Cerulean

Hi there Yog, No thoughts of joining our hallowed halls yet? I think you'll find the recruiter's office is nearby. *pokes gently* You have a classic theme to explore here - but my advice would be to lose the faux Shakespearean diction. I don't think it adds anything to your poem aside from metrical padding. I detect an ear for form and know you could smooth this further. You have much potential, keep posting! Friendship Lost Still waters ripple in the wind Will you once again be friend Honesty compels the truth be told I once again fear to be so bold To risk my heart in such a way To once again have such dues to pay The pain of loss I cannot bear Upon my soul this burden does wear. wears. I once did call called you friend Then you abandoned me in the end The trust that I once felt Feels like a crooked hand you dealt And I can no longer know Whether you be friend or foe To be friends you say you desire But in your heart what doth conspire? conspires?

I've another line to add to your adage. Those who can, do Those who can't, teach Those who can't teach - teach teachers! I always enjoy your tales, poems and anecdotes, be they frustrated or happy. Keep up the great work. C.

A lone voice far off pipes: 'I always said those geraniums were up to no good'. With a knowing shake of her head, Helga shoulders her shell and continues past the rowdy hall bound for the Pen Gardens and blessed foliage.

This evening she arrives barefoot. She cannot understand the protocol of shoes where burning sand or freezing snow does not dictate necessity. Her feet and palms are filigreed with intricate henna patterns and around one ankle a silver chain rises and tinkles in tune with her footfalls. She is dressed simply in indigo silk. So far her face is inscrutable, yet her presence whispers a history as she moves across the room. Cerulean perceives a harsh crimson aura off left and instinctively bears right to avoid Scarlett. She is excited at the prospect of an evening of poetry and performance, thus unwilling to have Harpy's bawdiness contaminate it. Not certain where to sit, she is soon compelled towards the lilt of Thomas's lute, so positions herself near enough to appreciate the soft melodies, yet far enough away to avoid intrusion.

Nope - my friend has been detailing all of its faults, complaining bitterly and sighing huge sighs all day. I haven't seen it, so can't comment. C.

Happy Happy Birthdaynesses, huggles, cake and all good wishes. Hope your Birthday's lovely Ozy! C.

Hey Q, It's been some time since we were last in touch, I'm hoping that you'll have the time to pass by here and see that your special day was remembered. In any case you'd better show up and let me know what Club 40's like, since I'll be joining your ranks soon enough myself! (old-timers the both of us ) I trust that you're still merrily swirling the gubbins - and I salute you with a special little something from the Loire Valley! Cheers mate, hope your birthday is fantastic. *Cerulean and Scarlett stand for a while remembering the fun of alliances and battling, role play and diplomacy. The Phantasm mage sends a gentle scry in Silexion's direction. It pulses steadily toward him, curious for news. She stands awkward with the old magic, it has been a long time dormant. Beyond a crease in her forehead, her face relays nothing of either the success or failure of her probe. Nevertheless, she circles the room, pinning up decorations and attending to a supply of food and drinks. Scarlett scowls at her friend's optimistic expression. Harpy knocks back the wine Cerulean has passed to her in one greedy gulp, belches and tosses the drained crystal goblet onto the banqueting table. After hoisting her bosom, greasing her lips to full shine and cracking her knuckles, she begins devouring a loin of pork with her customary fervour. Helga Hurtle is puzzled by all of this activity surrounding the passing of another human year. Neither having memory nor acquaintance of Silexion she observes the bustling Cerulean, who is now curling blue ribbons around a beautifully gift-wrapped package. Feeling obliged to contribute something celebratory, she nudges over a 4 leafed-clover, which Cerulean tucks neatly behind the tag. The room is finished. Cerulean casts her gaze around to make sure nothing has been forgotten. A small smile testifies to her satisfaction. Food and drink aplenty, presents wrapped, band warming up - and strung from ceiling beams flutters an enormous banner - letters glittering under the lighting:* Silexion's 40! Come join the party! All welcome!

Big P is so cool he's an ice lolly - and I don't know what that is in American! An' what's more - P is the sixteenth letter of the alphabet. Sixteen is how many arms he has to ensure there are enough hugs to go around. Around is where he is if anyone needs him. Need is what he subdues in favour of satisfying others' Others are the ones he believes in. In is short for inclusive which he is. Is is third person singular of the verb to be. Be is the beginning of beautiful, beloved, benchmark and... beer! In summary - Elrond - you da elf! Much love, C/S/T

*claps in appreciation* Definitely one to be read aloud, I think. Thanks for posting this. C

Hey rev, Thanks for commenting - and good luck finishing your own poem. Thanks also to the folks who PM'd me with appreciation/advice etc. Your feedback was welcome as always. In terms of word additions/changes - I definitely need to rethink tracts of this - but word selection bears the constraints of the sonnet form - so anything that forces metrical substitutions in the IP has to be deliberate and not casual. I think my friend summed this poem up best when he said: 'Aside from a clever title and an interesting reference, this poem has almost nothing to recommend it. It's difficult to follow, unnecessarily melodramatic and doesn't contain a single memorable line.' lol - back to the initial drafts where the trope was different methinks. Still stirring and stewing, Cerulean.

