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Poetry competition CLOSED 1st August 2019 00:51am
ReggiePoet (Reggie)
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RUNNERS-UP: Ahavati and PoetsRevenge

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An Epic Competition

poet Anonymous

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Tyrant of Words
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* Throws down the gauntlet *

Fire of Insight
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Joined 13th May 2018
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Twisted Dreamer
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Twisted Dreamer
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Joined 6th June 2019
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Seven Wages Paid


The marsh was adrift atop a green meadow disguise.
Under the living lurked mud’s viscid surprise.
Pushing through nature that stood in their way.
Vine gripped embrace the swamps gesture to stay.
Lungs burned from the cold with every suffering breath.
A loan willingly paid on the contract of death.
Mixed in musky decay with the sweat of their skin.
The sweet perfume made by Earth’s creatures of sin.
Winds icy aim far truer than the greatest of foes.
Silently each cried with each blustering blow.
Wearily they trudge on blistered sore aching feet.
In cold brackish water crowned with rotting dead peat.
Polaris shine on was their guide and their prayer.
The heavenly crown jewel mocked this place of despair.
Through skeletal stalks coursed a specter of fog.
It thickened and grew blanketing travelers and bog.
How heavy now seemed the sword and the shield.
Mother nature’s protection held them safe and concealed.
But of their good fortune came at a terrible cost.
Searching blindly they wondered hopelessly lost.
All along was the sound of churned water and weeds,
Or a clang of armor and weapons against the tall reeds.
In breaths coughing and gasping their silence was broke.
To each brother in arms they cursed as they spoke.
Blame they did each rage swelled the harsh sound.
Shrouding their minds like the fog cloaking the ground.
Till swords were then drawn each making their stand.
To die for pride and for honor in a desolate swampland.
Far off in the distance came a soft glowing light.
It pierced the dense fog and the darkness of night.
The stabbing point was hopes beacon and a reason to try.
The swords were withdrawn there was less desire to die.
Nay chance it’s the fire from an enemy’s camp.
It shown from up high like a watchtower’s lamp.
In a trance by the light they made it their guide.
Through the earth bound cloud cover and swamps great divide.
Revealing a castle akin to those born from deep sleep
Upon hard rocky ground sat the foreboding stone keep.
Liken and moss covered the black mortar and stone.
Save for the light keeper none other dwelled in this home.
Echoing glistened walls announced the trespassing hoard.
Crept cautiously about armed well with drawn swords.

Up the towering steps it’s top reached at long last.
Revealed an opulent chamber that was breathtakingly vast.
A bounty of foods lay before their starved eyes.
Meats, vegetables, cheeses, nuts, cakes and fruit pies,
brimmed goblets of wine drawn for the meals toast.
Four services awaited plus one befitting its host.
Surprise rang up when the candles commenced to ignite
What was once a mere shadow stepped into the light.
More spirit than flesh he was broken by age.
Dramatically rehearsed to act a final life stage.
“Welcome,” they heard from a voice in their head.
The same voice they had heard when they rested in bed.
Quietly the host gestured, “Please take up your place,”
“And retire your arms,” said with great pain on his face.
The elder was circled like prey in a hunt.
Men of suspicion the truth were their want.
Of one, “Not to a wizard or old man shall I ever dare bow,
Make peace for last breath you drawn in as of now.”
“Please, grant me no harm,” the elder replied.
“Pray tell of your wrath,” He said with a sigh.
His anger at bay the soldier told a strange yarn.
He said it with passion he told it with charm.
“Of a crystal once held in a statues palmed hand.
It’s curse passed to the one who does not understand.
Dare not take for once the gem is received.
Follows then a horror beyond the mind can conceive.
The statue reverts back the flesh from the cold stone.
A reverse for the bearer he’s rock to the bone.
Before the new sculpture lays a corps made of flesh.
His spirit long gone though his body’s refreshed.
And like a grave marker towers the latest statue.
A tribute to fools and the things that they do.
The gem’s but a trick conjured by magical spell.
Trapped are the naive sent to a rock hardened hell.”
Then a bear of a man drew close talking slow.
The thing he spoke of was a short time ago.
“A sword,” he said, “That had a true warriors feel.
It glowed like the sun from the finest hard steel.
From whence it had come no blacksmith could say.
At the foot of the throne is where it had been laid.
With it held parchment folded up in two thirds.
“See through thine enemy’s eyes,” spelled the five cryptic words.
Made for a king it became his strength and his pride.
A great battle was planned the sword hung at his side.

