# January Challenge: "Bow"



## Chesters Daughter (Jan 1, 2019)

*AS PREVIOUSLY ANNOUNCED, IF YOU ENTER THE CHALLENGE, YOU MUST CAST AT LEAST ONE VOTE IN THE POLL. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN YOUR ENTRY BEING DISQUALIFIED.

*The prompt for this month's challenge, as chosen by Phil Istine is: *Bow

*ou are free to interpret the prompt in any way you wish, though of course, site rules apply. If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board. *Please note that all entries* *are eligible to receive critique in the voting thread.* 

*The inclusion of explanatory text or links of any kind within an entrant's challenge entry is prohibited and will be immediately removed upon discovery. As always, only one entry per member is permitted.

*As previously announced, anonymous entries have been abolished, therefore, entrants must post their own entries in this thread, or if you desire to protect first rights, please post your entry in the [URL="https://www.writingforums.com/threads/181040-January-Challenge-quot-Bow-quot?p=2198663#post2198663"]*secure*[/URL][URL="https://www.writingforums.com/threads/181040-January-Challenge-quot-Bow-quot?p=2198663#post2198663"]* thread*[/URL], and then post a link to it here in the public thread. *Failure to do so runs the risk of your entry being disqualifie**d*, so if you require assistance with the task, please PM *me*, and I will gladly help you.

If your entry contains strong language or mature content, *please include a disclaimer in your title.

*Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you submit. You have a *TEN MINUTE GRACE PERIOD* to edit your piece, but anything edited after that will likely see your entry excluded from the challenge. 
*
Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussion related to the challenge can take place in the Bards' Bistro. 

Everyone may now use the "Like" function whenever they so choose.



This challenge will close on the 15th of January at 7pm EST.

*


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## Gumby (Jan 11, 2019)

*Uncle Cash is King*


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## clark (Jan 11, 2019)

JANUARY CHALLENGE
PROMPT:  "BOW"

DRESS CODE FOR GENUFLECTING POET-ARCHERS

The challenge mistress sighed a heartfelt sigh
“where are my poets?” arose her plaintive cry.
“They’re bowing low, sincere in admiration
because the prompt is strong in obfuscation
and language is their game—one did protest
‘so, Phil is Time a factor in this contest?’
I told him that a scary Daughter would send
late poems to hell, take note-- she would not bend
for poets late, she had no ear to lend.

Some poets disdaining the rigors of schedule
forget that this Daughter has borrowed a tool—
a pip of a stick with a point fiercely sharp,
which she aims with an aim that is always on mark!

But one contestant, known for sneering pride,
was quick to condescend and to deride
the chances of his peers a win to pen: 
“Ha! Ha! I am a global Master of the Zen!  
my skill is with the oaken bow so bent,
my highest arrows seem from heaven sent.
And you should know this, I achieved my _Nirvana _
when firing my bow from the bow of _The Hannah,_
(a 40-foot sloop commandeered by Suzanna
who wore bows in her hair while trading bananas).”

Their sneering peer made some poets feel low
some even decided to not draw their bows
nor lounge in the bows of their boats tying bows.
So some of the females went off to their beaus
and some of the males to _The Arrow And Bow_
where they quaffed lots of ale and ate chili-by-bowl

The moral of this tangled tale, if indeed there is one: 
never let your beau string his bow in the bow of your boat
unless he’s wearing a bow tie and bowler and bows to no
man, but is wary of Daughters with pointy sticks running 
around unsupervised.

clark cook


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## Chesters Daughter (Jan 12, 2019)

*Velvet Revenge (Very Mature Content)*

Two red satin bows adorned her hair
but they belonged to another
who was no longer there.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]Her girl had been found
gagged and bound
with her flesh savaged
by starving carnivores
and her nether regions ravaged
by something far more sinister
which boasted but two legs.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]A ferocious February held the child
in its frigid embrace;
draped in moldy lace
and denied both life and decay,
with her captive spirit 
by injustice still held sway,
she waited in frozen earth
suffering each second
in an undeserved wooden dungeon.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]Mother played hide and seek
with mourning’s razor-sharp beak
as she sought the depraved biped 
who had fed his true flock.
She watched the wolves
who for their dinner
used growls to knock
at a well-known door
by weather and claws
both worn and pocked.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]She had never favored the village vicar
who cared more for ladies and liquor
than he did the Word.
There was no surprise in her eyes
when she realized
that he wore the look
of forest critters during wildfire
any and each time she neared.
Conviction via fear.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]She used loss as a ploy
to capture her prey.
“Oh dear vicar, I feel so low today
will you stop by so we can pray?”
knowing full well he could ne’er say nay.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]She prepared a toddy
of her strongest port 
heavily laced
with St. John’s Wort
of which he greedily gulped.
She smiled when he slumped
in his chair
and pulled one bow from her hair
to pin it to his pupil;
alas, he was too intoxicated to care.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]Once roused,
he found himself bound
to a four poster
with his eye a screaming demon
as his eager hostess with the mostest
prepared his next course.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]She took a red velvet sash 
from a child’s Yuletide dress,
which had never been blessed
by her daughter’s flesh,
and with it tied a tight bow 
down below
to staunch
most of his blood flow.
For hours,
he whimpered and pled
as she caressed the second red
satin bow.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]Left tied for days,
gangrene had its way,
sepsis forever stilling filth 
via its venous highway.
As the magistrate banged his gavel
while proclaiming she’d hang,
a lullaby she sang
and then twice bent
[FONT=&Verdana][FONT=&Verdana]her body in a bow
[/FONT][/FONT]as happiness eased
her long-furrowed brow.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]Soon after the seventh sunrise 
spotlit the gallows,
Mother was hung.
Red threads peeked from between 
the digits of her death grip,
and as her lifeless shell swung,
her little girl came to collect her.
[FONT=&Verdana]
[/FONT]Justice for all
had duly been done.


