Register a SA Forums Account here!
JOINING THE SA FORUMS WILL REMOVE THIS BIG AD, THE ANNOYING UNDERLINED ADS, AND STUPID INTERSTITIAL ADS!!!

You can: log in, read the tech support FAQ, or request your lost password. This dumb message (and those ads) will appear on every screen until you register! Get rid of this crap by registering your own SA Forums Account and joining roughly 150,000 Goons, for the one-time price of $9.95! We charge money because it costs us $3,400 per month for bandwidth bills alone, and since we don't believe in shoving popup ads to our registered users, we try to make the money back through forum registrations.
«150 »
  • Locked thread
Martello
Apr 29, 2012

by XyloJW


BlackFrost posted:

Sure, I'll bite. I haven't written poetry since High School (more of a prose guy), but this is the Thunderdome, and I expect to be hurting by the time it ends.

Flash rule: Must be a haiku (can be longer than three lines, to meet the criteria of the thread. So just go 5-7-5 over and over). If someone deems this rule as "Terrible Garbage" I'll come up with a different one.

Your lack of bravado - terrible garbage

Own that rule, son

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

budgieinspector
Mar 24, 2006

According to my research,
these would appear to be
Budgerigars.



BlackFrost posted:

Flash rule: Must be a haiku (can be longer than three lines, to meet the criteria of the thread. So just go 5-7-5 over and over). If someone deems this rule as "Terrible Garbage" then too bad, this is the loving THUNDERDOME bitches.

M-M-MEGAHAIKU?

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

Just being clear here

I went up on the roof and smoked a doob-
it's true, it makes your vision blur.

is fine but

I love you truly
be mine, Julie

is not, right?

Try me.

Symptomless Coma
Mar 30, 2007
for shock value

Call me Stockholmed; I'm back in.

And I would like to see proper epic poetry. A real narrative. Long, epic simile. Iambic pentameter. Make Homer rise from his grave to come kick your arse.

If you don't, I will.

Symptomless Coma fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 09:19

STONE OF MADNESS
Dec 28, 2012

PVTREFACTIO


gently caress it, I'm done. Let this be a lesson to us all.

supermikhail posted:

a poem featuring my vision of the late Thunderdome MMXII.



The Ballad of the Challenger
371 words


Three slav'ring heads the creature had
that staggered forth to greet me;
And though I knew it only meant
to judge me, not to eat me,
I felt a wave of panic wash
throughout my timid body –
For though I'd laboured through the night
my poetry was shoddy.

I knew that surge of primal fear,
that heralds one's demise;
And yet I struggled onward,
for to vindicate my lies.
I'm in, I'd said, I'm down for this,
you've lessons, I'm to learn them –
But one glance at my writings,
and I yearned inside to burn them.

The creature knew it – this I sensed
from 'neath its wrathful glares;
The eyes of all three heads were turned
to scrutinise my wares.

And now its dread mouths opened,
and let out a slew of scorn,
That did, though just, diminish me
to that which I'd been born –
An infant! Just a suckling babe,
all withered on the teat,
Not capable by half, it seemed,
of standing on its feet;
And all around, the jeering calls
of others in that Dome,
Did flood me with desirousness
to lock myself at home
And curl into a little ball
beside my TV set,
And lose myself in pabulum,
that I might soon forget
Those aspirations that had called me
to the written word,
Instead to lumber on through life
an illiterate turd.

Alas, it was too late for this.

My efforts were exposed;
that dread Judge laid its tentacle
upon my stinking prose,
And tearing, as an octopus
might shuck a barnacle,
The beast excoriated me:
'A try-hard, and a fool.'

I wept, though no emoticon
could justly represent
The depth of sorrow that I felt –
but lo, the monster went
To criticise the next poster,
whose prose, I knew, was worse!
My terror dissipated like
some ineffectual curse,
And sighing with relief I sank
into my writer's chair;
The Thunderdome Chimaera
was reputed to be fair.

I could relax – I ate and slept,
and went about my life,
But niggling doubts kept at me,
always twisting, like a knife.
Before too long, I'd logged back in,
myself to reassure;
Imagine, then my horror –
'neath my name – the SHAME-ATAR!

STONE OF MADNESS fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 10:26

Etherwind
Apr 22, 2008
Probation
Can't post for 1908 days!