On the field of great honor where courage is waged.
The two rulers did meet amidst the bloody rampage.
Dismounting their steeds to test what‘s fortune what‘s fate.
Embracing their destiny it’s promise won’t wait.
With weapon in hand he felt at one with his blade.
In this craft he’s an artist and skilled in death’s trade.
Held ready to strike there came a bold blinding light.
Through the eyes of his foe he received second sight.
Moment’s life long went past in the blink of an eye.
He saw his own treachery and those of his allies.
Doubt in him self and a cause he can’t trust.
Presented for slaughter his body cradled the thrust.
A crimson poured spirit muddied the earth.
The weapon of protection no longer had worth.
His vanquishing foe took up the treasured reward.
And repeated the curse by using it as his sword.”
The large warrior concluded with this final phrase.
“I too am weary of wizards and their untruthful ways.”
On faltering legs the host moved close to a chair.
As untrusting eyes glared their menacing stare.
“Tragic” he said while looking slightly behind.
With a smile that was slight and far less than kind.
He shook with each breath as he stood bent and frail.
And listened intently to the next warrior’s tale.
“I too know what evil that his kind can doth make.”
A soldier so angered that his voice started to quake.
“I dared to know love she was precious and sweet.
Alas another’s she was so my heart stayed discreet.
Though I take what I want she too would be mine.
I potted his death it was a perfect design.
Seemed to all, as God’s will but I alone knew.
My consoling attention for a love that was true.
I dreamed of wedded bliss and a comfortable life.
With me as her husband and she as my wife.
I could not deny her at all the things that she sought.
What ever she wished to our home it was brought.
Those trinkets and treasures made her heart smile.
We were so very happy but for a brief while.
Then to us was delivered a reflecting hand glass.
Trimmed and ornate with polished carved brass.
With it she wiled the hours by adjusting her hair.
And was lost many times in the depth’s of a stare.
I took once to a gaze in the reflective glass pool.
The mocking image I beheld of a despicable fool.

More grotesque was the sight as I drew it still nearer.
It was my true self I was seeing as I stared into the mirror.
From my love came a scream when she also did see.
Not the man she so loved but the real lurking in me.”
Like a whispering prayer straining to expel any tears.
He finished recalling the sad chapter of his earlier years.
“Her soul since that night has discovered its peace.
The hurt I then felt can never be ceased.”
A warrior once proud sat remorseful and weak.
His grieve filled confession was the last he would speak.
The manor lord now sat at the head of the table.
Goblet shook in worn hands that were weak and unstable.
Saying, “Gentlemen please partake of this wine.”
“And feast to your fill, the food is quite fine.”
Drawn was a knife and balanced at his thin throat.
An unshaken wizard turned to the assassin only to gloat.
“What you take may be hours a day more at it’s best.”
“My time is at hand to dwell in perpetual rest.”
“There’s still one more to say what he wishes to share.”
The host spoke with little concern nary a worry nor care.
“Tis me soul I should bear for unworthy vermin to judge,
“By the tearful and broken who feeds well on their grudge?”
The cornered lone warrior angrily picked up the pace.
He moved quickly to each man staring deep in his face.
“Take notice my brothers of this battle were in.
Of our survived skirmish, and who laid claim to the win.
Before this night mine eyes never gazed upon any of you.
None other had each met, this we know to be true.
But a cause drew us together and not for country or war.
And lies in our host the very thing we deplore.”
From the robed old wizard came his accusing stern words.
“What reason brings you? This has YET to be heard!”
Like the love of the devil the warrior struck table with fist.
“You know well, dare you ask!” He said as he hissed.
“Blind I have been made though to all I can see.
What visions I’m robbed are of vested beauty.
I once was a lord in both in title and treasure.
Of my property and riches a wealth beyond measure.
My want was the finest I craved for the best.
So taken to have that my soul was possessed.
While satisfying my desire I felt lust for my needs.
The sweet taste of satisfaction is spoiled by greed.
Every merchant and vendor every maker and store.
The finest of wares I had sampled but still I craved more.

