Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd December 2014 8:42pm
WINNER
Anonymous
Anonymous
Observational Expressions
Words & Other Things I Love
Ever since I was a small child, it had been my dream to read.
And when I learned to write, I made each letter perfect.
carefully
I loved the sound of certain words.
As much as I loved the sound of tap shoes on a tiled floor.
Or a horse's hooves on a cobbled stone road.
The opening chords to my favorite songs.
The smell of rain on an autumn day.
The way the first lick of an ice cream cone tastes.
My journal is filled with poetry.
Thoughts, emotions, lists,
letters, unfinished chapters & journal entries.
I like snowglobes and old cameras.
And the colors of autumn, burning bright and rustic.
I love going out shopping for Christmas presents and groceries the same.
I love falling in love with a book for it's cover or it's name.
I love listening to music.
Taking tips from the various writing styles.
I love dreaming with my eyes open.
And reading about my favorite poets and singers.
I love drinking in their lives and words.
My favorite word is "ambrosia"
And I love the way it tastes on my lips.
It makes me thinks of cherry blossom trees.
And I love the pink color of those petals.
Light and pale as a girl's blushing cheeks.
I love the smell of coffee.
And different kinds of coffee mugs.
Even though the thought of drinking coffee kind of makes me feel old.
I love staring at pasteries through the glass of bakery shops.
My mouth watering at all the sugary snacks.
My sweet tooth wanting my to try every one.
I love words, describing feelings perfectly.
Down to the finest detail of the moment.
It's why being a writer was the perfect choice of a career.
No one to tell me what to do.
Everything is up for me to choose.
I love writing poetry.
The stories I can tell.
I love describing things that I love.
I love being in love.
I am a romantic.
In love with life, itself.
Seashells, dreams, stars, madness.
The sea, the shore, the city, magic.
I love dreaming, in the day or by night.
I love falling in love with something new, every time.
When I open my eyes, when I hear a new song.
When I hear a new word, when I read a new book.
I love finding new ways for me to explain how I feel.
To describe my emotions, feelings, my day and my life.
I wish I could experience life the way they do in the movies.
I wish that I was so different, so damaged and broken.
But I don't like to think of those things.
The bad things, the heartache, the depression, the bad dreams.
Instead I like thinking of the things I can do.
Like fall in love with songs, music, words and life.
Like sitting with a notebook and pen makes me feel so urban and new.
Like walking in a peacoat and my black boots makes me feel so mature.
An adult awoke in my life, anew.
Ever since I was a small child, it had been my dream to read.
And when I learned to write, I made each letter perfect.
And with each stroke of my pencil turned pen.
A new person was born, someone whom loved contriving stories with those words.
Words became poems.
Poems became prose.
Prose became stories.
And the stories, they made me into me.
It started when I was young, five years old learning to read.
And they made me the person I am today, a writer and a poet.
Words, my love of words, it did this to me.
It nurtured me, changed me and made me grow.
And with my words, came my descriptions of various things.
And my romantic nature bloomed and my spirit was set free.
And now here I am.
c o m p l e t e
Ever since I was a small child, it had been my dream to read.
And when I learned to write, I made each letter perfect.
carefully
I loved the sound of certain words.
As much as I loved the sound of tap shoes on a tiled floor.
Or a horse's hooves on a cobbled stone road.
The opening chords to my favorite songs.
The smell of rain on an autumn day.
The way the first lick of an ice cream cone tastes.
My journal is filled with poetry.
Thoughts, emotions, lists,
letters, unfinished chapters & journal entries.
I like snowglobes and old cameras.
And the colors of autumn, burning bright and rustic.
I love going out shopping for Christmas presents and groceries the same.
I love falling in love with a book for it's cover or it's name.
I love listening to music.
Taking tips from the various writing styles.
I love dreaming with my eyes open.
And reading about my favorite poets and singers.
I love drinking in their lives and words.
My favorite word is "ambrosia"
And I love the way it tastes on my lips.
It makes me thinks of cherry blossom trees.
