Zeo
You do not Duel because...
| you despise Mahayr. |
  
|
4.2% | [ 1 ] |
| you despise someone else in here. |
|
12.5% | [ 3 ] |
| you are, as accused, CHICKEN! |
|
8.3% | [ 2 ] |
| it is beneath you, you are just that good. BUT too chicken to prove it. |
|
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| you have too much on your plate for lowly duels, and are CHICKEN! |
|
4.2% | [ 1 ] |
| there is not enough to be gained, you are greedy. |
|
25.0% | [ 6 ] |
| Other... post your own answer. |
|
45.8% | [ 11 ] |
| Total Votes: | [ 24 ] | ||
jillian truant
Mahayr
Aged Seeker
10,450 Points
-
100
-
175
-
100
Sin Apophis
Adimurti
3,500 Points
-
200
-
0
-
100
*Challenger: Mahayr
*Defender: SemiSuicidal (Keiko)
*Bet: 5K
*Judge: Adimurti (Replacement)
*Type of Duel: Regular.
*Subject: Audiences.
*Style/Form I prefer: Free verse or rhyming couplets.
SemiSuicidal
Edgar
Fear entwined itself in my every thought.
The pressure of it squeezed tight against my consciousness
What was I going to do?
The fear reminded me again of its presence,
Sending a shiver down my limbs.
I took a deep breath, or attempted to.
I tried to block the paralyzing fear,
The fear that was keeping my mouth clamped shut,
That was causing the sweat to bead on my forehead.
I closed my eyes against the bright lights that shone from above.
How ironic that there be a light from above,
At a time like this when I was sure hell must already have me.
I opened my eyes again and looked before me.
I saw nothing, blocking it all out.
I stared at nothingness as I finally began.
“It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee…”
I had rehearsed this, I knew it.
I just had to let the words flow like they usually did.
I couldn’t allow the audience freeze me so.
Those beautiful words, that story.
I reiterated the words that so many before had
And I finally was fearless.
The light was now a glow that accented my words,
The onlookers were still absent, but I knew someone was listening.
The fact that I was alone in my world but surrounded,
All at once was overwhelming in a beautiful way.
Fear entwined itself in my every thought.
The pressure of it squeezed tight against my consciousness
What was I going to do?
The fear reminded me again of its presence,
Sending a shiver down my limbs.
I took a deep breath, or attempted to.
I tried to block the paralyzing fear,
The fear that was keeping my mouth clamped shut,
That was causing the sweat to bead on my forehead.
I closed my eyes against the bright lights that shone from above.
How ironic that there be a light from above,
At a time like this when I was sure hell must already have me.
I opened my eyes again and looked before me.
I saw nothing, blocking it all out.
I stared at nothingness as I finally began.
“It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee…”
I had rehearsed this, I knew it.
I just had to let the words flow like they usually did.
I couldn’t allow the audience freeze me so.
Those beautiful words, that story.
I reiterated the words that so many before had
And I finally was fearless.
The light was now a glow that accented my words,
The onlookers were still absent, but I knew someone was listening.
The fact that I was alone in my world but surrounded,
All at once was overwhelming in a beautiful way.
The fear, the fear, the fear, the fear, the fear. Your repetition of 'the fear' is incredibly noticeable, so I think you could benefit from re-working it to make it less overwhelming, and look less redundant. I've italicised parts that I feel you need to improve on when it comes to originality. There are other parts that could be better and could be worse, but I feel these parts need your attention most of all (I think I explained my opinions of this in the other crit). Bar what I mentioned in my last critique (I realise that was for a piece written after this, by the way xp ) you actually have more poetic devices and such in this poem. Although generic in parts, the ideas in this piece are presented much more interestingly. For example, "the pressure of it squeezed tight against my consciousness" is a good piece of metaphor and could easily be extended on into aesthetic images. This is the kind of idea you want to have running throughout in order to keep the interest levels high. Anyways - I prefer this one to the other piece I judged. 3nodding
Mahayr
Open Mic at the Silver Palm
An Audience of Just-Another-Face-In-The-Crowd
Perspective
Virgin territory (for me), I thought – but then listened to the real virgins.
This smoke and spirits modern-conventional hang-out for poets
in a Spoken Word temple is flipped different.
Being accustomed to the flower child and hippie coffee houses
of a long time ago (when the smoke was not tobacco)
gave me pause, even with the no-eye-contact avoidances
and deaf-eared refusals to acknowledge.
I sat back to absorb the sensory affrontals,
mentally crossing my arms over my ancient chest.
"Runnit. Yay, clap, clap, clap, w00t!"
Generational punctuation made me wincewincewince,
even though I did smile at the hazy memory of snapped fingers
and internally-reverberating foot stomps
from my Golden Olden Days. Maybe play with 'golden' within 'olden' to make this ending line simpler on the syllable count and tongue. xd
Good times.
So young, this new wave.
"What happened? What is it? I love you.
Strong Woman. Alphabet soup. FU. MF. F, F, F, F, F…"
I had to physically shift in my seat before I was able to let the words roll past
and flow into… somewhere else.
