The contestant (a poem,playwrite,short story)

“The Poem Contest Contestant”
Forward:
This is a short story or a playwright script and a poem at the same time. This is a satire focused on the protagonist's ever growing ego that feeds his pride as he reaches out for fame and fortune. He attempts to write a poem that will win a popular and prestigious poem contest with a cash prize that is intertwined with great public recognition by being broadcast worldwide on Cable TV. This poem as it is written, coincidentally corresponds exactly to his first thoughts of how he envisions the the poem to be fashioned. It just happened and I realized it later. The rhyming degrades into un unknown order but it is a constant rhyme and is there with poetic license: NCPL72548083. The rhyming is placed in a random and absurd order just to test how far he can go with poetic license stretching compound sentence paragraphs to rhyme, instead of phrases. Then it gets serious as he planned it but then it gets even more serious than either of us planed it to be. He is confronted with truth and he considers it, drawing from the universe deep within his heart and not his mind. He realizes how unimportant he is in the scheme of life with regard to the universe and “David”, our protagonist, finally understands that he is Nobody at all. But then when he realizes this; that he is a Nobody, it is then that he truly becomes: “A Somebody”. And David finds this stunning and profound hypothesis: When you know that you don't know; It is then when you truly know, that you do know. So is this life that we live really no more than but a puzzle and a paradox?
But all of this was my discovery of my own inner heart, of the great importance that I had put upon the winning of a contest that I myself was entering. The poem became my story as I wrote it. I became angry that the contest had rules. And the rules declared that the poem be no more than 12 or thirteen lines. I was infuriated that the artist becomes limited by the rules and demands of others. If the poet is limited to do what others beckon him to do he is not an artist, but a only servant. And which he produces is no more than coloring in-between the lines of a template put on my table. The shortness of the poem is there for a compensation in time due to the vast number of participants. This reminds me of the movie “Amadeus” , when the King ordered Mozart to change the music Mozart wrote by saying: “There are to many notes in this piece! Change it!” As it turns out I forgot about the contest and I wrote that which put joy in my heart and pleased me. Then This Story-Poem was written for the sake of an artistic release for me and then became something that was not written not to impress anyone. This Poem was merely written in order to be written and the Ego was set aside. It was done with but only one and only one rule in mind: “There are no rules for self expression, only truth!”
Steven George Hocsák - “Chip” - U4Yah - #9 - Dávied Yahchof Nünn Y'Israel
November 23, 2009 © S.G. Hocsák

pp.1
pp. 2
“The Poem Contest Contestant”


Act 1

The contestant eagerly sits before his writing machine wringing his hands,

Scratching his head he closes his eyes and takes a big breath as he leaves the room,

No, not in body, but his spirit soars through endless skies, setting suns, twinkling stars, the turning leaves of the fall, bikini clad beaches with pure white sands,

Taking great care he begins to write while he searches painstakingly for words out of the norm thinking they will make him the absolute best,

He envisions himself with his own volume of poems being studied by students who are sighing in university class rooms as they read his words of philosophy, romance and whit that quickly conquers their heart, mind and soul trying to understand his ingenious message that hidden between the lines as they prepare themselves for the years most important test,

As his eyes behold the first lines of the poem as they appear on his artsy 7½ x 11 canvas he moans with disgust: “It’s not good enough the for minds of the elite who hunger and thirst for words of high intellectual content that are eagerly ready to devour and consume,”

His waste can is slowly filling to the top with wads of papers strewn all around with one more in his hand to put in his trial files, he now envisions that he is the top basketball star hurling the final shot of the NCAA finals to take his team to the heart stopping victory of the decade, he counts the last ten seconds ticking on the scoreboard clock as he hurls the paper wad he pretends to be a ball, making an enormous leap while making a hook shot towards the winning goal, hitting the edge of the trash can falling to the littered floor, his jubilant excitement turns to gloom,

He then debates with himself: “Should my phrases be short or should they be very long?”

“Should the message be vague or should the message be clear, simple and unavoidably strong?”

“Should they feel love, joy, anger, pain, sadness, confusion, victimization, contentment or sorrow of sorrows,”

He ponders that his grammar will not matter for he has license to do as he would please and the reader will ponder the mistakes as a state mint of extreme brilliance,

Overcoming his doubt he desperately plans in detail to write with a style of complete and total nonsense pretending to be abstract in his style constantly shifting his ideas to hideous extremes and then without warning to a more conservative approach of somber sober values to educate his
pp. 3
reader in the right way of living and thinking after which he will…

The dog begins barking profusely as his children wildly run into the house screaming at the top of their lungs and slamming the door violently behind them, demanding as they plead: “Daddy he took my toy and won’t give it back” KaBoom! He crash lands back into reality joining in with the loud voices adding to the calamity and shouts demanding sympathy with his voice “ Can I not have moment of peace while I try to write. Don’t you know I need everything to be quiet and still?”

