It's the 2026 Revise-a-Poem Challenge (Comments welcome!)

[Waeponwifestre]

PAWN. INSTRUCTION LABEL.

Pawn. Chess objective. Become a Queen. Cross the great divide.
Driven. Hunt down. One square moves. Pawns are self actualized.
Do. Not try. Terminate the murderous: Reach the other side.

I really like this.

Maybe it’s a touch too late, but I was actually just thinking about spondees today and trying to write something using them heavily and the minute I saw your poem I thought maybe you’d want to incorporate them heavily? I think a militaristic chessboard theme would have a lot of potential to utilize some of their slow, kind of violent sound. Just off the top of my head I see a lot of cool opportunities!

Chessboard. Rook’s stone . Knights fly. Priests kill. Pawns fall. Queens rule. Kings die. White’s war, Black’s brawl.

 

[42BelowsBack]

I was actually just thinking about spondees today and trying to write something using them heavily and the minute I saw your poem I thought maybe you’d want to incorporate them heavily? I think a militaristic chessboard theme would have a lot of potential to utilize some of their slow, kind of violent sound. Just off the top of my head I see a lot of cool opportunities!

@Waeponwifestre, thank you for your feedback. It’s never too late to share insight:

Spondees would be perfect for a poem about a game of chess.

I have this idea about writing a Cyberpunk poem inspired by the original BLADE RUNNER. The original BLADE RUNNER is underpinned by moral philosophies and philosophies of the mind: Within the context of classical Greek drama.

Of direct poetical interest, linguistically the original BLADE RUNNER draws on the poetry of William Blake.

BLADE RUNNER thematically refers to The Immortal Game, played in 1851 between Adolf Anderssen and Lionel Kieseritzky. The Immortal game was played during the London chess tournament of 1851.

The Immortal Game symbolizes the struggle against imposed morality. Thus my poem PAWN. INSTRUCTION LABEL. Yeah I write shyte titles but let’s all get over that and consider it a unique gift that I have,

Perhaps a better title would be PAWN. The instruction label came about via the brevity I attempted to write with. Inclusive of sentence word counts: 1. word. 2. words. 3. words. 4. words. Further rendering into formalized basic rhythmic units would be more akin to chess, but, perhaps wouldn’t read dystopian Cyberpunk failed tech? Which I’m not saying I achieved.

Decisions decisions. A smart poet pays attention to their readers. Grrr spondees are worth a look. Primarily my focus is on technique. The poem is ancillary. I still have a lot to learn.

Thanks again for the feedback. Ps, I think you would write a fabulous poem about chess. Hint hint () so not dodging lol

Note: there are a total of 6 versions of BLADE RUNNER. The original screen play rocks the rest suck.

 

[42BelowsBack]

42. Very interesting. To readily link hidden ideas in ever line, I think The Immortal Game (linked) is the title. Further thought is needed to work in the BLADE RUNNER connection. If that is your intention.

Think about it. I know you don’t like bow tying a poem off. This poem would benefit from a bow tie.

Ultimately I still think you started off with an idea regarding sentence word counts and reverse engineered in the underpinning themes in Blade Runner. Which is cool. I think your super power as a creative is you start off sailing then spot the opportunity to ditch the boat and go kiteboarding.

Name change done. Oh fun. I wrote an immortally needing revision poem. Bow ties, spondees and further thought. Whose idea was this revision thread!

 

[SmilingLez]

Below is s free verse that I wrote In the summer of 2025 after a bad date. Yes I was tipsy, I don't know if it can be revised. Found it in my journal, a singleton

Life begins
time races,
nights becoming days,
a burst of color.
days blur,
laughter and tears;
adventures waiting

Years pass,
time drags,
a weight,
thick syrup.
watching the clock,
tick tock
life's routines
swallow moments.

Memories float,
fragile petals,
a vibrant rush
a deliberate sigh,
Now, time lingers,
breathe,
feel,
remember.

