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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From the context, I assume it's dam*ed? The link just leads to a page stating that "***" is not in the English language.
Yeah, you're right. Exactly that.
Midnight AG server time right?
I might try get in something to increase submissions.
Technically, yes, but since I live in PST, I'll take it if it's on time for me.
It is time for yet another antic of Gantic. I've kept you guys waiting long enough because of SIPPYCUpS (the comment merit guarantee!). See thread here.
Judging is here! We had five entries, and of the submissions, two really stood out to me. Here they are, with some brief commentary.
Maverick4
When Eden Sank to Grief
"Has man always inhabited a world like the present, where nothing is linked together, where virtue is without genius, and genius without honor; where the love of order is confounded with a taste for oppression, and the holy rites of freedom with a contempt of law; where the light thrown by conscience on human actions is dim, and where nothing seems to be any longer forbidden or allowed, honorable or shameful, false or true?"
-Alexis de Toqueville
Listen, my children. Draw closer, come near.
For a tail of tragedy you shall now hear:
A fair maiden's death in our own little town;
Blindly struck down in her wedding night gown.
I remember that night, t'was some time ago
(But its exact date even I do not know),
When the the townspeople gathered, the young and the old,
To observe ancient rituals with eyes, so bold.
At the altar, alone, stood the new groom to be.
He was handsome and bright, a grand thing to see.
Gaily he stood there, awaiting the time,
When his lover would enter, a character sublime.
And thus sang the crowd:
"Oh! Fa la la la-la, come hither! Don't dally!
There's love to be had down here in the valley!"
Then the clock stuck nine, ten, eleven, and twelve.
The people grew restless, began to inquire and delve:
Could it be? That she will leave him at the altar?
Could it be? That her resolve should now faulter?
Clambering o'er each other to get to the door,
Went the old and the young, the rich and the poor.
Down the street they then raced, straight to the father's house,
But all in the dwelling was quiet, not a soul there did grouse.
The groom sprang from their midst, for all to see,
And cried "My love, my love! Have you abandoned me?"
Then the lights came on, and the door was opened,
To reveal the father, with his soul clearly broken.
The crowd surged forward, and pressed into the 'bode,
And the tide of this human surge the groom rode
Right into the room where his dear lover lay,
Just to hear her say: "He is here! My killer, verily I say!"
Recoiling in shock all the people fled,
Leaving the young man alone with the dead.
And none were there as he sat, and weeped
For the maiden who must now eternally sleep.
And thus the crowd sang:
"Oh! La da da da-da, flee hither! Don't dally!
There's death to be seen down here in the valley!"
And the question that arose everyone's lips
Was 'Who could be the one that the evidence fit?'
The policemen were baffled, the dectectives were too,
It's quite safe to say, there was scarcely a clue.
But soon came the day, without any solace,
To put our lady away who bore the pale face.
Their she lay all exposed, enshrouded in silk,
With innocence to guard against the world's ilk..
And the people looked on, but soon looked away,
For their hearts strangely... Trembled that day.
They couldn't quite place it, couldn't quite name
Just what had happened to that fair, little dame.
Time did not quicken, it somehow slowed down,
As Heaven looked on to our small, gathered town.
But suddendly a figure then burst from the crowd:
The groom! Who with his last, dying gasp, cried a-loud:
"Libertas is dead! And we, her killers!"
And thus the belfry sang:
"Oh! Fol dol dol-doly, cling to what is holy!"
Oh! Tra la la-lally, lest you feel your folly!"
I like the steady buildup and the use of the chorus to set the pacing and the tone. The turn towards the end was particularly surprising, I felt, and reading it again per your poet's note helped me see how these things were adding up. It really is a delightful piece of satire. On a minor point, there are a few minor weird words that I felt should be fixed in future drafts: "Grouse" in particular was a bit of a sour note in the middle of your poem.
Gantic
The bells, they knell, as willow leaves fell,
The change, how strange, within autumn's range.
The pennies, so plenty, to well went some twenty,
So went he, to Jenny, less twenty as many.
The bells, they quell, the vernal bird's yell,
The range, its change, to new ears how strange.
How plenty, some twenty, from well went some pennies,
So went she, to Kenny, with twenty as many.
The bells, they tell, of winter's cold spell.
How strange the range before season's change.
Some twenty for pennies with wellness was plenty,
So went he, to Penny, some twenty as many.
The bells they knell for past summer's belle,
The change, how strange, within an ear's range.
With pennies aplenty so went she from twenty,
From Benny, from Denny, from twenty as many.
There's a hint of doggerel, a hint of drinking song, but mostly a pretty rollicking good time here. The progression of the seasons and the repetitions are well rendered, although for the sake of song the meaning is obscured. Overall though, the double meanings and versatile rhymes of the bells/belles make this a bright piece to read.
Who, then, is the victor? In the end, I felt that Maverick4's piece, while not as technically clean as Gantic's, really showed a good deal of thought behind how to successfully manipulate the elements of poetry to convey his theme. Therefore, Maverick4 is our merit winner for this contest!
Our next theme may require a little more...research to write: Write a poem about a flash game here on Armor Games! It can be any game here, from Sonny to Sushi Cat, from The Last Stand to Vorago. So go out, play some games, and get inspired! The deadline will be Saturday, December 1. Have at it!
Maverick4 is our merit winner for this contest!
Don't think merits are back yet, officially.
This theme looks like it could be fun.
I should definitely get something in for this one, my mind kind of stumped when I went to write something for this theme.
Don't think merits are back yet, officially.
And I won last week, so Gantic is really the winner. So congratulations Gantic!
Time to go play my favorited artsy-fartsy games again. Woo!
Just checked, and I've won the past three rounds. So I'm officially confused.
Past two...sorry, that was an oversight of mine. You won the haibun one. I suppose I'm going to have to have better documentation...
Flash Game I chose for my poem was ImmorTall, a poignant walk in the life of an alien caught in the midst of humanity.
[I]Leading is lonely
when you make
the wrong decisions. [/i]
Sums up my thoughts on it all.
Hello all,
So basically, we only have one submission from these past two weeks. Standard protocol is to offer an extension, but from experience I doubt more submissions will come. Therefore, I will close this round with no winner and start the next.
The next poetry contest theme, in honor of my new plush from AG, will be Elephants, due December 15.
Trumping
Around the world and back again,
We'll march until we reach the end.
By trumping trumping trumping
Trumping trumping trumping 'round.
Our feet we'll stamp into the ground,
But purpose here can taint be found.
Just trumping trumping trumping
Trumling trumping 'round!
Thread is locked!