Thread: At midnight in the month of June.

Gumby has come back promptly with the new challenge, another 'first line' one.

The first line from Poe's The Sleeper.

At midnight in the month of June

For anyone who is new to this, create a poem using that 'borrowed' line as your first line and post below, you have two weeks to do it in, or longer if I do my usual trick of forgetting to close the thread to entries.

Oooh found it. And I didn't have to use your busted link.

At midnight in the month of June
The Ox was on his honeymoon
Sat beside a blue lagoon
Thinking “Is it bed time soon”
Hoping then they could commune
Not just sit and sigh and spoon.

“Perhaps if I begin to croon”
He thought and sang a little tune.
But his amoureuse did soon impugn
“You are out of tune,
It makes me swoon,
Honey by the tablespoon
Might prove opportune”
Such was Ox’s misfortune

Originally Posted by WanderingStar

Oooh found it. And I didn't have to use your busted link.

Sorry about that, I have remade the link, but I am glad to see you managed to wander this far on your own.

Lost

At midnight in the month of June
I crawled atop a vast sand dune
to seek a single drop to drink
with eyes so dry they could not blink

but dismayed saw only sand
as I clutched my heart with a shaking hand
I tried to cry to no avail
just a croak emerged when I tried to wail

with skin and lips cracked like leather
stripped of moisture by the weather
my shrunken heart gave one last beat
as it succumbed to desert heat

a word of warning to the wise
don't brave the desert sans a guide
she is an unforgiving bitch
who does not cater to the rich

at midnight in the month of June
I died wide-eyed beneath the moon
a pillow of grains supported my head
no one aware the King's son was dead.

A true story, adapted for the Olly thread. Only the names have been changed.

At midnight in the month of June,
the waters rose in Lake Baroon.
‘Twas back in eighteen ninety-three,
and down the valley, near the sea,
the town was slumb’ring, unaware
of Nature’s fury, way out there.

Jack Oxley saw the flood begin.
He woke his wife. “Oh, Gwendolyn,
they must be warned, in Brisbane Town;
I’ll catch the horse, and ride on down.”
“Oh, Jack, take care! The night is wild.”
Jack shook his head, and then he smiled.

“Don’t worry, lass, we’ll see it through,
old Betsy’s just as good as new.
And even though the tracks be mud,
between us we can race the flood.”
He kissed his wife, turned down the light,
and bravely stepped out in the night.

With Betsy saddled, off they raced;
the Stanley River first they faced.
The marker showed an all-time high,
with more rain tumbling from the sky.
Jack urged her in the rushing tide;
she struck out for the other side.

Once clear, they had to cross the range.
At night, the way all seemed so strange.
The tracks were rough, and vague, and steep,
and Jack was tired, from want of sleep.
But when they made it to the heights,
he saw far off the Brisbane lights.

They saved the town, received a plaque
Put up where it would draw remark.
It said, “They never thought of failure,
‘cos this is, after all, Australia.”




Edit: I have driven that same forty-mile stretch of road, in my car. Even today, it's a prick of a road. Jack's alter ego, a feller named Billy Mateer, puts Paul Revere and Dick Turpin and The Man from Snowy River to shame.

Smoldering


At midnight in the month of June
Smoldering logs smoked crisp

Air.


Ghostly trees fiddled their branches

Above

Bats
Fire

Below

Embers cast hypnotic dances


At midnight in the wake of sleep
Whispered wisps part tired

Lips.


Fingers laced as lovers lingered

Above

Stars
Earth

Below

Ash shadowed exotic rhythms


At midnight in the month of June
Pleasure paved an earnest

Map.

At midnight in the month of June
A boy slept quietly in his room
Dreams of his birthday ran through his head
Cake, presents and balloons made him smile
but clowns caused the boy to turn in his bed
He wished them away, if only for a little while

At just past midnight in the month of June
A man sat quietly in a room
Thoughts of release ran through his head
Tears, terror and torture made him smile
but impulse drove him to the side of the bed
He stared at the boy, if only for a little while



my attempt at poetry, idunno any of the rules so ive probably violated some sacred poetry laws or something

Originally Posted by Sigg

ive probably violated some sacred poetry laws or something

rofl

Close, but no cigar. Tell you what I’ll do. It’s getting late here on the bottom of the earth (You know of course that down here the planet rotates in the opposite direction?) I’ll give you a few clues and leave you to it while I catch some shut-eye. Maybe by the time I return in eight or nine hours you’ll have unpicked it.

First you have to consider the design of the Home page of this site. You have to take in the itty-bitty details of how the various sub-forums and topics therein are displayed, and of how and why they change.

While keeping all this in mind, you then need to look at the thread about limericks. You need to look at the time stamp of the last post.

You then need to return to this thread and look at the time stamp for the Fart-Hinder post.

Then you need to consider the terminology used by the wankers that post to these threads. You need to think about what it’s called to artificially move a thread back up the page, and about what this moving does to the itty-bitty details on the Home page, mentioned above.

And finally you need to be aware certain people might believe a poetry challenge to be more worthy of replies than a limerick thread, which has had a good run anyway.

Light-bulb time?

lol, you coulda just said you were bumping the thread

But it was the play on words, dear boy. Or, more correctly, the picture announced its own purpose. Clever, nien?

Originally Posted by The Backward OX

But it was the play on words, dear boy. Or, more correctly, the picture announced its own purpose. Clever, nien?

what does nien mean, i don't know that word, what language is that?

Originally Posted by The Backward OX
But it was the play on words, dear boy. Or, more correctly, the picture announced its own purpose.

To a Swedish speaker, that is.

much more effective