June Challenge: Grads & Brides

[Tzara]

I miss the monthly challenges, so thought I'd post one and see if anyone bites.

We're almost halfway through the month, so nothing too complicated: June is a month, at least here in the States, associated particularly with graduations (high school, college) and weddings ("June bride" is almost a cliché). So the challenge this month is thematic—write a poem either about graduation or something related to graduation (e.g., moving on to a different phase of life, leaving school for a job, etc.) or a poem about a wedding (yours, a friend's, a child's, Kate and Wills, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, whatever). The connection can be peripheral—for example, the poem might be about depression but set, at least partly, at a wedding or wedding event—but it should be clear. Don't worry too much about it, though. I'm not grading you (you've graduated, remember?).

Any length or style. Since I've started working on my form thread again, I'll give you bonus claps for using a form, but you don't have to. The_Fool wins by default if he writes a sestina, though.

Have a glass of cheap champagne (please note I am not calling Champie cheap) and get to work.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

........

 

[Tzara]

A first, bad, example.

June

It’s well-known June’s a time for weddings
And graduation parties, too.
The former end with nuptial beddings,
The latter drown in kegs of brew.
I’ve been to both these types of party,
Ones plain or formal, archly arty,
Even my own (though June’s just shy,
My marriage was in mid-July)
And both are lovely celebrations,
Like rites of passage, change of life
To unemployment, “martial” strife—
think marital United Nations.
Still, we grow up, and settle in
To work and spouse and Bombay Gin.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I've already got a 'June' poem I don't suppose I can sneak it in ?

 

[Tzara]

I've already got a 'June' poem I don't suppose I can sneak it in ?

You don't have to "sneak" it in. You can simply post it.

And then, of course, go write another.

 

[Tzara]

hello and welcome

Hello and Welcome

I'm new here, but I thought
I'd introduce myself

as if this place were mine
and you the guest. It helps

me center on my needs.
You poets are just kelp—

you drift, you grow and wash
up on an shandy shelf.

To be a bride! Oh, my!
how cleverly I've whelped

my answer to this meme.
I'm beautiful and svelte.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Hello and Welcome

To be a bride! Oh, my!
how cleverly I've whelped

my answer to this meme.
I'm beautiful and svelte.

 

[bogusagain]

June is an unrequited love
promises but rarely delivers
or maybe I just fool myself
hankering after the sun
when all it delivers is rain

the young women in wisps
of flimsy summer garments pose
sipping coffee on the café terraces
their shapely legs outstretched
to capture the briefest sun

their chatter is seasonal birdsong
prompting memories of yesterday’s loves
the ache of anticipation in holding hands
the miracle of her naked breasts
and how she let my hands caress

but like weddings turn to marriage
and love to stoic fidelity
June is just an impossible promise
summons up the Calvinist weather
and washes romance away

 

[CharleyH]

#1

Rain beats widow's web
Hail tears a black tassel twice
Class starts tomorrow.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

The original 'June' poem

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more wet and twice as annoying.
The trees that dripped their leaves in May
Speak now of June your perfume cloying.
The crashing thunder portrays your voice
Till birds shall drop from crumpled wings,
As your snores now make my heart rejoice
No more to hear those strident vocal rings.
What once I looked upon as sweet and coy
Your simpering coquettishness at every whim
Was not just only girlish, youthful play
I now perceive at last my god you're dim.
As long as you still take breath, alas
I must survive your chronic problem, gas.

 

[Angeline]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more wet and twice as annoying.
The trees that dripped their leaves in May
Speak now of June your perfume cloying.
The crashing thunder portrays your voice
Till birds shall drop from crumpled wings,
As your snores now make my heart rejoice
No more to hear those strident vocal rings.
What once I looked upon as sweet and coy
Your simpering coquettishness at every whim
Was not just only girlish, youthful play
I now perceive at last my god you're dim.
As long as you still take breath, alas
I must survive your chronic problem, gas.

Oh you bad, bad girl.

 

[Tzara]

Rain beats widow's web
Hail tears a black tassel twice
Class starts tomorrow.

Class has been dismissed
Into the heather of off.
Go lie in the grass!

 

[Tzara]

June is an unrequited love
promises but rarely delivers
or maybe I just fool myself
hankering after the sun
when all it delivers is rain

the young women in wisps
of flimsy summer garments pose
sipping coffee on the café terraces
their shapely legs outstretched
to capture the briefest sun

their chatter is seasonal birdsong
prompting memories of yesterday’s loves
the ache of anticipation in holding hands
the miracle of her naked breasts
and how she let my hands caress

but like weddings turn to marriage
and love to stoic fidelity
June is just an impossible promise
summons up the Calvinist weather
and washes romance away

Oh, BA, you absolutely have my number, right down to calling those we are focused on "young women," instead of "girls." They were "girls" when we were "boys," But while they still are, we no longer am, I'm afraid. Still don't make me quit staring at them, in their summer clothes.

Nice poem.

Perhaps it is stamped on our aging heads. Or other parts.

 

[bogusagain]

Oh, BA, you absolutely have my number, right down to calling those we are focused on "young women," instead of "girls." They were "girls" when we were "boys," But while they still are, we no longer am, I'm afraid. Still don't make me quit staring at them, in their summer clothes.

Nice poem.

Perhaps it is stamped on our aging heads. Or other parts.

When I hear the Stones I can smell a musk perfume that was popular in the 70s, thanks to the Stones being played when a 'girl' allowed me to have my wicked way at a party.

