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!
My brain hurts from thinking about what iambic quadrameter means. I'm guessing that it means in four lines only two of them with one line seperating them rhyme?
Moat's right, but it's called iambic tetrameter, not quadrameter. 'Tis my favorite meter too; there's something lyrical about it.
Fists clenched tight around the skis, Down the slopes of wintry freeze With dreams of sudden victories. The world is mine, the day I seize.
Winter dreams, winter dreams.
Business rolling, champagne flowing, Twilight swimming, moonlight glowing. See the fish's scales, how they're showing Hope from which the breeze is blowing.
Winter beams, winter dreams.
See the boat move down the lake: Watch as she just hits the brake To bump me gently as the wake Subsides and falls to quickly break.
Winter seams, winter dreams.
Sleeping with a dozen men I notice not, except times when She mentions them to my chagrin As I move close to touch her skin.
Winter schemes, winter dreams.
Now the dream is off and dead, There is no Judy in my bed. And every tear I seem to shed Falls languidly for my own head.
Is the first stanza supposed to be split in trochaic and iambic, Parsat? Because for me at least, the first two lines feel trochaic and the last two feel iambic. A lot of the other lines seem trochaic too, so the entire poem is sort of a medley of trochaic and iambic.
Many lines do omit the first weak half of the iambs, as I have a tendency to do (I actually don't write as much strict as it may seem). So here, you see:
FISTS clenched TIGHT a-ROUND the SKIS
is really a headless iambic tetrameter. Alternatively, you could think of it as trochaic tetrameter catalectic (indicating that a weak beat has been left off at the end of the trochee).
And yes, I have mixed iambic tetrameter and trochaic tetrameter as a direct, deliberate device in relation to the content of the poem. Trochaic is very bold and confident, or heavy with self-realized futility, while iambic is very lilting, light, or in its negative side, mourning or denying. By altering the stresses in tetrameter, you have great flexibility in creating a rhythm that matches the moods of each individual line.
@Ernie, I love yours. It's really good, good job. @Parsat, your poem is written as an older concept. Instead of focusing on the rhyming of a whole phrase and simple lines it was more complex. I liked it, I loved the refrains after each set of lines.
As you shake in your bed Darkened thoughts in your head You awake with a scream To find it was a dream
You stand up with a yawn Put your normal clothes on Go watch the rising dawn Then walk 'crosst the red lawn
Red!? You think with a jump Strange, your throat gains a lump Black goo comes out a pump As people fly to dumps
Fly!? You yelp with a start That is strange in my heart You've been wiped off the chart As dogs talk in their carts
Wait a sec; dogs talking!? And now you're plain balking As you watch worms walking And yellow cows squawking
Then you awake once again, find yourself in your den And then you're thinking, "I've got to stop drinking" You leave and find a world, all twisted and swirled Where lawns are green, and the pumps are clean Where people walk, and dogs can't talk Where worms simply crawl, and cows go "Moo!" It seems a much more dreamlike world to you
Just a draft. I'll probably change my submission later.