And I love the pink color of those petals.
Light and pale as a girl's blushing cheeks.
I love the smell of coffee.
And different kinds of coffee mugs.
Even though the thought of drinking coffee kind of makes me feel old.
I love staring at pasteries through the glass of bakery shops.
My mouth watering at all the sugary snacks.
My sweet tooth wanting my to try every one.
I love words, describing feelings perfectly.
Down to the finest detail of the moment.
It's why being a writer was the perfect choice of a career.
No one to tell me what to do.
Everything is up for me to choose.
I love writing poetry.
The stories I can tell.
I love describing things that I love.
I love being in love.
I am a romantic.
In love with life, itself.
Seashells, dreams, stars, madness.
The sea, the shore, the city, magic.
I love dreaming, in the day or by night.
I love falling in love with something new, every time.
When I open my eyes, when I hear a new song.
When I hear a new word, when I read a new book.
I love finding new ways for me to explain how I feel.
To describe my emotions, feelings, my day and my life.
I wish I could experience life the way they do in the movies.
I wish that I was so different, so damaged and broken.
But I don't like to think of those things.
The bad things, the heartache, the depression, the bad dreams.
Instead I like thinking of the things I can do.
Like fall in love with songs, music, words and life.
Like sitting with a notebook and pen makes me feel so urban and new.
Like walking in a peacoat and my black boots makes me feel so mature.
An adult awoke in my life, anew.
Ever since I was a small child, it had been my dream to read.
And when I learned to write, I made each letter perfect.
And with each stroke of my pencil turned pen.
A new person was born, someone whom loved contriving stories with those words.
Words became poems.
Poems became prose.
Prose became stories.
And the stories, they made me into me.
It started when I was young, five years old learning to read.
And they made me the person I am today, a writer and a poet.
Words, my love of words, it did this to me.
It nurtured me, changed me and made me grow.
And with my words, came my descriptions of various things.
And my romantic nature bloomed and my spirit was set free.
And now here I am.
c o m p l e t e
Autumn Requiem
night is long
I try to fill it with words
some terrible passing of shadows
across collarbones
I have heard of genes
strange chemicals
but they fall short of knowledge
in this eerie light
I know the taste of resistance
it is metallic and quiet
so difficult to empty the ash tray
beautifully ugly in a way
one wishes not to interrupt
I try to remember the last time
the world was contained inside of me
it seems dim as if it was years ago
it has the starkness of a lie
what makes the quiet
so remarkably strange
is that is does not end
it is interrupted briefly
like a symphony
there are coughs
intermissions
screeches of cars nearby
but if let to its own devices
the quiet would persist
night is long
I try to fill it with words
some terrible passing of shadows
across collarbones
I have heard of genes
strange chemicals
but they fall short of knowledge
in this eerie light
I know the taste of resistance
it is metallic and quiet
so difficult to empty the ash tray
beautifully ugly in a way
one wishes not to interrupt
I try to remember the last time
the world was contained inside of me
it seems dim as if it was years ago
it has the starkness of a lie
what makes the quiet
so remarkably strange
is that is does not end
it is interrupted briefly
like a symphony
there are coughs
intermissions
screeches of cars nearby
but if let to its own devices
the quiet would persist
trouble when it moves
my chapped lips crackle.
i trace my fingers over them
but can't cut myself on the barbed wire.
singed tips provide armor
and makes me unidentifiable.
it's best this way for all
especially you.
so i keep my tongue in solitary confinement.
i've tried to use it to speak my mind
though it's not really my own.
my body, merely a tenant who can't afford to leave
so i stay and fuck the slumlord for rent.
tried to pack and leave
once or twice.
you said you'd come along too.
desperation bleeding you through your eyes.
i feel my lips moving.
bartering with your heart for what you need.
we reach the inevitable fork in the road,
my tongue.
you choose what's right which leaves me left.
my chapped lips crackle.
i trace my fingers over them
but can't cut myself on the barbed wire.
singed tips provide armor
and makes me unidentifiable.
it's best this way for all
especially you.
so i keep my tongue in solitary confinement.
i've tried to use it to speak my mind
though it's not really my own.
my body, merely a tenant who can't afford to leave
so i stay and fuck the slumlord for rent.
tried to pack and leave
once or twice.
you said you'd come along too.
desperation bleeding you through your eyes.
i feel my lips moving.
bartering with your heart for what you need.
we reach the inevitable fork in the road,
my tongue.
you choose what's right which leaves me left.