Soiled Meat

BlackFrost posted:

Flash rule: Must be a haiku (can be longer than three lines, to meet the criteria of the thread. So just go 5-7-5 over and over). If someone deems this rule as "Terrible Garbage" then too bad, this is the loving THUNDERDOME bitches.

Challenge accepted: I'm in. Master Buson, guide my hand.

Flash prompt: your poem must have a rhyming scheme, but must not include the same rhyme twice.

Symptomless Coma
Mar 30, 2007
for shock value

Etherwind posted:

Challenge accepted: I'm in. Master Buson, guide my hand.

Flash prompt: your poem must have a rhyming scheme, but must not include the same rhyme twice.

Etherwind, your prompt is mine:

Symptomless Coma posted:

And I would like to see proper epic poetry. A real narrative. Long, epic simile. Iambic pentameter. Make Homer rise from his grave to come kick your arse.

Virgil and Dante and those various anonymous dudes who wrote Gilgamesh are your guides for this week...

Symptomless Coma fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 09:23

Etherwind
Apr 22, 2008
Probation
Can't post for 1908 days!


Soiled Meat

You never said you were in explicitly, and your phrasing of the prompt was ambiguous. If you'd wanted me to take your prompt, maybe you should have been clearer?

Editing it after the fact doesn't save you.

STONE OF MADNESS
Dec 28, 2012

PVTREFACTIO


^ Clearly you two now have to Thunderbrawl for the haiku prompt..?

Etherwind
Apr 22, 2008
Probation
Can't post for 1908 days!


Soiled Meat

STONE OF MADNESS posted:

^ Clearly you two now have to Thunderbrawl for the haiku prompt..?

Symptomless Coma, I'm calling you out!

One story, one time, one thousand words maximum. You can pick the prompt, because I'm loving hard, and sebmojo can judge if he is willing. Winner gets the haiku prompt, loser takes the other's prompt.

Do you accept?

supermikhail
Nov 17, 2012


"It's video games, Scully."
Video games?"
"He enlists the help of strangers to make his perfect video game. When he gets bored of an idea, he murders them and moves on to the next, learning nothing in the process."
"Hmm... interesting."


STONE OF MADNESS posted:

gently caress it, I'm done. Let this be a lesson to us all.


The Ballad of the Challenger
371 words

<...>



0/10

-----

More seriously, though, that's what I'm talking about - that's the kind of poetry that's meant to be read, not nose-picked about (rhymes, I mean).

Symptomless Coma
Mar 30, 2007
for shock value

I have started writing this megahaiku, Etherbreeze. By the seven hells, I shall finish it.

A brawl it is!

*heavens shake, crowd roars, salted nuts are passed out*

But what caused this challenge? Nothing more than mealy-mouthed, fence-sitting, wishy washy double-talk.



Something I have been accused of before. So, this prompt couldn't be simpler.

TELL IT TO ME STRAIGHT.

Sebmojo is welcome to judge, but I also want to see crits from STONE OF MADNESS, in his role as chief poo poo-stirrer.

24 hours enough for you? If so, the deadline is Friday, 09:59 GMT.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Etherwind posted:

Symptomless Coma, I'm calling you out!

One story, one time, one thousand words maximum. You can pick the prompt, because I'm loving hard, and sebmojo can judge if he is willing. Winner gets the haiku prompt, loser takes the other's prompt.

Do you accept?

Yep, I'll judge that. Flash rule: I have to care about one of the characters by the end.

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 10:31

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


entropy or something like it

After many long days I lay down
to sleep in the middle - who knew
rosewood had no smell? Bartolini
mkII and casual epiphany
stowed in a shoebox. poo poo
it's all coming back to me.

Tell me why you cry
kiddo. poo poo I know- I
just wanna hear you say it.
It's eating me inside-out and
that's just the dark cells; venal
things that never once said please.

what happened to my hands? You
always knew them better
than me. We met a man with rags
in his soul and had him drink gasoline;
the cosmic molotov- what we smallfolk call
purpose.

You taste like cloves and you smell like
poo poo but I like that about you, kiddo.
You light my fire- you make my morning
like fresh-juiced OJ and little hairs
stuck in the shower drain.

In the back room of a pizza place
on Cuba we met a man whose head
was a brown peach. He had baby
gums- bare, pink and fragile. You remember?
He said “my lover has fat thighs and my guitar
has five strings and I teach both to sing in
the dead of night,” and he had us
dance until the candle burned down.

