Iron Poet IX

[Rutskarn]

Okay, guys, I lost my progress when my computer tanked--it was a good poem, too, so I'm pretty pissed about it. Oh, well, I'll try to rewrite it today.

[Arti3]

Valorous Battle at the Library of the Monks of the Golden Lady
Prompt: Unspoken

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Long hours studying,
The temperature rising
Not unlike the
Approaching zenith.

The Golden Lady
Who gives these monks
Their power.
It is almost time.

Two acolytes,
Young hopefuls,
Stand facing each other.
Each emotion is hidden.

And yet these
Unspoken words ring
Like a hammer
On an anvil.

Each grips their desk
And dips
Their brush in the
Liquid color.

The ancient mechanisms
Start turning and the grand
Clock marking the hours
Strikes noon.

BWONG.
The sifu nods
Almost imperceptible to anyone else
The two challengers
Put brush to parchment.
BWONG.
Strokes scream as
The brushes run rampant.
Wars rise, and peace
Flourishes on these pages.
BWONG.
Spectators gather,
As the seconds fly by.
In awe they gaze
And eyes full of rapture.
BWONG.
Ink stains both.
Face, robe, and
Puddles around the
Sandals of these two gladiators.
BWONG.
Sweat gathers on brows,
Relief costs valuable time.
The eyes of the sifu shift
Constantly, as blurry as the strokes.
BWONG.
Halfway there,
But still half to go,
It could go either way.
Odds fly, much like the ink.
BWONG.
On ones, the waves,
The fires and forests.
Airs and currents.
Metal, life and death.
BWONG.
The others wields emotion,
Love, hate,
Sorrow, jubilation,
Revenge and forgiveness.
BWONG.
A universal drawn breath-
This is where the magic happens.
The pads are now glowing,
Brilliant sunlight.
BWONG.
Those around the first feel
Icy winds and water,
Hot iron and fire.
Some feel life, and others, death.
BWONG.
And the other has colors:
The oranges of passion,
Blues of melancholy,
And the greens of cheer.
BWONG.
The brushes fall,
No possible way to continue.
The pieces are done
And a winner must be chosen.

All around the first,
Monks wear icicles
And singed cloth,
Some are cured of their ailments.

The other, a carnival
Of the emotional kind.
Three brothers crying, two fighting,
And one has both joy and revenge.

Some monks groan
And get their gold out.
Others are smiling,
Happy at their venture.

The Master of the Temple,
The Monastery of the Sun,
Closes his eyes,
And remembers battles past.

Nodding again, the sifu rolls the scrolls
Putting them on a shelf.
The sunlight shines brighter
On one of the two.

All can see,
The unspoken winner,
Clear champion,
Of the Shining Goddess.

[The Extinguisher]

Okay, poem time!
Just in case I can't post it tomorrow or Saturday.

Prompt: Aligned

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Prison Bars

seven cars
have passed so far
zero cars
have stopped to help
the midafternoon sun casting shadows from the cables
form a prison on the concrete
keeping me from escape

another car drives passed
not even banging on the bars of my cells
just walking by
dead man standing

I watch the sun move across the sky
I watch the prison bars bend and break
It's my time.
Am I afraid to hit the water?
Afraid to disappear, like the walls of my cell? To be free?

The sun sets,
the day is over.
tomorrow my prison walls will be restored
maybe i will be free from them tomorrow?

[Fifty-Eyed Fred]

The time is right, I think, to post mine. Yay!

Prompt: Unspoken

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We speak, yet words cannot take root,
As empty sound rebounds, like balls
That ricochet off barren walls
And make no mark upon the paint,
But once our hands of soft clay yield,
And touch, and mould together so
As to make two halves one great flow
Of body, and beyond that, soul,
Can we at last spread roots throughout
The fertile soil of our true selves
And find at last those secret shelves
Filled with the tomes that chronicle
Our lives, the writing of the soul,
Beneath the cover of those words
We shot about in bullet herds
Which never reached their targets, for
The story of the soul entrenched
Deep underground, beneath the skin,
The poetry of our lives within,
Shall always go unspoken.

A note from me:

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This poem should speak for itself really. I had a nice time writing it, so I hope you've had a nice time reading it.

[Puppychowguy]

Here I go...

