January Challenge: "No Rhyme Nor Reason


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Thread: January Challenge: "No Rhyme Nor Reason

  1. #1

    January Challenge: "No Rhyme Nor Reason

    AS PREVIOUSLY ANNOUNCED, IF YOU ENTER THE CHALLENGE, YOU MUST CAST AT LEAST ONE VOTE IN THE POLL. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN YOUR ENTRY BEING DISQUALIFIED.

    The prompt for this month's challenge, as chosen by ned and Firemajic is: No Rhyme Nor Reason

    You are free to interpret the prompt in any way you wish, though of course, site rules apply.
    If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board. Please note that all entries are eligible to receive critique in the voting thread.

    The inclusion of explanatory text or links of any kind within an entrant's challenge entry is prohibited and will be immediately removed upon discovery. As always, only one entry per member is permitted.

    As previously announced, anonymous entries have been abolished, therefore, entrants must post their own entries in this thread, or if you desire to protect first rights, please post your entry in the workshop thread, and then post a link to it here in the public thread. Failure to do so runs the risk of your entry being disqualified, so if you require assistance with the task, please PM me, and I will gladly help you.

    If your entry contains strong language or mature content, please include a disclaimer in your title.

    Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you submit. You have a ten minute grace period to edit your piece, but anything edited after that will likely see your entry excluded from the challenge.

    Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussion related to the challenge can take place in the Bards' Bistro.

    Everyone may now use the "Like" function whenever they so choose.



    This challenge will close on the 15th of January at 7pm EST.



    Last edited by Chesters Daughter; January 16th, 2018 at 12:22 AM.


  2. #2

    The Sight (Strong Language)

    In their state of blindness
    they could discern no rhyme nor reason
    while I dug a hole in its proper plot.
    Whispers of my madness
    became my shadow
    even when the earth turned its back
    on the sun.

    There wasn’t a shovel in sight
    as I clawed an ever-deepening crater
    in unforgiving earth that utilized
    twigs and pebbles to flay my fingers
    to the bone.
    My presence there was premature
    for the ground is aware when to ready
    so it found my intrusion abhorrent
    and kept its efforts to thwart me steady,
    but like most souls, dirt is denied
    glimpses of the future.


    The sun rose and set
    and downpours erased my progress
    until my third week in
    when I finally met the required depth
    and was a spectacle no more,
    just a poor witless woman
    incapable of rhyme nor reason.

    I retired to my rocker,
    ragged digits wrapped in bloodied gauze
    gripping its arms as I swayed.
    It was six days until that toil of love
    stolen from difficult soil
    embraced what was left of my son,
    and I dug it wide enough
    so that on the seventh day,
    I finally rested
    next to my child.

    On my bodice was pinned a note:

    That shadow of insanity
    bestowed upon me was unearned
    As to no rhyme nor reason
    I believe you’ve all now learned
    Not only had I reason
    unlike you I was not blind
    And just to negate the former
    I’ve left these words behind
    You whores have just been treated
    to my final fucking rhyme.


  3. #3
    collection of words
    with neither rhyme nor reason
    called it ​poetry
    Everything you want is just outside your comfort zone.
    — Robert G. Allen

  4. #4

    Her Dog Was Named John

    If you say “stay”, a faithful one
    will wait at length for your return
    to health; or lay on your body
    as it decomposes, or so I’ve heard.

    That’s what I told her after
    we had far too many margaritas
    with salt left over for her wound.
    She laughed, but never healed.
    He didn’t heel either.

    I had no dog to bring her that last day.
    Mine had died. She knew I let a vet just
    send a bill, without a body. Her finger wagged—
    “Remember, in dog years, I’m much younger.”
    I smoothed sheets, to sit and wait for her
    to whisper what she wanted done, with hers.
    Instead, she said . . .

    “Promise me, no rhymes.” She gave no reason.


    .

  5. #5

    Eyes of a Dead Man

    I pulled on your old flannel jacket
    wrapped myself in your familiar scent
    felt your caress in brazen breezes tangling my hair
    and tugging at my clothes with shy fingers
    saw your blue eyes in stained glass windows
    heard you in the silent mausoleum where I left flowers

    Your memory scarred veins on my wrist

    I confessed my sins to a disillusioned priest
    we worked in shelters served in soup kitchens
    I listened as he spoke about life and death
    random suffering without rhyme or reason
    his faith destroyed by the loss of his child
    he prayed for death kneeling by a tiny grave

    I felt my demons break their chains

    I found religion with burned out junkies
    turned tricks behind dented dumpsters
    passed a pipe in alleys guarded by rats
    baptized pain with a needle and spoon
    and paid my tithes with the tracks on my arms

    I stoned your memory

    I shivered in doorways slept under bridges
    sheltered my grief in hellish drug dreams
    where I found then lost you again and again
    I recognized my own hunger in starving derelict
    dogs with sharp spines roaming dead end streets
    felt relief when I saw my imminent demise

    I saw the truth in a dead man's blue eyes

    Wrapped in your dirty flannel jacket
    gazing beyond littered cigarette butts
    condoms and candy wrappers
    stoned on despair I called your name
    I heard your voice beckon me
    from the mausoleum where you wait

    I have enough in my needle to get to you
    She lost herself in the trees,
    among the ever-changing leaves.
    She wept beneath the wild sky
    as stars told stories of ancient times.
    The flowers grew toward her light,
    the river called her name at night.
    She could not live an ordinary life,
    with the mysteries of the universe
    hidden in her eyes....
    Author: Christy Ann Martine

    Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
    love leaves a memory no one can steal....
    Author unknown.

