The Poetry Marathon

In the twilight, yellow eyes catch the light
Spilling from the kitchen window into the garden.

Half in shadow, white-tipped brush stands alert
Watching for a hostile human leaving the house.

Through the fence posts, russet-gold pours itself
Travelling the wastelands on little fox feet.

Form: Unrhymed couplets

Prompt: Write a poem about an animal

Since we arrived, we rightly rule
As Avlem are best placed to do
The Empire’s soldiers serve our side
We rightly rule, since we arrived.

The natives are a sorry lot
Who can’t make use of what they’ve got
We’re better than them all, by far
A sorry lot the natives are

We’re honour-bound to take the lead
How else can primitives be freed
From savage ignorance all round?
To take the lead, we’re honour-bound.

Form: Swap Quatrain

Note: This is me exploring my fantasy world a bit more. The Avlem are not the leading military nation in this world (that would the the Empire, with the soldiers). They do, however, believe themselves to be the pinnacle of proper civilisation, and as such to have a duty to civilise the rest of the world. Starting with this new land, where the natives are so backward they don’t even have centralised government!

When sickness strikes, it dominates
And all involved it subjugates
To worries, sleepless nights, and pain
And “When will they get well again?”
The only topic this refrain, ’til it abates.

When sickness will not go away,
And claims its place in every day
The only thing left to be done
Is play the hand as dealt, and run
No clouds can fully block the sun when it is day.

When sickness stays, it has to learn
That other things will take their turn
In centre stage, the sickness deemed
Old news, and coping is routine
One stops regretting might-have-beens, and bridges burned.

Form: Florette (verson 2)

Prompt: Write a companion piece to an earlier poem

Original poem: Freedom, Ltd.

Anger spikes for a moment, then fades.
Yes, it’s awful – so what?
Joy floods in like sunshine, then cools.
Yes, it’s lovely – so what?
Fear’s icy grip is powerless, too.
Yes, it’s deadly – so what?
Depression’s letting nothing past
The emptiness of ‘So what?’

Let me feel something again!
Joy or sadness, even pain,
Despair hits for a moment, then:
Yes, it’s hopeless – so what?

Reclaiming the land, stone by stone
Raising a path into the waves
Where travellers may walk to shore
And bring their wares from far away

A weary process, to the sure
Reclaiming the land, stone by stone
Yet now that it’s done, it will stand
For many generations more.

There are grander things built daily
But we are still proud of our work
Reclaiming the land, stone by stone
Was a long and difficult task

A passion project for the town
Temperating nature with nature
Artists and builders and dreamers
Reclaiming the land, stone by stone

Form: Quatern

Prompt:

Mine is a noble quest
I go withour fear
I know that every test
Just means that I’m near

I go withour fear
Through the treasures and traps
I shan’t turn off here
My way’s marked on my maps

I know that every test
Firms up my resolve
To rise above the rest
And all puzzles solve

It means that I’m near
My hard-fought quest’s goal
I go without fear
Bone-weary, but heart-whole

Form: Quadrilew

Prompt: Write a poem about a journey.

In the beginning, was nothing,
No mass, only pure energy.
The nothing that became something
In defiance of entropy
Defiance, though, implies something –
Someone did this deliberately
The energy, and decision,
Both came from God, in his wisdom.

Form: Ottava Rima
This one’s clunky. Definitely one to revisit after the event. Meanwhile – onward!

Prompt: Write a poem set before the world as we know it came to be.

When I am lost, and far from all
The home I call my home will call
I remember my first view
Of the home I always knew
Walls and maps don’t mark this space
It’s the people, not the place
When I am lost, and far from all
The home I call my home will call.

Form: Based on an Octelle, but the imagery and personification part still needs work.

Prompt: Use this quote as a jumping-off place – “The land knows you, even when you are lost.”

A slip
Quickly, adjust
New grip

Hard-pressed?
Water and food
Refreshed.

Too slow?
Check the new rules:
Not so!

Form: Musette

It’s very tempting to throw in the towel since my last poem was submitted 14 minutes past the deadline. “Too bad, tried and failed – as usual. Might as well quit.” this is the litany playing in my head right now. but this time, I’m not going to listen.

The lure of disappointment’s strong,
To get it wrong
And let it go
“I told you so”.

It’s hard to keep on fighting when
I could give in
Twelve minutes late,
And such a state…

But I won’t take the easy out
I’ll stand and shout
Though I’m delayed,
I won’t be stayed.

Form: Minute Poetry