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Gunfire Spa Day it's pretty quiet as I lay in my tub with the lights off cops will be here soon
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# ? Jan 24, 2020 23:49 |
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# ? May 28, 2024 07:22 |
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I was stoned and ate The birthday candy basket Sent by your parents
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 01:33 |
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Pump bottle of lube On the kitchen countertop Where are the carrots?
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 02:01 |
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flerp posted:week 8 judgement Aw poo poo. As for losing the trail, yeah, it's sort of a thing I do sometimes. It's something I try to avoid, and yet. sephiRoth IRA posted:Interprompt: all your coworkers drank all my jagermeister you're alcoholics
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 05:11 |
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Prompt prompt prompt
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 05:15 |
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Week 9: Haibun A quick description stolen straight-up from Wikipedia: "A haibun may record a scene, or a special moment, in a highly descriptive and objective manner or may occupy a wholly fictional or dream-like space. The accompanying haiku may have a direct or subtle relationship with the prose and encompass or hint at the gist of what is recorded in the prose sections. ... Generally, a haibun consists of one or more paragraphs of prose written in a concise, imagistic style, and one or more haiku." (Emphasis mine.) Bashō the biggest proponent of the haibun form. So! First, you write a prose poem bit. Then, you write a haiku bit that is related, in a way, to the prose poem bit. It's deceptively difficult to do well. I'm not going to give any parameters or prompting beyond the previous. (I will, however, suggest a single paragraph-ish-sized piece of prose and a single haiku stanza just to make it easier.) Signups thru Jan 29 and submissions through Jan 31.
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 05:39 |
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In
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 05:44 |
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In
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 06:39 |
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In
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 13:10 |
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In
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# ? Jan 25, 2020 14:34 |
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We Decided to Get Drunk Instead of Hiking Up That Night A day late, we are still in no hurry. The sun is up before we roll out of the tent, stinking of whiskey. It’s about twelve miles, all of it uphill or flat, to the old firewatch cabin at the top. Michael walks ahead on the steep parts, rugged switchbacks through boulders, trees dangling out over the edge. It’s overcast, not too humid, not too many insects. I hardly notice the hangover. The forest opens in front of us, the sugar maple and yellow birch spaced quite wide between more boulders, as if a giant had flung a mountain up and this is how it had come down. It is quiet and cool and a mist hangs around the trail. Suddenly, a deer flies across the trail in front of us – we never see it touching the ground. It comes out of the mist on one side of the trail in the air, and it disappears into the mist on the other side without landing. There is no sound. At the cabin, I get the wood stove going and look through a bookshelf with books people have left here. It starts raining in the afternoon and keeps up all night. Lying in the top bunk, I hear the telltale scratching of a little friend searching for food. last March: the mouse made a nest in the torn-up leaves of The Dharma Bums cda fucked around with this message at 04:09 on Feb 1, 2020 |
# ? Jan 28, 2020 22:46 |
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Aw yiss, it begins. Reminder that the signup deadline is tomorrow (11:59pm).
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# ? Jan 28, 2020 23:17 |
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I've been sitting on mine for two days and just tweaking it. Haibun has been a lot of fun but I worry about the triteness, it feels real easy to tip over in that direction.
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# ? Jan 28, 2020 23:26 |
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Sorry for the double post, but I owe crits and goddamn if I'm not ashamed they are nearly two months late. Boo this man. Boo. Ode Week Crits cda The juxtaposition of the ye olde English feel and the crude content didn’t work for me. Honestly the content alone would have been enough to put me off; personally, I think odes should elevate the content, and with something as serious as solitude, I think you could have picked loftier goals and save this content for a limerick. You draw up a few interesting wordplays, but overall your execution was suboptimal. That said I did appreciate your commitment to your subject. cda posted:Ode to Solitude Lofi I really enjoyed the crowd/depth/teeming ocean feel you had going, leading to a nice pearl metaphor which I wish you would have explored more (see inline). This wasn’t a bad poem, but it lacked polish that kept it out of the upper echelons. I think if you tighten and refocus on the ocean metaphor and stick with that, it might be more effective. lofi posted:To Solitude Thranguy OK, I’ll admit it took a few reads and I still don’t know if I fully understand what you’re getting at, but I LOVED reading this out loud. It’s got a lot of really cool flow, assonance, alliteration, etc. Very musical. I think you captured the spirit of the ode with the language and the interplay between your stanzas, but subject issues kept you from the win. Thranguy posted:Real and Imaginary Armack, congrats on the win and good luck with the sub. Djeser It was hard to read this as an ode. It’s a poem that’s got some strength and weakness, but it didn’t necessarily (and I understand this is completely subjective) elevate nowhere for me. You get close in the second stanza, but as far as the poem in its whole, there wasn’t enough interaction between your stanzas’ subjects to really hit what I wanted. Djeser posted:Nowhere flerp This was a sweet poem. It was missing some of the expressive, lyrical language I was hoping for and was instead very matter-of-fact. I can obviously tell you loved this dog, and so in that way you were very successful. There are some really effective lines in here and some that were not-so-effective, and overall, I think if you trimmed this down some it might pack a bit more punch. flerp posted:To Sheila (I Named Her When I was Four)
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# ? Jan 29, 2020 09:00 |
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Four entries this go-round: sephiRoth IRA Saucy_Rodent Anomalous Amalgam cda We're now closed, and have til 11:59pm of the 31st. Good luck have fun.