If they could only see how they thwart the efforts of a great poet to be; he has such little time to write all his future volumes and the future generations will be saddened that there is not more written by him; O’ these silly children, when will it ever be that they would just hush,

In the middle of all his greatness, his wife bursts through the door; Her frail arms loaded with bags and bags of groceries, declaring to all: “The groceries are in the car, I want everybody to grrrr’ab a bag hurry up and bring it in before the ice cream melts into mush,

He abandons his pursuit of prestige and grandeur instantly as he reverts back to the spirit of the youth buried deep within himself as he joins in with everyone’s cry of bliss: “OH BOY ICE CREAM!” An absolutely perfect snack.

He digs frantically in to his yummy treasure with his spoon as if it would be snatched from him any instant leaving him without and the words of poems are forgotten as the exquisite flavor melts on his tongue making the dreamer closes his eyes as if he was slipping deep into a pleasant and wonderful trance,

“Tomorrows another day” he mumbles careful not to let any of the scrumptious dainties ooze from his lips “Yes I’ll write when there’s no one here to distract,”

He reasons that this just wasn’t that special day that was planned for his masterpiece of words in the grand scheme of life to be compiled and completed for the obvious and well deserved high society of literary achievement’s entrance of himself into the hall of The Masters where his lone anxiously awaiting seat labeled: “The King of Long and Dubious Sentences With A Total Disregard To Prose, Style or Correctness In The Grammar of the English Language with Purpose and Ingenuity And Without Remorse Making Him The Rebel of Poetry Long Awaited By All As The Greatest of The Great Poets of All Time Redefining Poetry Itself As The World Will Ever Understand Poetry And By No Doubt Being Worthily Esteemed As Our Humble Poet of The Century David Yáhkób Nünn Poet of All Poets”, patiently waits for the fabric of his trousers to touch it’s lonely yearning being to complete it’s purpose for existence to be fulfilled as predestined from the beginning of time and this satisfies him for the moment and the vengeful, harsh anger for the interruption of his genius is momentarily quieted through the soothing flavor of the heavenly delight tingling his taste buds to the gates of ecstasy and again his destiny will be delayed and the world will have to wait until another day of his tomorrow of tomorrows,
David slides back into a restful position in his recliner and shuts his eyes envisioning his acceptance speech after receiving his prize,
He stretches his weary bodies muscles once and puts his hands clutched together behind his neck and lets out a sigh of comfort as he closes his eyes,
pp. 4

Act 2

O’ foolish man when will you write for desire,

And quench what burns inside like fire,

Are you really born for this or is this vanity that drives you to write, not knowing who you truly are?

And how could you ever lay down your majestic pen?

Does it not run through your blood within?

Who can paint a masterpiece but a master envisioning his work and beholding the beauty of it before he starts?

Dreams for notoriety have no merit, what you desire is never learned but always heart felt,

Do you dare enter into the ranks of Keaton, Shelly, Twain, and Poe, not seeing the price of insanities cruel, cruel toll?

And willingly drink of their cup of tingling nectar, that's bittersweet to your intellectual venture?

Foolish, he who is perceives this journey to be a calm and a gentle ride of great and exciting adventure?

Yet if the heart will mend and beat for truth again, a great and exciting adventure indeed in all of this calm and gentle strife,

This life you have chosen has it’s dues to pay, for you must live the blues to be able to sing the blues,

So think twice, O’ naïve one, will you pay the piper enduring the pain, think long and hard before you choose this life?

Where insanity becomes sanity that sets you as free as the wind,

The quaint little boxes all men prize will only seem to be, dark damp prisons cleverly disguised,

Quaint little boxes all in a row where comfort and ease are cherished and prized,

Why think it a plus, a corporate soldier marching in step, to the tune, in time, in line, with the Smiths and the Jones’ keeping trend?

On a diet of cholesterol and fat they trudge without a clue, to the executioner and heads will roll,

pp. 5
The silk noose the hangman slipped round your neck and you daily re-tighten around your neck to match your three piece suit,

Your wife’s no different, your one and the same, but her noose is fine gold dangling and the precious stones to add more weight to boot,

This fatal thing you cling to; you, and you alone are free to shed,

Although this will never happen; for it's the loosing of this that you greatly dread,

Preppy fool, O’ pray tell; how a few classes taught by men and certificates of achievement could give you that with which to reach a brilliant shining star?

