Iron Poet XIV

[Omeganaut]

My entry, as if I wait I will just edit the good out of this thing. Word: Revile

Those words

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Those words I sadly just did hear
the ones designed to hurt the most
the ones that mean to create fear
the ones which would scare any ghost

Those words you use, those full of hate
the ones just used to make me small
the ones you think were really great
the ones that on my shoulders fall.

Those words mean less for me than you
the ones pronounced so terribly
the ones that only foul mouths spew
The ones that are your therapy.

Those words reveal a slipp’ry slope
the ones replacing inner dirt
the ones you say when you can’t cope
the ones you say because you hurt.

Those words should never more be heard
the ones you shout in ignorance
the ones that are but hate transferred
the ones that cause such disturbance.

Those words just carry on the pains
the ones impossible to hide
the ones you feel in pouring rains
the ones that fester deep inside.

Those words you say to just replace
the ones from when you were a lad
the ones you never could embrace
the ones you thought when you weren’t sad.

Those words you say now just because
the ones who raised you taught you wrong
the ones remembering what once was
the ones with whom you don’t belong.

Those words aren’t really how you are,
the ones that veil a poor disguise
the ones that merely lower the bar
the ones you’d ride to your demise.

Those words need not define you more
the ones you spoke when you knew not
the ones obstructing your rapport
the ones you should start to boycott.

Those words can leave and not come back
the ones you spoke to me in rage
the ones can just stay in their sack
the ones you let out of their cage,
Those words.

And before you say anything, Rapport does rhyme with more, the t is silent, like in Stephen Colbert.

[DreamintheDark]

Since I will not be home at all tomorrow, I am going to post my poem.
Title: Thought and Mind

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My thoughts and voice act as one.
The fears are allayed.
I knew what I had to do,
But this was not my place.
My heart was pounding hard,
I cannot understand,
The problems that I saw.
The fears relived in me,
My mind didn’t know.
I never understood,
My voice was gone.
My thoughts were one.
Nothing was true.
The fears in my mind,
They began to disappear.
My thoughts and voice were gone,
The fears began to grow.
I didn’t know what to do.
I knew what I had to say,
But this was not my place.
This was not my place.
I tried to figure out,
The thoughts, jumbled, in my mind.
They refused to work,
The words began to make no sense.
Less than they ever did.
My voice tried to help,
Fading from all sounds,
Silence washed over me.
Peace, a reprieve.
I knew what I had to do.
This is my place.
This is what I am to do.
And this I shall forever.

[Alarra]

prompt: Subjugate

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Dust, smoke and ash settle shrouds over exposed limbs.
Crouching, I seek movement to my flanks
and find none.

Alone, entrenched, cornered, I call out
signals that fall upon the deaf ears
of a corpse lined trench.

I feel the ground tremble beneath my palms
as if the very earth fears your approach.
And so I yield.



Tethered, tied, with eyes downcast
I trot behind your ranks.
Untamed, biding

time until you grow complacent
and forget that I was once
a warrior.

But for now, you’ve forty eyes trained
to watch my every stumble
and so I yield.



Held close at hand, I watch you inspect
the masses I fought to protect, thankful for each
I don’t recognize.

Sparks of defiance kindle the eyes of strangers no longer
as we plot our continued rebellion,
wordlessly.

Until they bring her, our son huddled behind
her skirt as she silences his cry of recognition.
And so I yield.



Each morning you walk the line
of bodies the night has claimed, insisting
on my company, still holding out hope
you will break me.

I retreat inside my mind, eyes glazed, seeing
misshapen earth instead of people
until we stop and I’m made to
identify her.

Sallow cheeks, bruised, transform the memories
sustaining my spirit and I tremble, the small form
huddled beside brings me to my knees,
and so I yield.



That night I guard your private soiree, listening
to you laugh at my pain as you sip your wine,
nibble hors d'oeuvres. And I realize
there is nothing to live for.

And so I wait, calm, patient, knowing
that our lives are now entwined
and I am free to finally end what you started
so many months ago.

You no longer guard your sleep, complacent
that I am broken, that you are safe, except tonight
when I press my knife to your throat
until you yield.

[Haruki-kun]

Prompt: Forswear
Title: That which we call a rose...

