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sephiRoth IRA posted:Also, in atonement for that truly terrible rap I just posted, here is an attempt at a Poem Dome winner gangtag. I think the size/dimensions are all correct. Walt can be saying anything you'd like him to. I would participate solely in the hopes of getting this particular tag, which would make everyone in BYOB very jealous. The other ones I'm not into, but this one, yeah. Speaking of participating...I guess CC people have been doing dome stuff so long that everyone more or less just knows how it works but let me say as a noob, what I want to know is: when do I need to check back on this thread to get in on the ground floor of the next challenge? It's quite possibly explained somewhere, or lots of places, but I am sorry, although I know how to write, I do not know how to read. Thans.
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Dec 5, 2019 17:31
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e: Thanks.
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Dec 5, 2019 17:32
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sephiRoth IRA posted:We see here that Gray has given us a triad with a strophe, antistrohpe, and epode. You might notice that the strophe and antistrophe have the same meter and rhyme scheme, while the epode is distinct. This is by design. I gotta be honest, this has me confused. I do not see the second section as any kind of refutation or complication of the first, just a continuation. I looked up the poem, and it's in three sections of three stanzas each, and it is definitely the case that the second of these three sections complicates what the first brings up, so in that sense I can see the strophe-antistrophe-epode structure, but within the section you've posted here? I don't see it at all.
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Dec 6, 2019 05:09
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1. in 2. i didn't want you to toxx me a subject, but i wrote on lofi's subject, like the dick that i am 3. i'm finished, here it is Ode to Solitude I. O Solitude! Thou allow'st me To Jerk My Pud where none shall see. Upon my monitor, the porn Uprises with the stiff'ning morn. I tastelessly consume too much And do not miss a woman's touch. Whilst She may screech that I am rude You suffer me, O Solitude, To pick my nose unto its core And set my bedsheets in a roar, Bold billowing clouds of fart expel Where none can hear and none can smell. II. A day may pass thus senselessly A mute wave on thy murm'ring sea Or snowfall from th'Olympian ceiling Numbing foolish fellow-feeling, For who would waft Ambrosial scents Perceiving no rapt Audience? Your empty sky, I cannot draw. Your sweetness, sugar in the raw. On this vacation, our embrace O Solitude, this bed's the place I penetrate your Zero Zone, And even thou leav'st me alone. III. The sensible inhabitants of Earth, The ordinaries of the spinning Real, May need t'affirm their dignity and worth By telling others what they think and feel. They hold their wrists out waiting to be chained And turn their faces from the streaming tide Of teenage nymphos looking to be trained, And never break the wind, and never ride The oceanic void. They'll never know Cold Ramen eaten by the crunchy brick. Their mothers, wives, and girlfriends wouldn't go For such shenanigans. It'd make them sick. But in you, Solitude, I swell with pride, Until I bust, as when groom first meets bride. cda fucked around with this message at 02:31 on Dec 8, 2019 |
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Dec 8, 2019 02:00
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Armack posted:For My Cat Have you ever read Christopher Smart's "For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffrey"? It's the first thing I thought about when I was trying to think of a poem of praise with lofty language in it. It's not an ode, but it kicks total rear end https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45173/jubilate-agno
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Dec 12, 2019 17:49
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sephiRoth IRA posted:Winner: Amrack Ode to Losing by cda, copyright 2019 cda The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
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Dec 13, 2019 15:51
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in for the sonnet
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Dec 14, 2019 02:03
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not my entry, just trying to encourage participation! Dear posters of CC, please say you’re in. It’s not that hard to write a sonnet when The wit and wordcraft of the Bard has been Condensed at Rhymezone and his perfect pen Well-matched by https://www.languageis avirus.com/sonnet-gen erator.php, so that this Week’s Dome does not require that you be Ben Jonson or John Milton or Edward Spenser, Or even Petrarch with his distant Laura. You can compose untouched by fear of censure And post your poem on your favorite fora, Remembering what Thom Stearns said with zeal Good poets borrow but the great ones steal.