  6. #6
    The Poet *Language*

    The big-headed poet stopped a while,
    and read his own words with a smile,
    and having read them line by line,
    he declared his poem “most divine!”

    To justify his selfish praise
    his qualifications he did raise:
    “I’ve read the classics and the greats,
    Whitman, Shelley, Cummings, Yeats,
    Ginsberg, Plath and even Poe,
    I studied their construction, so
    I use their structure to ensure
    my work is not verbal manure;
    I reproduce their written turds ...
    and then I simply change the words!

    I’ve read the thoughts of learned men;
    I've read them time and time again,
    their wisdom has become just mine,
    of meter, rhythm, scan and rhyme.
    There‘s nothing that I do not know,
    read my words and you’ll see so.
    My creative light cannot be smothered,
    I am a genius … undiscovered!”

    The poet, with wisdom so sage,
    then passed across his scribbled page.
    The reader read the lines complete
    and wiped his arse upon the sheet.

  7. #7

    Hair of the Dog

    It was easier
    to sink into the booze
    ooze liquid confidence
    than to face the day without him.

    Dr. Daniels gave a perfect nip
    and tucked into a bottle
    she was young again
    on fire, like the whiskey.

    It wasn’t the drink that rotted her gut
    left a hole big enough
    to expose the putrid thing
    flopping about inside her
    in desperate search of another beat.

    It scared her shitless
    she was starting to believe
    this is who she really was.
    There is no life I know
    To compare with pure imagination.
    Living there you’ll be free
    If you truly wish to be.~ Willy Wonka

  8. #8
    TITLE: Food for Thought

    TYPE: Symmetrical Alliteration


    Let peoples due diligence produce lies;

    Lies produce interaction, producing life.

    Them as tells, tell as them;

    For us is honest, insulting umbrage forced.

    Eat, drink, be happy; be despicable, espouse;

    Talk becomes intercourse, begrudging truth.

    Cake like bread loves conflagration.
    "Illegitimi non carborundum " Vinegar' Joe Stilwell

    "Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase." Martin Luther King Jr.

    What you learn in life is important, those you help learn, are more important.

    "They can because they think they can."
    ​Virgil

    "Wise men speak because they have something to say; Fools will speak to say something." Plato

    "The only difference between reality and fiction is that fiction needs to be credible."
    ​ Mark Twain

    "To those of you who received honors, awards and distinctions, I say well done. And to the C students, I say you, too, can be president of the United States." George W. Bush



  9. #9

    Where Nonsense Dwells

    Where Nonsense Dwells


    In the fold of a moonglade, as far to west as Numb is east,
    there is a place, known to neither bird nor fish, folk nor beast.
    Yet there is something there, a something with a purpose,
    a something that lingers, out of sight, just below the surface.
    The surface of what—Well, the Firefly Tide!

    For this is where it dwells, so far gone, it is lost and found,
    a bright shadow, travelling o’er the earth without a sound.
    Chased by the Sandmen Three, it leads them on a mad dance—
    There and gone, a wraith wavering between a dream--a trance.
    For that is its way—Tangible, yet fleeting, like smoke and sea.

    Through sea and sky, coursing o’er the Firefly Tide—
    Those Sandmen trying, catching nothing but a hint of hide.
    Colours, who can say, dark or light, blue or grey?
    Yet recognition flares as it disappears at the turning of day.
    Why is it there in a memory so long lost, only to be found?

    Nobody knows, but to ask, one must first know—Nobody.
    So what is it that dwells beyond the Firefly Tide—Anybody?
    In a sense, it makes sense, because it is born of sense of a sort.
    But for this creature commonsense, would just come up short.
    So what sort of sense remains, any sort of sense?—Well, nonsense.

    Nonsense? That makes no sense—Nonsense would be a dragon.


  10. #10
    Shadow Man from Mars

    When you were five years old,
    you knew that some Martian, eons ago,
    lost his shadow in the sun,
    and it skipped away across the iron soil,
    laughing—“Can’t catch me!”
    and it flickered across the pink sky,
    becoming darker and longer, scorning
    logic, disregarding
    all the gods.

    You knew that it must have run,
    far, far, away, through asteroids and stars,
    and finally, sliding down a thunder-cloud,
    it found its way to earth. And it stole
    the shadow of a carnival-man’s top hat
    (the carnival-man who spoke to demons)
    it stole that shadow and it became
    part of it.

    You know that, because you saw it,
    bobbing along like the Monopoly man,
    sometimes short and sometimes tall
    and sometimes cruel,
    especially at exact noon, when the sun
    is like a floodlight; the shadow steps
    along plaster walls, turning out its toes,
    taking its time where no shadow should be
    (and blacker than a shadow
    should be).

    You knew that it could be naughty and cruel,
    but it was medicine to see the shadow from Mars,
    because by seeing it you remembered that
    you couldn’t say how everything happened,
    you knew that you didn’t
    know.

    "So long is the way to the unknown, long is the way we have come. . ." ~ Turisas, Five Hundred and One

    "[An artist is] an idiot babbling through town. . .crying, 'Dreams, dreams for sale! Two for a kopek, two for a song; if you won't buy them, just take them for free!'" ~ Michael O' Brien,
    Sophia House

    Christ is risen from the dead,
    trampling on Death by death,
    And on those in the tombs,
    lavishing light.



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