2010 ILE poetry CONTEST! unleash the narwhals

Alright, the poem must be 4 - 40 lines. That doesn't include empty lines or the title. One entry per person. Post your entry here. I'll move them all later when the poll starts.

Tentative closing date is June 1st so get cracking

RIP hoos

bonus points for ICP references

̿ ̿ ̿̿'̿̿\̵͇̿̿\=(•̪●)=/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿

maybe extra points for a readable poem made entirely of ascii one-liner pictures

One entry per person.

are you reading these words lj

now now, only icp bonus points if they don't associated w/ the miracles vid, that (joker) card has been played already.

i feel pretty embarrassed by my antics last time - there will be one attempt only for sure :(

Gotta pop this to the top a few times to make sure the Poets of ILE see the flyer and start their word juggling.

i feel pretty embarrassed by my antics last time

eh, no worries

tho I do wish estela would appear to riposte this statement, I'm just not up to it atm

I'm gonna bump this for the peeps who didn't see it the first time around (lets keep it alive for a day)

Thank you.

don't make me go first

ok I'll bite, if only to get the rest of y'all to share some better stuff.

fuckin lapdogs

http://i41.tinypic.com/nn88rp.jpg

^sonnet I wrote for my local newspaper's spring poetry contest but forgot to submit, lol

oops, should be

fuckin lapdogs

http://i41.tinypic.com/nn88rp.jpg

c'mon ppl where are the comedy entries

that's not a comment on your sonnet btw. it is good.

I wrote a poem recently I'll post it here when I find it (in the next few days)

I think I'll write a poem about Kerouac this year.. And I'll reference the wind and ilx's general opinion of him (from the Kerouac thread)

unregistered, I really like yours>

I think I should write a retarded poem that is also dirty.

Too bad Mr. Snitter is no longer with us to submit another work this year.

I'm adding to the rules: You can post two poems to this thread and only submit one - but at least one of them has to be comedic to take advantage of this extra rule

And if a moderator wants to add this to the initial post feel free to do so

I still think of EX Snappin's "I Went to the Donuts A-Dunkin'" all the time.

;_; snitter

he is like ilx's rimbaud

beth parker
elmo
ttit table
mr jaymc

where r u

I'm calling you out by name cuz shit is getting heated

You remove your clothes:
fatty tanned skin blobs all around
as you lie on the deck
I cry
a seagull hands me a requiem for mercy
written in Lichee juice

I shall be mulling over my theme today as I massacre the grass.

Is foul language allowed in the poetry?

Duh

fuck is such a coarse word
that should be seldom heard
when language offers fine delights
like quim and felch and turd.

hello. this is a weird sort of style i've been working with recently, complete unlike everything else i write. so...

"Mariana Revisitation"


I want to ignore disaster.

Or no, not ignore it, but fondle its corners absentmindedly.

Thus, an abandoned Key.
I create a sculpture in sand
I call Katrina: a child’s doll,
a filthy toothbrush, an oily splintered drift.

You admire my work and smoke.
Over luxury homes, a blimp swims.

These are not scenes of passion.
The pills are wearing off
and crowds gather around our stunned bodies
suddenly clanged on turf.

The closest we will ever come to touching,
I hunt the ditches outside of town
for an ending to embrace.
Tiled slickness speaks an evasion,
my saliva full of ass, it isn’t yours.
A whore died and you died with her.
My fingers curl in your curls,
the closest we will ever come to touching.

I fall asleep on the turnpike.

Smears of blood like morning,
saming tangles on every line.
You never answer me,
the trees are drowning my views.

A character does not possess his or her own nature.
Your muteness is complicit, the contrast
to my lush movements towards your inner thighs.
We keep getting high over and over and over,
synthetic twinklings no use any longer.

I want your soul. I need your soul.
A mondegreen. Utterly right. Safe.
Like our backs turned east to watch
the sunrise.

alright there aphex?

that's pretty good. spent 30 seconds looking for a mondegreen in 'i need your soul' without realising the aphex quote

Sorry I just can't read that line without imagining the terror granny and laffing.

if I have one qualm it's that the poem drops off a TINY bit after 'I fall asleep on the turnpike' - end it there, IMO, and it'd be p much perfect. but what do I know etc

Are you naked again?
It must be time for booty bumpin.

