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The Poetry Games

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by

Rich Pott

on 15 October 2012

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Transcript of The Poetry Games

How it works... Submit a poem!
Once all poems have been read by our editorial team the selected entries will be split into 12 regions.
A finalist will be chosen from each region and invited to submit a video clip of themselves performing their poem.
11 finalists will be awarded with a Kindle, and the champion with an iPad.
All 12 finalists will have their video clip live on our Young Writers website and our YouTube channel for visitors to vote on their favourite poem. This will take place once all the regional anthologies have been published.
The finalists with the most votes will be crowned The Poetry Games champion and will win an iPad! Prizes Prizes Up For Grabs... Poetry Live Wednesday 24th October. Lunchtime.
Join us at the Amphitheatre for some live poetry. See Mr. Potter if you have a poem you would like to read! OTHELLO

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it;
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field
Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence
And portance in my travels' history:
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,
Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven
It was my hint to speak,--such was the process;
And of the Cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'ld come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story.
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used:
Here comes the lady; let her witness it. It's easy to take part Each pupil should type or neatly write their poem and they must be no longer than 30 lines.

Submit your entries to Mr. Potter by Tuesday 23rd October Tips for Success! The Poetry Games is the exciting new poetry competition from Young Writers for 11-18 year-olds. Entrants:
Kindle for 11 finalists
1st prize an iPad
Free bookmark for every entrant
Certificate of merit for each published entrant Schools:
1st prize £1,000 for the best set of entries
2nd prize 2 x £500
3rd prize 4 x £250 Join your friends and teachers for a lunchtime live poetry show at the amphitheatre!


If you would like to read a poem, please see Mr. Potter before the end of Monday 22nd. Poetry Live! Wednesday 24th October
Full transcript