Vlad

My first question is how a poem like this went uncommented on. Then I'll ask what you meant by the last line of the first stanza? Your poem does a good job keeping a fragmented tone, but this is a bit much. I, as a reader, got lost trying to figure out what courage has to do with not having a rose. Perhaps I'm just dense. The shortening stanzas work well with the theme that a rose apperently was the center of attantion but then fades away from everything. The second stanza reads akwardly because you use love so close together. I tripped over that part, but otherwise it was a good poem. From what I've heard you say on IRC, this wasn't the greates experience, and this poem reflects it well.

Down and down and down the rabbit hole goes. At least that's what it seemed like to Floyd. He had been falling for what seemed to be an eternity, with no end in sight. It was completely dark and hours ago Flyod had lost all sense of direction. For all he knew, air currents could have been propelling him through a circular tube. His reasoning would allow it however. He had gotten into the tunnel somehow, so there must ba a way out. Sure enough, Floyd slowly began to slow down, and things began to heat up. As quickly as he had fallen into the hole (conveniently forgetting those horribly boring middle hours), Floyd landed in an open cavern. This area was well lit with a very reddish hue. The temperatures were enourmous, and Floyd simply couldn't see straight. Making a quick judgement call, the robot boy began to walk forward, hoping to someday find a way out. The journey soon became very slow-going and tedious. It began to wear away at even a robot's infinitesmal levals of patience. The same scenery would be recurring, with an occasional mile marker. Just when Floyd was ready to give up, he saw a wiry man meditating on the side of the path. Hoping for some WD-40, he approached the stranger. When he neared the meditating man, the man eyes burst open as if he was possessed. "Here. Take this. Quick. And don't read it!" "What am I suppose-" "Don't ask questions. Just take this unread scroll." "Why is it so impor-" "Don't. Ask. Questions. Just run" "..." "That way." The man pointed in the direction from which Floyd had come. "You're crazy." "John Connor, get down!" "Wha-" "Run Forrest! Run!" Floyd gave the man a blank look, and decided it best not to question authority. Or what seemed like authority. So he did the most logical thing he could come up with. He ran. It wasn't much of a plan, but at least it was a plan. OOC: Sorry about being so late with this post. I'm going to try for more consistency. I'm fine with random dragons in my character's path. As long as they're not dragoons.

Writing about writer's block is always a fun subject, and a common experience. I like the consistent rhyme in this piece, it makes it seem light-hearted about an unfortunate issue. Some of the lines I stumbled over, but can't find them again during the second read. An excellent poem, Finnius.

This style of poetry usually doesn't sit well with me, but it's a really neat idea. The whole dellivery seems rushed, but that goes with the well with the concept behind it. I have to echo Mira's comment about the speaker's weakness, but also think that they are insignificant when compared to the speakers strength which immediately follows. That clearly shows the speaker thinks he made the right decision, or doesn't want to be hurt anymore. Perhaps the weakness is that he doesn't know what the right decision is. Or that he doesn't want to make the right decision, but instead take the easy way out? Regerdless it was definetly a good read.

The repetition of the first line ands an interesting element. I got the image of a commando in a battlefield going against the entire world. The whole image of the poem as a whole is a bit fragmented, and leaves too much to the imagination. There is perhaps a murder, but why? And what happens afterwards to this man. Is he alone in heart or in spirit? Those lines didn't sit with me.I'm not really sure what they represent, but they seem to show contradictory images. At least contradictory characters. The first line is aggressive, The second very passive. Overall a good work. Just needs a bit of polishing up.

I can see that you must have put a lot of thought into this poem. The division in the stanzas comes as a natural breaking point. It makes me wonder what you really mean by it. The first stanza, about "a man" who is good, shows everything positive your father has to offer. The second, however, takes the other path, and shows his negative traits. This is contrary to the standard, of showing flaws, then redemption, but you pull it off well. The second stanza is stark contrast to the first, and makes the reader wonder if this could really be the same man. It is an interesting concept of using him as a step, but looking back to the title, and equating yourself to him. Perhaps this shows fear of your own fate? REgardless, it is a very well written poem.

