Poetry competition CLOSED 10th August 2014 3:24pm
WINNER
KittyFromHell
View Profile Poems by KittyFromHell
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RUNNER-UP: jemac

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Childhood Home

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Memories of a house with childhood dreams, laughter or tears.
Describe the house you were born in or grew up.

Here are some thought provoking questions, for ideas to incorporate in the poem.

What did it look like?
Does it evoke happy or sad memories?
Is it still there?
Do you ever drive by?
Do you ever wish you could go back and relive one day in that house?
If so, what would you do?
What would you change or not change?


Rules:
Poems only
No collab
One entry per entrant
No word limit (But please keep it at a reasonable length)
New or old (No previously awarded poem)
Title your work
Grammar, spelling checked


DreamerSeeker
Thought Provoker
United States 1awards
Joined 10th Oct 2013
Forum Posts: 57

I still live at home with my parents.


My Home

Big and blue
on a dead-end road.
My house lies
in the countryside.

Waking up to the birds chirping,
in a peaceful land
That's full of dreams.

Sometimes it gets too lonely.
I often wonder what it would've been like
to have lived elsewhere.
But now I realize,
I'm in a place where I can be left alone.

21 years loaded with memories,
My first word, my first step.
My first boyfriend, my first broken heart.

My home so where I belong,
I can't imagine growing up any where else.





poet Anonymous

Thank you DreamerSeeker for kicking it off :)

bailey
Strange Creature
Joined 30th Nov 2013
Forum Posts: 2

 I Don't Remember



the house that I was
born in,
I can't remember the
halls, or the rooms.
I can't even remember
the color of the walls.

vague, nearly gone.
only memories of
long hair, and endless fighting.

I will never go back
to the house,

I don't remember the name of the street.

trouble8me
Thought Provoker
United States 2awards
Joined 15th Sep 2012
Forum Posts: 46

Grandview Street

The very fondest of memories
come from the house on Grandview Street.
I lived there before I could remember
'till eventually, images remained to treasure.

This house was large and surrounded by space.
Open fields from any direction you'd face.
Two rows of apartments was all that was near.
My first best friend had once lived there.

My bedroom had it's own back door.
It opened to places I had yet to explore.
We had a big shed that was just like the house.
I remember the chicks always running around.

My dad was fit and happy back then
and I was an innocent child.
It'd be nice to see that house again
just to rewind for a while.


dungendona
Twisted Dreamer
United States 1awards
Joined 24th Sep 2012
Forum Posts: 65

House of horror

For so many years my silence, I thought was protection
You had control from the beginning to the end of your days
Mother and son, grandmother and father
Together you created the house of horrors
Mom you allowed it, Edwin you inflected it
your years of lies upon lies was left unchallenged The truth was neglected and over time was ignored
sick sadistic sex between mother and son
became torture, never ending for the child I never was
it has taken most of my life to feel what I only knew as words
My closet, my hiding place, was closed and locked just a week ago, after all these years
The little girl will remain enclosed in the closet locked away for safe keeping
I am truly loved and cared about by the man who never gave up on me, my husband, David who I love with my whole heart.
I know now I will be alright, I have survived the pain and memories from the house of horror you died in......

 

 

 
 

Written by dungendona  

poet Anonymous

Great entries, thank you Bailey, Trouble8me and Dungendona.

poet Anonymous

BLUE; GREY; RED; BLACK

On a day, when skies are blue
Our house has a happy face
It sings with it\s heart
Door opens
Window unlocks
Seeking to catch
The mild summer breezes

On days when the skies are grey
Our house is frowning
Echo in the hall
Voices breaking vows
Shaken from the silence
The secrets fall from us

On days when the skies are red
I wait for hours to watch the faint flicker
Return in my fathers\s eyes
His shadow flies towards the corners
The bat is bathing in the light
He whispers

On days when the skies are black
I run inside to show the blind to see
Curled curtain dancing upon the winds
Piles of laundry draped like a white tower
I try to pick them up
My mother\s voice seems broken