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
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
- Passion’s Promise -
Part One: Dark Sentiment
If you would learn one thing from me it is thus:
Sometimes light can be terrible and most harsh.
But in the darkness, you can find truth to trust…
And therein lies the light of a welcoming force.
Cloak yourself in the shadows, and be soothed!
You are safe therein, where no deceit is found…
Let your heart be at ease and my words proved,
In the peace where all will and passion abound!
The dark is your shelter, your realm of refuge…
And I am its’ master, its’ mistress, it, embodied.
Seek the dark and you seek me, not in servitude,
But because you are so ready to at last be freed!
What is the nature of will, to our eternal souls?
Will contains the power, to work one’s desires,
To do good, or evil, as one guides, or controls…
As one’s will blazes hotter than all Hell’s fires!
Will is a sword to some, yet it is also a flower…
It is as graceful as a spire, or mighty as a tower.
Let that tower be your fastness, our monument!
It has already been raised, by a dark sentiment.
Part Two: Passion’s Creed
None who live are without passion’s promise…
Save those who through stagnation are deluded.
It is a nobler thing, to strive after love and bliss,
Than to become, by a stagnant spirit, so eroded!
When dark conflict is upon the face of creation,
The dream of peace becomes a lie of false hope!
Only passion can lift up the heart in celebration,
Leading to a truer peace, beyond dreams’ scope.
When passion leads to peace, we gain strength…
Undreamed of by those who have become weak,
Diminished by conflict, beyond a suitable length.
The strength of the passionate is a power to seek!
When the power of passion is freed, it burns fair,
Searing with the light of a glory unknown before.
It shines in our eyes, in our skin, and in our hair…
The glow of victorious spirit, sublime evermore!
When passion is granted the victory, it is sweet…
For those once blind and chained know freedom.
Their chains are broken, the risen dawn to greet,
Eyes opened by a glory never glimpsed by some.
The restrictions binding us, we make ourselves…
And only we can look beyond that web of deceit.
With a passionate spirit that so seeks and delves,
The web is dissolved, and we become complete!
Part Three: Truths of Desire
These are the secret truths of desire, of the heart.
We conceal them within ourselves, at our peril…
For whilst they wait to be awakened, by pure art,
We are slaves to illusion, our true natures stilled.
Give in to the darkness, not for evil but for good!
Wisdom teaches the difference, you might learn:
There is light within it, which is misunderstood…
Within that velvet embrace for which you yearn!
Oh seeker, I name you my kindred if you know…
The meaning of all I speak herein, and the glory.
When the light is cruel, it fills us with such woe!
Yet the dark is waiting, to divest you of worry…
Like the patient lover, with arms open accepting.
She is our mother, and we are ever, her children!
The universe itself, with all its’ beauties shining,
Is far less eternal than she, whence all life stems.
To understand love, is to know passion’s form…
Yet to fathom it entire, you must face the storm!
Dare I speak for the darkness; am I that worthy?
Her passion makes me so; I embrace it willingly.
Not all can know the beauty,
Of the stars that glisten…
Not all who are blind may see,
Nor can the deaf listen…
Unless they choose to be free!
Part One: Dark Sentiment
If you would learn one thing from me it is thus:
Sometimes light can be terrible and most harsh.
But in the darkness, you can find truth to trust…
And therein lies the light of a welcoming force.
Cloak yourself in the shadows, and be soothed!
You are safe therein, where no deceit is found…
Let your heart be at ease and my words proved,
In the peace where all will and passion abound!
