Masterpoet Tournament: The Championship

The trumpets are blaring, the elephants are dancing, the fireworks are erupting and thousands of spectators are packing the arena for the Masterpoet Championship pre-contest entertainment.

Three challengers are gearing up for their ultimate battle while the judges choose their final fourth finalist from a tough selection of wild card entrants. The Master of Ceremonies has yet to declare the theme for this final round, but if the previous heats have been anything to go by, this is going to be a right corker of a contest.

In the meantime, an array of Masterpoet alumni have performed on the prestigious centre stage in honour of the Crown, to the delight of all the enthusiasts. Masterpoet Champion of 1589, William Shakespeare, stirred a mass of hearts with a fine recital of his most celebrated love sonnets, Lewis Carroll brought the house down with some lovable nonsense verse and Sappho and Rumi performed a duet thick with spiritual metaphors for digestion. There was some drama when a slurring Edgar Allan Poe had to be escorted offstage for drunk and disorderly behaviour, rebel writer Lord Byron gave friend Percy Shelley two black eyes to "make a man out of the simpering ninny" as Sylvia Plath threatened suicide, while pop poet EE Cumming's rendition of "i want your s(live)r somenothings" generated mixed reviews from a largely booing audience.

All nations, all animals, all clubs have gathered and paraded around the stage, united in their unquenchable love of poetry and in support of the mystery challengers. Parade highlights include RTVW's version of "Quoth the Raven" with colourful costumes and dramatic expressions, Cindy the queen of Phoenix Rising was held aloft clouds of satin, while notorious club, THE CLUB, paraded, as usual, loudly in the nude.

Join in the festivities as we await the announcement of the final theme that shall be the making of a new Masterpoet. What shall it be? Who shall it be?

It shall be about parents who raise up fools.
How do they do it ?
How do they feel ?
how much proud?
Do they hit them in the head? or is it donated through genes :)

Who shall it be? well at least not me XD

ok BS but I dislike threads with one post, so babbled a little..

Where is everyone !!

Watch the language please :)

Patience is a virtue, dear girl:)

And there she comes the lady who speaks nothing but wisdom XD

-ya and jokes XD

Dun dun dun...

Attention, attention! The time to announce the theme is now. Thank you to all the performers and parade artists for your extravagant entertainment and tomfoolery. But now I demand silence. There is a serious challenge to be laid before our four finalists- one of them soon to be addressed with the title of Masterpoet.

I believe this set task is the most difficult but I feel, from the calibre shown from our four finalists thus far, that they are in a position to conquer it. This task not only tests their versatility and creativity as poets, but also as cunning critiques. Sculptors. ...Renovators.

Finalists, I place before you an misshapen, mouldy block of writing. I want you to chisel it into a shining statue, a makeover marvel. Below is what is widely heralded as "the worst poem in the world" (according to Google). Take it. Shake it. Remake it. How you do it is completely up to your reckoning. You might like it as it is and submit it without making a single modification. Or you might transform it into a simple limerick. Anything. Up to you.

You shall be judged on how you have captured the essence of the poem. What meaning have you derived, interpreted and made yours? What characteristics have you preserved so that it still honours the original?

No bonus points, no penalties, no twists, no turns.

You have five days to complete your poem makeover. The Championship round ends on SATURDAY 6 November. Happy writing!

_______________________

A Tragedy
by Theophile Marzials

Death!
Plop.
The barges down in the river flop.
Flop, plop.
Above, beneath.
From the slimy branches the grey drips drop,
As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky,
Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly
To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top.
Plop, plop.
And scudding by
The boatmen call out hoy! and hey!
All is running water and sky,
And my head shrieks - "Stop,"
And my heart shrieks - "Die."

My thought is running out of my head;
My love is running out of my heart,
My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead,
For my life runs after to catch them - and fled
They all are every one! -- and I stand, and start,
At the water that oozes up, plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
Plop.
Dead.
And the shrill wind whines in the thin tree-top
Flop, plop.

A curse on him.
Ugh! yet I knew -- I knew --
If a woman is false can a friend be true?
It was only a lie from beginning to end --
My Devil -- My "Friend"
I had trusted the whole of my living to!
Ugh; and I knew!
Ugh!
So what do I care,
And my head is empty as air --
I can do,
I can dare,
(Plop, plop
The barges flop
Drip drop.)
I can dare! I can dare!
And let myself all run away with my head
And stop.
Drop.
Dead.
Plop, flop.

