Autumn Alliance Contest!

Yes, that's right I said CONTEST BLOG!

To try to make up for my most woeful absence of late (and also because it will be FUN) I have decided to hold a Lit-Visual-Alliance contest. Contests, actually. Rotating contests based upon the seasons.

I love seasons, you see. I love to watch them change and revel in them and my very favorite season of all is Autumn.

So this group shall now have rotating contests, beginning with our Autumn Contest, which starts today and ends December 1st, at which time the Winter Contest shall begin!

The rules of the contest are simple: create a work of art, centered loosely around the theme of Autumn, based on another work of art (literature based on visual artwork or visual artwork based on literature, in keeping with the theme of the group). The theme is very open to interpretation. Autumn is many things. It is the changing of seasons, the coloring of the leaves, cold air, pumpkins and the Harvest. It is also back-to-school, Halloween, Thanksgiving and many other things I probably haven't thought of. So Halloween-based entries are very welcome! As are entries involving typical Halloween entities such as ghosts and witches and demons and vampires and bats and so on.

This does NOT have to be a new piece! HOWEVER, what I really don't want you to do is find an old autumn poem or painting and then search for a corresponding artwork that you think kinda sorta goes along with it. That's cheating, my dears. This contest and this group is all about being inspired by different types of artwork! Also, it's unlikely to help you win. 

  How well the deviation ties into the inspiring piece.

PRIZES:

1st: 100 + feature by LadyofGaerdon and Lit-Visual-Alliance + poetry commission from robostorm

2nd: 75 + feature by LadyofGaerdon and Lit-Visual-Alliance + poetry commission from robostorm

3rd: 50 + feature by LadyofGaerdon and Lit-Visual-Alliance + poetry commission from robostorm

Entries are unlimited! Go wild!

Please submit entries to the Autumn Contest folder. 

To help you guys get into the spirit and start those creative juices flowing, here is a feature from our brand new Autumn Inspiration favorites folders (yes, I also found a use for our Favorites section! I've been busy!) Please note that the inspiring deviation does not have to be one of these! It's just to give you an idea. More Autumn Inspiration can be found in our Favorites Folders and you are free to suggest Autumn-themed pieces as well. Soon I will be opening up folders for the other seasons that you will be welcome to submit to also. 

Transylvanian Reveries
You’ve been here before…
The mist is rolling in,
Curling over the crests of distant hills.
You know this place already…
A chill is setting into your bones,
The smoke of a dying fire sweeps across the fields.
You have dying embers laid out before you.
They’re crackling,
Cackling.
Deep crimson flickers through the charred blackness.
This land knows you already…
A chorus of mournful howls begin.
The air comes to life with the haunting cries.
They’re chanting your name…
The fog gets ever deeper,
The howls come ever closer.
You’ve been here before…
Your imprint is ready-made in this scenery…
The embers no longer warm the air.
Occasional spouts of blue flame are entirely helpless,
Before the thickening gloom.
Now you know you’re not alone.
Phantoms dance in the nearing mist.
Everything’s waiting for you…
Longing possesses your soul.
What are you hunting for?
Why is it you suddenly want   I am as autumnI am as autumn,
dropped barefoot into some fleeting role,
self-destructing in the sterile cold
while passersby note only
the colours,
their ephemeral beauty.
I was meant
as an actress, diaphanous and
wraithlike,
bridging the small gap between
summer and
winter:
I was born to wither and
die
without blooming,
to sink and
drown
without struggling.
obedient as a child,
I tried to die
in that space before snowfall,
that melancholy breach—
but there must be something in me
that is not yet dead,
that refuses to rot.
when the snow finally came,
I was stale and stagnant,
wretchedly vernal
when all else was newly
cold.
now, in the dim half-light before
springtime, I am thin
and fragile, waiting only for
another chance
to
try  GHOST SONGBeneath a hollow Sky I lie far below,
cold under the sleeping daisies, colder
under my silent gravestone, as the
Fire stirs up from the ashes of old,
what is dead in the world I can see-
whispering through the velvet velour
of my mind, I feel the secrets that
slumber in the dusky gaze of Forever,
they speak to me in the Moonlight wine
I drink, brewed by the beasts who walk
the landscape of visions only I can
see, I see them even on a Moonless
Eve for I exist in the celebration
between Dusk and Dawn, in the heart-
beat every spirit hears between Death
and Rebirth-there I will be, I exist
in the rays of the Midnight Sun that
illuminates the subconscious, in the
mist that separates the Known from
the Unknown, though others may not
see me-I live, I breathe, I dream-
not cold in my crypt of Solitude,
but warmed by the Wisdom tumbling
down on me from Stars long dead.
By NocturneJewel
Copyright: April 11, 2009  sonnet of a changeling childstale pumpkin spice and cinnamon alight
upon this cold expansion of damp air
this untouched day before it trips the snare;
what simple turns can mark the fae's soft flight.
and of this changeling child on wheat-bare earth
who'll flit from fold to field at merry whim?
a swaying dance upon a tree's high limb
will beckon over every call to hearth.
today a brisk and rapid north gust flings
him from his perch within the sweeping oak:
a fallen boy with bruises fresh, and yet--
what mother's hand can pin his fledgling wings
when swath in autumn's auburn leaflined cloak
he'll flee: a seed, a passing silhouette.  offerings of a ghostand there was a vague veracity
in the whisper of your touch
that faded like feathers of frost
before the fevered kiss
of my breath.
winter settled slowly
down the curling knots of my spine
the same path
where your lips once burned
like candles in the night,
shadows tossed high
as autumn leaves riding reckless
on the wind.
at times i feel
this cup of bones
will crumble, blood and ash
and only that
and heavy hearts too full to bear
will break against the cool,
upturned cheek of earth
bare of greenery
but veiled in sinking snow.
your every echo is a curse
limned in regret
and the sting of dark hair whipping
in my brimming eyes
carries the coldest winds
across whitewashed memory,
the bite of ice built
upon a wasteland.
even a shiver cannot shake
the ringing feeling
that your absence speaks
a greater truth—
that you were never here
at all.   AfforestThe last darkness will fall like autumn leaves
(wandering)
Dusky ground covered with many coloured twilights
(do you see all the lovely greys?)
Underneath which ghosten happiness lays buried
(spring was too far away. Alas)
The last darkness is falling like autumn leaves
(wondering)
Dusky ground covered with beaten light's corpse
(do you see all the dimmed colours?)
Underneath which darkened May Day lays buried
(spring is too far away. Alas)
The last darkness has fallen like autumn leaves
(withering)
Dusky ground covered with still-frozen time
(do you see all the solemn blacks?)
Underneath which doomed Freya lays buried
(spring will be to far away. Alas)  Dark MotherBleed your colors to the ground,
let them swirl in the vortex of your breath.
The gathering chill escaped from your lungs
whispers the green earth into death.

