Good afternoon my Sherherazades and Rumis. It looks like the verdict is in; the winner of our competition selection is:
Arabian Nights: Poems inspired by genies, thieves and no shortage of seduction stories.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, involves the creation, in 50 lines or less, of a story inspired by the Islamic Golden Age.
Unfortunately, due to the chronic ADD of today’s reader, you will have far fewer than 1001 nights to complete your assignment. Poems should be submitted as links in the comment section (or via email), before the clock strikes twelve on Saturday Night.
Of course, to help you along the way, I’ve enlisted a team of storytellings for inspiration purposes. These are highly volatile poems, so for the public’s safety, do not let them spread beyond the borders of this competition or to non-writing civilians.
The winner will receive:
-The loveliness of bragging rights
-His/her poetry/story featured on my frontpage and no shortage of blog promotion
-A playing card in the denomination and suit of his/her choice
-Any poem and drawing of mine (either already created or written customized for him/her) to be posted both on my site and sent via post (snail mail) to any P.O BOX or address that mailmen can find.
And one runner up will both:
–Have his/her poem featured on my frontpage AND
-Receive a poem (complete with drawing) by me, in a style/theme of choice.
As always, should you not be able to complete your mission, WordPress will disavow all knowledge of your actions.
I wish you the best of luck.
This message will self destruct eventually.
Bonus: Starting Inspiration!
They say that if you find a place with no streetlights
and go to a crossroads carved from dirt paths
right before midnight
you will find magic
When the clock strikes twelve
they claim the devil will appear
and for the mere cost of your soul
he will grant you gold
or the ability to play a mean guitar
They say it’s a small price to pay
(for your greatness will make you immortal)
They are mistaken
Forget how crazy hard it is to walk on gravel
with no lights to guide your way
or how trees take pleasure in poking
your face with their snaking branches
Before you even come to the fork in the forest
you will stub your little toe
(by far the most painful to hit)
on a half-buried-round-metal-thing
sticking out of the ground
Lifting it from the earth for the sole purpose
of throwing it like an Olympic athlete
right into a tree
your pinky finger rubs the dirt from
the unpolished silver plate
and you realize
as cobalt smoke begins to escape
from the mouth of the ornament
that “devil” was mistranslated
and you are about to meet
a Robin Williams lamp resident
But no genie emerges
though blue vapor continues to billow from the
lip of the lantern
It’s probably out of batteries
You discard the ancient artifact
and limp home
wishing you brought your USB charger