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Poetry Slam

A

Amaris

Guest
I came up with something off the top of my head a few moments ago, and I thought "hey, why not do some kind of poetry slam?" and so now we're doing this.

The rules are simple:

1] The poem must be entirely yours.
2] It must be made up on the spot. By that, I mean you can sit and think about it, but no going back to something you wrote years ago. The whole idea here is to be creative.

It can be cheesy, serious, funny, deep, shallow, doesn't matter, they just have to be your words, and made right now. They don't have to rhyme a certain way, you don't have to have a title for it, but do try to keep the poems themselves under a thousand words, if only to make it easier on everyone else to read. Also, you can post as many as you like, but only one at a time, and make sure to let someone else post in between any new ones you might have. By the by, I'm aware that a slam is actually a competition, but that isn't a requirement here (though it is certainly not discouraged if two posters wish to duke it out!).

Remember, it's all in fun!

So, anyway, my entry, and the start of the poetry slam:

-----------------------------


On the dotted line

Over a flaming tongue of hell's delight,
amidst the wails and wants of a sordid debauchery,
and the writhing wickedness of sin,
signed upon a parchment,
spattered with the blood of your fathers.
Hanged upon the merchant's neck,
a woeing tale of haunt,
gaunted cheeks devoid of laughter,
in truth, a fearsome chatter,
and brains spread out like paste upon water,
the burning flesh asunder,
smoking hallowed true like lies,
peppered throughout the garden,
affix your soul and pledge it true,
for we shall be your warden.
 
Last night I dreamed
Nathan Fillion was leading me
Through a portal.

A portal to the time
Before man, when it was all swamp
And creatures and steam.

And I made a joke about that
To Nathan (DEAR HOT NATHAN)
And it was about Steam the gaming hub.

Nathan chuckled. But he did not take off his clothes.
And we went through the portal which was purple and swirly.
To a place with no games, no real games at all.


Non-poem commentary: This is a real dream I had last night and I just wrote this poem about it, it's been on my mind all day.
 
"Latin Candy"
by 2takesfrakes

When I first met Lupita,
I thought, "ella está buena!"
Then her amiga saw us talking
and said, "muy bonita pareja."

"Tu eres mi cielo!"
Lupita said to me one night.
"Me encanta todo de ti,"
I answered, under a street light.

Besando mis labios,
Rubbing her scent all over me,
Her Public Display of Affection
on the corner for all to see.

Then a Latina walked by,
Saying something I couldn't hear,
or tell who it was meant for,
But it caught Lupita's ear.

Heated words were exchanged,
Words of hate. Words of spite.
Expressing wisdom and concern,
I prayed there'd be a Cat Fight.

La policia arrived
In time to stop the party
Lupita hissed at the latina,
"Você tem uma puta sorte!"
 
When the night draws close
And the suffocating
Pangs of nostalgia
Are all you can feel

- There is no escape from choices
Or incessant voices -

Tumble to your feet
Listen to your music
Trip the light of your guilt
Find your new rhythm
 
Fortunate, heavenly.
Still, tempestuous.
Bright, levitous.
Painful, prickly.
Calming, reassuring.

Unspoken, profane.
Innocent, erotic.
Cleansing, chemical.
Glowing, electrifying.
Protective, tormenting.

Conservative, democratic.
Grubby, grounded.
Solemn, privileged.
Emergent, oppressive.
Premier, perfect.

Dark, maudlin.
Melodic, moody.
Sad, soulful.
Breathless, extinguished.
Soaring, liberated.
 
So familiar, these feelings
They leave me reeling...
Synapses on fire
Won't they stop for a while....

This complex life
Full of exotic strife...
So much to lose
But no less to soothe..

Choices - it's what they
Give you...
Changes- it's what they
Hide...

But YOU are...
Master...Mistress...of your time and Fate
Sarah said there was none...
Unless we make it...

I do not know the Recipe

The more we ignore
The more we implore...
The Future is set
Maybe not Yet...

If Others could see
The me that is Me...
Would it make me feel Better
Or make me feel Deader
 
Rocking, writhing, raging,
life shares plenty with friend death,
but no benefactor more willing,
than a man who dreams.
 
Jingle bells,
Batman smells...

