Yes, yes, I've been slow with this. Mea culpa, mea culpa....
Part of the reason was that I was waiting for the ARC of THE PRINCES OF THE GOLDEN CAGE to arrive from Night Shade Books, but I am now assured that it is in the mail, and shall reach me soon. =)
Part of the reason was that it was so damn hard to choose between all of these!
And part of the reason was that so many of them had great gems of humor in them, but didn't necessarily speak to me as a total poem (hey, I specialized in poetry in college, ok? =)
But, without further ado, here are the winners....
Third Place (and winner of the nice chocolates)
By polly phonic:
Do you remember when you rescued me
By leaving bones to simmer on my stove?
You said, Forget aromatherapy
And books about the treachery of love;
You need a carcass, lots of garlic, plus
A steady pair of hands to wield the knife.
The last of these you offered without fuss,
Detaching limbs like cloves of garlic. Life
With me was not for you. How kind to tell
Me straightaway, before the dullest part –
The endless cutting down to size, the smell
That lingers in the hall, the foolish heart
That warms its fingers on the bowl. Alone,
I’m like the myth: my soup is made of stone.
Second Place (and winner of the ARC of THE PRINCES OF THE GOLDEN CAGE by Nathalie Mallet)
By Cara King:
THE SOUP GUIDE TO THE SCIENCE FICTION MALE
by Cara King
If Heinlein’s men eat soup with lots of meat,
And save the universe with brawn and brain,
Then Scalzi’s men (who follow Heinlein’s) eat
Gazpacho, not as macho, but more sane.
Galactica is rife with angst and loss,
So Jamie Bamber eats his soup and sighs.
But Stargate’s men are happier because
When Browder has some chowder no one dies.
The Kzinti like to eat their prey alive,
So Niven’s cats have soup with lots of crunch;
Be wary if they smile when you arrive:
Their smiling is beguiling, when you’re lunch.
A spaceman’s soup reveals the truth inside.
(The artificial gravity’s implied.)
And finally, drumroll please.....!
First Place (and winner of the skip-the-query-pile!)
Our windless August day and cool May night
Seasoned mellow heat and fair maid’s slumber
Our worlds are far apart and yet join right
Hearts entwine in patterns light and umber
Some look upon our life but do not see
The rightness of the combination made
Like lofty burning sun and spreading tree
Where they conjoin to form sweet dappled shade
So should the world conspire to tear we two
And send us hurt’ling down swift rivers twain
If it should seem that what they say is true
And you begin to doubt we can remain
Remember, if you will, de temps en temps
The love I hold for you, no mere soupcon.
Thank you all for entering! It was wonderful getting to see what everyone could come up with! =) If you are one of the three winners, please e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org, and I'll get your prizes out to you!
And now, I'm off to a writer's conference in Pittsburgh. I must go and finish packing...