Plop.

____

If I was doing this i would say something beginning with "F"

That's one hellva challenge....

Congrats Abby...

I rename you "the killer- poet", or should I say "the killing poet", Abby :0)

Hahaha. Old Theo Marzials worked in a museum, was regarded as an aesthete, and loved beetroot.... exactly like ME.

No wonder I quite secretly don't mind his poem as much as the rest of the world.

Plop.

I think that's pretty amazing, and challenging , and no bet creative.. Can't wait to see what they will write about this!

This is nuts. Frankly absurd.

Holy *splat* onomatopoeia .... lol

Can't wait to read these ones !

That poem took me over an hour to read because I had to stop and gather my sanity before moving on. I give props to anyone who can make that a awesome poem! :]

To provide our baffled finalists with some inspiration, a kind and interested member who shall remain unnamed has submitted the following interpretation of the challenge poem. I believe this is a work of crude genius, with emphasis on crude. It is obvious it pays homage to the original version, though the creative derived meaning is more faecal in subject matter. I only hope our finalists don't get too intimidated by this brilliance.

Note: I have pasted it here, as is, with respect to poetic license. I'll leave it to the Mods' discretion if they want to edit out the rude words. I personally think we're all mature enough to handle it.

---------

A Tragedy

Shit!
plop
the brownies down the toilet drop
drop, slop
beneath aside
from slimy bowels the brown drip drops
and as the pain persists I do cry
my stomach it will surely die
the oozing water it doesn't sound like plop
like a flowing tap it does drop
as the raw wind whines as a whistle top
and knackered by my toilet groans
I sit upon my shitting throne
and my heart shrieks stop
and my ass shrieks die.

My shit is running like a thread
my ass is running out of fart
the cramps are rampant..I am dead
the dunny roll it has fled
they all are one!..shits and farts
still the water oozes, plip and plop
Oh my god..I need a mop
did you hear?..it's what I said
I may yak before I drop
Plop
dead.

The stench is worse than pig slop
plip plop
a curse on my
ugh, yet I knew..I knew
I should never have eaten that vindaloo
nor should I have swilled that glass of ale
now I'm spent and really pale
I trusted the cook..it's all my fault
maybe it was the whisky malt
Ugh I knew
Ugh
should I care
my ass will never know fresh air
I can do
I can stare
(plop plop
the brownies drop)
I can stare! I can stare!
and wish myself to be dead
and stop
drop
dead
plop. plop.
Flush?

It really is very good. I strongly hope this author participates in the next site contest.

*claps loudly* that was awesome !!!

Standing ovation ... lmaooooo I am in tears

Abby, don't pretend you didn't write that....

Highly likely it was Abby.

I think it was that anon dude, who has wrote some really good stuff for a very long time

I'm flattered, but no. It's by the same comedic author who wrote My Big Bottom in Heat 2. Any other guesses? Not that I'll tell you the answer, hehehe...

Yes it has vindaloo stamped all over it..aay Abby...

Lol, I see Nick in front of me, writing this down..I wonder if I am right..mmhhhh

Nikko....mmmm

Yeah, you! ha ha ha ha!

Ah, he is hiding in the closet now! See..it WAS him!

Hahahaa Nicko, it is something my Nikko would appreciate. Lord knows he doesn't understand the point to any other types of poetry. But no.

Was it our Nicko? Ooooooo. Close. Maybe.

P.S. I have an iron stomach. Vindaloo is like mother's milk to me.

I think it was Nicko as well. Or Michael.

Arrrh come on guys, I might even still be in this brilliant contest.....?

But I do appreciate that you think I could write said masterpiece....

I'm picking Kevin maybe, different to his normal style, but by Scott he's a clever lad... hell I don't know plop

Okay that poem was funny and actually quite clever lol :]

It wurnt me gov. I don't do toilet humour.

Lol, Kevin

Three out of the four finalists have submitted their last. The fourth finalist has 24 hours. You have 24 hours.

I'm going to miss saying that.

Snap!

Aww Abby. Maybe Temps will let you say it for her. lol

LOOOOOOOL
sounds like a plan.

