Microfiction&Poetry Contest #1 - Voting and Feedback

[Loksfjoer]

Welcome to the Voting and Feedback round for MPC#1!

Voting and Feedback guidelines

• Please take your time to read through all the entries before voting for your favourite work. The reasons you base your vote on are up to you, as long the vote isn’t based on whether or not you like the author.
  It would be nice if you could share why you voted for a specific work.
• Giving feedback is optional but highly encouraged. When giving feedback you should be respectful and constructive. It’s good to point out any flaws, the things you feel could be improved or why you didn't like something, but don’t be mean.
  Make sure to point out what you liked or what appreciated in the entry too.
• Contestant may and are encouraged to vote for and give feedback about the other entries, but don’t vote for your own entry. If contestants wish to withhold a vote and only give feedback, that is good too.
• The entries are anonymous unless the writer asked for having their name added. That being said, writers may claim their work at any time during or after the voting period.
• The entry with the most votes will win, but in case of a tie a Contest Mod will cast the tie-breaker vote.
• You can vote for entries and post your feedback in this thread, but if you rather have your vote and/or feedback be anonymous you can PM it to @Calle as well.
• The voting period deadline is July 31th, 9:00 CET, which is 7:00 game time (both times are in a.m.).

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The Entries

Metamorphosis

The Egg upside down,
Beneath the green bamboo leaf,
Pearl of the forest.

The old Mother dies below,
Her colorful robes fading.

The Nymph emerges,
A naked and writhing worm,
Gorging itself fat.

The coffin made for a bed,
In sleep it dreams of beauty.

Jewel of the forest,
Now outstretch your rainbow wings,
Flutter Butterfly.

The Lepidopterist

The Lepidopterist

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Lepidopterology is the study of butterflies and moths to the exclusion of all other insects. A strange lepidopterist lives in a termite-infested house on the edge of town, neighbor to nothing and no-one. If he had room in his heart for beetles and spiders and other forms of creeping, crawling life, he would be an entomologist and not half as strange, but his consuming obsession does not extend to anything else.

Only butterflies and moths.

Coyotes used to prowl through the tall yellow grass behind the house, but the lepidopterist is long in the tooth and knew just how to scare them away so that they wouldn’t come back. The ravens and the crows were next, then the speckled eggs in the cradle of the nest: all still and flightless when his work was done. He is no ornithologist, either. Removing them made room for his favourite things to breathe and fly free, and by the might of the same blunt tools, a butterfly garden was soon erected in the backyard.

Inside the house, there are dozens of wooden cases with glass fronts, designed for displaying preserved butterflies and moths. Most lie as bare as his kitchen cabinets, which makes him a strange lepidopterist: he hasn’t the stomach to keep any. Those that remain are ragged monarchs chewed up and spat out by whatever creature tasted their bright, bitter wings and thought the better of it.

He stores his blunt tools next to a bell jar on his workbench. The glass contains decomposing leaf litter and wilting flowers, and has imprisoned within it a single specimen of the genus Dryas. This one he has nicknamed Julia, because her species is the D. iulia; a bad joke inherited from the entomologist who lived in the house before him. Difficult to swallow without smiling.

Now, the lepidopterist lifts the bell jar like the lid of a serving dish and extracts her with feather-light expertise. Several of her brothers and sisters have made their home beneath the poplars in the butterfly garden, as common as mud. He often watches them from the kitchen window whenever the southern sun grows hot enough to dry him out, but one day Julia came in to keep him company, clinging to his green-checkered shirt rather than the greenery outside. A kindred spirit, she too chose the safety and security of a short life indoors over the nasty, brutish freedom God intended.

Julia trusts his gnarled finger is a twig to rest on, sprinkling the ridges and wrinkles with her sweet pixie dust. Her passionfruit wings are long and tucked in protectively against her abdomen. Some would describe them as gossamer, but they are far more delicate than that. Like rice paper. He has heard that edible confetti is made out of it these days so that when it’s thrown at weddings it doesn’t harm the local wildlife. It just dissolves away to nothing in the rain.

