
 
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BooMerengue said:
Yes you did, Milady! My bad. *walkings away kicking my ass...

How is this Challenge working? Just writing or is someone judging or what??

I have totally forgotten how to put a link in here!! grrrr...
Click to expand...

Hi. :kiss:

It's good to see you, B. Really, really good.

This is a just write challenge. And if I understand the thread correctly, you can use a poem in it or another. Just make the last line of the poem you choose the first of the new one you write. It's a great idea for a thread and I wanna do it but I am embroiled in some family stuff at the moment and on the phone like every fifteen minutes lol, so I haven't really been able to think about it yet.

But yknow. Really really good. :)
 
His appetite is awakened, how can he tell it no?
hungry for food, frolic and all there is to know
Start in the kitchen grapes and cherries galore
Take a few, give her some, she implores for more.
Before you know it, we're both on the floor
not to ignore our other cravings, we begin to explore

Not sure if each is supposed to start with an end line from a new poem (should be cited), or continue on with the previous. The ;atter approach seems better and more of a challenge (also seems to be the norm here).
 
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okay--Yes!--back to poetry:

His appetite was awakened, why should he tell it no?
As he strolled to the kitchen, the refridgerator's glow

She watched him from the counter, he perused the deli meats
Inventoried the cabinets, but couldn't find himself a feast

Stealthily she waited, beside the coffeepot she hid
When he tried to leave the kitchen, she slyly tipped her lid

The summery scent of cinnamon caught him in a trance
She slid across the countertop in a sugary advance

He stared into her cleavage, goodies glistening with butter
As he began to salivate, he quickly tore off her cover

This is what she'd waited for, opening herself up to him wide
Without any caution, his hand was plunging deep inside

Then the kitchen light was thrown on, catching him in the act
But to his horror--it was too late--he could not pull it back

To the onlooker he was guilty, too greedy to let go
But what really happened in the kitchen, only he would know

Because of his vices for her spices, he gave the jar her way
The taste of Snickerdoodle cookies still haunts him to this day
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*How's this Mike: Am I getting warmer?--Like, 350 degrees :devil:lol
 
life love and poetry

not to ignore our other cravings, we begin to explore
the extensive interests we share in the creative power
of intensive human relations. How the power
of the poet to shape the reader is in direct correlation
with how the artist echoes the myriad voices that nurtured,
gave succour, and moulded their nascent sensitivities
to the infinite possibilities of human intercourse
in the context of the web of life that connects, strikes us
as a distinctly pleasant possibility, as we begin to explore.

With breathless excitement we realize
the rugged individualist as poet,
but a mere mockery of reality, a chimera
that serves uncreative interests.

As we begin to explore, we soon stumble
on the realization of the connections.
Something connects
every being to the universal,
every moment to eternity;
we discover that we are iterations of all that exists
and to connect is ultimately all we can do.

We smile at each other in our joyful discovery,
while our fingers take the pulse of each other.
 
peter gabriel's Here comes the flood

I bent the rules and used a song. But if Peter isn't a poet, I don't understand the definition.

Drink up, dreamers, you'e running dry
I have seen too many dreamers die
Amazed I didn't do the same
But nobody really knows my name

Perhaps to speak the truth to one
Will save you from the sword and gun
And one to one will millions grow
In candlelighht and lantern's glow

And the dinosaurs will be outmanned
And peace will be the law of land
If the rulers fought with dreams and pen
There would be no need for martyrs then.
 
EroticOrogeny said:
…
not to ignore our other cravings, we begin to explore
Click to expand...

arielsgoddess said:
…
The taste of Snickerdoodle cookies still haunts him to this day
Click to expand...

lorencino said:
…
while our fingers take the pulse of each other.
Click to expand...

poetedge5455 said:
…
There would be no need for martyrs then.
Click to expand...

Not to ignore our other cravings,
we begin to explore.
Weep with me for a moment.
Do you taste the melancholy
of the kitchen? Past warmth
sacrificed in the heat of the moment.

The taste of Snickerdoodle cookies
still haunts me to this day.
Her occasional unexpected treat
Haunts me with that sense of spice.
And she understood spice, Smelling of cinnamon
in the curve of her throat

while our fingers
take the pulse of each other.
Intimate touches intending to please
in intimate ways. Sense of intimacy
In her every smile, saying
I know your secrets.

There would be no need for martyrs then.
Not that I feel the martyr now.
But enough of yesterday.
Let us break eggs together,
Knead the dough into shape,
then give it time to rise.

Together we can taste
of savory, sweet.
Bitterness offering contrast.
Salt adding seasoning.
Not too much though,
I’ve tasted too many tears lately.
 
OMG Lorencino--that is one of the most

Powerful and beautiful poems I have ever read--I cannot find the word that I want!! What a powerful touchstone for all us poets. I am not lying when I say that I am doing that one up in frame for my bedroom wall--an effort put to few poems in my time--but that is a master's poem. Poetedge5455--is 'Peter' Peter, Paul & Mary--my mind does not spin in enough revolutions this morning. But I think your poem should defintiely be set to folkmusic--it is would be a good one to be taught and rememberd, and the cadence and feel of it would adhere to music as easily as LIttle Johnny Paper to the shores of Hannalee. Fool, oh Fool, never to be outdone, but you already know you don't have to compete for my admiration, Maestro Muse. Your book is already beside my bed, when not on it. Bravo on the weaving of all those lines into your poem, and making one interestingly tasty tapestry. Now when I am in the kitchen, instead of being upset when I get haphazard with the spices, I will pause and wonder what YOU would do about the clove caught in my cleavage.....damn, you're all so good--I've got to get writing!!!:D:rolleyes::kiss:
 
Fool. Brava. I am honored to have started a verse of yours. Tying it together was a touch of genius. a wordsmith's poem, and I have no higher praise.

Ariel. The Peter was p. Gabriel of Genesis and solo fame. One of my fav artists. I used to write a lot of 'protest' songs when in bands. Strangely though, when I am writing music, I write more instrumentals than lyric songs. I wrote the above sitting in my car listening to Here Comes the Flood. If you haven't heard it, I urge you to. The words alone are worth it.
 
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