The dark is your shelter, your realm of refuge…
And I am its’ master, its’ mistress, it, embodied.
Seek the dark and you seek me, not in servitude,
But because you are so ready to at last be freed!
What is the nature of will, to our eternal souls?
Will contains the power, to work one’s desires,
To do good, or evil, as one guides, or controls…
As one’s will blazes hotter than all Hell’s fires!
Will is a sword to some, yet it is also a flower…
It is as graceful as a spire, or mighty as a tower.
Let that tower be your fastness, our monument!
It has already been raised, by a dark sentiment.
Part Two: Passion’s Creed
None who live are without passion’s promise…
Save those who through stagnation are deluded.
It is a nobler thing, to strive after love and bliss,
Than to become, by a stagnant spirit, so eroded!
When dark conflict is upon the face of creation,
The dream of peace becomes a lie of false hope!
Only passion can lift up the heart in celebration,
Leading to a truer peace, beyond dreams’ scope.
When passion leads to peace, we gain strength…
Undreamed of by those who have become weak,
Diminished by conflict, beyond a suitable length.
The strength of the passionate is a power to seek!
When the power of passion is freed, it burns fair,
Searing with the light of a glory unknown before.
It shines in our eyes, in our skin, and in our hair…
The glow of victorious spirit, sublime evermore!
When passion is granted the victory, it is sweet…
For those once blind and chained know freedom.
Their chains are broken, the risen dawn to greet,
Eyes opened by a glory never glimpsed by some.
The restrictions binding us, we make ourselves…
And only we can look beyond that web of deceit.
With a passionate spirit that so seeks and delves,
The web is dissolved, and we become complete!
Part Three: Truths of Desire
These are the secret truths of desire, of the heart.
We conceal them within ourselves, at our peril…
For whilst they wait to be awakened, by pure art,
We are slaves to illusion, our true natures stilled.
Give in to the darkness, not for evil but for good!
Wisdom teaches the difference, you might learn:
There is light within it, which is misunderstood…
Within that velvet embrace for which you yearn!
Oh seeker, I name you my kindred if you know…
The meaning of all I speak herein, and the glory.
When the light is cruel, it fills us with such woe!
Yet the dark is waiting, to divest you of worry…
Like the patient lover, with arms open accepting.
She is our mother, and we are ever, her children!
The universe itself, with all its’ beauties shining,
Is far less eternal than she, whence all life stems.
To understand love, is to know passion’s form…
Yet to fathom it entire, you must face the storm!
Dare I speak for the darkness; am I that worthy?
Her passion makes me so; I embrace it willingly.
Not all can know the beauty,
Of the stars that glisten…
Not all who are blind may see,
Nor can the deaf listen…
Unless they choose to be free!
Anonymous
BIRTH OF THE LIZARD QUEEN
For many years I dwelled in the corpseless sea
Out of the scum of the crashing waves
From the web spun of moonlight
From the charcoal black skies
After roaring thunder
Blown by wind
Lulling leaves
Awake
Born
From sleeping
Transformed from snakeskin
Peeled off by the silver sun light
That dances on the water, shed from
Rain fallen from rainbow colored evenings
My journey escapes me, as I burn the last candle
From its reflecting flame, comes a shapened shade
Lizard Queen, brought forth from the breathing dust of dreams
For many years I dwelled in the corpseless sea
Out of the scum of the crashing waves
From the web spun of moonlight
From the charcoal black skies
After roaring thunder
Blown by wind
Lulling leaves
Awake
Born
From sleeping
Transformed from snakeskin
Peeled off by the silver sun light
That dances on the water, shed from
Rain fallen from rainbow colored evenings
My journey escapes me, as I burn the last candle
From its reflecting flame, comes a shapened shade
Lizard Queen, brought forth from the breathing dust of dreams
home
welcome back to memories
left behind
when the children ran away
from the universe
a man left alone
is left tarnished
crooked like an old silver spoon
buried and forgotten
amongst the clutter