O’ David think twice before leaping headlong into the land of life and vivid dreams,

Dreams, dreams, dreams and more dreams, it’s limelight will sparkle, seduce and daze, but nothing is really as it really seems,

Sleep tight tonight and you’ll sleep as the dead, while writers live their dreams in their pages of life for you and yours,

All you need for your starving spirit, they leave for you to feed upon; you will search for them tomorrow in your stores,

Oh David! Oh David! only few will ever survive,

Keep what you have and die to this or give it all away, give it up... to stay alive,

The soul that stirs the mind to change lives and gently melts unconquerable hearts,

This is something that is not something learned... but given; reach high and pull down that which is above your little head,

But nothing burns inside or you could never sleep in your warm and comfy, cozy little bed,

A special breed of man, a dreamer who is shunned from societies’ gates, greatly misunderstood; loners carrying their sheets of paper as trappers with their wealth of pelts,

Notoriety to be avoided like a plague, feed us, feed us, beating on your door asking for more and more, depleting you from ever being whole,

No, You will never write more than you were meant to write for that belongs to the next poor lad thinking this a lavish life to choose calling, crying, beaconing out to those every day and every night without ceasing causing a burning addiction of the heart and soul,

How could the sheltered write of love, joy, envy, treachery, pain, horror, the cruelty of man towards man, disgust, heartache, and the harsh reality of who you really are from the plush extravagant rooms of Beverly Hills?

pp. 6
Many may envy oblivious to it’s unawares, beware of the subtle foe you see as a friend that either befriends, romances or kills,

Yes... I am the novel... the song... the poem... I am the words...the one who writes, I give and I choose to whom I will choose to choose,

Be thou worthy to me ye seeker of words, thou a worm of the earth, will you understand? for my wrath is great unto the false heart who will always loose.

For I was the first word ever written or spoken, will you comprehend the mystery before the worms eat your rotting flesh, that we are one with one and never two?

The fabric of your existence was yet only but a word that slithered off my canvas of everything, and you know not that you are a right that has gone wrong,

Who are you to compare with flowers of the field, a pure white snow flake gently settling down to join his brothers, that cause carpets of fine linen to feel envy and shame, or even to the smallest of little birds that never miss a note while singing my song,

Oh bright and shining knight of the keyboard stroke, ye are seemingly no more than a burp, hiccup, sneeze or fart,

Deceptively thinking highly of thyself, perceiving that thy poor and stumbling efforts of thy labor could even possibly be considered as fine and treasured art,

You will be ready when you’ll finally see that it is I between all the lines that have ever been written and only my words stir the soul unto a euphoric delight that no man has never known,

If by chance you find me... when you read only…that which is in white, that is not clearly shown,

Yet ye tinker with my words not knowing that the smallest one can change all things, having the total power of endless galaxies, power unimagined is in the very smallest word,

All the day long I fix that which you disturb, your constant murmuring I have heard,

Dream on, dream on, dream on, and dream your life away,

Your dreams are a child lacking duty that only wants to play,

I may have pity on you and give you a word or two to hone,

I am ...the words... you must come unto me for them,

Or your words are then fashioned in vain and your light becomes diminished more and more until finally they are ever so dim,

So keep searching to find the words that are coming from far, far above,
Yes! keep on searching for me... search deep within the truth; I will be there,
Don’t misunderstand me, I wait for you with the very best of all with love, pp.7
Be sure of this: your always in my care.
Act 3

