February 2018 IBPC poll


Dear Babiluians,

Our shortlist of 7 poems follows this message, each poem nominated by a reader, each vying for one of the 3 openings we have for the February 2018 IBPC competition.

Our poll gadget follows the poems. Vote for one poem only.

The poll will close Monday, February 5 at 10pm. 

The 3 top vote-getting poems will represent Babilu. 

Voting is open to you, who is reading this, to all and anyone who would like to read the poems and vote. If you are not now signed in, please click the link in the upper right hand corner of this page. If you have not registered yet, click that same link.


In a midnight voice, arms extended,
she reads blues that lays the soul to dust.

Hands reaching upwards,
a white woman moves her fingers
calling the sky to hold these words.

The poet stands at the crossroads
where her art and family meet.
Her mother stands in the ruins
holding a bouquet of bloody music.

Slashing, sinewy phrases celebrate
the first activists who fought for freedom
with the strength that simmered
in shotgun houses next to the picking fields.

A freight train of rapid fire explosive words,
intellect the weapon, now unconcealed,
she quashes the howling and leers
from blue-veined, tobacco-stained faces.

Bloodroot and mimosa sway
to the sound of her voice. 


Let them eat their fill of their square pears on their triangular tables! Marc Chagall

Hey! Marc what's up with that latest blue donkey painting of yours?
How come it's not flying? And what's that dangling between its hind legs?
Are you testing the limits of the Parisian art intellectual milieu?
No! Sasha it's just that I never learned how to paint academically.
Well, Marc that's pretty apparent here but it has maybe nothing to do
with your childish drawings. You must give it proper intellectual reasons.
Kandinski did and look how far he propelled.
Da, Sasha, why don't you work out a philosophy for my art.
You're so good at cerebral bullshit!
OK, Marc. Considering the content of your many paintings I suggest
we take the Freudian slant. You have all the virginal stuff and flying angels
with horned beasts peering from every corner. I bet Freud will jump
on the bandwagon.
Well, Sasha, as usual your approach is brilliant but with that slant
you're making me a degenerate.
Niet, Marc, it's all about money. Just look at what Picasso is getting
away with. All your art has familiar renditions. Yeah, a bit upside down
and flying like on LSD. So, do you want to be rich and famous or a poor
nameless wannabe?


(poem withdrawn from poll ~ see discussion below)


I am small anyway,
my passage never 
leaves marks,

cleaning up my tracks
and keeping the
house fit for the mistress.

I made myself
even smaller now.
The mistress is
gone and I am leaving.

The month
of miniature
living passes, 
days gigantic,

I walk shrunken
through her footsteps.


A vision slapped my face
with the force of revelation:

I saw Nature’s keys stolen 
from Ancient Guardians of the forests.
Pilfered written pacts, indifferent stares
fouled the air behind Pehuenche's backs.

Stumbling up the southern cordillera,
a protected area -an illusion-
I trekked by rusty machinery.
An international highway throttled by thickets,
resonant undergrowth
of mythical powers seeking redress.

The way uphill became a path bewitched.
“Border closed”, snapped a drunken signpost.
Was this desolation Pehuenche heritage?

I heard a waterfall's soothing chimes,
a live organ, pure magic,
musical notes dancing on flecks of spray.
A chorus announced by kultrün,
whose cruciform symbol began to gyrate
before my startled eyes, “¡Pillan, pillan, 
in your name ten times we shall triumph!”

How could I once believe
there were causes greater than these?
Earth's primal beauty slashed with lances,
bleeding wounds no god would ever heal?

Enthralled, I stood before Nature’s altar.
Pehuenche spirit will endure
as surely as the Pacific
rolls over rocks- 
distant ocean tinted green, yellow spume-
storm’s crest lowering 
over vulcan shores of black sand.

From this land of swords and stone,
light is approaching: 
golden redemption of Spring.


Cold slices with ice knives,
sharper than your teeth.
White incisors polished 
on the bone of winter deer.

As you walk in the silent 
snow, falling flakes cry 
as they cover the gules 
of your new kill.


I sure wouldn’t want to end up in a situation
where there were a bunch of me lined up like
cheap cigars in a case waiting to be reanimated
each time the multiverse branches. Still I
guess that is better than being a nut-less squirrel
stuck on a distant branch of the tree of knowledge.

Have you ever chased deep deep deep
into Wikipedia? So deep that you couldn’t
find your way back or even remember
what started you down that rabbit hole
or even what your name was back then.

Gina once threaded my needle
but I froze, afraid of breaking
the thread. I guess that’s how it always is
Broken threads. Wine glasses
bobbing in a sea of ochre. 

February 2018 IBPC poll
  1. Vote for 1 poem:11 votes
    1. Aja Monet/Washington Women's March
    2. The Blue Donkey
    3. Looking Out the Kitchen Window
    4. The Siona Era
    5. Redemption
    6. Snow Leopard
    7. Triptych


  • I'm afraid I have accepted a place to go forward into Feb's comp' from another board and therefore can't be included in the nom' process here. It's the rules. I have only just accepted and thought it only fair to withdraw from the poll to save potential votes for active runners. My thanks for the nomination and gratitude to the person who voted for "Looking Out the Kitchen Window". I have placed my vote and must say it was a really tough choice because any one of them could do well.

    Best of luck to the final three, and I mean it!

    My best to all


    Thanked by 1Gracy
  • JJ,

    I am soooo sorry your fame interfered with your nomination...chuckle

  • Posts: 655
    Congratulations to Alex, Gracy, & Jim!

    Their poems have taken the top 3 spots:

    The Blue Donkey
    Snow Leopard
    IBPC Babilu Poll 1802.jpg
    761 x 423 - 35K
    Thanked by 1Gracy
  • Posts: 0
    Nice surprise, Rus! That said, I recently viewed the judge's own poems, writings, etc., and I really don't think my poems will ever attract him. Mine are totally different from the ones he prizes!
    I must start some different styles of my own! 
    Anyway, best of luck to everybody. I think Aja Monet/Washington Women's March would do well, also Kitchen Window.
    Cheers, Gracy 
    ^:)^ =D>
  • Posts: 0
    Congrats!  Good Luck!

    Kenny A. Chaffin
    "Strive on with Awareness" - Siddhartha Gautama
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