Poetry competition CLOSED 21st May 2010 6:00pm
WINNER
Viddax (Lord Viddax)
View Profile Poems by Viddax
rosette
RUNNERS-UP: Sslowcheetahh and rayheinrich

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Re-write Another Members Poem

PierreTheMad
Dangerous Mind
United States 15awards
Joined 7th Dec 2009
Forum Posts: 2808

Poetry Contest

Rewrite a chosen work by another member, as your own take, using full artistic license.
While conversing with Unboundpoetess I happened to ask her input on one of my works.  She took my work with my permission and rewrote it and it was brilliant!  Would anybody else be willing to try this?



Here's the idea:

1. Pick one of your own works and "submit" (maybe a link to it) it here

2. Other artists (maybe one you choose) will rewrite it as their take with full artistic license

3. Rate their effort and who ever has the most points or the best review at the end (whenever that is) is the winner.


Anybody interested or got any helpful ideas?

PTM

opheliac
Dangerous Mind
9awards
Joined 29th Aug 2009
Forum Posts: 2122

that seems cool and interesting

Viddax
Lord Viddax
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom 31awards
Joined 10th Oct 2009
Forum Posts: 6672

I'm game. This will be interesting indeed. Try if you dare, before you buy.
So here it is:

Run, run as fast as you can, I'll catch you I'm a Madman
I thought I'd left this all behind
Shed my skin
a well lost kin
But its all I seem to be able to find.
I had thought it was gone
Through correct amounts of sleep
eight hours or so that is
yet empty sleep with no sheep
bland dreamless fizz
Correct diet of three sqaure meals
no snacks, plenty of fluid
no dehydration, water heals.
Not that much sugar but
fruit always induced it.
Its back, my fiendish friend
Maniacal Rapturous Perverse Madness.

Wherfore art thou my love?
I hear and obey
Dost thou come from above
I'm just here to play.

Now do please tell me
how a rational existence
creates this
Curse
Blessing
For I miss
so it's inconsistence.

Or rather;
Why has logic made me mad?
Details at 13 o'clock.

Carry on corporeal
Up the pancake
Quack.

poet Anonymous

My most recent (at the time of writing) poem, and probably one of my best for quite a while. Be interesting to see what another person would do with it:

Why Are You Still Reading This Poem?

When I am dead,
some people will cry,
I don’t deny
that. But neither do I think
that things will change, that children
passing by my grave will stop, and shudder,
and think: “there lies a man who once was great.
A real awesome grown-up, pressed between
the pages of our textbooks, presided over
by big clever fellows.” Alas, this acknowledgement,
loosely compressed into unstructured verse, will be
my finest achievement, the jewel in my sceptre,
the glint of my buckle, the shine on my shoes.
And is that worthy of reverence? Perhaps. Perhaps
not. Most likely the latter. But it eases my heart
nonetheless, to know that I could disappear,
become a speck of dust, drifting down from the
night sky, and alighting on my father’s van,
at any moment, that my life has less meaning
than a stripper’s wardrobe. Am I a humbug?
A nihilist? A horrid old mope grown fat from
misery? Again, perhaps. But the replacement
of hysterical despair, with commonplace, warm
morbidity, is pleasant, at least for me. Though
perhaps not for you. But then why are you
still reading this poem?

Crow-Eye
Fire of Insight
Joined 27th Mar 2010
Forum Posts: 509

I like this idea
Here's one of mine;

remember remember the hurt feelings that linger
the blood lust and your surrender
i know many reasons why you should not remember
this fork this fork twas in my soul to blow up my heart
three scars deep below poor old heart shaking up
with gods disertion he was with a hole that the burning match that was his soul
call me whore, call me whore make my heart sing
call me whore, call me whore lord fill this hole,
slash, slash enough blood to end it all
the big cheese to choke him
a pint of blood to lose him
a thousand sticks to burn him
burn him and taint his mind
burn him and light him like a shooting star
burn him from his head to his toe
people will say what a show
Hip hip hoorah! Hip hip hoorah

rayheinrich
Death Plane for Teddy
Tyrant of Words
Canada 32awards
Joined 4th Dec 2009
Forum Posts: 4409



great idea
here's mine:


< in this poem the protagonist shoots himself >


                    bang


                    -  -

poet Anonymous

My version of Ray's poem:

< in this poem the antagonist realises that he needn't have brought his own gun >

poet Anonymous

This is a fantastic idea, Jack. I'll try to rewrite yours and Lost Oracle's when I find some time this weekend.

I'll submit mine:
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/2970/

Today I climbed a mountain.
I put on my boots,
red, dead, leather boots, and
looked up at the hulking mass,
from beyond the ancient church,
writhing with flora,
living earth.

I scaled the cusp,
scrambling amongst the livestock,
falling several times
in mires of black mud.

Circling the summit,
spiralling skywards,
on hard rock and grass,
I looked down at the villages surrounding.
Like moats of mortar and brick,
the villages seemed frozen.
Enveloped with scorn, I turned my head away.