Lio Tse Fu
Upper Chan Dynasty 1290 C.E.

only original work please

actually, not aphex, but the misfits. my friend always thought the chorus to 'skulls' was 'i want your soul, i need your soul.'

and hey, thanks for the kind words...

yeah table that is a good one

I have communicated with a hoos via ouija board and he has chosen not to participate from beyond the grave

how about swinburne?

swinburne still holding grudge from aja/dante beef

Something I wrote a bit ago, but I think some people here might dig.

"Heavy Metal God"

They talk about Him
like he's an old man, withered body --
-- so tired from creating Earth, animals, the genre formerly
and simply known as heavy metal but now varied as
death metal, technical metal, math metal, Scandinavian melodic
Eurovision-tailored horror pop --
his eyes are dim and he sits on mountaintops a lot
promising transcendence.
Or maybe He is actually a She,
flowing long blond hair I imagine much like a Lady Godiva,
her breath smells like chocolate liqueur like
lazy Sunday mornings
Earth goddesses read Tikkun Magazine,
contemplate World Peace,
in grace.
Kabbalists, working from scripts say
that you can't contemplate the unknown
unknow the known the unknown the beyond
the limits of human language the grasping of
verbs and nouns to delineate spaces that cannot
be grasped somewhere
that isn't there
that isn't anywhere
that isn't isn't.
Whatever.
That gives you headaches to consider and anyway,
I have a competitive theory.

I think God is a heavy metal rocker. Long black hair,
sweat glands like volcanos that erupt, then boil over,
covering man, land like the heaviest riff you've ever heard.
Pompeii was crazy metal.
He's got a six-neck Gibson, and with his many arms (like Shiva
or Vishnu or Ganesh, which, come to think of it, are all
seriously Heavy Metal names)
rock out on it like every power solo could level a holy place.
His guitar case says, "Fuck the Power,"
or "Teen Idols Go To Hell," or
"METALOCOLYPSE" (which is clearly a messianic reference)
They say he's a Satanist, and anti the divine,
which means he's auto-annihilistic,
because all real metalheads are secret nihilists.
I heard one day he'll play the one note that has never before been played,
and it will unmake the world.
And will leave metalheads stunned. We will be holding our devil horns aloft when it happens.
And as all of eternity is unmade around us - time and space and language dissolving into strands of ephemeral nothingness and then
Nothing
We will simply say, "Dude"
Before we too are unmade and then God will pack everything - the earth, the heavens, the firmament - back into his gig bag,
and maybe invite a groupie or two backstage.
But as they fawn over him, his mind will be elsewhere.
Other worlds to create, other pit stops on his tour
That one elusive song
he has yet to write.

you need to enjamb a few of those until it's 40 lines long iirc

Meh. Didn't count beforehand. I'm 13 lines over. Whatever. We can disqualify it.

would be awesome if you cut if off after the first stanza imo

been working on this for a while. I think it's done now. happy mother's day!

For My Murdered Mother

My eyes are your eyes facing the wall,
my tongue a failed version

of speech. First the voyeuristic slip
from their nets, then iron turns the

dick hard. Everyone loves a war hero.
Evangelical, I lecture the lives

of saints and do not cry, last in a
long line of hardhearted boors.

Near the harbor, ropes tighten
around the throat of a woman.

Ice cubes rattle in glass bottom boats
filled with drowned drunks.

It's so Tussaud, or de Sade. You
remove your wig & dirty habit.

Denuded, you embody your worst
aspects; distant, annulled from duty.

In pushpin bullpens cops 1) square off,
2) make rancorous tally of your worth,

3) reek of coffee and metallic sweat.
They teach me how to rank the dead.

Now I live in your endless trunk,
walk the tall cold halls of its

arms and legs, a new kind of
missionary possessed with new

strength. Each blind day I wake
to trawl this rich river of blood

for my concerns
are of the body.

my mom's fine btw guys, it's just a poem

i thought it was about America

Here's a song I wrote earlier this year. I humbly submit.

