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
Can I write some haikus? It's the only type of poetry I'm good at...
There's nothing stopping him from writing a haiku for this contest either. Any type of poetry is welcome.
Judging takes as much time as it has to. This week saw more entries, so it may be expected that Moat will take some more time to give us some more quality judging.
Gold Medal
A Race With Luck
I was walking down the sidewalk
Every crack I carefully stepped over
Something quickly caught my gaze
It was a delicate four leaf clover
Bearing a wide grin on my face
I said, "This is my lucky day!"
But before I could grab this fortunate find
A breeze came and whisked it away
Whizzing toward the clover
I could easily win this race
Some kid chooses this exact moment
To throw a basketball in my face
I think it's trying to teach me
An anger management lesson
'Cause sure enough I was freaking out
As it crossed a busy intersection
With a screech, a splash, a car, and a puddle
I got soaked in thick brown mud
It was already starting to run down my legs
Causing my shoes to flood
In the eerie darkness
Of the freezing, endless night
I managed to run head first into
A brightly glowing street light
And as I start to cry
My tears turn into frost
"I give up!" I loudly yell
This battle I have lost
Admitting my defeat
I suddenly feel calm
I very slowly closed my eyes
And felt the clover in my palm
So I thought strictly to myself
My life must really suck
If I would really endure all that
For one tiny bit of luck
I closed my hand around the clover
Then held it to my heart
But when I opened up my grip
The wind ripped it apart
by TeeheeGirl123
I really liked this poem. Although there's no specified meter, I deigned to read it in iambic quadrameter. This fit for most of the poem. I prefer iambic poetry, so that's usually how I read unless otherwise specified. So I just read it differently depending on the amount of iambic feet per line.
Anyway...onto the next part. I like how you go through so much bad luck just to get the possibility of good luck, and through the duration of the "race" against the clover you're repetitively punished. And then, to cap it all off, when you finally catch the thing, the wind rips it to pieces. There's a lighthearted, humorous tone to the whole thing that makes me laugh(and that's always a good thing, isn't it?).
I think you could improve it by making the syllables more consistent. Throughout the poem, they vary a lot and there's never really a set meter for the whole thing. Having a more consistent meter will help with the rhythm of the whole thing, and will(in my opinion) improve the poem, even if it changes by stanza(which I do sometimes), or you could have a set pattern for syllabic length. Other than that and a few minor stretched rhymes, it shows little room for improvement(which, in this case, is a good thing).
Contact Carlie for your merit. Congratulations.
Silver Medal
we fear the drop of every dice,
the future fate awaits.
your hands, they clench, and turn to ice
fear dominates your face
and dread, it fills up every nerve
absorbed in losing all
suspense builds up, it drains your verve
to slip and then to fall
but then the rolling stops right then
as if the clouds shall burst
you're filled to boiling point again
and so, you're reimbursed
by thisisnotanalt
I like this poem, because it has a very even, consistent rhythm throughout(unlike its competition). In addition to that, it has a tense and serious attitude to it(again, unlike its competition). All things considered, a great poem. However, you did make a few mistakes that lost it first place.
For one thing, you sometimes repeat yourself. "But then the rolling stops right then" maybe this is intentional, but I think it is a bit bad for the poem in its entirety. It wouldn't hurt to add some punctuation, would it? For example, "But then the rolling stops; right then!", so it would be shown that it goes along with the rest of the poem.
The last stanza was my favorite: but then the rolling stops right then
as if the clouds shall burst
you're filled to boiling point again
and so, you're reimbursed, despite the first line. I saw it as the anger of losing replacing the sadness of losing, and so it's not such a bad thing after all(bar brawl, anyone?). Still, maybe I'm just impressed that someone managed to put such an unwieldy word as "reimbursed" into a poem and actually have it rhyme well. xP.
One last thing, and this is just my Grammar Nazi nitpicking, "dice" is actually plural. "Die" is the singular, and should be the word used in the very first line. You could change it to "We fear the drop of all the dice" and that would be fine. But this isn't a big deal or anything.
Bronze Medal
The lady herself has cast me up,
Drinking from a poor mans cup.
I'm lost dreaming of richer times,
Living off of forsaken dimes.
The Lady of Luck, she's lost to me.
Nothing I get is blessed by life,
Nothing I get is blessed by Luck.
Feeling her presence, wherever I go,
I dreamed it away, only to come back in woe.
Masterfully drinking the poison I sing,
Bad luck, of which I am the King.
Lady Luck has come again,
Drown out my fortune, time is her reign.
I wish it would just go away.
Living on, in misfortune I fail,
Forever on, I must sail.
Laughing at my trouble, forever there,
Laughing as I live despair.
Hah! We'll see how it works.
I always win, with or without.
Luck can't stop me, no.
I'll see how I live, free of Her grasp.
I win, finally, live without Her.
by EnterOrion
Forgive me if this one is way shorter than the others, I am simply running out of time here. *glances @ watch*.
My favorite part about this poem was simply the perspective, especially the viewing of luck as a deity of sorts, unlike it being used as a thing, as in most other poems, and this is part of what made it stand out.
