Post by Master of Tacos on Oct 12, 2022 12:39:11 GMT -5
Welcome to the October Poet Laureate Contest, with poems centered on perfection. Below are the poems I received. Anyone may vote in this contest, and the poem with the most votes earns its author the title of Poet Laureate! Remember, you still should NOT share the authorship of any entry with anyone but Wille-Harlia until the contest is over. Voting will be open until 12 A.M. GMT on October 19.
Please give the poets their due courtesy and read over all the poems before voting.
Good luck to everyone, and may the best poem win!
Entry #1
The Perfect
I best be pacific or else risk confusion,
The rules of a language ain’t just an allusion!
You’ve got to make sure that your words will pass mustard,
Or the error stands out like the cherry on custard!
And the purests will howl if you breach there conventions,
They could care less that you had good intentions!
Principals matter, and grammer must rein
And spelling an syntax are in the same vain!
Too have piece of mind you will have to except:
If we don’t sit the rules, who knows the affect?
But…
Hay, by in large, if your trying you’re best
Irregardless of skill just to be understood,
Then lend my advise, I am happy to here you
Its in talking we’ll find- not the perfect- the good.
I best be pacific or else risk confusion,
The rules of a language ain’t just an allusion!
You’ve got to make sure that your words will pass mustard,
Or the error stands out like the cherry on custard!
And the purests will howl if you breach there conventions,
They could care less that you had good intentions!
Principals matter, and grammer must rein
And spelling an syntax are in the same vain!
Too have piece of mind you will have to except:
If we don’t sit the rules, who knows the affect?
But…
Hay, by in large, if your trying you’re best
Irregardless of skill just to be understood,
Then lend my advise, I am happy to here you
Its in talking we’ll find- not the perfect- the good.
Entry #2
The Perfect One and the Id
“My works are perfect,”
The One gloated with great glee.
“None could better me.”
“Aye, your days shine Right,”
rose the faint sound from the Id.
“Yet issues are hid.”
“How so?” frowned The One.
“Never a wrong to be found.
No watch left unwound.”
“Yes, too,” sighed the Id.
“Your mind is fair, your heart true.
Still, a flaw does brew.”
“Quite wrong,” The One scoffed.
“My aim is pure and precise.
No miss once or twice.”
“Correct your claim be.
The end of a path well met.
You thwarted all threat.”
“Then how say I failed?
When I have perfected me?”
The One could not see.
Revealed the Id thus:
“Your perfection is one side.
The other, false pride.”
“My works are perfect,”
The One gloated with great glee.
“None could better me.”
“Aye, your days shine Right,”
rose the faint sound from the Id.
“Yet issues are hid.”
“How so?” frowned The One.
“Never a wrong to be found.
No watch left unwound.”
“Yes, too,” sighed the Id.
“Your mind is fair, your heart true.
Still, a flaw does brew.”
“Quite wrong,” The One scoffed.
“My aim is pure and precise.
No miss once or twice.”
“Correct your claim be.
The end of a path well met.
You thwarted all threat.”
“Then how say I failed?
When I have perfected me?”
The One could not see.
Revealed the Id thus:
“Your perfection is one side.
The other, false pride.”
Entry #3
Reaching for Eden
Gaze at all you have conquered, brazen king,
—The gilded gold, the coveted throne—
Look down at those who were once your equals—
Now reduced to your craven subjects
And ask yourself—was it all worth your fall?
For although you live surrounded by people,
You’ve never been more alone in life
Stranded—at the top of your own success,
—You own the world but still feel lacking
Lying awake ev’ry night with fresh regrets
Your “glorious” reign is tenuous at best
And you fear what each new day might bring
For ev’ry peasant is a sickly green
Wanting nothing more than to tear down
Them whom they have long raised up in loud esteem
You wither daily under mounting pressure
—Challenges you never wished to face
And beg your whitewashed ceiling for mercy
But we’re all mere servants of the crown
And even you, dear king, are not truly free
The luster of greatness has dimmed in your eyes
And you see—too late—the ugly rot
Inherent to power and perfection
Oh why, oh why?—you scream at the walls
—Why would anyone ever wish to be king?
All the while, I, your better half,—the queen,
Lie hidden behind your blinding light—
Mourning our sorry ascent to glory
Never blaming, though, your mistakes—for
It was my damnable silence that doomed us
And as I gaze at all we have conquered,
—Our empty palace, our hollow hearts—
I realize that we’re equally barren
For what is there to aspire to—
When you have already reached Eden?
Gaze at all you have conquered, brazen king,
—The gilded gold, the coveted throne—
Look down at those who were once your equals—
Now reduced to your craven subjects
And ask yourself—was it all worth your fall?
For although you live surrounded by people,
You’ve never been more alone in life
Stranded—at the top of your own success,
—You own the world but still feel lacking
Lying awake ev’ry night with fresh regrets
Your “glorious” reign is tenuous at best
And you fear what each new day might bring
For ev’ry peasant is a sickly green
Wanting nothing more than to tear down
Them whom they have long raised up in loud esteem
You wither daily under mounting pressure
—Challenges you never wished to face
And beg your whitewashed ceiling for mercy
But we’re all mere servants of the crown
And even you, dear king, are not truly free
The luster of greatness has dimmed in your eyes
And you see—too late—the ugly rot
Inherent to power and perfection
Oh why, oh why?—you scream at the walls
—Why would anyone ever wish to be king?
All the while, I, your better half,—the queen,
Lie hidden behind your blinding light—
Mourning our sorry ascent to glory
Never blaming, though, your mistakes—for
It was my damnable silence that doomed us
And as I gaze at all we have conquered,
—Our empty palace, our hollow hearts—
I realize that we’re equally barren
For what is there to aspire to—
When you have already reached Eden?
Entry #4
Perfection Found
Tacos are the perfect food
And I'm always in the mood
Please don't think that I am crude
I've no wish to start a feud
Whether soft shell or a hard
Don't the messenger bombard
I would neither style discard
Unless Lib, she serves them charred
Taco Tuesday, it's today
And my palate shouts hooray
I am sure I know de way
Flawless food I'll eat all day
Tacos are the perfect food
And I'm always in the mood
Please don't think that I am crude
I've no wish to start a feud
Whether soft shell or a hard
Don't the messenger bombard
I would neither style discard
Unless Lib, she serves them charred
Taco Tuesday, it's today
And my palate shouts hooray
I am sure I know de way
Flawless food I'll eat all day