I guess I could just condense it to

Tick tock
Life begins.
Years pass.
Tick tock
Memories stack.
Tick Tock
Life ends.
Tick tock.

 

[SapioSexual9]

I guess I could just condense it to

Tick tock
Life begins.
Years pass.
Tick tock
Memories stack.
Tick Tock
Life ends.
Tick tock.

You could but… your poem might read like a drive through as opposed to a life lived in lock step around the beat of a clock.

So many great lines. Some, many ideas could be further expanded?

a weight,
thick syrup.
watching the clock,

weight? The weight of watching the clock, thick syrup, tick tock, tik tok, tick tock.

 

[SmilingLez]

You could but… your poem might read like a drive through as opposed to a life lived in lock step around the beat of a clock.

So many great lines. Some, many ideas could be further expanded?

a weight,
thick syrup.
watching the clock,

weight? The weight of watching the clock, thick syrup, tick tock, tik tok, tick tock.

Thank you for your insight. I'm just going to have to forget that I was quite tipsy when I wrote it after a bad date. I went on the date too soon after breaking up with my ex. I will just concentrate on the theme, the passage of time

 

[42BelowsBack]

I guess I could just condense it to

Tick tock
Life begins.
Years pass.
Tick tock
Memories stack.
Tick Tock
Life ends.
Tick tock.

The real question is why? Why should you?

When you have descriptive powers that draw us all in and take us all on a journey through your poems?

When I read the shortened version. The Tick tock kind of speeds up as I read. I suspect it is the clipped in between lines that create that effect. I wonder if the content of the in between lines could enhance that effect? Is there an opportunity for that speeding up to become something more?

I return to my original reflection. Why should you? Well it is your poem. And a fun component of receiving feedback is —throwing it out.

 

[SmilingLez]

The real question is why? Why should you?

When you have descriptive powers that draw us all in and take us all on a journey through your poems?

When I read the shortened version. The Tick tock kind of speeds up as I read. I suspect it is the clipped in between lines that create that effect. I wonder if the content of the in between lines could enhance that effect? Is there an opportunity for that speeding up to become something more?

I return to my original reflection. Why should you? Well it is your poem. And a fun component of receiving feedback is —throwing it out.

It's just the back and forth of my mind, seeing the "bones", hopefully this will inspire me to give this "baby" the love they deserve. Right now in my 2024 journal, under this prose, I wrote "why?" almost immediately after writing it at the end of 2024. Perhaps the answer is to rewrite it. Just rambling

 

[Angeline]

I guess I could just condense it to

Tick tock
Life begins.
Years pass.
Tick tock
Memories stack.
Tick Tock
Life ends.
Tick tock.

I have two preliminary comments:

1. I love the poem you posted in Poem-a-Week yesterday. It's one of my favorite things by you I've read here. I know you have a direct, staccato style in your free verse, but I love how yesterday's poem opened up a little with slightly longer lines and more detail.

2. My style is more narrative but I'm conscious of not trying to push that on other writers. Everyone finds their distinct voice eventually.

Having said that I think you do your poem a disservice by cutting it back so much. I prefer your pre-revision version but that's because you're giving me, as a reader, more to work with. You could break it into three sections and flesh each one out some with an example (e.g., how does time race, how does it drag, what makes it fragile). I'd find that compelling to read.

Hope I've helped. Just adding my opinion to the mix.

 

[SmilingLez]

I have two preliminary comments:

1. I love the poem you posted in Poem-a-Week yesterday. It's one of my favorite things by you I've read here. I know you have a direct, staccato style in your free verse, but I love how yesterday's poem opened up a little with slightly longer lines and more detail.

2. My style is more narrative but I'm conscious of not trying to push that on other writers. Everyone finds their distinct voice eventually.

Having said that I think you do your poem a disservice by cutting it back so much. I prefer your pre-revision version but that's because you're giving me, as a reader, more to work with. You could break it into three sections and flesh each one out some with an example (e.g., how does time race, how does it drag, what makes it fragile). I'd find that compelling to read.

