JUDO's Gunfight Thread, the 4th
- Thread starter Lauren Hynde
- Start date
BlueskyBeauty
Literotica Guru
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Honey123 said:
ohh good point! hah! hah!
BlueskyBeauty
Literotica Guru
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perks said:
i see you have your gun well pollished on your own!
Lauren Hynde
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Gunfight!
The poetry both of you write is often characterised by fast pace and an urban, cutthroat edge.
Your challenge today is to isolate a person from your everyday life, someone who you would otherwise not notice (a trolley driver, a mailman, a prostitute), and using him/her as a hook on which to hang a theme of jealousy.
What is it about these secondary characters in your life that you envy?
You have one hour to answer this question in any form (or lack thereof) you wish, with no restrains in length. The only limitation is you cannot use any pre-defined rhyme scheme whatsoever, other than eye rhymes (i.e. words that are written in a similar way but that are pronounced differently and, hence, do not make an auditory rhyme, like slaughter and laughter). Your poem must consist of at least four of these eye rhymes.
The poetry both of you write is often characterised by fast pace and an urban, cutthroat edge.
Your challenge today is to isolate a person from your everyday life, someone who you would otherwise not notice (a trolley driver, a mailman, a prostitute), and using him/her as a hook on which to hang a theme of jealousy.
What is it about these secondary characters in your life that you envy?
You have one hour to answer this question in any form (or lack thereof) you wish, with no restrains in length. The only limitation is you cannot use any pre-defined rhyme scheme whatsoever, other than eye rhymes (i.e. words that are written in a similar way but that are pronounced differently and, hence, do not make an auditory rhyme, like slaughter and laughter). Your poem must consist of at least four of these eye rhymes.
Last edited:
Lauren Hynde
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Re: Re: Gunfight!
If it works.Liar said:
Lauren Hynde
Hitched
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Re: Re: Gunfight!
I'll let the judges decide, if any internal rhyme sneaks in.
Actually - it's ok if it just happens, I guess, but it certainly cannot be structured. Can't be a recurrent thing, ok?Liar said:
I'll let the judges decide, if any internal rhyme sneaks in.
perks
sarcasduck ruffleslut
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- 40,901
I ate at her table the other day
smiling in earnest at her jokes
flashing my smile, sharing laughter
and apparently, my husband
see, I never see her
but she sees half of me,
everyday he works
to bring home the bacon
that’s a little restaurant joke
and so is she
except it’s so
not funny
that I unexpectedly cough
before I’m through
choking on his food, and
her service
I don’t want to think
this through, though
cause if I do
I’ll fall back on my chef skills
grab my sharpened blade
and turn my laughter to slaughter.
So, as I paid, dearly,
I said, “thank you,
my husband has always
spoken highly of you”,
and swallowed down
the last bite
of this bitterly brewed
cliche.
smiling in earnest at her jokes
flashing my smile, sharing laughter
and apparently, my husband
see, I never see her
but she sees half of me,
everyday he works
to bring home the bacon
that’s a little restaurant joke
and so is she
except it’s so
not funny
that I unexpectedly cough
before I’m through
choking on his food, and
her service
I don’t want to think
this through, though
cause if I do
I’ll fall back on my chef skills
grab my sharpened blade
and turn my laughter to slaughter.
So, as I paid, dearly,
I said, “thank you,
my husband has always
spoken highly of you”,
and swallowed down
the last bite
of this bitterly brewed
cliche.
Last edited:
perks
sarcasduck ruffleslut
- Joined
- May 20, 2001
- Posts
- 40,901
silly little girl with
straight blonde hair
wants to be me when she
grows up
until she really is grown
and would frown at the thought
No blonde haired girl
would ever want to be
a thick brunette in high school
that silly four year old turned sour quickly
when I didn’t pay attention to her,
my musings moot as she stomped her foot
more interested in my cupcakes
than my lost thoughts
when I asked her if she
still wanted to be me
She said, “No, though,
when we’re through,
I still want a cupcake.”
that silly, fickle little girl,
won’t even want to look
at those soon.
straight blonde hair
wants to be me when she
grows up
until she really is grown
and would frown at the thought
No blonde haired girl
would ever want to be
a thick brunette in high school
that silly four year old turned sour quickly
when I didn’t pay attention to her,
my musings moot as she stomped her foot
more interested in my cupcakes
than my lost thoughts
when I asked her if she
still wanted to be me
She said, “No, though,
when we’re through,
I still want a cupcake.”
that silly, fickle little girl,
won’t even want to look
at those soon.
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
Closing time "last call" blares
and once again
the fallout scatterd on chairs
and poured like pitiful puddles,
between bottles and brain matter,
on weeping tables -
some even unable
to hold their shattered apathy
upright,
raise their hollow zombie stares
to scan whatever is left.
Not yet spoiled rotten
on the meat market menu.
Coupling up in desperate
five feroscious minutes.
Every second a minus,
to deadlock deadlines
held in the headlight
of expiration dates
approaching...
From behind the barrier
of "entertain but do not interfer"
she collects what is emptied
wipes up what is spilled.
And watch.
She hates them all
as she shouts remoreless
her "last call" siren.
Puts her diaphragm into the effort,
just for the trace of a kick.
The zombies can,
the fucking godless drones.
Pariahs, losers, leftovers,
reach for each other's "you'll do" nods,
and waddle off into the rising sun...
...carrying the promise,
or at least
the prospect
of some kind of warmth
at last.
But not she,
who could set sail
to a life less ordinary,
although just arbitrary,
but so easily.
There,
in the focal point of decauchery
she,
she,
above all else she...
...so agile, so able,
so stuck to cloth and table.
- because of petty figment -
need only extend a finger
to be swallowed whole.
But keeps her fists closed tight,
knuckes turning bare bone white,
her razor wire fence
up high, as she fend,
deflect every attempt,
in panic of taking that
strange, but oh so wonderful step
ever again.
She who should be dancing
hides all night,
to wistfully wish
for a zombie life.
and once again
the fallout scatterd on chairs
and poured like pitiful puddles,
between bottles and brain matter,
on weeping tables -
some even unable
to hold their shattered apathy
upright,
raise their hollow zombie stares
to scan whatever is left.
Not yet spoiled rotten
on the meat market menu.
Coupling up in desperate
five feroscious minutes.
Every second a minus,
to deadlock deadlines
held in the headlight
of expiration dates
approaching...
From behind the barrier
of "entertain but do not interfer"
she collects what is emptied
wipes up what is spilled.
And watch.
She hates them all
as she shouts remoreless
her "last call" siren.
Puts her diaphragm into the effort,
just for the trace of a kick.
The zombies can,
the fucking godless drones.
Pariahs, losers, leftovers,
reach for each other's "you'll do" nods,
and waddle off into the rising sun...
...carrying the promise,
or at least
the prospect
of some kind of warmth
at last.
But not she,
who could set sail
to a life less ordinary,
although just arbitrary,
but so easily.
There,
in the focal point of decauchery
she,
she,
above all else she...
...so agile, so able,
so stuck to cloth and table.
- because of petty figment -
need only extend a finger
to be swallowed whole.
But keeps her fists closed tight,
knuckes turning bare bone white,
her razor wire fence
up high, as she fend,
deflect every attempt,
in panic of taking that
strange, but oh so wonderful step
ever again.
She who should be dancing
hides all night,
to wistfully wish
for a zombie life.
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