Poetry competition CLOSED 28th September 2018 1:19am
WINNER
Oshinome
Oshinome
RUNNERS-UP:
ImperfectedStone
and Jade-Pandora
The Drunken Boat
Poetry Contest Description
Arthur Rimbaud: the enfant terrible of French poetry in the second half of the nineteenth century and a major figure in symbolism.
Co-Host: JohnnyBlaze
Part I in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most well-known poets, both classical and modern.
Rimbaud was a prolific poet who was well known for his contributions to Symbolism, and was also a precursor to modernist literature.
In literature, symbolism can take many forms including: A figure of speech where an object, person, or situation has another meaning other than its literal meaning. The actions of a character, word, action, or event that have a deeper meaning in the context of the whole story.
Guidelines
Write a symbolic poem.
1. Two poems per member ( including alternate id's ).
2. EDITED: Word count removed.
3. Any form is acceptable.
4. Publish your entry to your personal page and hashtag #ArthurRimbaud before sharing here.
The entries will be judged by a panel that includes myself. Content will be scored based on originality, spelling, grammar, and selected form.
The top three winners will be announced along with their scores.
If there are any additional questions please ask. You have one month. Best of luck to each of you.
This is absolutely stunning, Poppy. I'm deeply humbled. No way it's not going to be an entry. We're early in the comp and you're the first poster.
I'm getting mixed feedback on the word count, which originally between 250 - 500. Thus, if you read the original guidelines, this would've qualified.
The purpose of it to begin with was that people would submit quality pieces such as this. But the more I think about it, the more I realize how hindering it is to the spirit when writing from the heart.
The heart doesn't count words but beats in feeling; therefore, I'm simply going to forgo the count restriction and see what inspiration delivers.
This is about introducing and landing poets such as Rimbaud and Rilke on DUP pages from searches, thus drawing a wider audience of participation. This entry is golden if no one else enters because it touched one person enough to research a remarkable poet who contributed so much to the craft.
So thank you for that. It's so deeply stirring to the blood.
I'm getting mixed feedback on the word count, which originally between 250 - 500. Thus, if you read the original guidelines, this would've qualified.
The purpose of it to begin with was that people would submit quality pieces such as this. But the more I think about it, the more I realize how hindering it is to the spirit when writing from the heart.
The heart doesn't count words but beats in feeling; therefore, I'm simply going to forgo the count restriction and see what inspiration delivers.
This is about introducing and landing poets such as Rimbaud and Rilke on DUP pages from searches, thus drawing a wider audience of participation. This entry is golden if no one else enters because it touched one person enough to research a remarkable poet who contributed so much to the craft.
So thank you for that. It's so deeply stirring to the blood.
Related submission no longer exists.
The Great Divide
There is a Great Divide
defined differently
by each personality;
it can be seen as black
or perhaps Palestinian
So narrow the Divide
it can close unto death
before widening
to accept difference;
wearies of itself;
loses short-term memory
Remembers younger days
playground antics
void of color and race
Sometimes it stands guard
to the entry
of the heart;
where it doesn't stand
a chance of forgiveness
or building a bridge
This great Divide
grows in us all;
unless we choose Love
to prune
its cancerous void
~
defined differently
by each personality;
it can be seen as black
or perhaps Palestinian
So narrow the Divide
it can close unto death
before widening
to accept difference;
wearies of itself;
loses short-term memory
Remembers younger days
playground antics
void of color and race
Sometimes it stands guard
to the entry
of the heart;
where it doesn't stand
a chance of forgiveness
or building a bridge
This great Divide
grows in us all;
unless we choose Love
to prune
its cancerous void
~
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
Non-entry: Example only, though the sentiment is genuine.
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Related submission no longer exists.
In the Time of Fires
The three Furies never kept me guessing;
The seasons, whither, when or why.
Every year, the protocols of dressing:
Always the same place, the same time.
The almanac predictions you’d swear by,
The ice age that nobody felt.
We knew the sun had gone cold in the sky,
Then one day things started to melt.
And although the seas rose ever higher,
The floods and the runoffs, but worse.
One day came an ominous town cryer
Who speaks of a harbinger thirst.
To write the unspoken is biblical,
For it’s all scribed in the past tense.
Return of the plagues started long ago;
I’ve no words to say in defense.
The three Furies never kept me guessing;
The seasons, whither, when or why.
Nothing compares to betrayal’s blessing
When faced with white ash from on high.
The time of fires, the time of widows,
Brings first responders to their knees.
A host of arches of stained glass windows
That once was a forest of trees.
Comes a relay of planes with their airdrops,
This time it’s the difference they make.
Hardly seen as they look for the hotspots,
Consumes everything in their wake.
In the distant red smoke-filled horizon,
The empty frames on empty sites.
A bright flare up, they seem on an island;
It looks like will be a long night.
The time of fires, the time of ruin
That now has a life unending.
Of an ember that sparks as it blew in
From another pyre ascending.
#ArthurRimbaud
The seasons, whither, when or why.
Every year, the protocols of dressing:
Always the same place, the same time.
The almanac predictions you’d swear by,
The ice age that nobody felt.
We knew the sun had gone cold in the sky,
Then one day things started to melt.
And although the seas rose ever higher,
The floods and the runoffs, but worse.
One day came an ominous town cryer
Who speaks of a harbinger thirst.
To write the unspoken is biblical,
For it’s all scribed in the past tense.
Return of the plagues started long ago;
I’ve no words to say in defense.
The three Furies never kept me guessing;
The seasons, whither, when or why.
Nothing compares to betrayal’s blessing
When faced with white ash from on high.
The time of fires, the time of widows,
Brings first responders to their knees.
A host of arches of stained glass windows
That once was a forest of trees.
Comes a relay of planes with their airdrops,
This time it’s the difference they make.
Hardly seen as they look for the hotspots,
Consumes everything in their wake.
In the distant red smoke-filled horizon,
The empty frames on empty sites.
A bright flare up, they seem on an island;
It looks like will be a long night.
The time of fires, the time of ruin
That now has a life unending.
Of an ember that sparks as it blew in
From another pyre ascending.
#ArthurRimbaud
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
The Furies were three goddesses of vengeance and retribution who punished men for crimes against the natural order.