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The Midnight Traveller
With flame-thrower lips
Whispers to the moon the secrets of the night
Panoramic views of creatures of the night
Shooting up in alleyways, every single night

The Midnight Traveller
in a copacetic daze
Wanders close to the streetlights, fighting off the
glare
A thousand worn out seasons
Stretched across a thousand everywheres

The Midnight Traveller
Along with the illegal street racer
Stretching across the city blocks
Counted up like the years of our past
Smudging up the black tar faces
City face up off the ground

Listen to me, Midnight Traveller
Don't ever fall from graces
Trace the face of glory on your beaten cheeks
Like beaten eggs looking for the stomach of beaten children
Looking for the Midnight Traveller

Forgotten Midnight Traveller!
Retrace your steps back to the house of God

Abandoned Midnight Traveller!
Elope with winter and become a new man

Emotionally unstable Midnight Traveller!
Undesign those pits of hell
Alcohol inferno as a child's show and tell

Maverick Midnight Traveller!
HIGHTAIL IT OUT OF HERE
This world of child-beating, embezzling, gay-bashing, womanizing, bruise-wearing, moral-preaching people just ain't ready for you yet
We can't hold hands in school
We can't represent minorities
And we can't say 'I love you' without a pre-nup
So I guess I'll say it's too late for back-tracking now

Speak with God, Midnight Traveller, and knock the sun off it's perch
Because civil war will soon not seem so civil
Dirt roads are becoming paved with ambulances
Men are trapped, down on their knees, bending backwards with arms held out as if showing off lengths of injustice
Screaming to the Heavens so maybe they'll be heard
The words only the Midnight Traveller cares to hear
"Jesus Christ, if you don't come back, neither will we"

And when the nuclear world spirals itself into an upheaval of an explosion, the only matching crescendo will be floating around, with the Midnight Traveller
Next to his broken down Volkswagon
Salvation in the alleyway

[Vaynor]

A note (cause all the cool kids are doing it):

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Hi. I think poems should stand on their own merits and not need a note to explain them, so I'm just going to take this note as an opportunity to thank you for reading my poem and hope that you like it. Here, have a hug. *hugs*

I agree wholeheartedly. While, again, I can't stop you from doing so, nor am I going to make a rule against it, I encourage judges not to read any notes that competitors write to explain their poem, the poem should be comprehendible on its own. Also, never include a note or comment made by the competitor when judging the poem, please judge only the poem itself.

I have nothing against the notes, however they should not be necessary to explain your poem.

[Szilard]

I guess if I did what I was gonna do and say "I'm too cool for a note," it would just seem redundant after those last two posts.

Anyway, here's my poem. I think my prompt was harmony or something.

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A boy walks by
A fence to his side
He sticks out his hand
Making sounds
Along the fence.

ca-chink-a-rattle
ca-chink-a-click
rattle-a-chink-a
clink-a-chink

A bird on the fence
In the early morning
Feels like singing
Cheering up the boy's day

chirpity-tweet-tweet
tweet-chirpity-tweet

Wind goes where it feels
Only the world's soul in it's way
Blowing this way then that

woosh
whish

Blowing over a fence post
Hollow and metallic,
Producing a perfect tone

whish
a-chink-a
tweety-chirp
cha-chink
a toot
whoosh
chink
toot
whish
chirp

A symphony of sound
Melodies of nature
Harmonies too
Working as one
Nature the conductor

whoosh-a-chink-a-rattle-ca-chink-a-chirp

Eh, I'm still too cool for a note.

[TFT]

I agree wholeheartedly. While, again, I can't stop you from doing so, nor am I going to make a rule against it, I encourage judges not to read any notes that competitors write to explain their poem, the poem should be comprehendible on its own. Also, never include a note or comment made by the competitor when judging the poem, please judge only the poem itself.

I have nothing against the notes, however they should not be necessary to explain your poem.

I understand where you are coming from, but I think I'll explain my purpose in having a note(Hopefully it doesn't sound like an excuse):

It comes from the fact that we are using picture prompts. They say a picture is worth a thousand words... and if you use one of the more off ones, it may be hard to understand. The poem, by itself, would make sense(if that is what you are getting at), but fitting it in with the prompt might be more difficult. Since the use of the prompt is a very important part of this, I believed that how it fits in should in part be explained.

[Vaynor]

They say a picture is worth a thousand words... and if you use one of the more off ones, it may be hard to understand.