Other levels, I thought.
Different lives, worlds, planet?
Different everything? I think that italicising the thoughts will help kick the reader into another tone and impression when reading first time. Not a big deal, just something to consider.
I heard the words, saw the expressions and gestures,
fought to keep the façade tightly wound around. Sounds found…
only the crumbling bricks and mortar of my soul.
Flung from the spittled lips of Old Spirits… perhaps. I really like this little rhyme.
Jaded wit and wounded-knee reflexes kicked and screamed glory… I don't think this ellipse is needed. Maybe something a little 'less'?
All the way to the Bank (I mean Bucket).
Funny that she passed me right by with my little seven-dollar intention.
Black bits of paint on previously white sand grey matter…
and gashes and slashes on the red, white, and blue…
AS WELL THERE SHOULD BE, I agreed,
but could only scream such emotion on the inside.
Again.
They do have a point. More than one, seems to me now. Maybe break this line here? The way I read it gives a pretty distinct change in inflection between this and the previous line and I think a stanza break will emphasise that.
Eek-jerk! More "w00t w00t w00t" as alarms went off from all directions
into the shrinking-expanding smaller space that had been my…
Open Mind. Ha.
I concentrated to absorb the muttered, stuttered, drunk-spewed dictionaries-in-progress.
Whatever happened to sober enunciations? Tender-fanged embracings?
Non-catastrophic punches to the intellectual gut? Heart?
Blue on Black… again? (I stole that, and more!)
In between the questions and concrete-hard O-Pin-Ions (etched in sandstone, are they?)
I Saw the Light!
Decadal ups and downs use the same teetertotter, looks like to me.
Bridges are still built to be crossed, or burned, or both.
Rules are still made to be broken.
All such fine Clichés.
It’s all a matter of perception. It’s all a matter of perspective. This second line reads a little redundantly, maybe try to separate it using the language somehow?
Everything depends. Everything MATTERS…
It’s not a Tsunami or even a ripple on a wave –
no hair on the wart on the frog on the log at the bottom of the sea
false-mentality that was drummed into childhood brains!
Ohno… there is no rift in the space-time continuum from ME.
More like a lint on a thread through a needle LOST in a HAYSTACK!
Feeling each wrinkle, age spot, scabbed emotion and fever-pitched (but silent to the masses) banshee wail jabjabJAB.
They were good, this new breed. They had something to say just when I thought I had heard it all, some way or another.
They had ideas and raw energy. They had their own bright eyes.
Billy Holiday blues and all. Train coming… I feel it in my bones. Acorn… and honey-sap.
I thought it was funny that behind all their words there were also lies-to-themselves.
Looking through concrete.
I wonder if they listen to their own hurled, pre-whirled, giant impacts.
It’s alright to be invisible. Fly-on-the-wall envy and all, you know what I mean…
hair of the dog, wart on the frog (after all), add to the smog. I don't think this second comma is needed, and I think losing it will add to the tempo of the lines.
There is no reverse.
And the brakes are starting to complain. Loud and long.
Bombardments to this one-person shadow left shed skin and tears, BUT!
The poet with the website, the one who entreats women, the one who memorizes dictionaries,
the one who accepted a gift from another and made us all laugh
because we just KNEW.
The one whose gestures were their own form of punctuation and graphics,
the one who counted change and made valid associations and rose above… the ones (all of them, you see…)
who forced realizations and slapped my face with stingstingsting –
I had to look in the mirror to see if they actually left any hand or fingerprints – and was honestly shocked to see nothing blaze-visible to the NAKED eye.
And then to go back and look into the void when such refusals to connect force you to re-evaluate everything.
In thirty seconds. Or less.
Multiple choice, and all, being what it still is.
Revelations at best, Guesswork at worst.
Attempts to reflect on their messages leave me tarnished and polished,
bruised and healed. Exhausted and exuberant.
Famished. And sated. I think leaving this one out or one of the previous if you prefer, will work better here. The juxtapositions sit comfortably at three. The fourth seems to throw me off.
Getting past the same ageless angst, no matter chronology.
I did find treasure in the digs, gems not so rough.
Among other things.
Selfish me.
An Audience of Just-Another-Face-In-The-Crowd
Perspective
Virgin territory (for me), I thought – but then listened to the real virgins.
This smoke and spirits modern-conventional hang-out for poets
in a Spoken Word temple is flipped different.
Being accustomed to the flower child and hippie coffee houses
of a long time ago (when the smoke was not tobacco)
gave me pause, even with the no-eye-contact avoidances
and deaf-eared refusals to acknowledge.
I sat back to absorb the sensory affrontals,
mentally crossing my arms over my ancient chest.
"Runnit. Yay, clap, clap, clap, w00t!"
Generational punctuation made me wincewincewince,
even though I did smile at the hazy memory of snapped fingers
and internally-reverberating foot stomps
from my Golden Olden Days. Maybe play with 'golden' within 'olden' to make this ending line simpler on the syllable count and tongue. xd
Good times.
So young, this new wave.
"What happened? What is it? I love you.
