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!
The music coming out fiercely, out of the tiny instrument, nobody knows what it is, but they sure love. The little girl shaking like a chihuahua,but, amazingly her notes come out perfectly in tune. Whenever she plays your head is resting on your left hand. I want to cry when I see she is done, but when she takes a bow we notice what the sound was coming from... a spoon and a bottle of rum!
This........uh.............my first poem in a long time, like since middle school! maybe HS. I would come up with poems that would get stuck in my head. Just had to get that brain cranking.
The pitter patter of rain on the house Combined with the squeaks of a mouse Make a beautiful sound As I lie hear on the ground
The melody picks me up off my feet And I start dancing to the beat I slowly begin to realize what music is about It is without a doubt The love of it day in and day out
Is this too short? I could make it longer if I need too.
This was all really spontaneous, so I might come back to change it...probably not though....
Also, there is no title because I am not good at titles.
It's almost too simple To set it all in motion. The push of a button, Unfurling the tangled headphones, Or the click of a laptop As the DJ warms up his playlist.
It doesn't take much to be overcome, For music is a drug Stronger than any other.
The beat resounds with my heart, Thrumming. I can feel the vibrations through the floor, And I wonder if it is only me, Only me that is swept away by the pulsing flood.
The bass and melody, They are my bones and muscles, And they pull me to and fro, Free from my conscious constraint, Free from my overbearing mind. There is no need to think with structure; The music has its own rhythm to keep, And it cares little for petty thoughts.
The voice, the melody, I find become my own, And it becomes raw with passion. If there are no words to be sung It does not matter, For even a violin's singular song Has a meaning.
Even my very principles Cannot be weighted down, For who can immerse themselves in music And not find themselves breathing in time, Breathing with the musician Who poured himself into creating his song?
But paradise is always temporary. As the tide ebbs and weakens, I am forced back to dry land.
Anxiety courses through their veins As each holds an instrument in hand On cue, as one, they sit At rapt attention for their director.
He raises the baton And the instruments fly up To their play position Aching to begin to play.
And then, he cues the start And the bass drum rings out a note Followed by the low mellow voice Of a bass clarinet.
The flutes strike up a sweet, silken melody And they play deftly at an andante. The instruments quiet for just a breath And then, they're thrown into chaos.
Beautiful chaos.
Amateur musicians, They no longer are As the clarinets and saxophones play Background to the melody held by flute and trumpet.
The song suddenly cuts off There's a moment of silence And a clarinet strikes up One quiet, forlorn note.
Then all you can hear Is an invisible echo Ringing eerily, beautifully Through the hall.
The crowd comes to their feet, Along with the band Still at rapt, nervous attention As the hall silences.
And then comes the applause, Music in itself And the band takes a bow.
