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!
I wrote a great one a while back that I just found, and I just wanted to make sure it would be OK if I wrote more about one specific "battle" than a journey. I figured yeah, but necromancer put all that emphasis on it and stuff.
It was the night before Christmas He lived all alone In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone I had come down the chimney with presents to give And to see just who in this home did live
I looked all about a strange site did i see No tinsel no presents not even a tree No stckings by the mantle just boots filled with sand On the wall hung pictures of far distand lands With medals and badges awards of all kinds A sober thought came through my mind
For this house was different it was dark and dreary I found the home of a soldier once i could see clearly The soldier lay sleeping silent alone Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home
The face was so gentle the room in disorder Not how i pictured a lone British soldier Was this the hero of whom id just read Curled up on a poncho The floor for a bed
I realised the familys that i saw this night Owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight Soon around the world chuldren would play And grown ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day
They all enjoy freedom each month of the year Because of the soldiers like the one lying here I couldnt help wonder how many alone On a cold Christmans Eve in a land far from home
The very thought brought a tear to my eye I dropped to my knees and started to cry The soldier awakened and i heard a rough voice ''Santa dont cry this life is my choice I fight for freedom i dont ask for more My life is my God,My country,My corps''
The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep I couldnt control it I continued to weep
I kept watch for hours so silent and still And we both sat shivered from the cold nights chill I didnt want to leve on that cold dark night The gaurdian of honour so willing to fight
Then the soldier rolled over with a voice soft and pure Whispered ''carry on Santa its Christmas day all is secure'' One look at my watch and i knew he was right ''Merry Christmas my friend and to all a good night''
Thank you for reading. I would like to dedicate that poem to my beloved friend David Marsh. We always think of you.
Sorry RoyalMarine, but one of the rules as stated on the first page is that you must write the poem. Posting this one as your own is plagiarism. I found it a few places, and the author was a Marine stationed in Okinawa, Japan. Here is where I got that information.
I wrote a great one a while back that I just found, and I just wanted to make sure it would be OK if I wrote more about one specific "battle" than a journey. I figured yeah, but necromancer put all that emphasis on it and stuff.
You can submit any poem that tells an epic story, with yourself as the main character (this is fairly lenient, as well). As long as you write it *for* the contest (or severely revise an old poem) it should be fine.
The king slept in his beautiful bed, While I the serf, was dumped for dead. The king ate feasts of fresh meat, I dined on only ants, and moldy puffed wheat. The king was carried wherever he wanted to go, While I had miles to travel, or food I must forgo. The king was draped in success and honour, While I was forced to labour.
I decided, that's enough! And decided it was time to get rough. I ran all the way to my ugly home, And picked up a rather large stone. I started carving it into a sword, With tool I could barely afford.
Month by month passed slowly, I had not yet finished my lowly project. Then one victorious day, I finished my sword, and began to pray.
I plotted what I would do, I would rampage the foul crew. Rampage into the king's castle, That might give him a huge hassle.
I walked for many miles and nights, Precariously I walked, through the night. Then one dangerous day, I arrived, On the power of my stone sword, I thrived.
I attacked the first guard, he was no match for my sword and me. I pulled down the drawbridge, and entered the castle, and saw many fridges! I asked, what are those fridges for? A knight replied, those are really doors.
I cackled, and ran through a door. I found the king, staring at the floor. I cried with laughter, and yelled at the king, Why do you live in luxury, and I have to make string?
He shouted, Guards, take him away! My stone sword, was no match for the knights at bay. I fought a hard battle, defending my courage, But I knew I had to run, I knew it would discourage. They stabbed me in the chest, I must confess, It was the hardest battle, I was in distress.
There I lie, on the cold stone floor, I was dragged out, out to shore. As I lay on the sand looking at the sky, I died.
What is the price you pay? To be the hero of the day?
You proudly walk down the street Head held high for all to see. You are the hero of the town You are given glory and gifts.