Nah, that won't work...

On top of Old Smokie,
All covered with blood...

That's not any better. Yeah, I got nuthin'. :shrug:
 
Spontaneity is not my thing,
Fleeting my corpus my be.

Sorry, J.

I will not be competing
In this trial you've set before us.

I shall not spout the spark.

Cakes dreams of Castle.
And Frakes seems to prattle.

Sector 7 lost the battle.

Hark, I shall withdraw from the fight.
And sing in chorus completing:

Spontaneity is not my thing,
 
Thank you for the try, dear Clegg,
It's sad to see you cry,
but I won't be the one to beg, my friend,
I ask only that you try.

Yes, teacake's prose was rather droll,
and frakes spake all in espanol,
AM, Zion, HIjol were so deep!

Sector 7 gave his all,
you my dear are at the ball,
and there's no time to catch your beauty sleep.

So toss aside your trepidation,
don't dither with your doubts,
open up your hoary heart,
and let it all hang out!

(Oh, and as a quick footnote, to boot,
your avatar is awfully cute!)
 
Nice idea for a thread, J. And we've got some genuinely good poetry here. Cue the bongos! I'm not much for spontaneity, either-- I have a tendency to obsess over every word and turn of phrase when I write (thus the relatively small output). But, as requested, a bit of stream of consciousness as I sit here in the dark with low rumbles of thunder in the distance.

The Late Show
© 2014 by Rick Hutchins

Lightning flickers
over the Blue Hills
like an old TV at 3am.
The fog it illuminates
is grainy
as if the world
were an aged photograph.
Yet the mist is wet
on my face
as I smile at the thunder.
My fingers can feel
the moist brown dirt
in the garden.
The earth. This Earth.
Rolling through blackness,
it bleeds in color
and laughs in light.
 
"Extra! Extra! Read My Body"
by 2takesfrakes

She hinted she wouldn't mind it if I were even more ripped
So, tall, cool glasses of weight-gain shakes were sipped.

And by stuffing my face until I gained more muscle mass
I'd surely reach my goal. Working out's a pain in the ass:

Jogging to music is a thankless chore that I do not enjoy
Push-ups, Sit-ups and free weights were all often employed.

At first, she seemed to like the "definition" that appeared
Knowing I'd soon be the Adonis she dreamt of and revered.

Then something happened. Something unwelcome and unexpected.
I didn't notice myself losing weight - something that she rejected.

I was doing something wrong - without balance, I couldn't do it
What the hell was I going to do? I was already committed to it.

So then I started eating more and it started getting expensive
I started becoming a bear which she made clear she found offensive.

It's good working out, but I liked how I was doing it, long before.
I told her, "I'm sorry, but it's over" and showed her to the door.

Now, I look forward to working out because it's such a pleasure
The old addage is true: "it's the little things in life we treasure."
 
Slam -

into a wall
I made that wall
brick by brick add another ... if you want but not too thick

Slam I am, but my other name is what..?
tinfoil yes that is my rap name..sane..
I wrap you up with tinfoil.. rap rap. tap tap

be the me - be there for you, think or not, I know I do..,..
out or in - side by side or inside out when light shattered by mind
broken will and break the bill mend the send and go go go (where?)

riding thru tomorrow ending up in yesterday never the same way
perfect or not either way they say "it is what?" "it is what it is"
right now is gone right? never write now or been gone again. so long,..

future boy future girl,,. all futures parties are over again.(gone home)
read the written create the fiction make for the sake of being awake
take your toll told to take - eat a pod because the pod is fake.

I wave ,,, I wave ,,, I wave go on.. wave go-one the wave is gone.

Bill Newbold
a now slam-poem
rapper - Tinfoil
 
Last night I dreamed
Nathan Fillion was leading me
Through a portal.

A portal to the time
Before man, when it was all swamp
And creatures and steam.

And I made a joke about that
To Nathan (DEAR HOT NATHAN)
And it was about Steam the gaming hub.

Nathan chuckled. But he did not take off his clothes.
And we went through the portal which was purple and swirly.
To a place with no games, no real games at all.


Non-poem commentary: This is a real dream I had last night and I just wrote this poem about it, it's been on my mind all day.
:lol::techman:
 
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