Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Periodic Poetry Contest - Theme: Touch of Truth (Page 390, due Jan. 28)
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First, I will post the overall rules, and then I will post the specifics about this week.
Original rules, as stated by Ubertuna:
It must fit the week's theme.
It must be submitted by the deadline.
It cannot have inappropriate language in it.
It cannot be stolen (if you plagiarize, we will find you).
Also:
The poem must be created for this contest
A user cannot win two weeks in a row (though everyone is welcome to submit every week!)
Only one submission per user will be accepted
As we all know, the winner will recieve a merit, and their poem will be featured on the _Poetry_ page.
OK, on to this week's topic...Again, we are having a style instead of a theme. Also, this week we are having TWO WEEKS to do it, instead of the usual one. Why? Because this will be an EPIC poem. Or, rather, a parody of an epic poem. Generally, epic poetry is very long, and tells the serious story of a heroic figure. Well, this week, the epic figure is YOU! Write a long poem (I'll leave the definition of 'long' up to you, but give it a good go) about the heroic story of you! It can be silly, serious, whatever... just have fun with it. You have two weeks, so have a great time!
- 3,868 Replies
Top three and a runner-up, as per usual.
runner-up, with a nice piece about being a puppet, Wolf!
Tangled and twisted,
I've been short listed
For the life of doll.
And that is what they call
Me. Who is nothing but a puppet...
I am on ropes
Bound with no hopes
Of ever escaping this fate.
The wood grinds with my gait
And I walk on by,
I walk on by.
Oh what a lonely soul am I...
Here are my ropes
There binding strings
That hurt and sting me so.
The rhyme is all gone
Goodbye and so long,
Oh wounded puppet am I
Your rhyming is nice, and although the flow isn't perfect(I was a bit thrown by the period on the 5th line of stanza one, because of how quick the stop is after an enjambed line)it was nice, and the 'woe-is-me' tone is perfect for a bound puppet.
Third Place, a light-hearted male . . . whimsyboy!
Hey, there's your strings.
May I pluck them?
We did many things,
Now I'm left and sullen.
I played your strings back and forth,
You played mine all day and night.
But now my strings snap and contort,
My strings fly away like a kite.
My strings were once in tune with yours,
Landing on the same old shores.
But they had the weakened cores,
Tattered walls, collapsed floors.
So now we set our sails again,
Say that "We can still be friends,"
Get rid of all the loose ends,
Power down, cover the lens.
Make our way through different field,
I sigh and scream and weep and kneel,
Lurk the shadows like an eel,
Get rid of all that I can feel.
My rhymes begin to tremble and cease,
You took of my heart a giant piece,
Feelings find their holes and heaps,
My love is now on New Lease.
This is a heartfelt and well-composed piece, for sure. Your motivation for writing it adds a dimension to the emotion felt here, as well. I do read the word 'collapsed' in stanza 3 as 'col-ap-sed' to even out the flow, which seems one syllable short. The flow is good for the most part, with minor hiccups. The reason this wasn't second or first was really because of the merits of the other two, not shortfalls of this one. Congrats, as this is a great piece.
Second place, my first friend on AG and a kind Frenchman, Fallensky!
Machine
6 am; it's time you woke up already
Be glad the sun's not yet raised
A lot of work's waiting for thee
Go stir some void, go sing some praise
You might as well thaw in the fray
You will thaw out anyway...
The faces on the screen
The articles in the magazine
They tell you what you mean
They tell you what you've been
7 o'clock; it's time to work
Sign in, sign out; thicken the murk
You can't escape the gregarious ties
They define your very existence
Don't try to fend those lies
They are this world's essence
Dance for me little puppet
Phone calls to make and papers to sign, it's no time to fret
Don't be glad you're alive
It's time to make us thrive
As you said, this poem is daring in its minimalism, which I appreciate. It captures the Orwellian machinism of labor perfectly, how culture and media can be prisons, each person being but a puppet. I also noticed a running theme of water - thawing out, thickening the murk. The first stanza is one of the best stanzas I've read in a long time - acrobatic rhyming, flow, mood, all of that. You get lots of happy creds for writing sch a challenging poem to write, and doing it so well. It's direct and in-your-face, and I think you made the right decision in going for minimalism. Congrats again, because this is phenomenal.
