Poetry competition CLOSED 30th January 2020 8:50pm
WINNER
EdibleWords
EdibleWords
RUNNERS-UP:
Ahavati
and Kinkpoet
ROAST, the RUTHLESS
Poetry Contest Description
Critique Overboard
Now Here This!!!
JADEY IS GETTING INVOLVED TO SAVE
THIS COMP!!!
Stay Tooned....
UPDATE, THIS COMP GOT DBL POSTED, So, I guess that means two _wunners"
Thank you and enjoy.
Have you grown weary of receiving Overly sweet comments praising your art?
By posting your poem here, you realize you have entered CRITIQUE THUNDERDOME, a no holds barred rip fest of your work.
But there is one catch. Before you cut up somebodies poem posted here in this competition, YOU MUST FIRST POST a poem of your own, welcoming harsh critique.
But above all that roasting,
Love one another.
Now let the roasting begin.
JADEY IS GETTING INVOLVED TO SAVE
THIS COMP!!!
Stay Tooned....
UPDATE, THIS COMP GOT DBL POSTED, So, I guess that means two _wunners"
Thank you and enjoy.
Have you grown weary of receiving Overly sweet comments praising your art?
By posting your poem here, you realize you have entered CRITIQUE THUNDERDOME, a no holds barred rip fest of your work.
But there is one catch. Before you cut up somebodies poem posted here in this competition, YOU MUST FIRST POST a poem of your own, welcoming harsh critique.
But above all that roasting,
Love one another.
Now let the roasting begin.
Anonymous
After a poem is placed upon the sacrificial altar, are the roasts supposed to be submitted in poem format? 
clewluss said:Have you grown weary of receiving Overly sweet comments praising your art?
By posting your poem here, you realize you have entered CRITIQUE THUNDERDOME, a no holds barred rip fest of your work.
But there is one catch. Before you cut up somebodies poem posted here in this competition, YOU MUST FIRST POST a poem of your own, welcoming harsh critique.
Please concentrate your cutting critique to the poetry at hand, not slicing into the actual poet.
This thread is only for a very few,
If not to your taste well, you knowl.
Also please squeeze in a touch of humor, and self depracation while roasting.
Ultimately I hope this all amongst friends, where we learn and laugh and love each other all the Moore.
With that said,
HAVE AT IT
This is a GREAT idea!
By posting your poem here, you realize you have entered CRITIQUE THUNDERDOME, a no holds barred rip fest of your work.
But there is one catch. Before you cut up somebodies poem posted here in this competition, YOU MUST FIRST POST a poem of your own, welcoming harsh critique.
Please concentrate your cutting critique to the poetry at hand, not slicing into the actual poet.
This thread is only for a very few,
If not to your taste well, you knowl.
Also please squeeze in a touch of humor, and self depracation while roasting.
Ultimately I hope this all amongst friends, where we learn and laugh and love each other all the Moore.
With that said,
HAVE AT IT
This is a GREAT idea!
Nothing is that Serious
“All the great sadnesses, great temptations,
and great mistakes are almost always
the result of loneliness.”
-- José Saramago, Margaret Jull Costa
In the end we all become graves,
our differences united by the same
neglect of weeds and immense
necropolis whose swathed residents
observe from quiet encasements.
Beyond our mounds will spread
giant limbs of balboa, tapping
like trapped hangers behind closet
doors casting macabre shadows
across plastic flowers and dirt.
Visitors and memories are decimated
by time until all that remains
is a hovel of chiseled stone.
History becomes an illusion
of mystery, like that black dog,
there -- just beyond Aiken's bench,
sniffing out with such diligence you
would swear it was seeking the birth
certificate of God, until it cocks its leg
and pisses on the concrete instead.
~
and great mistakes are almost always
the result of loneliness.”
-- José Saramago, Margaret Jull Costa
In the end we all become graves,
our differences united by the same
neglect of weeds and immense
necropolis whose swathed residents
observe from quiet encasements.
Beyond our mounds will spread
giant limbs of balboa, tapping
like trapped hangers behind closet
doors casting macabre shadows
across plastic flowers and dirt.
Visitors and memories are decimated
by time until all that remains
is a hovel of chiseled stone.
History becomes an illusion
of mystery, like that black dog,
there -- just beyond Aiken's bench,
sniffing out with such diligence you
would swear it was seeking the birth
certificate of God, until it cocks its leg
and pisses on the concrete instead.
~
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
I wrote this one in circa 2000 ( thereabout ); it was published in 2008. I am not totally happy with it, and think it could be better and stronger. So rip it; rip it good—though there's no guarantee I'll accept the critique if it doesn't maintain the essence of the poem.
P.S. It's the first poem I posted to DU in 2015
P.S. It's the first poem I posted to DU in 2015
Anonymous
I'm still c o n f u s e d ! Are the poems viable entries for the trophy?? Or is it the roasts???
Anonymous
removed
I am conscious of the Scribe
I have become conscious, lately, that Awesome Others
Seemingly are conscious of my consciousness.
And most of the time I had taken for granted this
Consciousness of consciousness to what consciousness,
My consciousness actually is.
Privately and Publicly, a few of this,
All scriveners, Bards and writers alike
Told me, tell me I am more than amanuensis –
I am that Special Gifted individual
…..who writes.
Have I truly moved from being the scribe
Who jots downs shit for the monk
In a cave in the mountains of Tibet?
When?
When did this transformation take place!
Goddamnit! The love I FEEL
Is making my face wet again.
No longer the artistic assistant,
I am.
I am the monk who scribes in a cave
In the mountains of Tibet.
I am.
I am also the Scribe.
Seemingly are conscious of my consciousness.
And most of the time I had taken for granted this
Consciousness of consciousness to what consciousness,
My consciousness actually is.
Privately and Publicly, a few of this,
All scriveners, Bards and writers alike
Told me, tell me I am more than amanuensis –
I am that Special Gifted individual
…..who writes.
Have I truly moved from being the scribe
Who jots downs shit for the monk
In a cave in the mountains of Tibet?
When?
When did this transformation take place!
Goddamnit! The love I FEEL
Is making my face wet again.
No longer the artistic assistant,
I am.
I am the monk who scribes in a cave
In the mountains of Tibet.
I am.
I am also the Scribe.
Written by Tallen
(earth_empath)
Go To Page
Can i post a spill, here
and just take pot shots with my BB gun without actually contributing or mopping up any spills off the table?
Ooooo!! so much crap to choose from i am having a difficult time making up my mind!!
Anonymous
removed
Ahavati said:I am not sure how all of this is supposed to work. Are we supposed to respond to the critiques? Are we supposed to be RUTHLESS with our answers? Or do we just post a poem and then critique a poem and be done with it?
now we know why it's easier to Roast the personality than the person's talent, eh?
( i know.....i know.....sorry if that song is now stuck in Your head
) 
