03-06-2018, 07:30 AM
Open to all. Write two poems in this thread (Flash challenge)
1. Form (Tanka)
Tanka, five lines with a syllable count of 5,7,5,7,7. Traditionally Tanka has no concept of rhyme and is usually of a natural/emotional theme. However, unlike a Haiku, this form has an additional two lines which allow for more subjective or personal observations or feelings. Similar to the Haiku, titles are not always needed.
2. Prompt (instruction)
Please write a poem with a title that is an instruction, Keep off the grass or Fasten seat belts etc. You get it. Any form, any length.
I'll go first
Form Tanka
My Captain Scarlett
was buried by Mysterons,
deep in the garden.
An indestructible man
of an age I imagined.
Prompt: Turn your papers over now
The nervous coughs
and shuffled chairs give one last
laugh down marble stairs.
Looking up at learned names
of literary fame, etched in brass.
Then I turn my page
on a mind that's blank,
a soldier in the trenches
lost to gun shots
only silence in his ears.
The quick start writers
are off on my left,
panic slips a hand
inside my chest, demands
I start with unfinished reading,
but my mantra knows best.
Through the joints of old oak doors
beyond the click on cold tiled floors,
across bowed heads in hallowed halls
a calmness calls my chi.
The graphite spills, controlled at will
by years of books
librarians looks and post-it's stuck.
Passages pulled and torn apart
with confidence I make a start.
1. Form (Tanka)
Tanka, five lines with a syllable count of 5,7,5,7,7. Traditionally Tanka has no concept of rhyme and is usually of a natural/emotional theme. However, unlike a Haiku, this form has an additional two lines which allow for more subjective or personal observations or feelings. Similar to the Haiku, titles are not always needed.
2. Prompt (instruction)
Please write a poem with a title that is an instruction, Keep off the grass or Fasten seat belts etc. You get it. Any form, any length.
I'll go first
Form Tanka
My Captain Scarlett
was buried by Mysterons,
deep in the garden.
An indestructible man
of an age I imagined.
Prompt: Turn your papers over now
The nervous coughs
and shuffled chairs give one last
laugh down marble stairs.
Looking up at learned names
of literary fame, etched in brass.
Then I turn my page
on a mind that's blank,
a soldier in the trenches
lost to gun shots
only silence in his ears.
The quick start writers
are off on my left,
panic slips a hand
inside my chest, demands
I start with unfinished reading,
but my mantra knows best.
Through the joints of old oak doors
beyond the click on cold tiled floors,
across bowed heads in hallowed halls
a calmness calls my chi.
The graphite spills, controlled at will
by years of books
librarians looks and post-it's stuck.
Passages pulled and torn apart
with confidence I make a start.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