Which makes the first place poem even more impressive . . . with a repeat victor impressing again with a wonderful piece, Parsat!
Rhapsody for String Quartet
My first love was a curvy dame
I heard first in third grade,
Her red complexion won her fame,
Along with mellow serenades
She sang to woo young men to feel
Her neck and figure hourglassed.
I let her be; for her my zeal
Was rather quick to pass.
The love affair that sang instead
In honeymoon was lithe and coy;
Her songs were those of fingers spread
In voices one knew only joy
Or sadness, anger, death. Her face
Was ever filled with moodiness,
She always sought the highest place
In gaudy ways without a rest.
No longer was her neck a silken lure,
Her thin body felt a weight.
And in that day I felt unsure
The most, new love arose from hate.
The middle sister came to me
And spoke in softened melody
Filled with wisdom in my ear.
How beautiful did she appear:
Her luscious body in my hands,
Exotic looks and sweet commands
In tones seductive in a trace,
Moans not treble, neither bass,
But alto in our fresh embrace.
To Viola, my fantasia
For your savant aphasia.
This poem has everything. It has a great flow, rhyming, feel, all of it. The running personification adds to both the mystique of the poem and the complexity of it, providing an interesting contrast to Gab's entry. I like the subtle enjambment you use in the second stanza, which accentuates the rhythm and rhyming. You convey enchantment and love for the viola honestly and perfectly, and the almost frustrating immaculacy of this poem earns it a narrow first place over Gab's also phenomenal entry.
Alright, the decision between first and second was probably the hardest judging decision I've ever made. If I could give both of you merits, I certainly would, but for this one, Parsat gets the merit.
New theme: Pulse
Deadline: The friday two weeks from now. Judging the following weekend.
I knew I failed.
At least pulse seems a bit easier. That last one gave me a writers block. >.<
Fallensky: I don't think I've seen such opposite entries in the same contest before. I really love the flowing nature...you really need to put some sick beats on that. More I read it, the more it felt like a rap to me in the style of the oldschool rappers.
Really digging the themes too. They feel much more open-ended than at first sight.
Beep
So many things I have always wanted to say
Beep
I could never find the courage to give a simple hey
Beep
Now time is running out
Beep
I know you can't hear me, even if I tried to shout.
Beep
I can't find the right words
Beep
To explain how I feel for you
Beep
My heart soars like a birds
Beep
Whenever it is just us two
Beep
I... think it is love
Beep
This thing I feel
Beep
I would go to the heavens and above
Beep
So I could find some type of deal
Beep
That will make you stay
Beep
But there is nothing I can do
Beep
Not with the medical technology of today
Beep
I just wanted to be with you
Beep
Before they pull the plug.
Beeeeeeeeeeep
This is a poem about a guy that got in a huge car wreck cause the other driver was drunk, and the girl is talking to him before his parents take him off life support. If you didn't catch that already. :P
It counts cause the Beep is his faint PULSE. Mwahahaha
Haemodystopia
I call my position
trudging this vile corpse
as an unpaid physician
Ambitions and dreams
not designed for me
the constrictive endothelium
is all I can see
The closest to aspirations
I will consume
removal of a fluid
by a vacuum
A virulent overlord
controls without knowledge
unable to refuse
I am part of the sewage
I resent my existence
yet I cannot cease
even my actions
are controlled by the beast
I inhabit and maintain
without my skill
this decrepit carcass
would surely be nil
If I could rebel
form a mutiny
I would be hunted
destroyed by family
Alas and alack
at the end of my life
replaced without thought
tenderness nor strife
--------------------------------------------
So this is the second poem I have ever written. Again constructive criticism and feedback is always welcome.
Aww darnit, I hate losing
anyway
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Pulse and Soul
The pulse goes again
and agin
we have to want it like a gem
as you grow
your pulse becomes like ash
you grow old
it folds
and dies.
Young as you are now
feel good
your pulse goes on,
when you die,
it dies.
It's a burning soul
that doesn't last forever
It's coal
it burns
but like any fire,
will burn out.
Disappear like ash in the wind.
Your heart will beat
Wash the burn
like sand and feet
Live one,
while you have youth,
it's forever alive with you
it's the truth.
Burns itself out when you're dead.
At last as said
your pulse is your burning soul
feel it when sad
when you're down,
feel your pulse
because it means...
