Competition Ends 30th January 2020 8:50pm
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ROAST, the RUTHLESS

clewluss
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Poetry Contest

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.



JohnnyBlaze
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After a poem is placed upon the sacrificial altar, are the roasts supposed to be submitted in poem format?  

Ahavati
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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!

Ahavati
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JohnnyBlaze said:After a poem is placed upon the sacrificial altar, are the roasts supposed to be submitted in poem format?  

Hahahaha! You  KNOW we were going to be all over this one!

Ahavati
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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.

~
Written by Ahavati
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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


JohnnyBlaze
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I'm still c o n f u s e d !  Are the poems viable entries for the trophy?? Or is it the roasts???



JohnnyBlaze
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The Physics Of Snow Angels

 
The legacy you leave behind  
children numbering in plenitude  
Such adorable snow angels they make  
I watch them spread their quaint wings aflutter in the morning sun  
and come the lengthening evening shades  

drifted over by the wind  

gone  
 
these fleeting impressions that are your words  
 
Remarkable poetry subtracted of its poetry is just that  
alchemic equations failing to measure up into anything substantive  
formulaic fodder for the sake of water cooler discussions  
doodles and scribblings written in dry erase marker  
easily wiped away from a whiteboard


Written by JohnnyBlaze
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Prolly about 6 years old in actuality; hasn't been altered much since.

Keep in mind - its supposed to be shaped like an angel - so don't mess with it too much!

clewluss
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Johnny, either whey gets credit

clewluss
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Poems and critiques taken as a hole,
The rubrik for winning is highly untsable
So extra point for you for being confused

Tallen
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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.
Written by Tallen (earth_empath)
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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!!  

Tallen
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JohnnyBlaze said:I'm still c o n f u s e d !  Are the poems viable entries for the trophy?? Or is it the roasts???




Mmmm..........the word roast definitely has my attention!!  

JohnnyBlaze
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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.

~
Written by Ahavati
Go To Page  
Ahavati said: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



I adore this poem! There really is little room for improvement as far as I am concerned. However, since the theme is self explanatory from the title onward, I wanted to see what else couId be manifested that would reinforce the notion that "nothing is that serious". I think nothing does that better than the playfullness of rhyming which gives it a more light hearted tone.

Everything is suggestion of course, not to be taken too seriously, but instead is meant as example to inspire further revision.

Such an organic rhythm throughout the First Stanza! And it already has  rhyming.

"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."

However, I feel "the same" doesn't add anything that "united" doesn't already convey so I removed such. I transposed a few words. The word "of" is very passive when beginning lines, so I removed it and made "neglect" of the weeds past tense. "and" was switched to "across" for s-consonance with "necropolis" and "swathed" and a-assonance likewise with "swathed". "our" changed to "with" for w-alliteration with "we" and "weeds". "a" inserted before "necroplis" simply so it doesn't read too choppy and helps with rhythm.

"In the end we all become graves
with differences united by neglected
weeds across a necropolis immense
whose swathed residents observe
from encasements quiet"

"Beyond our mounds will spread
giant limbs of balboa, tapping
like trapped hangers behind closet
doors casting macabre shadows
across plastic flowers and dirt."

I think this would read better rearranged. I added "floors" to give it a momentum boost with rhyme. I switched "and" to "upon". I relocated and shifted the tense of "tapping" to a playful "tap-tap-tap" in the present tense. I reduced "mounds" to "mound" in order the set up a rhyme in Stanza Three. The dreaded "like" converted to "as if". "across" converted to "over" which has o-assonance to play along with "shadows" and "balboa".  "closet" hopefully rhymes better with "quiet" in the previous stanza.

"Trapped as if hangers behind closet
doors casting macabre shadows
over flowers plastic upon dirt floors
giant limbs of balboa tap-tap-tap
spread beyond each mound"

"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,"

A bit of reduction all around to speed up the pace. "bone" added for rhyme momentum and to further emphasize the concept of over-valued. Question mark inserted to engage readers' thought processes. "hound" utilized to rhyme with "mound" earlier. Utilization of semicolon and emdash to help rhyme "mystery" with "history" while removing "of" and "like".

"Visitors, memories decimated
by time until all that remains?
Bone in hovels of chiseled stone
History become illusion; mystery-
same as that wandering black hound"

"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."

There are three instances of "it" that can be reduced to one.  "you" bumped to the next line so that "diligence" better rhymes with "bench". "instead" wasn't nedessary as "you would swear" is an indicator that something alternative is going to take place. "there" and "swear" and "certificate" and "it" are already existing rhymes we want to maintain.

"there -- just beyond Aiken's bench
sniffing out with such diligence
you would swear it was seeking
God's birth certificate, until-
cocking a leg, pisses concrete"

Now, altogether -

In the end we all become graves
with differences united by neglected
weeds across a necropolis immense
whose swathed residents observe
from encasements quiet

Trapped as if hangers behind closet
doors casting macabre shadows
over flowers plastic upon dirt floors
giant limbs of balboa tap-tap-tap
spread beyond each mound

Visitors, memories decimated
by time until all that remains?
Bone in hovels of chiseled stone
History become illusion; mystery-
same as that wandering black hound

there -- just beyond Aiken's bench
sniffing out with such diligence
you would swear it was seeking
God's birth certificate, until-
cocking a leg, pisses concrete




Ahavati
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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?

Tallen
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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   )


Ahavati
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lolol!

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