Grace
IDryad
Tyrant of Words
122awards
Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 16067

House on the Hill


stilts made of round timber
hardwood planted on the ground
holding up the fat body
of the home that housed us

yellow sun in the morning
lighting up the wooden wall
sending soft lights into the room
gauzy through mosquito nets

birds twittering and chirping
as if welcoming the new day
while parents tapped rubber
on terraced hills

like a fat hog under the sun
my home seemed to slumber
until the evening breeze
blow and cool the occupants

we'd make a fire on outside pit
and toast our luscious tapioca
eating them with honey dip
gathered from the jungle bees

the house coloured by dancing lights
from the little bonfire
seemed more cheerful at night
as we danced and sang together

Now all archived in fading memories
parents have left for glory
only the nine siblings
remember the time of when

I was happy then.

LobodeSanPedro
Tyrant of Words
Sierra Leone 109awards
Joined 16th Apr 2013
Forum Posts: 3304

http://images.nymag.com/news/features/housingworks120910_5_560.jpg

dust storm  in the canyons
 
inverted dungeons  
flirt with clouds  
whose sole purpose by all accounts
was to serve as catapults  
for dusted angels.  
 
when i wasn't dodging falling angels,
i was stepping over those who had crashed.  
hop scotching over pools of ammonia and plasma  
in search of a safe den.
 
i flick my tail and shake my coat  
in the wake of the stench.  
 
scarecrows marking asphalt rows bend and sway
in curious contortions in anticipation  
of euphoric relief.  
in their drunken nods they spy
my virgin veins with envy.  
 
not yet having spilled blood in these canyons
i loop aimlessly as a scavenger.
camouflaged temptations beckon  
and scar beyond my coated flesh.  
 
swarms pollinate fields a sunset away
but flies feast on the remains of angels  
and scarecrows
in this valley.
the effective butterfly.
 
i see the sand blowing  
eyes are blinded
and turned.
 
stick out your tongue  
is the hollow echo i hear
in this soporific tempest.  
 
do i dare

poet Anonymous

Mourganna, Grace and LSP, thank you for joining the comp with your amazing entries.

poet Anonymous

I remember it like it was yesterday
Riding my bicycle around back to play
Going through the alley between the apartments
It was my world, and the restaurant was one of my familiar haunts

Nana ran the restaurant, and my mother was a waitress
Living there was heaven on earth for a little girl; a private and personal bliss
There were children who lived in the rents; Nana told me to share my swing set out back, because it only seemed right
The telephone company men stopped by the restaurant for lunch, and it was a dance hall at night

Nana lived in the middle unit at street level, and we lived on the second floor
She was the landlord and everyone knew that, but she kept an open door
Renting to single mothers and the less fortunate, she held parties for them on holidays
And she was there to listen to their stories or scare away their abusive exes some days

Every morning in the summer, I went down the stairs to get my bike out of the cubby
I climbed over the downstairs porch railings and did so even though I was chubby
I would jump on Nana’s porch and go underneath her hanging laundry
Not touching any of it was my challenge, Nana’s request, and my daily quandary

If she was home, homemade waffles and chocolate milk would be in store
And if she wasn’t, I would then hop on my bike and go in the restaurant’s back door
I’d ask everyone if Nana was in the kitchen and watch mother waitress on any given day
I would spin a while on the red sparkling stools and then tell them I was going out back to play

Up the back stairs I went to see if Tony was home or doctoring his skinned knees
If he was home, we would scale the back hill and play under the trees
I loved the little girls who lived in the apartment over the restaurant
I gave Missy Jean rides on the back of my bike and played with the marbles that my daddy sent

It was here that I felt the safest; I wasn’t the only one without a dad
And it was here that I would later save the best memories that I ever had
Cheeseburgers and orange soda were mine for the asking
Every waitress had my back if my mother was busy multitasking

