Derby entry comments for Derby #245: Poetry Illustrated

Comments for individual derby entries are placed in this thread.

I worked this design to almost completion several times, but felt each time that it was overdesigned. I ultimately decided to go for something simple but striking. Hope you guys enjoy the outcome :slight_smile:

Canis Major, a poem by Robert Frost. …WHAT?

The great Overdog
That heavenly beast
With a star in one eye
Gives a leap in the east.
He dances upright
All the way to the west
And never once drops
On his forefeet to rest.
I’m a poor underdog,
But to-night I will bark
With the great Overdog
That romps through the dark.

Really straightforward here, but I’m fighting exhaustion this week. The constellation isn’t meant to be totally accurate, since the star wouldn’t be in his eye-area, but I was trying to reflect the poem more than anything. This dog is also less majestic and more playful, but, DOGGY, so. COLOOOORRRRS. Four of them on navy. I could have also included Canis Minor, but… so tired. So tired.

Raiding the wheat shed, the tiniest of victories matter a whole lot to a mouse. :slight_smile:

This is based on the work of Scotland’s most famous poet Robbie Burns’,“To a mouse”.

Excerpt:
“I doubt not, sometimes, but you may steal;
What then? Poor beast, you must live!
An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves
Is a small request;
I will get a blessing with what is left,
And never miss it.”

Close-up:

http://www.infinitywave.net/littlevictory-detail2.jpg

See a BIG VERSION of the shirt! This is six colors on brown.

Thanks for looking, please vote if you like this design.
—Spiritgreen

A portion of poem:

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Shel Silverstein - Where the sidewalk ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Vote it, Love it, Comment on it…

In the watches of the night he is always fresh and bright;
Every now and then he has a cup of tea
With perhaps a drop of Scotch while he’s keeping on the watch,
Only stopping here and there to catch a flea.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

-Dylan Thomas

Based off of my favorite poem, “The Writer”, by Richard Wilbur. The speaker uses sailing metaphors and imagery to describe his daughter’s journey as a writer and as a person. Also there is a bird.

5 colors on navy.

Inspired by this stanza of “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (1920) by T.S. Eliot:

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn’t you?
People’d call, say, “Beware doll, you’re bound to fall”
You thought they were all kiddin’ you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin’ out
Now you don’t talk so loud
Now you don’t seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They’re drinkin’, thinkin’ that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you’d better lift your diamond ring, you’d better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can’t refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You’re invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

  • Shel Silverstein

This could actually be inspired by 3-5 poems from Tolkien’s works.

The Aldudenie:

“A poem lamenting the death of the TwoTrees, composed by Elemmíre of the Vanyar,” but never recorded.

This would be the most literal work to interpret from, but the Namarie is supposed to have echoed the lament of the Aldudenie as the fading of Lothlorien, which was said to he an heir of the light from one of the two trees, Laurelin, the younger of the two.

Namárië
by J. R. R. Tolkien

and the violets are blue.

Wow. Your colors choices are bold and gorgeous!

love it :slight_smile:

Yes! Must have! <3

This makes me think of a recent article that asked why everyone assumes Humpty Dumpty is an egg. I mean, he’s portrayed that way, but it’s never really said in the poem, is it?

In honor of Uncle Shelby :slight_smile:

Falling Up:

I tripped on my shoelace
And I fell up—
Up to the roof tops,
Up over the town,
Up past the tree tops,
Up over the mountains,
Up where the colors
Blend into the sounds.
But it got me so dizzy
When I looked around,
I got sick to my stomach
And I threw down.

I took a deeper poem and simplified its romantic yet wistful serious tones into a classic image of forbidden fruit. Two colors on red. Enjoy!

“Forbidden Fruit”
by Michael Lally

all the forbidden fruit I ever
dreamt of–or was taught to
resist and fear–ripens and
blossoms under the palms of my
hands as they uncover and explore
you–and in the most secret
corners of my heart as it discovers
and adores you–the forbidden fruit
of forgiveness–the forbidden fruit
of finally feeling the happiness
you were afraid you didn’t deserve–
the forbidden fruit of my life’s labor
–the just payment I have avoided
since my father taught me how–
the forbidden fruit of the secret
language of our survivors’ souls as
they unfold each others secret
ballots–the ones where we voted
for our first secret desires to come
true–there’s so much more
I want to say to you–but for
the first time in my life I’m at
a loss for words–because
(I understand at last)
I don’t need them
to be heard by you.