Upcoming September IBPC 2017:

[Michael (MV)]

 
Thanks Billy,

Good Luck in the finals




Michael (MV)

My poem is still available.

 
 
 
 
 

[FranktheFrank]

Yes, my poems are always available for IBPC



I will post in thread soon.

[FranktheFrank]

1. ieuan ap hywel
Moved to edit
End
note to Michael: is it possible to preserve the speech italics if the poem is elected to go forward.

[Michael (MV)]

 
Thanks, Frank

"Bernie said it was a Palm d'Or, how kind is that."

^^ his observation was instrumental in my selecting your poem for the finals.
(Thanks mojave for the lead)

ASAP - it is necessary - Frank, Please go through the poem and correct typos/misspellings

and what is "fado"? Is that the correct spelling?

Thanks, Frank

Hope to see the proof version soon, so I can forward to the finals.

Michael (MV)

1. ieuan ap hywel
2. ieuanaphywel@aol.com
3. This poem is my own and original work
4. this poem is unpublished
5. I am not represented in this current IBPC
6. my poem is as follows:


Pot Belly Ruminations (1982)
by Ieuan ap Hywel

Workshop lights illumine his office, heat from the pot
belly permeates the oak planked walls. Egbert rattles the
stove door feeding anthracite nuts. He hums a song
of a life lost, his homesickness palpable in his fado.

John is looking edgy, the CNC powers through the cycles,
he worries about intersecting curves and the blend-in
of polar coordinates. Id decides to sit with him later,
silently as in a Calvinist church.

Id muses on the the new breed of men, au fait with digital
code, but can't scrape in a white-metal bearing. A shout rings
out over the workshop noise, 'Put your feed up, you wally.'
Davey scurries to react, wrestles with the gear levers
and restarts his machine, the screech of tortured metal
changes to that of a comforting purr and the soft rattle of blue
hot chips against the saddle, changing purple as heat disipates.

Evans drifts in late, he'll leave it unsaid for now, wife trouble.
He starts his machine and the thunder of the reciprocating
slotter shakes the workshop, he's taking his grief out on the
couplings. Id concerned, stares through the window till
Evan spots him and calms down.

Nonita enters without knocking, deposts a bundle of shedules
over his shoulder onto the desk and presses her breast against
the nape of his neck.
'Don't let Cerys catch you, you'll be crow bait.' She laughs,
Cerys knows she has a thing for him, he's safe,
but she wishes he wasn't.

'Critical path will be in later, Applicable Jones wants you at the
eleven o'clock, says the reversing rougher is on hold, urgent to
switch all work onto the frigate.' Non sings him the info
in the lilting song of a Celt.

The giant, Evan Villarino of Puerto Madryn wants comforting,
his nephew has been called up by the Junta. Id has none to
give, how could he, his brother's boy can't be contacted;
now he's with the Guards.

Cerys cries at the gathering that evening, when he tells of the
offer of a directorship,
'They won't let me leave, MOD insists you see love,
this bloody war. Anyway, what would I do, you busy
all day with the church and the grands and me just sitting
here, it's not as if I can write poetry now, is it love?'

End
note to Michael: is it possible to preserve the speech italics if the poem is elected to go forward.

 
 
 
 
 
 

[FranktheFrank]

1. ieuan ap hywel
2. ieuanaphywel@aol.com
3. This poem is my own and original work
4. this poem is unpublished
5. I am not represented in this current IBPC
6. my poem is as follows:



Corrected for for typos.

Pot Belly Ruminations (1982)
by Ieuan ap Hywel

Workshop lights illumine his office, heat from the pot
belly permeates the oak planked walls. Egbert rattles the
stove door feeding anthracite nuts. He hums a song
of a life lost, his homesickness palpable in his fado.

His frroeman is looking edgy, the CNC powers through
the cycles, worried about intersecting curves and blend-in
polar coordinates. Id decides to sit with him later,
silently as in a Calvinist church.

Id muses on the new breed of men, au fait with digital
code, but cannot scrape in a white-metal bearing. A shout rings
out over the workshop noise, 'Put your feed up, you wally.'
Davey scurries to react, wrestles with the gear levers,
and restarts his machine, the screech of tortured metal
changes to that of a comforting purr and the soft rattle of blue
hot chips against the saddle, changing purple as heat dissipates.

Evans drifts in late, he'll leave it unsaid for now, wife trouble.
He starts his machine and the thunder of the reciprocating
slotter shakes the workshop, he is taking his grief out on the
couplings. Id concerned, stares through the window until
Evan spots him and calms down.

Nonita enters without knocking, deposits a bundle of schedules
over his shoulder onto the desk and presses her breast against
the nape of his neck.
'Don't let Cerys catch you, you'll be crow bait.' She laughs,
Cerys knows she has a thing for him, he's safe,
but she wishes he wasn't.

'Critical path will be in later, Applicable Jones wants you at the
eleven o'clock, says the reversing rougher is on hold, urgent to
switch all work onto the frigate.' Non sings him the info
in the lilting song of a Celt.

The giant, Evan Villarino of Puerto Madryn wants comforting,
his nephew has been called up by the Junta. Id has none to
give, how could he, his brother's boy can't be contacted;
now he's with the Guards.

Cerys cries at the gathering that evening, when he tells of the
offer of a directorship,
'They won't let me leave, MOD insists you see love,
this bloody war. Anyway, what would I do, you busy
all day with the church and the grands and me just sitting
here, it's not as if I can write poetry now, is it love?'
End.




Fado: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=on9lKHZc5jA
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fado
CNC: short for computer numerically controlled
Non: short for Nonita
Id: short for Idris
wally: a derogative - a fool
MOD: Ministry of Defense
Cerys: a Welsh name


Thanks Michael, sorry to cause you more work
my typos have been ironed out.

[Kenneth2816]

So is it just Billy?

[FranktheFrank]

Kenneth, it looks like the last three have been decided:

Billy, has your status changed?

If your poem is still available & eligible, let us know in this thread.

bernie has your status changed?

If your poem is still available & eligible, let us know in this thread.

Frank, has your status changed?

If your poem is still available & eligible, let us know in this thread.

And thanks for your seconding of my poem, much appreciated.

[Michael (MV)]

 
Hi Kenneth,


The 3 happen to be the same 3 as when you re-voted:

viewtopic.php?f=3&t=6667#p29360


After Siva could not represent the WB, I then noted in boldface the updated 3 here in this thread:

viewtopic.php?f=3&t=6667#p29396


Kenneth, Thanks for your interest




Michael (MV)