Vesayen Isles Hunt
Mosswarts running down the beach,
spilling from their grassy huts.
I proceed to spill their guts.–Steve Carter1
1Yes, I’m afraid that’s my Steve, whose poetic inspiration happens to be a computer game. He has been informed that his chances of winning this are nonexistent. He chooses to believe that’s because I’m avoiding the appearance of impropriety.
Alky Lie
A drip of water in a cup of scotch.
“The water’s like a hole that’s almost dry.
Even cattle shun the alkali.”–Caryn Campbell
The first submissions are in for the Julain contest! This is where you check out the competition.
whether actions are taken or given depend on ones point of perspective or line of defence1
when resistance is futile
a life becomes motile–cyn
1cyn’s first line refuses to fit inside the constraints of my page even if I make the font tiny. Apologies for the inconsistent formatting.
New! See Cyn’s blog here.
At least, that’s what the facial recognition software says.
Well, first I’m Christian Slater, and then I’m Audrey Tautou. But after that? Pure Johnny.
When my hair is long, if I put on a sock cap I look like Jay of Jay and Silent Bob fame. And you know, I think I can see the Christian Slater thing, which is horrifying in its own way.
But Johnny Cash?
I don’t think I was meant to have this information, world.
It’s been a month since I started this blog, and it’s been a lot more fun than I expected. I’ve met some people I adore, have gotten back in touch with some people I had missed, have found some blogs I never hope to go without again, and am relearning some coding tricks I had let get pretty damned rusty.
I hoped that blogging would help reinspire my writing. I don’t know if that has happened, but it has reinvigorated my love for the poetry community and lured me into the insanity of starting a poetry contest. Add an introduction to ATCs and wikis and you’ll pardon me if I get all glowy.
There is a major disappointment, though. No, not Kevin Millwood. I still haven’t scored any tiramisu. I was certain that whining about it would cause it to appear as if by magic on my doorstep, just to make me look stupid. I’m willing to look stupid, world! As if you couldn’t tell that already!
Now, go write your Julains. I got $10 burning a hole in my pocket, and there is a rumor that the prize might be growing. Who knows? The winner might get $10 and a subscription to “American Noodle Monthly.”
And the religious right wants it off the air.
That’s reason enough for me, in my mood, to set both TiVos to record the thing.
Of course, if I created a sucky show, I’d try to stir up controversy if I could, offend a blowhard or two, and lure suckers like me in.
Or, even more likely, I’d create a sucky show, not realize how sucky it was, inadvertently create controversy, and end up shot in some alley.
Just makes me glad to be on this side of the screen.
Lou Rawls has died.
Some celebrity deaths are passing sad, and some make me want to bawl. This one is definitely of the bawling variety for me. I have two favorite Christmas cds. One is Charlie Brown. The other is Lou Rawls. I listened to that damned cd hundreds of times after my father died.
Now, the two men are tied together in my head. They had nothing in common. My father was a red-head who couldn’t sing a lick. But both had deep voices and both were my security blankets.
Goodbye, Lou.
He Ate Richard Cory’s Bullet
No warning. Just a note dropped in the mail
without a stamp. A month delayed the hurt
of dinner with a gunpowder dessert.
I posted this New Year’s Eve, it disappeared, and I haven’t been able to get it back out of draft mode since. So, I’ll just repost. Forgive the repeat!
Late at night, certain ideas have appeal that would cause you to run screaming into traffic at more rational times.
One of my late-night thoughts for the past couple of years has been casual poetry contests, something with actual prizes since I don’t have any status to confer on the winner, but with a minimum of seriousness and stress.
As Gabriel and I talked about forms and objectivity in criticism, I realized that I not only think forms are easier in many ways to write, they are easier to judge. And the shorter the form, the easier still.
Which led me to the Julain and a contest.
The contest:
Write a Julain!
Win big prizes!
Or, rather, write a Julain and be in the running for big prizes. Big prize. Okay, small prize, really, but you’re in it for the love of the poetry and the thrill of competition, right?
The prize:
A gift certificate to Amazon for the winner.
Fame! Adulation! Other potential prizes!
The deadline:
January 31st.
I was tempted by Friday the 13th, but I’ve allowed for more time than that.
The procedure:
1. Post the Julain(s) to your website or blog and send me an email notification to julaincontest@gmail.com of the submission. I will post a link to your Julains on my blog, or
2. Send the Julain(s) to julaincontest@gmail.com and I will post the submission on my blog plus a link (if you choose) to your website or blog.
The rules:
1. All entries must be Julains. A Julain is a 3-line poem with a discernible meter rhymed ABB. Further information is here.
2. All entries must be available for viewing online, either on your site or on mine.
3. Up to 10 entries per person.
4. The denomination of the prize will depend on the number of entries but will not be less than $10 US. (If you are outside the US and have an Amazon branch in your country, the gift certificate will be purchased through that branch. If you do not have a branch in your country, we’ll work something out.) If there are no entries, I keep the money and bruit it about the internets that poets can’t read and therefore disdain gift certificates for books.
I am sure you’ll have questions. You’ll ask, “Are you insane or do you just dress that way?” or perhaps, “Can a Julain have 82 lines?” No, I don’t just dress that way and no! Julains of 82 lines are anti-Julains and shall result in flogging. All other questions can either emailed to me or posted in the comments section here for everyone to puzzle over. Or you could try just shouting them at the top of your lungs and seeing if your neighbor throws a shoe at you or something. The Julain Contest accepts no responsibility for bruises suffered in this manner, nor for psychiatric treatment if you enter a Julain Fugue State. Don’t forget to drink your Ovaltine.
It’s an invented form, one I’ve been toying with for a couple of years. I named it after me because I have no imagination whatsoever and didn’t want it to be a Cartrain which is uncomfortably close in connotation to a convoy and would give me nightmares.
A Julain is:
a 3-line poem
with a discernible meter
rhymed ABB
For example:
Legend
Someone like you must lie here. Roses thrive,
their petals red as meat and slick with oil,
given sufficient acid in the soil.
Today’s challenge: Write a Julain.
I’ve posted this challenge at pffa before, if you want to cheat, er, I mean get inspired.
If you write a Julain, don’t throw it away. Later, I will reveal the second part of the challenge.
If you’ve never written in meter or rhyme before, this is a good way to start. You only need one rhyme, and the poem will be short enough that you can’t go too far astray.