Death of Some Problems
monkey skull contest #2
The challenge was to rewrite, illustrate or set to music "The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner," by Randall Jarrell. The first challenge was actually to find "The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner," by Randall Jarrell, because I purposefully did not provide a link in the challenge.
"Ha ha," I thought, "This will make them have to actually use Google to get answers for once, possibly shortening future comments sections." Then I did a search for "ball turret gunner," except without the quotes, and there were approximately eleven thousand hits, the first six of which were 100% helpful. So.
Half of the entrants rewrote the poem, one illustrated it, and one did sort of a half-and-half. Here they are, in no particular order other than having the winner last:
Resident renaissance man Posthumous drew us a suitably dreamlike picture:
Crispen Dry told us a not-so-Amazing Story:
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
i joined the airforce as a child
to live the romantic life of the pilot
it turns out I was the right size
and with the right state of mind
to sit in the belly of a B17
in an ill advised raid
my squadron was reduced
to a few flak bitten
frames limping through the sky
the turret door was jammed
the landing gear was also
out of fuel and luck
i exited the airforce a lot longer than I entered
Todd Maulden gave us seconds on the social commentary, viewable via this fine and non-pornographic offsite link.
Finally, first-placedly and rather surprisingly, Antwan Hearts proved that the secret of poetry is in the parentheses with this untitled opus:
From the eaten-out corpse of my own mother
and while my furry lover lay with hair abristle
3 and 1/2 miles from a gas station
(To purchase gloves, shovels, a book on how to cheat a lie detector test)
I dug a grave, six miles deep, and took a nap in it (to try it out)
I awoke to the sounds of fighting, grey and lumbering.
When my mom had died, she came back as a zombie.
"Don't forget the part about the hose Antwan"
...
..
.
Shit.
Thanks for putting up with our site outages, readers. The next monkey skull contest will be something that does not specifically involve poetry. The monkey skull contest after that might possibly be poetry again, but if it is, it'll be the dirty kind.
"Ha ha," I thought, "This will make them have to actually use Google to get answers for once, possibly shortening future comments sections." Then I did a search for "ball turret gunner," except without the quotes, and there were approximately eleven thousand hits, the first six of which were 100% helpful. So.
Half of the entrants rewrote the poem, one illustrated it, and one did sort of a half-and-half. Here they are, in no particular order other than having the winner last:
Resident renaissance man Posthumous drew us a suitably dreamlike picture:
Crispen Dry told us a not-so-Amazing Story:
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
i joined the airforce as a child
to live the romantic life of the pilot
it turns out I was the right size
and with the right state of mind
to sit in the belly of a B17
in an ill advised raid
my squadron was reduced
to a few flak bitten
frames limping through the sky
the turret door was jammed
the landing gear was also
out of fuel and luck
i exited the airforce a lot longer than I entered
Todd Maulden gave us seconds on the social commentary, viewable via this fine and non-pornographic offsite link.
Finally, first-placedly and rather surprisingly, Antwan Hearts proved that the secret of poetry is in the parentheses with this untitled opus:
From the eaten-out corpse of my own mother
and while my furry lover lay with hair abristle
3 and 1/2 miles from a gas station
(To purchase gloves, shovels, a book on how to cheat a lie detector test)
I dug a grave, six miles deep, and took a nap in it (to try it out)
I awoke to the sounds of fighting, grey and lumbering.
When my mom had died, she came back as a zombie.
"Don't forget the part about the hose Antwan"
...
..
.
Shit.
Thanks for putting up with our site outages, readers. The next monkey skull contest will be something that does not specifically involve poetry. The monkey skull contest after that might possibly be poetry again, but if it is, it'll be the dirty kind.