Luc Bat Poems: WD Poetic Form Challenge

It’s time for another poetic form challenge from Writer’s Digest. This time around, we’ll be tackling luc bat poems, which are poems of alternating lines of 6 and 8 syllables with an intricate rhyme scheme. You’ll just need to check out my original post to see what’s involved, but I promise they’re fun after you wrap your head around the form.

The winner of the challenge will be featured in a future issue of Writer’s Digest magazine as part of my Poetic Asides column. And yes, anyone can win–so previous experience is not considered (just your luc bats).

Here are the luc bat poem challenge rules:

  • Write and share your luc bat entries in the comments below.
  • Your luc bats must be previously unpublished (and yes, it’s okay to enter any you’ve only shared on this or your blog).
  • Challenge begins now and wraps at 11:59 p.m. on Saturday (6/23/12).
  • Results will be announced on the Poetic Asides blog–probably around the beginning of next week.
  • Please remember to include your name with your luc bat(s) as you would like it to appear in the Writer’s Digest magazine. You know, just in case your luc bat is selected as the winner.

I think that’s about it. If you have any further questions, just send me an e-mail at robert.brewer@fwmedia.com with Luc Bat in the subject line. But I promise, I’m pretty laid back about the whole process. Just share your luc bat, include your name, and have fun!

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97 thoughts on “Luc Bat Poems: WD Poetic Form Challenge

  1. amalynai

    The Haircut
    by Caroline Adele O’Brien

    To the barber, Sal crawled
    Even though he was bald. You see,
    He had a long goatee.
    When he drank his green tea, it dripped.
    Into his beard, it slipped.
    “I need it to be clipped,” he said.
    But I’m afraid, instead,
    The barber washed his head in dyes.
    He said it matched Sal’s eyes.
    But this, of course, was lies. Cause Sal
    Had eyes like a canal.
    They were an admiral blue, but
    His head matched a walnut.
    Sal said, “Do you know what? If I
    grew two wings and could fly,
    I’d make a decent spy. Do you
    know of a special brew
    I could buy from a shrew, that would
    grow my two wings up good?”
    That barber really should have known
    How to find an old crone.
    Sal smacked him with a bone before
    The barber could explore
    Sal’s options. Out the door Sal ran,
    Barber’s scissors in hand,
    And his head, mighty tan. One snip!
    His beard lost it’s tight grip
    of his chin and his lip. He was
    free of his nasty fuzz.
    So never mind the buzz, they shout
    out in the streets about
    Old Sal, who’s now without his beard.

  2. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Paris

    She flew there with her spouse.
    The sins that stained her blouse came too.
    Thought they might start anew.
    Forgive? Forget? No clue, her vows,
    she forgot them somehow…
    Worry lines on his brow, gray hair?
    She put every one there.
    Each prayed they’d stay a pair, past this.

  3. amalynai

    The Haircut
    by Caroline Adele O’Brien

    To the barber, Sal crawled
    Even though he was bald. You see,
    He had a long goatee,
    When he drank his green tea, it dripped.
    Into his beard, it slipped.
    “I need it to be clipped,” he said.
    But I’m afraid, instead,
    The barber washed his head in dyes.
    He said it matched Sal’s eyes.
    But it, of course, was lies. Cause Sal
    Had eyes like a canal.
    They were an admiral blue, but
    His head matched a walnut.
    Sal said, “Do you know what? If I
    grew two wings and could fly,
    I’d make a decent spy. Do you
    know of a special brew
    I could buy from a shrew, that would
    grow my two wings up good?”
    That barber really should have known
    How to find an old crone.
    Sal smacked him with a bone before
    The barber could explore
    Sal’s options. Out the door Sal ran,
    Barber’s scissors in hand,
    And his head, mighty tan. One snip!
    His beard lost its tight grip
    of his chin and his lip. He was
    free of his nasty fuzz.
    So never mind the buzz, they shout
    out in the streets about
    Old Sal, who’s now without his beard.

  4. Miss R.

    Bird’s-Eye Muse (The Night Owl’s Song)

    Fatigue swiftly sets in,
    Yet my mind’s chirping din stays loud
    Thanks to these words so proud
    Of the great, noisy crowd they make
    That I just have to take
    Pen in hand, no mistake, and write
    Later into the night
    In much dangerous spite of sleep,
    And ignore every peep
    Of life’s desire, so deep, for rest,
    For these words first must nest.