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Dec 15, 2019 23:01
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ok here's my sonnet Found Sonnet: JSTOR search: ecology agency climate change Achieving change in individual [1] taxon-specific strategies that will [2] been coarsened in the ways that casual [3] in climate-driven range expansion (Hill [4] 2001) [5] determine the ideal [6] intrusion of the natural world into the inner world of consciousness might feel [7] conceived of as a force for making new [7] see adaptation as an urgent need [8] without the pressure of having to meet [9] SRES scenarios; indeed [5] host–parasite relationships, and heat wave frequency [10] dispersal were derived [4] emerging, or obscure. We have arrived [6] [1] Smith, Mark Stafford. “Responding to Global Environmental Change.” Change!, edited by Gabriele Bammer, ANU Press, 2015, pp. 29–42. [2] Chown, Steven L., and Ary A. Hoffmann. “EDITORIAL: Ecophysiological Forecasting for Environmental Change Adaptation.” Functional Ecology, vol. 27, no. 4, 2013, pp. 930–33. [3] Solnick, Sam. “Reverse Transcribing Climate Change.” Oxford Literary Review, vol. 34, no. 2, 2012, pp. 277–93. JSTOR. [4] Vos, Claire C., et al. “Adapting Landscapes to Climate Change: Examples of Climate-Proof Ecosystem Networks and Priority Adaptation Zones.” Journal of Applied Ecology, vol. 45, no. 6, 2008, pp. 1722–31. JSTOR. [5] Berliner, L. Mark. “Uncertainty and Climate Change.” Statistical Science, vol. 18, no. 4, 2003, pp. 430–35. JSTOR. [6] Schwarz, Kirsten, and Dustin L. Herrmann. “The Subtle, yet Radical, Shift to Ecology for Cities.” Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment, vol. 14, no. 6, 2016, pp. 296–97. [7] Kainulainen, Maggie. “Saying Climate Change.” Symplokē, vol. 21, no. 1–2, 2013, pp. 109–23. [8] Salamanca, Albert, and Ha Nguyen. Climate Change Adaptation Readiness in the ASEAN Countries. Stockholm Environment Institute, 2016. [9] Martinez, Grit. “Let’s Say It in Their Own Words.” RCC Perspectives, no. 4, 2019, pp. 105–14. [10] “Toward a General Theory for How Climate Change Will Affect Infectious Disease.” Bulletin of the Ecological Society of America, vol. 91, no. 4, 2010, pp. 467–73.
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Dec 17, 2019 22:49
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Lol
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Dec 19, 2019 15:48
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Well I think it's cool to win with some weird experimental poo poo, and also honorable to lose with some weird experimental poo poo, so I am both cool and honorable.
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Dec 19, 2019 15:48
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Ok, here's the prompt, but given that this is a holiday week, I'm not sure about deadlines...would it be horrible to have the deadlines for two weeks from now instead of next week? Week 6: Found Poetry “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.” - T.S. Eliot Winter blahs got you down? Visions of holiday woes dancing in your head? Are you thinking to yourself "I simply cannot write a single line of poetry under the present, gloomy, conditions?" Fear not! This week you don't have to write anything. You just have to do what any mature poet would do and steal. Found poetry is poetry that takes existing texts and cuts them up, reworks them, changes them into something else: a poem which speaks for itself while also speaking to the source material. Although there has been a thread of found poetry running through the poetry of the 20th century, from Eliot's borrowings in "The Waste Land," to Burrough's' cut-ups, to the "field poetics" of Susan Howe, Anne Carson, and Charles Olson, Found Poetry is arguably having its first really big moment in the 21st century with M. NourbeSe Philips' Zong and Robin Coste Lewis' Voyage of the Sable Venus, which won the National Book Award in 2015. Both of these works reflect on black history, using historical texts in unusual ways to comment on the power of the word to make, and unmake, the lives of individuals and communities. Philips' entire poem is composed only of words found in the legal documents of the Gregson v. Gilbert court proceedings which decided the infamous Zong case in which dozens of slaves were thrown overboard from a slave ship. Lewis' poem is made up only of the titles and exhibit descriptions from art and historical museums featuring objects which have a black woman in them somewhere (often not in the picture itself, but in a frame around the picture, etc). Here's a section from Zong! (sorry for them being big but at smaller scales they get kind of hard to read)   and here's a couple of pages from "Voyage of the Sable Venus"  In general, history tends to be a big topic for Found Poetry; beyond the two mentioned here, Charles Reznikoff has a book-length poem called Testimony which is made up of testimony from Holocaust trials, and the aforementioned Susan Howe, Anne Carson, and Charles Olson also take history as one of their main subjects. But really, found poetry can be about anything. It can be silly or serious, long or short. What makes for good found