Friday Poets, Round 11, Contest and Community Building

in contest •  6 years ago  (edited)

Friday Poets, Round 11

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Tony Peters: Insane Poetry Reading and Wrestling

It's Friday and the start of #poetryweekend. It is time to close-line that inner angst, pile-drive some word play, and bleed your insides onto the paper ... metaphorically speaking. Yes, poets and wrestling fans, it is time to join in on #fridaypoets.

First the rules

  • no biting, eye gouging, or kicks to the ego

And this other stuff:

  • Up vote this post and re-esteem it. I check:)
  • Visit at least three other Friday poets and comment and up vote their COMMENT here. You can also upvote their post if you got the upvote power but it is not necessary.
  • Drop your link below to a poem you wrote today … that’s Friday wherever you are, or were.
  • Make one of your tags #fridaypoets and place @prydefoltz in the title
  • I will upvote and comment, to the best of my ability, on everyone who takes part having followed the rules. I should be able to get to everyone within the week. So that will be two upvotes one for your comment and one for your post.
  • The liquid payout from this post (SBD) will go to the winner and participants.
  • I will take part in the contest by writing a poem but I will NOT share in the SBD payout.
  • Have fun and maybe crack a smile.

Last week's post has yet to submit and so I will update later with payout amounts. In the meantime, go figure-four yourself a rhyming couplet or something. And remember tomorrow is the cage match known as #haikusaturday and Sunday is #deadpoems.

Disclaimer:
No poets were harmed in the making of the blog. Well, some of them had their feelings hurt, but how do you talk to poets and not hurt some feelings. No pain, no gain, folks.

Update

Last week we earned roughtly 0.420 SBD. The following people will each receive 0.105 SBD.

@pyemoney
@marlyncabrera
@zeleiracordero
@corderosiete

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Very significant. The metaphor wins the game. In the game of life does not win the one that screams the most, but the one that has the best weapons to face the attacks of this one. Likewise, in any reality that is lived.
Wonderful job, Pryde!

The game never caught my attention. I never tried it if I have good luck.

Hi, @prydefoltz :D I really liked tis piece. Here's my comment on your post:

This made me laugh:
"make sure the crescendo
of your cha-ching
overwhelms the cut
of your bustle"
.
It's wise advice, but we know gamblers are sick with greed and luck.
.
Besides its clever irony, I loved the rhythm helped by the layout in this piece, too. It allowed me to make little pauses to picture the gestures of the speaker.
.
This poem of a game speaks the truth of life.
.
Loved it, @prydefoltz :D

Coming back to upvote :p

A haute couture poem, @prydefoltz. The card game as a metaphor for that other game full of "thoughtless ninnies" that is life. And certainly, the blindest of us who turn mad to seek the favors of Goddess Fortune are the ones disguised in a "faux-grace and knave-like masculinity" who are about to kick the table to ending out the game forever.

After the rain comes the calm. We spent a lot of time under a storm that wet our house and water does not stop falling.

Thank you my brother!

Wow... it's a great, deep poem... It reminds me of the winter season in the forgotten villages of Venezuela, when the rain leaves us in the open air of our own homeless. These verses adequately reflect the sense of vulnerability, there is nothing to say, only the rain must speak:
"It has been said so much of this tense calm,
that nothing else else remains to be said.
The words ran out
and there is only the silence of what has already been said."

Thanks, @yomismosoy!

I like the way your poem plays with the rain, the sheets, and the intimacy of the room; it feels like everything is gently rubbing against one's body.

The rain washes it all away; then there's silence, like the silence or the weariness after a long time of plight.

Intense, @zeleiracordero.

Very good! The storm winds are blowing and the sun is still burning, but the smell of the rain is already in the air.

The smell of wet earth is nice.

A perfect poem to end up in this picture:

Rain and sun in the city.

A verse mirrors your photo. Cleverly nice, @corderosiete

Although tired for wrestling, here's my little upper punch for the moment:

"For Me"

Thanks for hosting, @prydefoltz :D

I'll start commenting ASAP, after my working weekend.

Trust me and allow me to be
my own way,
even if you have not been so allowed.
...
Take my hand and watch me,
watch me turn into
God.

A great poem, @marlyncabrera, that invites us not to transmit our fears to the generations that come after us. It reminds me of the conception of God that Rainer Maria Rilke proposes to us when he says that God is the best thing that we are going being. Thus human history would be nothing other than the preparation of God. Very much in the same direction as your poem, Rilke once wrote: "Why don’t you think of Him as the one who is coming, who has been approaching from all eternity, the One who will someday arrive, the ultimate fruit of a tree whose leaves we are?"

Spectacular. I love the empowerment that this expression gives off and, in general, the tone of the whole poem. Excellent creation, dear @marlyncabrera.

Apparently ludic, your poem contains a deep reflection. It speaks of a life of suffering from hard blows during the trip. The voice suggests the tragedy of living without incentives. I perceive cynicism when it refers to what he had to live. Talk about the intellectual preparation, the struggle, the way traveled, but with bad luck. Something changed its course and now it became frustrating, lonely.
You communicate a lot with your writing, @yomismosoy. You are very talented. Blessings for your creative art.

Among the pleasures of life is drinking a hot coffee slowly. I enjoy its smell and taste with closed eyes. How exquisite!

Hardship is overwhelming:

I am a man
stunned among the dogs.

Sometimes we're a street mongrel which thinks itself a man, or a man who thinks himself better than the street mongrel. Sometimes life is just a stunned space among the dogs.

This poem is pure effect, @yomismosoy. Good!