There existed I reasoned a possession so great.
Not made of by man but only God could create.
This alone shall be mine alas my oath and my prayer.
Whatever the cost this too I did swear.
I found nothing to have and nothing to hold.
Till a box was delivered that was tarnished and old.
What beauty it held no words could portray.
It held the mysteries of night and the glory of day.
It had the greatness of life in its function and form.
I bathed in its glow that felt so cool and so warm.
It came to me free but I paid an unspeakable price.
All else seemed unsightly was my supreme sacrifice.”
Disruptive applause came from the entertained host.
His attitude apparent how this pleased him the most.
“Each told a sad tale that was indeed dire and tragic.
And explains your mistrust in the powers of magic.
But this stopped you not in possessing these charms.
Knowing full well their authority to only cause harm.
It was I that did make that which you hold dear.
And I also guided your steps that brought you all here.
I wish to reclaim those riches you bring.
In my journey beyond I shall have need of these things.”
They were treated as fools they felt used and misled.
The possessions now wished should its owner be dead.
Awakening primal instincts in response to the strain.
Angered bodies grow tight rage shrouded their brain.
An orgy of blood danced swift through the night.
Not a warrior-cloaked fool had survived this last fight.
Amidst the carnage and death that appeared so surreal.
A lone dying man peacefully enjoyed his last meal.
Seven deadly sins in the end flooded his mind.
The true downward curse that befalls all of mankind.
He thought of the greed for a crystal and what it had done.
And a sword inspired wrath and a battle not won.
The lust lost in a mirror and gluttonies need for the best.
What others may have envy shall keep you possessed.
The wizard’s fathomless fall into shallow pride.
Where he reveled in sloth enjoying men as they died.
Soon the magician shall answer for each of these sins.
For now he admires four treasures while he wickedly grins.

2058 words
Written by midevil
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poet Anonymous

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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
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Thank goodness! I thought the plague had hit the thread!  I prepared just in case!

poet Anonymous

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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 11654

Anonymous said:<< post removed >>

One cannot be too careful when poems are dropping like flies. . .

poet Anonymous

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poet Anonymous

<< post removed >>
poet Anonymous

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Fire of Insight
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Related submission no longer exists.

922 words, irregular anapestic tetrameter with catalexis and internal rhyme

Dangerous Mind
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The Country Of Marriage (And Love)

' There are no unsacred places,
 only sacred places, and desecrated places '    
                   - Wendell Berry    
In the country where arose    
the soft grasses bearing your name    
in their blooming stalks, I imagined    
myself walking into the heart of    
the yellow cover crop, bare.    
Flitting by, a songbird was your spirit    
Its chirping breaking the soft lull of    
wind through your hair, dancing with    
purple specks of tiny flowers barely known of;    
their mystery that of you ascending in    
my sleep. I didn't know of you fully in my    
waking, but knew the tenderness of you in    
my softened steps through the hottest field    
in summer when the grass was high and    
bent over in homage to its maturity.    
Sometimes, I hold you in memory this way:    
As an orchard, a house and a garden which    
are always present and never leave.    
I remember the colors of the flowers    
like the words which bind our sacrament    
each to the other.    
The level ground assured me I was    
sure in you and led me forward to    
comfortable shades at midday    
and sheltered places at night.    
Our bravery kept us going even    
through life's storms.    
I have trusted you as the gentle forest    
is trusted by the woodland creatures    
whom live their whole lives under it.    
The planting of us was no guarantee,    
yet I, as a farmer knew it was guaranteed    
and well prepared for.  I knew the crop    
return was to be a grand reward of the    
wild land reclaiming itself after being razed.    
I knew our land would absorb all rains    
and so would we absorb the unknowns,    
the whys of how we came together    
and flourished.    
When we drank from the well,    
there was too much to not be filled;    
our love overflowed and was a    
never ending source of resurrection.    
Like the wild fields, we embraced the    
right season for our plants to bear fruit.      
I never felt worthy of you but simply was    
inclined to surrender and that letting go    
was a blessed thing that seemed to need    
no understanding to thrive, as great Sequoias    
need no reason to live as long as they are    
inclined to.  I have sunk into you as    
ancient humus into soil under a canopy    
of trees.  I am a hidden joy that you    
discover lifting your branches and    
feeding your roots.    
I gave you all this that I have,    
which is little, but enough to satisfy    
each cycle of our lives and dissolve    
its own logic into a zero sum;    
its economy is its beauty.    
It has no fair market value and one day will    
simply return unnoticed like a crop of weeds    
which delight only butterflies and bees;    
it will return to itself, folding in upon its    
very creation and becoming its own    
origin, its own soil mold becoming it's    
own food for its seeds to grow from.    
It will be known simply as a love that was,    
and is, and lives on eternally.    
As poetry, my words as humble as anyone's    
will sing with us and our purpose to simply    
be and be satisfied.  My unbounded self    
is waiting always at your door to be greeted    
and invited in to share your hearth.    
I will wander but never leave, as a horse    
which always needs hay and water    
and gallops in circles around its barn.    
In the dark of night, I know you are there,
Death's smile is your smile and to you    
will I return at my end.  All things created    
in love return to what bore them and will    
unconditionally receive them.    
The soil does not discriminate.    
My love for you is organic and    
biodegradable and so are you    
most sacred in receiving it.    
(a non-entry in ' The Simple Life')  
(850 words)
Written by PoetsRevenge
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Forum Posts: 5572

