The contest went over SPECTACULARLY. We had some amazing prizes, and you guys really dug deep for your pieces--great job to everybody!
NOW then, time to move on to something new.
Choose and execute one of the following (to the best of your abilities):
1. Write a TITLE poem (a piece created using ONLY the titles of other deviants' artwork. YOU MUST include a link to every piece you "steal" a title from, AND YOU MUST leave a comment on each piece informing the artist you've borrowed their titles. Titles are free reign and it is not considered "art theft" or "copyright material," but if anyone makes a fuss, please DO remove the offending title immediately and replace it or leave it out.) You can see an example here:
Mourning ConstellationsIn dawn's hush,
is another sky
inside my cage;
let me tell you our story
as you journey,
Where once I whispered
the order of the stars,
a seraph in the storm
fixated on Twilight Infinity.
traded a night's reflection
for the meaning of dreams.
His veins remembered
to chase what's empty
and rounded with sleep.
Grief is a natural disaster;
an astronomer's anatomy
was involuntarily terminated
on the Borderline.
2. Write a FIRST LINE poem, either by using SONG LYRICS (the first line of a song becomes the first line of your poem) or by using the first lines of YOUR OWN poetry (I'm going this route to avoid having an angry mob over the "plagiarism" thing). YOU MUST, if you go the song lyrics route, list every song and artist! You can find examples of BOTH these forms here:
Think of Me When You're Out ThereI am a dominant gene; live as I dieand
in all the pictures that I've seen
At night. I hear it creeping--
I've been looking at people
hanging on this post
and I can see you turn away.
Don't tell me that this is your last chance to change;
my guilt and my shame always sell me short, always feel the same.
Oh yes, I'm the great pretender;
you came calling
and it's another night in hell.
Even Oak Trees CrumbleLittle wing, your feathers(written using someone else's first lines BUT ONLY BECAUSE she requested it from me--again, for this form, YOU should use YOUR OWN first lines!)
alter, like I am apiece--
twist-limbed and back-bruised,
your words are a wound
and I cannot remember,
after all these years,
what it is you seek,
so tell me again.
You are six shades of sadness,
you are the singe on skin,
but what they didn't tell me
is there are many endings.
It's time to let it go.
you mustn't forget that poetry
is like a tribute to denial--
it is abrupt when it comes.
To prepare you all for Flash Fiction Month in July (go to Flash-Fic-Month if you're interested in participating!), write a Flash Fic piece (between 50 and 1000 words) on the following:
--One of your characters must go against the law/societal conventions/personal bias to help another character out of a sticky situation.
You must be unique with your ideas.
At least one of your characters MUST NOT be human.
Turn the world/preconceived ideas on it's/their head if you can!
PLEASE REMEMBER to include the group icon, specific critique questions, and a link to a recent critique you've written in your artists' comments!
Pay it Forward:
ConsensualCider had convinced herself that she'd been born different. Around her stood grit-toothed murderers and ivory faced celebrities. However, Cider was deemed untalented by her mother and obsolete by her father. She couldn't do much, and she was alright with that.
It is eleven at night, and the moon had fallen asleep on the river. Her parents hadn't come to say good night to her, so she decides to visit their room.
She strolls into a horrifying mess. Her mother is roped onto the bed and her father has six kitchen knives buried snugly in his arm. On the blood-doused rug in front of her lay a handgun, its pristine form contrasting against the crimson field. Cider steps back, terrified.
"Cider, dear, we've set things up perfectly for you," her mother forces a smile. "No longer will you be the worthless soul you are!"
"Yes," her father says. He grits his teeth, blood staining sheets. "Pick up the gun! Shoot us here and everyone in the world will soon know your name."
Cider shakes her head, a v
real when we
were young. Your staunch
resolve has not wavered since. We are bound
within taut responsibility. I
will not knuckle
you to mere
tread, how we
oath. I am yours.
And my giving tree shall you ever be.