Rules

6) The poems will be limited to 1000 words with a 50 word minimum.

Perfect!

What I'm saying is, if your poem is well written there should be no need for an explanation (at least when judging whether or not the poem follows the prompt). This should be apparent in the poem itself. Feel free to leave a note, I'm just reminding judges that it should not be considered in the judging process.

[PhoeKun]

Prompt: Harmonious

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Avalon

The wind is a snow white whip that lashes my cheeks
until they are red and raw and cracking.

Tears turn sharp and frozen in my eyes and glisten
in the wide eyed stare of headlights.

I push against the car and feel my feet slide helplessly
to the tune of softly crunching crystals.

My hand grows jealous of its black gloved companion
and turns white to balance things out.

I have to stop. The steam from my breath is not enough
to return feeling to my icicle fingers.

I am trapped and waiting for rescue. I lash out with my boot
against the uncaring snowdrift.

This winter called Mordred howls with laughter and the triumph
of his black hearted ice. But he shall not have me.

Pulled free by a passing hero, I am led home and away from his
vile clutches. Home to my palace.

My perfect tiny castle with its sagging chain link parapets
and its dark stained oaken door.

I stumble inside and I bathe in the soft glow of heated quartz.
The dim orange light agrees with my withered hand.

The heat brings back feeling and the feeling brings back pain,
but my lips form a smile anyway.

A deep breath and a soft sigh tell the room how I am feeling.
There is little here to look at, but here I am Queen.

My crown is a fluffy white pillow. My eyes drift shut in paradise,
and I begin to hear a lilting birdsong.

I can see it perching on a post, announcing the return of green.
As it flies away the ground below explodes with color.

Flower petals become a blanket, and everything is warm and alive.
The sun kisses my face and reminds me to open my eyes again.

Outside I can see the snow again. But here inside my heaven, it
simply smiles at me.

We understand each other perfectly.

[PhoeKun]

I understand where you are coming from, but I think I'll explain my purpose in having a note(Hopefully it doesn't sound like an excuse):

It comes from the fact that we are using picture prompts. They say a picture is worth a thousand words... and if you use one of the more off ones, it may be hard to understand. The poem, by itself, would make sense(if that is what you are getting at), but fitting it in with the prompt might be more difficult. Since the use of the prompt is a very important part of this, I believed that how it fits in should in part be explained.

Double posting to keep my submission post clean.

Vaynor's pretty much on the money with his reply - working the prompts, both text and image, into the poem while keeping the whole thing cohesive and understandable is a part of the challenge. It's your job as the poet to convey those prompts in such a way that someone should be able to see what it was you were going for without another peep from you.

There's no real harm in explaining yourself, but here's basically how that sort of thing plays out:

"So, I wasn't quite sure what the image had to do with this..."

"Oh, well I used it here and here with this and that line, doing blah blah blah..."

"Oh, I see! I see... but... you should probably rewrite that bit so it's clearer."

See, you won't always be there to explain things. That's why it's always better if your poem can explain itself. Take comfort in the fact that a lot of judges tend to be a little more lenient with what they perceive to be a very difficult prompt to work with, and just trust them to "get" it.

edit: besides which, we here at Iron Poet have been playing fast and loose with the prompts for years. And... oh god, has it really been years? I'm old.

[Fifty-Eyed Fred]

Poems should indeed explain themselves; I said as much in the note I did give. As a reader, I don't like the meaning of poetry to be obscured unless it is deliberately so; something, incidentally, which I think would entail suicide in this competition...

[Kuma]

as a quick note, i decided that my previous idea had too much cosmic horror, too little prompt, i hope no ones dissapointed.

Prompt: Aligned

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Title: Bridges

Iron cords surround me, confining me within
Locking me inside a world I have no business in
A waist high railing bars my way, telling me “don’t go.”
But as I set this bridge on fire my life must be laid low

How many people out there, have bridges of their own
Then in one blaze of glory their world is suddenly gone?
And how many out there living, in constant fear and pain
But enduring all the while, their bridges still remain?

The smoke from burning bridges, it fills the world today
A choking smog we can’t ignore, clear out, or wall away.
It makes a noose around our necks, slowly strangling us to death
Until the day our bridges burn, and we too fall to death

Amidst the smell of burning bridge our tilted spaceship flies
Orbiting an eternal, lighted, match of blasphemous size
One day far in the future the stars will align in space
Setting our world on fire, death to the human race!

