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!
Considering the fact that I am too late to join for this theme, I'd love to know the new theme soon to see if I can work on something before the next deadline.
Posted at 10:32pm on 2/23/2011 I'll say this officially, I suppose. If I happen to be absent for poetry judging for over 3 days, I'm assigning you to judge for me and choose the next theme, since you've done an admirable job before.
This was posted on my profile. That being said it has been over 3 days and I will begin the judging. Results will posted no later than Friday night.
The young boy stands alone on the porch With teary eyes he smears the land Barren as if scamped by a torch An unyielding soil for a trifling demand And the grass grows green elsewhere But the little man just don't care
Spade in hand and hope in mind He turns the earth to which we owe Day and night he toils to grind The harsh ground so that he can sow Seeds of life and seeds of hope Seeds to push away the rope
As time flies a man blooms from the child Thinned from many unfruitful harvests But still he cares for the savage and wild Piece of earth that reaps his assets And though grass grows green elsewhere How could the tall man ever care
But comes a day when his backbone aches And his hands and feets and his resolves Are as thin and fragile as glass flakes A once strong soma reluctantly exolves For years of labor gone to waste And a damp and dusty aftertaste
On the brink of mortal existence The lone hermit finaly looked abroad And slowly crossed the large fence Walking hurriedly on the vivid road To a plain of strong and thriving grass where he laid down and rested his mass
Arched and broken the prideful son Slipped into a peaceful death For giving life was the work of an eon A work to take one man's last breath Melting in the desired greenery A perfect way to quench the envy
Noticed a small typing mistake that really changed the way things flowed so I took the opportunity to work a little on my ending at the same time. This is the official entry to judge; only the two last lines and a change from ''a'' to ''of'' has been made.
This poem reminds me somewhat of my own personal experiences in life in regards to having voice, though I admit it is not to sing. The poem is simple and straight forward and it gives far more depth to the poem than what first appears on the surface. The fact that this poem can be related in theme to almost anyone reading it is what makes this poem a good piece of work.
2nd: Fallen Sky
The metaphors and imagery used in the poem are outstanding. I enjoyed the fact that you were able to relate the growth of the boy to the seeds that he had sown. At the same time, near the end, I catch an almost cynical undertone about the futility and pointlessness of life. Well done.
1st and Merit: EnterOrion
I'm going to be honest, this was a close call, however what won me over was the jarring flow of the poem and the simple, yet effective imagery. The brutality is anything but humorous, though maybe I missed something, however it is well written and even if it is mildly cliche it makes no difference as to the fact it is well done.
**I apologize for the short comments I have been very busy lately and am leaving on a trip to Cuba.
That's pretty awkward of me too make, but I guess it's good to somehow derogate from the regular style. I fairly think it's one of my best poem ever, any comments are welcome.
Watcher
A chill on a mirror A spark in a paper Brazen, tempting terror You can't, won't deny her
Her skin, it will entice Like bright and charming fire; A slick, fatal mantis With a lustful attire
However hard she shoves You wait and bite you cheek Not matter where she roves You try, you cry, you're meek
But comes a time for her When high becomes as dry She falls, torn asunder What's left for her to try?
If not to lose her life; Escape the debts, the shame You gave to her the knife In which you saw the blame
You could not help but stare Like always you did then Powerless yet aware Of her, brash and beaten
Leaking on the carpet; Losing the resolve that Once shimmered like sunset She is no more so what?
You watched, and watched, and watched Until her very end Alas never you tried; Too many scars to mend
Voila! It's hard for me to follow precise metric structure, but I think it came up pretty good.
Okay!!! Lets give this a shot! (not that i have a chance anyways) witness now lets see....
The pain The scream The cruel act of murder The bodie lays Just beyond the entry door.
The blade The clash The pray to thy god Please do not kill me Just beyond the entry door.
The knife The wound The cool feel of metel I lay here helpless Just beyond the entry door.
The crime The sorrow The men find me now Laying here dead Just beyond the entry door.
The knowledge The truth The young lady who knows Just the reason I lay here Just beyond the entry door. _______________________________
As you can see, this is about a murder and a young lady sees it but decides not to tell... Not sure were i got the insperation for this. I like it though. Reminds me of the poem "The Raven"
When you think of a witness, you usually think of someone who's witnessed a crime. Well, I wrote a poem were the witnessing was the crime. Sort of. Anyways, here it is.
Peekaboo, I see you. Everything you do, it's true. But little me, you cannot see, Where could I be? Mystery!
I watch you sleep, so very deep, Until the clock goes beep. You look to the sky with tired eyes, A heavy sigh as you arise. So nice.
As you get dressed, I feel blessed, So glad to be your hidden guest. As you leave, you leave me behind, One thought in my mind; I wonder what I'll find!
iMogwai, is your poem based on someone who's dead but still watching everyday life upon this man? Almost, like she's a ghost. Or, did I just read it completely wrong?
