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
Alas, I has winned. It make me happy to know that I be good at poetries.
The new year is here
Fireworks light up the night sky
And our sins are cleared
The first day of forever
So long to previous years
The last year was a recession,
This year starts depression.
I don't see why it's this way,
I guess I don't have much to say.
Last year sucked, it was sour,
It left me poor,
So that sucks.
This year had better be better,
Or I swear cyanide I'll administer.
God I hate the New Year.
To My Grandfather
In that land across the sea,
A new year will be coming soon.
We follow not the sunny path:
But look instead unto the moon.
As night falls nothing must be swept
For fear of sweeping out good luck.
In this event, we must take care
Or else this year will go amok.
Reds and yellows everywhere
In clothes and firecrackers ablaze;
The Beijing sky booms with fireworks
As we stand underneath, amazed.
Our meal must show good luck as well
With fish and dumplings, noodles long,
Tangerines and melon seeds:
And of course, the first game of Mahjong.
More reds and yellows everywhere:
An envelope of gifted cash,
The sea of lanterns up aloft,
A dragon dancing, bold and brash.
The night is dark for this new moon
Gone amid the inky sky:
My grandpa's chair is empty now,
Who was, but now has bid good-bye.
Grandfather, please be my guide!
Like rushing wind your spirit flies.
What one does is up to them.
Whether its skipping gym.
Sleeping late.
Having fun on a date.
Jumping rope.
Smoking dope.
Popping a pill.
Having fun while you chill.
I know this poem was a little bad.
If it makes you sad then...
Do something that was listed above
It might give you a feeling resembling love.
Fireworks light up the night sky
Never once in this contest have I seen anyone make a poem that references the previous genre like that. :P
The New Year has come
All sorrows have passed away
Now our slate is clean
To start adventures
To complete previous ones
Maybe find true love
To explore our souls
Work up the courage that we
could never before
Try making new friends,
Spending time with the people
That you care about
And maybe try to
Smile at the people you hate
even when your mad
Because you never
know what your actions could do
to that one person
Last year was a year that I'll always regret
A year that I know I will never forget
But hope is not lost, and I shall not yet fear
As today I begin the near-perfect new year
Shake the bubbly bottle of sparkling champagne
Let your old sins take a ride on the midnight train
And remember that, while you dance on the ceiling
That everyone else in the world has this feeling
It's now three in the morning, but we are not tired
A sense of insomnia we have acquired
An old neighbor yells out at the top of his voice
"Hey you counfounded kids, shut off that blaring noise!"
Do we listen? Of course not! We're all adults here
He is just an old man, what do we have to fear?
But we are mistaken; we have misjudged old pops
That crazy old man went and called the cops!
Hurry, everyone out! Before you get detained
It may be new year, but those cops won't refrain!
You gotta get out without making a sound
Or those crazy policemen will take run us all down
A new year in jail doesn't sound nice to me
On the first day of new year I want to be free
So I guess if you find this a new practice here
Think again, because this starts off every year!
New year, new month, new day, new hour
Yet every second we must devour
Because, after all, it's now or never
The new year doesn't last forever
I didn't put much into this. I can't win this round anyway, and I want the next round to begin so I can enter a real poem.
The streamers lie tangled on the ground,
amongst discarded carcasses from which they erupted.
Like rusted hulls the bottles lay empty,
Crumbled cake on the floor its consuming interrupted.
The fairy lights flicker down from the walls,
As non-sequentially their warm glow fade to grey.
Having come to the end the stereo is silent,
Why is there no rejoicing for New Years Day?
Down the road lays a mangled mess of metal,
The bright red paint black from greedy flames.
A few stand around and gaze at the wreck,
Faces construing a pain absent of names.
Further along sits a man on the kerb,
Like blood from the wounds, stream the tears down his face.
The guilt like a flood washes over him,
Knowing what he has done, having ended their race.
In the hospital a boy lays dying,
The blood from his head staunched poorly by the cloth.
His mothers tears from outside are heard,
As his father contemplates acting upon his wrath. (said 'roth' right?)
Hearing the words which spell out the end,
The man leaves his wife to grieve for their loss.
He gets in his car and drives to the wreck,
As he rests against the wheel, from around his neck glints a cross.
Looking at the man who sits on that kerb,
The father is consumed by anger and pain which clouds all.
He storms towards him with the intent of hurt,
His fist clenched tightly, planned to be used to maul.
But then he stops.
As his angered gaze meets one of guilt.
And in that moment of sincerity his anger is washed away.
Embracing the man who caused his sons blood to be spilt.
Dunno about you, but I always thought it was "rath" with a short 'a'.
I'm pretty sure that it is said 'roth.' Like the Grapes of Wrath...
Jess said it was 'roth.'
My phone's verbal dictionary says it that way too...
When is the judging?
Have you contacted the judger? The rest of us do not know the answer.
Thread is locked!