"Find It Your Steel" ... Power House Creatives Contest

in #powerhousecreatives2 years ago (edited)

Image by Kim Stovring

The Power House Creatives' venerable, @zord189, has announced a PHC-exclusive contest, the writing of Children Bed Time Stories for kids aged 8-12. 

Well, who could pass up the opportunity to scare the bejesus out of children with tales of torture and torment? I'm kidding. I actually get along surprisingly well with children despite having no compunction whatsoever about beating the crap out of them with a light sabre (tutoring can be stressful).

Who knows how to do a linear regression?
Mr. Paul ... no one. You know we're only seven, right?
No excuses. En garde!

Anyway, in fine poetic tradition, I decided to write my story as a poem so that parents could take the opportunity to subtly belittle their children for not knowing the difference between an iamb and a trochee ... thereby reinforcing the pecking order. Social media is making them rebellious.

I do, however, have a bit of a problem. Zord requested that the stories be illustrated or at least that they include some visual imagery. As I possess no artistic talent whatsoever, my mind immediately thought, "Which friendship can I exploit to get what I need?"


Marg (@girlbeforemirror) is spectacularly creative at everything you could imagine, including drawing. She's Bohemian. There is, however, a slight problem. Marg has a debilitating disease called, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, that often wipes her out for days at a time. So, making the deadline seemed unlikely even if she were interested in such a collaboration. 

Anyway, I contacted Zord and true to his ever accomodative nature, he agreed to pretend that the illustrations were present, while I promised to re-publish the story when they were. As I asked for his forbearance, so too I ask for yours. If Marg is unable to complete the illustrations, I will lean upon another of PHC's many artistically gifted geniuses. But Marg is my first pick ... we have history. 

FunFact: Marg's great-great-great grandfather was Sigmund Freud so be sure to leave a pithy comment about the Oedipus Complex next time you visit her blog.

Anyway, here's my story-poem:

Find It Your Steel

There were a hundred, alone did I stand, 
My shield on arm and sword in my hand. 
I thrust and I parried and wheeled about, 
I kicked in the butt, I clobbered with clout.”   

He held their attention, hands clutching their hearts,  
As told he his tale, his words a fine art. 
With bravery and courage, fought monsters this knight, 
A hero, a legend, he spoke of great might.   

Went on did the bragging, went on did the boast, 
The gathered gave praise and raised him a toast. 
I looked up at Dad, on his lips played a smile, 
His brows they were arched, eyes filled with a guile.   

We left it, the crowd; and took them our seats,  
And ordered some drinks and something to eat.  
Asked of my Dad ‘bout what was so funny, 
He silently smiled, gave waitress some money.   

“Some people, they’re liars; others they’re fools, 
The former tell tales, the latter they drool. 
That is not courage nor honor nor might, 
Listen, my daughter, as share I insight.”

“Do see you that man?” I followed his eyes,  
To a smith at a forge, his hammer held high.  
“Now there is a hero … no thing like a knave, 
A man who has courage, a man who is brave.”   

“Look at the scars, that scar them his arms, 
Those are the scars of saving from harm. 
Burning the building, into it he ran, 
Saved woman and child and crippled old man.”   

“Look there that women,” I followed his glance, 
“She cares for the dying to give them a chance.  
Courage is quiet, needs not it to boast, 
Of things that you do, when fear you the most.”   

“And Honor’s a thing not all do possess, 
But Honor’s the thing that speaks to Noblesse.  
For things that you’d fight, though fight leaves you marred, 
Not things when they’re easy, but things when they’re hard.”

Later that night, while I played in the alley,  
A dozen boys passed, if right was my tally. 
Descended upon him, young boy in the street, 
Began to make fun, began they to beat.   

Well I let loose a shriek to raise it the dead, 
And screamed like a madman, despite it my dread. 
“You’re nothing but bullies, like wolves in a pack, 
No courage, no honor … the weak you attack.”   

“Leave him alone and be on your way,  
Or I’ll go get my Dad and you he will flay.” 
Approached did their leader, a scowl on his face, 
Though heart was a-pounding, maintained it my grace.   

He called me a dog and called me a brat, 
He said I was ugly and said I was fat.  
But stood I my ground and didn’t back down, 
And when he was finished, I called him a clown.   

Up came his hand and made he a fist, 
He hadn’t yet struck me, but that was the gist. 
I got in his face and that’s where I stayed, 
And tried to sound tough as dropped me some shade.   