poetry is that the poem creates an interesting relationship between its content and the text or texts that it was created from: for that reason most found poetry avoids texts which are already "literary," instead turning the texts into literature by arranging or breaking the texts in interesting ways to reveal surprising depths of emotion or insight. This idea is captured by Annie Dillard when she says "The original meaning remains intact, but now it swings between two poles." Anyway, here are a couple of other found poems to get your creative juices flowing. The first is maybe my favorite one: a letter to the editor turned into a sestina. Dear Thrasher: Adapted from a Letter to the Editor Printed in Thrasher Skateboarding Magazine, April 2003 by Sonia Huber Dear Thrasher, I love your skate mag. It rocks, even though you guys print too many shoe ads. And what’s up with the posers doing handrails? Don’t they know real skaters do it in the street? Well, you know even skating the street sucks ‘cause cops won’t let us skate anywhere. But kids here know some killer secret pools and ditches. You would poo poo to skate the Blood Bowl—eats posers for lunch. Put the Blood Bowl in your ads. I got a serious beef, though—the ads with those skate-betty chicks standing in the street in thongs made me think you’re all Cali posers! It makes me want to give up and screw this skate bullshit. I mean, God, why don’t you sell your souls for cash, you know? I don’t want to ride your asses—you know you rock my world even with the lame ads. It’s like, I need a lifeline here, you can’t imagine Rankin, Georgia—mullets, no street courses, one lovely skate park. I skate with four cool punks, try to steer clear of posers. We’ve got a big problem in Rankin with posers. I’m 12 and not stupid. I know guys here think us girls can’t skate— That’s crap! It’s your fault. Running those ads makes idiots here think it’s street last, clothes and babes first. It’s on you. Guys even rape girls in the park crapper. You see a porta-potty shaking with a poser and a screaming chick inside, guys on the street high-fiving, whatever, it’s gross, and I know this poo poo happens all over. So be cool and drop the ads. It’s not about tits. Get on your board and skate. They’re everywhere, you know, poser, thick-necked Fitch-bitches like in your ads. I don’t want ‘em. I lost my cherry to the street. I’ll die or skate. Formed in the Stance by William S. Burroughs The beautiful disease and The government falls along the weed rooms flesh along the weed government/ / / / The girls eat morning Dying peoples to a white bone monkey in the Winter sun touching tree of the house. $$$$ Argue second time around such a deal. The middle artist unknown and probably hostile in his hands scouting be obligation for force main body dependant on in from ate……… The usual procedure viruses graphed Time. Ours THAT???? HER feet at? Morning the thunderous read the front page” ” ” ” star blazing but She read the stories beyond lines. . . . They can take over viruses &&& make one The Scientists formed in the stance. . . traits ride many. . . thorough equipped street few days::: Cut up Paris Herald Tribune articles on Met performance and polio virus Burroughs poem New Clues To Cancer Cure SATURDAY EVENING POST Oct. 31, 1959
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Dec 20, 2019 16:07
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Ok then, so how about Deadlines for Week 6, Found Poetry Signups by: Dec 28 Submissions by: Dec 30 That way, we will ring the New Year in with the next prompt.
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Dec 22, 2019 14:39
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Antivehicular posted:Are signups still open? Because I'll sign up if so. If not, ah well. Yep! The deadline is in like three hours.
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Dec 29, 2019 03:03
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sephiRoth IRA posted:I’m in. Buzzer beater! Nice! also Saucy_Rodent posted:Moons of Haha
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Dec 29, 2019 04:22
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Ok then, Entrants: 1. Saucy_Rodent [already posted poem] 2. lofi 3. Antivehicular 4. SephiRoth IRA Judge: 1. cda Good luck, poets. Have fun and remember: it's more important to post something than to post something good (my posting philosophy in general).
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Dec 29, 2019 18:25
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I really enjoyed these and they were all good. I am specifically interested in found poetry's capacity to develop novel ways of expressing this ecological moment -- it is a poetic technique of recycling, for a start -- so it was cool to see that addressed in both Saucy_Rodent and SephiRoth IRA's poems. The Loser here is Lofi, who did a good job of using the source material against itself -- it's not so much that the poem is bad as that it's incredibly ambitious and I think it's not quite finished as it is. And the Winner is Antivehicular. I would love to see the source material for that. I will post more detailed crits later this week. Happy New Year!
