Lauren Hynde
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Nuthin 
Judo's Gunfight Thread - Part 3
- Thread starter Lauren Hynde
- Start date
champagne1982
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Lauren is the Portugese bench .. hehehe.. I think she's happily sky clad in a bunch of sexy asses using her as a place to sit ..Angeline said:[...]
Blows a kiss at Boo and eyes Champer's black robes admiringly. And Lauren's...sheesh, Lauren what are you wearing?
Lauren Hynde
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Well, I am the sheriff around these here parts. 
Lauren Hynde
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Hey! Don't undermine my authoritychampagne1982 said:Lauren is the Portugese bench .. hehehe.. I think she's happily sky clad in a bunch of sexy asses using her as a place to sit ..
champagne1982
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god I miss the irreverant Eve!Lauren Hynde said:Hey! Don't undermine my authority
That sounds almost ordained doesn't it? Her Wicked Irreverancy
Eve.
Lauren Hynde
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10 minutes! Boo, are you here?
BooMerengue
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*runnin in... spurs freshly shined and sparkling... chaps... and nuthin else...
Yeeehaaaaaaaaaa!!! Let The Games Begin!!
Sorry y'all... I have no computer- I am at the mercy of the world... but hear I am!!
Yeeehaaaaaaaaaa!!! Let The Games Begin!!
Sorry y'all... I have no computer- I am at the mercy of the world... but hear I am!!
Lauren Hynde
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Yay, so that you all know, I'm going to give you two hours for this, even thought I'm convinced you won't need much more than one. It will sound tougher than what it really is. Good luck to both of you.
BooMerengue
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Fire away, Lauren! *walks over and kisses Ange on both cheeks... "Best wishes, Sweets!"
FACE cheeks... sheeeeesh!!
FACE cheeks... sheeeeesh!!
Lauren Hynde
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The Gunfight!
A Glosa is a poetic composition (not formally strict, as you'll see) very popular in some romantic countries (Spain, Italy, Portugal,...) between the 14th and 17th centuries, but which kept many followers in these countries even today.
It is comprised of two parts.
1. The Mote (motto): a given introductory short stanza (can even be only a single line) authored by another poet;
2. The Glosa itself: a (series of) stanza(s) that expand on the theme presented in the mote.
There are many variations, but the most usual composition consists of stanzas that end with a verse from the mote, until all of them are used. If the mote has four verses, the subsequent glosa would be of four stanzas.
See The Eagle: Glosa for an example.
The Mote you'll be using is rubaï #39 by Omar Khayyam:
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Why fret about them if today be sweet!
Your challenge, to complete in two hours starting now, is to write a Glosa to this Mote, expanding it while keeping faithful to its theme.
The Glosa should be also be in rubaïyat form, i.e. 4 stanzas of 4 lines each with a AABA rhyme scheme, each line with 10 syllables (extra points for iambic pentameter).
Each of the lines of the Mote should be the free line of a rubaï of the Glosa:
A1
A2
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
A3
B1
B2
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
B3
C1
C2
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
C3
D1
D2
Why fret about them if today be sweet!
D3
You have two hours. Have fun
A Glosa is a poetic composition (not formally strict, as you'll see) very popular in some romantic countries (Spain, Italy, Portugal,...) between the 14th and 17th centuries, but which kept many followers in these countries even today.
It is comprised of two parts.
1. The Mote (motto): a given introductory short stanza (can even be only a single line) authored by another poet;
2. The Glosa itself: a (series of) stanza(s) that expand on the theme presented in the mote.
There are many variations, but the most usual composition consists of stanzas that end with a verse from the mote, until all of them are used. If the mote has four verses, the subsequent glosa would be of four stanzas.
See The Eagle: Glosa for an example.
The Mote you'll be using is rubaï #39 by Omar Khayyam:
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Why fret about them if today be sweet!
Your challenge, to complete in two hours starting now, is to write a Glosa to this Mote, expanding it while keeping faithful to its theme.
The Glosa should be also be in rubaïyat form, i.e. 4 stanzas of 4 lines each with a AABA rhyme scheme, each line with 10 syllables (extra points for iambic pentameter).