Hey Tattered, It's taken me a while to get around to responding to this piece - sorry for the delay. There's lots to like here. You start with a particularly strong six lines, which establish the tone and deliver the reason for the poem effectively. Language works for you here, I feel words are selected carefully and combine well. I also liked the allusion to this roller-coaster of emotions and the fickle wheel of fate. There was a definite move toward fairground imagery for me in lines fourteen - sixteen, again enjoyable. Favourite line - 'You turn up the contrast.' Sharp and economical - great stuff. I feel there are sections which are less assured and would benefit from revision. PM me if you'd like a more robust crit. Otherwise, thank you for sharing this bumpy emotional ride with us. Cerulean.

After reading Let Them Eat Bombs, by Terry Jones. 'Jam tomorrow and jam yesterday, but never jam today.' (Alice Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll) Declaiming through the strafe and buzzing flies, a man emerges, promises in hand. He drops them on dull faces, soft as lies, they shimmer with the lure of contraband. I see his sinning sink, as terms are sown to form a carpet. He strolls, unafraid. Each step he takes announces cracking bone, ‘til bones and flesh with words are overlaid. But every rotting child who starved for bread, each dead-eyed woman, whoring for a meal will leave a bloody imprint in my head, to match the one he’s polished from his heel. Remorselessly he lines his speech with sorrow, assuring us of apricots - tomorrow. *edit* I feel all Oscar Wildeish since on Loki's recommendation, I added a comma. Am waiting to see if anyone has any major nits before revising. I already have some other thoughts from Loki stewing in my mental pot *bows in thanks.* Cerulean, stirring madly.

*sniff* It's 2:45 a.m. Saturday morning (which is my Monday) so I'm hiding here where it's still Friday and I don't have to get up in 4 hours! Cerulean Has time, will travel.

*Helga warps in to Jazzy's post, eyes bulging with wonder, mouth opening and closing like comedy dentures with the effort of seeking conduit for thoughts too monumental to verbalise. Cerulean studies her little tortoise friend carefully and turns to JaZzMaN251 to translate. I think she's asking if she can visit. * ** I loved this quirky piece. I watch small things too like grass and flowers. And suddenly, through the watching, they lose their smallness and become metaphors that startle me. I like observations that penetrate, welcome again to The Pen. I look forward to reading more of your poems. C.

*Helga Hurtle zig-zags through the Banquet Room bouncing off a sonnet and knocking a couplet askance in her hurry to meet Patrick. Eyes sparkling and blood zinging from a thimbleful of daisy sap and a morning in the sunlight, she knocks her shell against his ankle and coughs twice to gain attention. * Congrats on experimenting with a new form. I think it's difficult to post work you're unsure of and I admire you for stretching your writing muscles. Keep up the good work. *Message delivered, Helga nibbles Patrick's shoelaces as she contemplates how all writing is tied together.*

Hello there, It's good to meet you. I hope you have lots of fun here! Cerulean.

Happy Birthday wishes winging their way to you Mira! I hope you have a brilliant day. *Hugs* C.

And if she was, where did she keep her knitting needles?

Helga Hurtle has been plodding towards Gryphon's parchment for nigh on two days. Without the benefit of flower-fuel she's easily distracted and circuitous. Muttering to herself 'By dandelion we'll do it', she increases her stride, hoists her shell bravely, laps a basking rock and finally arrives. Craning her neck to full stretch she gazes up to where the parchment hangs high above upon the wall. It may as well be suspended from a star. 'Where's Wyvern's portable tortoise trampoline when you need one?', she murmurs to noone in particular.

Hi there, What a beautiful way to announce your arrival. I'm certainly glad your pen led you here. This poem has a gentle reflective quality I really enjoyed. Thank you for posting and welcome to The Pen! Cerulean.

Hi Gryphon, I love poetic vignettes, so I enjoyed reading these. I especially liked your line: The world creeps sideways - great image. C

Wow this is blast from the past day lol! Welcome indeed oh winged one! Cerulean.

Hello there! My ears always prick up at the mention of Beowulf, so hi there, glad you popped by - come back soon and good luck with all your projects! Cerulean.

And would it distract us before we got a proper look?

Cerulean hugs Peredhil twicely, for the weenies he wanded off nicely. The first embrace grows like a soft desert rose, while the second's more vicely and spicely! Hehe! Thanks a gazillion Big P. for your wonderful wavings of The Weenie-be-gone Wand. I'm surprised that hasn't got an almost dragonic patent pending on it! Cerulean and Scarlett (ex-Weenie Queenies)