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!
Judging coming soon. I'm finally out of school and done with finals, relatives, etc. I'll probably be able to get the judging in before my nasal CT on Monday - if not, I'll do the judging Monday night.
BOOM The shell hits nearby BOOM Dirt is sprayed, into the sky. BOOM I peek over the mound of soil BOOM A bullet pierces my chest. BOOM I feel the torrent of blood boom The noise go's away, as i fade into death...
never been good at poetry... lol idk wat other trenches there are....?
Finally getting judging done! Anyway, I'm just doing the top three this time, sorry.
3rd place, with a short and depresso oem . . . Graham!
Here is my flow. My long-nosed pen. Creating sublimity; Painting new faces. Empyreumatic odors never smelled so sweet.
As I finish my masterpiece, My heart is broken. I fall backwards unseeing my art. Drowning in the blood of my friend.
I like the feel of this poem - the melancholia is nice. The almost baroqueness to the vocabulary gave it a good flavor. I do keep reading the 3rd line in stanza 2 with a comma between 'backwards' and 'unseeing' in it though . . . so that I would recommend. But really, good job.
2nd place, her usual cute happinesss coming through in a different manner . . . Teeheegirl!
If I were to Die
If I got shot by a gun, Skeleton legs to weak to run Shant it take very long A force through my heart so strong The merciless one note song
Poisoned through clouds of gas Lives shattered as though panes of glass One breath's all it takes Your lungs, it bakes And your soul, death then takes
Maybe I'll get blown by a grenade They'll say "What an explosion it made!" "In the air it flied... His trench it landed beside... And was filled with smoke inside."
In the cold I could tire, Then freeze with no fire 'Cause deep in the night There are snipers out of sight Guns locked onto light
Even thinking of these ways My fear does not stay 'Cause even if I die, My final act goodbye, Would be a peaceful sigh.
This is interesting in that it creates a almost storybook mystique about trench warfare, which is an interesting contrast. The flow of the poem is thrown a bit every now and then(I'd say the third line of the first stanza is just a liiitle short)but all-in-all, the poem is well put-together and has an off-the-wall ring to it which I appreciate.
And first place, coming out of the blue with a rfhythmic spell, we haaaave . . . whimsyboy!
Trench Parade
Running, Through the muck and the myre, Tripping On the bodies and wire. Falling, Off blood-slippery cliffs, You scream and you dodge Those crippling hits.
Finding Your friend's gory limbs, Praying And singing your hymns Hiding, Under corpse's shade, While they run in the Trench Parade.
Looking At the gray dreary cloud. Thinking You're breathing just too loud. Screaming, As they find you there, Stabbing, Shooting, Your skin they tear.
Dragging, Back through muck and myre, Moaning, You're chained to the tires. Dieing, Blood streams down your neck, No going home, No rain check.
This is a very good, very intense poem. I can visualise it as a death metal song to a point. The rhythm of this poem is precise, being consistently off-kilter to add to the sense of uncertainty projected throughout. All through the poem, the rhythm doesn't mess up at all, and that combined with the good rhyming and the tension of the poem makes it a winner. Go get your merit.
A'ight, new theme, new deadline!
Theme: Mountains
deadline: friday, June 19(or something like that >_> 2010
Where the sky reaches the land Higher and higher Touch God's hand An overwhelming desire To reach the peak At peace with the life No more answers to seek No more strife For me Just live And be free.
Fun stuff poetry. I like this theme. Had fun writing this.
Where the ground reaches up straining to breath under the harsh snow Where the dirt, and soil gently touch the air Where there is nothing between them but pure calmness Mountains high and mountains low no matter where they are I will always find them we cannot survive on them yet we cannot survive without them white-tipped elegant and beautiful the white snow reflects the clouds the people on the ground stare at them in amazement calm and serene people challenge themselves to conquer these sculptures of nature a perfect triangle mountains
Amid all this wonder I am but the lonely traveller. A walker of twisting paths that lead ever on. Past the roof of the world Where there are no clouds To hide me from the eyes of the sun. Where the wind bites me, And strips me to the barest parts of me. Where snow ever gleams Like pure diamonds. And far off you can here the silence. You can here the silence And it is here that I climb, To escpae. Here, to the roof of the world.
Mountains are silent sentinels, Guarding the land, watching it, They are conquered only by time, Their heads are held high, Beyond the clouds where the angels play, Their lofty peaks are covered in snow, They are both beautiful and wonderful, Those who attempt to climb them often die, They can be bombs ready to go off, Filled with magma that yearns to become lava, Their tops explode and ash is sent into the air, The lava destroys old life, Only to allow new life to take over.