There's a fist of dark cells growing
around my heart and one day soon it'll grow
so big that even fire can't kill it.
It's young but it's got promise- it's making
friends, setting down a few roots. Come back
in a few months kiddo and it'll put on a show.

I got locked in the metro once- me
and this 5'2 French bloke smoking gauloises
from 3am til sunup 'cos “there's always
a train running in Paris. Just you wait.”
Nothing came out of that tunnel but
dead air.

We drank them down to the filters;
two hot inches of air to stop the shaking
in our hands. To shake is a fine thing-
it means your heart's still beating. I
shook when the peach man played-
shook until the candle burned down.
You taste like cloves and two inches
of hot air.

I know what you're going to say
kiddo. I just want to hear you
say it.



[355 words]



EDIT HOLY CRAP: prompt is internal rhymes only. Must contain a guitar, a tunnel and a juicer.

SurreptitiousMuffin fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 23:24

Etherwind
Apr 22, 2008
Probation
Can't post for 1908 days!


Soiled Meat

To be entered on my inevitable win over Symptomless Coma:

So Haiku have to be self-contained, which makes building a narrative out of them quite challenging. I ended up forgoing the kigo in quite a few of them, and in others I broke with the modern perception that the juxtaposition must be common.

Etherwind posted:

Memories

Sun falls out the sky
Dark the moon above the trees:
I can only smile

A man in Kobe;
We drank throughout the daytime
He offered to pay

I asked why that one
He said all was politics
His smile like my smile

Where and when the deed?
Above the Shirakawa
Red upon white sand

Kyoto is strange:
No love for men or women
Only rented time

Tea shop on the street
I sat and watched them go by
Family not mine

Little girl in bow
Mother in many colours
Father dressed in black

Three days spent watching
Same routine lends peace of mind
Yet not only peace

The house was quite small
Family shrine was well tended
Dead worth more than food

Picture on the wall
Important men shaking hands
Woman in background

I see many things
Patience lends me perspective
But I must be slow

The door opened wide
Knife in my sleeve for the girl
In wrong place, wrong time

"Are you a Kami?"
I stood beside the small shrine
She held her prayer sticks

I went to pass by
She was next to the photo
Her parents stopped me

"Does daddy love you?"
I did not want to know it
Still she gave answer

Back out at the bridge
I studied the water-way
An old reflection

When I was a child -
Made to learn too many things -
I thought I was loved

To envy the young
Is the curse of all the old
Sometimes a blessing

I will ask a priest:
When bad karma inspires good
Can sin make virtue?

I knew who paid me;
Money is thicker than blood
And less freely spilled

Photographs I took
Old memories go with new
Not all can sit well

The letter was short
"Above the Shirakawa"
White river blackmail

They came on Monday
Overhead the sun was bright
It was too peaceful

The first guard fell down
Politician screamed and ran
His car a bonfire

The second drew out
My razor flashed in his eye
The river soothed him

That last shot hit me
I felt a river wetness
Not Shirakawa

I caught him quickly
"Who are you?" he tried to ask
"I am the Kami"

I held him over
My blood rolled down his pale face
Made white sand redden

"Do not touch the girl
"I will find you like these men"
I had become death

As I left the scene:
"You will not see nightfall, bitch!"
Time tests promises

Sun falls out the sky
Dark the moon above the trees:
I can only smile

Edit: forgot word count, 339.

Etherwind fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 12:19

Zack_Gochuck
Jan 3, 2007

Stupid Wrestling People


I accept the rhyming challenge. I'm in.


The next person's poem must be a ballad. Like a real deal loving ballad, not a bunch of rhyming couplets with "ballad" in the title.



HiddenGecko posted:



Zack_Gochuck: Stella finally figured it out. Bernard was a one-eyed ogre! Is either going to be the best story I’ve ever read or the worst. I want the next story you write for Thunderdome to come straight from your heart. Or your rear end, if that’s where your good stories live.
That being said. You’re doing great. The worst thing you could do is stop writing or listen to me. I’m just very particular and ask a lot from art and what I read in general, I’m hard to please, it’s not you. KEEP WRITING, gently caress YOUR HATERS.