[Vaynor]

Last day, everyone, get those poems in!

I will send a PM momentarily to those who have not yet turned in a poem.

[AJWB]

Prompt: Valorous

Lum the Swimmer

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There once was a swimmer named Lum
Who everyone thought was quite dumb
The butt of all jokes
And receiver of pokes
He waited for his time to come

But soon a new race began
He would swim as fast as he can
Men of the sea
They knew speed was the key
To reach the promised land

But soon the waters got tricky
In fact they were downright icky
Try as they might
They put up a fight
But the race seemed to be a bit sticky

Faster and faster he raced
And his rivals did all give him chase
Determined and willing
His resolve was quite chilling
He set a yet faster pace

The finish he quickly did see
He crossed it with unmatched glee
He tunneled right in
And sat back with a grin
He was the happiest sperm he could be!

Note:

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Decided to go a different route with the whole swimming thing. How did I get this idea? Eh, it just came to me

[truemane]

That's 13 of 16 already. Not too shabby all the way 'round.

If anyone's reading this and happens to be in a position where they know they won't be able to submit something, if you wanted to post as such sometime soon, I'll volunteer to take up the mantle and produce an entry.

To avoid a bye-round if for no other reason.

[Errandir]

It's been a ridiculous week. But hey, I still have five hours to write something...

*finds a pencil and paper and locks himself up in a dark room*

[Koury]

Assuming there is no problem with me doing so, I have organized all the poems into one post and plan on posting it. I'm not posting it yet, as the deadline hasn't passed, but I think it will keep it organized.

Obviously, all formatting and everything has been preserved. I made sure of it.

[DreamintheDark]

I would just like to say, because of the whole note debocle, that mine is not because of the prompt, but the way you read it. I bet this isn't needed, but I just wanted to say it.

[Belkarsbadside1]

FINALLY DONE!!
my picture was Calm


PEACE OF MIND

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The pebbles ****ter clatter beneath my feet
a metronome for the rhythm of the street.
The sirens trill and the traffic roars
the song of the city in constant war.
My mind in anguish which attempted to reflect:
on life, and what matters, but not on regret,
I find no peace here, my thoughts run amok,
I would leave here, but my soul, it is stuck,
in work, In life, in boring routine;
in drama, in doubts, in chaos, and bad dreams.
My mind wants to leave but my body says stay
It's caught in a rut of thing I do every day
that ruins what shred of self worth I have left
until I think I should just off myself.
But then I remember and look to the sky
of the things I will do before I will die.
So today is my last day I will walk down these streets
And I'll move away to where I can find some peace
My life will be different once I leave this city sprawl
My addiction will be gone once and for all.
I will focus on life, on health, and on deeds,
I will travel afar to and give my life meaning.
Goodbye city street and you cars and your screech
But for once in my life I will find some peace.

Note

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vote for me and you'll be my BFFL

What?! they don't allow that word? It's onomonopeia!!! here, for those of you who can't figure the word out it's C_L_I_T_T_E_R Clatter. I was using alliteration and onomonopeia, not any naughty words

V: yes

[Arti3]

I think you used a 'naughty' word in your poem (first line)
Did it rhyme with 'glitter'?

[wadledo]

City Park

Prompt: Torrid
The picture, if I may point out, had nothing to do with the word torrid, as she seemed neither particularly hot nor passionate.

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burning concrete and endless wastes
the is oppressive, pickings slim
few walk on any paths,
and I can't blame them

this place has gotten old,
decayed
like me, though it still
has a grace I never had

with my old, dusty eyes
and hard, stringy feet
I am, nor never was
a beauty

I take one last jog around
searching for that old couple,
the youngsters who drop their snacks
before returning to my perch,

I've sat here longer than I can remember,
my whole life it seems
what a life
what a day.

******************

"What a day."
My mother says,
as she watches over me
from her chair

her pendant swinging freely,
like a beacon,
and I go to play in the sand
knowing it is there, and she is as well

the sand runs through my finders like water,
and the deeper I dig the cooler it gets
like some miracle of cold
where just a few scoops away

ice is, lying just beyond reach
like ice cream,
and mothers and sons
who go there after they play

"Don't dig so deep."
my mother says,
and I stop,
my hands stuck in the sand.