Each of the lines of the Mote should be the free line of a rubaï of the Glosa:
A1
A2
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
A3
B1
B2
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
B3
C1
C2
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
C3
D1
D2
Why fret about them if today be sweet!
D3
You have two hours. Have fun
GoddessOfSouls
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taking a seat eating popcorn Good Luck Ladies!
champagne1982
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ooo.. I'm inspired already!
I can't wait for the word play!
I can't wait for the word play!
Lauren Hynde
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What do you mean? I already wrote 25% of the poem for them. They just need to fill in the spaces.fawnie said:damn lauren. you were really nice to me! lol
Lauren Hynde
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You're all welcome to shoot too, but keep the stray bullets 'til the two hours are up, please.
BooMerengue
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I sit and dawdle over liqueur red
it heats me and spills over to the bed
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
I know now that my time has surely fled
I watch the sun sink lower in the sky
I see without a care but wonder why
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
it chills me but it will not make me cry
And you! What worries do you bring to bear
I wait, and it's as if you are not there
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Please tell me; do you think you played me fair?
Ah, love I say as I beneath you slide
it matters not the thing that we call pride
Why fret about it if today be sweet!
and our tomorrows done; our future died.
it heats me and spills over to the bed
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
I know now that my time has surely fled
I watch the sun sink lower in the sky
I see without a care but wonder why
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
it chills me but it will not make me cry
And you! What worries do you bring to bear
I wait, and it's as if you are not there
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Please tell me; do you think you played me fair?
Ah, love I say as I beneath you slide
it matters not the thing that we call pride
Why fret about it if today be sweet!
and our tomorrows done; our future died.
BooMerengue
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... still working...
Lauren Hynde
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Impressive, Boo!
We can finish it early, if both agree you're satisfied with the results.
A reminder to everyone watching: it's ok to encourage, but they must complete the challenge without any help.
We can finish it early, if both agree you're satisfied with the results.
A reminder to everyone watching: it's ok to encourage, but they must complete the challenge without any help.
Lauren Hynde
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Re: Re: The Gunfight!
Oh, if you can get Lin and/or Ice to come back for a quicky, we can have a shootout for the Swedish Championship at whatever time you want.Liar said:Lauren, you are so mean.
Not trying. It's too late to think at this ungodly hour. If I ever am to do a shooting myself, it'll HAVE to be before midnight CET...
BooMerengue
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I sit and dawdle over liqueur red;
it heats me and spills over to the bed.
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
I know now that my time has surely fled.
I watch the sun sink lower in the sky;
I see without a care but wonder why
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
it chills me but it will not make me cry!
And you! What worries do you bring to bear?
I wait, and it's as if you are not there,
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Please tell me; do you think you played me fair?
"Ah, love" I say as I beneath you slide,
"it matters not the thing that we call pride.
Why fret about it* if today be sweet!
and tomorrow and tomorrow rest untried."
I took the liberty of changing 'them' to it; it seemed as if every line was in the singular til that one... are we allowed a bit of poetic license?
Whew! I'm done- if I keep goin over it I'll mess it up.
it heats me and spills over to the bed.
Ah, fill the cup: -- what boots it to repeat
I know now that my time has surely fled.
I watch the sun sink lower in the sky;
I see without a care but wonder why
How time is slipping underneath our feet:
it chills me but it will not make me cry!
And you! What worries do you bring to bear?
I wait, and it's as if you are not there,
Unborn tomorrow, and dead yesterday,
Please tell me; do you think you played me fair?
"Ah, love" I say as I beneath you slide,
"it matters not the thing that we call pride.
Why fret about it* if today be sweet!
and tomorrow and tomorrow rest untried."
I took the liberty of changing 'them' to it; it seemed as if every line was in the singular til that one... are we allowed a bit of poetic license?
Whew! I'm done- if I keep goin over it I'll mess it up.
Last edited:
Lauren Hynde
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You're allowed to do whatever you want to make the poem work. It's up to the judges to decide if the making use of poetic license was worth it.
OK, if you say you're done, all we need to do now is wait for Ange to post hers.
OK, if you say you're done, all we need to do now is wait for Ange to post hers.
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