David's awakens from his nap. He open and his eyes slowly and his vision returns and they slowly come to focus on the ceiling above him as he is in a trance-like state of mind staring up at the ceiling fan spinning round and round. He does not move a single muscle of his body nor does he blink his eyes. He just stares upward finally taking in a big breath of air and exhaling with a loud sigh. He then sits up and puts his chin on the palms of his hands and reflects what is going through his mind.
His dream seamed to be more than life, so real,There is no accurate way to describe that which David began to feel,
The surrealism of the words etched in his mind with flashing glimpses of images and colors of light appearing, colors of light that he had never seen before that thundered loudly but was sot sound that spoke wisely to him as he felt the words as a hand that gently caressed him in his dream,
The midday snack that had knocked him out like a light and it was haunting to think him that been had taken him to the heavens beholding mysteries of wisdom, awe and beauty and things that he had never before seen were ever so clear and vivid...what did it mean... was this all only caused by the ice cream?
As David reflects on the confusion running rapidly round and round in his head he snaps out of the self-inflicted stupor he had caused by sound of his wife's voice that he hears from behind,
“All right you guys, everybody get yourselves ready for supper...you kids wash your hands real good.”
David peers through the doorway and sees his wife sit down with the total exhaustion of her day she looked as if she would collapse to the floor,
But she shakes it off as she sets the table on the Sabbath day and he realizes that her work days never end but continue on and on forevermore,
After supper is over and the kids hasten to sleep she clears the table and washes the the diner's dishes,
page 8
She holds her head up as if she were pleading with heaven, even a fool could tell what was her
inward wishes,
David walks back in the kitchen and asks if he can help... she smiles and says He would only slow her down and she needs to finish before the morning sun rises high in the skies,
She goes to him and gives him a hug and a loving kiss telling him she will be upstairs as soon as she finishes up the kitchen and folds the kids clothes and as tired as she is he still sees a glimmer of light above her smile in her eyes,
He goes upstairs puts on his PJ's warmed by her loving touch,
Then it all becomes clear to David that she loves them so much,
He sits down at the table in the den where he tried to write before and hastily grabs a pen and pulls out some paper and begins to write,
David writes and it flows from his hands as water flows down a stream,
And now David finally understands the true meaning of his ice cream dream,
The pen makes a rhythmic sound on the table that it rests upon as a soft percussion instrument that keeps a steady beat,
And The poet begins to smile with delight...his heart is filled with joy as a child who gets a tasty treat,
He needs no type writer as he reflects back to his wife in the kitchen and he does not strain as he writes reflecting the events from that morning till that night,
In a minute or two he finishes his poem the words he wrote were the truth set before him,
It was not a fantasy escapade of fancy flattering words based on fiction and pride,
But the truth of his heart all his deep feelings of love for his loving bride,
He hurries to the bed room with his newly written treasure,
And the lady enters the room to the poets special pleasure,
He hands her his work and she reads the words of his spirits expression compiled,
A tear slides gently down her face to the corner of the smile that she smiled,

page 9
“The Love”
Has anyone told you ... that they love you today,
If they haven't said it, please let me say ...
I love you.
N' it's because God only made one that's like you,
Though we need more to spread love as you do,
I can see why God only gave us one to share,
It's because all precious things but few and very rare,
As each and every snowflake is one of a kind,
Trillions of trillions rain down through all the years,
Not one that is the same will you ever find,
But who ever listens and who really hears,
Does anyone know that one is all and all is one,
All the herds of sheep find that which is profound to be dumb,
Just follow the leader and do the same as all the rest have together decided,
Do not think for yourselves or the herd will split and be divided,
So pained inside that you have been saddened by the contemptuous proud,
Presumptions of inadequacy... lonely... head is bowed,
 Why need you the reassuring approval of many,
Your worth more than all treasures combined,
No, not a lost cause do not think you are less any,
Without a doubt another like you I will never find,
I know that this is true,
There's one Mona Lisa and one Mount Everest,
This is how I know that God made you the very best,
I just wanted for you to always know,
This is why I love you so,
And you will never, ever be alone,
Because of all the special love that you have always shown.
I Love you...”


page 10
Davids' wife wipes a tear from her eye as she pounces on his lap and her smiling, loving eyes light up the dim room,
She hugs him wildly as a child that has just opened a patiently longed after present that came so very soon,
David! This is so beautiful! I know you are to win the poetry contest with this!
David wrinkles his head as he contemplates his thoughts and gives her a kiss,
This poem is not going to be entered in a contest of worthless prize,
This poem has already won the prize of what is in us together inside,
These are “our words” they live and they are more than any that man's fiction can devise,
David retired to his bed and for his poem, he received his long awaited and envisioned prize!

Epilogue

Now David understood his dream and all the mystical sounds of unknown... unseen... colors of the poem of his dream before...the dream which he had read.
The everlasting honor of Love and Truth in its caring; The destruction of pride in the justness of our sharing that we no longer hide.
By being true to the words of his heart, by acknowledging Love, he had found the words he needed; the words had found him because he found the Word and David became acknowledged by the acknowledgment of Love in his heart and in his head,
He had crossed the great chasm to that which is eternal; for words of Love, peace, charity, help, mercy... they never cease,
They are the tender loving kindness that created all things, Love is what Love chooses and it is Love that Love will lease.


Author: (Steven Hocsák)
Pen Nm. David Yáhkób Nünn
© 2008 S.G.H.
Steven George Hocsák - “Chip” - U4Yah - #9 - Dávid Yahchof Nünn Y'Israel
Revised and Complete November 23, 2009 © S.G. Hocsák