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!
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I think I'll stick to Poe's cocaine and Eliot's...well plausible insanity
Some violence can do the trick too; wasted and bruised, just like that good old Bukowski.
"Mine is the heart that will break ten thousand times for the good of the world"-Tyler Kent
An End of Sorts
Dare I question? I question
These questions of questions?
And that all good things come to an end.
And should they end?
Why do they end?
These good things that we cherish so, yet never measure.
But, claim that measure is the measure of measure
And never should these good things be subjected so.
Yet, how do they end?
Do the grow sick and old?
Rotting as if a mere piece of overripe fruit.
Maggots squirming through the cavities of them.
And these are what we once called good times.
There were times of sorrow
And times of joy.
Times of times, and half times and no times.
A time to know and time to be known.
And here, here among the halls of memory
Of peace and prosperity
Where dark things never crawl or creep, slither or slime.
And these we call good times.
We were friends, you and I.
As I paced the halls of thoughts unknown, lies and deceit were my trade.
And you, a sweetness of memory, worried in ways and ways
Ways of known and unknown. Such a Paragon
I have never known.
And compared to I,
I the crippled crawling thing. The one
That sleeps among the shadows as blackening fogs
Creep among the brickyards of the mind.
My mind.
and these we call good times.
And we came to a crossroads
So many times.
And we had chances to take our chances
With chance for chance and at a chance.
We took chances with each other
And continued onward. Down the road we had been walking
Down to the sea of our own making.
And should we ever come to a waking
And wake from this dream we have dreamed.
Where the day is measures by pacing feet
We have come to our last crossroad,
Or so it seems.
And here I know
To the sea I shall not go.
And these roads have ended.
These winding wayward streets that never mended a single soul,
They have ended.
Ended. Ended. Ended. Such a bitter end.
And not the ending I would have had.
No ending I would have had, had I had the way I had planned.
No ending of this you and me
And together we would sit by the sea.
A sea of waking dreams.
A sea of our own making.
And here I know
To the sea I shall not go.
Here is our end. My sweetest of friends.
My true listener of hearts. One of love I bear this hard.
And you would have me spent,
Wasted away and left to wait
Upon the sands of the beach where no waves flow.
A desert bereft of hope.
And should this, this fate for me be the thing you wish
Then let is be so.
And to the sea I shall never go.
I shall grant you any wish
Should it be within myself to give.
And if you wish to send me away
I'll never trouble you again. Not today nor ever.
But I would have you know,
I am sorry. Sorry that I have little left to give
And have given you so little in the end.
And let the punishment fit the crime
I have burned you, scarred you and harmed you, for the last time.
I would have you know,
I do apologize.
And here I know
To the sea I shall not go.
And here, now as I stand beside the cliffs
I can hear the waves call me.
And I reflect on these twisted rotted thing
The things we call good times.
And of friendships then and now.
And here, here sit the waves.
And I shall never know,
For to the sea I shall not go.
Sun so high
Ground so dry
water so wet
must i forget
The buety of nature
(sorry for the spelling)
By Levi Hukuro
Where there is life
There is death.
Where there is doom
There is hope.
Where there is hate
There is love.
It holds us together,
As much as it tears us apart
It cuts us away from each other,
While taping us all back in place.
Such contradictions
We will never understand
And to live through them
Is something that can't be planned
What do you choose?
Love, Hope, and Life?
Or Death, Doom, and Strife?
It isn't up to the world,
It is up to you.
What will you do?
______
It feels.... incomplete. and rushed. But I just really wanted to contribute to the Poetry contest again.
Please state your quote and its source when you submit, please.
>,>
It's my quote.
Where there is life
There is death.
Where there is doom
There is hope.
Where there is hate
There is love.
I'm sure someone out there has made a quote similar to this. But, as far as I know, It's mine. So. Yeah. :P
I'LL NEVER JOIN YOU!
you killed my father...
No, Luke... I AM YOUR FATHER!!!
NOOOOOO,nooooo....nooooo....
no....
You are my father, what shall i do?
I really really don't want to kill you!
Ditch the emperor, and join the jedi knights!
We get pulled into lots and lots of fights!
But if you must keep to your evil ways,
You're about to see the end of your days!
"The opposite of love is not hate
It's indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness
It's indifference.
The opposite of faith is not heresy
It's indifference.
And the opposite of life is not death
It's indifference." -Elie Wiesel.
You feel naught inside, so cold and devoid
of emotion, a fact you can't avoid.
Indifference is all you can feel now.
Emotionless, you'll never break or bow.
The opposite of love is not hatred;
it's indifference to your heart, the sacred
feelings that course forever through our veins.
You cannot feel it, not fear, love, nor pain.
The inverse of art isn't ugliness;
it's indifference to all, the veiled blindness
that you try to hide, but it's clear to see.
You see nothing, not plainness or beauty.
The counter of faith isn't heresy;
it's indifference to the divinity.
Whether it's there or not, you look away.
Fearing what you could find, naive you stay.
And the opposite of life is not death;
it's indifference, while you take your last breath
or while you open your eyes the first time.
Indifference: not living though you're alive.
I debated whether or not I should post this one, actually.
"Be the change you want to see in the world"
~Mahatma Ghandi
Life does not spring from death
Freedom is not a force that breaks chains
Love will not erupt from hate
Power does not flow from weakness
You must make your life what it is
be it happy or sad
slow or fast
light or burdened
You must have willpower
to fight against what you do not want
life does not happen, before your eyes
while you watch
and be lazy
sitting on a couch
eating Doritos
Yes, you may watch television
and see what you think is life
but you will never be exhilarated
sitting down
You need to be the one
standing at the edge of the cliff
trying to keep your balance
while someone is pushing you down
You need to be the one
rushing down the slope
in makeshift skis
trying to get away from your captors
No house will rise
from the rubble
if no one works to build it
you will not eat
if no food comes to your mouth
What you want will not happen
if you do not make it so.
Hey! A new face, and a fantastic poem to boot. A little arcahic and the flow could be better in places, mainly the transition between stanza's but it's pretty good.
Thanks, Wolf! You made my day! You're the best!
Firstly, why am I being thanked? Secondly I did? and lastly I am? Thanks!
Firstly, why am I being thanked? Secondly I did? and lastly I am? Thanks!
See No. 2 and post before the post which you quoted from. Said quote is above.
Yes, you did.
Depends on what I'm judging you against. Compared with others who have responded to my posts, yes.
"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."
~Douglas Adams~
Copious stimuli.
A fevered fervour,
scribbles lining the thoughts of retirement.
Searching reiterated, clarity is borne.
The singular explains extensive.
Morality, duality, salinity, the subject,
romantic dreams of the tired poet.
Outdone posthumously.
Thread is locked!