Well... Originally I wanted this to be a contest of love poems TO an orange, but people naturally don't follow directions. Instead this will be a completely subjective evaluation system, but I'll justify my opinions, of course. Out of six entrants, only three are eligible for the prize. However, it was still very hard to decide between them. I'd like to say the winner was a clear choice for me... 'xept it wasn't. And now, without further ado... Quincunx Your poem took an unexpected approach, but was very enjoyable nonetheless. I loved reading it, and it took a couple of times to get the meaning. Clever use of genus and species. As I understand it, this wasn't an original work, but a parody, so I can't give the title to you. WrenWind You had a few typos, which could have easily been fixed by a spell checker. Other than that, you had a very creative approach! Vivid imagery of the orange being one of nature's masterpieces made this an interesting read. Oh, and I loved the ending too! Rahsash Geldrich Your poem told the tale of an after-school treat wonderfully. A happy and jovial poem, you kept it very refreshing and original. Refreshing like an orange. =) Peredhil I now know why oranges are good for me. Your support for the guild is much appreciated. Thanks for posting first, I believe that generated more interest in the contest. Sorcerie An actual poem directed at an orange! Somebody *did* read the instructions! (Can you tell I'm happy?) This poem really shows a devotion (for lack of a better word) to the orange. The rhythm and rhyme make this an easy and enjoyable read. Katzaniel Congratulations - you won! I love the first and last stanzas. I love the way you took several cliches and melded them together. I love the poem's genereal feeling. A very good job, if I do say so myself. And I do. Please PM me after you read this. (Or catch me on chat). To all participants: Thank you very much for participating! I hope you all had a good time, regardless if you won or not. The next contest will be up... soon?

The contest is CLOSED. I'll post winners with critiques as soon as I can. Expect them by Sat. Thank you for participating. There will be more to follow! =-)

Andy Warhol. Anything really.

I propose to start: A contest, of sorts. Simple in nature, But of noble stature. To enter you must Be a member of guild. An artisán resides Within your own heart. To write a ballad Or a poem of love To the most worthy Of targets ever made. To woo an orange Is your final goal And a "citrus crooner" You shall become. --------------------------- For you poem illiterate folks out there: I'm proposing a contest. The participants have to write a love poem to an orange. That's the only restriction, make it as creative (or hum-drum) as you want. There will be a two week (subject to change without prior notice) time limit. That's until 23:59 Sunday, May 2nd. In *MY* time zone (GMT -6:00). This contest is open to everybody who wants to participate, but only members of the AAA (Articulate Artisans of Alliteration) will be eligible to win. The reward for non-members of the AAA will be a good experience, and hopefully some fun. The reward for members of the AAA will be the title of "Citrus Crooner." Post submissions here [in this thread]. And drop me a PM when you do, just in case I miss it. ;P I think I will limit it to one entry per person. I of course, will not compete, but will instead judge. Enjoy.

That is basically what your argument boils down to.And you cleverly slipped it in the middle. But it's so unbelievably wrong. It is human nature to want to succeed. It is human nature to want to be better than those around you. You claim that better is relative, and that only the happy will survive. We are here today because our ancestors were more agressive, more able, more prepared to pass on their genes. You and I can argue until we're both blue in the face, but there's no denying it, some people are better than others. And over thousands of years, our genes have been programmed to find the traits that make the best mate. However, if we stay where we are, never trying to better ourselves, then others will pass us. Selflessness is the key to your own destruction, each person should be an end for his own means. If we have no wants, we will have no reason to live. Let me repeat that. If we have no wants, WE WILL DIE. Sorry for hijacking the thread away from your original topic, Solivagus. Vigil - I'd prefer not to continue hijacking this thread, if you want clarification on any of my stances, my contact info is in my profile.

Living in the darkness wasn't much of a problem for Floyd, but it still was inconvenient. As he slowly attempted to gather his bearings, he realized that he had none. The entire length of this passage was pitch black, and the only noise was Floyd's cooling fan. Having lost his infinite power source, which obviously violated the laws of physics, the robotic boy saw no other alternatives. Quickly, Floyd shifted to his secondary generator: a solar cell. But it wasn't terribly sunny at the time. In fact, it was pitch black. So Floyd immediately switched to the other only alternative, conveniently codenamed Plan-B(2). He curled up into a small ball, and decided to let gravity do it's work. If his reasoning was correct, which it always was, then he'd take the exact same path as the small glowing rubber ball. Except this time the Floyd's logic failed him. The rumbling emminating from the rolling created an echo throughout the entire tunnel. Loud sounds in tunnels can lead to avalanches or cave-ins, and metal doesn't mesh well with rock. Fortunately, a small group of students from a nearby town managed to make the cave-in a fruitful project in their studies of the Doppler Effect. As Floyd continued gaining speed on his trek to the fiery heart of the earth (with rocks tumbling close behind) small children became more and more aware of the impending doom. Floyd, however, was not one to waste a moment either. He took this time to reflect on what his life had accomplished. Most other people wouldn't call it reflecting, they would refer to it as "Oh my God! My life is flashing before my eyes! I'm gonna die! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!" Floyd, ever the optimist, decided to instead, focus on how he helped other. Needless to say, he was done before he started. He is one to get easily distracted. Often. The distraction (this time) was the elusive glowing rubber infinite energy source ball. It was just down the path, and appeared to have stopped. Floyd, unfortunately, didn't. While continuing to roll further towards the center of the earth, he noticed an end to the tunnel. A slight curve at the bottom proppeled Floyd to the opposite side of a gargantuan cavern. This cavern was dimly lit by sporadic torches along the wall. It had a welcoming feel, but something about the room just seemed, well... evil. On the largest of three delicately woven rugs sat an elderly man with a full beard. His eyes were closed, and the pipe in his mouth seemed to make him appear lost in a stream of consiousness. As Floyd finally mustered the courage to approach the strange man, he began to mumble. The first completely audible words were "I... am... Osam-" Precisely at that moment, the elusively-small glowing rubber infinite energy source [ball] rolled by, and fell into another hole. With screams of "My precioussssss...!!" Floyd immediately dived down and never saw the old man again.