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I cast my clothes away and scrubbed my own name,
But homeless and nomad I was still the same
And thus, I flee, and thus, I leave,
For my future is no one else’s to weave.

“But you’re not a Roman,” my mother would say,
“You have to return at the end of the day.”
I smiled and nodded and started to cry,
And begging for mercy I turned to the sky.

“Please, I’m begging, please give me hope,
please don’t push me down the slippery slope.”
But I heard no answer, no voice at all,
I just heard the rain as it started to fall.

“He’s not like us,” they say, “we heard him speak,
he sought that which we must not seek.
He betrayed his vows, his people and land.”
I see, they thought they knew where I stand.

But I never sought, and I never found,
I never chose to whom I’d be bound.

The tears and blood were lost in the rain,
Absorbed by the land they claimed I have slain.
I wonder as I drop the clothes that I wore…
…can I even forswear if I never swore?

[bladescape]

Prompt: Subjegation
Name: The Lost Light

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The shadowed King, his hooded face,
Laughed once again, his eyes alight,
The Queen slumped, her army disgraced,
Like leading wheat to fall to blight,

"What are your terms, I surrender this war."
"There are no terms." He laughed once more
"I've come to conquer, I'm at your gate.
Your land and people, I will subjegate."

The choked gasp of horror torn,
The sob of terror, stiffled unborn,
The Queen felt her hold of sanity slip,
Her hopes, her dreams, away they drip

"Your champion lies in his own blood,
The fear I have planted has started to bud,
Whilst my forces, successful have stood,
I stand to topple all that is righteous and good"

"You'll never succeed." Desperate, she cried.
"My forces have failed, lost in their own pride,
The other warlords, their own course to decide,
But your bloody hands their lands will deride."

She sneered even as at his feet did she lie,
Defeated, destroyed, dropped at the first try,
But still her pride pushed her to defy,
She would not fall weak, in defiance would she die.

But the only reply was laughing, from the King.
Who would've expected? The loss was a sting.
"You misunderstand, my lady so fair.
Do you really want your people to despair?

I'll give them a chance, I'm a sporting type.
I'll rest my hand lightly, and when it is ripe,
Who knows? Maybe freedom you'll win,
Or perhaps your people will fall into sin.

You see, you're not angels, only people in all,
And when sin steps forwards, it's open call,
Will lure the people far and wide to come in,
And ka-thump. The holy are now in the bin,

You see, conquering is not all about war,
Oh no, you see, the fighting is a bore,
It's when you make the people do what you want,
Without them knowing, without threats or a taunt,

That, my dear, is true subjegation,
Falling the efforts of restoration,
Making the people see ME as their lord.
Only then will my conquest truly be scored."

The Queen fell slowly forward, her face a mask,
She had failed her job, neglected her task,
She was meant to keep her people untainted,
Instead she would watch them be repainted.

She could not live, not after this loss,
All her beauty, all her money was dross,
Her life, it was her own to take!
The dagger dug deep, like the end of a stake,

The blood slowly pooled around her on the floor,
The King turned, and slowly walked out the door,
Laughing, once more, as the last hope died,
He watched happily as the whole land cried.

[Worlok]

Prompt: "Din".

Title: "The elitist's comeuppance".

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A man who had chosen the critic's way
had 'pon early retirement this to say;
"That while I enjoy my line of work,
having to do it is not a perk:
A fool he who listens, a tool he who pays,
there is no true art within music these days!"

Thusly challenged, soon many musicians rose,
to prove that among the ubiquitious lows,
there certainly still was a number of highs,
works as fine as to merit the ticket price;
and while they so strove they too meant to find
which one genre was best among music-kind.

"It is mine," quoth the rapper, "because, you see,
what Rap has always been, your crap couldn't be,
the cry from the gutter, the voice of the street,
lyrics fuelled by the soul of the low-born in need
it's the truest of all, and therefore the best,
and with this we can give the whole matter a rest."

For an answer he got but the mighty roars
of barbarians, clam'ring for ale and whores,
as five leather-clad bards called their hordes to battle,
to show that the greatest of all was METAL!
And over the wails of electric guitars,
they proclaimed they had won - these musician wars.

Yet they hadn't, or so did the D.J. claim,
as that phony medieval stuff was too lame,
to e'er win them anything but his scorn,
and proceeded to lay down acoustic porn,
or did think so, at least, as perfection pure
he considered his Techno to be, for sure.

