|
|
| Author |
Message |
ponder
|
|
A Game for poetry Conf.
| 
Mar 14 02:15 UTC 2000 |
Okay. Here's the deal.
Each player comes up with 5-8 pairs of
words. These will generally always be in
the form of an adjective followed by a
noun. The adjective must imaginatively
describe the noun in a completely new
way ( that means "cacophanous noise"
or "rosy cheeks" or "pink flamingos" are
out as being too cliche). Next the player
must take the list created by the
previous player and create a poem of 5-
16 lines ( rhyming is optional). Each
reference to a word combination must
make complete sense. The player does
not have to use the word combinations
in the list in the exact order given.
However, each combination must be
used exactly as written.
All other poetry conference users are
invited to judge all entries to see if the
list and poem fit the criterian given.
The object: To challenge each other's
imaginations a little and also to see
what kind of interesting, funny, or
otherwise imaginative poetry we can
come up with.
Here's the first list to give everyone a
place to start.
1. Cacophanous emotion
2. Impatient wallet
3. Pregnant sack
4. Warped telescope
5. Pink herds
6. Careless wallpaper.
Now, the next person to comment
should first write a poem using these
words (please do not use more than two
lines per word)
Then come up with a list of your own for
the next person to write on.
Good luck, poets.
|
| 178 responses total. |
lumen
|
|
response 1 of 178:
|
Mar 14 21:52 UTC 2000 |
Here I sit in my apartment watchtower
peeping at urban delights through a warped telescope.
I see the melodrama in a couple of burger havens
The cacophonous emotion in pink herds
swarming from steel chariots to grab pregnant sacks.
My impatient wallet
tries to sway me from the meal on the stove
to empty its greens.
I see the careless wallpaper
in streams of billboards
and flyers on posts and corkboards
left by grizzled guitar warriors with long tresses
or any other street herald.
I see the sprawl that seems to last for miles
with a motorized flow.
Then I faintly smile, pull away, and retreat back to my world.
Next list:
broken kaleidoscope
gilded tears
torn skies
slippery physique
glazed landscape
|
ponder
|
|
response 2 of 178:
|
Mar 15 02:09 UTC 2000 |
Good one.
And challenging list.
Any takers?
|
remmers
|
|
response 3 of 178:
|
Mar 15 13:05 UTC 2000 |
Like a broken kaleidoscope, its shards glittering
In the rogue sun peering down from torn skies,
So my heart sheds gilded tears of dispair
For my lost one, my angel of bygone days; she moves
With flowing whispers and slippery physique
Through the glazed landscape of present memory.
Next list:
doubtful frog
happy jacket
fragrant constitution
swift estate
kind tort
|
brighn
|
|
response 4 of 178:
|
Mar 15 15:37 UTC 2000 |
Upon my father's death,
there was a swift estate sale --
Too swift, I think, for though it was kind,
It was still a kind tort.
A pace around the flower-covered bier,
A fragrant constitution,
And my father's body in his happy jacket...
The emotion doubtful, frog* neatly clasped,
Within the unhappy jacket of wood.
Then, gone, too swiftly, like his estate,
Dust in the winds...
* Look it up!
tenuous ligament
overbearing genocide
red embarassment
plasticene scissors
ardent paperback
|
orinoco
|
|
response 5 of 178:
|
Mar 15 18:54 UTC 2000 |
Uncorking a book, I watch the thin threads of history
spill out, doubtful streamers of experience and tenuous
ligaments of half-truth, verbal tendons
pulling at muscles and heartstrings, tugging the bones beneath the skin.
Pendants of red embarassment and nets
of overbearing genocide. Dark trails of warfare.
Hair. Shoes stained deep with darkness.
Plasticene scissors prevail not against the tangled overflow.
Draining the last drops of the ardent paperback, I set the book aside
and go in search of lighter fare.
+-----------------+
| Last emptiness |
| Thin city |
| Buried foghorn |
| Cyanide mittens |
| Fair toothbrush |
+-----------------+
|
faile
|
|
response 6 of 178:
|
Mar 16 05:52 UTC 2000 |
This is my last emptiness--
I cannot continue this way,
the song has no meaning,
my voice has worn thin;
city lights are no longer a comfort.
Muffled sounds come,
a buried foghorn in my mind.
Words come:
Cyanide...
Mittens...
Then no sound.
I contemplate my fair toothbrush...
... its pale bristles perfect, manufactured,
Beautiful.
(I suppose if I was giving this a title, it would be something about madness)
|
faile
|
|
response 7 of 178:
|
Mar 16 05:55 UTC 2000 |
Next set (I wanted to refresh on the rules before I came up with words)
red speaker
intense cat
broken book
lost salutation
shuffling sofa
|
remmers
|
|
response 8 of 178:
|
Mar 16 15:21 UTC 2000 |
I think ponder said that each phrase on the list must appear
in the poem exactly as given. Is it a violation of this to
put punctuation between the words? (As in "thin ; city")
Just wondering about the intent...
|