The Monthly Poetry Challenge - April

It's time for April's Challenge. I think, in the northern hemisphere, many creatures are looking at giving birth within these next few weeks.

Your poetry challenge is to write a narrative poem about a baby animal's steps into the outside world and try to use the following poetic devices in your poem; iambic metre, rhyme and sight rhyme. (Don't scrintch up your face like that TheRM. I don't expect the entire poem to rhyme or stay in metre, just include them as elements.)

Post to this thread and try to review at least one poem in order to get a review or critique in return. Be thoughtful, reviewing and critique take effort so don't expect an indepth edit or discussion of your poem. On the opposite side of the coin, when reviewing, try to give constructive criticism explaining one thing you found good or bad with the poem and any idea you may want to share as to what the poet could do about improving it, in your opinion.

Extra credit for the poet if there's an acrostic hidden in your poem and extra fun, as a reader, if you're the first to find one. Don't post the finding, though, the poet can do that toward the end of the month.

Have fun!

TheRainMan said:

http://face-and-emotion.com/dataface/emotion/media/sadbaby.jpg

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Pure poetry!

April fool! Right?


<<<<<<<<hopeful smile.

champagne1982 said:

It's time for April's Challenge. I think, in the northern hemisphere, many creatures are looking at giving birth within these next few weeks.

Your poetry challenge is to write a narrative poem about a baby animal's steps into the outside world and try to use the following poetic devices in your poem; iambic metre, rhyme and sight rhyme. (Don't scrintch up your face like that TheRM. I don't expect the entire poem to rhyme or stay in metre, just include them as elements.)

Post to this thread and try to review at least one poem in order to get a review or critique in return. Be thoughtful, reviewing and critique take effort so don't expect an indepth edit or discussion of your poem. On the opposite side of the coin, when reviewing, try to give constructive criticism explaining one thing you found good or bad with the poem and any idea you may want to share as to what the poet could do about improving it, in your opinion.

Extra credit for the poet if there's an acrostic hidden in your poem and extra fun, as a reader, if you're the first to find one. Don't post the finding, though, the poet can do that toward the end of the month.

Have fun!

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Whoa, and I thought the bible challenge was hard. I'm going to have to psych myself up for this one. *gulp*

champagne1982, could you post an example?

unapologetic said:

Whoa, and I thought the bible challenge was hard. I'm going to have to psych myself up for this one. *gulp*

champagne1982, could you post an example?

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Iambic metre is the way our words flow through a line of language. A poet can write this rhythm quite simply in English, since our language, when allowed to be lyrical, is kinda, sorta iambic already. To produce the rhythm consider that a true iambic foot (two syllables) would place the accent on the second syllable. (-!) There are variations of rhythm that we slip into when we speak but we frequently return to iambic metre as a natural flow of language.

Click here to find a fairly simple explanation of metre and rhythm in poetry.

Rhyme, the noun, is defined by dictionary.com: rhyme/ [rahym]

1. identity in sound of some part, esp. the end, of words or lines of verse.
2. a word agreeing with another in terminal sound: Find is a rhyme for mind and womankind.
3. verse or poetry having correspondence in the terminal sounds of the lines.
4. a poem or piece of verse having such correspondence.

Sight rhymes are words that look as if they should rhyme but don't when spoken.

For instance mow and cow or weight and height.

An acrostic poem is where the first letters of the words in each line happen to spell a word. But, since we're so sophisticated in our poetic aptitude, I think our acrostics can be spelled out in any PATTERN we like as long as it makes sense, diagonally, each word on a single line, backwards... that kind of thing.

Here's one of mine...

V I R T U E
by champagne1982 ©

vague references of something you're supposed to guard,
infinitely valuable, if not to you, then to the one who
receives this precious bauble. A ruby, priced beyond wealth,
that will show value in its blood and heat, once
unwrapped from the cloak of innocence it wears;
enticing the ravager out from behind his disguise of propriety.

I hope that I've explained well enough that you can have some fun with this. It's not supposed to be a chore but it is a challenge.