I would take patron’s money and put in the jukebox
And after running, I would pull up, out of my sneakers, my slipping socks
On those rare Sundays when Nana wasn’t sweating in the kitchen making friend clams
I would sit beside her on a lawn chair as we both worked on our tans

The best time of all was sleeping over her house
In my favorite uncle’s bedroom, where I had to be quiet as a mouse
As I snooped in his closet and on top of his bureau
He was away at school, preparing to be one of the Navy’s respected few

When he was home, he would throw me over his shoulder
And walk out back with me and watch me play red rover
And he would discreetly watch the back steps for a glimpse of that pretty red-haired teen
He still pines for her to this day; she was a beautiful sight to be seen

I had a friend named Suzy who lived down the avenue a ways
She would ride her bike over and play on my swings some days
Or we would search the woods for treasures to keep
I think she spent the night at my house a few times, playing Barbies, we never did sleep

After I was taken away from my daddy at the age of three
I spent about six years in this home, and received his gifts and letters in the mail with glee
But I was denied the thing I wanted most of all
And that was seeing my daddy; they all made sure of that; I never knew he came to call

Rushing into the restaurant in the middle of the day, the neighborhood men waited
My nana made one call to tell them he was coming; he was mutually hated
He had abused my mother, a fact that I found out as an adult
I was never allowed to know him or what he was about

My mother hid me and had Nana take me to the next town over to stay with her friend
And just before daylight was about to end
And after I played nicely and ate my snack quietly, she said that I would ask when my Nana was coming for me
I just wanted to go out back and play and be free































poet Anonymous

In a Corner of Glasgow


They all looked the same
tenement buildings in rows
grey except for the statements proclaimed
in each window
some sparkling clean with freshly ironed curtains
others unkempt with no posh ornament on show

Mum kept ours immaculate
she was always complimented on the house
and how she'd decorate with such detail
(it's called O.C.D. now)

the tiny coal fireplace in the living room
battled the cold as well as it could
and often lost to Scotland's brutal climate
and Margaret Thatchers new rules

we'd have our cereal with hot milk at breakfast
trying to warm up at the little kitchen table
my sister and I
at night we'd watch the sky from our twin beds
hoping to catch sight of reindeer and a sleigh
even when it wasn't anywhere near Christmas

or we'd count stars and make wishes
trying to tune out the neighbors
sometimes the fighting was only a room away
a stereotypical place
for the violent ways of those struggling
to cope
with loss mostly

we'd find bits of cardboard to sit on
and slide from our street down the hill
to school in the snow
the memories are so vague in my mind

it's all gone now
well...
it's been somewhat rebuilt

but the hills in the background
and the green pastures that seem endless
under animated skies that are prone to
violent mood swings
are a constant and have served as a comfort
when I needed just that

it was home and all I knew
until we moved

I had nightmares for decades
of returning to emptiness and strangers
where family and belonging once existed
and it happened

all just memories





JAZZMANOR
Tyrant of Words
United States 38awards
Joined 4th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 103

On the corner of Chaos and Calm
stands a house that is slightly off white
built in twenty eight and still standing strong
proof positive that back in the day they built things right
Chaos included a bus stop on Olympic
high school students still congregate
stuffed magazines into the bushes
lord knows they were of a xxx-rate
The fence that could never be crafted
to keep Einstein type canines in
always alluded the animal control
Spot came back with the most foolish grin
The living room ceiling with the acoustic structure
graced by sounds when my brother played trombone
they guy that always sounded the coolest
would be featured in the group War playing saxophone
The biggest bedroom was not the master
which is why Lindsay had a bathroom while we did not
a bit pleased the day he went to college
for his room was then what I got
The room that we added in the attic
the builder didn't quite get what he had in mind
turns out when building inspectors can to examine years later
in terms of codes it was built out of the proper lines
As fate turns out my brother and I were able to keep it
there it sits rented out today
and I can stop by and visit periodically
thinking of the memories that won't fade away


poet Anonymous

Another three terrific entries, thank you Primo, Miki and Mr. Jazz.

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