Iron Poet IX

[wadledo]

*snip*

See, the problem there is like saying 1984 was written exclusively for literary enjoyment. It wasn't.
There is a meaning behind the book, and if some people don't understand that, is it Orwell's fault, or the readers?

However, it is still nice to learn that you are not as clear as you think you are.
It just seems to happen more than normal for me (which isn't true, but feels so.).

@FirebirdFlying: No, you didn't, so don't feel bad.

[PhoeKun]

Yes but if some people understand it, and others don't, then whose fault is it?
Is it the author, who doesn't outright say that something is something and the sky is blue, or the reader, who doesn't understand contextual clues?

I wasn't particularly proud of the poem in the first place, as it took me 20 minutes to write then post, but I still find it annoying when certain persons can't understand what something is when to me, it's blatantly obvious.

There's no actual fault involved. A writer will never have control over what the readers will take away from a piece - only what precisely gets written down. If a writer wishes to convey certain specific meanings, the job of the writer is to arrange those words as clearly as possible. If a decision is made to rely on inference, context, or implication and the reader fails to find or follow those clues, the writer can't really be upset with the reader.

You can't rely on notes explaining yourself, either. There's no guarantee the note and the work will wind up packaged together, or even if both are read. That's why it's always crucial to make every effort to push the reader in the direction you want them to go. Of course, the best works are those that remain clear while providing the sense of a 'hands off' approach, but anything that effectively conveys the point can't be said to be bad.

Long story short, you only control what you say. It's mostly useless to get worked up over outside factors, except insomuch as they can teach you about how to better achieve the goals you set when you started writing in the first place.

edit: Oi. Szilard. You beat me, so I hereby revoke your write to talk down about your chances of victory, as I so very clearly remember you doing prior to the round. Head held high, friend - people who walk over my corpse may do so only on the path to total victory.

[Jokasti]

*snip*
edit: Oi. Szilard. You beat me, so I hereby revoke your write to talk down about your chances of victory
*snip*

I hereby revoke your write to revoke writes.

[Devigod]

You can't rely on notes explaining yourself, either. There's no guarantee the note and the work will wind up packaged together, or even if both are read.

That. I basically copied down all the poems and shoved them into word docs only labeled by category and a random string of numbers. Not sure whether or not I'd be a biased or partial judge or not, but it never hurts; except in the case where the note is essential to the piece or something.

That's my 2cp, at least.

[Szilard]

I'm feeling good right now.

I shall take PhoeKun's words and go forth, to victory!

...

Hopefully.

[Jokasti]

Can't wait for the next round.

[Vaynor]

Can't wait for the next round.

Iron Poet IX: Round Two

Picture only this time, interpret it however you want.

arti3 vs. AJWB:

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The Fiery Tower vs. Kurosawa:

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Errandir vs. Puppychowguy:

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Szilard vs. Alarra:

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Deadline: Friday, March 26th 2010 at 11:59 pm (EST).

[Alarra]

Those are incredibly cool pictures.
Oh, Wadledo....i thought the 3 speakers were obvious.

[Vaynor]

Those are incredibly cool pictures.

Searching for pictures on Deviantart under "Abstract and Surreal" gets you some pretty cool results.

[Szilard]

I'm against Alarra? This should be fun.

[Arti3]

I'm against AJWB? This should be fun.

[AJWB]

I'm against arti3? This should be fun

I promise not to write about semen this time around.

drengnikrafe, I'm definitely looking forward to seeing you in future Iron Poets.

[Elfin]

This should be interesting on all fronts, I think.

[Szilard]

Except the western front. That's just hellish. ... Bad joke?

[Zeb The Troll]

Vaynor, you always come up with the most fascinating images. I can't wait to see what the writers do with these.

[Elfin]

Except the western front. That's just hellish. ... Bad joke?

Actually, I've heard it's pretty quiet over there.

...Worse joke.

[Szilard]

Is it bad that I laughed?

Anyway, I should get around to thinking of a poem.

[Kuma]

Okay, The Firey Tower, eh? and that picture... well, Let's both try our best, Shall we?

let the best man, or masonry, win!