But at what price. You heart and mind forever scared By the memories you now harbor.
Asleep you fall on a bed, worth for a king But the comfort that it brings is long away. As your mind brings you back to that fateful day.
The cold pricing your armor as you walk Through the empty streets of a empty town. A dark figure flyâs past, you dash to fallow Your heart is racing at the excitement.
You draw your sword as he draws his. The clang of steal echoes loudly in your ears. The criminal now in your hands.
The voices around you, tell you to Bring him to justice and in a moment Of weakness you doâ¦
The cry or pain now burnt into you head. Your pride now turning to shame. The color of death now forever stains your mind.
You wake with a frightâ¦
A hero, a knight, and a savior they say But nothing could be farther from the truth.
I hang my head in sorrow, tears falling One by one youâre so called hero, crying. But tears will not erase what I have done the errors of a sinful son.
The price I paid for glory and fame. Is to be for ever trapped in a Prison of sorrow and pain.
By, Adrecka
Hope you like it, its a sorta different perspective on a hero....
A cry for help reached the man's ears, And listened for something else to hear, After a crumble and a crash and another wail, Is where we shall begin this specific tale. With not a second to lose, the man put on his suit, Of silver and jade, as well as matching boots. He coifed his hair, and he was set, After spraying on some eau de toilette. He dashed out the house, and took a sharp right, And rushed to the people that were in fright. He gazed up and saw the burning building, And decided it was time to do his thing. The man ran to the scene and announced his presence, Wishing for applause, but noticed its absence. The people did not clap, or shout, "Hooray!" Because the firemen had already saved the day. The so-called superhero felt sad, and decided to pout, Because his time to be famous had run out. He sulked along the streets, feeling quite blue, And saw a boy, very much older than two, Walk into a facility labeled, "Soup Kitchen." The man stopped and smelled an aroma of chicken, And, on a whim, decided to proceed, And thought he could do a good deed. Once inside, he saw the boy again, Handing out meals to people aging from eighty-five to ten. It then dawned on the man that you don't need any suits, Perfect hair, nice cologne, or colorful boots, To be a hero to people who are need. The man learned to do good for others, and not for greed.
Okay, I have absolutely no idea... This poem sort of just wrote itself, so I REALLY don't know if it's worth anything... No real rhythm, no rhymes... It just is.
Once again, returning home Once again, my body wrecked Let me tell you the tale, my dear Of the Bridge of Peace that failed its purpose
There were two kingdoms, mighty as can be On either side of a mighty canyon And each were ruled by a mighty king Each of their mights based on tyranny
The people of each of the lands Were nothing to the Kings, but food Food for the dragons the soldiers rode Food for the war they kept ongoing
The great canyon between the kingdoms Was were every body got thrown Each slain dragon as well as its rider And every pawn slain for the dragon
The war between them had continued Through forty-seven generations And now the Divines had had enough So they called on me once again
I went to the world of the two kingdoms I built bridge between the halves Hoping the two people would rise together Causing a riot, making the kingdoms fall
I was a fool, was I not, my dear? Thinking the slaves could work together thus... Instead the riders and guards gained a new battleground And my beautiful bridge was painted crimson
I roared my anger to their world Despite knowing the Divines would punish me As you know, I may not interact directly Only use the sky and ground to guide
I threw myself into the battle Killing more than would have died The kings were astonished, and so was the crowd No such creature as me had been seen before
But slaying the armies and slaying the kings... What good did this do? Yes, the war was ended Yes, the pawns were no longer mere fodder
But the red bridge, build to be a Bridge of Peace Will forever be known in their land as the Bridge of Death And no person dare cross it None of the pawns will set foot on it
So neither of the kingdoms exists anymore But for what good were they destroyed? One fear was merely replaced by another And I was tortured for my error
A century has passed since then, my dear I return now from the chambers of pain To find you gone, your life expired Why did the Divines chose a fool to do their biding...