    R. J. Neilson

  5. Michael Grove

    Not About Me

    On waters smooth as glass
    all things shall come to pass in time.
    Enjoy the uphill climb
    step by step until I’m set free.
    This is not about me.
    It’s what you choose to see each day
    that helps you find your way.
    Yes, everyone must pay a price
    or live as cold as ice.
    Speak up once but think twice as hard
    while you play your wild card.
    Why pretend you can guard your heart
    as others play the part
    because you want to start again?
    You can’t remember when
    you’d always get your pen to write
    freely throughout the night
    while squarely in your sight were dreams.
    Now rise up on sunbeams
    until everything seems to be
    bright and not about me.

    By Michael Grove

  6. taylor graham

    ELIZABETH’S TRINKET BOX

    She’s been to Mormon Rocks
    and San Diego docks; the track
    at Del Mar. Hers, no lack
    of posing; hers, a stack of post-
    cards, date-stamped; there’s almost
    no place without her ghost, her face
    in photo, meant to grace
    remembrance of the place. Her folks
    have cash like leaves on oaks.
    She gets as many Cokes as she
    desires. She’s seen a tree
    and keeps its effigy—a box.

  7. Mustang Sal

    A-mazing Grace

    Left, right out at the gate.
    Proud, I vow to create my own
    way, across fields unknown.
    But down the road, I’ve grown to learn
    straight paths take crooked turns
    to dead ends, and I yearn to find
    a way out. Now my mind
    is saying things unkind. I’m lost,
    having already crossed
    broken bound’ries and tossed my fate
    upward, scared, to await
    final judgment. But great is Love,
    and I’m carried above
    this maze to Grace whereof I’m home.

    By Sally Valentine

  8. Michael Grove

    In His Shoe

    Cruel world said less is more.
    Told lies of what’s in store for him.
    He acted on a whim.
    Then all the lights went dim and cold.
    He stood up strong and bold.
    With tongue in cheek he told the truth.
    Returned him to his youth.
    He gave up an eyetooth and knelt.
    Hit hard below the belt.
    Since then he’s never felt the same.
    He exited the game,
    but, no one was to blame. No crime
    could stop him on a dime.
    He found a different time and place.
    Dug deep lines on his face,
    until the human race was lost
    at far too great a cost.
    So many lines were crossed by all
    then set-up for a fall.
    A red brick in the wall they built
    kept all of them on tilt
    and buried him in silt and sand,
    as he raised his right hand.
    T’was time for him to stand upright
    and stop picking a fight.
    He gathered all his might inside
    as he refused to hide
    from all the times he tried and failed.
    He wouldn’t be derailed
    and finally prevailed on top
    amidst the rise and drop.
    Now he will rarely stop for you.
    No foot fits in his shoe.

    By Michael Grove

  9. Marjory MT

    SANDCASTLE by Marjory M Thompson

    Sandcastle by the sea,
    built there by you and me today,
    as at the beach we play
    to while the hours away, in fun
    beneath the summer sun.
    Feeling to be as one with tide
    on it’s relentless glide,
    we watch to see it slid the beach
    ‘til it our castle reach.
    Slowly, it starts to breach a placea
    along our castle’s face.
    Sandcastle spreads like lace to fade
    away as if not made.
    So hand in hand, we strayed, musing
    while driftwood gathering
    for us to use building a fire
    to rest by when we tier,
    It’ll warm up our desire as moon-
    light heartens you, to croon
    a soft romantic tune of love.
    The stars watch from above
    to note my growing love for thee,
    man-castle by the sea.

  10. dandelionwine

    Square Dance

    One pure strain from the bow
    slides over the air low and long
    then joins to hook the song,
    smooth reeling without wrong turns or
    missed steps, an open door
    drawing the gathered for the call
    to fill the golden hall–
    do-sa-do, sachet all, down and
    back– take her by the hand
    through every learned step and each sweet
    old dance met with new feet,
    the resonating beat of yore
    spent with heart enough for
    wearing those maple floorboards down.

