The exercise:
The word of the moment is: spotlight.
So I managed to write something new over on Protagonize. It's probably the longest poem I've ever written, and I busted out a few cuss words, but if neither of those things put you off then feel free to check it out.
Now seems like a good time to finally mention that I finished third in the most recent Protag poetry tournament. I finished behind the amazing Archi and the incredibly talented Gabriel, so I feel no shame placing where I did. It's the highest I've managed to place in the three poetry competitions I've entered, though I think it's mostly thanks to the fact that Greg wasn't signed up to knock me out.
Speaking of Greg... congrats on entering the spotlight :)
Mine:
Ivan struggled to contain his giggles as he tiptoed across the walkway above the stage. The play was coming to a close and the standing ovation was surely imminent.
He'd had to work quickly, having only had since the last intermission to do the wiring, but everything was in place. The five main spotlights were all hooked up and pointed at various parts of the stage, while the three extras had been aimed at the audience.
Once the final line was spoken, the hilarity would truly begin.
Ivan settled into a comfortable position, took out his video camera, and turned it on. It had cost him most of his salary for the week, but being able to buy a Clapper for each spotlight was going to be totally worth it.
4 comments:
Hehe, that's going to be one messy theatre by the time the audience have finished competing to see who can have the longest seizure!
That's a great little piece with superb pacing.
Congratulations on third place in the tournament, and I'm sure that my lack of entry had nothing to do with it. It's just been unfortunate that we've consistently pitted against each other early one in the previous two.
The Spotlight
The street was full of bodies. Twenty minutes earlier it had been a ticker-tape parade for heroes of the Salvation Army, and then Miss Carnage had arrived, BASE-jumping in from the gothic clock-tower. Her superpower, the hard-to-find-a-use-for ability to instantly kill people so long as there were more than one hundred of them present, had slaughtered the paraders and the crowd alike.
As she was chauffered away in Dr. Septopus's private limousine, a spotlight began picking out the bodies one by one.
"That's weird," commented a police officer in an Irish-Brooklyn accent straight from a Hollywood film set. "Who's using a spotlight here?"
His colleague, sporting a moustache last seen in adult films in the 70s looked up to the building, shading his eyes with a hand and squinting until he looked like Burt Reynolds.
"There!" he said, pointing.
"Tarnation!" swore his partner. "That's El Zombie."
As slowly as only the recently reanimated dead can be, each corpse singled out by the spotlight was clambering to its feet and groaning something that sounded a little bit like "Br-a-i-ns."
I've never liked being the center of attention. Ever.
They stuck me in a room. There wasn't much light, just enough to make out the ghost of a chair. I think they were inviting me to take a seat... they really just wanted me to "siddown an' shuddup."
As they wanted whenever they had somebody like me in their clutches.
In a daze my feet led me over and my legs sat me down. Something metal sprang around my ankles, making me lose balance. I fell back in the chair. Just what they wanted. In a fruitless attempt to loose myself my arms got stuck in metal. Just as they planned. A floodlight snapped on, so they could focus on me and only me. I hadn't seen such light in a very long time, my work required the refuge of shadows. I hissed against it.
I always hated being the center of attention. I hated the spotlight. It never ended well for me.
- - - - -
Not really sure what I was doing with that, but hey, ees practice, no?
Marc - Congratulations on the third placing! Poetry isn’t simple thing at all. And consider that you actually made it into third! :)
Another thing is about your longest poem that you have written. That was just like a piece of fine art! I really love it and I could feel the sadness lying within. It certainly reminds me of people who lost their family without even having another chance to ever meet again.
Mine:
On a bright sunny Sunday morning, coaches from all over emerge as they all arrived under that heavily shone large orange spotlight. Reporters from all over the world are waiting eagerly for this moment. The reporters, photographer, writers and all other journalist started to write and flash their camera upon seeing the arrival of all the great footballers of various countries. They are just like a hungry man who is hungry for food!
Fans from various countries were screaming, waving and were jumping around in joy. I saw people playing drums, people who sing in the name of South Africa and large majorities were having fun with blowing vuvuzelas like no one cared. I could even see people who embedded country flags right in their sexy body. I could feel their enthusiastic energy floating across the whole stadium of Johannesburg that resides in city of soccer, South Africa. I could see their faces fill with smile and laughter.
Even though Netherland fail to win the title for the 3rd time, that amazing momentary sight still lasted throughout the whole event albeit there was a time of total silence when Iniesta of Spain grabbed that crucial extra time goal that decided the outcome.
Greg - thanks, glad you liked it :)
Love your descriptions. And a wonderfully creepy finale to go with it :D
g2 - a very intriguing start you've got there. Seems like it could (and should!) be continued :)
Zhongming - thanks so much for the kind words on the other poem, that means a lot.
I think you really captured the drama of the final, well done :)
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