- This competition is a poetry competition. I'm looking for 5-10 people to join this competition. The format is fairly simple. A theme for the poem will be posted, and you must PM your poem to me.
Scoring
Scores can be affected by (but are not determined based on) the following:
- How well it flows
- Spelling
- Originality and creativity
- How well you meet the guidelines
- How interesting it is
Sounds Simple Enough?
Rules
After the competition starts, you will have 2 weeks to create the poem using the theme I give you. You may submit any kind of poem, ranging from Haiku to Freeform. It must be a poem and sound like a poem.
- Results
After the 2 weeks are over, the judges will grade you accordingly. They will be graded much like school work is graded, and will gove you a percentage. The person with the highest percentage wins.
- Help
You cannot go to the Literary Thread and post your poem to get help. list]
- Prizes
- A custom smiley from Venetia
- Bragging rights
Anyone is allowd to submit their poem as long as its submitted in the 2 week period.
- Thank you Zeriab, you're my inspiration for this competition!
- I will clarify any questions or concerns anyone has!
- Judges are me.
- Thank you Glitchfinder for being so helpful and supportive!
- Create a poem about home.
- The poem can be any size and be any type of poem.
- Due July 31st
EpE
Every Day is Home Day
Wake up to see a brigth yellow glow
Warmth and comfort will then follow.
Birds sing and cars run overflowing with power
while you prepare for your day at home.
On goes the showers, life as always has to be fresh.
Every drop of water would remind you this is home.
The warmth of the water would bring peace in mind.
Prepared after long warm memories, Love would come from moms cooking.
The love your mom puts in the cooking is worth the whole day.
Off you go with the warmth and love from home.
When you finally return you would find your self at home.
Wake up to see a brigth yellow glow
Warmth and comfort will then follow.
Birds sing and cars run overflowing with power
while you prepare for your day at home.
On goes the showers, life as always has to be fresh.
Every drop of water would remind you this is home.
The warmth of the water would bring peace in mind.
Prepared after long warm memories, Love would come from moms cooking.
The love your mom puts in the cooking is worth the whole day.
Off you go with the warmth and love from home.
When you finally return you would find your self at home.
LooseEnds
Home - Were the heart settles and the bacon fries,
Abode - Were the kids run and the shit flies,
Nest - Were the young ones sleep and the old ones lie,
Habitation - Were you can 'troll in you boxers, and no one blinks an eye,
A place to hang your hat
Roost - Were you heart settles and you grow up safe,
Hearth - Were you have fun and complain about your chafe,
Asylum - Were spend long hours with nothing but to surfeit,
A place to rest your head
Haven - Were your heart settles and your out of the rain,
Territory - Were you sleep all day and don't need your cane,
A place to call you own
Domicile - Were your heart settles and you can speak your piece...
A place to warn your heart
Abode - Were the kids run and the shit flies,
Nest - Were the young ones sleep and the old ones lie,
Habitation - Were you can 'troll in you boxers, and no one blinks an eye,
A place to hang your hat
Roost - Were you heart settles and you grow up safe,
Hearth - Were you have fun and complain about your chafe,
Asylum - Were spend long hours with nothing but to surfeit,
A place to rest your head
Haven - Were your heart settles and your out of the rain,
Territory - Were you sleep all day and don't need your cane,
A place to call you own
Domicile - Were your heart settles and you can speak your piece...
A place to warn your heart
Nightsway
These walls mean less,
than they did before.
The roof sighs down,
and chases the floor.
The windows ache,
and blur the way,
to a once lush garden,
now lost to the fray.
The bed is solid,
competing with stone,
the pillows have gone,
to be left all alone.
The handles creak,
the hinges crack,
the carpets holes,
the broken chairs back,
the fires ashes,
the broken path,
the wilting trees,
the general aftermath,
all if it corodes us,
but here I shall stay,
for to be with my home,
is richer than the day.
than they did before.
The roof sighs down,
and chases the floor.
The windows ache,
and blur the way,
to a once lush garden,
now lost to the fray.
The bed is solid,
competing with stone,
the pillows have gone,
to be left all alone.
The handles creak,
the hinges crack,
the carpets holes,
the broken chairs back,
the fires ashes,
the broken path,
the wilting trees,
the general aftermath,
all if it corodes us,
but here I shall stay,
for to be with my home,
is richer than the day.
Sechs
Insignificant Place
What is this spark of light,
That lifts its arms in the dark?
Why does it persist,
When its efforts are in vain?
Why must it tug at my hand,
Like a child wanting bedtime stories?
Surely it must mean nothing;
It’s an insignificant thing anyway.
But why must it persist,
When I will only turn away?
Perhaps it’s those ocean eyes
That evoke far off memories.
Or maybe it’s that grin,
Which never ceases to smile.
It could be the laugh
That rings like church bells,
Or the way it holds out its hand
And beacons me to come.
Its confidence is strong and unwavering,
Something you never see these days.
Its determination is quite admirable,
A trait that I’ve respected.
Its intentions must be good,
If it insists that I not forget.
Perhaps I should listen;
It could be worth the time.