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# ? Jan 30, 2020 08:12 |
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Memorial My mother died on Mother’s Day. At nine, I was deemed too young to attend her burial. I did not see the afternoon May sunlight dapple on the whorled marble of the garden mausoleum, or see her coffin placed into the cool darkness of her crypt. Today, I walk the gentle slope of manicured grass and trees to her tomb, guarded by the white peak of Mount Hood that stretches into the blue expanse above. I stop to replace her grave flowers with yellow and pink carnations. That same May sun warms my face like my mother’s touch once did, but the marble embossed with her name is cold beneath my hand. Songbird choir heralds my ascent. I am withered like last year’s roses.
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# ? Jan 30, 2020 08:42 |
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A sun-soaked memory of a hike from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem We came across ruins, not the ancient mosaic marble the tour guides had shown us, but crumbling white concrete. The map says this was an Arab village before 1948 but does not tell us its name; we can’t tell if it was bombed or simply abandoned and left to crumble. We take a moment to explore before climbing up the biggest building in the center of town. We lean on the domed roof and pull our pita and jerkies and dried fruits from our backpacks. There, atop the old mosque, we have a lovely little lunch. The flowers growing from the gravestones are mocking the corpses beneath.
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# ? Jan 31, 2020 02:15 |
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Introverted Gorges We walked in silence, each of us searching for something ineffable on those winding canyon trails. Through swaths of wilted sunflowers and red sand basins, we crossed over mesa walls and blooded rock formations. Vast chasms holding history, lost hope and tourist attraction, we made simple lodgings under the stars. Among friends, truly good company, I still managed to feel alone, missing home and all that it held. Home’s where the heart is, Or so people have told me. I have what I need.
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# ? Feb 1, 2020 01:24 |
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Okay, first off, winner is: Saucy_Rodent! Yay! Crits, in chronological order: cda I'm mostly a fan of this poem; my only quibble with it is that it veers a little too far into telling than showing. I think I would have nibbled each sentence in half or so. There's some really great imagery, and the really lively bits get pulled down or lost in the less lively stuff. For example, I would have trimmed the second stanza to quote:The forest opens in front of us, the sugar maple and yellow birch spaced quite wide between more boulders sephiRoth IRA I don't think you needed to worry about being trite with this one, not quite. There's just a smidge of over-explanation, just enough to make me wonder how much is needed. I really enjoyed the use of paradox--Mount Hood vs. the sky, the sun vs the stone, heat vs. cold--and how those parallel the paradox of absence and presence. I like the interplay between the prose and the haiku, but I'm not sure I'm down with "Songbird choir heralds," because I feel like it's right on the edge of tipping into cliché. I like the audio image of songbirds and "my ascent," maybe something else for the verb. An emotional poem that reminds me a bit of Kenneth Rexroth's "Delia Rexroth" though obviously not as wide-ranging out of necessity and formal considerations. Saucy_Rodent Simple and evocative at the same time, I think this is exemplary of the form. It's not too concerned with telling us monologues or making its own meaning known, it's a moment of travel told well. The prose section has some pleasant moments of alliteration, which come and go without making themselves particularly obvious. Here, too, I enjoy the paradox of the marble vs. the concrete, of life vs death. Most of all, the image of a small group of friends eating lunch on the dome of a ruined mosque seems so basic and pleasant and human. Honestly, my only real complaint is with the choice of the verb "mocking," but the rest of the poem more than makes up for it, and I'm willing to go along with it for commitment to conceit. Anomalous Amalgam The biggest thing holding me back on this poem is that it goes abstract so often. Sticking with the concrete images is really necessary in the imagist style, and you end up explaining the metaphorical content of your images, which sucks the life out of them. I'm also not quite sure about how I'm supposed to feel about the speaker's overall emotional state, considering "missing home" contrasted with the haiku. The haiku, incidentally, is what feels the most authentic here, and with some pruning of the prose section, I think it would feel more earned, especially since the concrete images are so good. Overall, great job by everyone. All of the imagery from everyone is so strong, and there's a definite feeling of aware in each, in good haiku/haibun tradition. Congrats, again, to Saucy_Rodent! rickiep00h fucked around with this message at 03:20 on Feb 2, 2020 |
# ? Feb 2, 2020 02:24 |
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My original haiku read My mother’s roses like the garden of my heart are withered away. But I thought it was too cliche as well. Thank you for the crit.