You could improve it by making it rhyme or not rhyme. If it's prose, that's fine, and if it's poetic, that's fine, but in this case some lines rhyme and some lines don't. You should make it consistent as opposed to random in the rhyming category. Either have it be prose or have it be poetic. To pick one and only one would improve it, in my opinion.
New Theme: Dreams
New Deadline: March 15
The Dream Theme(sorry, I couldn't resist) is very vague and broad, and it's supposed to be. It could be dreams as in ambitions, it could be dreams as in the ones you have when you're sleeping(or nightmares even), it could be a dream, meaning something you see or think you see that isn't real, etc. etc. The sky(or whatever you Dream...sorry, again) is the limit here, pretty much.
I had dreams last night
and they caused me to wake up
in a dream puddle
May I enter a previously written poem?
Rules as stated in the OP:
The poem must be created for this contest
So, that's a negatory.
Grammar Nazis or Comma-nists? Truly, the spectrum of grammatical totalitarianism might be narrower than we expect. Great job teeheegirl and alt.
Thanks Parsat!
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?
Yeah, rhyming poems aren't exactly my strength.
I thought I would try something different, so I wrote all my ideas down and I came up with my poem.
I like to make my poems filled with something like suspense or curiosity.
Oh, one more thing, is it okay to use an idea that you've used in a previous poem that you've lost and make it into a whole new poem?
I wish I knew what meter is and its actual usage. You're not alone, lol.
I can't think of a title. And I feel sorta trippy right now . . . .
Master of delusions, he is my slave,
I kill all, was there something to save?
Fire is foe and life is friend,
Limb from limb do I rend?
Dreaming up insanity, strange,
My mind will begin to slowly derange.
What is life, a bundle of sticks?
Do we dream up things just for kicks?
Questions I answer are all in my head,
I'll just lay down in bed.
Grinning in peace, I'm finally free!
Trapped on an island of floating debris.
Imprisoning my touch and embellishing sense,
For some reason my head feels dense.
Did I just hit the wall, or did I sing?
Happiness and confusion I seem to bring.
What was that noise, around the corner?
Oh, that's just the coroner.
I can dream while asleep,
Breathing so deep.
Was that a meter change?
Oh crap, I think I've got mange.
What the heck, or is it hell?
I find that word, not so swell.
Is this I dream, or eluded sight,
Struggling against mental might?
I can't see through days, or dreaded nights,
They're all filled up with futile fights.
I can't really see what must not become,
For things like that I'm mentally numb.
Is what I am, while I'm asleep?
Or is what I eat, made by a creep?
Food of thought, that's what I've become,
Giving them all a reason that's dumb.
The creatures of night are singing so sweet,
Making me feel like I'm more than meat.
Though I'm asleep, they all comfort me,
Bringing me sight where I cannot see.
Lying in darkness, is what light brings,
Making me lie like the king of kings.
What have I become, that feels cold feet,
I'm lying in a court house seat.
What was that noise, that loud ringing sound?
Have they some to bury me in a mound?
Was that acid that put me to sleep,
I guess I'll wake up to go and reap.
I have no idea where that came from . . . I have a headache . . . .
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?
Nope. Nice try, though. Now you've kind of got me confused.
Iambic means that every other syllable is stressed. Like so:
"the BOY walked DOWN the STREET". Can you tell that the all caps words are naturally stressed more? That's iambic.
Iambic quadrameter is where there are four(four, as in quad) iambic feet per line. An iambic foot is basically a pair of syllables, stressed and non-stressed. "the BOY" is an example of an iambic foot.
I think. It's been a long time since we covered poetic literature in English.
I really don't want to rhyme, so I'll make it an uberhaiku.
A man without rest
Yearning to slumber in peace
Lies awake in bed
He wishes his mind
Could escape into a world
Of his fantasies
False reality
Awaits the man in his head
But he's not yet there
His thoughts are anxious
And they keep him from sleeping
He lies there and sighs
He wishes to fall
Into the trap of the mind
That can't be escaped
And wander the fields
Of forgotten memories
And endless blank thoughts
After twelve long nights
Of fatal insomnia
The man is no more.
Congrats to teeheegirl, that was a great poem
Anyway, poem tiem. I'm hoping to get my 5th poetry merit with this one~
A man is draped in silken shadow
his mind is clouded, and shallow.
Trudging on the beach of dreams
what awaits him is a mystery.
Is it a sad sojourn with a gun,
or a comforting Night on the Sun?
he stumbles in the frigid dark,
trying to Edit the Sad Parts,
thoughts and questions, a million darts -
his murky mind pounding; a million hearts.
there isn't much more worth knowing;
he already knows Space Travel is Boring.
there isn't much worth feeling;
he's already been cut by the glass ceiling.
and so he sits there, beaten and complacent
separate from reality, the two adjacent
but not is all what it seems.
sadness assuaged, passions redeemed;
through sheer determination, the truth is gleaned.
All is twisted and changed,
when under the influence of dreams.
By the way Jonnycakes, the capitalizations are intentional. If anyone gets all the references, I will give him or her five internet cookies.
Also, the last stanza should be . . . .
All can be twisted and changed,
when under the influence of dreams.
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