Poetry competition CLOSED 26th December 2014 12:38pm
WINNER
Atakti
View Profile Poems by Atakti
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RUNNER-UP: lepperochan

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The Arena: RANDOM POEMS [2] De POWER [Opium] THREE

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

Group 1
Genre: Erotic Drug Poem
Location: Dance Floor, Odessa Ukraine http://youtu.be/xAWjSWj-Vz8
Object: Name Tag

feathers on the dance floor

I'm still hungry

hungrier even.

sucking at the last vestiges of white Peruvian candy lingering in my nostrils and my fingertips

I see

the lines are clearly drawn.
concentric circles that shift and bounce off each other with every beguiling smile and outstretched hand.

"Would you like to dance?"

"Hello my name is ...

Greta

Sveta

Loretta."

or whatever you've branded yourself with for tonight on that damn tag.

All I think is

That's nice sweetie but I really, really don't give a shit.

predators and prey exchange  roles with the pulse of every techno beat
as each once lonely school boy tries to slit the throat of the last forty years of a hermit's life to watch the coagulation of his emptiness and her lust for zhyttya ... life.

any life.

the masked become naked
truths take on a warrior's armor.

me, I'm here for the same reason as these other jackals

the taste of sweet hungry young піхва ... pussy.

sure, maybe I'll make her my wife
but first she's gotta prove she can be my сука ... bitch.

nonetheless I was not about to put her on display like the matryoshka dolls here

teetering to beats of hope as Peter Pan and the lost boys played air guitar to Springstein's "Born in the U.S.A".

we left.

together.

quietly.

she thought my suite at the Koklen
looked like cotton candy

something for a princess.

she stared dreamingly out the window towards Primorsky boulevard and Deribasovskaya
letting the ambrosia I'd given her seep in.

we were now disrobed of our armor and masks seeking purification through lust.

I let her stand there naked looking out the window and moved behind her so she could feel the grind of my hips moving to a new melody.

I slowly sank to my knees behind her
kisses along her back descending
like quarter notes over her porcelain sheet

seeking the taste of her квітковий сік ... honey.

she arched her back
and let my tongue take her willingly.
her moans writing yet another song
that her hips swayed to.

I stood up and let her feel the fire she'd stirred.
my wetness lacquered her full осел ... ass.

I spun her around and took both sides  of her face in my hands firmly

and asked her if she remembered what I promised at the dance hall.

"Da ... Vy miy anhel oznachalo, Marie, shchob zvilʹnyty mene ... Yes, you are my angel, Marie, meant to set me free."

Vy poletyte zi mnoyu Nataliya ? ... Will you fly with me Natalia?

"Da" she sang.

And we did.


seekingkate
kateA
Tyrant of Words
Australia 28awards
Joined 20th May 2014
Forum Posts: 2079

GROUP 2

Genre:       Dark Spiritual Poem
Location:   Paris Catacombs
Object:      Camcorder

Poets:        seekingkate
                MadameLavender
                JohnRot
                HHMCameron



les catacombes


hotel esmeralda
black leather clad lorenzo
suspected links to the russian mafia
all this comes flooding back to me
as i stand at the french windows
of my apartment overlooking
notre-dame on the rue du cloitre-notre-dame

i knew i’d be back
not because it’s the city of love
as it proved itself to be last time
but because i’m drawn to explore
once again les catacombes
this time i’m prepared
i’ve done my homework
i won’t be scared

excitement tinged with anxiety and fear
is a burka i wear
but today is a day
that some of this may ease
i’ll meet with alain and his trusty camcorder
he will film it all so there’ll be a record

last time i went there
i had an experience i will never forget
if it wasn’t for lorenzo i think i would’ve gone mad
we were happy
laughing as we went down the stairs
when we started walking through the tunnels
i could feel a change within me

a cloak of hell dropped over me
disembodied voices, screams
ghostly apparitions followed me
i kept hearing words such as
‘help me…i don’t want to die….what am i doing here…’
as i moved along the corridors