That spark appears yet again;
The youthful face is bright with glee.
With eagerness it whispers,
About old times and experiences.
Something inside awakes;
Blinking its lucid jade eyes once again,
An unexpected smile is painted across my face.
Maybe it isn’t such a bad place after all.
What is this spark of light,
That lifts its arms in the dark?
Why does it persist,
When its efforts are in vain?
Why must it tug at my hand,
Like a child wanting bedtime stories?
Surely it must mean nothing;
It’s an insignificant thing anyway.
But why must it persist,
When I will only turn away?
Perhaps it’s those ocean eyes
That evoke far off memories.
Or maybe it’s that grin,
Which never ceases to smile.
It could be the laugh
That rings like church bells,
Or the way it holds out its hand
And beacons me to come.
Its confidence is strong and unwavering,
Something you never see these days.
Its determination is quite admirable,
A trait that I’ve respected.
Its intentions must be good,
If it insists that I not forget.
Perhaps I should listen;
It could be worth the time.
That spark appears yet again;
The youthful face is bright with glee.
With eagerness it whispers,
About old times and experiences.
Something inside awakes;
Blinking its lucid jade eyes once again,
An unexpected smile is painted across my face.
Maybe it isn’t such a bad place after all.
The Revolution
You're nowhere near and my time is short,
but the end of days comes alone.
My future unwinds itself from my vacant heart,
The past pre-written in lavish stone.
These hands I grasp to the sky,
my eyes to dawn through these dusted windows.
The final stage is set without the blink of an eye.
The final ends make their meet as I wander through my home,
unwary of those around and those unknown.
The health of my own is falling down.
I am confined once more to this home I am forever around.
The outside winds are cold and the air is bitter,
the leaves reach the ground in forgotten litter.
The summer air so soft and sweet,
my home I could still not have to meet,
of defeated kings and fallen dreams,
sickness had not yet overtaken me.
The blood withdrew and my home was only a place I could return to
for a quick spoken word or a long shut eye.
But a haunting did loom, the solemness did brew.
It was my family that had remained to die.
Long hours in the park and days of peace,
Times you would know before you had been constricted.
My prime of life now shining away, draped in wreaths.
I had not thought of my future life restricted.
The midst of life, the age of kings.
Of cherished hearts and honored dreams.
The home I did stray, free forever from it's grasp and pull.
My repercussions faint and my worries null.
I stepped from it's wooden gate with a sense of freedom,
No more would I have to stand it's creaking history.
I was a lord trapped in his kingdom,
my future a permanent mystery.
My years of youth standing tall,
within these wooden halls.
I had not yet felt the urge to be free,
I did not know what would become of me.
The earliest years a blur,
my hallowed halls a slur.
I would not understand until my last waking hour,
that my thoughts had come back and returned sour.
To be held by the only arms I have ever known,
the arms of my home.
Soon in these unliving arms I find my death,
just as I had taken my first breath.
but the end of days comes alone.
My future unwinds itself from my vacant heart,
The past pre-written in lavish stone.
These hands I grasp to the sky,
my eyes to dawn through these dusted windows.
The final stage is set without the blink of an eye.
The final ends make their meet as I wander through my home,
unwary of those around and those unknown.
The health of my own is falling down.
I am confined once more to this home I am forever around.
The outside winds are cold and the air is bitter,
the leaves reach the ground in forgotten litter.
The summer air so soft and sweet,
my home I could still not have to meet,
of defeated kings and fallen dreams,
sickness had not yet overtaken me.
The blood withdrew and my home was only a place I could return to
for a quick spoken word or a long shut eye.
But a haunting did loom, the solemness did brew.
It was my family that had remained to die.
Long hours in the park and days of peace,
Times you would know before you had been constricted.
My prime of life now shining away, draped in wreaths.
I had not thought of my future life restricted.
The midst of life, the age of kings.
Of cherished hearts and honored dreams.
The home I did stray, free forever from it's grasp and pull.
My repercussions faint and my worries null.
I stepped from it's wooden gate with a sense of freedom,
No more would I have to stand it's creaking history.
I was a lord trapped in his kingdom,
my future a permanent mystery.
My years of youth standing tall,
within these wooden halls.
I had not yet felt the urge to be free,
I did not know what would become of me.
The earliest years a blur,
my hallowed halls a slur.
I would not understand until my last waking hour,
that my thoughts had come back and returned sour.
To be held by the only arms I have ever known,
the arms of my home.
Soon in these unliving arms I find my death,
just as I had taken my first breath.
theory
Vision blurred, my blue eyes swell
The world's burning, bask in hell
From flame to flicker, burn it down
Raze my throne and break my crown
For all I had, I have no more
No more four walls, and no more door
As she lies broken, dark sanguine
The smoke, it will not let her breathe
A whisper, shattered by a scream,
The ruins blaze, but I don't bleed
My love is dead, my eyes turn black
No ritual can bring her back
My house is dead, my skin like ash
Around the ruins now I thrash
The darkest shimmer, white as snow
A bloodred sun, a sky so cold
Here in the winter's warm embrace
The house is getting cold
The power's out, the heat is gone
The midnight bell has tolled
My sweetest other, fast asleep
Enjoying dreams of warmer things
I cannot let her get too cold
before the next bell rings.
