Hey everyone. These poetry prompts have been overdue for a pretty long time now, so I've decided to start completely fresh this time around. So here's a brief introduction on how things are gonna work from now.
1) There is no time limit to the submissions. You can take your own time to write the best quality poetry you can come up with. There is no need to rush.
2) Anybody and everybody is encouraged to review another person's poem. In the previous threads, I was the only person reviewing, but I encourage y'all to also give a read to everyone else's poems and give your thoughts about it. It doesn't even have to be related to poetry theory, you can just mention your thoughts on it. In the end, to become better writers we have to be good readers first, and the same is true here. It is also not necessary to participate to leave a review, so feel free to do so if you just want to read.
3) There will be a voting system, and not a points system. When the time for making a new prompt arrives, everyone who has submitted a poem upto that point in time will get one vote. You can use this vote to select any one poem from the thread that you thought was the best. You have to submit a poem to be able to vote.
4) The person with the poem which gets the most votes, will get to choose the next prompt. If, because of any reason, I am not able to make the new thread, then I will inform said person to start the thread with any propmt of their liking themselves.
And, that's it! I hope these new methods would be useful, but if you have any other suggestions feel free to post below.
Also, regarding the last prompt six months ago, i.e. this: <https://chooseyourstory.com/forums/creative-corner/message/25598 >had some pretty amazing poetry in it, so please, if any of y'all get the time, leave a comment on these poems to show your appreciation for the hard work that has been put in making them by these people.
Anyway, onto the prompt...
So, all of us here on CYS have experience reading and/or writing storygame narrations. The form of poetry that I want you all to attempt is 'narrative poetry' or basically a fusion of a poem and a short-story. A narrative poem is a poem which tells a story. It has a full storyline with all the elements of a traditional short-story in it. These elements include characters, plot, conflict, and resolution, setting, action, etc. Now, narrative poetry usually does not follow any sort of strict meter or rhyme scheme, and is usually written in free-form, but I urge you all to at least try and create a sense of rhythm and tune by using some form of consistent meter in your poems. This isn't compulsory though, you can try and create a narrative poem however you like. There are no restrictions, so let your imagination run wild!
The poem can be as long, or as short as you want it to be, there is no minimum word limit. However, the same things that you keep in mind when writing short-stories, should be kept in mind here too. Consistency of the plot, good dialouge(if any), relatable characters, etc.
For those of you who want a reference to using meter in poetry, here's a link: http://literarydevices.net/meter/ I would suggest you to use the iambic meter, which is relatively easier to apply.
A classic example of a narrative poem is 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe.
Just tagging everyone who was there in the last prompt: @Gower @Ozoni @Mayana @Orange @Austinc @ninjapitka @IsentinelPenguin @The_Broken_God
@TharaApples @C6H8O6 @Cupcakitty_13 @juliemmarch
In summer countries far below
Flew armored lords of olden skies,
Till one by one their might succumbed,
To men whose faith would never die.
Then false and hungry weaker sorts
They took by guile the open land,
With split-tongued lies they built a throne,
Transformed the laws and hid their hand.
Wealth immeasurable they piled,
In mountains high they built their vaults,
And laid their snares for honest men,
That none could dare to judge their faults.
The crown in dragons’ image laid,
Upon the brow of grasping king,
Dissatisfied, he drank his wine,
Began to dream of greater things.
I look upwards high, at the blue azure sky,
I look downwards low, as the crimson pool grows,
I look left, I look right, at the hazy sight, in my eyes,
I look inwards inside me, deep down into my mind,
I think of the moment that brought me to this plight,
To this moment of despair, dread and of utter fright,
I think of the moment that brought me to this
To this monent of need, regret, and absolute respite,
The things that I had done, do they matter anymore?
In the long run, was anything worth it anymore?
Is anything in this wretched world worth saving anymore?
Has everything I had done till now, have no meaning anymore?
I don't know...
I don't know...
I do not know if the glimpses of his radiant smile mattered,
I do not know if the touch of his alluring skin
I do not know if his eyes melting my heart mattered,
I do not know if to me, the fate he met mattered,
But I do know...
But I do know...