i searched the faces of others in the group
watched to see if they were
hearing what i heard or seeing what i saw
their faces were drawn, deep in thought
about what was being said by the guide
but no-one seemed to be reacting like me

i fought feelings of wanting to run and hide
to get out of there but stay just the same
lorenzo looked at me, smiled, asked if i was OK
he put his arm around my shoulders
whispered in my ear
‘let them tell you their story…’
and he walked away

so i did…i let them tell me their stories
painful it was though mixed with joy
stories of how they lived, their families, how they died
those who were killed in the riots at Place de la Greve
it was all so surreal

back at street level lorenzo held me
said i was a HSP, a highly sensitive person
he explained it as best he could and
suggested i research it further
to make it all clear

this is what I’ve done
spent the last year finding out about me and HSP
we arranged for my return
to spend time with him and
go again to les catacombes
but my trip was cancelled because
they closed them for a few months

when time permitted i rebooked
but in the meantime lorenzo died
his friend alain contacted me
said he’d come with me to les catacombes
we’d record this time with special equipment
in the hope some of the voices i hear
and the images i see will be captured for posterity

an uneasy smile crosses my face
as i sip my coffee
i watch the morning unfold
on the square in front of Notre-Dame
my life is so different now
i am never alone
they, the dead, are always with me....




summultima
uma
Dangerous Mind
India 34awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1301


Group 3
Genre: Anger Love Poem
Location: Hippie Commune Taylor Camp, Kauai Hawaii
Object: Stars and Stripes Flag
Round 2
Poet:summultima


"Thirteenth Heaven"

Rigours raped ruthless
Smashed shapeless until bled out
dropless

Bundle of half-burnt filths
hung out in feeble threads of testimony
stank in their morbid reminiscences

Atrocity had another identity
hidden behind the star and stripes
Unquestioned

Celebrity fucked highlights faded oblivious
Tried that packed up isolation in newer ways
Om Shanti
Hare Rama Hare Krishna
The Cult
Freeform Love
Seemed easy in those uncut trances
Homegrown marijuana haze of naked dreams
dissolved under defamation
or whatever framed therein
to be gobbled back
into gutless guts
of the big-bellied predator
The inbred-diseased dictators

Jumped out radicals
the face of diversities
Out of nuclear rigidity
dragged back
into concreted cellulars
of
civilization,
whorish and in cowardice evolution


case28
Alexander Case
Dangerous Mind
42awards
Joined 16th June 2013
Forum Posts: 2077

Round Three Challenge 1 has now started. Check out the link for your next challenge.

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/poetry/read/7440/225/

HHMCameron
BetaWolfinVA
Fire of Insight
United States 4awards
Joined 17th Oct 2014
Forum Posts: 315

Heerführer Winter
=========================
Diese Bastards kämpfen, um uns zu verzögern
Wir sind für die Kalt abgebrochen
sie ihre Städte zu zerstören, um sie uns zu verweigern
wir kämpfen für die Ehre des Führers und des Vaterlandes

wir würden sie unter den Laufflächen der Tanks schleifen
aber ihre Masse Knochen machen harte Mahlzeit
deren Magnetminen und Molotowcocktails
verlangen, unser Blut und Teilen als Bezahlung für jeden Meter Boden
hart und kalt wie ihr Land macht sie
sie ihre Ländereien zu verbrennen, um sie uns zu verweigern
wir können nicht Tukar der Russian Winter überleben
Weder konnte Napoleon
.
wir kämpfen und sterben für den Führer
für die Herrenrasse

==============================================================

General Winter
=========================
These Bastards fight to delay us
We are abandoned to the cold
they destroy their cities to deny them to us
we fight for the glory of the leader and of the Fatherland

we would grind them under the treads of the tanks
but Their Ground bones make hard meal
as their magnetic mines and molotov cocktails
demand our blood and parts as payment for each meter of ground
tough and cold as their country makes them
they burn their lands to deny them to us
we can not survive against the Russian Winter
neither could Napoleon
,
we fight and die for the leader
for the master race