Talked to Katz Took the Glowing Rubber Ball in the Dark Cave Deep inside each and every one of us lies a secret. This secret is housed in the deepest and darkest recesses of everyone's soul. These are the secret that nobody wants anybody else to know. Like the time you wet the bed in third grade. They are shunted away from your consiousness, hopefully forever. Everybody has a secret, no matter how insignificant or trivial it may seem. Even you. Especially you. But your secret can't possibly be as secretive as Floyd's is. Floyd is like most other boys that have been lost in a cave for two months without any food, drink, or Game Boy batteries. Poor little Floyd hasn't seen natural sunlight at all during his stay in the cave, and has been exploring the area solely off of the brightness a burning shoelace can create. Floyds, being a scout, was always prepared with extra shoelaces for an emergency, even if the other kids would make fun of him. Unfortunately, Floyd's shoelaces were running out, and he still had no clue where he was. The small child continued wandering with endless optimism, but with a spark and a sputter, the shoelace went out. It was only in this pitch blackness that a faint glow could be seen comming from inside of Floyd. It wasn't very clear what this glow was, but it slowly increased in luminoscity. Except in very serious situations, Floyd made sure that nobody knew what was inside of him. Suddenly, Floyd popped open his chest and pulled out a small glowing ball. Using the ball as a guide, Floyd continued wandering around the cave, searching for an exit. After some time had passed, Floyd tripped with a heavy clunking sound, accidentaly dropping the ball. As it rolled down the path, and Floyd vainly tried to catch up to it, darkness enveloped him once more.

Virtual Stapler 'Nuff said.

Yea, so I read this and completely disregarded your warning. Although I made some substitutions. Instead of a passed out friend, I picked a sleeping friend. I'm not sure about the validity of said friend's private parts. In any case, they were very public for a few minutes. I couldn't find any bacon grease, so I used warm SPAM. I figured it's close enough. There wern't any Chihuahuas in the vicinity, so I led the friend's golden retriever to him. Make your own conclusions.

Hmm... wha...? Me? Nominated? Sorry to break the flow, but I'm going to decline. If only on the grounds that there's nothing to write about me. (Tralla would probably disagree ) And I don't think that many of the newer people would recognize me.

I nominate Stick! Edit: Oh, and Falcon, too.