Hope I've helped. Just adding my opinion to the mix.

Thank you for your comment. I just have to get out of my mind that the poem's creation was immediately after a bad date. Don't even remember the date, I only remember I was tipsy because my writing was sort of "slurry"

 

[SapioSexual9]

Thank you for this attention to this matter. I will now respectfully gleefully ignore every thing on your behalf. The

Meh.

 

[Waeponwifestre]

Anyone else absolutely hate revising their poems? I always struggle coming back to stuff I’ve done, even when I feel like I can do way better with the poem later.

This is another poem I wrote for that community college class. I always liked it and felt like it captured a period of my life relatively well where I was living unsheltered outside - the repetition of the line “Over, and over, and over again” was something I really liked because I felt it captured how that time period felt like unending bleak sameness.

Here’s the original.

Over, and Over, and Over Again

December mornings spent on cold sidewalks
Hours of cheap coffee till a late sun
Rises with the wakening city's pulse
Another place to have nowhere to go
Over, and over, and over again.

New warmth comes, a new place to be opens
More days spent with books, rows of ignored books
Their lives and stories meaningless compared
With the joy of heating and a charged phone
Over, and over, and over again.

The setting sun signifies setting out
Back out into the cold, in search of a
Liminal space to be with nothingness
Before December nights on cold sidewalk
Over, and over, and over again.

Over, and over, and over again
The red line goes between the underworld
With its moment of silence, and toward
Pioneer Square, with its nights of screaming
Over, and over, and over again

I mostly liked it but I thought changing up some of lines and adding more repetition would really drive home how endless that time period felt. I also wanted to highlight the verb “to be” because when you’re in that situation it really feels like no one really wants you to exist in certain areas - often times my days felt like a quest to just find somewhere to exist in comfort and privacy for a little bit. Here’s what I revised it to.

Over, and Over, and Over Again

December dawns greet me on cold sidewalks
Hours of cheap coffee to mask hunger
The city comes to life. The city hums
Another day to have nowhere to be
Over, and over, and over again.

A new place to be opens. A scene change
Another day spent amidst many books
Their lives and their stories are meaningless
What I care about is a place to be
Over, and over, and over again.

The sun sets. I haven’t eaten all day
I have to find food and somewhere that’s warm
A soup line to start, the rail line to follow
An evening looking for somewhere to be
Over, and over, and over again.

Over, and over, and over again.
My days spent in places I cannot stay
Only to end each day where it began
Scared cold sidewalks are where I’m meant to be
Over, and over, and over again.

Week 2 Revised 1 Total 2

 

[woodsman44]

brickyard

a handful of houses
in pieces, in piles
different shades but all the same

driveways and parkways
in snowflake flats
stacked no higher than a man stands

a low steel fence
guards a gravel yard
where only dreams and memories remain

1

 

[SmilingLez]

Below is s free verse that I wrote In the summer of 2025 after a bad date. Yes I was tipsy, I don't know if it can be revised. Found it in my journal, a singleton

Life begins
time races,
nights becoming days,
a burst of color.
days blur,
laughter and tears;
adventures waiting

Years pass,
time drags,
a weight,
thick syrup.
watching the clock,
tick tock
life's routines
swallow moments.

Memories float,
fragile petals,
a vibrant rush
a deliberate sigh,
Now, time lingers,
breathe,
feel,
remember.

My revision


Life began.
Time moved quickly.
Nights faded quietly.
Days arrived before me.

Early years felt light.
Laughter came easily.
Tears flowed through me.
Time shifted, I did not.

Years collected slowly.
Time grew heavier.
Routines refused to leave.
Edges lost sharpness.

Memory sits heavy.
Old moments stay fixed.
Nothing comes back clean.
Time always wins.

 

[Waeponwifestre]

My revision


Life began.
Time moved quickly.
Nights faded quietly.
Days arrived before me.

