Avant-Garde Poetry Contest 2

[cacian]

I see that WolfLarsen has submitted an entry to the contest in a separate thread. Thanks!

Here is the link: http://www.online-literature.com/for...23#post1264623

I went to there.
the only thing is the word 'narrative' I don't like narrative.
may be I misunderstand it.
a narrative tries and tell someone's life right?
avant garde is unhabitual exaggerate does not fit the norms??

[YesNo]

You're right about narrative. I suppose a narrative tells a story of some kind, but since it is avant-garde also that might add in a certain anarchistic aspect to whatever rules are presented.

[illiterati]

ok--i'll enter "comeback album"

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0Bwe...it?usp=sharing

(srry--i don't like the poems to be indexed on google)

-M

[Pope of Eruke]

ok--i'll enter "comeback album"

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0Bwe...it?usp=sharing

(srry--i don't like the poems to be indexed on google)

-M

Haha I like it!

[YesNo]

Thanks, illiterati!

Pope of Eruke, do you have an avant-garde poem for the contest? This contest could use more of them.

[mal4mac]

Just put all your sentences on new lines.
Then you will always be writing poetry.
And that would be avant-garde.
I think.
At least I've never heard of anyone else doing that.
It would be a new thing in the world.
I'm not going to be doing this.
So you can have that idea for free.
Go run with it.

[Pope of Eruke]

Thanks, illiterati!

Pope of Eruke, do you have an avant-garde poem for the contest? This contest could use more of them.

I do not I am afraid

[YesNo]

I thought the deadline was July13th, but it was actually July 8th, so I guess I better decide who the winner is now. I'm not going to be as good at this as Lokasenna since I don't know what I'm doing and like Pope of Eruke I am also, deep in some unexplored corner, afraid of getting my butt kicked for not picking the right one.

Pendragon: I could feel the power at the end when the editor was informed that whoever was here would be reading the Raven long after her corpse decayed and especially "long after her petrified skull is labeled on a museum shelf". I'm going to have to remember that line in time of need. It could well be that the true avant-garde is derriere-garde (or whatever the French is for that) since everyone seems to be avant-garde today. How can everyone be avant-garde? I enjoyed how you told her off.

WolfLarsen: Thank you so much for submitting the "word-orgasm". The second entry makes it a contest. I don't want to scare you, but my theory of poetry (what little there is of it) does see poetry starting at the sexual level and so a word orgasm makes sense to me. It also doesn't have to go to any higher ground. I liked the third alternate title the best: "How I Lost My Virginity to a Buzzing Inanimate Object" I see the words as the narrative of the orgasm just to make sure it fit the theme.

illiterati: The first line was a great starter and got my interest right away. One of the problems with avant-garde poetry, as I see it, is that the reader too quickly loses interest because of the avant-garde incongruities often seen as dense as a line of mathematics and as likely to be skipped over. Some phrases stand out for me like the one where the guests are secretly sold stale food for free by the giant. The incongruity of the parts match the incongruity of the whole where the point is to make those who snubbed the artist earlier jealous even though the artist is now dead. It seems to be a truthful expression of the lengths some people might go to to get even if they could. Nice.

mal4mac: That does seem to be one way to formally put in those useless poetic line breaks. However, that's a rule that some avant-garde poet will want to break. I'm going to have to remember this and call it the mal4mac poetic form with the only formal constraint being that each line is one sentence long.

---------------------------------------

I wish you could all win, but you can't. Look at it like this. If you win this contest, in exchange for all the fame you have to post a theme for the next contest and judge it.

So at this point, I hereby pronounce the winner of the third Lit Net Avant-Garde Poetry Contest to be WolfLarsen!

Congratulations!

[WolfLarsen]

YIppeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Yahoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

So yippe yahoo it's time for the third avant-garde poetry contest or is it the fourth?
Here are the rules:
1) Have fun! Have as much fun as you can!
2) Do whatever you want! Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
3) Actually, there is one rule. No rhymes! I'm just not masochistic enough for that!

There will be two winners. The real winner will be the person who has the most fun writing the most bizarre poem they have ever written in their life. Then there will be the winner announced by that Wolf Larsen character. To hell with him! You think you got it bad – I have to spend all day with Wolf Larsen!

Anyway, there have been many questions as to what avant-garde poetry is. For the sake of this contest avant-garde poetry is whatever you think it is. Just write the most bizarre poem you can – and have lots of fun doing it!

