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Attack of the Fifty Foot Doughnut
With a shriek that could shatter the air,
Indescribably vast, the éclair
Levels buildings with ease.
Oh, the smashing of trees
And the wailing of souls in despair!
Was it science gone rogue or gone mad
That created a pastry so bad?
Though the scent is divine
And the glaze extra fine,
The destruction it wreaks is too sad.
Is the city forsaken and lost?
Are we paying the ultimate cost
Of consumer demand
For the huge and the grand?
Or perhaps if we only had flossed...
Either way, it's our custardy doom,
Full of sugar and mayhem and gloom.
I had thought I would die
At the teeth of a pie,
But it— Wait. There's a whoosh! There's a zoom!
Look above! It's a bird! It's a plane!
No, it's not! It's a guy! That's insane!
It's a hero in tights
All ashimmer with lights
And his lip simply curled with disdain!
"Are you kidding? A doughnut?" he cries.
"I refuse! They go straight to my thighs!
Now, a savory treat,
I could possibly eat,
But a doughnut? I won't!" Off he flies.
So the rampant destruction goes on
As we cower all night till the dawn
Brings a sight we had spurned:
It's the hero returned!
The reaction? A groan and a yawn.
"Not again!" comes a shout from below.
"You're a jerk and a finicky schmoe!
Unprofessional slob!
You can find a new job!
Go away! Take a powder and blow!"
"You'll forgive me," the hero replies
With a guttering flame in his eyes,
"If I don't have a taste
For this glutinous paste!
I prefer something meaty with fries!
"But I bid you, my friends, to fear not!
I have sworn I shall never be caught
Unaware anymore!
I shall give it what for
And will trounce it! Behold what I've brought!"
He unlimbers the edge of his cape
And exposes a conical shape.
As we strain, blinking up,
Someone shouts, "It's a cup!"
Which it is. We all stand there and gape.
"That's correct!" And with fingers upraised,
He explains it, completely unfazed:
"For with coffee in hand,
I can lick any band,
Be it cruller or sprinkled or glazed!"
In the carnage that follows, the rules
Of decorum are slaughtered like fools.
Every street is awash
In a flood of ganache,
And the custard is standing in pools.
Through the strewn-about boulders of cake,
People stagger and wish it were fake.
Did the hero survive?
Could he still be alive?
Will his victory bash be a wake?
I can hear someone sniffle nearby;
Then again, and they raise up the cry:
"Is that coffee I smell?
Over here! What the Hell?"
And I see him. I cannot deny.
He's expanded, so nearly a sphere,
When I rush to his side, it's unclear
If he's breathing. "Hello?
Are you living or no?"
But he belches: "I am, though I fear
"It'll take me some time to digest
What I found of its brain and the rest
Of its ganglion bits."
With a wobble, he sits.
"So remaining in place might be best."
We construct him a hut out of pine,
And for weeks, people wait in a line
To say thanks for his deeds
And to see to his needs.
But he grins: "Just a sandwich is fine."
Indescribably vast, the éclair
Levels buildings with ease.
Oh, the smashing of trees
And the wailing of souls in despair!
Was it science gone rogue or gone mad
That created a pastry so bad?
Though the scent is divine
And the glaze extra fine,
The destruction it wreaks is too sad.
Is the city forsaken and lost?
Are we paying the ultimate cost
Of consumer demand
For the huge and the grand?
Or perhaps if we only had flossed...
Either way, it's our custardy doom,
Full of sugar and mayhem and gloom.
I had thought I would die
At the teeth of a pie,
But it— Wait. There's a whoosh! There's a zoom!
Look above! It's a bird! It's a plane!
No, it's not! It's a guy! That's insane!
It's a hero in tights
All ashimmer with lights
And his lip simply curled with disdain!
"Are you kidding? A doughnut?" he cries.
"I refuse! They go straight to my thighs!
Now, a savory treat,
I could possibly eat,
But a doughnut? I won't!" Off he flies.
So the rampant destruction goes on
As we cower all night till the dawn
Brings a sight we had spurned:
It's the hero returned!
The reaction? A groan and a yawn.
"Not again!" comes a shout from below.
"You're a jerk and a finicky schmoe!
Unprofessional slob!
You can find a new job!
Go away! Take a powder and blow!"
"You'll forgive me," the hero replies
With a guttering flame in his eyes,
"If I don't have a taste
For this glutinous paste!
I prefer something meaty with fries!
"But I bid you, my friends, to fear not!
I have sworn I shall never be caught
Unaware anymore!
I shall give it what for
And will trounce it! Behold what I've brought!"
He unlimbers the edge of his cape
And exposes a conical shape.
As we strain, blinking up,
Someone shouts, "It's a cup!"
Which it is. We all stand there and gape.
"That's correct!" And with fingers upraised,
He explains it, completely unfazed:
"For with coffee in hand,
I can lick any band,
Be it cruller or sprinkled or glazed!"
In the carnage that follows, the rules
Of decorum are slaughtered like fools.
Every street is awash
In a flood of ganache,
And the custard is standing in pools.
Through the strewn-about boulders of cake,
People stagger and wish it were fake.
Did the hero survive?
Could he still be alive?
Will his victory bash be a wake?
I can hear someone sniffle nearby;
Then again, and they raise up the cry:
"Is that coffee I smell?