    Sara Ramsdell

  11. iainspapa

    Summer Bummer
    A Luc Bat poem by Michael W. Collins
    http://trollpants.wordpress.com

    Though summer’s just begun
    They repossessed the sun today
    They’re hauling it away
    ‘Cause I refused to pay the freight.
    Delivery was late:
    Six months I had to wait! The fee
    For shipping should be free!
    I gave the company a call
    And got this from a ‘Paul’:
    “Oh, if we dropped the ball, then we’ll
    Just pick it up. We feel
    That you should love your deal. Our pride
    Is hurt if either side
    Is less than satisfied…oh, dear.”
    He sighed. “Sir, it says here
    That sometime late last year you chose
    A lay-away plan. Those,
    As you might well suppose, delay
    Their shipping ’til you pay
    The balance due. Okay? You see
    The difficulty? We
    Can’t ship those C.O.D. That’s why
    We waited ’til July–
    I’m sorry, June–to fly your sun
    To you.” Fine. Summer’s done,
    I guess, but just for fun I’ll pack
    It up and send it back
    Two minutes at a crack. Think I’m
    A jerk? Payback’s sublime.

  12. Miss R.

    Cold Reflections

    The cold seeps in closely,
    And I snatch up a free sweater
    From the colorful blur
    Of bright clothes that were once so clean,
    But time is ever lean,
    And somehow in between life’s call
    And death’s threat, it just all
    Started slowly to fall in piles,
    So that after these miles
    I can’t hide with my wiles that I,
    Who does not smile or cry
    Anytime you walk by, still feels
    Life’s great pressure, and reels
    Inside, but digs in heels to slow
    The never-ending flow
    As we all grow and grow older.
    The room just gets colder.

    R. J. Neilson

  13. Jane Shlensky

    Forest Fire

    A wall of flames eats through
    the underbrush, into tall trees,
    straight up old pines, like these
    are hell’s bright torches seizing night
    by its scruff, worlds alight.
    Fueled by flash of lightning, drought,
    and winds, it will burn out
    when every ash of doubt lies cold.

  14. Jane Shlensky

    The Source of Pain

    My cat fights with his tail—
    hissing, angry, he fails to see
    it is attached, that he
    causes his pain. So we humans
    make hard fists of our hands,
    lay waste our understanding heart;
    we tear ourselves apart
    for power, still too smart for peace.

  15. taylor graham

    BEYOND THE HONEY MOON

    You’ve filled the morning room
    with bride-white buckeye bloom. The sun
    has swept the lawn, begun
    to thread its gold fine-spun through trees
    hide-seeking with a breeze –
    a time for dreamy ease as love
    lets slip a summer glove.

  16. DanielAri

    “The empty house”

    Wood floors, walls and angles
    encompass rectangles of space.
    Here’s a room with no trace
    of any living race; for no
    bedstead, bookshelf, bureau,
    robe, roast or radio is there
    in the small, quasi-lair.
    It is daytime. The bare window
    permits the light to flow
    in from beyond and go around
    the walls, then on beyond
    the room. It isn’t bound by four
    walls, for one is no more
    than made-believe—and forfeited
    since she uncommitted
    her game and admitted that toys
    aren’t interesting as boys.
    With a clattering noise, her dolls
    fell into cardboard stalls
    and their house’s bright halls went down
    to the crawlspace, a town
    of vacant, underground tangles.

    Daniel Ari

  17. Karen31

    Solstice Luc Bat (The Heat is On!)

    Sing for Summer Solstice:
    The sun gives cause to cheer – Rejoice!
    Lift every heart and voice
    (lift your frosty cold choice, salute!)
    Turn back, fiery brute,
    descend in latitude (while we
    soak in vibrant UV
    on beaches, clothing free and bake,
    anointed, nearly naked.)
    So blessed are we, take joy, all,
    (AC’d car, AC’d mall,
    roofed-in AC’d baseball, Hooray!)
    the cosmic clock’s in play,
    the autumn makes its way – (Boo, Hiss!)

  18. Andrew Kreider

    Sets

    Those iridescent blue-
    green running shorts, on view in glass
    around the room could pass
    for rainbows. As the class proceeds
    with weights, two shining beads
    moisten her neck. She needs to get
    a towel and I let
    my mind wander. Her set of flies
    is next. I notice guys
    changing their exercise routine
    in ways I’ve never seen
    so they can watch that lean body
    arch magnificently.
    She’s on the mat now, three sets of
    crunches, arms raised above
    her head, and I would love to know
    if she means this floor show
    to cause such a commotion. She
    is everywhere, yet we
    all pretend not to see. Somewhere,
    someone drops a weight, their
    muffled curse breaks the air, and we
    regain reality.
    I glance across and see the door
    flash. Thank god, she’s off for
    a run, to torture poor souls out
    on the ball field without
    even knowing about it… Wow.

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