Dark Mother, keep the spirits
you hold within your hands.
Souls eternally bidden,
soaked and seeped into the land.
Dark Mother, keep your fury
quivering deep within the ground.
Harm us not, but let us hear
the power of that sound.
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the sun falls from the sky.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Dark Mother, stir your cauldron
deep living waters of rebirth.
Wash clean this wretched wreckage
we have wreaked upon the earth.
Dark Mother, shall we reap
all that we have sown?
When spring returns will you be there?
to light our path toward home?
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the seasons slowly die.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Will you exhale a merciful breath,
to warm our world once more?
Or stop the wheel from turning,
leave us trappe   Leaves and LeavingTurning leaves remind me that some people change along with the seasons.
Leaf. Leaves. Leaving.
-
Hush. If you listen real close, you can hear leaves laughing as they let go of the twigs that adore them. They flutter quietly to the ground, their graceful suicides silent to everyone except their beloved branches.
-
Look, the world is orange and jagged and rusted. It is decadence and leaves and leaving. It is home, it is heaven, and it is hell.
-
One by one, the trees ignite themselves and we watch their soundless self-destruction unfold. Whole forests seem to go up in flames without smoke. Sometimes we take pictures.
-
We are only left with black and brown skeletons that patiently wait to be buried under white.
-
I spend my entire autumn watching things die.  L'OMBRE I - SHADOW I (+ audio reading)
(English adaptation below) version audio ici
Pour Neura
L'ombre I
Quand vous verrais-je au sortir des songes et des tombes il ne reste que des lisières
Frangées d'or et d'herbe coupez vos désirs d'au-delà lorsque l'écume affolée efface la tempête et
Si vos yeux glacés sur mes mains stupéfaites j'aurai voulu vos chants sous des feux de
Tambours et l'ombre de vos danses enroulée sur mes cuisses un éclat de vermeil la
Ménade mâchant le coeur de nos combats des tonnes de serpents silencieux sur le sol et la crête
Des dunes rayée d'horizon morne votre bouche à la lune reste la nuit vacante et mes rêves
Blanchis l'automne est déjà là dans les pétales fauves et les pleurs oubliés
Frantz, octobre 2011
...............................................................................................................................................................
For Neura
Shadow I
When will I s Retraction of ChlorophyllLonger nights,
                 and shorter days,
Sinking towards the horizon,
the sun stretches itself against
pulsating veins – retracting
from margins to petiole
to stems –
           unmasking
                     green
                           from orange
              to gold,
                       to vermilion
                   30th October 1999Slice.
Fingers shock cold. I pull the knife
from the pumpkin and open my hand.
Bella mouths um like
I’m in serious trouble now.
Mum’s back is turned
at the kitchen counter.
“Mum?” I nudge her arm,
“I’m stupid,” and she sees the blood
and drags me to the car and
the pain starts.  The Third SeasonFall, the annual
carnival of gold and red,
leaves gilded and stained.
They partner the wind, dancing
in their bright funeral robes.  SeptemberSeptember's but a whisper,
a curl of autumn
on your cheek
or a wanton leaf
left lazing
in the tawny gold
of dusk;
and the amber scent
of pears,
succulent and slumbering,
slips idly
off your skin
and sends my restless senses
yearning...  Radioactive AutumnRadioactive Autumn
Draped in maple leaves and white gold,
her somber eyes hidden from the mounting ash.
Lack of contact labors a mutual threshold,
restless desires bred amongst odious machinations.
Staid throat drunk on her ambrosial sap,
more reverie to dirty all our neurons one by one.
Guttural cries rattle through shared visions,
depicted in blossoms and ignoring the damage done. Autumn Renaissance
silence--
as loud as a bee
to a sunflower
          >::<
