Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd June 2018 10:29am
WINNER
Blackwolf (I.M.Blackwolf)
Blackwolf (I.M.Blackwolf)
RUNNER-UP:
PoetsRevenge
Steampunk - The Barrister's Clock.
Steampunk: ONLY TIME WILL TELL
The people say that Emma Bliss
Is either a dame, or a man.
To tell apart, I don’t care, Miss
If I ever might, will or can.
The brilliant part about all this,
And please don’t contradict me here,
(With Times of Steampunk upon us):
Is that I’m a gay buccaneer!
You mean “happy”? Cor’, don’t be daft,
No time for keel-hauling high-jinx!
I’d rather stick ye on a raft
With rea’l sticks, what do ye think!
And it’s olde hat, don’t y’ know, mate;
A pirate tooling on the sea.
There’s better ways to switch & bait
If you plan to calibrate me.
I wear a single eye patch, natch,
Even though I could always see.
A gender-switch w’ same-sex snatch,
A parrot* on me bony knee.
(*Who notches brass locks w’ its beak )
No matter what I’m; Sir or Miss,
Together we’ll rape the high seas.
No favours you’ll get with a kiss;
Mechanical toys run on steam.
But not just any sprocket spring
Will tickle me, young Barrister
Who's future I may get to sing;
Ye’ll listen as I plead, good Sir.
You think this grand ship runs on air?
Yew’ve got them all down, save but nine.
We pillage and plunder for fare,
The upkeep this beast is a crime.
So here’s what we’re going to do
In the storm that comes from the east.
When ye hear “turn the rudder due!”
We make for the deluge’ release.
I’ll set the course “high elevate”
And level o’er Sydney O-Z.
I spy with my glass, liners eight,
The crew goes, there’ll be more for me.
Surprised what our tactics will be:
We’ll drop to their decks filled balloons
Of milk of magnesia with tea;
They won’t know what hit, the buffoons!
I’ll spiral from under the brink,
To land the crew on the first deck.
Relieve the chis’lers of their chink,
Then ferry the men** to the next!
(**And full as a tick on a flea )
Before the end, we’re up the flume;
No better way to find doubloons!
Now gone are the days of griddl’ing,
Belt up! Next stop! Man in the Moon!
Copyright©️2018 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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PERFECT MATCH
Idyllic life lead in the main
Save lack of love could not complain
A scientist, sage seer
By feminine charms oft smitten
Wooing tried, given the mitten
Alone till death his fear
Spied he was on French holiday
Strolling on the Champs-Élysées
Square rigged, right proper swell
On arm best bib and tucker dressed
A lady with great beauty blessed
Where found he one so belle?
It seems he desperate for a mate
Weary of leaving life to fate
Companionship devoid
He set to task his fertile brain
Inventing love he’s sure to gain
A steam drive humanoid
Each morn they leave their lover’s bed
He pours cold water in her head
One nose press primes the pump
Behind left breast deposits coal
Strikes match to light the heart and soul
wakes she then with a jump
Bang-up job he’s done on his wife
Made to last at least his whole life
For making love designed
Comfort he feels in her embrace
A smile always graces her face
His kiss never declined
Save lack of love could not complain
A scientist, sage seer
By feminine charms oft smitten
Wooing tried, given the mitten
Alone till death his fear
Spied he was on French holiday
Strolling on the Champs-Élysées
Square rigged, right proper swell
On arm best bib and tucker dressed
A lady with great beauty blessed
Where found he one so belle?
It seems he desperate for a mate
Weary of leaving life to fate
Companionship devoid
He set to task his fertile brain
Inventing love he’s sure to gain
A steam drive humanoid
Each morn they leave their lover’s bed
He pours cold water in her head
One nose press primes the pump
Behind left breast deposits coal
Strikes match to light the heart and soul
wakes she then with a jump
Bang-up job he’s done on his wife
Made to last at least his whole life
For making love designed
Comfort he feels in her embrace
A smile always graces her face
His kiss never declined
Written by Gahddess_Worship
(Osomajestuoso)
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Mammoth Astrogation .