I think of my writing as junk food. It's the shallow fishin' hole as opposed to the ocean. It's your summer gently caress-buddy as opposed to your wife. I go for entertainment value over substance. It's meant to be a lark. However, I accept your challenge. I will attempt to spill my guts in my rhyming poem about death.

Zack_Gochuck fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 13:03

supermikhail
Nov 17, 2012


"It's video games, Scully."
Video games?"
"He enlists the help of strangers to make his perfect video game. When he gets bored of an idea, he murders them and moves on to the next, learning nothing in the process."
"Hmm... interesting."


You can't do justice the ballad genre unless you write in authentic Middle English. Oh, the music of those "thou"s and "wherefore"s.

I don't think your summer gently caress-buddy necessarily mustn't cook well and be deep.

Zack_Gochuck
Jan 3, 2007

Stupid Wrestling People


I would not complain if they threw in some Middle English.

areyoucontagious
Jun 13, 2007

Hell is other people.


I'll take the ballad challenge. If anyone else applies, my flash rule is you must write the poem in iambic pentameter.

monkeyboydc
Dec 2, 2007

Unfortunately, we had to kut the English budget at the Ivalice Magick Ackcademy.

EDIT: drat, beaten to the ballad while typing my response. Alright, Iambic Pentameter challenge accepted.

On this, the first challenge of the new Thunderdome thread, I step into the Dome for the first time.

I never learned to love poetry while taking the required courses on it during my schooling. Poetry's rules and constraints baffle me and leave every attempt I make at it awkward and silly. If I can't learn to appreciate it by Sunday, I will learn to hate it - I will make it my bitch.

Now for my rule. The next person who enters must write a poem based off the rules of Concrete Poetry (here's an info page on it http://www.poemofquotes.com/article...rete-poetry.php). Why concrete poetry? Because every amateur attempt I've ever seen at it has been awful and I want to see you fools do better.

monkeyboydc fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 17:52

Meis
Sep 2, 2011



Poetry?

I hate poetry!

Therefore, I'm in. I'll take that concrete poem and make it tough enough to contain gamma radiation!

Edit: vvvvvv Next person's rule is in that post vvvvvvv

Meis fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 21:05

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.


Mysterious space radiation has seeped in and infected Meis' prompt! For not including a flash rule you've subjected yourself to another one: your entry must be upbeat and optimistic.

To you joining after, I want to see something from the perspective of a dying man.

areyoucontagious
Jun 13, 2007

Hell is other people.


I tried to play it straight- like a song you'd hear in an old pub or something.

The General's Fate - 553 words

Throaty howls and the clanging steel
Filled the battlefield.
Stomping boots crushed upon the ground
as blows fell on the shield.

The General stood before the men
“Today’s the day we die!”
And with a flourish of his sword
He led them with a cry.

Down deep into the blooded marsh
The General killed with ease
And all His men looked on in awe
as they saw He was pleased.

For every head that He did chop
And every bone He broke
The General’s grin grew larger
And began His horse to stroke.

“Onward steed, let no man stop us”
was His coarsely uttered roar;
onward they went to sow that field
with discord and bloody gore.

The day grew long as the battle raged
And men looked on their Maker.
Souls plenty sent to Heav’n or Hell
As they all sought favor

Of the fierce and mighty General.
But when He found the camp
Where the foe had kept their kin
He trod forth, raised His lamp

“Women, children, all without guard,
what protects your righteous lives?”
The General sneered and drew His blade
As mothers fled amid babies’ cries.

The gruesome work began with vigor.
The General killed them all,
Except for one – a child –
No more than four feet tall

This Boy of ten years stood his ground
And cursed the General’s name.
The Boy threw stones and hurled barbs
As the General forward came.

His wicked steel shone in the light
Of the bright harvest moon,
And He swung down to end the Boy’s
Pure young life too soon.

But Heav’n guided the steps of the boy
As he darted beneath
The General’s many vicious cuts
And drew a knife from sheath.

The General’s great laugh boomed aloud
As he mocked the child’s play
“What foolishness jest you young boy?
Your flesh I’ll surely flay!”

Yet the Boy let out a victor’s cry
As he found the armor’s chink
And thrust his blade deep in the gap
Faster than his foe could think

The General fell into the mud
And breath’d His life’s vapor
Out into that frigid black night.
He saw Hell’s demons caper.