Feel free to tell everybody in the world about this contest where everybody can have fun writing the most bizarre poem they've ever written!

Deadline will be 15th of August, 2014.

[cacian]

LOL Wolf you are one funny guy haha this made me laugh.
I like the idea of TWO winners.

[YesNo]

I.
will.
not.
write.
love.
sick.
po.
e.
try.
when.
in.
Ms.
Luv.
lie’s.
phy.
sics.
class.

[Pendragon]

Congrats, Wolf! And YesNo, I did actually send her this very letter! <3

[YesNo]

That was a great letter, Pendragon! The fact that you actually sent it to someone makes it even more delightful. I hope she enjoyed it as much as I did.

[Lykren]

I'll compete too.

Winds heave, we collapse
into melody - a ruined sound
hanging from invisible hands

the unchallenged drift
of a dry river

my memories course against
my skin, they live
in that nude stream

approached by weather incompatible
with anyone but itself,
carefully disrobing.

[HCabret]

Prelude - The wonderful, awkward adolescence of Penelope Silence and her books (feat. THE almighty Philip p Stone) (number eight) (intro)

My mothers always told me to always wash my
hands and pray for better days; honey dippin' smoke
and the internet; y'all can say anything here.
I did it all for love and my best friend; i love
being sad and feeling alive; i wish i had
something to say and i wish i had a belt so
my pants would stop falling down to crewcut skinhead
underground ska; playing records in battle for
those hipster girls; i love you Lucy and your
diamonds, lets fly! Ten minutes later: blackout school
catharsis; (saxophone plays here); think right, do right.


Relude - Penelope Silence and the Pseudo-intellectual Symphony Orchestra (i am smarter than you are) (skit)

Tell me the ways of the world, oh wise man of
individual collectivity; be who
you are, but only the way i tell you to be.
Go and read EIGHT, but don't tell anyone; keep it
quiet; i think he's a terrorist, but only
because he's black; how can the worker survive if
only to serve others? Tell me Wolf, who are you?
INDIVIDUALISM! COMMUNISM! Which
is it? Advantage Gardening in the daytime
or sun shining down on those who are; turn back
and forth, rocking on a chair and rolling down a
mountain chasing gold only sought after by fools.
One day the world will finally go mad and then
only memory will serve to preserve the old
sanity of the past age; i need others to
tell me what to think, but only because its in
the Bible or in the Koran or the Pali
Canon; Mohammed sure could self-publish! But then
again i don't know anything for any grand
certainty except that i am me and you aren't.
(insert sax solo at the end for no reason)


I - The infamous pure fiction of Penelope Silence: first movement

Rails of naked bodies lined up against
a wall of wine bottles shooting orange dots falling
off a horse running into a collage of french
skeletons sharing the bare nipples of a nun
with red hair sipping his evening soup and watching
a tour of eyes, fast cars and fake hair; like a blank
miracle, building the eighth tune to please the blue
conception of a being floating superbian
religion, which says anything about the pains
of being Eliot Cuff and trying to write
a looming super honest modern creation.
Jumping off a chair into broken glass covered
in white skin, frosting and the image of a small
erection rising and falling to the waves of
a soft viola playing over the crowds stood
together violently constructing a building
held together by the smooth feeling of human
feces running down the face of a soldier who
fought on the beaches of Gernika wretched in the
chaos of existence; tomorrow? tomorrow!
Burning strings, lost children and genocide coming
tomorrow to kill a dead mouse holding a full
hand of Venetian canals stuck in a barn made
of doors crying to a choir of extremely
sane elegance rotating in a similar
direction fictionalizing philosophy.


II - The complete and relaxed ideas of Penelope Silence and her cat Vincent (incomplete)

Electric belleville Madeleine caught in the barbed
emptiness of Commerce, Texas; roman temple
hit running between Mississippi and the good
city of Chicago; tonight the shotgun queen's
birthday/wedding/funeral and emporium; a
movie star's sexual desire for more new
antique pianos playing nothing for all to
hear sitting in their graves high above the flowers
scattering the concrete beliefs of a catholic
priest conflicted by her love of God and romance
novels involving CIA conspiracies
taught to children enslaved in the once upon a
time of family vacations; i love you flying
bicycles over concrete better than any
car or anyone else; France's and the England
raining up a yellow wall sat behind a ginge
and her funny faces; that f u c king folk music!


