Write Me a Poem and Win an ARC of What Makes You Die
Posted by Lesley Conner on Feb 8, 2013 in Apex Publications Blog: Matters of SF, Fantasy, and Horror | 15 comments
Roses are red…
No, that isn’t right.
There once was a man from…
No. No. Not that either.
Sigh.
I’m not any good a writing poetry. I love to read it, but writing it is not a skill I possess. I bet some of you do, though.
What if I told you those poetry skills could give you a chance to win an ARC of What Makes You Die by Tom Piccirilli?
What Makes You Die is a new short novel by Bram Stoker award winning author Tom Piccirilli chronicling Tommy Pic’s struggle with mental illness, a Komodo dragon, and a childhood love lost. Everyone will have the opportunity to read it come March 19th, when the novel is released, but we’re giving you a chance to read it first.
All you have to do is write a short poem with the title “What Makes You Die”. It could be a haiku, limerick, free verse, whatever. I don’t care. Just make me laugh, make me cringe, make me cry. Make your poem better than any of the others.
Entering is easy. Leave your poem as a comment to this post sometime between now and February 19th. I’ll read all the entrants and pick my favorite. The winner will be announced on February 21st, winning the ARC of What Makes You Die by Tom Piccirilli and having their poem posted right here on the Apex blog.
*To win the ARC you must live within the US. International readers can still enter and have their poem posted on the Apex blog if they win, but would receive an eBook copy of What Makes You Die, rather than the ARC.
So what are you waiting for?
Write me a poem.
Go on. Get to it.
Are you like me and just not any good at writing poetry? Never fear. There’s still a chance for you to snag an ARC of What Makes You Die. We’re currently running a Goodreads giveaway until February 14th. Just click the ‘Enter to Win’ button for your chance to win.
Goodreads Book Giveaway
What Makes You Die
by Tom Piccirilli
Giveaway ends February 14, 2013.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
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what makes you die
There was a man in denial
Whose life was increasingly banal
He thought to himself: “What the hell.”
And decided to end it all.
WHAT MAKES YOU DIE
It was a bad death
The sort that makes you think twice
Living lovelessness
What Makes You Die
a poem by John Vukelic, 2013
What makes you die?
For me, it is a lie.
Oh, that’s such a lovely tie
Of course I will go. I love to fly.
Every time I answer not for myself but for someone else. I die a little more inside.
Enough! No more!
That was all a lie.
It’s all so I can win What Make You Die.
Ah! Much better.
J.V.
“What Makes You Die”
(for Pic)
Back in the day, death was binary
Alive or dead, on or off, one or zero
Now, there is no zero state
Hit by a car?
Pick a new body. We’ll restore “you” from backup
Brain cancer?
No worries! We’ll grow another one
It’s not about whether you live any more,
It’s about what you create while you live
Art is the new yardstick
Content is the new blood
The more you bleed, the less you die, so
Open a vein and try to keep up
Whatever you do, don’t keep it to yourself;
That is what makes you die.
WHAT MAKES YOU DIE a poem
The thousand cuts
the missed chance
the words never said—
There, there…
your death is here.
Your funeral is prepared.
They are lining up.
There is a problem w/ parking.
The priest is in a bad mood.
No one liked you anyway.
SD
Things That Make You Die
The splashed walls
inside a reddened
psyche where coffin
enamel chips seep
into an ever polluted
pineal gland glowing
hotter towards final
bra-less undies on
rad green surfboards
atop wet evisceration
It wasn’t the broken arm you gave me
After I lost your favorite watch
Or when you called me a queer
And stubbed out cigarettes on my thighs
It wasn’t when you told me the cat got hit by a car
Even though I knew what you really did
It wasn’t the verbal and physical beatings
From the kids they called my peers
Or the failing grades
Or mother’s failing health
It wasn’t her funeral
Or losing my job
Or taking those pills
It wasn’t the first time she cheated
Or the second through the fifth
It wasn’t even the time she told me that it wasn’t mine
And she had never really loved me anyway
The thing that finally killed me
Was the way you didn’t struggle or plead
Or beg for your life
When I brought the knife to your throat
And finally rid the world of you
(What makes you die):
The dream slip
from the cliff’s lip,
and you cannot fly.
What Makes You Die
A little bit
On the inside
Every day
Pieces fall
Drifting away
Like tumbleweeds
Rootless, aimless
Until I am a patchwork
Of broken dreams
Hits and misses
Loves lost
And never found
A token gesture
A smile, a nod
While inside I am screaming…
Please don’t let me die, please don’t let me die
What Makes You Die (haiku)
Unseen speeding word
careens out of control, hits
you walk on, zombie
Whistling through the blackness
Heaven’s messenger comes
Alighting upon my lawn
Tearing tracks in the grass
Moonlit silhouette
A silvery figure stands
Keening a greeting
Echoes of a farewell to come
Signalling with universal palm
Yearning for release
Optimism drained from me
Unfulfilled
Daring to dream
I follow the figure
Enter the craft and escape
What makes you die?
A glass of red, red poisoned wine,
Stuck deep, so deep that rusty tyne,
A festered, pussie zombie bite,
The hangman’s noose nice and tight,
Buried slowly in the cold, white snow,
Slamming, slamming a hammer’s blow,
The bubonic bite from Sewer Rat’s best friend, Mr. Flea,
Slowly, circling sharks, one – two – three,
The push of the short, fat dictator’s little, red button,
The tiny bacteria consumed in that rare slice of mutton,
That crazy, chainsaw toting son of a bitch in the mask made from a human face,
Little Miss Heroin in the pipe, a lusty, smoky free base,
That closet door left open for the boogyman,
The slamming door of the windowless van,
Forgetting to change the battery in your life Alert,
Maybe even the cancer fertilize they use to dry clean your shirts….
Why does it matter? Because in the end, noone will be spared.
What makes you die
I hear you cry
The answer is simple
Time makes you crumple
Causing the final goodbye
What Makes You Die
Death of love,
breath of life,
passing through my fingers.
Scattergories of emotions
too intense,
too bold,
too personal.
You die when you forget.
I once saw a man sitting against
the wall and staring into his drink. Not
much to the image, really. Mundane
and all of that. But something twisted
in the pulsing lights and press
of sweaty flesh around, in the smiles
and shouts that filled the spaces between
beats that made me remember
and notice that I spend too much time
thinking on things.