========================
Group 2
Genre: Military Historical Fiction/Military Historical
Location: Ostfront (World War II) Russia http://youtu.be/uvrXIVRdcsU !Extreme Content Warning!
Object: Magnet
HHMCameron
JohnRot
lepperochan

Jestalessa
Dangerous Mind
Scotland 35awards
Joined 27th July 2010
Forum Posts: 2329

Genre: Goodbye Poem
"The end of a journey together is marked by a goodbye.
Something new cannot begin without bidding goodbye to the old.
Goodbye poems portray this 'goodbye' feeling and teach one to move on."
http://www.buzzle.com/articles/kinds-of-poetry.html

Group 1
Poet: Jesta
Genre: Miscellaneous Poem
Object: Cell Phone
Location: Khumbu Icefall, Mount Everest
             http://youtu.be/moBJMGNSql4



Thank you, Siri

Good morning, Hannah
You have a meeting at: -ICE FALL!!!- Mount Everest in.. 30 minutes
You have.. 39.. new email messages
You have.. 16.. missed calls
You have.. 11.. texts waiting
You have made.. 6.. calls outgoing to.. Home

It is now.. 4:10AM

You have missed.. 2.. Meeting with Consumer Board - Wednesdays only
You have missed.. 2.. Football Practice, Jamie
You have missed.. Date night
You have missed.. 3.. Market Day - Fridays only

To Do Today says:
Gear up (have breakfast)
Team up
Check safeties
Double check survival supplies
Oxygen
Medication

You have.. 8.. notifications from LearnLingo
You have.. 4.. notifications from BoggleBoard Friends
I have.. 12 minutes to get out onto that glacier before sun concentrate
starts cracking the great Khumbu open into
somewhat unpredictable positions
though, inevitably, it always ends up down the way
and I'm attempting the opposite. Best day of my life!
Except for the day my daughter was born.
I can see it all from up here,
but it's not clear and it's not easy, and down there, the air
is so much heavier...

Altitude Tracker says:
You have reached.. 6,000 metres

You have reached.. 7,000 metres

You have..

Indie
Miss Indie
Tyrant of Words
Australia 34awards
Joined 3rd Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 3209

Sorry Case, I thought I had to the 19th of this month.

lepperochan
Craic-Dealer
Guardian of Shadows
Palestine 67awards
Joined 1st Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 14449

group 2 challenge 1 Eastern front, magnet  

Genre: Abandoned by God: poems about instances or events where a god(s) has abandoned his flock or part of his flock

http://www.goodluckfindingasitewiththatgenre.com



Caught between the Dniestr and the Bug   ( Odessa oct-1941 )


They looked at him
with a mix of hate and envy
He was one of them: the dammed to hell
tied together in fifties
and soon to be whipped into a dyke
then shot like diseased dogs

but he was sat on the ground
testing gold teeth with a magnet
the ones that stuck to it
thrown to the left
and the pure that didn't
placed in black velvet pouches

'god is good', the elders whispered
into the ears of the children

none of them or the men, women, old or young
believed a word of it

Atakti
Tyrant of Words
32awards
Joined 1st Aug 2012
Forum Posts: 3273

Group 1
Genre: Miscellaneous Poem -
Irony
Location: Khumbu Icefall, Mount Everest  
Object: Cell Phone





Mortal Binds


Unfurling our fitful waking in the abyss plummet of night,
the descent from the death zone exacts a brutal fare,
where its skeletal air unveiled infinity and mortal binds,
our lorn cockerel call is the slam of the wind.

Our mountainous faith lies with the Icefall Docs –
they carry connate songs of burden downwards.
Faith lies briefly. It rises with uncaged heart beats
and the edge of a breath drawn days before.

Crampons clank on ladders, leather bound hands grasping
fixed ropes, fixed hopes on these slopes through
the ‘Ballroom of Death’. Moving one foot, one hand,
in a fatal dance with fickle focus. Her absence costs.