Bull Calf

The only thing that you can do
Is praise this phase of consciousness
And feel your mother's tongue lick you
With God's own lips to bring a kiss.
The farmer leads you far away.
His family needs her fresh milk, too.
Here comes the truck. Three days you stay
In praise, and praise is all that’s true.

Adam's Child

The pine lifts tortured boughs
to the heavens in a silent
scream that echoes from limestone
faces, bounced along the valley
floor where once, a bolder river
flowed and is no more.

Time is faithlessly insistent
that we shall continue, despite
the scars we bear or the tears
wept onto clouds until the sorrow
is beyond the strength of the sky

to carry. Adam's child, what
have you wrought with free will
and power to reason
through each season,
each chill dawn,
every sunset swelter?
Where do we go but down,
once we've touched the sky?

Destruction cannot be the fate
we choose. Demons are set loose
upon the world and we laugh
at their antics, ever hopeful
that they but play, and play
they do. Fools believe no harm
shall come of this.

Ask the father of the sorrow of his son,
don't deny the comfort of tears;
allow his grief to come unchecked,
mourn with him, his sadness is great
so sate his empty soul with tears.

Choirs have given voice to despair,
hymns fly through the buttressed arches
in cathedrals built to honour His name.
Lord, Father, God - which are we to know?
Doubt assails the wayward children.

We know naught.

(hope this is somewhere in the ball park) (~_~)


The Chilling Birth of an Emperor

Eighty below and a blizzard blows
over the arctic ice and snow
a cracked egg, between two legs
rests on a penguin's toes

When a little beak takes a peek
at the white world outside its shell
continually trying, to shed its confines
a baby bird bursts, into a frozen hell

The father with love picks it up from above
tucks it into a bed of feathered fur
enchantingly genuine, a baby penguin
the chilling birth of an Emperor

All the clouds gathered and witness this sight
born is a bird that will never take flight

Thanks so much for your poems, FF and Art. I can't do a review on them right now, but I hope to settle into a space where I'll be able to later.

I hope we get some more poems, but right now, I think I'll get out with my puppy and maybe, find some inspiration in his awkward gallop across the fields.

champagne1982 said:

Thanks so much for your poems, FF and Art. I can't do a review on them right now, but I hope to settle into a space where I'll be able to later.

I hope we get some more poems, but right now, I think I'll get out with my puppy and maybe, find some inspiration in his awkward gallop across the fields.

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I'm working on one, Champ, but I only have til tomorrow- then it's back to my world. It's a damn good challenge; no more of that "off the cuff" for this one. I have part of a review in mind for MET if you want to save your strength. I do wish I could read all the others that will be posted. I know they'll be good. It borders a little on a compilation for kids to read, which you know is right up my alley!

Love you babe!

My Erotic Trail said:

(hope this is somewhere in the ball park) (~_~)


The Chilling Birth of an Emperor

Eighty below and a blizzard blows
over the arctic ice and snow
a cracked egg, between two legs
rests on a penguin's toes

When a little beak takes a peek
at the white world outside its shell
continually trying, to shed its confines
a baby bird bursts, into a frozen hell

The father with love picks it up from above
tucks it into a bed of feathered fur
enchantingly genuine, a baby penguin
the chilling birth of an Emperor

All the clouds gathered and witness this sight
born is a bird that will never take flight

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Hi MET!

First let me read you a quote. "One becomes a critic when one cannot be an artist, just as a man becomes a stool pigeon when he cannot be a soldier." Gustave Flaubert

Thats why I hate doing critiques. That being said, though, I think you did a great job with this. I see the meter, I see the rhyme and sight rhyme, but most of all I see daddy Penguins and fuzzy freezing babys.

I even see the sonnet layout. I think I like this best of all of your's I've read. The only thing that I see negative is that your punctuation could use a bit of tweaking, but you have heard that before, I'm sure! lol I like it a lot.

Boo

Just got a call that I might be leaving here tonight, so I'm posting now though it really needs work. It's too rhymy. I don't say that cuz I know thats not popular, but because I'm trying hard to get away from that. But at least this way I can see if it at least has merit. Or maybe it just is what it is. Thanks ahead of time y'all. See you in June.



