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I'm in, gonna write me a satirical poem about death. The person after me, the poor dear, must  have at least 5% of their final wordcount (do the math yourself, gumling) comprised of neologisms, or newly coined words. Think Jabberwocky and nonsense verse.
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Jan 12, 2013 03:15
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| # ¿ Mar 18, 2025 10:58 |
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Flash rule: Must be a satire. Round n (662 words) Tick Flowering of space-time-force Tock Macro dimensions crystallize Tick Ah, three plus one. Tock My favorite Death watched intently As infant matter and its opposite Warred in the blackness Attracting, repelling, touching Annihilating Orderly matter, both kinds Flashing away to energy Death was increased A happily messy aftermath The soup was thin now And of only one kind But it was not without order Death watched intently As hydrogen slowly massed Barely detectable clusterings Now diffuse clouds Now tight knots Less homogenous, yes But clumping produced heat And Death was increased Death watched intently The cloudy knots were thinning No - clumping further! Clumping locally! And under the pressure The stars were lit Their fire was Creation Complex helium From simple hydrogen Death was decreased! But as a forge Gravity is inefficient The stars Created, yes But much greater Was energy lost as light A fair enough trade After the initial shock Thought Death As he increased Death watched intently As twenty-five new forms Were birthed in the young stars Most distasteful, to be sure But Death increased all the while And the stars were slowing down. Then they began to explode! Ah, how Death increased! How silly to have worried! He saw immediately That new stars would form But what of it? So much energy ceded to him For what? For what? Cold fury, then As he saw what the suicides Had bought dear Sixty-Six new forms! Very orderly Though many were unstable Unthinkable! Blasphemous! Yet Death had increased And continued to increase What was this gambit? Death watched intently As infant atoms formed molecules Complex structure But at a cost Always Death increased Death saw the gambit, now New stars, heavy stars Would coalesce from this dust Death watched intently As the heavy stars formed Waited for their ignition Creation at their cores Nothing! The new stars were stillborn! Too cold, too cold! Nothing but rocks Leaking the heat of formation The gambit had failed Death was increased! Death watched languidly As the true second stars Collapsed and ignited But they were nothing new Nothing to fear And still Death increased Death watched languidly As the light of true stars Fell on a fraction of the stillborn And their surfaces warmed Still Death increased Death felt a pinprick Cast about for its source A stillborn star? No, new structure At its surface Self replicating structure! Death watched furiously As the replicators multiplied And spread Their messy processes Increased him always Faster than before But their ordered internals Were the ultimate affront So this was the true gambit Such audacity! To increase him By building pockets Where he could be murdered! This went beyond The Spirit of the Game Beyond the implications Of Conditions Initial This was a cheat! Death could never be decreased By this insane process It was true But the irreverence on display Was too much to bear Death watched insanely As life multiplied and branched Always he increased Even life increased him As it lived As it died But this was forgotten He'd seen the possibility Right from the start The Gambit within the Gambit Ah, they awakened now Self aware creatures Aware of death Death cared little for death The ending of a process At a specific level of abstraction But these creatures feared death And though they had not yet named Death He knew they would And they would scheme Against their petty death Against his ultimate Death They would lose both battles Always That was obvious But how disgusting To waste an entire Game An entire Universe On a bad joke aimed at him Executed by little machines That would presume to Take up their master's Standard! It was time to interfere Time to break the rules As his opponent had broken them Death hadn't interfered In a very long time Not for many Games But this was personal And he could use a challenge After all Spare the children and the rod spoils
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Jan 14, 2013 05:58
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Etherwind posted:Rock solid, spot on, legit-as-gently caress critique. Thanks man. Only thing I'll say is that the satire I was angling for (and missed) was trying to lampoon the idea that Death (the running down of an orderly process, whether a person, animal, town, star, etc) which is of course everywhere and one of the ultimate facts of the universe, would ever take any kind of special interest in life or humans in particular. That's not a new idea either, obviously, but I wanted to highlight the absurdity of it by having Death sort of zoom in on us unaccountably after being the unquestioned master of the universe for so long. (As I understand it satire is the overly credulous or enthusiastic acceptance of an idea, to highlight its contradictions, implausibilities, etc.) I blew it obviously, but there it is. I know very little about poetry, so bear with this critique. My voice upraised toward the sky in song, I call my patron Muse. In youth I would Frequently write soft words to earn your smile, Yet now I tarnish every syllable Invoking you for competition's sake. The gods of Thunder rule this work be now writ: With heavy heart to them I must submit. Sing we the song of Cleon's fall with Urn. Great intro, though I'm not sure it would work for a wider audience. Of course you could just start it with "sing we the song" but I like the little lead in and if you try to get this published don't hack off the intro because it only makes total sense to goons. Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly, At least I recognize the Blake reference Through forest deep and dry it stalked Sly Urn and Cleon both, their men long dead And bronze made molten ruin. Cleon ran With Urn within his arms and screamed in fear. "with Urn within" strikes me as a little repetitive. Maybe try "between?" Betrayed they both had been, and now the beast Might burn the towns and kill again. Yet first It came for Urn the sharp of eye, its mark Upon his flesh and hunger on its tongues. Fair Cleon could yet hurl him down and flee, Hero not he, but bonds of purpose held The men together fast, as did memory. This is a good hook, loving the dual meaning of tongues, even though it took me embarrassingly long to get. Met they within the charnel house, once home To Urn the sharp of eye, all people gone As ash upon the wind save he. Sly Urn With bow accosted Cleon from afar, Demanding "Who are you to come this way? Dressed bright in bronze and fair of look are you, But none know more than I that evil walks Aflame with grace. Be gone before I shoot This barb into your heart!" Not idle was His threat, for many men had met their end Unknowing whence the blow had came, or how I could be wrong, but isn't "blow had come" proper? So small a man could shoot so far and true. Now Cleon fair removed his helm and laughed, Stentorian as booming voice that once Against the edge of all the earth was raised. He was a man still young and strong, untried By world, untroubled he, for hopelessly The path ahead appeared to have no end. Not sure I understand "hopelessly" here. Is it that Cleon wants to be tested and maybe meet the end of his path? If so then cool. "A target fair I am to you," said he, "Without this guard upon my head. Might you Let loose against a man still garbed in bronze I feel like "let loose" breaks some of the immersion of your epic style. Any mythic or high fantasy person would only ever say "loose." Your meter constraints play in to this I know. Maybe change "let loose" to "let fly" if you can't work loose in by itself. And cut him low, then you may be the sort To aid this fair villain. For murderous The course upon which I set out today." I'm loving Cleon's characterization here. He's that pretty-boy fantasy protagonist douchebag everybody actually hated at the time, but makes it in to legend. Sly Urn beheld the truth, many the times Deceit tried creep into the hunter's home. Like poor Tiresias blind-struck, mere chance Left him alive but changed for worse compared To who had he in youth once been. Also Like poor Tiresias blind-struck, skill rare Had come in wake of tragedy, the bow The means allowing Urn to years survive. Unlike Tiresias blind-struck, no god With gift or curse had come, his sight still keen, I don't understand the significance of the line about the gods. Is this setting up for sea noticing him and taking pity? I feel like it is, but without knowing what Tiresias got from the gods it just feels out of place, almost random. Still clear the gaze of Urn the sharp of eye. "The beast you seek: I saw it long ago." Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly, Through tree and smoke it came for them, narrow Its eye and fierce its roar. 'Neath canopy In darkness Cleon stumbled far, heavy The load of Urn the sharp of eye. For miles Too great to count he gave a great account: Onward he pressed when breath had left his chest And only fear endured. Not only fear! For kinship held to him when hope had fled As like a lover holds when lust is spent. drat, nice. Hero not he, Cleon bereft of bronze Ran from the boughs and saw the cliffs distantly. That last line, "saw the cliffs distantly" in particular, REALLY resonates. More so than "memory" and "resolutely." drat, it's probably my favorite part of this poem. The image is crystal clear, that it should set up a flashback is natural (you set it up with "memory," but even still). Very good work. With men in tow across the land they searched, Until at last its tracks Urn spied upon The sand beside the cliffs: glassen the steps Left by the beast. "Now soon," said Cleon bold, "Revenge will come for Urn the sharp of eye, Too long delayed." Sly Urn was not impressed. "For what, or whom," asked Urn, "do you this quest engage? Some death? Or glory offered you?" Again fair Cleon laughed, then mirth dispersed Lest he offend. "This task," said Cleon low, "To win the praise of maiden bloody, queen Of all within the stormy northern bowl." The idea of the maiden queen being "bloody" is unsettling, and works well to foreshadow her betrayal. The bit about the "stormy northern bowl" is the only real world building here, aside from the rest taking place in a forest by the sea cliffs. Maybe one or two lines referencing that place or region by name would serve to ground this more? Where mythic stuff happens is usually important. Said Urn, "The deed alone shall satisfy; Your reasons are your own. Of deed let now We speak. What means the beast can pacify? There! See it moved away from sea? Perhaps A fear we can exploit?" Fair Cleon smiled. "No need," said Cleon sure, "have we of surf Or rain to quell our prey. Advised am I By queen of blood that flame cannot endure With kin, so suffocate the fiend in fire And see it snuffed." Sly Urn was not impressed. "Let us but hope," said Urn, "this queen of blood Is right. The blaze takes all it gives its mark." More foreshadowing I didn't understand at first then got later. I had a little trouble parsing that last line, with "takes all it gives" but I just had to read it a couple times. Could just be me. Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly, Through moonless night the pair it chased, On Urn the sharp of eye its brand. At edge Of rock fair Cleon stood, there leaning out To hear the pound of wave on stone as like The axeman counts the time in beats of drum "axeman" cought me off guard. I think this is referencing an executioner, but when I hear "axeman" and "counting time" and "beats of drum" together I think of a rock band (axe is slang for guitar in the USA, not sure about for you.) The dread was kind of muddled for me is what I'm saying. But it could just be my fault. With growing dread and tightened gut, waiting For rare reprieve or time at last his weight To drop. His legs atremble, Cleon held Against his breast sly Urn so small and still. Hero not he, as glowing flame close came Cleon bereft of bronze stayed resolutely. In forest deep and dry a trap was set To catch and kill the seething beast. Know all Who read these stalwart names how great their work: Pallas the still, Nestor the old, Stephan The worthy, Callias serene, spartan "spartan Astro" jars me for some reason. I think all the other heros getting their honorifics after their proper names sets up a nice cadence, and breaking both that pattern and the line in the same dude's name is a snag. Astro, the tall Alexander, Echo The simple, Lucas, son of Callias, Sly Urn and Cleon bright in bronze. All ten Began the night arrayed against the fiend. How long they hid! Until at last they heard When Urn the sharp of eye drew breath and cried "Tyger, profane Tyger! Burning brightly!" At once the men to trees set light; behind The smoke the Tyger slunk. Sly Urn was pale With memory rekindled, now he looked Upon that hell again. The moment stretched, The fire toward the sky climbed high, all coughed... Then crashing came the Tyger through the wall. Tyger, profane Tyger, burning too bright, Great payoff on the Blake reference. Made strong by forest set alight, so grew That beast of fire, titian and dark. To ash Went eight in flash of hate, and Urn Blinded. Cleon shed bronze, raised Urn, and fled. This last line feels rushed. Then again it's appropriate for the situation. It has this bleakness to it that sets it apart from the overwrought stuff. I'm back and forth on it, but it would read better to me if you stretched that scene in to one more line somehow. Tyger, profane Tyger, burning brightly, Approached its prey. As tongues licked rock and scorched His back, fair Cleon gave decree: "No man So brave should fall alone!" So then he leapt Cleon's line is nicely ambiguous (is he talking about himself or Urn?), and fits his character perfectly. To death with Urn, and down into the waves The Tyger plunged with both, at last snuffed out. The ocean wept to feel blind Urn embraced, Her tears of salt welled up to flood the land, And touching Urn upon his ruined face Restored his sight, with kiss retreating back. He just needed some saline drops, eh?  No actually these are the best metaphors in the poem I think.Hero, he woke as dawn then broke, at peace To hear fair Cleon's laugh upon the bay. So they both get what they want I guess. Cleon flames out in glory, Urn lives to see the beast killed, and gets his divine recognition after all. The more I think about/read this poem the more I like it. Like I said before, I know very little about poetry and have read very very little of it. So part of this is just babby's first in depth reading in a long time. But this is some good poo poo. I was emotionally engaged way more by Cleon than Urn, which I feel is a pretty good commentary on the eipc: who the hell wants to sing about Sir Sobersides Urn who is just skeptical and competent and careful all the time?Cleon the brash douchebag is where it's at, and you highlighted this well without beating me over the head with it. Unfortunately I have almost nothing to offer on your meter, I can barely figure out where the stresses are supposed to fall (even when I know), but it reads aloud pretty well and that's what I've always thought made poetry readable. There's lots of good imagery even though I'm sure I missed a lot of it. As well as the references. But I guess it's a good thing that a person so unfamiliar can still appreciate it. There's some unevenness in the degree of epic tone, but it's mostly just single words that seem out of place or more modern sounding than they should. If you can fix those things it'll really sound like an old epic. It's almost there, seriously. I just wish I was equipped to do a closer reading and more rigorous critique.
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Jan 17, 2013 06:23
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