I do know that my love, for him did matter,
I do know that my life, for him did matter,
I do know it was inevitable, and it did matter,
I do know it was me or him, and it did matter,
It did matter a lot,
When the disease let him rot,
It did matter a lot,
When death came and brought,
Within it, its desire,
Its thirst as it perspires,
It looks hungry, and admires,
Him, as it desires...
It desires the glimpses, of his radiant smile that mattered,
It desires the touch, of his alluring skin that mattered,
It desires his eyes, melting my heart that mattered,
It desires its fate, sated its desire that mattered,
And so it does come in, and so it does invade in,
Our merry little world, as mighty as an earl,
As if on a shopping spree, of every family,
Our family was next, on the list of death.
The grip of death is subtle, so subtle yet so strong,
It feasts on his smile, turning it to rot,
The once radiant beam, of sunshine and of glee,
Was now twisted wrong, maggots festering along,
The grip of death was horrid, so disgustingly insane,
It then feasts on his eyes, turning them inane,
Those eyes which once had, melted me like hot wax,
Were now staring red, into my world with dread,
The grip of death so cruel, so cruel and unfair,
It stole from me my love, making him irrepair,
It gives him a massage, such a sickening envisage,
It hypnotizes him and makes, him its new slave,
I know, his fate was sealed the minute his mind,
Gave in to death's cold, yet seductive embrace,
Yet I couldn't accept, Death taking mine!
The only thing that matters in my life!
So I fight with him, no, I, fight with it,
I fight death, taking over him,
I gouge out his eyes, I flail his skin,
So very beautiful and so very pure within,
But little do I know that I sealed my fate,
Gave death an opening, its teeth in me,
I shrieked horrified, not accepting my fate,
As darkness looms, and I feel it in me...
I feel death in me...
I stop my thoughts nigh, as I look upwards high,
On the blue azure sky, as the sun goes by,
Its fiery light ablaze, as it makes me amazed,
It colours my eyes, once lifeless with life,
Then it comes in front of me,
The being that took from me,
It took from me my most dearest,
And has the gall to confront me?!
"Poor little girl, your heart's so pure,"
"That you gave your life away,"
"For something so worthless..."
It laughs maniacally, mocking my choices,
I laugh back too, mocking his choices,
"Poor little death, you're so naïve,
"You thought I gave my life away,"
"I saved him, from your ghastly claws,"
"I saved him from you, by giving you me,"
Death howls in rage, and attacks,
But is pushed back, and relents,
"Your heart is so pure, that I can't get through,"
"I have more easier, impure prey than you,"
And so it let's me go, and I drift away,
Into nothingness, blackness, and dismay,
And I never regret my decisions any,
For he, the love in me, shines brightly,
Well , u surely can churn out words better than me , so +10
A bit darkish , i guess the hospital does that to , the best of us...
hey but on the bright side you got bitten and now have
the chance of advancing your class to a eternal zombie B2 (>_<) ~
alright enough messing around i am not a qualified enough expert on poems but ,
its just that some lines or phrases , just don't roll off all that easily, at times.
though your composition is quite complex not in general story but styling , it keeps changing
i have no method or techniques just my instincts , that tell me you surely can polish it to the next level ,
sometimes removing words are more helpfully than adding em .
and this general tip that i read somewhere long long ago and it just got stuck to me ...
"How do you know if what u wrote is correct or proper enough ? just read it once or twice and see if it all feels harmonious , if it isn't u will just know , even if you don't understand the cause , you can sense the disharmony in it"
I really like this piece! I liked your shift in tone from despairing to somewhat hopeful while still keeping it melancholic the entire time--I think that's really difficult to do well, and you succeeded in that. I also like the imagery in the the 1st stanza and then when it almost repeats towards the end. And your story is subtle enough to fit your style of writing, but still concrete to fit into the narrative poetry prompt. Great work! :)
Alright the poem was great ,
cool rhyming with appropriate timing ,
but cant help but ask whats that at the end boogity?
it kinda breaks the whole ....um aftertaste?
Yep , not American .
So I googled it hmm .... A curious way of making people hurry along , especially when logic tells that in a hurry you would simply use less syllables instead like for example go go go ~
A good poem , solidity in your lines
And the struggle of day and night , hats off !
Alright i am what u might call an armature at this, so pardon my meagre skills...
