Poetry competition CLOSED 20th January 2013 1:33pm
WINNER
Magdalena
Magdalena
RUNNER-UP:
souladareatease
Dreamscapes and Ghost Towns
Poetry Contest Description
Going back to a place that never was.
Competition rules: Write about a situation where you believe that a place, a person or a situation was perfect for you. You returned to that 'place' only to find out that it was not as it should be or what you thought it was.
1. Not more than 300 words
2. Adhere to the topic above
3. Title your poem
4. One entry per person.
Inviting DUP Friends and Family to participate.
1. Not more than 300 words
2. Adhere to the topic above
3. Title your poem
4. One entry per person.
Inviting DUP Friends and Family to participate.
Thank you kindly Grace. Here is mine, in acrostic form. 
Disenchantment
Dancing poppy fields always beckoned me
Red lipstick shades of nodding heads
Easing me into fragrant fulfilment
Amidst beauty and swirling opium seeds
Majestic majesties held my grace in binds
Succulence succinctly pressed into my palms
Capturing my attention he gazed down at me
Appeasing me with warmth and hazel eyes
Postponing reality just for a while as we lay
Enveloped in wild flowers we kissed away time
Antidotes to every infection poured between us
Nostalgic feelings abated in this place together
Drenched in bliss a place perfect for both of us
Disillusionment hit me coldly across the face
It stung as time brought realisation
Serpentine edges that moved in ghostly form
Enticing me no longer to the place I believed perfect
Neurons danced wildly through me as tears fell
Cultivated earth underneath me now housed stone
Heads that nodded in lipstick red had long gone
As had the capturing gaze of warmth in hazel eyes
New loss filled me with overwhelming melancholy
Tainting everything I thought was truly made for me
Misled by visions and minds subjective idealisms
Entrapment was my biggest folly that washed away
Neediness and left me living a lie for longer
Than my self worth could withstand as it left me alone
Disenchantment
Dancing poppy fields always beckoned me
Red lipstick shades of nodding heads
Easing me into fragrant fulfilment
Amidst beauty and swirling opium seeds
Majestic majesties held my grace in binds
Succulence succinctly pressed into my palms
Capturing my attention he gazed down at me
Appeasing me with warmth and hazel eyes
Postponing reality just for a while as we lay
Enveloped in wild flowers we kissed away time
Antidotes to every infection poured between us
Nostalgic feelings abated in this place together
Drenched in bliss a place perfect for both of us
Disillusionment hit me coldly across the face
It stung as time brought realisation
Serpentine edges that moved in ghostly form
Enticing me no longer to the place I believed perfect
Neurons danced wildly through me as tears fell
Cultivated earth underneath me now housed stone
Heads that nodded in lipstick red had long gone
As had the capturing gaze of warmth in hazel eyes
New loss filled me with overwhelming melancholy
Tainting everything I thought was truly made for me
Misled by visions and minds subjective idealisms
Entrapment was my biggest folly that washed away
Neediness and left me living a lie for longer
Than my self worth could withstand as it left me alone
Anonymous
dreamscape
The trees were black charcoal
against a sky that screamed
an uprising against nature
they knew I walked here,
and I walked with heavy breath
I took the left path
past waypoints I knew
leaving tracks in the mud,
the scent of mulched leaves and bracken
cautiously shaking hands with my senses
the young, firm berries hung low
among the ferns
descending under gravity's spell
to kiss the ground
with reckless abandon.
There's a peculiar order to nature,
a dog-eat-dog logic
accompanied by those oaks; the wardens
who have stood for centuries
gathering history in their roots
and I felt ambivalent towards mud and memory
gently over lapping,
holding tight those ancient demons
that once inhaled cobwebs
and never sighed again
The trees were black charcoal
against a sky that screamed
an uprising against nature
they knew I walked here,
and I walked with heavy breath
I took the left path
past waypoints I knew
leaving tracks in the mud,
the scent of mulched leaves and bracken
cautiously shaking hands with my senses
the young, firm berries hung low
among the ferns
descending under gravity's spell
to kiss the ground
with reckless abandon.