Reaching the climax
of this trembling mountain,
I stood proud on an ancient cairn.
Then, the wind spoke to me,
slapped me,
whipped me.
Face red with broken skin,
and hair snapping, icy strands.

As if esoteric royalty screamed at me,
the wind tossed me again.
What words are these?
What language?

I ran backwards,
south,
towards the hillocks and vales,
terrified of the ghosts of the mountain,
urging me, I thought, to descend.

And then, before me,
in a sunken lay,
a megalith,
pouting at the sky,
penetrating the earth
stopped me running.
Commanded my inertia,
demanded silence and respect.

Upon it, scrawled in some ancient hieroglyph,
"Tef Roihi", read like dark magick,
and I remain motionless.

poet Anonymous

Jack - my excitment for this competition allowed me to spew out my reworking of your poem in record time!


Large-hearted, Oily Impunity

At the end of all things
I should find myself submerged
in a seething dark void,
bereft of smile and grimace,
far beyond the tears of those who once,
perhaps, cared for my corporeal self.
And then, bodiless,
mindless,
I'd wonder if footsteps
that tread on my worn grave
allow my now empty carcass
to feel instead of think.

Those who stop
at my expectedly humble mound
may think I was a butcher,
or a firefighter,
or a poet, or a killer.
The text chipped into my stone
will never convey who I am,
and everything I have,
and have not been.

It will not matter,
and it does not matter now.
Knowing fully
that when my soul is annihilated
there will be nothing;
no ashes,
no dirt and no soil,
no teeth and no smile,
comforts my miserable, grinning face.

poet Anonymous

Wow, I like your interpretation of my work Cthonian! Each line digs beneath the delicate surface of the original poem and exposes the darkness beneath, as though you were casting aside the implications I made to reveal what grimness they contained. Of course I may have misconstrued your intentions on an unforgivable level, but, either way, your re-imagining was a joy to read. It’s like I’m Emily Bronte and you’re Edgar Allen Poe haha.

opheliac
Dangerous Mind
9awards
Joined 29th Aug 2009
Forum Posts: 2122

my poem is quite small so here it is :

yours eyes my world of inspiration
your lips my only sin

poet Anonymous

Your expression my land of potted plants,
Your kiss my only weeds.

Sorry if I bastardised your meaning, Opheliac!

PierreTheMad
Dangerous Mind
United States 15awards
Joined 7th Dec 2009
Forum Posts: 2808

Wow this took off more than I thought.  I want to redo Viddax's poem when i get some time this weekend.  Thanks for playing all!

PierreTheMad
Dangerous Mind
United States 15awards
Joined 7th Dec 2009
Forum Posts: 2808

David S.!

I hope you like it.  I gave it a title too.


NONSCIENCE

The labcoats prescribed me a plan
To keep away the devil man
The dancing little lunatic who whispers in my ear
An undigested piece of beef Ebenezer suggests
8 hours of sleep and the voices will rest, cease
All the rooms will stop spinning and sidewalks lay flat
The garden gnomes with razor blades and adorable pointy hats
Approach with pitter pat
Of tiny little feet in glossy jackboots
Nazi repetition and crack troops invade my broken, hollow, flat, infested dreams
Crawling with the maggots of delirium
An onslaught of intravenous nutrition
Decision is incision is revision is revulsion of my compulsion to let the little loony have his way
Why not today?
What do you have planned?
Breakfast?
Lunch, perhaps?
Dinner, you say?
Why thank you so kindly for the advice
But you see I am in love with this other me
This witching hour splice
The mirror has received my love letter written in toothpaste so to clean my dirty mouth
A two-for-one special: I want in and he wants out
Lip-synching my derision
Reflect divinity in glass
Where is your reason that allows all this to pass for ample parts truth and water?
The necessity of lies?
Who should I believe and why?
And what have they invested?
Inasmuch this wherewithal, does use my pen to scribe
The mantra of my caterwaul
“What do I think and why?”
Oh bother it’s all improper anyway
I think I’ve crossed a line
Reflected divinity in glass
Toothpaste directions to a pancake breakfast
Lunch, perhaps?
Of course dear boy I’ll bring the duck
You go about your way
The little loon is dressed in skin
But I am just here to play
Nonsense
Non cents
Non scents


Crow-Eye
Fire of Insight
Joined 27th Mar 2010
Forum Posts: 509

Meli
(Missake2)
my versoin of your poem (sorry if its bad but this is my first time doing something like this)

silent shouts
the crowing of birds seeping from your soul
blood written words drawn to me
the voice i hear the voice yet does not sound like anything
i call this rock destiny and the hard place faith, dare to guess where i am

hungry, feeding off every word
expanding within, swelling up, strength leaving tring to hold to things that was never there
ego shooting through the roof
being better than you is what i never want to see

magnetized to where disaster strikes
allowing your manipulating self to continue
falling with snowflakes to give you frost bite
leaving paper clips in the rain

as a bodyguard trying to slip them a $20
fishing in deeping within each organ
leaving the scars of every mishap i made
your scolding voice trys to burn me

sleeping hand choking me
i will see out your lemon wasting
you speak poison gas
trapped within a chamber with only your words draining me.

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