Space Tourism

I see ya jogging 'gainst the traffic for yr physical fitness
Higher than the satellite dish on the Eyewitness Van
Catchin' as catch can

Beating down the doors of the rock climbing center
You get returns on investments, you're no longer the renter class
Fuck the unwashed mass

But one day you will FLY FLY FLY past the lumpen
With your energy beverage and the U2 pumpin', man
Catchin' as catch can
Catchin' as catch can

Doing time
On the inclines
The pan pipes
And the wind chimes

Everything you have is nothing
You're a hollow pumpkin hull
It's not enough to own an island
When you're as old as Jethro Tull

When you're as rich as Rupert Murdoch
And the dirt can't hold you down
Gravity means nothin' to ya
Hot air balloons
Are the saddest
Clowns

Country clubbin' in the city, separated from the freeway
Peering up the arching pylons like a veteran with a sign
Fermented clementine

In space you don't haggle, you can take it by fiat
Getting to yes is no way to do business, man
Catchin' as catch can
Catchin' as catch can

give this contest another month

too soon to let peeps off the hook. they are all natural procrastinators. Or maybe you could handicap entries by date of submission. Incent all these poets!

FREE POEM TITLES

Frogs don't where ballet uniforms
WE RULED THE WORLD WHEN WE WERE 10 FEET TALL
Cancer is not a sport
Furnished rooms inside view
Cows on parade
Who feeds the grave-keeper?
Sporty spice deodorant
Henry the mentally handicapped turtle and the race against time
Summer sweater
Fatties make sweet lovers
The stamp collector's lament
Tye-died
Goats that watch men
The traveling sock

chop chop, I expect the multi-procrastinators to submit by May 32

Cancer is not a sport

my title is not unlike this

not unlike

veddy so

I might use a different title actually

FREE POEM TITLES or bizarro facebook ads

Fatties make sweet lovers

not bizarro

Oh, well if people are submitting song lyrics they've written:

Amnesia

I can count the seconds
Since you went away
I can count the times
I begged you to stay
I can count the times
You put me in my place
I can count forever
But I can't recall your face

Who were you to me?
Who was I to you?

Staring out the window
Staring out the door
Staring at the ceiling
Staring at the floor
Staring at the photograph
Taking all the blame
I can stare for hours
But I can't recall your name

Who were you to me?
Who was I to you?

Did you ever put a tune to this? Just curious.

I did! It's on my work machine but I'll post it tomorrow (warning: lol sensitive acoustic hair ballad)

I wrote a poem tonight! It's about a 15 year-old snooker prodigy.

The Lucubrations Of Luca Brecel

drown down from the bedroom
no sensation, subaqueous
when all playthings are dense

anchor-strewn baize mentor
stumble then glide
like leaving a nest

tonight only one boy bears the trident
one boy falls to rest

silt-settle acrylics
cold effluvium
spin across
in shadow-congress

or tidally back
and inside each droplet is a god
particle instantly vanquishing itself

as it disappears into holes
dug by methane worms or oil workers
lined with nets to catch bathyspheres
and return them safely to the sea-bed

tonight only one boy naps
and flicking his nap are anglerfish
the shade of red you can’t see
because it’s pressurised blindness

marking dreamy channels
in the deep green
with a child’s taut assurance
he joins shots for this
hidden ecosystem
fragile to the softest kick
broken at chalky baize
mentor
friend or
cue for
insomnia
surface, O champion
and let the strands of kelp
spill from your shoulders

nice

And it's all true, too.

http://rapidshare.com/files/391434971/02_-_Amnesia.mp3

here's that song as recorded

it is kind of corny

but I love it

thanks A, also BUMP

Another BUMP in the night. Poets take heed! May is leaking away like piss from an infant.

hey britishers this your chance to launch a sneak offensive, all the united americans will be distracted with memorial day celebrations on may 31

if I hadn't shot my wad I'd possibly write a poem called Sneak Offensive now

struck by another's sneak offensive

finalized closing date is June 30.. no excuses
if a mod wants to add that to the OP or thread title, feel free

i am experiencing some excruciating leg pain today and i can't even think about finishing my poem
but I did find creativity in me to start a poem yesterday and hopefully june will bring out the narwhals in us all

I finished my poem while having a dislocated shoulder reset, and now the resonance of my topical submission will be sadly muted.

but, by all means. if poets didn't procrastinate they'd write novels.

i am simply embarrassed to admit that my 2009 submission was the last poem that i wrote. but i'll work one out for this year, too. promise.