There's a peculiar order to nature,
a dog-eat-dog logic
accompanied by those oaks; the wardens
who have stood for centuries
gathering history in their roots
and I felt ambivalent towards mud and memory
gently over lapping,
holding tight those ancient demons
that once inhaled cobwebs
and never sighed again
Anonymous
“Two Headlights and Me”
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zZpCfqanEbM/Txv6IJCX0QI/AAAAAAAAAUI/RQ2avom3OYg/s1600/Dark_Road_by_ashleygino.jpg
I had been there before,
they always had great food,
hot and filling.
When the screen door
slammed behind me,
all eyes looked up,
stared my way.
It was unnerving, as if
they really didn’t see me,
just stared right through me.
It felt as if I had raised the dead,
every hair stood straight up
on my neck and my head.
Flies buzzed
in and out of the kitchen
pick-up window,
the sun was getting low,
creeping up the blinds.
Pork rinds sizzled on the grill.
Quickly, I took a
seat at the bar,
right next to an
older disheveled couple,
sitting there
with empty clean plates.
They just grinned and nodded at me,
didn’t say a word.
You could hear a pin drop,
it was that quiet.
Creepy-weird,
the mood was odd,
wanted to go right then, but
I didn’t feel like being rude.
Besides, I was starved,
the day was almost over.
So, I decided to have
just a burger and fries,
be on my way.
My small order
was to me in minutes,
a bit undercooked,
but what the heck.
I scarfed it down,
paid the bill, and
flew out of the place.
When I checked my change,
found out
I had been screwed,
by fifty bucks,
just my luck!
I ran back into the place,
gasped as my breath escaped me,
it was completely empty!
Cobwebs were hanging everywhere,
so were the flies,
the stench of putrid
flesh hung in
the cool night air.
Shattered coffee cups
and
cracked plates
piled the floor.
Jeeeeeeezuuuuuussssss.
I high-tailed it out of town,
which was all lit up,
didn’t even stop to get gas,
passed the "Welcome" sign fast.
When I looked back
in my rear view mirror,
all was pitch dark, as if
the city never existed.
It was just
two headlights and me,
alone,
scared to death,
hauling ass,
rolling down
Highway 666.
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zZpCfqanEbM/Txv6IJCX0QI/AAAAAAAAAUI/RQ2avom3OYg/s1600/Dark_Road_by_ashleygino.jpg
I had been there before,
they always had great food,
hot and filling.
When the screen door
slammed behind me,
all eyes looked up,
stared my way.
It was unnerving, as if
they really didn’t see me,
just stared right through me.
It felt as if I had raised the dead,
every hair stood straight up
on my neck and my head.
Flies buzzed
in and out of the kitchen
pick-up window,
the sun was getting low,
creeping up the blinds.
Pork rinds sizzled on the grill.
Quickly, I took a
seat at the bar,
right next to an
older disheveled couple,
sitting there
with empty clean plates.
They just grinned and nodded at me,
didn’t say a word.
You could hear a pin drop,
it was that quiet.
Creepy-weird,
the mood was odd,
wanted to go right then, but
I didn’t feel like being rude.
Besides, I was starved,
the day was almost over.
So, I decided to have
just a burger and fries,
be on my way.
My small order
was to me in minutes,
a bit undercooked,
but what the heck.
I scarfed it down,
paid the bill, and
flew out of the place.
When I checked my change,
found out
I had been screwed,
by fifty bucks,
just my luck!
I ran back into the place,
gasped as my breath escaped me,
it was completely empty!
Cobwebs were hanging everywhere,
so were the flies,
the stench of putrid
flesh hung in
the cool night air.
Shattered coffee cups
and
cracked plates
piled the floor.
Jeeeeeeezuuuuuussssss.
I high-tailed it out of town,
which was all lit up,
didn’t even stop to get gas,
passed the "Welcome" sign fast.
When I looked back
in my rear view mirror,
all was pitch dark, as if
the city never existed.
It was just
two headlights and me,
alone,
scared to death,
hauling ass,
rolling down
Highway 666.
- Altered Memory -
When I was just a teenager, I went to a park,
In search of serenity and sometimes adventure.
I remembered it as a peaceful place often still!