( The Steampunk Journals )
Babbage-Engine-Entry 1001
Cat-Lap
Tick tock, tickety tock
it's no skilamalink
steam be bellowing
over our chronological clock
Awaiting hands
of copper fame
to reside at six
and twelve, again
Let lubricants
fuel gears, grinding cogs
accross the blind face
of alternative history's grace
Steam for brew
beans to grind
with enthusimuzzy, the barrister
furnishing the perfect trend
Ace-high
-a new aroma
-a fresh new blend
Babbage-Engine-Entry 1002
Damfino
Tick tock, tickety tock
Anthracite burning below
pipes on brass-cocks
Pumping water
through the shrine
warming to boil
precipitation prime
Single-sided-valves
syphon steam
from the engine's hull
images synchronised
to a fireless hell
When the aeronaught
lifts the berth to propell
the Bloater's basket-shell
Babbage-Engine-Entry 1003
Mad as hops
Tick tock, tickety tock
The buor astrogator's turn
she's mounted on the
copper-urn
with gigantic
cupid's kettle drums
Suspenders peak
from her leather-corsett
The angelic voice, cuts a swell
sharing
aria on strings
whilst mist rises from the
welded faucet-rings
Under the floor a viola sings
bringing with it
bright colours, to adore
with lightning-light
from her Edison's glass
She investigates his
jewellery bright;
through her
monocle of shiny brass
Then she proudly sighs
in final
-grateful
-orgasmic
flutter-byes
Babbage-Engine-Entry 1004
Chuckaboo
Tick tock, tickety tock
Townsfolk mafficking
at the clock
with giggles and skittles
to sample
goblets, mugs, and cups
poured from the
barrister's newest
copper-Arbuckle-pots
Pirates in leather
and satin sheer
arived on ships
Philieas Fog had steered
All and sundry stood
be feared;
dash my wig
they'd taken voyage
in just
eight days of toyage
Babbage-Engine-Entry 1005
Church-bell
Tick tock, tickety tock
The candy can began
with every bit 'o jam
the duchess is wearing
her royal frock
we're building a revolution
without the pop
In with the metal, out with the plastic
in with the charming years of olde
from the stories, we've been told
Adorning top-hat, gas-pipes,
waistcoat, and tails
The prince
a rather bricky man, invented
The-Poem-Metric-Meter
(all rather afternoonified)
an analytical engine of
wide advance, it chomps on
words, grammar, alliteration
similies, methaphores
and personification
With wires, gauges
and electro-steam soar
calculating sums of engineered truth
evidence on brass beaded abacus roots
the perfect word-brews
to award a trophy
for the winning few
who've taken the egg
and punked the english language
To be knighted, poetic esquire
with a giggle-mug
using swords and holy water
at a clock unveiling banquet
with bit 'o jams
kings, and lords
tot hunting on the crawl
All butter upon bacon
-x-
There shall be no collie shangles, it makes a stuffed bird laugh!
.
Written by RevolutionAL
(Alistair Plint)
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This poem is not eligible for the competition. I'm just having fun with it.
Warped Cafe'
His stove-pipe hat had a clean whistle
as he entered the room
of her mechanisms.
Her kitchen was steaming mad,
plum-pudding on the boil
gears unloosing themselves
in her deep furnace.
She only saw him through
her foggy goggles’ fume.
Only men with jet packs
were allowed to jangle her
heavy ring of keys
to unlatch her metal bindings
under her bustles
and petticoats
as she piped from hour to hour,
reversing the clocks at her whim
brewing tea at her fancy as she
mounted her flying teapot and took off
at boiling point.
Resetting the clocks to start
time expanded and was lost
hands spinning in the effluvial vapor
as the man sat at the counter
and the fair maiden served him coffee,
scalding hot.
as he entered the room
of her mechanisms.
Her kitchen was steaming mad,
plum-pudding on the boil
gears unloosing themselves
in her deep furnace.
She only saw him through
her foggy goggles’ fume.
