Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
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Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Voice your recommendation(s) here, and
Please let us know ASAP if you are not going to be available to represent the Writer's Block -
then we will know not to consider your poems further this month's IBPC.
I/we will be looking for consensus - in keeping with a communal workshop environment
Which 1-3 would we like to see represent the Writer's Block in the finals?
After the 3 are selected, then will each author post - in this thread - the poem as the poet would like it forwarded,
and ALL the needed info/statements
Ideally, the only poems that really need to appear here are the final 3, when announced, hopefully by the 1st of the month, if not sooner
^^ the intent is organizational - if poems appear here before the selection of the final 3, then there is a congestion -
Until the final 3 are announced, please maintain poems & workshopping to the Workshop Forum. Thanks.
************
any newcomers or returnees this month, Welcome!
and here is a home link to the IBPC rules: http://ibpc.webdelsol.com/rules
In this thread, from the poems posted in the workshop forum during the course of the month, recommend/nominate by title & author.
Nominated poets, please acknowledge the nomination here in this thread.
Please reply by accepting or declining the nomination - in this thread.
Please note & observe: This is not a workshopping thread.
In this thread, poems that are ultimately selected to represent the Block are then posted here
as the author would like for the poem to be forwarded
along with all IBPC required info.
When the 1-3 poems are decided upon, and permission granted by each author of the selected poems,
along with all the info needed by each author:
1/Your name
2/e-mail address
3/statement that the poem is your original
4/and unpublished work
5/and that you are not representing in the current IBPC
6/and the poem as you would like it forwarded to the finals.
^^ All of the above is the usual needed info as part of the process.
I will then forward the 1-3 to the IBPC finals.
Thanks
Michael (MV)
Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018;
I nominate-
Bob’s - Verlaine’s Young Wife Boards a Train
Billy’s - For Daryl
Frank’s - Welch Cakes of War
Bob’s - Verlaine’s Young Wife Boards a Train
Billy’s - For Daryl
Frank’s - Welch Cakes of War
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Bob St Remys
Dale Eugenics
2nd on Welsh Cakes
Dale Eugenics
2nd on Welsh Cakes
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Thanks guys, I accept.
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
My three to go forward for November 2018:
1. Bob's Ghost
2. Dale's After Her Brother
3. Ken's Radium Girls
1. Bob's Ghost
2. Dale's After Her Brother
3. Ken's Radium Girls
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Thanks for the support Frank. I don't think Night Notes From Overwatch is anything close to IBPC material.
On that basis, I decline
On that basis, I decline
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
I nominate Billy's "Elkhorn..." poem and Kenneth's "Radium Girls"....there are so many good poems this month...I am still considering ones for my third nom....
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Van Gogh, The Move to St-Remy is from August; thanks anyway kenneth.
There is not a deficit of IBPC contenders this month.
I see some poems have been 2nded - any 3rding on these?
Any other poems to be 2nded?
Michael (MV)
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
2nd on Valerians Young Wife
Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
i have poem being sent from another workshop so my noms are disqualified. Thanks for the noms.
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
well I accept for Radium Girls. Thank you
Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
I vote for:
Dale's, Breeding
Bob's, Verlaine
Kenneth's, The Radium Girls
Dale's, Breeding
Bob's, Verlaine
Kenneth's, The Radium Girls
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Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
I accept for “Verlaine’s Young Wife Boards a Train” if picked.
Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
If selected here is my poem and entry information.
1/Dale Patterson
2/dalepatterson@comcast.com
3/the poem is mine
4/and is an unpublished work
5/and that I am not representing in the current IBPC
Selective Breeding
She is a beautiful woman
who likes Chinese silk
and French beaded bags,
has a Masters from Wellesley
in European Lit.
In her library
the spines of her books
are pristine, the pages
carefully turned as they’re read
and marginal notes
she writes in light pencil.
She aspires to kindness,
helps out the cook
pairing entrees with wine,
the gardener pruning
red roses.
She listens, forgives
while her husband defends
his transgressions,
tells all her friends
she admires his linage
and how he expands
his father’s vast fortune,
a business she pretends
to not understand,
the investments
kept on the move,
hidden by attorneys
in foreign accounts,
called contributions,
charitable donations,
money that goes to their son,
gets him into Harvard
where his father has told him
to sow his wild oats
with the girls beanth him,
then marry a woman
who is just like
his mother.
1/Dale Patterson
2/dalepatterson@comcast.com
3/the poem is mine
4/and is an unpublished work
5/and that I am not representing in the current IBPC
Selective Breeding
She is a beautiful woman
who likes Chinese silk
and French beaded bags,
has a Masters from Wellesley
in European Lit.
In her library
the spines of her books
are pristine, the pages
carefully turned as they’re read
and marginal notes
she writes in light pencil.
She aspires to kindness,
helps out the cook
pairing entrees with wine,
the gardener pruning
red roses.