Early years felt light.
Laughter came easily.
Tears flowed through me.
Time shifted, I did not.

Years collected slowly.
Time grew heavier.
Routines refused to leave.
Edges lost sharpness.

Memory sits heavy.
Old moments stay fixed.
Nothing comes back clean.
Time always wins.

I enjoyed this when I first read it earlier today, but the more I think about it the more I just wanna say how much I really enjoy that first stanza in particular. Between the parallelism and the somewhat paradoxical imagery of days arriving before you, I think it paints the image of time running away from you beautifully and with such an economy of words.

 

[Waeponwifestre]

New friends and fellow Literoticai - I wrote this poem today and it just flew out of me, which is always one of my favorite feelings in the world! And I’m actually quite happy about a lot of stuff with it, but after basking in the afterglow for a bit it occurs to me that it might be too fucking nerdy and jargon-y. So I come to the smut forums to present you with a poem about music theory and composition (but also death and overall not very sexy)

I was listening to this Arvo Pärt piece today, one of my favorite pieces by him, one that made me fall in love with classical music and one that I actually gave a talk about in one of my composition classes analyzing and I was struck to write a poem about it. And I showed it to some friends and there were some mixed responses - one critique was that it’s too full of stuff that would only make sense to a trained musician. And in retrospect I can kind of see how that is the case but I’d love some feedback and if you feel like the music theory lecture takes away from the essence of the poem.

Tintinnabuli*

A single bell tuned to the note of A
Is one of the most profound things I’ve heard
Three beats of silence, then slowly struck thrice
So every pair of strings** knows to begin
Their paired descents down Aeolian mode
One half plays straight down the A minor scale
The other, in counterpoint, a triad
A - C - E, rooting us in mourning dirge
All the while the funeral bell tolls
While the string sections dance through life and death
Each lower part echoing the higher
As above, so below the canon plays
The violins reach their endings quickly
The first pair reaches C and then ceases
They ring out their last notes till the song ends
And fade into the texture of the piece
All the while the funeral bell tolls
The second violins make it to A
In the grand scheme of things not much longer
Though they play an octave lower slower
All the while the funeral bell tolls
The violas follow, the cellos next
They reach their designated ends and sigh
Their last notes adding to a rich texture
All the while the funeral bell tolls
The piece starts to unravel. Contrabasses
Slow and powerful though their part is here
Cannot deny the composition’s end
They too reach their last notes in the canon
All the while the funeral bell tolls
And now we hear the last notes of the strings
Are an A minor triad. A - C - E.
The dark overtones of the bell’s tuned note
The inevitable cadence now reached
The funeral bell tolls its final time
And silence soon overtakes concert hall
Living only in the memories of
Those of us who heard for a few moments
Something of beauty that cannot last long.

*An Ekphrastic meditation on Arvo Pärt’s Cantus in Memorium Benjamin Britten

**Technically the violas aren’t paired in the composition because there must always be exceptions in life but I am claiming poetic license

Oh and if you haven’t heard it it’s really an absolutely beautiful piece, if you have an extra eight and a half minutes I highly recommend checking it out.

 

[42BelowsBack]

From memory of a 42 poem, I once saw a friend far away call, he called just to say all poems find homes. And live lives of their own. (Then he deleted his post). Dick. Otherwise I’d link the poem. Which key words I know I got wrong.

I pulled the poem because the ideas belonged to a friend. Never try to think when you’re dranking. Grrr

 

[Waeponwifestre]

Well hello there, @Waeponwifestre, did someone say “…smut…?” mmm, hot, wild, orgasm.

From memory of a 42 poem, I once saw a friend far away call, he called just to say all poems find homes. And live lives of their own. (Then he deleted his post). Dick. Otherwise I’d link the poem. Which key words I know I got wrong. It seems relevant to your questions.

Write what you will. Write what you won’t. Be true to yourself. Including, your intended audience. Is there really anything else… ?