[Vaynor]

Okay, The Firey Tower, eh? and that picture... well, Let's both try our best, Shall we?

let the best man, or masonry, win!

Oh, and in case it wasn't obvious, that's a bug in the middle.

[TFT]

Oh really? I was right! My sister thought it was a cow.

[Kuma]

this'll probably be my final draft, i may edit it slightly between now and friday, but... yeah.

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Thump!

I see you, giant.
Standing there,
O’er my people.
Your cruel eyes aflame with maleficent hate

You think that we,
Unfeeling,
Don’t know cruelty
But we know of you, and that is enough

You ponder, Titan,
What you’ll do,
Burn us perhaps?
Or maybe pour floods to wash us away?

Or maybe, today
You’ll leave us,
but return soon
To destroy our friends, our homes, and our kin?

Or maybe, yes, now
Your minds made,
You rise up
You’ll bring down your foot and - !

Comment: Judges Dont read this 'till after judging,

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first off thank you for reading. I agree with Alarra and think a poem should speak for itself.

But, if your confused, i thought the prompt kind of looked like the sole of a shoe. hopefully this clarifies my idea enough.

if that didn't help:
The speaker is the dead bug (which i turned into an ant) a couple of seconds before death. The audience is a sadistic boy who enjoys tormenting the ants.

[TFT]

Hmm, I am dittoing what my opponent says. I may edit it, but this feels close to the final draft.

Chaos

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Chaos, uncertainty, with those I reign.
I can do anything, the power’s mine.
With the flick of the wrist, magic happens.
A snap, one motion, and order you’ll pine.
The whys and the hows both confuse your brain.
Go on, give my thinking a thought, just try.
The thoughts of your smartest thinkers this ends,
Watch as we change to the size of a fly.

Here, look around, do you see this order?
It’s nothing compared to the greatest, me.
Those lines, just like people, all under rules,
only parts of the picture they all see.
Your brains, they all are stuck in a border,
They’re on one path, a narrow-minded view.
In that way, you’re on a level with mules,
Who don’t think, don’t question, instead just do.

Wait, what’s A B C B, A D C D?
And what do you mean by rhythm of ten?
Do you dare to tell me I have order,
I, who is greater than you and all men?
No, you are lying, it just cannot be!
Do I have a rhythm, order, structure?
Your words, they’re weapons, acting like mortar.
They hurt my mind, and my thoughts they puncture.

I, with much sorrow, now see what you mean,
And maybe I had you humans all wrong.
Maybe you aren’t just that line, narrow.
Maybe your something with width that’s as long.
Your limits, I guess, are yet to be seen,
And mine, well they… they are starting to show.
Not chaos, but order, just hidden low,
and in all there is a structure, a flow.

[Szilard]

Jaws

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The table was set
dun

Except not really
dun Dun

It was kind of empty
dun Dun dun

Just a sort of wooden piece of crap
dun Dun dun Dun

Somehow the table was on the wall
dun Dun dun Dun

Maybe it was funky gravity
dun Dun dut dun

A dead bird is on the table
dun Dun dun Dun

A dead flower upside-down over it
dun Dun dut dun

Sideways according to the floor
dun Dun dun Dun

Some hands reached for it
dunanaaaaaa

About to grab the flower
Dun Dun Dun Dun

The hands were grabbed!
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

[Puppychowguy]

(Title): A Sestina

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He looks at the (noun-A)
(adv). It’s been (number more than one) days
since he has (past tense verb) and was (adj-B).
His memory is (verb-ing) all the time.
Every night he (present tense verb-C)
and doesn’t have a reason why.

