Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd July 2011 6:00pm
WINNER
Abracadabra
Abracadabra
RUNNER-UP:
trysca
Under The Influence
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
Write a poem from scratch whilst under the influence of something or other. Be it alcohol or anything else.
Just a lighthearted challenge for you all to ponder upon:
EDIT JULY 14th 2011
Well, what a lazy forgetful fucker I am. I never closed this contest. And thanks to a quick PM from the DUP Webmistress, I'm editing this to have a closing date on Friday 22nd July, so that anyone who hasn't entered can put their entry in.
Winner will be announced Monday 25th July.
-------------
Last night I submitted two poems, the first entitled I See A Death In Others - http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/4139/, the second entitled Burning Reflected - http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/4140/ - that I wrote whilst under the influence of a certain intoxicant.
I just wondered if anyone would like to try to write a poem from scratch whilst under the influence of something or other. Be it alcohol or anything else. (I am in no way condoning the use/misuse of any kind of substance or chemical, but if you are that way inclined...) Even if you're in a state where you're not your normal mental self (overtiredness, hungover, perhaps writing in a freezing cold/scorching hot environment, illness etc), feel free to post your work here. If you do, try to elaborate slightly on what the "influence" was upon your work.
This challenge will no doubt exclude many, but I'll give this thread a week and will try to pick a winner after the challenge is closed.
EDIT JULY 14th 2011
Well, what a lazy forgetful fucker I am. I never closed this contest. And thanks to a quick PM from the DUP Webmistress, I'm editing this to have a closing date on Friday 22nd July, so that anyone who hasn't entered can put their entry in.
Winner will be announced Monday 25th July.
-------------
Last night I submitted two poems, the first entitled I See A Death In Others - http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/4139/, the second entitled Burning Reflected - http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/4140/ - that I wrote whilst under the influence of a certain intoxicant.
I just wondered if anyone would like to try to write a poem from scratch whilst under the influence of something or other. Be it alcohol or anything else. (I am in no way condoning the use/misuse of any kind of substance or chemical, but if you are that way inclined...) Even if you're in a state where you're not your normal mental self (overtiredness, hungover, perhaps writing in a freezing cold/scorching hot environment, illness etc), feel free to post your work here. If you do, try to elaborate slightly on what the "influence" was upon your work.
This challenge will no doubt exclude many, but I'll give this thread a week and will try to pick a winner after the challenge is closed.
Anonymous
I do not drink, smoke or do any kind of drugs, but I have written whilst under the influence of extreme tiredness, which I've heard from road accident commercials can be just as dangerous as illegal intoxicants, so I think I might just give this contest a go.
I used to do drugs when I was younger. I would also think that when I wrote poetry high, I was having some type of diving intervention influencing my words. When reading my work sober, what I wrote was utter shit. The only things I wrote about was using and drugs in general. Not even remotely creative stuff. It was very disappointing.
Anonymous
That's a shame, SJ. I can attest to the fact that using whilst trying to be creative often yields more useless material than inspired poetry. I think lots of people, when trying to be creative whilst under the influence, end up just writing about how awesome it feels, or how cool they are or how mature they can be etc etc etc.
I will admit to writing whilst off my tree, but I hope it doesn't come across as some kind of false, street-cred, look-how-fucking-hardcore-I-am-everyone way. In my opinion, I've written some of my favourite pieces whilst in a different state of consciousness.
I will admit to writing whilst off my tree, but I hope it doesn't come across as some kind of false, street-cred, look-how-fucking-hardcore-I-am-everyone way. In my opinion, I've written some of my favourite pieces whilst in a different state of consciousness.
-> I think it was Biscuit Ray (no doubt he will correct me) who said
-> something along the lines of "write drunk - edit sober"
No correction there, you got it right. But you have corrected me, kind sir.
How could I have ever thought my name was anything but "Biscuit Ray"?
It has been corrected!
Sincerely,
Biscuit Ray
Drugs can make an important contribution to the creative process.
They're part of a larger group of stimuli that can help you see/look in
a different way. Meditation, fatigue, car accident, wrong number, etc.
are some of the others.
