caveat lector!
caveat lector!
as many of you appreciate, i'm a gal of few words. terse, one might say. so, naturally, i submit a contest offering that is brief. one word per line:
Omen:
Never
Expect
Perfect
Outcome.
Chiller,
Killer,
Efren
Triumphs.
easy, breezy, right? sort of a haiku feeling?
problem? well ... rhymes, of which there is only one. i noticed cowboy dee, in his original post, used rhymes.
back to the poetry keyboard!
um:
Obey?
Noway!
Euchre,
Perjure.
Outlaw?
Chutzpa!
Kayo.
Ergo ...
Touche!
for me, this incredibly tortured submission was incredibly difficult to pen. in fact, i invite anyone to submit a one-word-per-line-rhyming arrangement. good luck!
however ... two-words-per-line ... well, now there's some wriggle room! at least for a stunted versifier such as i am.
Obscene stake,
Never quake.
Even money,
Punish, honey.
Open table,
Conjure, mabel.
Killer save!
Ever brave.
Titanic take!
(the last line has one more syllable than the others; i couldn't resist the 'titanic' reference. i could have tossed in a two-syllable word such as 'total.')
moving up to five syllables is engaging:
On the lemonade ...
Now a masquerade.
Each little hustle ...
Props up a tussle.
Only cash prevails,
Courting moneyed whales.
Kick three rails to find
Every shot is blind.
Tough, so tough to fade.
why stop at five syllables? let's try ten!
Our better angels whisper, ‘Play it safe.’
Not many listen, we’re each such a naif.
Ego knows better, ‘I can drill that shot.’
Problem is, we know that shape is so fraught.
Only god could run out on this table.
Couldn’t she? Is even she capable?
Kisses and misses ... the life of a mope.
Except for, except for, presence of hope.
‘Tote up the pot,’ said the no-talent waif.
as long as i'm abusing the english language, let me offer this advance apologia to billy shakespeare fans ... sorry!
‘Ophelia, Ophelia, let me play Claudius for the crown!’
‘Never, Hamlet, never! Or surely I shall drown! Surely I shall drown!’
Every Lord in Denmark waited for that fatal game.
Polonius lurked, unmindful of his final frame.
Ophelia sobbed, to no avail. To no avail.
Currents then muffled her watery wail.
Knifed by the knave, Polonius died from Hamlet’s cue.
Evil exists, and prevails, and then exacts its due.
Then! Evil miscued ... and evil went down. Went down.
sorry, again.
vapidity is my life,
sunny
s. a chat-chum alerted me to this poetic challenge. you know who you are -- so it's all your fault!
p. p. s. when you spend a lot of time on airborne conveyances, you may as well take a notebook and pen and scribble substandard iambic inanities. scribble scribble!