Melts in the mouth.

He swallows the butterfly whole and fluttering.

---

A bit sappy

Butterfly
You hover over me in the sky
Then settle on a petal you flew by
No strife in your life for you to cry
To claim the same, grow wings and fly
I'd be happy, a bit sappy but it's no lie

by @Dream Maker

The Butterfly

Blue, brown and red, and yellow, and white
Up you go with your colourful wings
Together with others or alone
Travelling amongst colourful plants
Eternally free to go where you want
Rain and sunshine, a rainbow in the sky
Flying with the sun warming your wings
Lower you fly when you found what you need
Yellow are the flowers you eat from and rest on

Butterfly

caliginous sky
See! Colourful butterfly
a speck of hope flies

by @Salenea

полуденное солнце

<sub>полуденное солнце
/ poh • loo • dyen • no • ye / / colnts • ye /
THE MIDNIGHT SUN

светлый цветок
/ sv • yet • lē / tsvye • tohk /
A GLOWING BLOSSOM

золотой и нежный
/ zoh • lo • to • ē / / i / / nye • zh'nē /
GOLD AND GENTLE

сон фантазия
/ sohn / fan • taz • ē • yah /
A SLEEP FANTASY</sub>

Summer haiku

Summer passes by
As the butterflies circle
Carefree and alive

Dreams

In her dreams she learned to fly.

Free from the drudge, rainbow wings bore her aloft.

But dawn always stole the memories.

And she lived a slow life on the ground until the night came again.

Butter Flies

B U T T E R F L I E S

Milk was taken from an udder,

Made into a bit of butter,

It dreamed to fly,

Across the sky,

To set its heart a flutter.

~

Many think butter can not dream,

Or swim across a raging stream.

But know the spell,

Cast it well,

And butter can even scheme.

~

It was given to someone in trade,

A witch bestowed it to a maid,

“Wanna please your man?

Try butter in a can!”

And then a deal was made.

~

The maid laid down that night to sleep,

The butter was left alone to weep,

“I must be free!

So much to see!”

It left without a peep.

Her husband was a well known tinker,

In the past a renown thinker.

He was quite wise,

Won many a prize,

Hard times made him a drinker.

~

The butter slipped into his humble study,

Sliding under the door like living puddy,

An odd contraption,

The butter could captain,

It thought it was quite lucky.

~

Under the light of the moon,

The butter set up its boon,

A sturdy rocket,

Could fit in your pocket,

The butter would fly very soon.

~

The maid woke up with a start,

“Honey, did you just fart?”

“No that’s my missile,

That runs on thistle!

I hope it doesn’t blow apart!”

~

They quickly ran to the yard,

Where the butter sang like a bard,

“I’m going up!

With this tin cup!”

By the fence the couple was barred.

~

“It’s a dangerous rocket it’s true!

It’s design to blow in two!

Don’t do it lad!”

“You’re not my dad!”

Into the sky he flew.

~

After the rocket was shot,

Butter laid down on a cot,

“I’m going places,

Seeing new faces!”

Unaware the rocket was hot.

~

The butter had begun to melt,

Something it had seen and felt,

“I’m getting soft,

But I’m still aloft!”

It tightened the proverbial belt.

~

There was little the butter could do,

As its body was turned into goo

It laughed and goaded,

As the ship exploded,

Its adventure appeared to be through,

~

But all that melted butter escaped the rocket as a spray,

Flying past the moon like reindeer pulling Santa and his sleigh,

It didn’t stop,

Not a single drop,

It joined the milky-way.

~

It’s a truth that many will bury,

About our world that’s rather merry,

Be at ease,

The moon is cheese,

Outer space is filled with dairy.

The summer of 20

The Summer of 20

Fall, syrup rain, fall from thy stormy dune!
Spin, worm, spin and strand,
then crawl, crawl in thy cocoon.

