Time to vote!
We're no longer taking entries for the first-ever poetry contest ARC give-away. Instead, ten poems have been selected (through an arcane mix of "random number generation" and "oh, I like that one"), and are included below for your voting pleasure. The winner will be selected this Friday, and will receive an ARC of Rosemary and Rue for their very own. Vote for your favorite
Game on!
Poll Poetry Contest Take One!
***
Entry #1: Haiku.
Pointy-eared gumshoe
in ur town solvin' ur crimes
Toby Daye, bitches.
Entry #2: Sestina.
The tale begins with rosemary and rue,
The one for memory, the other, honor,
The former grown by day, its mate by night.
(Think how remembrance dimmed once darkness fell
And how the shadow of regret eclipses
All brighter passions in night’s habitation.)
Who, though, may map a local habitation
Foreseeing that the road may lead to rue?
More often, evil circumstance eclipses
Benign intent, unravels bonds of honor,
Obscures the path with fog that lately fell,
Transforming fairest day to foulest night.
And yet, it is an artificial night
That cannot long sustain its habitation,
For dawn succeeds the dark whene’er it fell.
Who tries to break that cycle’s sure to rue
Such rough assault on morning’s maiden honor
When light prevails against the shade’s eclipses.
We can but wonder where these late eclipses
Arise within the deep expanse of night;
What shadowed scion dares assault the honor
Of those who choose the daylight’s habitation?
We must trace shadow’s source, else we may rue
Our lack of vigilance toward foes most fell.
We’ll face the threat upon the brightest fell,
For hope’s bold flag the foe’s despair eclipses,
And passion’s strength sweeps o’er the flowering rue,
Seeding a garden proof against the night,
Whose beauty shields our chosen habitation,
Yet, freely growing, blooms in nature’s honor.
The shadow, beaten, sheds ashes of honor
Behind it, leaves its minions where they fell
As it slinks back to its own habitation.
At least for now, the sky’s done with eclipses;
Day will be day, the night shall cleave to night,
And we may harvest rosemary and rue.
In time will evil come to rue its honor,
Break free of night again to haunt the fell.
Watch for eclipses from your habitation.
Entry #3: Pantoum.
Rosemary remembers, and rue for regret
For the piece of my soul torn away.
My despair and salvation in half mortal get
For a changeling, no refuge in Fae.
The road of the hunted is weary and long
There’s no rest at the end of the day
Halfbreed and half crippled, but by God, I’m still strong
This changeling is no easy prey.
The debt they collected, the life of a friend
Only rage keeps my sorrow at bay.
By the Fae I rejected, I swear in the end
They will rue this October Daye.
Entry #4: Villanelle.
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
The writing's done, the book is sold
September can't come soon enough
Our heroine is strong and tough
Our writer witty, bright and bold
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
The cover's surely up to snuff
No bimbo in a bra of gold
September can't come soon enough
Copies in a box and stuff
Underneath felines (I lol'd)
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
Toby Daye just won't take guff
Even in a pond that's cold
September can't come soon enough
I hope this poem is enough
To give me a copy to behold
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
September can't come soon enough.
Entry #5: Nioi.
The taste can never quite compare to smell;
A tea's aroma is the purer hue,
The richer shade, the deeper and more true,
Where taste's a crude and disappointing shell.
The Japanese silk dyers dipped their sleeves
To let the colour deepen, strengthen, fill,
And named it for a fragrance lingering still,
Etched vividly in broideries and weaves.
In tea the dried herb untwists in the cup
And arcs in agony as it boils away:
Its scent, its last long breath, dissolves away
And leaves the taste behind to be drunk up.
Poor rosemary and rue, so crisply scented,
Yet like the taste of bitter love repented.
Entry #6: Acrostic Sonnet.
"Rose is not a rose without a thorn,"
October senses danger from the start.
Sometimes it isn't easy, changeling-born;
Each world can lay its claim upon your heart.
Many are the paths the fey may take,
And many are roads that lead to blood.
Remember who you are, despite the ache
Your heart provides, regardless of the stutter
And the racing of your pulse when danger's
Near. Toby tries to do what's right
(Dayes will never flinch from dark or pain,
Regardless of the cost) both day and night.
Unless this guess I make is sore mistook,
Everyone is gonna love this book!
Entry #7: Limerick.
The Heroine's name is October.
'Cause it's Seanan, I venture she's sober.
The story it's true
is Rosemary and Rue
And I bet I will howl when it's over.
Entry #8: Haiku.
October Daye rises;
September bookstores worry-
Locust-fans descend.
Entry #9: Haiku.
October is far
Lonely, empty my bookshelf
and time slowly goes by.
Entry #10: Sonnet.
Rosemary’s for remembrance so they say,
My lack of memory seems to agree
For I have not that herb near to me
Finding instead that I must rue the day
Forgetting which dragons I’m meant to slay
And which ones I did mean to set free;
Perhaps tis best that I just let it be,
Not find myself tempted into the fray.