Not Death. This poem. I feel. You wrote with the music in you.

Thanks so much for your input. I’m gonna sleep on it for a bit. I already see some wording I’m probably gonna fiddle with either way so maybe when I’m ready to do that I’ll have eyes fresh enough to see if I feel like I want to go further than that.

 

[woodsman44]

too full of stuff that would only make sense to a trained musician

An advisor once told me 'know your audience, and more importantly, know who they are, and know who they aren't' (in an academic setting...close enough).

I would add that, sometimes at least, the audience should know who they are, and know who they aren't, and more importantly, know if they are the audience at all.

Even with my limited knowledge of music composition, it's not 'too full of stuff.' And so what if it was? An opportunity to learn, something worth googling for once, maybe ask the author, maybe its not for me. Or, or, I can appreciate the aesthetic while being a bit clueless about the rest. What a nasty lie it would be to say I fully understand the poems on even this and its companion thread, yet I still find value in them.

Getting deep into assumption territory here, but I'm guessing that person loathes The Jabberwocky.

 

[Waeponwifestre]

Getting deep into assumption territory here, but I'm guessing that person loathes The Jabberwocky.

No I’m pretty sure they appreciate Lewis Carrol!

I think I’m pretty happy leaving the music stuff in after reflecting on it (it is my poem after all!) but I do see where they’re coming from. I think that their opinion was that much of the composition stuff could be rewritten to be more accessible and less distracting to an audience who doesn’t know what stuff like Aeolian mode is. I tend to lean more towards just letting words, terms and references wash over me when I’m reading poetry (or in general) but someone who might want to be constantly looking things up is going to have a radically different experience.

Without getting too much into the weeds though a lot of that piece really does tie in thematically to remembering a brilliant composer and mourning them. The choice of the A minor scale to evoke a feeling of sadness and loss, rooting it to the I chord through certain composition techniques to create a feeling of stasis, the choice of the canon form which uses a lot of instruments echoing the other musical lines previously played like a sonic metaphor for how someone’s art echoes through other’s artists and evoking medieval and renaissance era sacred music as like a nod to how we look to the past to create new things in the present. Even the choice to use a bell to structure the piece around specifically because the overtones produced by a bell are very slightly different than those produced by non-bell instruments - they’re very slightly higher so it brings a very subtle sense of lightness and opening up to the end of the piece after we’ve just listened to a meditation on what we generally perceive as a very sad and solemn scale (I could go on for forever about how awesome I think this piece is lmao)

These are all things I’d like to show people through the poem and there may be a better way to transmit that knowledge, the emotional intensity of not only hearing the music but also knowing the incredibly deliberate intention in its writing and my deep love of that piece and imo it’s genius to the reader, which is really what I want to get across to the reader. All stuff I’m thinking about now and writing a bit about it is helping me clarify my thoughts on how I could maybe write it into a better poem.

 

[Angeline]

No I’m pretty sure they appreciate Lewis Carrol!

I think I’m pretty happy leaving the music stuff in after reflecting on it (it is my poem after all!) but I do see where they’re coming from. I think that their opinion was that much of the composition stuff could be rewritten to be more accessible and less distracting to an audience who doesn’t know what stuff like Aeolian mode is. I tend to lean more towards just letting words, terms and references wash over me when I’m reading poetry (or in general) but someone who might want to be constantly looking things up is going to have a radically different experience.