And ya wanna reeead TOO

It's been 24 hours, yeah?

Here are the final offerings of our Masterpoet challengers. The judges are currently surveying them. Soon, the Crown will have new head to sit on.

The arena is in silence. Some have queued for the bathrooms in a state of wetting themselves, some are murmuring religious chants, most are in a drunken stupor. You could cut the air with a chainsaw.

__________________________

Poem #1

A Tragedy
by Theophile Marzials [rewritten by me]

He barges down in the river.

From slimy branches, grey drips drop;
they scraggle black on a thinning sky
where smoke clouds
drizzle and fly,
To oozing waters that lounge
on scrag piles where loose cords plop,
and the shrill winds whine in
the tree top.

He barges down in the river.

And there, scudding by,
a boatman yells, 'Ahoy!
All is running, water and sky,
with the agony of war -
to stop, you die.'
Then forward he paddles
through sludge and slime,
whereby -
His head shrieks stop,
and His heart shrieks die,
and the shrill winds whine in
the tree top.

'A curse on the boatman! Ugh!'

Yet He knows, oh, He knows,
(the devil, His friend
and always His foe)
as His head shrieks stop,
and His heart shrieks die,
it is only a lie -
It is only
a lie.
One He owes the whole of His living
to.

And the shrill winds whine in
the tree top,
as he barges down in the river.

--------
Poem #2

A Tragedy
(2010 Version)

A War Within the Mind

Death -

In the razor cold depths
of reality,
brush-strokes ravage
my mind.

Alone, I am ...
In a poet`s grave
swallowing the enemy.
(Decaying within empty air)

Surrender !
(someone said)
or perhaps ...
it was my feeble mind
borrowing my heart's
freezing stillness.

A curse on me,
a tragedy -
Diamond tipped
dreams,
shattered by weak logic.

Poet`s breath
-hushed-
by passing cloud,
as
the pendulum swings.

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock ...

Tick -

-Silence -

---------
Poem #3

Birth

Life
Out I plop, slop
A maze of arms slim, umbilical cord
Flop
Slapped arse, hearty cry
And my heart shrieks "life"
And my head is empty as "air"
I dribble
Drip drop
Dad smokes cigars, sings
Hooray whop whop

Blue sky crystal bright
Nonstop
Above, Beneath
The barges in the river do flop
Boatmen call out Hoi! And Hey
While listening I gurgle and prop
Above silver clouds do sizzle and fly
To the woozy waters that lounge and slop
As the fair breeze flurries in the thin tree top
Plop plop
And scurrying by
Nurses call out whip and Hop
All is running water and sky
And my head is empty as "air"

No cursing to be done
If a woman's womb is true, life is your friend
The love of the family from beginning to end
My family --"My friend"
I can trust the whole of my living too!
At this age do I care
With my head is empty as air --
If only I knew
I can do
If I dare
Even as I drip drop
The barges flop
I can do
I can dare! I can dare
Let myself run away with my head
And jump
Skip hop
Start
Can't stop

----------
Poem #4

A Tragedy

The barges down in the river flop.
Above, beneath,
From the slimy branches the grey drips drop,
As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky,
Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly
To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top.

And scudding by,
The boatmen call out to me,
-Tormented soul-
A lonely shadow on the bridge.
All is running water and sky,
And my head shrieks - "Stop,"
While my heart shrieks - "Die."

My thought is running out of my head;
My love is running out of my heart,
My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead,
For my life runs after to catch them - and fled
They all are every one! -- and I stand, and start,
At the water that oozes up,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.

And the shrill wind whines in the thin tree-top.
Oh, where will you carry me?

A curse on him.
Yet I knew--I knew!
If a woman is false can a friend be true?
It was only a lie from beginning to end --
My Devil -- My "Friend"
I had trusted the whole of my living to!
Yet--I knew.

So what do I care,
And my head is empty as air --
I can do, I can dare,

Hear the barges down in the river flop.
I can dare! I can dare!
And let myself all run away with my head
Then stop
Drop
Dead.

Que guay. Cool reading the poems! Thanks for posting. Can't wait to see the results.

I can't wait either! :]

I'm with Brit on this one, for me it's between 1 and 4

Oh my...poem # one is suchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
a mastered piece..i love the way it (rings my bell)