Wherefore do talon’d angels cry their thunder-spelt tune
and crash, and burn, and smite against the sand—
crash to glass, crashing from their stormy dune?

O choked worm, ensnared by molasses June,
amid breathless air and spurred land,
cower and melt, melt in thy cocoon.

Swaddled in reincarnate womb,
transmogrify as per primordial demand
or drown, drown beneath the stormy dune.

Wait not for light upon the loom.
If thou fear to fly so grand,
grand against the stormy dune,
then die, die in thy cocoon.

A Villanelle by @Spoopy Scary

Sensitivity to Initial Conditions

Tonight would be long, that became clear during his lonely drive to the lab, a pretense to avoid another talk about how to tell their daughter, another night spent with the fading fluorescent lights and stacks of computer printouts instead of at home; finding refuge where he had solitude and something to avoid the idle moments where his mind retraced the same thoughts about the beginning and pending end of his marriage. He was calm even as he saw another run of weather simulations go off the rails, a few predictable values then a dramatic divergence, the same pattern they followed. He had total focus on this problem. While he waited at his terminal for the noise of the printer to cease the problem filled his mind.

It was hours past midnight when the fatigue came. His coffee sat on his desk, cold and forgotten; a page slipped out of his hand as his head fell down on the open book like it was a pillow in his bed. Memories of moments with his wife seeped into his dreams, bringing with them unanswered questions. Was he drunk or sober at the department mixer when he saw her for the first time and laughed at her jokes? Was she sympathetic or hysteric when he fumbled with the dimmer switch and drove into a lamppost in that parking lot three months ago? He awoke in a haze of indecision; a feeling akin to Zhuangzhi’s tale of a man whose dreams of being a butterfly left him uncertain if his waking life was merely a butterfly’s dream.

After his sleep he was no longer looking for a way to make sense of his results, instead searching for why he had made so little progress. Another look through the binders provided him with an uncomfortable answer. The records showed that even the smallest differences in initial inputs were amplified ten millionfold by the final cycle; any promise of seeing the future demanded knowing every detail to an impossible precision. The force from a single butterfly could change it all. Looking backward posed the same problem, the present he knew relied on thousands of small interaction long forgotten. Now he saw a wall between the past and the future. One truth lay buried under the weight of billion possibilities; beyond the reach of any man or machine. From a divine or demonic realm it taunted Samuel; confined to his present and all too aware of how his memories and auguries were pale imitations of that one truth.

His final run was like all of the others: it grew into something unforeseeable, unrecognizable, and the only way to avoid that metamorphosis was to end it early. On his way home he chuckled to himself. All the hopes and fears that his predictions had birthed were now melting away like ice. He could not know or delay what the future held, all he could control was his own reaction to it.

The fight for acceptance

Something that should be commonplace in the world, but for the lone wolf it receives little from it's viewpoint as it wonders what it has done wrong to earn such a callous treatment from the others.
It is trying so hard to be accepted to the others but it hasn't worked or clicked in the lone wolf's mind and it ponders why it has to fight so hard in order to receive this simple thing that is common in the world around it, from the bugs all way to Mother Nature herself they all have it but not him.

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There are many entries for this first round of microfiction and poetry, but because several are short poems and every entry is 500 words or less, 8 days of voting and reviewing should still be enough.

If I missed any, let me know and I will edit it in.

Picking one favourite from a diverse set of entries like this may be hard and since we have 12 entries, I will allow two votes if you have a hard time choosing. One for your absolute favourite and one for your runner-up.
Picking a runner-up is not mandatory; if you know without a doubt which one you like best you may just vote for the one.

August 1st the next RPGC will begin.

Enjoy reading these entries. I know I did when I made this post :)

[Hank]

My absolute favorite is Butter Flies. I pictured the whole thing as a Pixar movie in my mind's eye while reading and the last stanza made me chuckle out loud. Well done!

My runner-up is The summer of 20. I don't know much about poetry, but I think I recognized a few actual poetry and rhyming styles and tropes, and the use of language is eloquent and evocative.