“What fate finds me this fateful eve!
A disgrace to my name,
that my final duel did come unbid;
This wound has ended my claim

To an honored place in the halls
Of my many lauded kin.
I am done in by this youth’s blade;
A warrior’s greatest sin

Is to find himself thus felled
Not by war but a child.
The Boy responded with a voice
No longer meek or mild

“Go on, you beast, you soulless man,
go die a coward’s death;
you sought to kill the innocent,
so with your dying breath

I command that Hell take you on
Down to the fiery pit
And torture you for every drop
Of blood that you have spilt.”

And thus the General met his end
At the hands of this young boy,
A death noted for both its justice
And its method of employ.

A lesson learned for all men that
Life’s end can soon be met
By forthright battle in the field.
Or, lest you all forget,

That even the mighty can find
Their end on a child’s knife.
Beware the fate of those with hubris;
Your pride will end your life.

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


Meis posted:

Poetry?

I hate poetry!

Therefore, I'm in. I'll take that concrete poem and make it tough enough to contain gamma radiation!
Aaaaw poo poo bro, I love concrete. Meis, you'll be wanting to use the [ code ] [ code ] tags or SA's formatting will ruin it. Also, you can't use forum code inside the [ code ] blocks so you can't use bold/italics etc. NOTE: because the linked page isn't really clear on the matter, it doesn't necessarily need to be shaped like a specific thing (e.g. a fish poem shaped like a fish), it's more like rigidly blocking a play; everything has to be in the right physical place on the page.

The white space is almost as important as the words

Because I'm showing off this week, here's a concrete experiment I did a few months back. I swear not everything I write is like that. Just the good stuff, for some reason.


code:
                                         I have written her a love song that she may not forget


'Atomically speaking, we're immortal' spits the physicist with ringlets as I peek over my beer and 
peep poetry that'll burn the space between because there's nowhere in this heat for the real.

'Each atom,'

he continues

'each atom

in your body, given sufficient time, will fly away and out and find itself somewhere safe to sleep. 
Energy cannot be created or destroyed so it flies until it falls.'

The physicist with ringlets tell me we're all made of stardust and
'atomically atomically we're immortal'; in some long-range way
only really useful as a thought experiment and especially not when the sky is flayed dry and

                                                   (      The Sun
                                                   being hydrogen
                                                   lacks decorum)

I'll find my fear in sunburn and the physicist will dance and snatch at gossamer strands and I'll 
scream until my skin is cyclohexane clean and think of the sun splitting the man; cock to bonnet – 
ballsack to eyeball to see how well thought-experiment stands to heat.

I didn't ask to see my place in this atomic mess or hear dead is dead in all but the poetic sense but-

if i as I may know my mind
and steer her swiftly; lightly
I'd meet a man with big blue eyes
who'd do his best to fight me 


and we as we-  hot and sweaty
sat in the river mantle
would say our piece- each saying each
with words too hot to handle

yet i as we am truly free-
and drink it cold and gently;
I promise I'll try not to die
so long as you don't let me

Etherwind
Apr 22, 2008
Probation
Can't post for 1908 days!


Soiled Meat

SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

Aaaaw poo poo bro, I love concrete. Meis, you'll be wanting to use the [ code ] [ code ] tags or SA's formatting will ruin it. Also, you can't use forum code inside the [ code ] blocks so you can't use bold/italics etc.
pre:
          Look On My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair
The tag you want is [pre].

We use it all the time over in Traditional Games when we're making ou- guys? Guys?

Edit: To clarify, everything between [pre ] and [/pre ] is rendered without first going through the preprocessing to strip white space. So you can use an arbitrary number of spaces, tabs and any other special characters that would normally be stripped out, and use them in any position you like. However, unlike [code] the tag does not interpret all the contents between the tags as literals, so it still searches for matches on forums codes and smilies.

Etherwind fucked around with this message at Jan 10, 2013 around 20:43

Meis
Sep 2, 2011



Bad Seafood posted:

Mysterious space radiation has seeped in and infected Meis' prompt! For not including a flash rule you've subjected yourself to another one: your entry must be upbeat and optimistic.

To you joining after, I want to see something from the perspective of a dying man.

Oops. Got a bit over-enthusiastic and I went and forgot to add my own flash rule. Additional restrictions, just another obstacle to overcome. No problems.