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## Pelwrath (Jan 12, 2019)

My submission


*Terrance of Gor*


In Bexel Hollow, yearly contest held
for marksmen one and all to come.
A cask of Bexel’s best and purse of gold.
Many came to make their strings thrum.


Earl of Flynn and Bill of Tell
Alec O’Lightwood and Clint of Barton
Terrance was a fop, true and through.
He who was anything but spartan.


Terrance of Gor, with locks bright red.
A bow in hand and one across his back
with another around his neck.
To the frau from last night in bed, he bowed.


The crowed cheered for contestants all
Panache with ladies this archer from Gor.
The ladies pined for Terrance’s sign
With style and a smile, he’d won them all before.


The final round was coming
Earl and Alec’s arrow’s all hit center
Terrance laughed and aimed with closed eyes
He wasn’t concerned, though they were contenders.


His flights were straight on the target
the arrows of others all through were split
Time was close the sun soon to set
so the judges said a tie they’d admit


Terrance offered a final test
On heads to be spit was placed an apple
Judges were stuck and consented
All agreed, this final they would grapple.


Alec was first true were his shots
Earl was next and he left juice on their head
Terrance was hit between his eyes
Be careful whose wife that you take to bed.


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## apple (Jan 12, 2019)

*Bow Wowwow Woof*

Ruff, ruff, 
Woof. Ruff.
Arf. Bow wow wow,
arf arf, arf, bow wow.

Bowwowwowwowwow; Woof

AaoooAaooo, roo roo roo
Aaooo. Aaooo.
Aaooo roo roo roo.

Arf.

Woof, woofwoof. Bow wow wow wow wow wow.

_(Translation from dog to human)_

*
Beautiful Night* 

and the night sifts through my fur; 
soft breeze inside moonlight.
I raise my head to the sweetness.
The earth seems holy.

A frail, finger of sound shivers in the distance.
My senses prickle to something familial, 
the scent of musk, rust, and feral tangle.
I remember a certain moon.

Urged toward the sound, I search for _that_ moon
and in exhilaration, I answer again,
and again and again.


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## PiP (Jan 14, 2019)

The Fiddler


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## Darkkin (Jan 14, 2019)

*Penance of the Lesser Lion*

Penance of the Lesser Lion


Upon the bare bones of the Belle he stood,
a beast maned, chained, shoulders bowed,
the Lion Rampant—stone bowed to wood.

Paws penitent for a right instead of should,
a lesson learned—from a kindness showed.
Upon the cold bones of the Belle he stood.

Nine, now Lesser, a choice made for good,
of the many, for each constellation known,
the Lion Rampant—head bowed to wood.

Prayer of a Lesser Lion, a prison of would,
could, should—certainty now an unknown,
as upon the bones of the Belle, Nine stood.

Bound to the Belle’s bow, his eyes hooded,
Nine forgave the crime of a Sock Fox sewn.
The Lesser Lion bowed, stone upon wood.

Keeper of the Belle’s bones he now stood—
a leash, jellyfish tentacles in a dapper bow
tethered him to a wreak of bitterest should.
The Lion Rampant, stone bowed by wood.


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## writersblock (Jan 15, 2019)

*Captive

*My pride fleeted away,
with my esteem in tow.
In a daze of your sway,
at your feet I bow.
Calloused knees,
nary a shrug.
I basked in your gaze,
and missed the glint in your eyes.
-that devious glaze-
when you spin your lies.
I’m trapped in your maze,
captive to your charm.
Relief would be a feat,
but you keep my belly warm,
when you feed me another treat.
I purr to you touch,
even when it burns.
“Be still, don’t flinch”,
I will myself at times.
My mind is sedated,
and those who are for me,
they go unheeded.
They don’t understand me,
-they have never basked,
where I once tanned gold.
Sometimes I rue the day,
I lust after your parlour.
Other times I wish I may,
recoup my squalor.
My little sphere;
that lacked in wealth,
and unyielding fear.
At least in my little world,
Life was profuse,
with each unfettered breath.


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## Chesters Daughter (Jan 15, 2019)

This challenge is now closed.


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