There are some amazing and terrible events precipitated by drugs that
can be experienced no other way. No pain, no gain. Or as Hunter Thompson
said: "Buy the ticket, take the ride."
Example "drug" poems I've posted here:
They're not for every writer, but I think that, when used properly, they're
a very useful tool.
For every 10 poems I write, 9 of them I wrote High on some good weed, I like to let my mind translate directly to the pen/keyboard, It's as if my own words are being transmitted from an Celestial/Astral part of myself. to tell the truth Im high Right now.
Anonymous
[quote]Juvi LaPorte said:
For every 10 poems I write, 9 of them I wrote High on some good weed, I like to let my mind translate directly to the pen/keyboard, It's as if my own words are being transmitted from an Celestial/Astral part of myself. to tell the truth Im high Right now.
Kudos!
For every 10 poems I write, 9 of them I wrote High on some good weed, I like to let my mind translate directly to the pen/keyboard, It's as if my own words are being transmitted from an Celestial/Astral part of myself. to tell the truth Im high Right now.
Kudos!
Anonymous
Drunk on Lethargy
I sway and smile like a
drunk whose found a
fiver, and yet I am not
sloshed or merry, merely
me, standing here before
some screen. and I witness
a poem congeal as a rat from
dirt. the dust and debris make
organs and I compose with
pointed fingers, the nails
they scrape grime and doodle
on the pad, each key pressed
in tune to these thoughts inside
this head. I could talk about
so many different things. sex
(but that bores me) drugs (but
I don’t take any) alcohol (but
I don’t drink) boredom (but
I’ve done that before, and I don’t
want to seem unoriginal).
I should lie down and think about
Marlon Brando in Streetcar - same
as I always do when the tiredness
calls - and me, young Blanche
du Bois, flung onto the fold-down
bed and raped like some Venezuelan
whore. but I don’t want to. I’d rather
write this poem as colours dance before
my eyes, showgirls with feathers too
short and thus the exact right length.
if I was behind the wheel, I might crash
into a wall and fly through the dashboard
and die in an orgy of glass and front seat.
on second thoughts, I think I might lie
down. go cold turkey and all that.
I sway and smile like a
drunk whose found a
fiver, and yet I am not
sloshed or merry, merely
me, standing here before
some screen. and I witness
a poem congeal as a rat from
dirt. the dust and debris make
organs and I compose with
pointed fingers, the nails
they scrape grime and doodle
on the pad, each key pressed
in tune to these thoughts inside
this head. I could talk about
so many different things. sex
(but that bores me) drugs (but
I don’t take any) alcohol (but
I don’t drink) boredom (but
I’ve done that before, and I don’t
want to seem unoriginal).
I should lie down and think about
Marlon Brando in Streetcar - same
as I always do when the tiredness
calls - and me, young Blanche
du Bois, flung onto the fold-down
bed and raped like some Venezuelan
whore. but I don’t want to. I’d rather
write this poem as colours dance before
my eyes, showgirls with feathers too
short and thus the exact right length.
if I was behind the wheel, I might crash
into a wall and fly through the dashboard
and die in an orgy of glass and front seat.
on second thoughts, I think I might lie
down. go cold turkey and all that.
Jack says:
-> and I witness a poem congeal as a rat from dirt.
That just has to be some kind of immortal line! I have often felt like this,
but I've never been able to satisfactorily describe it.
------------
Pro-drug screed (general, not just jack or anything
People that never take drugs are like people that never leave their home
towns. They can read all about Paris, but they'll never actually
experience it. They can read all about Parisians, but they'll never
actually experience them either. And there are aspects of their home town
and the people in it that they will never realise. (And for anybody that
has never been to Paris: It's an amazingly wonderful city filled with
absolutely terrible people.)
Of course there are real dangers involved with travel: your plane could
crash (unlikely), some Parisian will run over you with a car (very
likely), you could catch a disease, your home town may never seem as
nice/awful as it used to... and there's always jail.
OK some joking around here (there are a few Parisians who aren't snide
and condescending). I'm really not so much pro-drug, as I want to call
attention to anti-drug prejudice (which is much more prevalent than
jokes about Parisians).
