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  1. Banzai
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    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

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    Weekly Poetry Contest (217) - Writing a Poem

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Dec 3, 2012.

    Weekly
    Poetry Contest
    Two Hundred and Seventeen




    Sometimes I think about how long these contests have been running, and I feel pretty damn impressed.

    The Rules
    • All entries must be on the set theme.
    • Only one entry per member.
    • No editing of entries once posted without my express permission (i.e. PM me and ask).
    • Poems must be titled
    • Entries must not have previously posted on the forums, and are not permitted to be posted for critique until AFTER the contest is completed.
    • Any violation of these rules will result in disqualification of entries, and possibly infraction.


    The entry stage will be open for seven days, closing on Monday 10th December 2012.

    The voting stage will begin immediately, and will be open for three days, ending on Thursday 13th December 2012.

    And this week's theme is: (courtesy of Timewalker) Writing a Poem


    The next (218th) contest's theme will be (courtesy of Darkkin): Wall Art, and it will be opened on Monday 10th December 2012.


    Be imaginative, have fun, and get writing.


    Banzai


    PS: If you have any questions, please feel free to PM me. I don't bite (much).
     
  2. Sword
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    Sword Member

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    Poems
    Hard to write well
    The words don't fit together
    Definitions slip from my mind
    Poems
     
  3. Darkkin
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    Darkkin Reflection of a nobody Contributor

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    Location:
    Following the footprints in the sand...
    The Way

    The Way...

    Know the words.
    Know the way.
    A story in verse.
    An imagination's say.

    Torrent of words.
    Patterns astray.
    Emotions on high...
    Hoping and dreaming for...
    That pie in the sky.

    Concise way...
    Right way...
    Wrong side told...
    Line upon line...
    This verse is getting old.
     
  4. turquoisia
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    turquoisia New Member

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    Location:
    Sydney, Australia
    A Poem Gradually Forming

    Pen to paper.
    Pause.

    Scribble on paper.
    Quickly cross out.
    Pause.

    Hesitant words,
    moments of relapse
    as more words and scribbles
    trickle onto the page.

    Scribble on paper.
    Quickly cross out.
    Pause.

    Pen from paper.
    Pause.
     
  5. sidtvicious
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    sidtvicious Contributing Member Contributor

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    Location:
    Inferno, office 752. Take a right turn at the wat
    Frustration: A Sestina about Poetry

    Read the works of Shakespeare, immortal Scribe.
    My god, you think, how can I compete with that?
    With a hesitant quiver, your pen produces a word
    so soft, subtle, impassioned, you think—Stop!
    Scratch that. Ink pools your paper—Rewrite!
    With glory you scribble the perfect word: how.

    Energy depleting, you glare at your work: “how
    now, brown cow.” Is it worthy? Worthy of the scribe?
    Rhythm: bow, wow, sow? Damn, no,no, NO! Rewrite.
    Diphthongs mean nothing! Must try again! That
    rounded vowel cheated you! Again! “how.” STOP.
    Conjuring again, tearing at air for a thought—a word.

    And then, it hits you like a semi, the perfect word.
    A means of definiteness that made you forget just how
    to pinpoint its ideal placement. “a.” Stop.
    This article fails. More definite. You scribe:
    “the” upon the page, and smile with lips that
    cringe at your words:“how the.” You sigh. Rewrite!

    You fall into woe, towards a destined rewrite.
    Alas, hope again! Your mind regurgitates a work
    An ideal spouse for a perfect meter, that.
    Pen shaking, you write it, and read: “how
    the chicken.” Oh yes! You rejoice. You are a scribe.
    Add repetition, writing it again. A couplet. Stop!

    Perhaps an insertion? An adjective? Stop!
    No, no, no. A verb. Runs. Chases. Jumps. REWRITE!
    Something more unique, a past-tense verb. Scribe
    it across parchment, and stare at the syllables, the word:
    “crossed.” You inhale and read one more time “how
    the chicken crossed” Did you really write that?

    Yes, indeed! You did write that
    transcendent line. You're on a roll now, alas...Stop!
    Another perilous block, a block of rereading “how
    the chicken crossed” Forget it! Damn! Rewrite!
    “how did the chicken crossed” NO! Change the last word.
    Complete...”how did the chicken cross the”, so close you scribe.

    You can't find that perfect line; rewrite.
    Irritated you stop, just one more word!
    Finally, you grab your scribe and begin to rewrite “how..
     
  6. nomadpenguin
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    nomadpenguin Member

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    A Sonnet

    I always wanted to write a sonnet,
    the kind with perfect pentameter lines
    about being doomed to forever pine
    for some antique ideal in a bonnet.

    But I never learned how to write in rhymes,
    inevitably come words like “bonnet”.
    I never learned how to properly write in meter
    either.

    Why write a sonnet then?
    For the sestet, where all the
    problems one could have disappear.

    How beautiful the world would be if
    six neatly rhymes lines were all it took
    to make you smile and take my hand.
     
  7. -oz
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    -oz Active Member

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    Location:
    The Great Sandy Waste
    Repose

    I sit up and fail to compose
    I lay down, unable to doze
    My brain needs to vent
    Or charge my thoughts some rent
    So I write this dumb piece as repose.
     
  8. Timewalker
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    Timewalker Member

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    I Conclude With A Sigh

    Metaphors fill my life,
    Rhyme stops my heart.
    With meter I have a strife.
    A poem, how should it start?

    Syllables, an extra there,
    Words, a cluster here.
    Punctuation, which will go where?
    All of these are yet not clear.

    My hands get to work,
    Letters fly around in the page.
    My poem will have a cirque,
    And living in there a sage.

    I conclude with a sigh,
    And pat myself on the back.
    It's not too high,
    But a poem I now do not lack.
     
  9. Snyder80
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    Snyder80 Member

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    Poetic Futility

    Complicate the simple,
    Simplify the complex.
    Why am I writing this?
    I should be having sex.

    But I lay awake in bed,
    While she lays asleep.
    My mind is buffering,
    I should just count sheep.

    I cross out the mistakes,
    And then write some more.
    I stare at my hand and scream:
    WRITE SOMETHING GOOD YOU FILTHY WHORE!
     
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