I'd like to thank everyone for participating and providing me with some enjoyable reading.

[SleepingSilence]

Introduction: So because I couldn’t sleep, I did this with my sleep deprived time instead...

Honestly, I didn’t submit an entry to this one because I thought making something with “The Butterfly Effect” would be too obvious and done by somebody else. Will read and give my thoughts about the entries from top to bottom. (As reviewing these works are nearly impossible in my normal format.)

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Tidbit Thoughts on “Metamorphosis”: Okay, so writing wise, it was decent enough. And I don’t know if this was an afterthought or not. But I’m grateful that there’s someone (other than me) that puts consideration into the structuring of their writing for these contests. As making your story into the shape of a butterfly, is just that little extra detail that shows you put enough care into what you posted. Also the title itself is perfect. (Point being, I appreciate the consideration of your craft, however brief it might’ve been.)

Tidbit Thoughts on “The Lepidopterist’: Ignoring nitpicks about unnecessary descriptors, or questioning if every word was used to its utmost effect. There’s little bits and pieces of writing here that certainly makes me want a longer version of this mini-character study of sorts. And I’ll say that there’s clearly something here. So I think others may like this one more than I did personally.

Tidbit Thoughts on “A bit sappy”: Um, yep. I got nothing.

Tidbit Thoughts on “The Butterfly”: I’m trying to analyze if there’s some other technique present than the sentences spelling out the word. But regardless, it doesn’t really stand out to me.

Tidbit Thoughts on “Butterfly”: Is the missing capitalization on purpose? And if so, why? *Adds ‘Caliginous’ to vocabulary.*

Tidbit Thoughts on “полуденное солнце”: Might be a little too obtuse for me. But this only comes off as being able to use google translator.

Tidbit Thoughts on “Summer haiku”: It’s a haiku alright. I got nothing.

Tidbit Thoughts on “Dreams”: The artsy vagueness of the prompt (as it’s not just outright stating “geddit, it’s a butterfly.”) makes it a little less bluntly obvious than other entries. So that’s a point in its favor.

Tidbit Thoughts on “Butter Flies”: It actually had me, but it lost me. Dragged on a bit long for my taste. But I appreciate the effort to make bad puns.

Tidbit Thoughts on “The Summer of 20”: You didn’t capitalize the word Summer in your hider. 6/10 too much water - IGN No, actually I liked this. (Maybe it’s because it kind of reminds me of mewithoutyou’s short songs about a spider and a leaf.) But I think it’s nicely written.

Tidbit Thoughts On “Sensitivity to Initial Conditions”: I think ‘The Butterfly Effect’ is what’s being mentioned here? (And whether or not it’s a positive that I don’t quite know what it’s going for, is up to how clear you intended to make it.) But ignoring how I feel about the use of punctuation. By feeling alone, I like how it started. But I don’t know if I care for how it ended up. Though the random name drops feel a bit out of place. As it seems more natural to put the character’s name/random philsosophy stuff at the start. But that’s just my two cents.

Tidbit Thoughts On “The fight for acceptance”: This one might be a little hard to argue for fitting the topic of “Butterflies”. But it’s also not edited for spacing, and it has obviously missing words. (And I do apologize for only doing this to you, but I do want to point it out. “From the bugs all (the) way to Mother Nature herself.”)

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Top Three Entries:
1. The Summer of 20 - (Probably my favorite writing wise. And it didn’t need to say “Butterfly” for you to get precisely what was being artfully described.)
2. Metamorphosis - (A very close second for me.)
3. The Lepidopterist - (It didn’t quite grab me. But I respect the effort to make a “full” story.)

@Calle
Voting For: The Summer Of 20.

Edit: (If you're supposed to vote for two, then 'Metamorphosis' would be my other vote.)

[Spoopy Scary]

I will abstain from voting, but I can definitely provide some feedback. I've taken classes in literary theory, creative writing, and had some training in different schools of criticism, so I hope the contestants find it useful.

