Author Topic: Tribute to SplashHall-The Burly Man-group epic poem written by Splash members  (Read 1648 times)

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Offline daisyxo

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SplashHall Group Poem

This poem began with a list of 12 words and has grown into an ongoing epic.  New words are added in groups of 12 as our writers near the end of the current list. Words you see highlighted throughout are from previous groups of words.   Parts 1 & 2 are shown below. Part 3 is in progress.  Words are no longer highlight since this is a copy into a text file which eliminated all codes.

Join us in SplashHall and help us work toward the completion of this intriguing poem .. of the burly man and the crazy lady who is writing his story ... or is he writing her's? All are welcome - come on in! If you found your way here through the backdoor, click on the link for SplashHall and check out the Splash PoetryCafe - Group Poems...

Part 1

In from the street walked this burly man.
He demanded recognition in an instant
as his quiet demeanor was one of command.
The entrance to his heart was forbidden
due to traumatic events that occured in his past.
His true heart he must keep well hidden.
His boat was going nowhere, love had broken its mast.
He must seek alternative transport to embark on this sea.
He remains on the land, his thoughts in despair;
fixing this shattered heart would be a massive repair.
It seemed the writer held his heart in her hand
wielding her pen like a knife with precise command.
Ladylike and meticulous she began the task,
flawlessly with care and love to fill in his past.
Etchings brought to life as the indigo flowed -
frisky was the wind that playfully blew
and tousled her radiant hair,
withstanding elements to certify her care.
As she wrote, she wrote from the bottom of her soul,
swept away in the passion of this man, she began to lose control.
Resigned to this fantasy she put down her pen.
He stepped from the page and asked her to pick it up again.
She looked deep into his solemn eyes
wondering why he wore such a dark disguise.
Was it to shelter him from pains long past?
Without insult she dared to ask.
In the interim of a heartbeat
timid, her eyes, his did meet.
Shelter in them he did find -
a beautiful poetic mind.
Persistance proved to win
as her mighty pen again began to etch,
unlocking the heart of the man on the page.
His primal passion, onto she did catch
stubborn love, they feared no rage;
together they stayed the upwind force.
Would this be true love to everlast,
or would it tragicly end in remorse?
The answer to this question, she must find
to put at ease, her inquisitive mind.
Gingerly he placed a hand on her warm beating breast.
She melted with inhibition in his powerful arms.
The blood began boiling deep inside -
teased, tormented, and full of unrest.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless she gave into his charms.
Tenacious was his touch
exploring, seeking to find
smooth jazz echoing
calming the chaos in her mind.
So the recluse hearts,
unleashed emotion and passion,
however scandolous the pages unfold
she'll not lose this, as days of old
end a recluse, she doesn't care,
with this to hold...end despair.
His heart in her began to unbind,
the joy of the future he could see unwind.
In her frail form was his new ship's mast,
oafish now it seemed, that love of the past.
Futures eternity rested solely in her eyes.
The irrepressable quest now lay at hand,
love the catalyst conquers new land.
No shoddy castle on this land would they build.
Inside their fleshy dreams, a vault, treasure filled -
this was her zenith, she felt it so strong,
his kiss made her weaken, it couldn't be wrong.
The bards heart released
in what could be deemed a slanderous diversion.
Sunrise comes soon, the harbinger of a new day
beckoning him back from this blissful excursion
returning to the paper on the table.
Her mark on his heart and soul would inlay.
All too soon she woke
finding he did leave -
returned to the parchment and the quill
the prophecy she had written, he did fulfill.
Could love, unshackle this curse of broken dreams?
Hauntingly her memories kept her bound
to the lunar visions of what they found.
This expression of love would irrigate
their dry and thirsty souls...knowing now
what it would require to make them whole.
No monumentous obstacle would this love upstage.
By night she was his lover,
by day he was her muse.
Between the photons of reality, reality was confused.
From the menthol mists of their hearts slow burn,
folklore whispered with the pages turn.
Seeing this new untouched page
she wept before this monumentous task,
tears of joy for the man who removed her heart's mask.
Sweet black currant words from her pen began to be scribed
and the tired workhorse was being transformed by her talent,
becoming the glorious steed of the gods.
Jupiter, Woden, Zeus, Odin, be damned
The fickle fates had one more paradox planned.
She felt a great weight being lifted from her shoulders,
perhaps these weren't illusory dreams after all.
Somewhat despondent from the continuing hackle
between her dreams and envisioned reality
like a poisonous ivy in her mind,
the aphelian of her orbit began to decline.
Her ink had slowed to a bare little trickle.
Suddenly as if the hammer of Thor
pounded in her zealous heart
the pen in her hand seemed to salivate
and ensnare the script that she would not let die.
The day passed and the sun set down upon the thistle,
a soft gentle kiss on the nape of her neck -
a long awaited touch arousing every nerve to bristle.
She was his slave and weakened before his beck.
Their hearts overjoyed in their rendezvous so bitter, so sweet.
The wolves song howled the threatening exile of their love
with a polarization of none other than Romeo and Juliet.
This was becoming a true test of mettle.
The burly man and the crazy woman
were illumed in loves ambience.
Flinching not,
from the lot
that had been so cruely dealt,
smooth and slinky they turned the page together.
As crazy as this may sound,
as hard as it is to believe,
the page was already written.
With the snippet of information
they so longingly had searched for
to break the bonds of exile,
their meaning had to be unearthed.
They set out in a tirade of love -
not one of unfocused rage,
but, to decipher these words,
needed they a wizard, a sorcerer or a sage.
"Inculpate the saffron single souls
in love tender and true -
in a day without a night,
a night without a day -
with the motion that wakes a princess
or breaks the spell of a frog,
can only from this predicament
the two hearts this curse break.
Only the true in love will this journey undertake."
Part 2