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 03:00 |
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Round X: Death poems Write a poem about death or mortality. You may write in any style except free verse. There has to be some sort of rhyming or syllable stuff going on. Due by 11:59 central on Feb. 7th. No due date to sign up. Poets:
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 05:07 |
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in
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 05:33 |
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sure, in
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 05:49 |
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in
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 06:10 |
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In
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 07:15 |
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In.
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 08:56 |
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Thanks for crit, rickie
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# ? Feb 2, 2020 15:12 |
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I'll give poetry a whack why not IN
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 14:55 |
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A fountain pen in motion Its words, in black, are still. Yet, one day, the pen will stay for words to move its will. This poem was entitled “Write a Will, You Chucklefucks” by Azza Bamboo.
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 15:51 |
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wait did I just hide a limerick in four lines hahahahahahaha if your death poem doesn't beat an oddly formatted limerick I feel bad for you.
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 16:05 |
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Azza Bamboo posted:wait did I just hide a limerick in four lines I mean, it's four-fifths of an unfunny limerick, which kind of runs against the whole idea of a limerick, but thank you for participating!
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 17:33 |
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In Also here is a link to an extremely good poem about death: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48422/aubade-56d229a6e2f07
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 18:06 |
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cda posted:In You rear end in a top hat, now all I can think of is I will never write anything half as good so why bother. Larkin is great.
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 18:18 |
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Just want to make this clear: I will be very liberal with what I consider “not free verse.” Just give me literally anything. A rhyming couplet at the end of a free-verse poem: good. Every other line starts with the same letter? Sure, fine. Just include some linguistic pattern, any at all, to any degree you want except none at all, and you’re golden.
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 18:40 |
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I'm planning on rolling with the Richard Hugo-approved "ten syllables who cares about stresses/accents" form, m'self.
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 21:17 |
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rickiep00h posted:I'm planning on rolling with the Richard Hugo-approved "ten syllables who cares about stresses/accents" form, m'self. Dibs on Dickinson-style iambic tetrameter/trimeter
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# ? Feb 3, 2020 21:20 |
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In
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# ? Feb 5, 2020 00:12 |
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sephiRoth IRA posted:Dibs on Dickinson-style iambic tetrameter/trimeter *angrily crumples up a piece of paper with "Because I could not stop for Death" written on it*
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# ? Feb 5, 2020 16:40 |
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Maugrim posted:You rear end in a top hat, now all I can think of is I will never write anything half as good so why bother. When in doubt if you read a poem that makes you feel this way, write a poem where you tell the poet they suck and their poems are terrible. Just lean into your envy
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# ? Feb 5, 2020 16:42 |
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# ? May 28, 2024 07:22 |
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Sorry Sorry, kid: we can’t call Grandma (Not tonight and not tomorrow, nor beyond, And it breaks my heart you’re asking With that dimple smile of which she was so fond.) I know we saw her last month, kid (And she cuddled you and rocked you while we ate Never knew you stay so quiet, kid Or to finish every mouthful from your plate.) She won’t sing your favourite song, kid (That’s the only way to make you take your meds When the songs I sing are wrong, kid And our clothes are stained and nerves are all in shreds.) I’m not saying no out of spite, kid (And it’s taking all the patience that I’ve got To not react to that bite, kid, To make soothing sounds and clean up all the snot.) I can’t make you understand, kid (Even though we had the funeral today You mostly wanted to run off, kid And you thought that everyone was there to play.) Sorry, kid: we can’t call Grandma (And drat the picture on the pamphlet on the pew That made you remember Grandma When she will nevermore remember you.)
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# ? Feb 6, 2020 23:33 |