Courage, contagious … if one man will stand,  
And soon up behind me, I had my own band. 
First came the girls who made a great noise, 
Then came the guys, more threatening in poise.   

Bullies are cowards who pick on the meek, 
And count on one’s fear to make the meek weak. 
When faced with a fair fight, they'll slither away, 
When faced with a price that soon they might pay.

Well the bullies skadoodled and me, I ran home, 
Sat down with a pen and wrote it this poem.  
I hope it inspires to find it your steel, 
The honor and courage … to face your ordeals.


All images are linked to source, are QuillFire originals or are modifications of images in the public domain. Videos and images may also be parodies of original works, therefore relying upon applicable exemptions from copyright. 

You guys know the QuillDrill. Be verbose ... but articulate.

And remember ...

Go Love a Starving Poet

For God's sake ... they're starving!





First came the girls who made a great noise,
Then came the guys, more threatening in poise.

However -

I hope it inspires to find it your steel,
The honor and courage … to face your ordeals

Indeed. Mission accomplished, I'd reckon.



I wondered if I'd take heat for the, "First came the girls who made a great noise," line but when Katie and Kaleb read the poem, they both singled it out as a "realistic depiction of what would happen." Women use words as weapons.

Then again, so do I.

When I write poetry, it is to "reveal a truth," not "conceal it" ... which means completely ignoring the "politically correct" (but ridiculously unrealistic) aspirations of activists, whatever their persuasion.


I creep from my five yr old's bed (still can't sleep through the night without calling for me), at 5 am to read Oedipus Complex!
I don't have a particular issue with freud, most theorists and clinicians are chumps that minimise womens health issues, have little life experience and huge "egos" to compensate for...
If not for your ... how you say?... slightly over involved (electra?) ... electric relationship with your now adult daughter, one may take pause to reflect on such comments. But... as they come from such self unawareness, I am less bothered... (now for the obligatory emoji you request so you can gain context, as you lack the ability to jive with women without paranoia that we have a matriarchal mafia waiting in the wings to castrate you. ) emoticon-1659233_1920.png

Also, you know I don't know I still don't know how to get notifications when not logged in, you have to email me old school.
Will look to doodle today if not too late.

PS Katie I am kidding, a proud dad is a wonderful thing, freud is a fool.
Freud's daughter Anna made a greater contribution to psychoanalytics than her father, her loyalty to maintaining his ideology and not challenging his framework however may have kept her somewhat in his shadow. Or maybe it was just gender, and her unavoidable penis envy, not her fault, histrionics come with the territory or is it burden of being born with a womb.


I have any hour and a half til cut off time, its 630 am. Tell me what to draw!


Marg, I spoke to Zord ... forget the cut-off deadline. Take weeks or months. And draw whatever you like, you're the artist. We're playing the long-game on this one ... we'll publish and get filthy rich. Then, with a fraction of our royalties, we'll buy up 51% of the outstanding STEEM and FORCE the "necessary reforms."

Together, we'll become the bane of every Crypto-Anarchist since Satoshi pretended to be Satoshi. We will be ... HATED by every Whale and Witness in existence. We'll make them behave as if they had parents who taught them manners. And punctuation. :-)



I did the same thing to @cryptogee. He has a "thing" about the monarchy and so, periodically, I tell people he is a big monarchist and to make sure they leave a "God Save The Queen" themed video in his comment sections, irrespective of the subject matter of his posts. A number have obliged. As have a number wishing @jaynie a Happy 50th Birthday (she's 39, but getting tired of having to tell people that).

Katie says I have a twisted sense of humor. I think it's charming. :-)


A fine tale told in humorous form, well done...


Thanks mate.


Awesome stuff, and a great moral too. A really fun read.

Well thought out bringing to the surface inner feelings and observations around @quillfire


Thanks Joan.


Well done, Quill :) Sorry I don't have the time to respond to your challenges right now.

А когато сняг забръска,
що ще чиниш ти зимъска?

Part of a popular Bulgarian children's poem

I mean, there will be another winter, right? ;)


No problem, mate. I've noticed that life has a way of frequently conflicting with the demands of social media. We'll chat later.


@quillfire - another great poem in the guise of a children's story. Spooning out those little mouthfuls of social awareness - this time shining light on the despicable act of cowardly bullying. Well done!

Thank you so much for sharing with with us I actually had fun reading it. Have a great week ahead!

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