Joined together in the promise of their dreams
they sought aide from the wind's great aviator.
From wings of ebony and incarnadine.
Upon his high perched chair,
he took notice of the lover's scene
beyond the eternal skies of air.
Throughout the abyss of time
he would scurry, these two
on a quest to unravel this rhyme.
He would free her quaint bonds of restriction -
nothing would prohibit this seafarer.
This inapt mortal would travel the dark roads of Neiflheim,
and loose the lilly-white soul with the heart of burning embers.
His treasure... she would be his freely.
He would reap the moon
from the throat of the sun.
At the moment day and night would become one
she would voyage through perditions flame,
without so much as a twitch
To emulate Laechesis and Thanatos horse to tame
Loki and Pan would inhibit this test,
but love unlighted would relay protest.
Sigtyr would travel upon the back of Sleipnir
to remind Loki of his blunders and to prohibit those
who sought to quench their flame.
Zephyr sent the balmy wind that they may rest,
gather their strength for journey to Bifrost where
man and woman embark on quest, as one, to meet the gods
aiding their uprising against the tricksters and the fates.
Those who tersley weaved their wicked web
would wane waxen against the powers
that would ensure love's victorious prophecy.
Mars and Brunhilde would brandish their blades
for this loves war to be waged
from the cyclonic pit of Tartarus,
to Geas mosaic tapestry.
Through the halls of Valhalla,
beyond Mount Olympus's majesty
the sinewy tendrils of his very heart
beat wild with passion and the need to carry on.
He cried out to the crazy lady,
who held between her fingers,
the heirloom of his life,
the golden pen of indigo,
and he begged her not to close this chapter
before its true purpose has been exposed.
Passing through the outskirts of Vulcan's Cave
with the fire of hephaestus forge,
inspiration from the quantum reserve of resolve
temerity of ledger domain would only this riddle solve.
From within her heart's cavern
she responded to his beckoning call. 
Waking from the cyanide dusting
that Loki had prepared. 
Allfader sent her the protection
of a flowing, midnight angora cape
that glittered as if all the stars of heaven
had been placed in charge of her keeping.
Grogy with the effects of past attempts
of destruction of her faith, her intellect clouded
and gimpy....trying to piece together
the recognition, that only his voice could awaken,
she called and waited that they may return
in full embodiment of their strengthened union. 
Her feathered quill, kept in the safety
of her ebony mane, rested in wait,
at her elegant taper, till his warm breath
would again enhance the flow.
As she wrote without the least bit of grand fanfare,
the precious trinket of love in her heart would not she share
as before the beginning, the earth shook
and then the trickster appeared and her pen, he took.
For mischief was his baliwick
in which no one could usurp
the dinky small minded god
gloated over his handiwork.
Enough of this zaniness, the Queen goddess said,
for this has become a honeycomb,
a vision most surreal.
The flow of the rhyme had lost it's appeal.
The brave writer awoke sweating in her bed.
Her bed ??  What has happened to the comfort
which has now taken the properties of a brooder?
What are these apparitions haunting her senses?
Who was responsible for the annexation of her quill?
She will return to foliate, and in doing so find,
by peering through the quartz, the delicacy
hidden within the walls of the darkened scullery.
She calls invitingly to her helpmate....that burly man,
whose courage in gentle reassurance would assist. 
Together they would recapture the quill and write
their own sonnet of beauty and hope

I thought I had all of this - I believe we did a part 3 which should also have the names of everybody who participated.  I know breathingwolf, windspirit, and myself worked on it extensively, but there were a few others.  If anyone from the olden days has a copy of this, please post it so we can give credit to those missing.   I'll have to go look on my old computer and see if I have it saved there.
~ Marsha ~

"Abilities wither under faultfinding, blossom with encouragement." -- Donald A. Laird