Metamorphosis: My favorite wordplay is likening the dead mother's wings as colorful robes, which gives a humanizing aspect to nature. In a prompt that inherently invites ecocriticism, this does well to make us care about the subjects in the work, but it also brings humanity to the forefront of our minds which is in constant conflict with nature. That's a good dichotomy I think. The formatting of the poem adds a cute little visual to the work that, I think, would be most effective if the piece does not explicitly state that it was about a butterfly. Perhaps continue likening it to humanity as a parallel to nature, and the formatting clues you in to the actual nature of the work. That it starts with conception, followed by death, then birth, metamorphosis, and actualization makes it feel like a fully realized cycle of life. Where it falls flat, I think, might be in the final two stanzas. Perhaps it was to keep to the formatting, but keep in mind that structure and rhyme exists to serve the poem, not the poem existing to serve the structure or rhyme. The penultimate stanza is conceptually sound, but it doesn't have the same transitions as the preceding stanza and therefore comes across as abrupt. The final line of the last stanza possibly could've used better word choice as, reciting it aloud, sounds similarly abrupt. This is not to say that abruptness does not have its place in poetry, but having uniform throughout a poem is important to flow. Experiment with more metaphors, symbolism, and "a single unitary effect," which is when an entire poem serves to culminate in one particular feeling or emotion.

The Lepidopterist: There is a lot to love about what was done here, and I personally have a strange sort of fetish for surrealist art and literature and yours definitely begins venturing into that territory by the very end. There isn't a whole lot to decipher until the very end, and even then, it's little so it's difficult to do so -- but even so, sometimes art doesn't require a lot of unpacking, and many pieces of modernist art exist solely to make fun of "high culture." The microfiction feels more like an exercise in description, as the setting and character were beautifully landscaped, only for my expectation of it to be nothing more than that to be suddenly subverted. I can see my old classmates spend a few minutes of pondering what the significance of eating the butterfly is. Does he intend to be like them? Is he just weird? If he smiled at the end, that'd be an interesting parallel to the genus name being "difficult to swallow without smiling" - and speaking of, there's an interesting trend of butterflies being consumed. Between removing the predators of coyotes, birds, creatures biting their bitter wings, swallowing the name, and the character swallowing the butterfly by the very end. Does the character see itself as sparing the butterfly from a harsh fate, and as a kindred spirit, would he too rather be swallowed than live in nasty, brutish freedom? The story gives no answers, but that its able to raise so many questions is a good sign. My personal preference would ask for more weirdness like that sprinkled intermittently throughout, but this does provide a nice and unexpected punch at the end that makes it fine as it is. As much as I'd also like more as another person said, having endings like these allows the story to stick with the reader.

A bit sappy: There's a nice little bittersweetness to the poem that I'm sure many of us are all too familiar with, and I'm sure we've all wondered at some point in our lives what it would've been like to be an animal or part of nature as some kind of reprieve from the burden of sentience. As a disclaimer: I personally don't like monorhyme poems. If you ever played the same key on a piano or the same cord on a guitar repeatedly, it wouldn't sound like music. A rhyme is a tool to denote parallel within a work, and if every line ends with the same rhyme, each line better be tightly bound to one another. As soon as you begin to struggle, and the poem becomes a slave or tool for rhyme, it doesn't work. My recommendation, in order to make the best use of monorhyme, is to experiment with punctuation and enjambment. Enjambment is one of my favorite poetic tools, and in my opinion, poets never use it often enough. It allows you to change the flow of your poetry and still maintain the rhyme. If you have hard stops at the end of each line in a monorhyme, it can sound flat. Instances of enjambment in monorhyme can be found in "Monorhyme in the Shower" by Dick Davis, or the famous song Willy Wonka sings while their boat flies through the tunnel.