.
Awake, my son, your life's begun
to call you. Stand and hear.


It's time for you, my son, to view
your kingdom. Go now, fly!


You must not err, stay in the air,
your kingdom. Do not fall.


This is your fate, don't hesitate
protect your realm. Forever.


.

My Boy, Cooper.

He wraps around to scratch an itch
right there above his tail.
An itch remains no matter how he nips;
he bites and nibbles to no avail.

When he sits proud and ears stretched
ahead he seems so grown and mature, until
he moves and unwinds his spine,
then we see that he's a puppy still.

Gangly limbs that flail akimbo
as he starts to tumble and run.
his awkward gallop becomes a lope
across the ground. Oh, what puppy fun!

After all his joyous bounds and leaps
tired and worn, the puppy sleeps.

Carrie, I know this doesn't follow your rules (working on that) but this was inspired by yours and Karen's challenges.

Springtime on The Ark

Even though no land’s in sight,
no plum blossom or pussy willow,
it’s springtime on the Ark
the animals pair off
doing what comes naturally
motion sickness becomes morning sickness
and Noah leaves buckets
in strategic spots like ashtrays
worrying all the while, as bellies swelled,
if the Ark could stand the strain

Ham and Japheth roll up their sleeves
taking turns to watch for problems
such as breach births
or other such un-pleasantries
Mrs. Noah reminisces, thanking God
it isn’t her lying in the straw
her belly tight as a drum
catching Noah’s eye,
she blushes and blows a kiss.

The Ark fills with nursery sounds,
baby bleats and mini-mews
as mothers nurse and fathers preen
indifferent that they are on the way
to repopulating God’s drowned earth.

Lambing Time (acrostic)

Staying with the flock each night
Peter hears them shift
Restless under brittle light
Intuition is their gift
New mothers all, they have no fear
Grateful that their shepherd’s near

At last the birthing time arrives
Reassuring every ewe
Ready to assist the lives
In the early morning dew
Valuing all the tiny lambs
And taking home the ones rejected
Loving still the guilty dams
Sure that none will be neglected

Another Look At ...

The fresh cheeked cliche
steps up to the page
boldly, triumphant
in metaphorical adage
and certain it is new.

Only when the wrench
of transport outside the verse
that's inked on vellum skin,
will this silk purse curse
the sow's ear it truly is.

And still the ungainly steps
of longhand script remain
at the fingertips of muse
and poet, let tears stain
cheeks and words. Edit no more.

Sweet cliche step fair into day
the newborn verse runs free
unfettered by convention's ties
tumbling past staid frowns, in glee
the old saw is born again.

So far, it looks like I can't write a playful poem that meets all of the criteria for full points and bonuses. At least a few poets are brave enough to share thier efforts. Thank you all for participating, so far.

I hope I'll be able to tap into my well of creativity and find more than mud in the next few days. I'll give it a shot. Meanwhile, someone else may post a poem...

Yikes!

*blows the dust off the poetry

There's some really nice stuff here... what happened? Did someone let off a stinkbomb in here??

Hi everyone- I'm back for 2 days. Should I write a poem or stir a pot?

Hmmm...

Hi Boo....oo oo oo, write a poem....one of those thingies you do so well...you know the rhymie thing, that doesn't matter cause it's so good....

lovely to see you, tung

tungtied2u said:

Hi Boo....oo oo oo, write a poem....one of those thingies you do so well...you know the rhymie thing, that doesn't matter cause it's so good....

lovely to see you, tung

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Hello there, TT2u... how do you doo??

I haven't at this moment got a spark on my tongue for a poem. I've gotten pretty rusty. These last 2 yrs have been bizzarre and I should write them away, but so far I'm disinclined.Where are you? Still way over there or closer? It's good to see you. Always is. Hope all is well w/ you.

Kisses and hugs, bebe!

OOOOOO! Hello ms Boo! I know.. not much action poetically these past couple of days, but I'm busily writing a little novel project, so...
It's lovely to see you. Set yersef down a wee while and just let the poemies flit around a bit. Maybe one will land and bite ya right where your muse is sleeping