All i have is my instinct and intution to guide me through this poetic endavour.
A poem ! she requested ,
thats all ?... I grew intrested~
i thought a while ,
i rummaged my ol pile ,~
but it was all missing !
thus my reminiscing...
i wonder a awhile...
i pondered a mile !
sadly, nothing comes to mind ~
thus i crashed in blind !
figured it can take a while ,
wondered if it was worthwhile ?
to look for those fickle words ,
and turn em to mighty birds !
this was no simple task !
but tis was all , she asked !
so i looked at my trusty mate ,
i said "Lappy" this is our fate !
lets write some tales ~
of fellow scholars and heroic females .
So , here we are with my idotic smile ,
wondering, pondering & turning senile ~
- Immortal Beggar \|0_o| /
(might as well dedicate to ShoujoAddict , afterall she dragged me in this .... )
oh right poems are supposed to have a titlee too right? thats the hardest part ...ummm
alright here goes nothing : "Tackling Poem at Dawn ."
....(sweating ) its Lappy as in laptop ......
Come on cut this noob some slack
Posion lady ?? , next time I will just conjure
Up some random beauty as sacrifice ?? for your
Furry desires ~
This is an older poem that I revised slightly for this prompt, hopefully it's okay--it's about a pretty weird night I had last summer lmao. Let me know what you think!
I spoke with a ghost named Malcolm,
Who’s been dead for thirty years,
On a kitchenette floor at midnight
Empty bottles inhibit my fears.
I talked with a ghost so friendly
As he swung crystals left to right
On safety-pin leather strands
From twitching, oil-scorched hands
Words slurring, prose polite.
The ghost neither upsets nor offends me,
Rather quite the gentleman,
He's appeared in my vision now,
The cabin’s longest denizen.
I mused with a ghost, Listen closely,
I’ve been feeling very odd,
Who is he? Who is me?
Head is slumping to a nod.
Now tell me dear ghost, Named Malcolm,
Have you ever been in love?
Then, the room turned cold,
The pendulum lost hold,
No telling, no speaking of.
I really like this. It's nice how it's imagined to be a nice chat between the narrator and his friendly ghost for a while, but he disappears once the narrator touches on past trauma. A pleasing "ghosts are people too" vibe.
(Also your pfp is amazing I adore nature in pixel art)
Thank you--that's pretty much what I was going for! And thanks for the pfp compliment, pixel art is probably my favorite form of digital art (and the only one I can do lol) :)
I'm not sure I will have time to write up something new for this anytime soon, so I'll just post one of the narrative poems from The Book of Vanishing Tales since it fits the theme. I might also post a collaborative poem I worked on a while back if I can find it.
The Frozen Burro
Into the frigid north she glid,
With sails of of cloth and frost.
The Happy Burro and her crew,
On rising waves were tossed.
A ruddy captain with keen eye,
Held steady to the wheel.
"Batten down the hatch!" he cried,
"And lower down the keel."
His first mate feared the sting of ice,
"We've gone too far," he warned.
"Stay the course!" the captain said,
Advice of cowards scorned.
"Papa, where are we going,
Where my blanket gives no heat,"
His buxom daughter begged him,
With pouting, honey-sweet.
"We must continue onwards,
Until cold gives way to fire!
We are hours away from treasure,
That will sate all desire!"
"What good are idle riches,
When our lips are turning blue?
And we cannot see for snowflakes,
Won't you turn back for your crew!"
"Nay, destiny has called us,
On this bright and moonless night,
The Burro does not flee from fate,
No matter winter's bite."
"Oh, he will not be disuaded!"
The first mate gnashed his teeth.
"Come, lass, to the figurehead,
Into its hollow sheath!"
The little wooden donkey,
Was a small and simple nest,
But the sailors fit her in it,
And around her blankets pressed.
One the morrow to an island,
Heated by the molten core,
Came the frozen Burro sailing
Like a hearse unto its shore.
"What new victims has Alus claimed?"
The weary natives cried,
"Do they not know that none can cross,
That all who try have died?"
Fifteen new graves along the sand,
Joining two hundred old.
"But wait! A treasure we have found,
Of far more worth than gold!"
The figurehead is opened,
And the maiden placed on silk,
"We welcome you to paradise,
With honey and with milk."