And at once a reply came from rolling hills,
plains and deserts and red-headed men in kilts,
who did rally to offer their own renditions
and defend the honeur of their Folk-sy traditions;
to this end lutes were struck and the cowbells rang,
only to be drowned out as the bagpipes sang.

And the rhythm they sang was a well-known tune,
which the "voice of the street" then adapted soon;
and as one, drums, guitars and a keyboard joined
with the mixing console giving meter and point,
"We jammin'!" proclaimed a rastaman wizened,
and the thing was as "So dope, it's ganjah!" christened.

And, one at a time, what had formerly been
competition became one almighty din,
no, the greatest of sessions to ever be,
loud and public and awesomely all for free;
yet as taste is a matter of one's own thought,
our critic stepped up and stopped all of it short.

For he claimed, and quite proudly: "This is no art!"
"It is music, and good stuff, and comes from the heart!"
"But imagine, would one of the classics see!
What's not Beethoven just isn't art to me!"
"Oh, surely you jest, you can't be for real!"
"This whole thing is no better than that last squeal!"

But upon that last sentence did lightning crack,
lo, through doors t'which the critic had turned his back,
there marched in an old man in Romantic gear,
and called out to the prick: "Turn away from here!
For you'll find your complaints were unwisely worded,
as I saw it; I just wish I could have heard it!"

So... Yeah. This prompt really blindsided me completely. I hope this is still at least somewhat enjoyable.

[Weezer]

Prompt: Forswear

Title: Finished

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I've been taken, and shaken,
Thrown out of your fantasy.
Left bereft and trembling,
Through this I am becoming.

Filled with need for more
And with fear of more
For I am no longer myself,
But have been consumed by your self

Those words were so small, so banal
That they meant nothing,
But yet, they are everything
For without them I would be reduced.

What has been done?
Have we been exalted or cast down,
Been pulled into the garden or thrown from it?
Is there even a difference?

I am drawn back again and again.
But called to what, towards this discomfort?
To how you leave me shaking and lost?
All I know is that I cannot stay away.

Alone, bereft, left with these cravings,
But yet they, like you, begin to fade.
I forswear my need, I shall go on.
No us, no we, only I. For I am.

[truemane]

That's Seven! Almost halfway there!

Come on poets! Do it for me!

[Asthix]

Prompt: Illuminate


Spellfire

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What is Fey? The youngling asked

Is it the sunflower light

shining through their wings?

How do folk know of the touched

Forever trapped in wooded glen?

And are we off to see them now?

I feel a gaze upon my brow

A gentle touch upon my face

We are the best of all our race!

You know... Their eyes are crystal clear

I can see myself in them

Like I am flying in the sky

Lit by stars so bright

You would think I danced in the day

Tell me again

Of the blaze haired sprite

So small yet so dangerous

And of the Ice Maiden

Through whom the rays of the Sun

Made rainbows

The Violet Ones that no one know

Who's flow shapes worlds

and makes Kings low


__This glow it casts the forest spectrum

__In new, uncommon light

__Where shafts of illusion and realization

__Replace the afternoon

__And shade is a kind of heat stroke

__Upon our mortal perception

__This is lost upon the child who says wherein


Come, tell me of the Fey again

Before this reverie begin

I didn't think it would be so hard to indent something inside a spoiler.

[Silviya]

I'm going to have to use my twelve hour extension. I'm traveling right now, and I had thought I'd be able to have time to write something, but currently I'm so exhausted that I'm ending up spending all my free time sleeping. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get a poem done on time or not, but I'm going to try.

[leakingpen]

Siphon of the Minds Eye

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The rough black ground, burning hot and angry
The sharp sizzle sound, grilling through jeans to my knee
Eyes closed I push and reach, searching for an elusive hole
Long white worm held in each, my hands empty but full.

A doctor I imagine myself, plugging a hole in a heart
A green clad warrior elf, finding the great wyrm’s start
A mechanic of mecha, feeding fuel to the beast,
A pilgrim to Mecca, worming through Crusader’s feast.

The dutchman mine found, the gold tapped and flowing
The gurgle dripping sound, the seeds of evil sowing
My mind’s eye turns again, flights of fancy breeding
I ignore my truthful sin, as I sow what I was seeding.