!!!!!

Lest we forget...

yeah more ppl plz or I will submit again THAT IS A PROMISE NOT A THREAT

We never go downtown

I need cable internet access
so I can look at more furry porn,
is what I eventually said,
because the landlord said
he kind of wanted to know why there was a bucket truck
instead of the sun, something of the divine
in this exchange, like realizing suddenly
you are indifferent to God
in the middle of an orgasm.
And then, I think, a moment of silence
before grinning at the weather,
small red birds and water everywhere, what a planet,
but cold cocks
my fuzzy thoughts with his talk
of snow and late winter-
bums shit everywhere, what a disaster,
so let's just wipe our noses
and think about where does that shit go to
because a man who, you know, likes to watch
dudes dressed as animals get it on, well,
maybe he thinks in a different way
than I do, maybe he knows things. But really,
I don't know, so we just wipe our noses
and stare enigmatically at the bucket truck.

Sometimes I see other people wipe their noses on their sleeves
so now I look for the residue on most everyone and everything
but it's not always the thing you think it is
is the thing, so sometimes you've got to really think about it. He's thinking
and then he says, far off someplace,
they actually make that stuff, well, I always knew
there was a market.

nice!

yes that is breezy stuff

okay lazies, including myself, time to focus for just 1 day

still think mordy's poem is awesome at just one stanza:

"Heavy Metal God"

They talk about Him
like he's an old man, withered body --
-- so tired from creating Earth, animals, the genre formerly
and simply known as heavy metal but now varied as
death metal, technical metal, math metal, Scandinavian melodic
Eurovision-tailored horror pop --
his eyes are dim and he sits on mountaintops a lot
promising transcendence.
Or maybe He is actually a She,
flowing long blond hair I imagine much like a Lady Godiva,
her breath smells like chocolate liqueur like
lazy Sunday mornings
Earth goddesses read Tikkun Magazine,
contemplate World Peace,
in grace.
Kabbalists, working from scripts say
that you can't contemplate the unknown
unknow the known the unknown the beyond
the limits of human language the grasping of
verbs and nouns to delineate spaces that cannot
be grasped somewhere
that isn't there
that isn't anywhere
that isn't isn't.
Whatever.
That gives you headaches to consider and anyway,
I have a competitive theory.

the end is coming...

ppl I am missing

beth parker
elmo
jaymc
a hoy hoy

make it happen

be the word and not its absence

when i was supposed to have 4 hours to write this today, my mum got drunk and made me take care of her shit at the hospital and i had no 4 hr period to write an icp-themed ditty.

ouch, sorry bout that, sounds like good material for a poem tho

if nobody else posts a poem before midnight NYC time I am posting a second poem

hope its about mark ronson or rafa benitez or both

thing is I've written poetry since the one I submitted that I prefer to it

but hey - a promise is a promise. cock remains in pants.

Well you can post for kicks

I'm not going to submit anything because I can't think of anything and I have a migraine
Tomorrow I can make the poll.. so anything posted before I make the poll tomorrow is submittable
I won't make the poll until around 2 p.m. NYC time (July 1st).

ugh no elmo ;_;

So if anyone is wondering, I am forcing myself to write a poem at the moment. I'll give the contest another hour or so

okay, since I'm giving myself an unfair advantage, yall can have until 8 p.m. MYC time
please take advantage of this opportunity
today is a good day for creativity
you might want to scrap your original poem if it was holding you back

erm yall have 'til 8 pm NYC time tonight
this is your last chance to have fun playing with words. ever

is that radio silence i'm hearing?

really really really fucken want to switch poems but i swore...god DAMMIT