Everyone looks, but no one asks why.
His (body part) is stuck together with a/an (adj) (noun-A).
(Planet) is where no one (present tense verb-C)
or knows him. One of these days
he’ll (verb) his (noun) and have no sense of time.
He’ll be (emotion) and yell out (exclamation)! As (adj-B)

as he feels, the (plural noun) (verb-ing) (adv) will make him feel even more (adj-B).
He’ll build a town and call it (made up place) and no one will (verb) why.
He’ll (verb) the (color) (adj) sky and grow thyme
to (verb) in (noun-A).
(adj) (plural noun) will make love with (adj) (plural noun) (adv) all of the days.
(Greeting) the sun will (verb) as it (present tense verb-C),

and (present tense verb-C), and (present tense verb-C).
The days are (adj-B)
and after (number more than one) straight (adj-B) days,
without (verb-ing) why,
the sun will set (cardinal direction) on the (noun-A)
because it’s (number) o’clock (repeat made up place) time.

He’ll ask, “Sun, must you (verb) this time
so (adv)?" The sun (present tense verb-c)
and replies, “No I must (verb) this (adj) (noun-A).”
The town would be (adj-B)
at night and as confused as the letter y.
Days and days

would (verb) and he’s in a daze
without the sun. His (body part) will be (verb-ing) with time.
He’ll (verb) his mind (adv) and only say, “Why, Why, Why?”
But one (adj) day he wakes up and (present tense verb-c).
He’ll see he should’ve never (adv) (verb) the (adj-B)
(noun-A).

Why days
(verb) like (noun-A) time and time
again is his (adj-b) (noun-A) (present tense verb-C).

The title is hyperlinked to the Wikipedia page for Sestina in case you do not know the form. If possible, I would also like feedback on if I did the form correct.

[AJWB]

Butterflies

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Butterflies

Scraping against the back of my head

Butterflies

Gnawing on the tendrils of my mind

Butterflies

Stinging like sand in my open wounds

Thoughts of verse

Skitter across

My

Mind

The Butterflies

Always weaving in and out

And in and out

And in

And out

Caged and contained

No way to get out

The rain

Slams against

My brain

Screeching

Calling

Echoes

Lost in

Eternity

Butterflies

Slicing my lips with their lies

Butterflies

Burning like poison in my gut

Butterflies

Deafening my ears with their calls

The fog settles

In thick

Phasing

Thoughts and cries

Plaguing, always

Plaguing

These thoughts come

Like dreams

But real and always

Always

Always returning

To that one

First Thought

Damn

I am

Terrible

At

Poetry

[Arti3]

Eyes

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He'd pushed me to hard this time.
I run from home, splashing,
My shoes now with grime.
My father and I, clashing,
My eyes filled with brine.

I can't believe it.
I pause at the shed, waiting,
My teeth clench and grit.
My mother's voice fading,
My eyes see him hit.

I've freed us.
I reach for the bat, screaming,
My eyes see the blood.
My eyes have tears, streaming,
My eyes feel the flood.

Free.
I see a butterfly and
My father, so vile.
My eyes open wide, and
I smile.

[Errandir]

Flame and Shadow

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There’s something subtle in a flame,
So bright it pains the eye to see
A joy, perhaps, so deep and stark
It bird-like leaps to vivid life -
Or so I thought, as once I gazed
Into its shifting, sun-streaked depths.

And yet I know not where to find -
In this red immolation here
That spreads its searing, choking cloak,
That gyrates, hungers, and enthralls -
That joy, save in the bitter heat
By which my face is rendered dry.

A picture frame, engulfed in fire,
A charred brown chair, the soot-streaked walls,
A bottle, glass, half-melted there
In which the flame’s dull red is trapped:
A house consumed, and in the ash,
A life that once I called my own.

Now out into the shadowed night -
The blazing light spread not this far -
I see the sighing roof cave in
With sparks that settle in the dark.
I think that shadow’s kin to flame;
There’s aught that draws in both - and thus;

I turn to leave, with head bowed low,
And drop the matches as I go.

[Szilard]

Looks like all eight poems are here half an hour before the deadline. Let's hope the judges are as swift as humanly possible.

[Zeb The Troll]

Wow! Two straight rounds with no dropouts?

*faints*



Good luck, everyone!

[Devigod]

Spring break means that if all goes according to plan, I'll have these (judgments) wrapped up by wednesday. Round two is a double edged sword in that, while there are half as many rounds to deal with, the results carry that much more weight for people.

Nevertheless, CONGRATULATIONS, poets!