... You will last the a life time.
oh I should point out that I created the word haemodystopia. It has nothing to do with haemodystonia.
I'm back, sorry, my internet was cut off for a few days because I moved out.
Parsat, I don't really know what to say, although I understand what you mean, it wasn't intentionnal to make it sound like a rap ^^. This may be due only to my little lack in english vocabulary, which makes it hard for me to come with passionate and heartfelt lyric poetry...
But in any case, I'm actually pretty pround about secind place since Parsat's poem was nigh perfect, thanks alt for the nice judging, and as usual, good luck to all!
You made it really tough to choose a place to put you in, because you guys were both so good last round. Like I said, I wish I could merit you both.
I quickly run down the ally, not looking back
my footsteps splash loudly in the water below
I feel a sharp pain in my leg
followed be a loud bang.
I've been shot
my pulse is racing
I fall to the ground slowly
down on my knees.
I turn, and feel a bullet race by my face
just nipping the edge of my cheek
I try to stand up
but I am unable to stand the pain.
I fall to the ground once again
my pulse slows down
I feel calm
all my troubles are gone
suddenly, my spine aches like never before
once again followed by a loud bang
I shout in agony, with nobody to hear me
I hear my shooter walk closer and closer to me
He walks in front of me
and immediately, I am staring down the barrel of a gun
I feel a chill race throughout my entire body
and a shock wave smash through my organs
Boom!
and for the last second I am alive, I see how short my life was
how precious the memories were that I threw away long ago
but that's all over now.
My pulse goes to a sudden halt
the shooter kicks my dead corpse,
and rids the scene of the evidence
it's as if I never even existed.
Well, the poem pretty much describes itself. I know it's not great, but it's worth a try.
Of what shall I speak?
Shall I speak of the creeping I feel
The one that crawls throught the marrow of my bones.
Or shall it be of the voices I hear,
The ones that yammer and gib
All in my head.
The ones that go totsy and blotsy
Hiffle and piffle.
Og-nog and nog-og.
Dearest deliquent of my mind eye,
And face I see before the very mirror in which I peer...
Of what shall I speak?
For my head is throbbing in a most tumorous way,
As if there were some sick throbbing thing
Grown into my very skull, so as if it were...
Part of me.
The world is a dizying frenzy,
A madman's love affair for the derely delluded
And still I sit here rambling like the madman.
For that is who I am. And still this pulsing
Throbbing undeniable sickening!
Breathe...
Of what shall I speak? For this pulsing nightmare,
I fear dearest of friends.
Has faded into nothingness...
**Author's note** It fits the theme you just need to think about it
Thud Thud! Ting! Thud Thud! Ting! Thud Thud! Ting! Thud Thud!
The rythmic beat of the drum matches my pulse.
Sitting in a prairie, listening to the native beats.
Now it is time to leave my rythmic friend.
Walking to the stadium. Trudging through the mud
All of the players thinking of bad false thoughts.
As I sit down, The game begins. A large roar from the crowd.
Ohhhh! the ball grazed the goal. Pulsing end!
Next half brings more flopping and wining.
Every challenge involves injury.
But all in all, Every player wears their jersey proudley.
But Wait! A Penalty kick Emerges!
The shooter takes a breath. His pulse races.
He shoots. He scores! His team celebrates it!
He sees his life flash right in front of his eyes as he inhaled.
Thud Thut. Thud Thut. Thud Thut.
Are his only memories of the time before his game breaking shot.
My 1st poem.
Plz give me advice. :P
Positive criticism only.
I try my best.
I Made a World cup poem earlier so i decided to mash some PULSE theme into it.
Thx
Pulse
The poem's life starts when conceived
In wombs of minds, from thoughtful seed:
That is the time its heart is formed
And beats for body parts unformed.
For birth has no less labor pains
To bring that mass of flesh and veins
To see the light of day and bawl--
Its heart pumps hard or not at all.
The loveliest of them are spared,
To summer days they are compared,
As others freeze in hibernation,
Stopping hearts for inspiration.
And all the rest, aborted things,
Are drowned in ever-bubbling springs.
No blood is shed--hearts palpitate--
No, Lethe's fate is more sedate.
For them the silent darkness shall await.
----
There's a pulse in this poem...but as it ages its pulse seems weaker and weaker until its rhythm is broken.
Thread is locked!