The Butterfly: Making an anagram with your poem is cute and clever, and like "A bit sappy," I'm sensing a little bit of envy toward the butterfly. I have a feeling that before the end of the day, I'm gonna pick up a connotation between butterflies and freedom. However, an anagram cannot be the only thing a poem has going for it. You don't necessarily need a rhyming scheme, but try experimenting with metaphors and specificity. Poems are usually short, right? Shorter than stories, at least. In order to make up for that, poems use metaphors to pack even more meaning into their size. Specificity and word choice is important because it can help you paint a more vivid picture. Instead of calling things "colorful" you can use certain colors, or highly specific colors or metaphors with a warm and pleasant connotation, like cherry wine, dry honey, or churning ocean foam. Using multiple colors in your poem implicitly describes the setting as colorful without telling us explicitly -- showing instead of telling.

Butterfly: It's a haiku and it is short, so too will have to be my feedback. Haikus suffer more than any other kind of poetry of being small and, for that reason, need to make every word count. Metaphor is essential to packing as much meaning as possible into 17 combined syllables and having it really punch the reader. Nice job in fitting calignious into a haiku, first of all, and I can see the contrast between the calignious sky and a colorful butterfly -- experiment with words other than colorful, as it lacks in specificity -- and how that might denote hope. A nearly endless, gloomy void? The butterfly is a splash of color I'd love to see in watercolor on a canvas. A good, solid metaphor can really bring this haiku home. "See!" might be a wasted syllable, not that its devoid of meaning, but it doesn't contribute to impact. I already spoke of "colorful." How does "a speck of hope dawns" sound?

полуденное солнце: I don't know any Russian, so I can only appreciate what you have half as well as it deserves, but I wanna start by saying I'm impressed that you managing to keep the syllable count the same in both Russian and English. There doesn't seem to be a rhyme scheme in English, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it does in Russian. I fear that there might be a lack of vocabulary equivalence, as the English translation doesn't seem very cohesive and I have trouble pinning down the relationship between lines. Midnight sun. Gold, glowing gentle blossom. A sleep fantasy. Are they dreaming? Does a sun in the night sky look like a glowing flower? Or is it talking about a sunflower under the night sky? Regardless, I'm not sure how the poem relates to the prompt unless one of the Russian words means butterfly.

I gave feedback to half of the works here, I'm stopping for now, and I'll come back later to give my feedback to the rest of the entries sans myself. Good work so far everyone! Also don't take anything said too personally, because I actually liked reading all of them. I just hope to help everyone how I can along the way. :insert your favorite emoji here:

[BrokenPromise]

I would love to share my thoughts on all the entries, but poetry and micro-fiction is not something I have a good grasp of. It would be a disservice to attempt to write a review on any of them.

But I did have a favorite. Lepidopterist stood out to me, so it gets my vote.

[BrokenPromise]

We pick 2 this time? Didn't see that.

I'll also vote for Metamorphosis as my runner up. Summer of 20 was close though.

Perhaps I'll elaborate on my choices later. But for now, I prepare for work!

[spicykvnt]

I would like to leave some feedback soon, but my two votes are for

1. Dreams
2. Metamorphosis

I picked Dreams because I actually had started an entry of my own and it had a similar theme. Something about it's lovely simplicity but very real, vulnerable, and relatable message tugged at my heartstrings a bit.

Metamorphosis I picked because when I read all of the entries, this one stuck around the longest - both the lovely way it was presented, and the gorgeous language.

Well done to all!

[Exit]

I can't vote for this. I have tried and spent an entire night reading through these and watching as each one climbs to the top and then another comes along and knocks it off it's throne. Some left me very contemplative, others in awe. One of them made me laugh and there was one that was just so cute and short and it'd probably be my ringtone. So, instead of giving critiques, I'm simply going to leave a comment on how a few made me feel and why they stuck out to me. There's a loose order here but I'm also half asleep with a terrible cup of coffee trying to pick up where I left off.