A zombie landscape, every drop another mile
Knowing I must escape, I do my draining with a smile
Mad Max world when oil peaked, every drop a godsend
Every gallon a whisker squeaked, I imagine without end

My imagination runs hazy, and my mind myself will harass
I know that I’m just broke and lazy, and I’m just, stealing gas.

[Phae Nymna]

Prompt: Din
Title: Eggs and a Biscuit

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I was cutting into a fried egg when it struck me that
this diner had filled in with people and
swelled with boisterous noise and heavy hips so
I pondered as I fed myself the bottom half of
a floury biscuit wet with the golden yolk and
stacked with flabby egg and dusted
with salt from a shaker full of rice

with a bang and a scratch,
with a little crack in its side
my heavy stoneware dish touched down
sliding across the speckled red table
with its greasy linoleum top
and rested there piled with thick
brown waffles in their hot syrup
and an abstract pat of butter
dragged across the grid

the clatter was getting to me
piercing and then thundering
the chatter around me where a woman
jaw swinging as bacon fat fell
from her faded mouth
honked at her dying uncle
to lay off the bacon himself

the man who barked and growled
orders to his waitress
abuses to his wife and
warnings to his son
as his capillaries burst
from the alcoholic fervor

and then the chorus butted in
when fatback hit the pan and
sputtered oil on the stove that
heaved its laboured breath
beneath the Dawlin's, Poached?, and Tuesdays Only.

I wanted to eat at a diner
a place for quiet dining
for my solitary dinner
I found instead a diner
of diner din beside my dinner

but by my measure of the hour
I was left alone again
thanks no doubt to a
guy my age or maybe younger
seated in the next booth over
who leaned on his arms and knelt on his bench
and winked before he shouted Fire.

[Szilard]

Prompt: Allay

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Bang. Bang bang.
It was quick. It had to be done.
It wasn't me, it was them.
It's not my fault. It can't be.

They told us it'd be okay.
It wasn't.
I told them the same.
I lied.

It had spread fast.
We still don't know what it is.
But it happened.

The mania spread.
But now they would just give us up.
I couldn't have that.
I couldn't see them succumb.
It wouldn't be living.

I picked it up.
It was always under my bed.
Just in case.
This was a case.
It wouldn't be living, so they wouldn't.

Why do you have it out?
Everything will be alright.
Honey?
Everything.
Mommy, when'd Daddy get that?
All right.

And then it was done.
Just one last thing.

Bang

[Elvaris]

Third poem of the night. Still not convinced I have one I like yet.

Prompt: Illuminate

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Plip.

Plip. Plip.

Forward scouts of a billion drop army,
Supported by thunderous artillery
And a streaking air force
That illuminates the night sky.
Crashing down on all before it
As unspeakable numbers become one,
Flooding the battlefield
And washing away resistance
Until all that remains is a steady
Plip.

[truemane]

Is that 12? With one person asking for the extension?

*shrug*

Not our worst, I suppose. Still disappointing though.

[Silviya]

Well, I managed to get something written. I don't think it's very good, but I figure that a bad poem is better then no poem.

Prompt: Siphon

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Away, away, I watch the world slip,
I see the end near, and I loosen my grip.
For gone now is their faith in me,
And I must go onward, lest I cease to be.

In this world that lacks belief,
I think that, maybe, death would be a relief.

They turn their faith to other beings,
They pray to other gods for their blessings.
And I’ve not the heart to rage,
In my dying age.

I’m a dying god, lost and alone,
I’m a dead god, with no place to call home.

New gods have now come,
To their new order I must succumb.
And now I grow weak, and now I grow cold,
And I wonder why this was never foretold.

Is it better to be lost in the black depths of night,
Or is it better to die, to sleep, and give up the fight?

And now I fall to the ground,
And this land fades, all around.
I scream, but there is no sound,
And I struggle as by death I am bound.

And I pray to them as they prayed to me,
Please, please, set me free.

But they turn their heads away,
And they kneel to other gods to pray,
And I feel is if my blood is all being drained away,
Without their love, I cannot stay.

I close my eyes and wait,
For now it is my turn to dissipate.
I don’t know if what I feel is remorse or hate,
By now, it’s far too late.

I will not journey on and be forever lost,
There would be far too great a cost.