Preface [21:11:15] * Swordmage dares |V| to write the story of Tarimar the Tragic, how he got his name, and why he hated honey so much .... all without any further info to go on ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In the olden days there was a quaint village some distance away from any semblance of society. This village had a bounty of straw houses, and numerous small farms at its outskirts. All contact with the outside world was through a singular gravel path. This path led to a castle a few miles away, and was the source of most gossip and rumors. The path itself was generally safe, however travelers always made sure not to stray too far. On either side of the path were dense woods. Many dangerous creatures lurked in these woods, and among these was none other than Tarimar the Tragic. Tarimar was a fierce bear who could uproot trees with one heave, and he could shatter steel with one blow. Tarimar was the undisputed king of the forest, but he was lonely at the top. All of the other creatures stayed away from him mainly because they were afraid. The behemoth lumbered around, and rarely stood at his full height, simply because the treetops were too low. Humans were scared of Tarimar the Tragic just as much as the animals were. Tales regularly circulate around the village of a hunting expedition that never comes back, or of a schoolgirl that goes to pick her last flower. Over time the rumors developed into a tale told to children to keep them in line, similar to a boogey-man or Ronald McDonald. Among the wisest of the town it is said that Tarimar emerges from his lair whenever there is going to be foreign trouble. The bear however was a peaceful creature. He would give shelter to anyone who came by, and his visitors lived like kings. Most enjoy it so much, they decide to live out the remainder of their lives in Taramir’s custody. Unfortunately, the great bear was sometimes too trusting. One of the visitors who stayed at Taramir’s lair was a bandit. He had stumbled upon the area accidentally, and wandered in hoping to find something to loot. Upon sight of the bear, the bandit nearly fainted. It was only the prospect of collapsing on a stone floor that kept the thief upright. As the bandit’s eyes darted around the well-decorated lair, his gaze fell upon a large clay pot. When Taramir turned and noticed the stranger, he immediately welcomed the newcomer. The bandit, however, would not oblige to being polite in response. He simply grabbed the heavy pot from the shelf, and began to make his escape. Taramir was infuriated that a guest would just run off with his honey, and quickly took up pursuit. It didn’t take long for the bear’s large leaps to catch up to the thief’s scampering. A fight broke out which resulted in the honey spilling all over Tarimar’s fur coat. The forest bandit did not fare so well; he lost an eye and a limb. Needless to say, this incident put an end to the man’s career, but that’s not the focus of this tale. Taramir was heavily encumbered by the sweet viscous goop, creating a perfect target for fire ants. The forest was a natural home for millions of the red devils, and they all flocked to one point. After countless hours of biting and stinging, the bear-king was able to break free of the red embrace and hobble back to his cave. The occupants nursed him back to health, but Taramir was never the same. He lost the use of both his legs, and his left arm. They gave him the title of Tragic simply because of his demeanor after the terrible incident. If bears could have clinical depression then this would be a prime example, but instead the bear also vowed to never house his arch nemesis, honey, again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Now gentlemen, and ladies too, I issue a challenge for any and all, even inept. Those wishing to fight, and willing to bleed; Are those who are quick to blindly accept. If you should happen to choose To write up a tale for the rest of The Pen, Would you gladly consider one of my whim? Should you agree, proceed as I went- But explain to the rest of the mob What of the bandit who lost his job? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Feedback Level 3 please. The rules for this little project are quite simple: You can only add one new character in your story. At the end of your tale, you must issue a new challenge. The challenge should be about an underdeveloped character. Most importantly, have fun with this.

In a sense, I agree with you, yet I feel that your defenition needs some refining. Many people do think that by having sex, they will find love. However, this is simply an error in a person's understanding of causality. Sex is the effect, not the cause. People don't fall in love because they have sex, they have sex because they fall in love. Many loveless people have rampant amounts of sex hoping it will lead them to success, but they are clearly mistaken. Sex is the manifestation of 'love'. It's a biological process designed to keep the human race alive. Why are people willing to sacrifice for others? Kin selection. I personally believe that altruism inherently denies human worth, but that's a different topic. Love is the feeling that people get when they are willing to go to lengths for the benefit of others, without the possibilty of tangible gain. Many, in this context, love their best friends, but won't admit it due to homophobia. (Again, this is a different topic. I get off track so often because love must be examined in its context.) (If anyone wants me to clarify my stance on any of the issues I mentioned, my contact info is down below)

Why must you run From the truth I hold dear, When simply escaping Doesn't diminish the fear. What have I done To not let you be near- My memory chasing A long-forgotten tear. If honesty shows Itself in this light, Then I will have chose To stay with my soul. You are the truth Which is always right. You are the answers, Which I so admire- Like delicatre dancers Atop a glamarous spire. But be without you, I can't- You being the one Who inspired this rant. Truth is bliss, and so is love And it is you, that I dream of.

"tangled up and ensnared" didn't seem to go with the rest of the tempo. I was very vivid in the begining, but at that line I had to stop, and almost got muddled down. The second stanza pick the beat right up though, and makes this a good poem.

you're playing mind games with me i don't know how to handle it the feelings are almost gone now you've lost Another Game Play Dangerously Just as you live Deal With everything Just as it comes out Feel Inside my life As you have done before --------------------------------- If anyone figures out how to indent, please tell me. ---------------------------------

Funny topic, I liked how you presented it. The second stanza distracts from the overall structure by deviating from the rhyme scheme. Other than that, It was an enjoyable poem.

Vlad clambers past Wrenny, "I'm the biggest fan! Me!" (It's great, can't wait for more...)

Existence is a paradox- In which one or many may exist Simply for the sake of life. However you and I Must have more to this effect. And for me 'tis plain to see- That my actions dictate choice. But you, yes you- Are a mystery to behold. How you function, Or what you do; Seems to stem From darkest depth Best left untouched. And the truth, Bittersweet truth- Hold much nectar, Much too far For you to reach.