[ On Poetry ] Epi(C)urious

One fish, two fish      
red fish ... blowfish ...      
You've all come to the right place;      
have a seat, pay attention      
and be sure to take notes
School is now in session      
Writing an epic is no easy feat      
especially for those of us      
in the halibut of avoiding excess      
not to mention dreaded cliches      
so as to not lull readers      
into waning interest---     
wandering off in ways      
of the mind first, then body      
suddenly more intrigued with      
food expiration dates      
in their refrigerators      
midway through your verse      
And if that does happen      
take it as a sign --- your writing      
simply isn't the alluring, fancy      
feast you previously thought;      
surely a net on your parade      
but only if you are one to insist      
it's the general population's fault      
for "not comprehending poetry"      
Allow the Professor to set you      
straight on the facts      
Firstly, you need to be putting out      
a minimum of a hundred lines      
baited with seven or more words      
for it to even be considered      
And with great size comes      
great responsibility      
Huge walls of text are problematic;      
you'll need a tidal wave's momentum      
keeping your readership surfing along      
or it could very well be sunk in epic failure      
Thus, choose your words wisely      
Structure, rhyme, alliteration ...      
so many things you can do!      
above and beyond merely getting      
high on the bends, blathering      
random currents of consciousness      
having all the appeal of a New England      
beach used as an ashtray accommodating      
more butts than merely Marlboros      
And be honest in answering      
the hard questions:      
Am I having fun      
while getting the job done      
which is giving everyone      
their money's worth of entertainment?      
Or am I putting the masses to sleep      
euthanizing them with my hobby      
as if a siren's song gone wrong?
Hey, go ahead --- get mad, say      
Piss off, you arrogant      
eight tentacled prick!
Make a public spectacled scene---      
jump the shark if you feel necessary;      
the Drama Club is right down the hall;        
don't let the door hit you in the dorsal fin      
on your way out      
If acting is your go-to method      
for instilling the written word      
with any semblence of Life      
then by all means exploit those      
Performance Art Genes you inherited

I seem to be ranting a bit, eh?      
Somewhat off my lesson planner, right?      
It's only because I want you fired up      
over what you're supposedly passionate of      
I want you to be an oceanographer      
getting your hands slimy in the silt      
during sea floor exhumations      
uncovering bones you can assemble      
creating a long lost third cousin of the      
Creature from the Black Lagoon      
for display in Museums Of Modern Poetry      
---a white whale of a walking on land      
Darwinian tale that children      
will be wowed and inspired by      
for generations to come      
rather than pouring out the same      
factory production line, artificially cheesed      
fish shaped crackers bowled for party guests      
Unless you are warming up for practice      
---if it's been done before      
don't write it!      
And I'll tell you why      
What is truly epic?      
is a poem of any size      
breaking the Deep Blue's calm surface      
and lingering with people for a lifetime      
because they read it repeatedly      
not out desperation to comprehend      
what the hell you were saying      
pulled down in an undertow of riddles      
you alone know the answers to      
rather because it was a life preserver      
saving them from sinking in the moment;      
your words become a remora's mantra      
memorized to points of no return      
and need to ever read that poem again      
The coast line is as clear as this---      
unless it is for personal therapy      
write for pure pleasure of process      
and audience being satisfied      
or risk your career as a poet becoming      
a disaster of Titanic proportions;      
no matter what you write      
how often you write      
how extensive in length it is      
such will immediately be forgotten      
lost in an abyss teeming with other poets      
who will rise to take your place      
in the wake of your descension      
So, be yourself, but don't      
for a minute be fooled into believing
your own hype or tripe      
that your writing is unique;      
readers will decide that      
and you shall know      
the harsh reality of hook      
yanked from your bloodied mouth      
before being thrown back      
into the water      
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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