I go with the others and I let myself die,
And I know that there’s not a single tear that they cry.
I’m nothing but a dying god, lost and alone,
I’m nothing but a dead god, with no place to call home.

[TFT]

I'm currently writing my poem. I think I have five and a half hours.

So yea. Expect this to be edited.

EDIT: I finished what is a barely edited poem that I wrote in... an hour and ten minutes. Either way, here it is:

Time

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Tick.
My eyes eye the time,
Each second striking slowly.
surprisingly slowly.
Infinitesimally slow.
Tock.
Eyes shift towards the door
But find no one.
No movement.
Nothing at all.
Tick.
My mind begins to wander
And feels fierce fears.
A few feasible fears.
Those fears feeling true.
Tock.
What if there was a problem,
Something neither of us expected could happen
But may have happened anyways
Which is leading to her not being here
When should said she would be,
And what if-
Creeeek
My heart beats rapidly
As the door shifts slightly.
Ever so slightly.
Still, only slightly.
Tock.
Mind begins to realize
it was only the wind
Not her.
Only the wind.
Tick.
My will whirls to the clock
watching the clock.
Waiting for the next tock.
The tock which will come soon.
…Where’s the next tock?
It feels like times stopped completely
And she should be here by now
And the fact that she isn’t-
Fwooom.
She’s here.

[Cernael]

If I get my time zones right, I've missed the deadline by some 3½ hours already. Even if I would be allowed to use my freebie after-the-fact, I don't think I'll be able to come up with anything worthwhile in the next 8½ hours - so I yield. Omeganaut wins this round on walk over.

Sorry.

[Asthix]

Technically cerneal's post is over 50 words... I say you guys consider it. Verrry freeform, y'know?

[SaintRidley]

Crap. I thought the deadline was next week. Haven't had time to write anything this week.Sorry.

[averagejoe]

So we start judging now, yeah? I'll have mine up ASAP.

[truemane]

Okay, here's the semi-traditional round summary for the ease of judging.


Iron Poet XIV: Round 1

The Fiery Tower vs. SaintRidley: Reunited
Bladescape vs. Alarra: Subjugate
Phae Nymna vs. Worlok: Din
DreamintheDark vs. Szilard: Allay
Weezer vs. Haruki-Kun: Forswear
Asthix vs. Elvaris: Illuminate
Cernael vs. Omeganaut: Revile
Silviya vs. leakingpen: Siphon

Judgements underway. We ask you for your patience.

[leakingpen]

aww, two of my fav's didn't submit? That sucks. But then, at least I don't have to face you guys in later rounds, if I make it that far!

[Viera Champion]

Judgement will come after school today.

[Viera Champion]

Due to the fact that I havent gotten home yet, judgements will ACTUALLY be up tonight.

[Weezer]

So, it appears that none of the judges have replied within the week time frame, what happens now?

[Omeganaut]

Its the first round, give them time to work on it. I don't mind waiting another week for results and the next round.

[Weezer]

You're right, I suppose I got impatient. Sorry 'bout that.

[averagejoe]

Yeah, sorry. The first round is always the hardest just because of sheer volume.

[Viera Champion]

The Fiery Tower vs. SaintRidley: Reunited

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The Fiery Tower

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I really enjoyed the way you explored the prompt. And the repetitiveness of the ticking and the tocking really interested me. I also found it intriguing that you used italics to switch back and forth between the poem, and the speakers thoughts.

SaintRidley

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No poem.

Decision

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The Fiery Tower wins via disqualification.

Bladescape vs. Alarra: Subjugate

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Bladescape

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That was one of favorite poems yet. To me it seemed like the darker version of Dr. Seuss if that makes sense. You know, the way you used the rhyme-scheme. I also enjoyed how seriously you took the prompt.

Alarra

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I admit, when I started reading your poem, my hopes were incredibly high as you have won this contest more than once, so I guess it was my fault that I started out being disappointed. However, do not despair. As I continued to read through the poem, I quickly began to enjoy it. It took the prompt more subtly than Bladescape's did. I really enjoyed how the stanzas changed at the end, as the role of subjugation changed. As usual, I greatly enjoyed your work.

Decision

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Though it was a very tough decision because Alarra's was so good, something about that Dr. Seuss feel in Bladescapes really caught my attention. So I am gonna have to give it to Bladescape.