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Jan 1, 2020 03:34
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Antivehicular posted:The backstory there: for a couple of years, I had a part-time job with a company that managed e-commerce sites, reading and screening customer reviews posted to clients' sites. Needless to say, there were a lot of extremely weird things posted, and after a while I made a private text file of the weirdest or most striking stuff I saw. This poem was pieced together from chunks of those reviews. One of the things I really liked about the poem was I couldn't quite tell if/where there were edits because things can get weird on the internet but also, the rat is still in the compost bin. who cares if someone is making a wife or a girlfriend out of your garbage, its garbage, forget about it seems really, really weird.
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Jan 1, 2020 17:12
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I'm in. Forms that are based on recycling lines or words (e.g villanelle, sestina, and this one) are, along with the found poetry thing, real interesting to me in how they might be used to discuss ecological themes, so this I will probably do a found poem as I did with the sonnet. I promise I write other stuff too and apologize in advance for using this thread to try and work out my half-baked ideas 
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Jan 1, 2020 17:18
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Found Pantoum: JSTOR search: sustainable cyclic imbricate Naturally subject to cyclic fires [1] The five imbricate petals are concave and unequal [2] A most significant contribution to our knowledge [1] And the innermost the smallest. [2] The five imbricate petals are concave and unequal, [1] The outermost being the largest, [1] And the innermost the smallest [1] wonders of the industrial revolution. [3] The outermost being the largest [1] using Euler-Bernoulli beam theory, [3] wonders of the industrial revolution [3] envelop the primordial leaved shoot. [2] Using Euler-Bernoulli beam theory, [3] we calculate the force sustainable, [3] envelop the primordial leaved shoot [2] via sutures on all sides. [3] We calculate the force sustainable [3] By an individual feather [3] Via sutures on all sides: [3] Our way of life and the collapse. [2] By an individual feather, [3] Before failure by buckling, occurs [3] Our way of life and the collapse [2] In an efficient and sustainable manner. [4] Before failure by buckling occurs, [3] The buds of long shoots, as defined here, [2] In an efficient and sustainable manner, [4] Undergo cyclic changes. [2] The buds of long shoots, as defined here, [2] Naturally subject to cyclic fires, [1] Undergo cyclic changes, [2] A most significant contribution to our knowledge. [1] [1] Farjon, Aljos, and Brian T. Styles. “Pinus (Pinaceae).” Flora Neotropica, vol. 75, 1997, pp. 1–291. [2] “Abstracts.” American Journal of Botany, vol. 83, no. 6, 1996, pp. 1–224. [3] “Abstracts of Papers. Sixty-Ninth Annual Meeting, Society of Vertebrate Paleontology.” Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, vol. 29, no. 3, 2009, pp. 1A-213A. [4] “Abstracts.” American Journal of Botany, vol. 76, no. 6, 1989, pp. 1–292.[/quote]
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Jan 8, 2020 19:46
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Really enjoying these. The subjects do such a good job interacting with the form.
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Jan 9, 2020 04:36
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In with the line "Almost always a toy is an imitation of something grown-ups use."
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Jan 10, 2020 23:12
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After Tate's Popes Almost always a toy is an imitation of something grown-ups use, Like a shovel, nail clippers, or misdirection. Unpacking the concept from the clamshell, One is so excited, one wants to put it online to see the reactions. One wants to be part of the timeline: here is where I was a child, selfie darkly filtered: here I am an adult, cat-eared in colors that pop. Everyone knows the disappointment of a product not as advertised, The product actually quite definitively directing you Down the mall's long central corridor to the fountain. Here the tapestry is flung up, in a wall of air, "finished" for the moment, cord cut before falling, You could throw your phone anywhere and hit a person you love. You could dial any number and get delivery. When the child first appears, every room is a delivery room. Almost always the child is an imitation of something grown-ups use.
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Jan 23, 2020 02:58
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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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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 |
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Jan 28, 2020 22:46
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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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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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Apotropaic Magic Blood of the Lamb smeared above the lintel, Carved Hippopotamus ivory wand, Cylix keeping a watch on the party, An unbroken circle drawn in the sand: So we sleep, give birth, get drunk in the night, Pleading to Death with our terrible art In the hope that he, ashamed or amused, Forgets and discovers a human heart.