**********

Worry is all I can do
like boulders and splinters
upon my shoulders
setting in with each day

Fear and turmoil are
better friends than
the baying of the hounds
or bill collectors,

Dreams of escape are fleeting,
and cruel
This summer weather like a
knife in my chest

Hotter than thought
or unpleasant emotion
which is see whenever I
raise my eyes from the concrete

And look in the sand
paths in dreams and glossimer
like my own
days and years past.

[Viera Champion]

@^ I really think you should delete that. Firstly, i don't even understand why you did that. You aren't even part of this competition.

But that's not the point. The point is, that until Vaynor says the that this round is over, they can still edit their poems. And if they edit it you might not edit the poem on that list to correspond with their edits. And then if someone looks at the poem on there, it will be different, and will inherently affect the outcome of the judging. So if you don't mind, please delete that and repost it when the round is over.

[PhoeKun]

@^ I really think you should delete that. Firstly, i don't even understand why you did that. You aren't even part of this competition.

But that's not the point. The point is, that until Vaynor says the that this round is over, they can still edit their poems. And if they edit it you might not edit the poem on that list to correspond with their edits. And then if someone looks at the poem on there, it will be different, and will inherently affect the outcome of the judging. So if you don't mind, please delete that and repost it when the round is over.

The round is over. Anyone who edits their poems between now and the next 15-ish minutes is either going to be disqualified, or should feel silly for wasting their 12 hour extension (I'm not exactly sure which would happen, it's fairly unprecedented).

Although, in contests past where some fellow named Amotis used to compile entries, he simply made a post that linked to all of the poets' entries. Which was awesome. Trust me, as a judge, it's awfully convenient to have all the little buggers gathered in one place.

[Errandir]

Looks like I'm going to have to use my half-day extension. Sorry for the delay - I didn't want to hold things up in the first round, but it's been a busy week.

Earthen

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Blocks and Sand

Rows of coloured children's blocks
Line the distance, strewn like die
Smaller than the nearby rocks -
Yet distance fools, for drawing nigh
A city forms in streets and docks
And bridges curved against the sky.

In the sunlight, buildings all
Shine in gaudy, bright array
Linens, hung from wall to wall,
Flap like tongues, and seem to say
"Traveler, see our heads held tall,
We who stand above the clay!"

Naught else stirs on roof or street
No swift horse, no peddler's cart,
Nor resounds the tap of feet
From the stones, all cracked apart;
Silence only, and the beat
Of the earth's great noiseless heart.

Dust, that now for years has lain
Undisturbed by human hand
Coats, on every slope and plane,
Buildings bowed, that mutely stand
Waiting for the wind and rain
To grind their dry bricks into sand.

And the city, no less bright,
Skeletal, stands bleached and bare,
And from far the buildings, white,
Still seem blocks, but somewhere there
Tattered cloth-strips, out of sight
Whisper to the heedless air.

[truemane]

Oh. My. God.

Is that? Is it? Can it be? Is it?

A FULL 1ST ROUND???

I don't think there's ever been one of those. Not a full 16-participant round anyway. How wonderfully amazingly sweet.

[Belkarsbadside1]

I shall summon the angelic choir for you
or demonic pseudo-latin chanting one if you would prefer that one.
either ones ok with me

[Szilard]

Both. At the same time.

[truemane]

Seriously. Why choose?

[Koury]

@^ I really think you should delete that. Firstly, i don't even understand why you did that. You aren't even part of this competition.

But that's not the point. The point is, that until Vaynor says the that this round is over, they can still edit their poems. And if they edit it you might not edit the poem on that list to correspond with their edits. And then if someone looks at the poem on there, it will be different, and will inherently affect the outcome of the judging. So if you don't mind, please delete that and repost it when the round is over.

Wow, harsh much?

As was pointed out, the round was, in fact, over when I posted that. Please double check facts before making accusations.

Also, because I am not a contestant or a judge I am not allowed to try and help? I'm sorry that I made an attempt to make things easier for others. I am also sorry that that seemed to confuse you. I did post my intentions a while before doing it, asking if there was a problem.

If Vaynor or any single one of the poets wishes, I will gladly remove the post. The intention was to organize and simplify for the judges. All formatting was meticulously preserved.