Also I might just create an image file rather than gently caress around with [code] or [pre] tags. That way I won't be limited by anything in regards to creating shapes! Thanks for the tips, though!

Symptomless Coma
Mar 30, 2007
for shock value

Etherwind. Your pre-emptive poetic mindgames and knowledge of haiku don't faze me. Much.

The Remainder. (579w)

It's 0030 on the blackberry and my children are back in bed, as is my husband. Word is open. The little vertical bar blinks impatiently. Ian's booked the press for 0630.

I type,

A disaster has happened.

May as well start with the truth.

It's 0100 and Kevin's come over with takeaway, security-approved pizza and his draft notes. His words soar, as they always do, but they saw too high and the phrase "out of touch" still appears in my dreams, coming out of phones I answer or printed in dossiers I open. Kevin makes that joke Stalin made about a million deaths being a statistic. I'm not sure it was a joke at the time, but politicians have a habit of getting misquoted.

It's 0112 and we've destroyed the pizza together, high glycemic index be damned. Kevin asks if there's anything else he can do for me. I tell him there isn't. He should be at home, like I am.

It's 0139 and I've got the BBC, Associated Press, Guardian and TMZ open on tabs. Tabbed browsing was invented by the enemies of freedom, I swear. AP always have the easiest time of it. Pure fact, other people's actions and opinions. I decide to be more encouraging of Sarah the next time she says she wants to be a journalist.

It's 2008 and I'm being introduced to Richard Phillips who will run the campaign as he has run so many before him. I ask him, as I will in every quiet moment, the only question I have.
"How do I win?"
"That's simple. Be direct, and be you."
"That's all?"
"Simple and easy are two different things, Minister."

It's 0202 and I'm debating the difference between sorrow and dismay using Winston's old thesaurus. It's in surprisingly good state. I think he hardly used it.
I close the book and type, sadness.

It's 0231 when I finally tire of watching Winston Churchill speeches. The phrases are so simple, but the speeches are so lofty. Words for another time, when the subject matter was a war that everyone wanted to happen. I check YouTube for videos of myself. The most popular is still the one of me tripping up the stairs at Conference.

It's 0322 and I have three paragraphs written. It's like exams again. The room is too big and too quiet, there's a pressure in this chamber that makes me want to scream.

It's 0410 and my blackberry - my personal blackberry, vibrates the desk. I have an email - just like Richard to make contact at four, after a year. He offers condolences tips. He says, I miss you. Just reply. It's easy. I slam the phone onto the keyboard, hoping that between keypad and keypad something intelligible might come out.

Millie's little face peeps out from the oak door. I didn't think she could manage the stairs, yet.

"Mum, what's happened? Why are you still awake?"
"People have died, honey. Lots of people."
"Everyone?"
"Not everyone. But have had to say goodbye to their mummies and daddies."

She steps out of the shadows. The huge study makes her look even tinier.

"Can we look after those people?"
"We can't make them better, Millie. But we'll try to help them. Now go back upstairs, and I'll make you some cocoa."

Millie nods her head. I stare at the clock, at the blackberry, at the map of the nation, and wish that everything was this simple.

Etherwind
Apr 22, 2008
Probation
Can't post for 1908 days!


Soiled Meat

Symptomless Coma. You don't impress me. Much. So you've got the words, but haven't got the touch. And don't get me wrong, yeah, I think you're all right: but that won't help you win in this long, hard, lonely fight.
I am so sorry.

Etherwind posted:

Conversions

"So this gay guy-"

"Tell it to me straight."

I blinked. He watched me across the neck of his beer, head tilted like he wanted my complaint. "You got a problem?"

"The joke doesn't work if the guy's straight."

"Then it's a lovely joke." He downed the drink and tossed the empty bottle into the trash, all casual ease, then leaned against his folded arms. A new tattoo of a cross was angry red on his wrist; I felt small, sitting beside him. Not like the day we met, clueless freshman and sophomore veteran, but that was before I got to know him... and his priest.

"You got something against the gays?" My voice was shriller than I wanted it to be, but he ignored me.

"You've told, what, five dick jokes, a couple blonde jokes, an observation about motherfuckin' coffee joints, had a crack at the President and talked poo poo on that Jersey crew."

"You liked the Jersey joke!"

"Yeah, and that's sad." He flashed an even smile from his uneven face. "But look, that's a lot of clichés. You want to be that kind of comedian? Stale as this poo poo?" He kicked the cooler.