Phae Nymna vs. Worlok: Din

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Phae Nymna

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I found your stanzas to be overstuffed, as though they were bursting at the seams. It was a little too much. And a lot of the time, I felt like you clicked the enter button at random points in your stanza as new lines seemed to start in all the wrong places. That is not to say that your poem was terrible. It was not. You got down to some nice descriptiveness throughout the poem even if it got a little gross at some points. I also enjoyed the one stanza where you toyed around with the prompt, using the word din in "dinner" and "diner". I noticed at the end how you capitalized Fire. Legend of Zelda Oracle of Seasons?

Worlok

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So, like usual, I will begin with the negative stuff. The rhythm of the story frequently wavered and did not fit properly. Not to mention, many things you tried to rhyme were not even close to doing so. Yet I find again this Dr. Seuss feel. When I read this poem in my mind, I read it in the same lovely melody that you would find while reading The Grinch. I could see how you tried to connect it with the prompt, but I did not really find the connection to be satisfactory.

Decision

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Rhyming in poetry takes skill. If you do not do it perfectly, it just sounds like some Shel Silverstein nonsense for children. (Do not get me wrong I love Silverstein) That is why, if you are gonna rhyme in a poem you have to get everything exactly right. So I am giving this one to Phae Nymna.

DreamintheDark vs. Szilard: Allay

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DreamintheDark

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I feel like you took the prompt a little too seriously. Don't worry, I did the exact same thing first time I was in this competition. In fact it was worse when I did it. I even used the prompt in my poem a couple times. Also, the poem seemed to be trying to grasp at a steady beat to read it in, but never found one.

Szilard

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Short and to the point. Much the way I write poems. That was delightful by the way. It was nice how you really stretched your interpretation of the poem so that I really had to think about it while reading. The randomness of your lines and stanzas were also very neat. You continuously changed stanza size, line length, and even font format (i.e. the italics) to add more flavor to the poem.

Decision

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Szilard.

Weezer vs. Haruki-Kun: Forswear

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Weezer

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You did not really do very much with the prompt until the very end, and even then you really did not even use it, merely put the word in there. I still enjoyed the poem however. Excellent work.

Haruki-Kun

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That was beautiful poem. I loved how you explored the idea of forswearing something at the end. I also found it interesting that you only put two lines in the second to last stanza very nifty.

Decision

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Haruki-Kun for use of prompt.

Asthix vs. Elvaris: Illuminate

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Asthix

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Something about the poem kinda bored me a bit. There was also the fact that you threw some random rhyming in there and then never did it again anywhere else. The whole thing just seemed a far stretch to go just to fulfill the prompt.

Elvaris

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I really enjoyed how you managed to fit so much into so little space. Nifty. Though the connection to the connection to the prompt seemed a little hazy, I really enjoyed it anyways.

Decision

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Elvaris.

Cernael vs. Omeganaut: Revile

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Cernael

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No poem.

Omeganaut

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It feels weird judging your poetry after all the helpful tips and critiques you have given me on it.

I really liked this poem. You managed to mix a very nice rhyme-scheme with a very interesting repetition. Good work.

Decision

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Omeganaut due to disqualification. Though I am sure he would have won anyway with his excellent poem.

Silviya vs. leakingpen: Siphon

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Silviya

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You started off doing the single worst thing you could possibly do. You told me that you yourself thought your poem was bad. If you cannot even like your own poetry, how can I? Never ever tell someone who is judging your work that you think it is bad. Than the person judging it begins reading the poem expecting it to bad, and that is not what you want. It also gives the judge the idea that you do not care if you win or lose, another bad thing. If you do not care enough to submit a good poem, why should you deserve to win.

That said, your poem is not as bad as you think it was. I enjoyed it. But again, I have said this before to the other poets. If you are gonna rhyme, you gotta follow through on the rhyming. You cannot make up fake rhymes in some places or what not. Be careful with how you end a line.

leakingpen

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That was a fascinating poem, and you really squeezed everything out of that prompt (get it?). I thought it was cool how you not only rhymed the end of a line with the end of the next line, but you also rhymed the middle of a line with the middle of the next line. Very nifty idea. Good job.

Decision

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leakingpen.

Oh dear god. I forgot how absolutely miserable and long the first round of judging is.