Without getting too much into the weeds though a lot of that piece really does tie in thematically to remembering a brilliant composer and mourning them. The choice of the A minor scale to evoke a feeling of sadness and loss, rooting it to the I chord through certain composition techniques to create a feeling of stasis, the choice of the canon form which uses a lot of instruments echoing the other musical lines previously played like a sonic metaphor for how someone’s art echoes through other’s artists and evoking medieval and renaissance era sacred music as like a nod to how we look to the past to create new things in the present. Even the choice to use a bell to structure the piece around specifically because the overtones produced by a bell are very slightly different than those produced by non-bell instruments - they’re very slightly higher so it brings a very subtle sense of lightness and opening up to the end of the piece after we’ve just listened to a meditation on what we generally perceive as a very sad and solemn scale (I could go on for forever about how awesome I think this piece is lmao)

These are all things I’d like to show people through the poem and there may be a better way to transmit that knowledge, the emotional intensity of not only hearing the music but also knowing the incredibly deliberate intention in its writing and my deep love of that piece and imo it’s genius to the reader, which is really what I want to get across to the reader. All stuff I’m thinking about now and writing a bit about it is helping me clarify my thoughts on how I could maybe write it into a better poem.

I think you're wise to leave the composition language in. I had to read your poem multiple times to understand that it underscores (no pun intended lol) the overall tone of funereal, sepulchre beauty.

I do think though that some pauses with space (maybe at the tolling bell lines) would slow down the read and fit the overall tone of the poem

Just my opinion. Hope it helps.

 

[42BelowsBack]

How dare me. Having just written a lowbrow Lit stroker poem, comment on @Waeponwifestres latest poem?

The answer, I am dumb. She is very clever. A young Beethoven.

The onion: Death is missing as a universal experience. Death is the bridge that we, whatever audience have all walked. I think about that as I comment. There are Death winds in the doldrums. They bring life endless clarity.

But the poem isn’t about death? It’s about what you love. Who you are. How you write. As an individual member of your audience I appreciate your craft.

 

[SapioSexual9]

Write what you know, write what you don’t know. It’s a bit clunky.
As a writing exercise, I want to panel beat this poem.

WHOOP WHOOOP
Driving lessons.
Billie’s house, little brother is waiting. It’s dark
outside. He is crying. Meanwhile, earlier racing along in
Daddy’s old Newport Convertible
-driving over to Momma’s girlfriend Billie's house.
To pick up little brother. I am front seat. In the middle,
Daddy gives me the look. Whoop-
Whoop. I reach across and take the wheel. Momma
hands Daddy two unlit Slims. Skinny as the cigarettes,
I am hanging off the steering wheel. Flying
down the freeway. With a big goofy grin. Daddy taps the
Slims butts against the steering wheel. Three times for luck.
Daddy cups his palms, lights his and Momma’s slims,
I miss the turn. But no, body, gets hurt. We exhale. Daddy
says. Driving lessons. A car can be fixed. A crying boy
can grow a dick. Sometimes it’s better to be latter.

 

[42BelowsBack]

Write what you know, write what you don’t know. It’s a bit clunky.
As a writing exercise, I want to panel beat this poem.

WHOOP WHOOOP
Driving lessons.
Billie’s house, little brother is waiting. It’s dark
outside. He is crying. Meanwhile, earlier racing along in
Daddy’s old Newport Convertible
-driving over to Momma’s girlfriend Billie's house.
To pick up little brother. I am front seat. In the middle,
Daddy gives me the look. Whoop-
Whoop. I reach across and take the wheel. Momma
hands Daddy two unlit Slims. Skinny as the cigarettes,
I am hanging off the steering wheel. Flying
down the freeway. With a big goofy grin. Daddy taps the
Slims butts against the steering wheel. Three times for luck.
Daddy cups his palms, lights his and Momma’s slims,
I miss the turn. But no, body, gets hurt. We exhale. Daddy
says. Driving lessons. A car can be fixed. A crying boy
can grow a dick. Sometimes it’s better to be latter.

Sap. You know what to do. Do it. And, I think the lil bro detail i.e. always crying is a red heading at best.

 

[Angeline]

Sap. You know what to do. Do it. And, I think the lil bro detail i.e. always crying is a red heading at best.

I concur. I'd start the poem with:

Racing along in....

to me, that's where the poem really starts and you mention the destination over the next few lines anyway.



PS I love the cigarette images. Very vivid.