II.5 - The good intentions of Penelope Silence concerning an ex-convict wandering the suburbs (interlude) (that's love)

A dark oblivion diving into a white
city of cathedrals and coke bottles spewing
hatred for those who are different irregardless
of the houses built on cliffsides driven by old
people who don't let their right hand know what their left
hand is doing; I'm circling trees blown away
by hurricanes after drowning in a bubbler.


III - The long and eternally endless odyssey of Penelope Silence, her cat Vincent and the City of Chicago, Illinois: final movement

I've worked at a Cracker Barrel for fifteen years,
not counting that one month in 1994 when
I got lost in the midst of my ex-girlfriend's
endless red hairy nipples and that other time
when i did not leave my apartment except to
publicly masturbate occasionally and
to s h i t on the front porch of this prick insurance
agent who used to live across the street from my
great grandmother; I would read more often, but I
am a red balloon caught in an apple tree with
nothing to do but hum heavy metal songs to
myself and wait for the firetrucks to show up
to this party with farm animals and some
strippers, hopefully; fingers crossed; don't fly away
without calling home first to tell your mother how
much you love and appreciate her; in a black
and white suit carrying little green bags full of
mister Pink's diamonds; tell me where i went wrong in
my life and i will do anything i can to
fix it and go back to working at Cracker Barrel.


IV - Penelope Silence No. 4

Sexualizing the journey of a taxi
cab in the middle of the night by vomiting
through the hole in the bottom of the car ending
up wearing someone else's clothes and in someone
else's bed; Albert Einstein walks through a cat door
stepping over an obese woman covered in
sheets biting the ear of a whale washed up on
shore next to a diver; office space religion.
Sitting in church with panda bears smoking bongs for
Jesus circling the unseen, but starving art
of a Klingon prostitute paid for by the Koch
Brothers and viewers like you; tennis in the street
played by Doctor London and his all transvestite
brass band; I'm afraid that the muppets will follow
through with their threats to revolt and replace our state
with the state of liquid matter in time for the rain.


V - Penelope Silence's last will and testament (number five) (skit)

I love kissing you under the bleachers, but it's
only because of your cute mind; i do hereby
bequeath my entire collection of eight tracks
to my good friends on my family tree and to those
nights i crave taco bell in the morning after
feeling bitter about twitter and trying to
get rid of these headaches i hate; and moving on
towards the end of this tunnel that seems to end in
the middle of the movie; i can never get
enough of Emma Watson; one of my favorite
hipster girls; all dried up in the desert sun
with somewhere to go and carry on with my life
in another state; Chicago in May; we used
to go to Navy Pier in the summer before
we grew up and left to write our own most tragic
comedies including embarrassment and some
confusing lustful feelings for that other girl.


VI - Symphony No. 25 in 6 Minor (Penelope Silence cover)

Don't buy in subtitles; we only speak in engrish
in this country; and we love the feel of a fresh
santorum on a sunny november morne; come
home already, i cant deal with you being
away from me without your trumpets sounding the
end of times; I've got tree huggers following me
around my head and into the house; dirty socks.


VII - Penelope Silence's opinion concerning the annexation of Zone C

A hive full of latex caught in a room full of
atheists; #ilostmymollie; a world full
of first world problems and indifference for
East Timor; Venetian gondolas cruising down
the Avenue des Champs-Elysees on a cold
winter's day in July; only love is on the
move and she is only the moon; i finally watched
City Lights; beauty in cinema; party like
its 1931 and you cant see the one
you love; give flowers to those you care about and
to those you don't; a beautiful white haired girl
from Wales and a temperamental girl from
Chicago fall together on top of an old
Volkswagen van; tell me when it's all over cuz
i would very much like to visit Bethlehem.


VIII - Penelope Silence reads EIGHT out loud to the Republican National Convention

Oh babe, come back here and tell me
the story of that town Eight, West
Virginia; the one named Django
pulling his own coffin down the
snowy middle way hoping to
find a pot of gold; caught in a
storm of blue sickness without an
eight fold path showing the way home.


IX - Penelope Silence yells at the top of her lungs and then dives head first into the OCEAN

I wrote this in my hand to the sparks in the sky
so i could see a candle blow out; there's magic
in everyday objects which only we can see.
Floor beats and vacuums on Grafton Street played only
once on that misty summer morning; sun shining
through the clouds, the bluest sky I've ever seen in
my life, or possibly ever; i will live for
an eternity; i refuse to let death come
and follow me through the Waste seeking what he can't
ever have; i am a spirit on fire with
eyes that can see through air and forever into
the nighttime seeking out the fallen mountain town.


