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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted

A little blue tent sits off to one side of the Carnival, piles of snow drifting up and over one side, creating an indigo-lined igloo. A sign outside invites all inside, whereon a tiny pixie flits to and fro, waiting for all who enter. Once a small crowd has formed, she clears her throat and begins.

 

"Gathered here, in groups or singles,

Wanting geld, or maybe fun,

Or maybe both; but I'll not linger,

Or, least not til this poem's done.

 

My name is Nymsy, here on loan,

Because my boss is occupied,

I'll run his tent til he gets back,

Or til the Carnival has died."

 

Here she shrugs, and grins a bit,

And pulls out chairs and stools and stuff,

And beckons all around to sit,

And flits back in a hurried huff.

 

"The game is simple, so he says,

But me, I find it quite the tease,

Describe these things in different ways,

Without their names, if you please."

 

And in the middle poofs a table,

With a glass and cloth on it,

And several quills and bits of paper,

On which to write haiku or sonnet.

 

The pixie grins and pulls the cloth,

Which shines more bluely than a lake,

And when it clears, there pure and soft,

One single, perfect, white snowflake.

 

***

 

OOC:

 

Ok, here're the rules in plain English.

 

I'll give you an object, the first one being a snowflake.

 

Your challenge is to write a descriptive poem about the object, without using its name, or any part of its name in said poem. So for instance, the words "Snow" and "Flake" are both no-goes in this one. Poems are worth 5 geld.

 

Every day or two I'll change the object, and you can write another poem for another 5 geld.

 

Enjoy!

Posted

On the blustery winter day when I awake

It is out the window that I peek,

A marvel of delicate handiwork I see -

Thousands of white crystals, each unique.

Bundling up in warm winter clothes,

Trailing a sled, now 'tis a hill I seek.

Posted (edited)

Cold and queenly
in their soft whiteness
coming in multitude,
covering the fields:
swirling in the wind
settling on the ground
a blanket of Winter
veiling life
guarding its sleep
for the coming Spring.

Edited by Tanuchan
formatting
Posted

Crystaline structure

Perforated uniquely.

Not rain, nor quite hail.

 

Falling, rising, drift.

Moved by wind to strike the ground,

Millions at a time.

 

Child, grab them in lumps

In a clean forest off each

Branch. Bite your cold drink.

Posted (edited)

Picturesque powdered land,

Perfect for a postcard;

Beauty buried beneath

Beauty. But with such bland

Decoration, it's hard

To look, and understand

That each speck on the heath

Is unique, crystal white;

A storm in its own right.

 

EDIT: I just read the poem in the first post; does each of our entries have to be a haiku or sonnet? :\

Edited by drummondo
Posted

Sizzling on her still warm body

Covering her tangled hair

with intricate patterns

Filling the gaps around her

But never touching her cold dead heart

with it's beauty and grace

 

Winter's adversaries are here

Posted

Drummondo: Nope, I just used those as examples... and because it rhymed. Sort of. Anywho...

 

BIC:

 

"As snowflakes fall, and melt away,

So must our game change too.

But be not bummed, be bright and gay,

The next one's meant just for you!"

 

And with that the pixie flares the cloth,

And covers the glass yet once again,

And when the sheet is pulled aloft,

There sits a pointed, old-styled Pen.

 

:P

Posted

Tool of scribes through time.

Writing implement of yore.

Poised to make fine lines.

Posted

A curse, a curse with means of voice,

It binds thee to your thoughts for life,

Some argue that you had a choice,

But had you not put down your strife

In words, you could not live now with the sane,

For thoughts alone can bring us so much pain.

Posted (edited)

The ink of my blood,

Flows forth on the page.

A tool for immortality,

In this day and age.

Edited by Gryphon
Posted

The metal tip, bend in a funny way

The paint, once green, is almost gone

I have to dip it, again and again,

In ink to keep it going on

And thus we write, forever more

My friend and I

Posted (edited)

It remembers the writings of Newton and Thales,

Of journeys of travellers through deserts and gales.

Not fire nor wheel, nor wisdom of men,

Compete with its import,

The great, mighty writing implement...

Edited by epinephrine
Posted

Drawing me in deeper yet.

And I a willing victim.

The art I cannot quite perfect.

But still it dictates its whim,

The words I cannot forget.

Words I write, though time be slim.

I am ever tangled in its net.

Posted

Long and thin,

Waits on whim,

They say it's better than a sword,

But I don't trust it 'gainst a horde,

Still I like it,

Just can't fight it,

It's just right for any caper,

Perfect for ideas to paper!

Posted (edited)

To quoth my friend of Raven form

The tool is a powerful wand

Filled with the blood of wielder's heart

It allows thoughts and words to bond

Mightier than a sword, some say

I believe this to be true

So comfortably it lies within my paw

And translates my absent muse

Edited by Mynx
Posted

Late start, I would write for both so far if I may...

 

:raven:

 

Frozen flames of liquid life,

Dispersed breath of winter's fire,

Born of Heaven's delicate knife,

Crafted by nature's desire.

 

:raven:

 

Blade of lovers lament,

Torturing the liquid stain,

Blending Power and love,

Bonding Emotion to page.

 

Part of my being

Tangent of my heart

Twisting love's meaning

Blade of the poet's art.

 

:raven:

Posted

"Excellent work, ye Mighty crew!

I'm right and truly astounded!

The next one, if I'm recalling true,

Is largish, yellow, and rounded..."

 

And with a flourish, and teeth like steel,

The pixie swipes the cloth once more,

And whisking it away reveals,

The bright and early, morning star.

 

OOC:

 

Just to be a bit more clear, the morning star is Venus, and is the brightest thing in the night sky. (Well, except for the moon... sometimes.) You can see it near the moon, just below and to the left, if I remember correctly, and it is most apparent in the early morning or in the early evening. Enjoy!

 

(And remember, "morning" and "star" are both out! Wheeeeeeee!)

Posted

Isis' sacred symbol,

Pentacle pathed planet,

Half-light's beacon to love,

Gird me with your might!

 

Gazing up at mystic light,

Through scope at sight above,

Payingthe ones who ran it,

Inclined rigid tube on gimbal.

Posted

Shining dust upon the curtain of the night,

One speck shines brighter than the rest,

Burning above us in a pale reflection,

Of the beautiful godess whos name thou bear.

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