Dark gusts bring a dusting of ice. Our headlamps lend blues
to ruling seracs, the ‘fingers of fate’ that point to deep tombs,
folded bodies resting where they fell. Focus on the breath,
on the foot that takes the next step, the hand that grips life.

Three ladders lashed over a drop, were it a drop of sun-kissed wine…
We must outrace the sun, its kiss sends tremors, melting glaciers
then ice towers snap ropes — bodiless funerals imminent
thousands of miles away.  No. Stop.

Breathe, focus, hand, foot, grip, check, move, breathe.
One step, one reach, hand over hand, back to base.

Later we will speak of loss. How we lost the summit,
how the cellphone rang and we missed our mark.
We lost our Mark. He lost his focus, slipped off
the razor edge margin of error.

Mark had unclipped when it rang. He swung
on his second rope  — under avalanche thunder.
The anchors ripped out while the mountain took him,
an everlasting hold, an icy embrace in the crevasse.

Days later, we find out who had dialed in.
His loved ones had wanted a connection.



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

Group 1
Genre: Miscellaneous Poem  (Romantic Comedy)

Location: Khumbu Icefall, Mount Everest http://youtu.be/moBJMGNSql4

Object: Cell Phone


-.-. --- -.. .

barnacles.
we cling to the ivory beast
tethered to the fool hearty and faithless.


faceless.

faithless.

facelift.

lol.

u r just like every other man
out on this trek.


how.

she's unconquerable in her breadth and spiraling beauty
yet u need to claim her.

lay bridges upon her so others like u may follow.

make her conform with ropes n chains bc u dont have the strength urself even when bound to ur brothers.


ouch.

truth hurt.

everest is not a woman to be feared but respected.

she tests my will and resolve like no other.


lol well if u love and respect her so much do what all u men do best with women like her.

whats that.

get naked.

lmao shes too frigid for that.
shed break it off.


she might be doing the rest of us a favor.

flavor.

favor.

chocolate chip cookie dough.

im diabetic.

im low cal.

what r u  wearing.


ur kidding right.  it's barely above freezing on these falls n u think im naked n fondling myself.

men.


just making sure ur ready for base camp ii

yes. besides its late n were losing r signal. sun going down.

ur morse code is getn better

who knew these cell phones would reflect so well

i did

u and every other sherpa

yes all men lol

u r such an ass

ty i do have quite the ass

lol be safe.  to be lost here is to be forgotten

c u back at base.

c u.

case28
Alexander Case
Dangerous Mind
42awards
Joined 16th June 2013
Forum Posts: 2077

Round Three Challenge 2 has now started. Check out the link for your next challenge.

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/poetry/read/7440/240/

HHMCameron
BetaWolfinVA
Fire of Insight
United States 4awards
Joined 17th Oct 2014
Forum Posts: 315

Lost at Sea Again
=====================
Really getting tired
of bloody blue nausea pills...
they just do not seem
to work well any more well
not since Seamus went over
.
an able seaman
he was such a warm man
for cold lonely nights
i was looking forward to
a life lived far off the sea
.
working the galley
i see every one.. even
those that do not want
me to see see them pity me
what is happening to me?
.
why aren't these damn pills
working any more, since then
party girl mornings
breakfast visits for a while
then it joins the sea... how odd
.
when i first met him,
my auburn hair escaped the
hair net his eyes flashed
a few watches later he
broke fraternization rules
.
tuning my voice with
his tongue from below as his
fingers played above
afterwards we would talk of
the future, after this tour
.

