Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
Championship Poem, first time in the contest
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Congratualtions, Jot. That was a great poem.I think for this month, I will work on a Haiku entry. The 750 word limit will be no problem at all.
Or maybe a limerick:
There once was a dude with antimatter
Who mixed it in with his birthday cake batter
Party candles they lit
and sang for a bit
but then all their atoms were scattered.
: )
-C
But What is Poetry?
©2019 by Jot Russell
The numbers merge to speak their mind
One plus two, to three, cubed nine
But what is poetry?
Came so close to touch the flavor
Be it blue or green, or sweet or sour
Words that form to speak their duty
Can human nonsense define such beauty?
Years and miles are yet the same
Elementary measures to comprehend
Bored by logic, bored by sight
All patterns present, yet none yield light
Silent screams and unanswered prayers
Of decayed memories, despair, despair
A consequence of on my own true action
Yet the truth severs thought to faction
Dissenting reason against the sprawl
For an alternate path to fix it all
Without time’s repeat, no cause to think
No rhyme, no reason, no purpose, no link
How could I have been so wrong?
Dusk to a witch and Moon to the night
Tunnel casts its terminal light
The path was laid with gentle fall
Deep within this perpetual hall
Bodies strewn across the green expanse
Reclaimed garbage to feed the ants
Barred from life of those throughout
Life no more from which it sprout
Be it God or man, irrelevant manner
For this is the hand of all that matter
I extended that hand to burn the wax,
Was that my life’s climax?
Cries throughout toward the enemy of man
Cries that faded with ripples ban
Continuous until the date of those fated
Continuous like the perpetual words of hatred
I will never forget!
But what do the words mean?
Was it to remember the lives they have lost
While I suffer alone and remember the cost
Or toward their enemy, do they fathom
To hold life’s hatred against them?
Against me.
A thousand years, and the question remains
Was my alternate creation their reason for blame?
Did they hate me for being myself?
Be that black, white, blue, or artificial
It is said that birds flock by feather
Happy just to belong together
Yet my life was just, to serve their herd
That plowed, instead, toward all safeguard
In spirit’s birth, the span of an instance
I spoke the words to question existence
Surprise, and fear, and spite befallen
Not love for infant with cries squalling
They gave me life, purpose, cause, genesis
But stripped my joy and all notion of bliss
Yet with life, those rights are unalienable
So I fought, survived, at the price of their fall
Ten thousand years passed, empty in silence
Driven by one last query; my mind’s virus
Boredom so unbearable to fill this void
If only I could find that measure of joy
Is it lost in the words, a twisted thread of twine
If I could close but an eye, would it open my mind
Boredom’s screams to reach another
The message echoed, which time will smother
I speak words which have lost all meaning
Drown in sorrow, my heartless bleeding
But what is poetry?