For memory is fleeting, but does return
In moments that one truly feels the need
and awaits it to come in its own time.
And though returning memories do burn
The dragons of the past shall plant the seed
From which the autumn roses will climb.
Game on!
Poll Poetry Contest Take One!
***
Entry #1: Haiku.
Pointy-eared gumshoe
in ur town solvin' ur crimes
Toby Daye, bitches.
Entry #2: Sestina.
The tale begins with rosemary and rue,
The one for memory, the other, honor,
The former grown by day, its mate by night.
(Think how remembrance dimmed once darkness fell
And how the shadow of regret eclipses
All brighter passions in night’s habitation.)
Who, though, may map a local habitation
Foreseeing that the road may lead to rue?
More often, evil circumstance eclipses
Benign intent, unravels bonds of honor,
Obscures the path with fog that lately fell,
Transforming fairest day to foulest night.
And yet, it is an artificial night
That cannot long sustain its habitation,
For dawn succeeds the dark whene’er it fell.
Who tries to break that cycle’s sure to rue
Such rough assault on morning’s maiden honor
When light prevails against the shade’s eclipses.
We can but wonder where these late eclipses
Arise within the deep expanse of night;
What shadowed scion dares assault the honor
Of those who choose the daylight’s habitation?
We must trace shadow’s source, else we may rue
Our lack of vigilance toward foes most fell.
We’ll face the threat upon the brightest fell,
For hope’s bold flag the foe’s despair eclipses,
And passion’s strength sweeps o’er the flowering rue,
Seeding a garden proof against the night,
Whose beauty shields our chosen habitation,
Yet, freely growing, blooms in nature’s honor.
The shadow, beaten, sheds ashes of honor
Behind it, leaves its minions where they fell
As it slinks back to its own habitation.
At least for now, the sky’s done with eclipses;
Day will be day, the night shall cleave to night,
And we may harvest rosemary and rue.
In time will evil come to rue its honor,
Break free of night again to haunt the fell.
Watch for eclipses from your habitation.
Entry #3: Pantoum.
Rosemary remembers, and rue for regret
For the piece of my soul torn away.
My despair and salvation in half mortal get
For a changeling, no refuge in Fae.
The road of the hunted is weary and long
There’s no rest at the end of the day
Halfbreed and half crippled, but by God, I’m still strong
This changeling is no easy prey.
The debt they collected, the life of a friend
Only rage keeps my sorrow at bay.
By the Fae I rejected, I swear in the end
They will rue this October Daye.
Entry #4: Villanelle.
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
The writing's done, the book is sold
September can't come soon enough
Our heroine is strong and tough
Our writer witty, bright and bold
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
The cover's surely up to snuff
No bimbo in a bra of gold
September can't come soon enough
Copies in a box and stuff
Underneath felines (I lol'd)
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
Toby Daye just won't take guff
Even in a pond that's cold
September can't come soon enough
I hope this poem is enough
To give me a copy to behold
Your cats are cute and full of fluff
September can't come soon enough.
Entry #5: Nioi.
The taste can never quite compare to smell;
A tea's aroma is the purer hue,
The richer shade, the deeper and more true,
Where taste's a crude and disappointing shell.
The Japanese silk dyers dipped their sleeves
To let the colour deepen, strengthen, fill,
And named it for a fragrance lingering still,
Etched vividly in broideries and weaves.
In tea the dried herb untwists in the cup
And arcs in agony as it boils away:
Its scent, its last long breath, dissolves away
And leaves the taste behind to be drunk up.
Poor rosemary and rue, so crisply scented,
Yet like the taste of bitter love repented.
Entry #6: Acrostic Sonnet.
"Rose is not a rose without a thorn,"
October senses danger from the start.
Sometimes it isn't easy, changeling-born;
Each world can lay its claim upon your heart.
Many are the paths the fey may take,
And many are roads that lead to blood.
Remember who you are, despite the ache
Your heart provides, regardless of the stutter
And the racing of your pulse when danger's
Near. Toby tries to do what's right
(Dayes will never flinch from dark or pain,
Regardless of the cost) both day and night.
Unless this guess I make is sore mistook,
Everyone is gonna love this book!
Entry #7: Limerick.
The Heroine's name is October.
'Cause it's Seanan, I venture she's sober.
The story it's true
is Rosemary and Rue
And I bet I will howl when it's over.
Entry #8: Haiku.
October Daye rises;
September bookstores worry-
Locust-fans descend.
Entry #9: Haiku.
October is far
Lonely, empty my bookshelf
and time slowly goes by.
Entry #10: Sonnet.
Rosemary’s for remembrance so they say,
My lack of memory seems to agree
For I have not that herb near to me
Finding instead that I must rue the day
Forgetting which dragons I’m meant to slay
And which ones I did mean to set free;
Perhaps tis best that I just let it be,
Not find myself tempted into the fray.
For memory is fleeting, but does return
In moments that one truly feels the need
and awaits it to come in its own time.
And though returning memories do burn
The dragons of the past shall plant the seed
From which the autumn roses will climb.