one night looking
for something lost in the hold
seamus disappeared
someone claimed to hear a scream
and splash that first lonely night
.
later, looking for
some last trace of him to hold
i found blood his blood
and the first mate blew it off
said men often bleed at sea
.
now i have trouble
eating and sleeping wand'ring
through the night trying
to find what took him from me
i began to get concerned
.
some bosuns mate found
mommies with knives: not much fun
back to hide in sight
in the galley hoping to
survive days to reach the shore
.
i heard the handle
turn last night late in third watch
pretending to sleep
lay in bed awake all night
in morning find a love note
.
meet him at life boat
to sneak there safe and alone
either its him or
those that took him from me, will
not be happy,  i'll gut them
.
captains log: first watch
bodies were found this morning
that galley woman
and an able sea man killed
five men and stole a life boat
.
============================
.
Group 2
Genre: Thriller Romance Poem
Location: merchant ship
http://youtu.be/BX3kFCgvKp4
Object: a blue pill
HHMCameron
lepperochan

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

Want a ride Alice?

sitting on a ledge of once anesthetic voices that now crackle with the inevitable.

my eyes somersault with the roiling boil that was once the cove that my grandfather and i fished.

vespers of sea salt and sand evaporate over my panting tongue trying to stay in sync with my heart.

i am now strangely a captain taken hostage in his own vessel
careening aimlessly down avenues and boulevards like trash towards a sewer.

for the first time ever i pray to crash into a tree

another car

telephone pole

Anything.

anything becomes everything
including bodies
and I'm assaulted for my own protection.

the fat white Jack in the box no longer contained

popping from my wheel and breaking my nose.

the merry go round plays on yet I'm fed blood not cotton candy.

blind fear justifies dark decisions
i swallow my Bifera.
three of them.

the red pill.

trying to shore up my anemic soul from bleeding out.

I've stopped, again

thud
thud

thud
three bodies against my passenger door.

bang
bang
two more cars.

Crush.
A bus.

I am the rabbit in this dog pile
but there is no Alice
nor Cheshire Cat
just a Mad Hatter spewing death.

it ends where it began for us all

in the bowels of the sea.

Atakti
Tyrant of Words
32awards
Joined 1st Aug 2012
Forum Posts: 3273

Numbers


I count the hours until bedtime, weary afternoons
idling at traffic lights. I count the days until the weekend
with my son’s cartoons, my Sunday crossword.

A slam shakes the car, spins us round,
I see white — the airbag. The moment stretches
then snaps back, the road gone, a river born, afloat.

“Mommy!” I hold my son, hold tight to his little limbs,
our car swirling round, waters rising in  grey sullies.
There’s a driver in the next car — help us!

What’s wrong with him?
He screams nothing, the windows
shut in sound and death…

On my right, there’s a young girl gripping the steering,
her head melting, a flesh candle —
I press my son’s face close, huddled in the front seat.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, we’re going to be fine.”
I try not to hitch my breath.
I need to learn these new rules.

Another car, a family clawing at the windows
their skin ravaged, black marks blossoming
on their arms and faces.

I recall the mouse last summer,
left outside, a feast for maggots,
disappearing faster than innocence.

There’s nothing but debris and swells.
I get the sun roof open, pull us up.
The bottom of the car floods.

I see our groceries floating inside —
there’s a soggy cereal box, some bread,
and a chicken breast. It disintegrates in black froth.

There’s malice in the water, once torpid
now awakened. I swivel, I hope, something –
but nothing – to climb, to hold, oh please…

I can hear screams now. I try to hum and stroke his hair.
I look down — the water is up past the seat cushions.
He whimpers, clings to me.

I remember the red pill, a painless sleep.
I make him swallow. Count, the seven short years
my son had. Count, the minutes left.

How many seconds for the pill to kick in?
Count, the words I say to him, his drowsy blinks,
the heartbeats between us.

Count…






lepperochan
Craic-Dealer
Guardian of Shadows
Palestine 67awards
Joined 1st Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 14449

S'cuse my punctuals, I'm having some technicals.

Group two
thriller romance
merchant ship
blue pill
 

Ballad of the Queen Mary

The captain's claim
to queer-dom
was drunken lust  
with his cabin boy
halfway
'round the horn


never saw
his dainty hands
crush blue pill to powder
or noticed
how his heart
was drowned to jelly
by the drink
that it had fallen into

all he knew
was he'd woken up, balls deep
in a love story
that had set the crew
to whisper mutiny


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