She listens, forgives
while her husband defends
his transgressions,
tells all her friends
she admires his linage
and how he expands
his father’s vast fortune,
a business she pretends
to not understand,
the investments
kept on the move,
hidden by attorneys
in foreign accounts,
called contributions,
charitable donations,
money that goes to their son,
gets him into Harvard
where his father has told him
to sow his wild oats
with the girls beanth him,
then marry a woman
who is just like
his mother.
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- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Bob BradshawBobBradshaw wrote: ↑05 Nov 2018, 02:56I accept for “Verlaine’s Young Wife Boards a Train” if picked.
Email bobbybradshw@yahoo.com
The poem is original and mine.
I am not representing any other forum.
Verlaine's Young Wife Boards A Train
Paul cupped my face in his hands
and swore he wouldn't let his life
be controlled by a boy.
I blushed. He stammered.
He promised to meet
Mama and me at the station.
If he wasn't there, leave
and he would quickly follow.
You won't stay behind?
I asked. You swear?
“Yes, yes,”
and he kissed me over and over.
The thought of that grubby boy Arthur
with his filthy pipe
disgusted me. Paul
must have been feeble
from drink and illness
to have given in
to such
but I couldn't think of it
any more. That was a country
whose borders
Paul would never cross again.
Soon my life as a young wife
would be mine
once more
but as Mama and I boarded the train,
with Paul nowhere in sight,
my stomach tumbled.
Mama squeezed my hand:
"He'll come later."
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- Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17
Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Radium Girls
Once was a question
We never asked.
It was a job needed doing.
There was a war on.
We worked at night
to better see the dials
and watch face,tipped
camel hair to our lips
to make a fine point.
Painted luminescent
hands and Roman
numerals on altimeters
tipped iron gunsights,
color of old moonlight.
For the boys in France
plugged in some ditch
or bunker behind the
Hindenburg Line.
A hundred years their
ghosts have ranged
Flanders Field and
Belleua Wood on the Marne.
We are the beacon
the light of home,
and beckon mildly
them to come mingle
with our bones . Our lips are warm,
the radium girls
still glowing in our graves.
original unpublished. not representing another forum
ashworthken@yahoo.com
Once was a question
We never asked.
It was a job needed doing.
There was a war on.
We worked at night
to better see the dials
and watch face,tipped
camel hair to our lips
to make a fine point.
Painted luminescent
hands and Roman
numerals on altimeters
tipped iron gunsights,
color of old moonlight.
For the boys in France
plugged in some ditch
or bunker behind the
Hindenburg Line.
A hundred years their
ghosts have ranged
Flanders Field and
Belleua Wood on the Marne.
We are the beacon
the light of home,
and beckon mildly
them to come mingle
with our bones . Our lips are warm,
the radium girls
still glowing in our graves.
original unpublished. not representing another forum
ashworthken@yahoo.com
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- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
If Selected, my modified poem and title
formerly Welshcakes at War, below.
Ieuan ap Hywel
ieuanaphywel@aol.com
my own original poem
it is not representing any other board
and has not been published before.
******
Hard Winter (1941)
After the Battle of Britain came the blackout
and blitz when their cities were reduced
to rubble, then came the battle of the Atlantic,
a million tons of shipping sank in a month.
Their food stocks low, the hard winter took
first the old and then came for the children.
Anon.
Dad returns from Homeguard duty, the smell
of motor bike oil and petrol hang
on his khaki greatcoat. Pipes freeze
in the lavatory, ice castles hang
down down the pipes.
He hangs his steel helmet on the door,
plastic neck guard, gas mask,
and haversack, a .303 rifle hung
out of reach, his bayonet
in my hands, plaything
for a small boy.
Mam baking griddle cakes,
I hang on her pinafored thighs,
the smell of flour,
something nice.
My bedroom cold as an arctic floe.
Illness grips in its awful throe:
vomiting and fevered nights
of darkness, I see death in the mirror
of the wardrobe door.
Mam’s eyes black with fear,
deep as glacial pools.
formerly Welshcakes at War, below.
Ieuan ap Hywel
ieuanaphywel@aol.com
my own original poem
it is not representing any other board
and has not been published before.
******
Hard Winter (1941)
After the Battle of Britain came the blackout
and blitz when their cities were reduced
to rubble, then came the battle of the Atlantic,
a million tons of shipping sank in a month.
Their food stocks low, the hard winter took
first the old and then came for the children.
Anon.
Dad returns from Homeguard duty, the smell
of motor bike oil and petrol hang
on his khaki greatcoat. Pipes freeze
in the lavatory, ice castles hang
down down the pipes.
He hangs his steel helmet on the door,
plastic neck guard, gas mask,
and haversack, a .303 rifle hung
out of reach, his bayonet
in my hands, plaything
for a small boy.
Mam baking griddle cakes,
I hang on her pinafored thighs,
the smell of flour,
something nice.
My bedroom cold as an arctic floe.
Illness grips in its awful throe:
vomiting and fevered nights
of darkness, I see death in the mirror
of the wardrobe door.
Mam’s eyes black with fear,
deep as glacial pools.
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- Posts: 2154
- Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Update 11/5 re Upcoming November IBPC 2018:
Thanks Bob, Dale , and Kenneth
Good Lick in the finals
Michael (MV)