Crowned with flowers a princess,
She has all her father sought,
But on moonless nights she mourns
The tragedy he wrought.
The Happy Burro ever floats
A memory in the bay
Eternal port in balmy waters
Watching royal children play.
And here is the collaborative one. This one was done in a group over several years as a fun side project we bounced around, that may or may not find a home one day in a book. I know I wrote the dragon verse, a couple of the riddle stanzas, and worked a lot on the structure/rhythm of the piece to make sure it sounded unified together.
I'll sing you a tale of things real and imagined
Spun far away across mountain and sea
A waif in the mist and a terrible dragon
And a kiss
If you'll come follow me
A castle forgotten inside a damp forest
Shadows come weaving far colder than dark
In the gray fog there's no sound but a footfall
And no light
But a willow-wisp spark
Knock once, knock twice
On the door that was locked
Raise now a toast
The journey is Long
Leaves underfoot like the crackle of fire
Ground into dust like the ash of the dead
Come to the moat is a figure of sorrow
Of the things left unsaid
Give once, no more,
A gift without giving
Speak once, no more
The final request
Up from the deep rises a serpent of brimstone
Barring the way with scale, claw, tooth, and flame
But bound to the song of lost memories’ candle
Proud death rendered tame
Sing once, sing twice
To the Gate that is shut
Ring once, ring twice
The bell that is lost
A drawbridge leads on to the door closed forever
Passing 'o’er graves of the mighty and proud
The slightest of knocks resounds through the silence
and a roar
And the lifting of cloud
Step once, step twice,
To the life that is dead,
Kiss and behold
The dream that is real
An end to a tale of things real and imagined
Spun in the hearts of the children of men
Wielder of fire become soldier of fortune
And a curse
Seal the pledge ne'er again
They tell a sad and dreadful tale,
The stones of Arandore.
A city, in a grassy vale,
Now gone forever more.
A city built on crop and trade,
A city filled with life!
A city where a pious maid
Would fall upon her knife.
She was a servant of the gods,
Poor Sister Elenore,
But, cursed with beauty, soon at odds,
With Princeling Rastadore.
He saw the city as his own,
Its people as his pets.
And Elenore, at night, alone,
He stole without regrets.
Her screams were heard throughout the night,
And, so the legends say,
With no one there to end her plight
She wished not see the day...
Her body, in a shallow grave,
Would set the world alight,
The townsfolk, neither strong, nor brave,
Still chose to end her fight.
It isn't known who lit the fires
That burned the grassy vale.
Nor is it known who built the pyres...
But no side would prevail.
The winds have cleared the ash they bore,
The rains the blackened stones.
The grass still grows in Arandore
Amidst the scattered bones.
A Little Old Lady From Pasadena
The stars shone brightly in the evening sky
Upon an old woman selling a lie
She danced in the night, so cold and bizarre
For she claimed that she owned the Northern star
Along came a man, no money to spare
He called out “Hello, is anyone there?”
His eyes wore a milky cover of fog
And he sat on a short stump of a log
The old woman smiled and puffed a cigar
“How do you feel about buying a star?”
The blind man gestured around at the night
“Why buy a star without first buying sight?”
The old woman lied, with plans to renege
“It grants any wish no matter how big”
The blind man was simple, no need for drawl
“Will it grant any wish no matter how small?”
She smiled and nodded and yelled out a ‘yes’
The man was sold though he had to confess
“I have no money for which I can pay,
Perhaps I can pay you another way?”
The woman was tired, or maybe just old
“I do not need silver, care not for gold”
She had such a lonely, sad demeanor
“I want to go home to Pasadena”
The man laughed hearty, he felt so alive
“I own a car though I’m too blind to drive,
What do you say in exchange for your star,
I give you the keys to my beat-up old car”
The old woman agreed and took the key
Then gave the rules for wishing for free
“It can't give riches, not even a dime,
It can cure ailments, but not turn back time”
The blind man looked up at the North star
And wondered at the way things always are
Made the only wish his heart would allow
“I wish I was dead, right here and right now”
The old woman screamed and some cops heard her
Soon they had her arrested for murder
The star faded and she did not post bail
Locked away in the Pasadena Jail