Welcome to The Lyceum, the first literary guild on Armor Games! The purpose of The Lyceum is to celebrate and support the arts on Armor Games. In the spirit of this mission, The Lyceum and its members will be supporting a poetry contest, with the winner's piece being displayed on the group's official page.
The Contest Rules
-The entered piece must fit the current theme. -The entered piece must be submitted by the round's deadline. -The entered piece must be created for the explicit round. -The Lyceum respects all intellectual property; plagiarism will not be tolerated. -One submission will be accepted per user. -A user may not win two rounds in a row. Submissions will still be accepted from said user, however.
Judging
In order to ensure the rapid return of results, each round will have two judges: A primary judge, and an alternate. It is the job of the primary judge to post the results within three days of the closure of the round. Should the primary judge be unable to fulfill his duties of judge, the alternate judge shall be tasked with posting the judging until the primary judge can resume his duties.
Should the alternate judge be unable to post the results in a timely fashion, he shall have to find a suitable replacement to post the results, ad infinitum.
Submitting An Entry
All users are welcome to submit an entry for each round, provided it complies with the contest rules. If a user submits multiple pieces, then once piece must be specified for judging.
To join The Lyceum, or to view the current round's winner, please check out The_Lyceum. Good luck, and enjoy!
Dear art-loving friend, as one of the founders of this lovely lyceum, I shall hereby enter the first entry. A bit of prose based on the theme Emergence. I hope to trigger you into writing an entry of your own. As for this literary treat; I am completely open for comments, reactions and agry letters. Please leave a message on my profile what you think about it.
Life is unforgiving and full of conditions.
It is the time of snow, yet none has fallen. I walk through the pine forest which shaped my youth. The needles of the tall pines cover the ground, brown, just as they cover the cold trees. Far in the distance everything is a grayish variation of brown. Close to my eyes, everything feels dry and arid.
Close to my eyes, a tree tries to commence his silly life by sprouting in the wrong time of year. It cannot comprehend, that in order to ascend to the gray sky, it must compete and defeat the already emerged giants.
There is no place for sharing among those who do not share. Such is the essence of an emergence: In order to become great, one must fell the great.
The building flamed with hell. Even after deep analysis of the building's structure the crew deemed it was inaccessible. Finally, from the depths of despair, a lone man emerged from the collapsing would-be rubble. Though physically alone, his eyes implied a new spirit emerged with him.
I'm confused. Do you want actual prose, or do you want us to hack up something barely a paragraph long and then call it "micro fiction"? It might be about time I resurrect the twiction contest.
It can be any form of written art, whether it be poetic, a story, prose, or what have you. I'm no English major, so I just wrote a few sentences that sounded good and posted them. It's written, and you can call it art. Therefore, written art.
K, so... the idea for the story was a last-minute incidence (had a few ideas but couldn't develop them very far), and my rhymes are still so bad '-.- Best is you read it more like decorated prose and not like a strictly rhythmed poem. I call it...
The Plague
In a wild autumnal country, A distant village laid peacefully Between dense forest and blue sea.
The villagers were friendly, though with incoming winter Their days were quite busy preparing their shelter. Thus, unnoticed by any, an unrest crawled in like a hunter.
The shorter the days became, the more tensed they were; Conflicts arose and arguments were severe, And they blamed it all on the cold air; But some already suspected there to be more.
The unrest grew steadily until someone was found dead. Smoldering feelings unloaded, tears and dread As well as hate and anger, until The only thoughts left were "fight" and "kill".
By the end of autumn the last survivor, Desperate and alone in a ruin of starting putrescence, Ended his life to evade all that horror; And below the first snowflakes was left only the sound of silence...
If there are any doubts about the topic-relatedness of the poems, please say. I purposely never mention explicitely what exactly causes all the events, so you're free to imagine whatever you want; but I like the way its appearance ends up resulting into the exact opposite of the theme.
Alright..so the round is over. Sadly, however, 2 of the three works submitted were those done by a Co-founder of the Lyceum..mean that HahiHa's work is the only eligible submission, meaning he wins by default.
I will, if you like, give you my constructive response on the work HahiHa..maybe some time tomorrow (as to keep up the integrity of the thread).
If Emp, whom I'm handing the next contest to as judge, would like to start the next one before I'm able to give you my judging on the work, that is perfectly fine