I guess we are at that point in life where remembrance makes up a big part of it. I am certainly not conceited enough to think any nubile young girl is going to find me attractive, so all I have is remembrance.

 

[champagne1982]

A Glosa for June Commencement

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Max Ehrmann in Desiderata - Words for Life​

Be yourself and worry
not what others do to win
your love but wait
to find what you want.

Especially, do not feign affection -
favourites of a crowd need not be
your own. To pretend draws
tears and we soon grow weary
with the effort of delight.

Neither be cynical about love;
leave this to the old and tired,
exhausted with living unhappy years,
unwilling to work for better.
They fail to move on

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
to change has become just too hard.
You are young and fresh so strive
to spring free of false fantasy and build
on this eager desire to grow.

It is as perennial as the grass
and as certain as the next generation,
that in spite of all we've failed in yesterday,
tomorrow will bring success.

 

[Tzara]

A Glosa for June Commencement...

Very nice, Champ.

 

[Tzara]

Paradelle: On a June Wedding

The bride, in white, is beautiful.
The bride, in white, is beautiful.
A red rose, strewn on the lawn.
A red rose, strewn on the lawn.
The rose-strewn bride is beautiful,
A white in red on the lawn.

The guests are dressed in cheerful colors.
The guests are dressed in cheerful colors.
Their drinks, yellow and blue.
Their drinks, yellow and blue.
The cheerful drinks are dressed—
Guests in their colors, yellow and blue.

The bride’s mother is gently weeping.
The bride’s mother is gently weeping.
Her father is teary-eyed too.
Her father is teary-eyed too.
The bride’s teary-eyed weeping
Is gently her father, is Mother, too

The bride’s rose is strewn, teary-eyed.
A father, in red, is cheerful;
Her mother is blue. Dressed in colors, too—
Yellow and white—the bride.
Gently, the guests are weeping,
Their drinks beautiful on the lawn.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

White bride be untouched
though all the world's hands
reach at you with panties or
lip plumper or frosty mojitos
or bibles (oh yes kneel
in the pew, daughter).

White bride you bear
honor of your people
on your back so shoulder
us with your head high, neck
stretched with as many rings
as you can (this plan cannot
fail for if it does the failure is yours).

White bride the white wedding
snow globe is widely distributed. Magazine
racks overflow with pulp
and lilies.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Dear Graduate

If I were God or a travel agent
this would be a ticket to somewhere
you can't get back to later

due to global warming or international
treaty status for the purpose of
installing secret interrogation rooms.

The point is to get there
early. Venice is flooding.

Your bucket will never be
enough to bail her out but you can
carry a polaroid

and stamps.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

And for bonus points:

Robots scrub (inconsistencies/errors) clean;
robots scrub inconsistencies. Errors clean
my jammed pen. Spill from the password-protected well,
my jammed pen. Spill from the password-protected. Well
protected errors scrub my pen. Inconsistencies
spill robots' jam from clean passwords.

Artery threatens to spill the underused vocabulary.
Artery threatens to spill. The underused vocabulary
begs for scrabble or poeming to hatch.
Begs! For scrabble or poeming to hatch
vocabulary, spill the underused artery.
Poeming threatens to hatch, begs spill!

Graduate this poem to the ready page.
Graduate this poem to the ready page
loosely held in the gray printer's arms.
Loosely held in the gray printer's arms.
The poem this ready graduate held
loosely. Held this poem to the gray page.

Scrub robots from the vocabulary artery.
Page the graduate inconsistencies in this poem
or hatch errors for scrabble. Poeming begs the ready
well, begs to spill this poem/password from the
robot hidden in the printer's gray errors.
The graduate/robot loosely held this poem.

 

[WilliamButlerYeats]

Walking to a wedding,
you held my hands
to warm my feet.

Your dress excited me,
my fingers were like caterpillars,
when I tied you in.

They say you once found an egg,
and hatched it in your bed.

When we were young
your hair was red, your lips
were the lips of a friend.

I studied the larva with you,
the pupal movement, the imago.

I witnessed the first flush of your cheek,
the niche variation, the first pink spots
to the soles of your feet.

You will remember we did these things.


"And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
Where all's accustomed, ceremonious;
For arrogance and hatred are the wares
Peddled in the thoroughfares.
How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree." -WB Yeats

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Beautiful, WBW. Really striking.

 

[Tzara]

And for bonus points:

Robots scrub (inconsistencies/errors) clean;
robots scrub inconsistencies. Errors clean...

Showoff.

 

[Tzara]

Walking to a wedding,
you held my hands...

Interesting, WBY.

It's a good poem, of course. I'm just not sure that it is simply good or creepy, with all that insect imagery.

My wife, I am compelled to point out, has no pink spots on the soles of her feet.

"And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
Where all's accustomed, ceremonious;
For arrogance and hatred are the wares
Peddled in the thoroughfares.
How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree." -WB Yeats

What, you're quoting yourself, now?

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Showoff.

Oh I am sure it sucked. It was my first ever Paradelle. I took the insect references in wbw's poem to be metaphoric for the maturing of childhood friends into adult lovers but I think I missed something. Rereading it seems that "tie you in" is a big clue to what's going on. It is beautiful and a little sinister, too. Will have to read it again later.

After rereading it seems that the narrator is tying the friend (lover?) up in the dress. Perhaps a corset? But it mirrors nicely the insect development and then returns to the development of the love(r). Or so it seems. Compelling.