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Feb 8, 2020 20:04
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sephiRoth IRA posted:This is a healthy attitude I wish I had, and that I need to practice. I see the same people win again and again and it’s like, why can’t I be as good? For the last four or so years I've played this stupid online collectible card game that I have never spent any money on. When I win, it is because I have superior strategy, which makes me better than my opponent. When I lose, it is because they paid a lot of money to have the best cards, which makes me better my opponent. I hope you can understand what the application might be here.
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Feb 9, 2020 00:46
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On the other hand I have spent a lot of money on poetry books so I should probably be winning every week, but letting other people win is a sign of my magnanimity and it makes me, you guessed it, better than my opponents.
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Feb 9, 2020 00:48
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Saucy_Rodent posted:Also, I will die on the hill of pronouncing “admire” with three syllables, and thus your fourth line is eleven syllables. Shoulda disqualified you for free verse. How many syllables do you think "fire" has? I think it definitely has two, but I can hear "admire" with two or three. For consistency's sake, I agree that it should be three. Saucy_Rodent posted:Late poem, short crit. Don’t get what the mythology references are for. I like the second half of the poem that’s a little more forthcoming with your ideas. Oh poo poo, whoops, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Thank you for giving a crit at all!
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Feb 9, 2020 19:10
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rickiep00h posted:In the interest of not being a snooty elitist I'm going going to respond except to say that I don't think we understand poetic formalism (or line breaks!) in remotely the same terms. Cool, I love this poo poo. For my Found Poetry prompt I included a bit from M. NourbeSe Philips' Zong which uses the text of the Gregson v. Gilbert case as its source text. I don't know whether I'd call it ekphrasis though. Ekphrasis is typically, as James Heffernan defines it, "a verbal representation of a visual representation," so it's not art generally, but visual art specifically that ekphrasis represents. Anyway, I'm in.
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Feb 10, 2020 01:42
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Ammon's Tape for the Turn of the Year was written on a roll of adding-machine tape, which determined the length of each line as well as the length of the poem itself.
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Feb 11, 2020 03:28
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flerp posted:cda Pretty sure this means I win Surrealism 
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Feb 12, 2020 23:27
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pre:DMT I should start off by saying that I did not emotionally or mentally prepare for this trip in anyway this experience happened nearly a year ago and while some of the smaller details may have slipped from memory I believe what I experienced that night was powerful enough that I can still describe what happened to me with the detail and accuracy that I feel this trip report deserves about two months ago I obtained two grams of DMT I was elated after several years of searching for it I took the DMT by sandwiching it between two layers of dried mint leaves in the bowl of a glass bong I put some dry tobacco in the body of the pipe along with some spice in the kitchen I heated the pipe over the gas hob smoking is painful and stupid and I don’t enjoy any of it the disadvantage of my method seemed to be that it led to quite some wastage I spend all day mowing for my job and suddenly these two still frames of my boss and the mower I use at work flash through my brain like moving snapshots I knew a rising of consciousness awareness of colour very effective now a vast purple coloured dome-like structure covered in fractal patterns extremely beautiful a valve of colour then this feeling came over me a feeling I was seeing an ancient place I had broken through excited happy and euphoric this did not last I feel as if I can’t breathe whatever is left of my body isn’t functioning there was no longer a grid as if someone shattered it I had strong spotlights on the ceiling pointed to my head I began to surmise that my technique was probably flawed and wasteful I notice for the first time two horses grazing in their pastures I felt my body again there were walls a door I was on a couch the main thing I have taken from this is a very strong sense of my own mortality all I could think about for the next few days was what in the hell happened to me the rest of the evening is spent with grilling eating and laughing with Anatoli different than before -- the light is gone out no ill effects afterward.
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Feb 18, 2020 02:24
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formatting that was a bitch. everything taken from erowid trip reports.
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Feb 18, 2020 02:24
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sephiRoth IRA posted:Congrats cda (also autocorrect hates your username) and thank you rickie for the crit. lol. great idea
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Feb 18, 2020 22:47
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I really liked "I Was Received Into the Church." Was each stanza from a single letter or did you rearrange the text more than that? For the trip reports I initially pulled things almost in straight chronological order (a lot of trip reports include either actual timestamps or words that describe the passage of time) but then as I started to work it into a poem, things started floating out of place, so I'm interested in what your compositional process was like for your poem; the imagery is excellent (this was the hardest part for me because god drat so many of those stupid trip reports are the same thing...I saw a bunch of colorssss mannnnnnn -- the saving grace was that they usually get very descriptive about how they took the drug lol)
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Feb 18, 2020 22:52
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