I go downstairs, unlock the latch
Pull out a candle, strike a match
Go back upstairs, lay down to sleep
The candle's warmth, it comforts me.
The house, this house, my house,
My home, you cannot burn it down.
Yet ash and rubble all around,
And in the memories I drown.
Whatever comes, whatever goes,
these walls can be rebuilt.
Without her here, as now I know,
this House is not a Home.
The world's burning, bask in hell
From flame to flicker, burn it down
Raze my throne and break my crown
For all I had, I have no more
No more four walls, and no more door
As she lies broken, dark sanguine
The smoke, it will not let her breathe
A whisper, shattered by a scream,
The ruins blaze, but I don't bleed
My love is dead, my eyes turn black
No ritual can bring her back
My house is dead, my skin like ash
Around the ruins now I thrash
The darkest shimmer, white as snow
A bloodred sun, a sky so cold
Here in the winter's warm embrace
The house is getting cold
The power's out, the heat is gone
The midnight bell has tolled
My sweetest other, fast asleep
Enjoying dreams of warmer things
I cannot let her get too cold
before the next bell rings.
I go downstairs, unlock the latch
Pull out a candle, strike a match
Go back upstairs, lay down to sleep
The candle's warmth, it comforts me.
The house, this house, my house,
My home, you cannot burn it down.
Yet ash and rubble all around,
And in the memories I drown.
Whatever comes, whatever goes,
these walls can be rebuilt.
Without her here, as now I know,
this House is not a Home.
Venetia
Chiding Grin
Friend, your smile was polarized
When I asked you where you're from.
I'd like to think you civilized,
And not this vagrant you've become.
It was slatted cream and white--
white, you clarify, was trim--
You tell me about the delight
With a contriteness that would brim.
A cobble stroll to the door,
a swath of tile within.
Sunlight ambience and décor,
a stairway sweeping cotter-pin.
Your time spent there was blissful,
though it caught you unaware.
The world around began to crumble,
Your hand reached out for no one there.
And now I find you, urchin,
vagabond, reasons unknown.
Curl that churlish smirk of chagrin,
straitened man without a home.
Friend, your smile was polarized
When I asked you where you're from.
I'd like to think you civilized,
And not this vagrant you've become.
It was slatted cream and white--
white, you clarify, was trim--
You tell me about the delight
With a contriteness that would brim.
A cobble stroll to the door,
a swath of tile within.
Sunlight ambience and décor,
a stairway sweeping cotter-pin.
Your time spent there was blissful,
though it caught you unaware.
The world around began to crumble,
Your hand reached out for no one there.
And now I find you, urchin,
vagabond, reasons unknown.
Curl that churlish smirk of chagrin,
straitened man without a home.
Wyatt
An optimistic move
Full of hope but rushed maybe
A sturdy truck? We wish
Five smashed plates, in several crates
We peer over
The kettle's dented
The TV smashed
The dog? In Spain, one can assume; not here by any means
The bed is small,
Floorboards creak with every step we take,
And in the night the moans
Of old pipes
Of dogs in the street
Of faulty wiring
Of next door banging against a wall
But still
Do we complain?
The fridge is small
We have no hall
This house is not at all like we'd imagined
But it's home
And that, for now, is good enough, for me
Full of hope but rushed maybe
A sturdy truck? We wish
Five smashed plates, in several crates
We peer over
The kettle's dented
The TV smashed
The dog? In Spain, one can assume; not here by any means
The bed is small,
Floorboards creak with every step we take,
And in the night the moans
Of old pipes
Of dogs in the street
Of faulty wiring
Of next door banging against a wall
But still
Do we complain?
The fridge is small
We have no hall
This house is not at all like we'd imagined
But it's home
And that, for now, is good enough, for me
Zackwell
A place to live
A place where I would like to live,
A place upon these lands,
Is on the coast of England
In a castle made of sand.
I can listen to the wombing tide
when the sun does set
and i'll make myself some windows
so I don't fear getting wet.
I can travel to the nearby towns
and play on their slot machines,
And when I've won my dinner,
I shall take my bedtime leave.
Though I wonder sometimes,
if a tidal wave should smash,
how would I get out fast enough
to dodge that fatal crash?
I think that I'll stay here for now,
far away from sea,
In a brick-built bungalow,
the perfect place for me.
A place where I would like to live,
A place upon these lands,
Is on the coast of England
In a castle made of sand.
I can listen to the wombing tide
when the sun does set
and i'll make myself some windows
so I don't fear getting wet.
I can travel to the nearby towns
and play on their slot machines,
And when I've won my dinner,
I shall take my bedtime leave.
Though I wonder sometimes,
if a tidal wave should smash,
how would I get out fast enough
to dodge that fatal crash?
I think that I'll stay here for now,
far away from sea,
In a brick-built bungalow,
the perfect place for me.
Thanks for joining you two. Hopefully it will encourage some other people to join.