X - a Concerto for Piano: Penelope Silence runs home to Ithaca to make popcorn

Every time you undress me i run home to look
up at the sky and wonder what went so wrong that
i couldn't find my way somewhere on the avenue.
Sirens in the night, trains rolling over tracks from
the midwest; a space odyssey at the end of
the world in Turkey riding a wooden horse
into the city; blind poets writing for you
to hopefully one day learn from the myths of the
past and pray to pagan angels at the feet of
Johnny Hamlet's kitchen and Joan Arkin's bible.
Tell me all you know about spaghetti and dirt,
for when the great silence fall over the land and
Aeneas finds his new city on seven hills
a new world will begin and forever change
the course from nine wholes to eighteen; maybe with this
new start humanity can go back to the lake
Victoria with pieces distance never dreamt.


XI - Enkidu sings a song about Penelope Silence - acoustic

Gold man walking through the desert to rescue Han
from his carbonite prison to end up bringing
down the empire built by King Gilgamesh in
land between two rivers; a paradise in the
east of eden where language began on the top
of the tower being built towards heaven; this is
Alexander's resting place; pilgrims come from all
over each on their adventures toward the Aldgate
and soon to Canterbury; a Miller's tale
of beer and Harley's; tell me a story and i
will hold you still and show you the grave of the great
bard resting on the Avon; a hero journeys
to the end of the story to find what the
Krabby Patty secret formula is finally.


XII - Roman Carnival Overture - Penelope Silence takes in a panorama of the south of France from atop a moving train

Dreaming a wicked nightmare of the Tsar and
his cortege at Versailles while sleeping face down
on Fashion street pretending to be a new weird
american solitary whale working
on a wizard farm in the lonely Nebraskan
depression; turning the other cheek is not an
act of submissiveness, but instead an act of
disobedience, which would make Eve proud of all
those who came after her; for creativity
is an absolute and nothing is off limits,
not even rhyming; do not ever take the bait
in front of your face, which leads to the worst of hate.


XIII - Penelope Silence live at Red Rocks (studio version)

Treat yo mamma with respect, don't drag her down a
ragged mile, but a Magnificent Mile!
Glory to god, the original creator,
poet, painter, musician; for we are the old
melodies of creation vibrating on the
strings of pure energy which make up our minds and
our souls; god gave us a theme with which to play out
loud for all to hear in the parks built around the
universe; the role of the poet is to take
that which is old and make new; to confer onto
our new creations the melodies of creation.


XIV - Penelope Silence takes The Long Way around

A solitary explorer tacks her way through
the sea on her way to Aotearoa in the
middle of december; a vagabond on the
open ocean seeking solitude and friendship
with wrathful Neptune; a pancake is all it takes.
Pray to the wind and follow the sun because i
am happy at sea and perhaps it will save my soul.


Epilogue - Penelope Silence and Karl Marx fall at the same speed (77 rpm) - Instrumental

I hate socialism; the collective violence
of the mob doesn't shine through the clouds; thank god I'm
alive! Yesterday i became a new old soul
vegetarian while walking down the street in
the opposite way trying to decide whether
I like you or stress more, anxiety or a
depression; reflecting on the good and the bad
pieces; no reason to cry over spilt beer, there's
only spilt blood; this is the best day of my life!
Also, i hate capitalism; i want what
you have; what i cant have; happyness and upset
stomach puking vulgarities for no reason.
Even meaningless art has a deeper meaning.
Try not to choke on an Advil or fall down
the stairs and land on top of my dead cat, Vincent.
I'm Chance and I'm very, very lonely; you all
need to lose your entertaining paranoia
and undependable empty footprints stood in
bitterness and unending acid rains and thieves.


Repilouge - Penelope Silence speaks out against Chancelor Bennett (Outro) (radio edit) (blue suitcase version)

I love Drugs! I am in love with Mollie Greene who
tells me what to do *** how to speak to my friends
in downtown Des Plaines, none of whom could recite the
holy scripture thats tells people to cry for
the lonely and pray for *** lost autumn recluse
astronaut comedians from Second City.
I'm Chance and you're Penelope Silence; don't you
see or are you too blind and stuck in a cup?



I apologize for not being there at the end of the first contest. I am such an infrequent vistor here, that i completely forgot about entering the contest in the first place. I am honored by your praise and thank you. Here's a new one!