Strong Woman. Alphabet soup. FU. MF. F, F, F, F, F…"
I had to physically shift in my seat before I was able to let the words roll past
and flow into… somewhere else.
Other levels, I thought.
Different lives, worlds, planet?
Different everything? I think that italicising the thoughts will help kick the reader into another tone and impression when reading first time. Not a big deal, just something to consider.
I heard the words, saw the expressions and gestures,
fought to keep the façade tightly wound around. Sounds found…
only the crumbling bricks and mortar of my soul.
Flung from the spittled lips of Old Spirits… perhaps. I really like this little rhyme.
Jaded wit and wounded-knee reflexes kicked and screamed glory… I don't think this ellipse is needed. Maybe something a little 'less'?
All the way to the Bank (I mean Bucket).
Funny that she passed me right by with my little seven-dollar intention.
Black bits of paint on previously white sand grey matter…
and gashes and slashes on the red, white, and blue…
AS WELL THERE SHOULD BE, I agreed,
but could only scream such emotion on the inside.
Again.
They do have a point. More than one, seems to me now. Maybe break this line here? The way I read it gives a pretty distinct change in inflection between this and the previous line and I think a stanza break will emphasise that.
Eek-jerk! More "w00t w00t w00t" as alarms went off from all directions
into the shrinking-expanding smaller space that had been my…
Open Mind. Ha.
I concentrated to absorb the muttered, stuttered, drunk-spewed dictionaries-in-progress.
Whatever happened to sober enunciations? Tender-fanged embracings?
Non-catastrophic punches to the intellectual gut? Heart?
Blue on Black… again? (I stole that, and more!)
In between the questions and concrete-hard O-Pin-Ions (etched in sandstone, are they?)
I Saw the Light!
Decadal ups and downs use the same teetertotter, looks like to me.
Bridges are still built to be crossed, or burned, or both.
Rules are still made to be broken.
All such fine Clichés.
It’s all a matter of perception. It’s all a matter of perspective. This second line reads a little redundantly, maybe try to separate it using the language somehow?
Everything depends. Everything MATTERS…
It’s not a Tsunami or even a ripple on a wave –
no hair on the wart on the frog on the log at the bottom of the sea
false-mentality that was drummed into childhood brains!
Ohno… there is no rift in the space-time continuum from ME.
More like a lint on a thread through a needle LOST in a HAYSTACK!
Feeling each wrinkle, age spot, scabbed emotion and fever-pitched (but silent to the masses) banshee wail jabjabJAB.
They were good, this new breed. They had something to say just when I thought I had heard it all, some way or another.
They had ideas and raw energy. They had their own bright eyes.
Billy Holiday blues and all. Train coming… I feel it in my bones. Acorn… and honey-sap.
I thought it was funny that behind all their words there were also lies-to-themselves.
Looking through concrete.
I wonder if they listen to their own hurled, pre-whirled, giant impacts.
It’s alright to be invisible. Fly-on-the-wall envy and all, you know what I mean…
hair of the dog, wart on the frog (after all), add to the smog. I don't think this second comma is needed, and I think losing it will add to the tempo of the lines.
There is no reverse.
And the brakes are starting to complain. Loud and long.
Bombardments to this one-person shadow left shed skin and tears, BUT!
The poet with the website, the one who entreats women, the one who memorizes dictionaries,
the one who accepted a gift from another and made us all laugh
because we just KNEW.
The one whose gestures were their own form of punctuation and graphics,
the one who counted change and made valid associations and rose above… the ones (all of them, you see…)
who forced realizations and slapped my face with stingstingsting –
I had to look in the mirror to see if they actually left any hand or fingerprints – and was honestly shocked to see nothing blaze-visible to the NAKED eye.
And then to go back and look into the void when such refusals to connect force you to re-evaluate everything.
In thirty seconds. Or less.
Multiple choice, and all, being what it still is.
Revelations at best, Guesswork at worst.
Attempts to reflect on their messages leave me tarnished and polished,
bruised and healed. Exhausted and exuberant.
Famished. And sated. I think leaving this one out or one of the previous if you prefer, will work better here. The juxtapositions sit comfortably at three. The fourth seems to throw me off.
Getting past the same ageless angst, no matter chronology.
I did find treasure in the digs, gems not so rough.
Among other things.
Selfish me.
I enjoy this. The nostalgic inflection really appeals to me and I like the description seeping in and out. The little rhymes were great fun to come across, too. There's also an obvious connection between you and the piece, there, which I think kicks up the interest for the reader.
The duel goes to Mahayr, for her stronger use of devices and use of the context.
Zeo
Mahayr
Aged Seeker
10,450 Points
-
100
-
175
-
100
Mahayr
Aged Seeker
10,450 Points
-
100
-
175
-
100
The Acumen
Mahayr
Aged Seeker
10,450 Points
-
100
-
175
-
100
Mahayr
Aged Seeker
10,450 Points
-
100
-
175
-
100
Adimurti
3,500 Points
-
200
-
0
-
100
Mahayr
Aged Seeker
10,450 Points
-
100
-
175
-
100
Torches_Of_Nero
The Love Mutt
7,150 Points
-
200
-
200
-
300