Katzaniel Posted December 16, 2004 Report Posted December 16, 2004 (edited) Have you ever had an idea and wondered whether it would be better as a poem or as prose? Well, I have, and it gave me the idea for an event. Either take a poem and convert it to a short-story format, or take a short-story and convert it to poetry. The elements that get reused are entirely up to you; if you assure me that the vital idea remains the same, I'll trust you. The logistics: 20 geld for one poem and 20 geld for one story. You may earn 40 geld by doing one of each but two or more of either is still only worth 20. Please post Stories-turned-Poetry in this thread and Poetry-turned-Story in the thread in the assembly room. Include a link to the original. I'll post an example in each, soon. Edit: After having actually competed this exercise, I'm upping the geld amount! 20 is much more appropriate to the effort involved. I may ask around and up it again actually, I'm pretty indecisive... Edited December 16, 2004 by Peredhil
Katzaniel Posted December 16, 2004 Author Report Posted December 16, 2004 Soft dirt, fine sand, thin wooden border, Round a playground that's old like the sun. Many have played here, many grown older, But centered here has been the life of one. First as an infant, wrapped in a blanket, Brought to the park in a stroller. Pushed by her mother on the swing set, She'll spend much time here, growing older. Then as a preschooler, full of spirit, Trying to climb up the slide. Frustration, delight, coming just near it, Happier for simply having tried. Older now, she's ready for the bars. Once, twice, she crosses without falling. Then, determined - can't be that hard - She goes two at a time without stalling. On the tire swing, in the sandbox with a boy. Growing older as they run around, Tumbling and tickling and acting coy. Then digging in the sand, 'till an object is found... Already on his knees, he hands her the ring, The proposal can come as no surprise. So happy that he asked her, she could sing, And happy that his choice of spot was wise. This playground is where she's spent her life, In a total sum of months or years. This playground is where their days will be rife, Of laughter and learning and joyful tears. They raise their children in this park, Continue the cycle of time. Swinging on the tire, staying up 'till dark, They'll love this place well past its prime. Kids will age and times will change, Though they age and grow and leave, The parent's home stays in range. This place is part of threads they weave. It's in this park that her husband dies, And though she mourns his going, It comforts somehow, amidst her sighs, He died here, and that she's happy knowing. A few more years and she goes when she can, Feeling some connection with his soul. From girl to lady, from boy to man, When here, the years don't make her old. She sees him then, he's reaching out, Asking if she can let go. Happy with her life, she knows what it's about, She stands and lets the memories flow. Empty Playground
Zadown Posted December 16, 2004 Report Posted December 16, 2004 Dreams of Summer a prison of winter cages of dark and ice makes me pace tread a circular path dreams of summer green fragrance of grass blue crystal of sky dance through my mind warm my cold bones solitary confinement apartment shrinking to a point turning me into a hermit fading people away dreams of summer golden sunlight sparkling on the soft waves gulls calling to stay in the fantasy cold smashing against the hoarfrosted glass chill's bitter fingers reaching towards me dreams of summer take me away Dreams of Summer
Zariah Posted December 16, 2004 Report Posted December 16, 2004 OK a question---can I use a poem that I wrote in past that's somewhere here in the files of the Banquet Room??? (of course I'd post it in the same post as the prose I'd change it into)????
Katzaniel Posted December 16, 2004 Author Report Posted December 16, 2004 Yes, the intention was that you'd use an already-written piece and alter it, although if anyone wants to write two new ones I may consider what sort of geld to award that. You shouldn't need to post the whole text, you can just link it. Unless you're not sure how to link, then go ahead and use the copy & paste method. Am I misunderstanding your question, or does that answer it?
Knight Posted December 16, 2004 Report Posted December 16, 2004 Katz: Would it be possible for me to post the text seperately, from one of my poems that I know was posted up here? I just do not feel like back and hunting through 35 pages of poetry to find it...
Katzaniel Posted December 16, 2004 Author Report Posted December 16, 2004 Yeah, go ahead. Either a link or a direct quote of the text should be fine.
Zariah Posted December 16, 2004 Report Posted December 16, 2004 Yeah I understand...I am gonna just copy the poem, b/c I already found it and I don't want to hunt it down to make a link (it's not too long anyways). Oh and yeah you answered it perfectly--thank you!!!
Peredhil Posted December 16, 2004 Report Posted December 16, 2004 Gratitude Hospital Visits, where aseptic stench cloys nostrils, This is a utilitarian place without luxury frills. Free to flee the pain of wrecked bodies at last, Exiting thoughts, only counting how fast. A glance through a doorway seizes my eye, It's a golden-haired girl across a bed that I spy. She lies on the bed where two legs should be, but legless and only one arm has her Daddy. He looks up at the door and gives me a smile Inviting me in to chat for a while. I ask the soldier how this came to be, "Blown off", he replies, "by an I.E.D." "How's she taking it," I quizzically ask. "Let's ask her," says he, interrupting her task. "Well, my Daddy's hurt bad and has come to bad harm, "But God left him his writing and his hugging arm. "And now I'm here to give him his help daily," She concluded with a nod, and kissed him gaily. "And so," he said, "you can clearly see" "There are few men still living, luckier than me." My eyes were blurring I'm not shamed to say, As I walked away from that room where they lay. As far as dues go, they were still paying their fees-- with prayers, 'cause Mommy is still overseas.
Tanuchan Posted December 16, 2004 Report Posted December 16, 2004 This is a poem version of a story Degenero Angelus started to write some ages ago.... he liked the poem the first time I showed it to him, so I've decided to post it here even if it isn't exactly what Katz asked (as the prose version isn't mine). The original story is untitled and also unfinished, and can be found here. DARKNESS AND RAIN I. FADING LIGHTS In a tower high an Elven lady sits and stares at skies that weep. Da'Ni by name, Summer by nature beautiful as sunset fierce as the sun, swears and frets, looking at the rain. Born Sh'Rali, also a Queen born to magic, and also to chaos Thirteen summers named then Talent awakens. Talent. Chaotic. White. Forbidden. So locked she was By the few Black talents, Chaotic White in Black Order bound in the tall tower surrounded by steel, cold, so cold... by iron and by pain. But a mistake they made the Arcanum they left magic of thirteen thousand years powerful, black, and white. A white passage she reads decipher she tries how to disapparate the framework of order, steel and iron, that hold by pain and freedom keep away. II. THE DARKNESS INSIDE Gray. All colors blended together All colors fading away Even midnight-black robes, Zaritha's robes, Fade away, Washed by thirteen rain-grayed days. Kalthan beautiful, Kalthan Talentless Harbors the exiles of White Farchai. Yearning for her capital A Black in exile fights for Balance as demanded by the Oath. No killing, no injuring, No destroying to keep the Balance the Black are bound. But to upset the Balance The White seem to be born. The Two Taverns Inn Double-taverned as the name Offering refuge to wandering ones. Zaritha enters, A Black in exile, Eyes that rest upon Minotaur's bulk. In leather's clad, bigger than most katana at his back, He looks and ponders when Zaritha calls.
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