Poetry competition CLOSED 5th July 2016 9:46am
WINNER
snugglebuck
snugglebuck
RUNNERS-UP:
Hepcat61
and UnderYourSpell
WIND WIND WIND
Transparent
I became glass, and
zephyrs pelted sand grains
against me, crackling
lips that once dripped
rose petals, and
hands that no longer
swaddle newborns.
I am old, but
I molt; vein-laden
skins, peel down the
onion layers, stinging
until tears must
come to wash the
hurtful things away.
They dry and blow
skyward, on updrafts, as
ash-flakes bound for
Heaven, and
eventual drowning in
seas of light before
the Throne of God.
I am emptied; nothing
remains, save a hollow
for future installments of
grace
and forgiveness
and what comes on
the wind.
I became glass, and
zephyrs pelted sand grains
against me, crackling
lips that once dripped
rose petals, and
hands that no longer
swaddle newborns.
I am old, but
I molt; vein-laden
skins, peel down the
onion layers, stinging
until tears must
come to wash the
hurtful things away.
They dry and blow
skyward, on updrafts, as
ash-flakes bound for
Heaven, and
eventual drowning in
seas of light before
the Throne of God.
I am emptied; nothing
remains, save a hollow
for future installments of
grace
and forgiveness
and what comes on
the wind.
Walney
Curled around the thumb of Furness like a protecting palm
lies Walney, first landfall for the Western waves
heaving their cold, grey bulk across the Irish Sea.
Merciless, relentless, untiring,
they crash upon the shore at Sandy Gap,
smoothing sharp rocks to pebbles,
grinding smooth pebbles to sand.
Their ruthless friend, the wind,
tears into hair and eyes and clothes,
turning coats into flapping wings
and snatching caps to hurl them to the skies.
Brave Walney endures the realpolitik of weather
intent on total war, no mercy shown, no quarter given.
In Summer’s truce, we throng the glittering shore
to walk, swim, play and peer in rocky pools,
or simply drowse in Mediterranean sloth.
But with September’s new campaign,
the bright colours of Summer –
the blues, the gold, the blinding white of sand –
retreat and coalesce to greys and browns
as Walney hunches its shoulders and returns once more
to face the bruising world of wind and waves.
Curled around the thumb of Furness like a protecting palm
lies Walney, first landfall for the Western waves
heaving their cold, grey bulk across the Irish Sea.
Merciless, relentless, untiring,
they crash upon the shore at Sandy Gap,
smoothing sharp rocks to pebbles,
grinding smooth pebbles to sand.
Their ruthless friend, the wind,
tears into hair and eyes and clothes,
turning coats into flapping wings
and snatching caps to hurl them to the skies.
Brave Walney endures the realpolitik of weather
intent on total war, no mercy shown, no quarter given.
In Summer’s truce, we throng the glittering shore
to walk, swim, play and peer in rocky pools,
or simply drowse in Mediterranean sloth.
But with September’s new campaign,
the bright colours of Summer –
the blues, the gold, the blinding white of sand –
retreat and coalesce to greys and browns
as Walney hunches its shoulders and returns once more
to face the bruising world of wind and waves.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
We weren't ready to die
but the wind painted
in shades of brown and blew us away,
what was once chattering greenery
swaying to the lilt of his voice.
He's turned his back on old friendships
and blown in with spite
sharp with a bitter frosted tongue
stripping to a sap dried skeleton
any foolish enough to resist.
but the wind painted
in shades of brown and blew us away,
what was once chattering greenery
swaying to the lilt of his voice.
He's turned his back on old friendships
and blown in with spite
sharp with a bitter frosted tongue
stripping to a sap dried skeleton
any foolish enough to resist.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Meat for the Stones
Cobblestoned scales ripple over the serpent's skin serving as headstones of an antebellum past
I run to dodge the bombardment of hailstones camouflaged in charcoaled mist
The wind plays tag with me and catches its prey,
She pushes too hard
And I am sent careening across slickened stoic skin
A warm crimson trail starts at my nose and is diluted by the rain as it meanders through the crevices of each flake
I hear howls of laughter in the wind at my demise
Vibrating street signs chortle along
at the cruel joke that is me, fallen and drenched
I stand to see a few hunkered in doorways as if to play hide and seek
They've lost in this folly too for they're lashed and taunted for not finding safer haven
Briny whispers breach the sea walls and waft o'er head
I can taste the salt now mixed with the blood in my mouth
The sky is kindled and all is illuminated for a nano second
An accompanying baritone roar staggers me
I knock pitifully at a stranger's door
My doleful eyes and reddened spout the cost of admission
Cobblestoned scales ripple over the serpent's skin serving as headstones of an antebellum past
I run to dodge the bombardment of hailstones camouflaged in charcoaled mist
The wind plays tag with me and catches its prey,
She pushes too hard
And I am sent careening across slickened stoic skin
A warm crimson trail starts at my nose and is diluted by the rain as it meanders through the crevices of each flake
I hear howls of laughter in the wind at my demise
Vibrating street signs chortle along
at the cruel joke that is me, fallen and drenched
I stand to see a few hunkered in doorways as if to play hide and seek
They've lost in this folly too for they're lashed and taunted for not finding safer haven
Briny whispers breach the sea walls and waft o'er head
I can taste the salt now mixed with the blood in my mouth
The sky is kindled and all is illuminated for a nano second
An accompanying baritone roar staggers me
I knock pitifully at a stranger's door
My doleful eyes and reddened spout the cost of admission
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Wind
When wind is strong and gusts along
The crows fly high in a throng
They love to glide and duck and dive
It seems to make them more alive
But strong winds are a bane to many
Can damage trees and roofs a plenty
They are the cause of storms at sea
Wrecking ships into debris
In hot weather; a moderate breeze
Cools us down, the heat to ease,
When there is no wind at all
The yacht race begins to stall
All types of wind have their place
And used widely by the human race
Moderate winds are good things
For those with sails, legs or wings
When wind is strong and gusts along
The crows fly high in a throng
They love to glide and duck and dive
It seems to make them more alive
But strong winds are a bane to many
Can damage trees and roofs a plenty
They are the cause of storms at sea
Wrecking ships into debris
In hot weather; a moderate breeze
Cools us down, the heat to ease,
When there is no wind at all
The yacht race begins to stall
All types of wind have their place
And used widely by the human race
Moderate winds are good things
For those with sails, legs or wings
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Cheers at the never ending
Don’t touch me
with words that are withered,
talk to me the way
that the full moon is pampering the black sea
so I can find inside me this windy glow,
walk along the path of the moonlight,
in each step of mine
I leave behind me the waves of the wild
I fall down and I get fresh
into the deep blue ocean of your ego
without closing my mouth
I’ll leave my breath free
and I’ll drink you with my eyes opened
until you finish
and me finishing with you.
Don’t touch me
with words that are withered,
talk to me the way
that the full moon is pampering the black sea
so I can find inside me this windy glow,
walk along the path of the moonlight,
in each step of mine
I leave behind me the waves of the wild
I fall down and I get fresh
into the deep blue ocean of your ego
without closing my mouth
I’ll leave my breath free
and I’ll drink you with my eyes opened
until you finish
and me finishing with you.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