Over here! What the Hell?"
And I see him. I cannot deny.
He's expanded, so nearly a sphere,
When I rush to his side, it's unclear
If he's breathing. "Hello?
Are you living or no?"
But he belches: "I am, though I fear
"It'll take me some time to digest
What I found of its brain and the rest
Of its ganglion bits."
With a wobble, he sits.
"So remaining in place might be best."
We construct him a hut out of pine,
And for weeks, people wait in a line
To say thanks for his deeds
And to see to his needs.
But he grins: "Just a sandwich is fine."
I like limericks. If I was a tad more creative, and perhaps a little less tired, I'd be tempted to reply in equal fashion.
Anyway, I really enjoyed it. Though I have to wonder if the use of "Foot" was intentional, because if that's the case, then that'd be one odd shaped doughnut.
Anyway, I really enjoyed it. Though I have to wonder if the use of "Foot" was intentional, because if that's the case, then that'd be one odd shaped doughnut.
Clever and a bit of a feat to do an entire poem here. But... I fear that while there were a few genuinely clever lines ("...It's a guy! That's insane!"), the majority of it felt like filler. I also wondered the whole time when a sandwich would be involved. As it was only for a single line at the end, I can't shake the suspicion this was something the author may have already had prepared, and simply substituted the word "sandwich" for whatever word or food was there before ("a water", or maybe "just the check is fine") Perhaps I'm wrong on that count, but if so, then I would expect something more sandwich focused. If I can swap out one word and remove all connection to the prompt, then it feels like it doesn't qualify as on prompt to me in any case.
Still, props for the effort to make a poem like this.
Still, props for the effort to make a poem like this.
Every street is awash
In a flood of ganache,
And the custard is standing in pools.
This was the specific line that elevated this little tale-in-limericks from high on my slate to my top-so-far spot.
This is a silly format for a silly story, but the text is cleverly constructed, the meter feels comfortable, and the rhymes (while initially a bit pedestrian) deepen as the piece goes on and the author warms up. The story is surprisingly coherent, and by the time we hit the prompt drop at the end, I no longer can work up any umbrage over it, because I was just so thoroughly charmed by the rest. Thank you for this.
Horizon leaned back, judgment rendered,
And poured out a drink from his blender.
Then, deciding to find
Some response back in kind:
"Tier, colon," he said, "Top Contender."
Clever and creative, and you manage to bury the occasional forced line under a greater number of interesting and witty ones, so top marks there. Like >>Xepher though, I can't help feel that the one reference to sandwich could be wholly superfluous to the piece, and it's frustrating that the final line doesn't really feel like it relates, other than to contain the aforementioned reference.
Still, I do like a good limerick, and there was a lot to enjoy here. Thanks for sharing.
Still, I do like a good limerick, and there was a lot to enjoy here. Thanks for sharing.
Enjoyed! — Attack of the Fifty Foot Donut — A++ — First reaction: Oh, no. Poetry.
(+) Oh! Good poetry. To tackle a prompt of this type with a poem is a challenge bespeaking great skill, for most prose from these writeoffs could make you quite ill. Ok, I’ll stop.
(-) A few forced spots, but when you tie yourself down with chains like this, you have to expect a few clinks.
Weapons: Coffee. Fatalities: One.
(+) Oh! Good poetry. To tackle a prompt of this type with a poem is a challenge bespeaking great skill, for most prose from these writeoffs could make you quite ill. Ok, I’ll stop.
(-) A few forced spots, but when you tie yourself down with chains like this, you have to expect a few clinks.
Weapons: Coffee. Fatalities: One.
I can't and won't judge English poetry. So while I'll abstain, I felt that some rhymes were very well coined, but others seemed to be a little shoehorned to fit into the mould. This is legit zany, but I'm left wondering if some of the zaniness is intentional or dictated by the laws of poetry. In other words, if your words wait on the idea, or if you had to tweak the idea to pander to the words.
Congrats to our winners:
And thanks, folks. This is my second "most controversial," I think. Ah, poetry. So divisive! :)
As I say somewhere on the first page of these discussions, after seeing the prompt, I was going to sit this round out, but then my mind started fixating on the difference between "savory"--such as most sandwiches are--and "sweet"--such as, say, doughnuts are. The idea of being forced to eat sweet when all one wants is savory got sillier and more overblown as I thought about it, and since I'd spent the month of July writing a bunch of poetry including 101 limericks for a contest Zoetic Press was sponsoring, I still had anapests on the brain.
The rest followed rather naturally. I'll definitely be overhauling the thing before I submit it to the journal of the Science-fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association...
Mike
And thanks, folks. This is my second "most controversial," I think. Ah, poetry. So divisive! :)
As I say somewhere on the first page of these discussions, after seeing the prompt, I was going to sit this round out, but then my mind started fixating on the difference between "savory"--such as most sandwiches are--and "sweet"--such as, say, doughnuts are. The idea of being forced to eat sweet when all one wants is savory got sillier and more overblown as I thought about it, and since I'd spent the month of July writing a bunch of poetry including 101 limericks for a contest Zoetic Press was sponsoring, I still had anapests on the brain.
The rest followed rather naturally. I'll definitely be overhauling the thing before I submit it to the journal of the Science-fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association...
Mike