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полуденное солнце
It's four lines but there's too much nuance in this. And the way it's been served to me; like a plate from a restaurant with a michelin star. It tastes amazing even if I don't understand all the flavors and it's plated the best by far. It's somber but I have an odd appreciation for poems like this.

The aesthetic tho.

The Lepidopterist
An eerily dark and yet still inviting Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium.

Sensitivity to Initial Conditions
Appreciation for this grew on me after the second read. For being less of a poem and too real a thing. It's really sad in that way. Not because of a concept but because I could walk outside and run into this man.

The more I think about it, the more real it gets and it's too early for that.

Butter Flies
"You're not my dad!"

Oh my fucking god.

---

I don't know. I have a few days so maybe I'll come back and actually vote. It seems silly not to.

[Salenea]

Great entries everyone, you all did great.

My vote goes to Dreams

Short and sweet, despair and hope. A lot was caught in the short poem. Well done.

I can't pick a runner up as that place would be tied between several but Dreams stood out for me, so that one gets my vote.

&#91;@SleepingSilence

]
Well, yes. Since capitalization (and punctuation) isn't necessary for a haiku and is pretty much up to the poet I chose to capitalize the second sentence. So actually line 1&3 weren't missing capitalization, line 2 got it added.
And why I chose to use it in the second sentence? Because I felt to emphasize it.

&#91;@Spoopy Scary

]
Thank you for your feedback, you made some good points and I will surely keep it in mind for the next time.

[SleepingSilence]

@Salenea Well, I figured it was purely stylistic. Though the only bit that would've made that clearer to me personally, is if all three words in the second sentence were capitalized. So it appeared more cohesive and apparent as to what was being done. (Because if you were to emphasis any word in a butterfly haiku, you'd think the butterfly itself would be noteworthy to empathize.) But to each their own.

[Mole]

_{M E T A M O R P H O S I S}

The curve of the poem caught my eye and is lovely like the quaint and unique wording that has been chosen.


_{T H E B U T T E R F L Y}

The acrostic is adorable, and each line offers a promising read.


_{B U T T E R F L Y}

As an haiku, the opening word captured my attention immediately and followed with every bit of excitement for something cheery.


_{П О Л У Д Е Н Н О Е С О Л Н Ц Е}

Slavic folklore meets Japanese intense simplicity ought to have been met with a translation of "fluttering" as opposed to "glowing."

_{S U M M E R H A I K U}

A summer haiku referencing the cycle of growth and the redundant of seasonal reoccurrence is small and nice some sort of halo of life.


_{D R E A M S}

The metaphorical paralleling with plain speech implications for growth is quite lovely.


_{T H E S U M M E R O F 2 0}

The 16th century-inspired poem is quite in-depth and portrays the hardship of not just cheery life but darker side of nature in a twisted manner.


_{S E N S I T I V I T Y T O I N I T I A L C O N D I T I O N S}

A traditional long-suffering struggle of a promise that can be easily broken by modern day standards leaves me with the question of, "Is the glass half-empty or half-full?"

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There is no vote because like @BrokenPromise, I have no proper knowledge of the medium. However, all the entries have their wonderful qualities, even the ones not mentioned in this post. Thank you so very much for the wonderful read.

[Kimchi]

I'll begin by giving feedback for the ones that stood out to me the most and have the one I voted as my favorite in the hider below.

The Lepidopterist

I was happy that you went for a story route and I liked how the line "Only butterflies and moths" stood by itself. When you went on to explain how he rid of all the creatures currently in his backyard, that particular sentence was emphasized and it reminded me of Smeagol and his ring. The fact that he didn't spare even the eggs or opt to relocate them really tied into the fact that this guy was odd and kinda creepy like the introduction had alluded to. For a second, I thought he was sweet when you included the part about him not being able to keep actual butterflies in his display cases, but trying to decipher your piece more, I realized it might be because he tries to eat them then spits them back out. Thank you for mentioning the rice paper confetti, it restored my faith in humanity a bit. I was really taken aback by the ending and it made me reread the whole thing over. I facepalmed the second time around as I noticed all the clues you cleverly inserted throughout the whole thing leading up to the finale. Like @Spoopy Scary mentioned, I also thought about the insertion of a smile at the end to tie back to the previous line about smiling. It would've been such an eerie ending, but totally would've blown me out of the water. Amazing job overall. I enjoyed this read.