"I'll tell another joke."

"What? No!" He punched me in the shoulder. "You a pussy? You can make anything work."

"Maybe you can." I rubbed the bruise. "People laugh at anything coming out of your potato-man head."

He grinned and grabbed another beer, cracking it open against his knuckle callous. "You think your Emo rear end gonna get any less laughs? Look at you. More black on you than Chris Rock, and you're the palest motherfucker I know. Never mind the lipstick."

I smiled like I was laughing, glad he noticed. "I don't know why you bother with someone like me."

He softened around the edges, kept the humour. "Community outreach. We take all kinds of sinners."

As he held my gaze I grew warm. It was difficult hiding the thrill I felt, but my new Church would not approve.

"So tell it straight," he said, breaking the spell.

"How about I tell it gay, so you see what I mean?" He nodded, sat back.

"So this gay guy goes to church. As the offering basket is passed, he drops in a big wad of bills. When the basket gets back to the priest, he sees the money and says 'Someone was very generous today. I would like to ask the person who gave this to stand.'

"So the gay guy stands up, and the priest tells him 'We appreciate your generosity, so I'm going to let you select your three favourite hymns.'

"The gay guy says, 'Sure: I'll take him, him and him!'"

He just shook his head. "Won't work with a straight guy," I repeated.

"No, it won't because it blows. All the same, you could have made it a woman."

"Then the religious-"

"gently caress religion. New York has gay marriage now; there's nothing to lose."

"Christ... and coming from a Catholic!"

"What's funny is funny." His second creed. "That ain't. Even if it was a woman."

"So now it doesn't matter whether it's gay." I was on my feet, my drink bounced off the trash with a feeble throw.

"It never has. Look, sit your rear end back down." He glanced at where my beer spilled, corrected himself. "Clean that poo poo up, then sit your rear end back down. I'm gonna have a cigarette, then we'll make you funny."

I mopped up while he went outside. He came back with a big smile. "Tell me why the joke works."

"You said it didn't." He grinned at me, urging me on. "Because the wordplay, it's a clash of perspectives. The audience expects him to choose songs, but instead he chooses the congregation."

"Your problem is they can see it coming. You're all upfront with the guy's intentions." He did a mincing walk as he said it; I reached for another bottle. "When you talk about him being gay, the stereotype hurts the joke."

"Okay rear end in a top hat, how do I fix it?"

"Little old lady." He laughed at my confusion. "Tell it again, with a little old lady instead of a gay guy."

I had to admit, he made it bearable.

Bad Seafood
Dec 10, 2010

If you must blink, do it now.


Oh, yeah, should probably have mentioned this.

Since everyone's prompt is subject to custom tailoring, kindly include your flash rule in your submission post. It makes things easier to keep track of.

If you've already submitted you're off the hook. This time.

STONE OF MADNESS
Dec 28, 2012

PVTREFACTIO


Etherwind, Symptomless C, I've read 'em both and crits will follow ere the 12th

SurreptitiousMuffin
Mar 21, 2010

I got it wrong. Look, I'm well aware I got it wrong and uh, I got it wrong.


Bitches, I'm on a roll this week. Here's a thing:

I will Thunderbrawl all poetic challengers. If you want to fight me, step up.

Etherwind
Apr 22, 2008
Probation
Can't post for 1908 days!


Soiled Meat

SurreptitiousMuffin I totally owe you a brawl from earlier and really loving want to, but I have a small novel worth of poo poo I have to write for this weekend (no joke: if I thought I could manage both I would). Is this a one-time offer, or can I murder you next week?

STONE OF MADNESS, cool poo poo, could you drop me a preview via PM if you get it done before then? I am hungry for pain.

V for Vegas
Aug 31, 2004

THUNDERDOME LOSER

Flash rule - first and last word the same.

we left, and it was OK

code:
To go to go and not return 
Is the lesson for which we all shall burn.
Crack stone, tumble wells
On we go to burn in hell.

Tears of tears were in my eyes
There I go, we go to die
Never there was a ghost to see
I bang a drum, my timpani.

See you out; oh vicious foe
Now you tell a tale of woe?
Strike hammers, fall the chains
To emerge again and feel the rain.

What now comes is out of luck
We tried that once, and it kind of sucked
You laugh now; but by my beard
The October land was always weird.