Only men with jet packs
were allowed to jangle her
heavy ring of keys
to unlatch her metal bindings
under her bustles
and petticoats
as she piped from hour to hour,
reversing the clocks at her whim
brewing tea at her fancy as she
mounted her flying teapot and took off
at boiling point.
Resetting the clocks to start
time expanded and was lost
hands spinning in the effluvial vapor
as the man sat at the counter
and the fair maiden served him coffee,
scalding hot.
Written by PoetsRevenge
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My Mechanical Heart
I think it was circa eighteen forty something,
When I woke up from the operating table,
The good doctor told me “Congratulations!
Now you can do anything if you’re willing and able.”
I gazed around the operating room,
Which looked like a watch maker’s workstation,
I thought the man was more of a mad scientist,
A nihilist when he told me I was his latest creation.
“I’ve given you something special” he said,
“You can have a long, long life if you desire,
You are unique in many ways but don’t forget,
To wind your gears and you will never tire.”
I was amazed when I looked at myself in the mirror,
My chest cavity open showing a beating clock,
The mechanism was pumping regular and steady,
Like a ceremonial cadence with the beat on lock.
But over the years as everyone grew old,
My mechanical heart hardly let me age,
After four decades the good doctor passed,
And that is what brought me to this stage.
I was picked up by a traveling circus,
And came to fame with the appliance,
I was a strange and curious creature,
A wonder of the then modern science.
They all paid a special price to see me up close,
They marveled at the inner workings of the piece,
Men wondered how in the world it all worked,
Some women would faint and drop to their knees.
But there was a particular woman,
Who took a special interest in the device,
And in the afterglow of our merry making,
She’d caress my chest like it was a prize.
Do you want to wind it? I used to tell her,
Opening the glass door to my mechanical heart,
She’d smile as her delicate fingers turned the gears,
Resetting it in the mornings when the day would start.
At the turn of the century I left the circus,
Time it seemed had just been very slow,
The era was changing and so was my life,
Everyone seemed to fade away and go.
And still my mechanical heart beats,
Steady, always ready and primed,
With a ritualistic rhythm and tempo,
Like a clock, ticking, marking my time.
I think it was circa eighteen forty something,
When I woke up from the operating table,
The good doctor told me “Congratulations!
Now you can do anything if you’re willing and able.”
I gazed around the operating room,
Which looked like a watch maker’s workstation,
I thought the man was more of a mad scientist,
A nihilist when he told me I was his latest creation.
“I’ve given you something special” he said,
“You can have a long, long life if you desire,
You are unique in many ways but don’t forget,
To wind your gears and you will never tire.”
I was amazed when I looked at myself in the mirror,
My chest cavity open showing a beating clock,
The mechanism was pumping regular and steady,
Like a ceremonial cadence with the beat on lock.
But over the years as everyone grew old,
My mechanical heart hardly let me age,
After four decades the good doctor passed,
And that is what brought me to this stage.
I was picked up by a traveling circus,
And came to fame with the appliance,
I was a strange and curious creature,
A wonder of the then modern science.
They all paid a special price to see me up close,
They marveled at the inner workings of the piece,
Men wondered how in the world it all worked,
Some women would faint and drop to their knees.
But there was a particular woman,
Who took a special interest in the device,
And in the afterglow of our merry making,
She’d caress my chest like it was a prize.
Do you want to wind it? I used to tell her,
Opening the glass door to my mechanical heart,
She’d smile as her delicate fingers turned the gears,
Resetting it in the mornings when the day would start.
At the turn of the century I left the circus,
Time it seemed had just been very slow,
The era was changing and so was my life,
Everyone seemed to fade away and go.
And still my mechanical heart beats,
Steady, always ready and primed,
With a ritualistic rhythm and tempo,
Like a clock, ticking, marking my time.
We thank all participants in this #steampunk competition.
The Poem Metric Meter is currently in maintenance mode.
The babbage engine needs reprograming. After consultation with Lorde's of the deep we shall announce winners.
Kindest regards
Al