orange crest glowing;
the stench of fire
heralding in the season
          >::<
before the deluge;
dust devils dancing
in the twilight of their lives
          >::<
morning fog condensing--
beads of cold sweat
on parched leaves
          >::<
leaves fainting from their hosts
perish on the way down...
their purpose ended?
          >::<
a suggestion of rain
matting the forest ground
of its dead
          >::<
golden sunset,
autumn's robe--
her crown, a silver moon
          >::<
silhouetted wolf call;
steam
rising from a ridge
          >  Witch TrialI believe I was a ginger headed poet in a past life,
who wrote love through magik spells—
burning candle wax, whispering incantations
under a full moon and painting pale,
naked flesh with dirt and ash.
Dancing with ghostly ravens through flames,
to the thumpthumpthump of my storm heart,
as it became one with the earth.
I roared my passions and my glory
to the heavens above, laughing
like a crazy eyed crone for the sake
of those who feared me.
My witches tongue, hissing, 'Come hither!'
as heat licked my shoulders like an old lover,
come home.  Witch of SalemThey brought me from the West Indies.
They feared the night of my skin
but came to me for their love potions, anyway,
for their charms of luck and wealth.
Many doves and chickens
lost their lives at my hands.
I always had white feathers for my pillows,
pale flesh for my belly.
I could not call the De'il by his name,
but they sent me down by hellfire, anyway.
They burned my tongue
to silence its secrets.
They breathed sighs of relief like a cloud—
lifted my ashes into the eaves
of their houses.
Here, I rest,
here I keep all the sweet little children company,
drip belladonna dewdrops in their eyes,
make all Mummy and Daddy's secrets look like stars.
When the De'il comes to call
he looks like a faery man from the woods.
Don't follow Mummy and Daddy
to the apple orchard—
No, come with me
to gather hazelnuts and toadstools.
Know me, children,
smile at the bird with the scarlet breast
and I will show you the way home,
always.  Like a Leaf on the Wind...He exhaled slowly,
his lungs tangled in October air,
his mouth like a wrinkle
in the hospice sheets.
His granddaughter reveled
in bringing him lilies;
they sat on the windowsill like a memory.
Half-dried in their vase,
they were pungent as mortality.
Those flowers were dying
and so was he;
what was this room if not a vase,
his wilting on display?
He sat, a drooping bloom,
contemplating the Maple by his window;
how its foliage resembled anything
from God's golden mercy
to hellfire.
They whispered secrets through the open pane,
about dropping from the branch to dance again;
how it must feel like being in love.
He remembered his wife,
who loved him more than Autumn,
who he liked to imagine was waiting for him.
He missed her.
When the next leaf leapt
from its former home,
he closed his eyes
and went with it.   Autumn KissKiss me softly in the autumn,
For Indian summer's glare fades too soon,
And the wolf-wind winter
Is fast approaching your eyes. A Kiss of SidheA Kiss of Sidhe
In the amber rush of autumn glow
down mossy paths through crimson groves
the fireflies like faeries float
Her footsteps faintly lead on
Through pinion seeds of cottonwood
That dance with leaves from thinning hood
of canopy brushed gold and blood
She calls me deeper within
An arbor lined in Ash and Thorne
hides a witching well and cup of horn
in loneliness, her whispers mourn
and beckon me to drink
She presses chalice like a kiss
Indulgently, I take a sip
like nectar from her honeyed lips
Ambrosia coursing within
With glossy eyes and sinking feeling
The cup spills blood and sends me reeling
The maiden fae shown beast unseele
And I her blooded consort
She calls Wild Hunt and bids me ride
into the nightmare, by her side
with hounds of hell, and her my guide
Forsaking the mortal world

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Now go and get creating!

The Team:

P.S. YES there will be new features and polls published soon! So keep submitting to the Featured Folder all you like! As always, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!