Shivering gales, caterwaul
The caves of Uffren beckon all
One last stand, one last fight
Before we go into the night.

Meadow shadows stretch and leer
They’re coming now for you my dear
Any way we run our race
We come again to see that face.

A toast! A toast! To the best of hosts
Rarely seen he left his post
Left us to rail ‘gainst walls of hope
The gates were shut, we couldn't cope.

Pauldron cauldron smelting ire
Burning man, from ice comes fire
Descending now to place so new
I lost your hand, I lost mine too.

End on end on end on end
Whatever breaks will never bend
What Now! Bloviate!
I hate I hate I hate I hate.

Anger wells and consumes
To the Devel with your flume
It grows and feeds on dogglesworth
Butcher it then fall to earth.

And leech that tumor from your breast
Catch your breath, take your rest
For now this comes out in the mist
We have to stop, unclench thy fist.

The falling rain is back inside
It had to come, we cannot hide
From words or thoughts or calumnies
A final rest sunk to our knees

to go to go and not return
is the moment for which we never burn
rub your lucky portmanteau
something to pour your heart in to.
350

Noah
May 31, 2011

Come at me baby bitch


SurreptitiousMuffin posted:


FLASH RULE: Poem must be a sestina. Suck it, person below me.

edit: this frees it from the 350 word minimum.

Flash rule: Sestina http://poetry.about.com/od/poeticforms/g/sestina.htm

Bite of the Grind

You! Take note of the Grind!
Bite down and taste the blood
Open your eyes and shake the rust
Servant of Heaven we are a tool
Tasked with souls to save,
Bask in the power.

Without your power,
Succumb to the bite of the grind.
Your light you must save,
Don't spill your own blood.
Keep sharp your tool
Or infect the host with rust.

Gurney rolls in, squeek rust!
Ventilator, electricity, buzz power!
Attach the cord, swing tool!
Rough skin, rough eyes, grind!
Ignore the sweat, forget the blood
Do it my way, save!

But no we can't save,
Sickness wins, and we rust.
We fought with our own blood,
And it sapped our power.
This is how it feels to grind.
Merely a blunted tool.

Hands are tied to the tool.
How many we did not save?
This weary slog, our grind.
In our own tears we rust,
Unplug it all, cut the power,
Clean off all this blood.

But now again there's fresh blood,
Arm yourselves, get the tools!
To redeem is true power,
This body we must save,
Fight through the rust,
This is how we grind!

With our tools we can save,
Blood cannot make us rust,
Power in all things, we will beat the grind.

Noah
May 31, 2011

Come at me baby bitch


Benagain, have you contacted HiddenGecko for judging our Brawl?

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


THUNDERBRAWL ROUND I OF III

Ok, I'm here. I've binged on pasta after a hard day of manual labor and my brain is working again. I'll judge the heck out of this Thunderbrawl.

Since this week we're exploring poetry in all it's terrifying forms I'm giving you two something interesting

Contestants: Noah and Benagain. Others may join as well.

Conditions: You're going to write a SHAPE poem.
http://goo.gl/LHMeD will give you an exact idea of what I'm talking about.

Your Prompt: "Canned peaches, a down comforter, and the gardener."

Your prize: MY LOVE

Deadline: Saturday afternoonish. Since this is an artsy kind of prompt and you'll need the time to make it good.

Since the format for this is unconventional you can hand draw your poem, save as a PDF, use html, or even save it as a bitmap. Whatever it takes to get me the poem

Now GO

HiddenGecko fucked around with this message at Jan 11, 2013 around 00:46

HiddenGecko
Apr 15, 2007

You think I'm really going
to read this shit?


Double Post.

Martello. Could you pretty please judge a Thunderbrawl between me and Iroel. I need someone with the terrifying hard tack you're made up of.

Noah
May 31, 2011

Come at me baby bitch


Down. Don't forget, we're on a 3 round Thunderbrawl HiddenGecko. We'll need two more prompts.

Benagain
Oct 10, 2007

Student of the principle art of posting

Fun Shoe

gently caress yes. So in for this.

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

STONE OF MADNESS posted:

Etherwind, Symptomless C, I've read 'em both and crits will follow ere the 12th

I have made my decision, but will wait for Madness' crit to render it.

  • Locked thread
«150 »