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Well, aren't I prompt?

Anywho, here is your contest!

Because as of late I am obsessed with Billy Collins (as well as other random poets, watch for more poet-watching sorts of contests) for no good reason, this contest shall be centered around his poem:

Another reason why I don't keep a gun in the house

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.


~Billy Collins


What you have to do with this is simple.  

1. Write a prose poem having to do with "why you don't keep a gun in your house."

2.  Describe the gun.  What kind?  .45?  Glock? (haha...just describe it).  And please try to be original.  *sigh*

3.  Must use the words (but the words can be used in any tense you want): poison, cocoa, handprint, silhouettes, electronic and subliminal.

4.  CANNOT use the words(or any other form of these words in any tense): noisy, loud, metal, bullets, irritating, annoying.

5.  Have fun, be experimental (cuz you all must know I am a sucker for that), and amaze me...because you have had enough of a sabbatical from me reading any of your poetry.  So now you must give me your best work.  Dammit.


Yeah yeah yeah, I forgot a deadline.  SHUTUP. Ok, so the deadline is now...SEPTEMBER 10TH

So get to writing.  NOW.

YAY for poetry!  



*gets all excited and whatnot*
©2004-2009 ~poetrehab
:iconpoetrehab:

Author's Comments

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:iconacauseremains:
Thought I'd give it a shot. 'Jane's at storage'..I'm still not used to the format here. The original was centered down to the 'deadly', which was a nice point.
:iconjesstasy18247:
deadline?

--
love does find a way.
:iconpoetrehab:
It would be greatly appreciated if you could give me a link to your poem. Just cut and paste it into the comment box, please. It just kind of takes awhile to go to everyone's individual page and hunt for their piece.

Thanks yo.

*bakes you a cake with chocolate frosting*
:iconpoetrehab:
Posted, you complainer. Heh.

*pokes repeatedly*
:iconacauseremains:
Jane’s in storage.

She sat there forever, unknown unless purpose moved us to come together. A time of
personal meditation. Unique when compared to the gurus of essence before object.
Odd how a thing so destructive can be used for such silence. That moment. The
second before the pull, which had lost individual movement and become
the surroundings, all being together; all breathing the same breath.
Cocoa and caffeine willed to the subliminal, the poisons put aside
to steady the silhouette so far, so very far away. They
do not understand her beauty. A machined tool
honed to test the limits of your calm. No
electronics. Just steel, glass and a slight
breeze that must become part of you.
Her grooves worn to perfection.
Her action incomparable.
Her trigger
deadly.

The handprint on my face decided. Her fury and loss of control. ‘She’ had gone and
the unpredictable had made it’s presence known and would come again. She didn’t
know Jane, but knew what she could do. Knows what she was made for.
:iconacauseremains:
Jane’s in storage.

She sat there forever, unknown unless purpose moved us to come together. A time of
personal meditation. Unique when compared to the gurus of essence before object.
Odd how a thing so destructive can be used for such silence. That moment. The
second before the pull, which had lost individual movement and become
the surroundings, all being together; all breathing the same breath.
Cocoa and caffeine willed to the subliminal, the poisons put aside
to steady the silhouette so far, so very far away. They
do not understand her beauty. A machined tool
honed to test the limits of your calm. No
electronics. Just steel, glass and a slight
breeze that must become part of you.
Her grooves worn to perfection.
Her action incomparable.
Her trigger
deadly.

The handprint on my face decided. Her fury and loss of control. ‘She’ had gone and
the unpredictable had made it’s presence known and would come again. She didn’t
know Jane, but knew what she could do. Knows what she was made for.
:iconpoetrehab:
Umm...I guess what I am saying here is that I want a LINK to your poem. Just copy and paste it from your addresses at the top of your screen onto the comment box to poetrehab. I really need that. And I need it also to be posted on your page...I'm not sure if it is...but it needs to be for it to be judged.

...I am horrible at explaining things, so say the word if I am confusing you.

*eats some pizza*
:icondark-dear-heart:
Bigfoot and Nessie finally tie the knot! Read all about it, and who attended the party afterwards, [link]

--
I have no hopes, no resources, no money. I am the happiest man alive. -- Henry Miller
:icondaeira:
might just give this a go. At the start of school, all my poetry muses kick into fervent action. Irritating because of the amount of school I have to do on the side that gets neglected, but fun at the same time. And the Collins poem was so good, it really triggered (haha, pun) some creative juices. Thanks for showing us that one by the way.

--
~onewordatatime * livingpoetsociety ~poetrehab ~ penpushers


There is no I in team - but there is tea! And cookies..?

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August 29, 2004
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