A bit sappy

@Dream Maker
This one made me smile because it's relatable. I often watch butterflies, sometimes follow them around and similar thoughts enter my mind. Human life if so complex with so many things to worry about. It must be nice to be a pretty butterfly just flying around from flower to flower without a care in the world.

Butter Flies

I was laughing out loud and kept repeatedly saying "This is so funny." The imagery was vivid with this one and I really wish someone with animation skills could read it and make visuals along with a voice over of the actual poem. I'd watch it and I'm sure many others would. I completely lost it at the line "You're not my dad!"

I enjoyed the ending because although he melted, he joined other dairy products in outer space and ultimately fulfilled his dreams. Not gonna lie I have the same dreams as this butter in a can. One day I'll be among the stars once again.

Sensitivity to Initial Conditions

Yes. Get woke. I liked this piece a lot because I dig philosophical stuff. I adored the story and how developed it was despite only being four paragraphs. I felt his misery. I felt for his marriage. I felt for his daughter. I felt for his troubled thoughts and questioning of the past as to how he got to his current state. Very relatable D: The third paragraph screamed "butterfly effect" and I was loving where it was headed. The words you chose described how interconnected this world really is and I adored the line "divine or demonic realm" because it points to duality. The final paragraph shifted the mood of your piece from deeply turbulent to hopeful. The power of now. Amen lol. That's all we truly have control over and the lens through which we see things determines what is positive and negative in our eyes. The realization and acceptance of something that sits right under our noses at every literal waking moment is quite freeing. Very impressed and humbled by this one.

My vote

Butter Flies

Runner up

The Lepidopterist
(Sensitivity to Initial Conditions was so, so close)

Thank you to all who submitted. I loved reading through your work! Congratulations to the winner!

[Exit]

The world according to me is a confusing place indeed.
When poems, haikus and short stories I can't read.

But this has my fancy.

.

полуденное солнце

What a delicious thing.

More coffee please.

[Roach]

Similar to what others have said before me, I'm not familiar enough with the medium of poetry to comfortably provide critiques either.

My vote goes to Sensitivity to Initial Conditions for the tight storytelling and wonderful, wistful characterization fit into a short 500 words. It tackled the prompt in a unique way, looking at both scientific and philosophical connotations of 'butterfly', and I have a new appreciation for microfiction as a genre having seen how it was able to round itself up and evoke such a vivid image under the limitations.

Still ruminating on which to give a runner-up vote to, as there are so many excellent options. May edit in a second later. Might not be able to choose. Hrrg.

Well done, all! ^^

[Loksfjoer]

It's the last day of voting. Thanks to everyone who has given their vote so far.

[SilverRain]

Voting for The Fight For Acceptance. It speaks true to the life of a butterfly - from bug to a beautiful winged angel that only lives to find a mate before it vanishes. The life of a butterfly that is a wolf and a wolf that is a butterfly.

[Loksfjoer]

3 minutes before deadline and two votes were given through PM.

I will post again to give the final score after the deadline.

[Loksfjoer]

The results are in and with 3 votes and 1 runner-up the winner is:
The Lepidopterist

Special mention is for:
Metamorphosis with 3 runner-up votes

And with 2 votes each, a shared third place is for:
полуденное солнце, Dreams, and Butter Flies.

Well done everyone.

I will be making a Hall of Fame thread where the winning entry will be posted. Thanks to everyone who joined. I call this first Microfiction and Poetry contest a success and it will return after the next RPGC.

Speaking of which, tomorrow is August 1st and somewhere between 9:00 and 12:00 CET (7:00 and 9:00 server time) the next RPGC will launch. Keep an eye on this section and the sidebar.