in jamming drawers
rattling inside cabinets
lost within dust
and decay of an empty house
of a man
fading
into sepia smiles
in the shade of a mulberry tree
on a summers day
a warm breeze
stirs the scent of pine
from the rush of air
stirs the warmth of love
love rekindles happiness
with cracks of laughter
from children of the past
and children of the present
finding themselves
within years
lost in the oblivion of life
now together again
they feast on the day
today
the universe emerges
from a space
between walls
where a house
is again
their home
Written by Alexander Case
welcome back to memories
left behind
when the children ran away
from the universe
a man left alone
is left tarnished
crooked like an old silver spoon
buried and forgotten
amongst the clutter
in jamming drawers
rattling inside cabinets
lost within dust
and decay of an empty house
of a man
fading
into sepia smiles
in the shade of a mulberry tree
on a summers day
a warm breeze
stirs the scent of pine
from the rush of air
stirs the warmth of love
love rekindles happiness
with cracks of laughter
from children of the past
and children of the present
finding themselves
within years
lost in the oblivion of life
now together again
they feast on the day
today
the universe emerges
from a space
between walls
where a house
is again
their home
Written by Alexander Case
http://i1317.photobucket.com/albums/t623/curlycue23/cops_zps2f07f959.png
Officers Ramos & Liu Tribute
“I’m putting wings on pigs”
“I’m putting pigs in a blanket”
I’m answering injustice with violence
Because I’m nothing but an idiot
And when I'm gone the Angel's
Will say, "GOOD-RIDANCE"!
‘Hate’ is a sempiternal hideous beast
Rubricating the world with endless grief
Officers Ramos & Liu Tribute
“I’m putting wings on pigs”
“I’m putting pigs in a blanket”
I’m answering injustice with violence
Because I’m nothing but an idiot
And when I'm gone the Angel's
Will say, "GOOD-RIDANCE"!
‘Hate’ is a sempiternal hideous beast
Rubricating the world with endless grief
In the Mental Hospital
The woman hides behind the jet-black
yet luminous, silky curtain
of her hair.
The room is silent.
She is like a swimmer stepped
from a pool of dark water
and dripping with grief.
I can only imagine how
the three of them held her down,
buried themselves inside her;
how they craved a taste
of that beauty, to slip
into the skin of something right.
I ache to comfort her, to tell her
something hollow and trite,
that something good must come
from every action. That must be
the source of the seed
that blossomed inside her
and gave birth to the son
whom she adores. Instead, later,
we will talk of weight loss surgery
and angioplasty while I stare
at the pear-soft skin of her hands,
the way they seem so supplicant,
folded in prayer
upon a plastic work bench.
The woman hides behind the jet-black
yet luminous, silky curtain
of her hair.
The room is silent.
She is like a swimmer stepped
from a pool of dark water
and dripping with grief.
I can only imagine how
the three of them held her down,
buried themselves inside her;
how they craved a taste
of that beauty, to slip
into the skin of something right.
I ache to comfort her, to tell her
something hollow and trite,
that something good must come
from every action. That must be
the source of the seed
that blossomed inside her
and gave birth to the son
whom she adores. Instead, later,
we will talk of weight loss surgery
and angioplasty while I stare
at the pear-soft skin of her hands,
the way they seem so supplicant,
folded in prayer
upon a plastic work bench.
My Dick Is The Answer
it's hard it's stiff
100 pumps and you better get off of it
or you'll end up barefoot and pregnant
it's no joke and no genie
rub it the right way
and something sweet will pop out
rub it the wrong way
and I'll slap you across the face with it
it could be a treat
or it could be a trick
now tell me how much you love
my dick
it's hard it's stiff
100 pumps and you better get off of it
or you'll end up barefoot and pregnant
it's no joke and no genie
rub it the right way
and something sweet will pop out
rub it the wrong way
and I'll slap you across the face with it
it could be a treat
or it could be a trick
now tell me how much you love
my dick
Anonymous
Too many abandoned comps here lately.