Filled with golden memories, as may oft hark,
To one’s nostalgia, when one is more mature.
One day I thought to return there, and so fill,
My curiosity as to whether the place changed.
I am a grown woman now, of different mind…
Less angry, less filled with angst and madness.
The golden afternoon light seemed estranged,
As the shadows all seemed darker, I did find.
Gone was the old magic, and in my sadness…
I realized, the magic was never in the woods,
But in my heart more than those ancient trees.
I drew it out, and it came forth in fair floods…
As for a moment, I felt a familiarly soft breeze.
It did not last.
I could sense the presence of woodland perils,
Unknown to me when I was in younger years!
The thoughts of human beings seemed darkest.
I felt the presence of men and their cruelest ills,
And in that moment of gnosis, I wept my tears.
There was no longer innocence in that forest…
I felt like a little girl lost, and far from my home.
Fear of the big bad wolf was within my bosom,
For an adult woman fears things no child might.
I left that place hastily, and did not there roam,
For I longed for my gardens and their blossom!
They awaited me at my house, with their light…
Where I was safe and secure in new memories.
It is best sometimes to not revisit things gone…
Lest we find them altered, from those dignities,
Which nostalgia creates like the glow of dawn!
A dawn, long past.
When I was just a teenager, I went to a park,
In search of serenity and sometimes adventure.
I remembered it as a peaceful place often still!
Filled with golden memories, as may oft hark,
To one’s nostalgia, when one is more mature.
One day I thought to return there, and so fill,
My curiosity as to whether the place changed.
I am a grown woman now, of different mind…
Less angry, less filled with angst and madness.
The golden afternoon light seemed estranged,
As the shadows all seemed darker, I did find.
Gone was the old magic, and in my sadness…
I realized, the magic was never in the woods,
But in my heart more than those ancient trees.
I drew it out, and it came forth in fair floods…
As for a moment, I felt a familiarly soft breeze.
It did not last.
I could sense the presence of woodland perils,
Unknown to me when I was in younger years!
The thoughts of human beings seemed darkest.
I felt the presence of men and their cruelest ills,
And in that moment of gnosis, I wept my tears.
There was no longer innocence in that forest…
I felt like a little girl lost, and far from my home.
Fear of the big bad wolf was within my bosom,
For an adult woman fears things no child might.
I left that place hastily, and did not there roam,
For I longed for my gardens and their blossom!
They awaited me at my house, with their light…
Where I was safe and secure in new memories.
It is best sometimes to not revisit things gone…
Lest we find them altered, from those dignities,
Which nostalgia creates like the glow of dawn!
A dawn, long past.
Her... Vade Mecum
This library necropolizes;
Glossaries of grimoires laid out
seemingly salted, and limed.
She never wanted to jimmy again
stacks of catacombs, leaving
skeleton keys to rot
away in her mind. Yet here, his
curriculum rests in peace
those definitions of hell
and she could tell you of a well
placed window, the framing of a kiss
upon her cheek, communicating
"It is not time yet to open that book."
She'll define instead a scolding finger
and the crooked grinned look
of an old man's vocabulary not ready
to verbalize missing sentences.
He never needed to speak...
with his intersecting language;
a most readable vade mecum
road-marked upon her.
" I will always be with you. "
Turning the black encyclopedias
back to conjure him
he glamours her spellings
so she might find pages more alive.
Some will scream, some yell
it is her own lock's spinning sound.
But they do not know
the background of him in her voice
his inference mortaring the vault of each syllable.
This is a Father's daughter
where closed eyes, and a consecrated mind
pronounces life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found among the booming
outcome of voice. Within this morpheme
Da lives, and no demons can manage
the polis of he, and she.
On streets of blue eyes, markers
of recognition are placed.
" I... will always be with you. "
This library of glossaries - gold gilded
interpet old signatures, breathing fixtures open
and pulsing her flesh with skilled research
to bring about the right conclusion.
He adopts her city where she traffics the dead
in strong vehicles of speech.
She is his... applied appendage
alphabetized, and organized
into soft synonyms.
Once an orphaned phrasing,
"This is a Father's daughter"
Now with wide eyes
and a consecrated mind she pronounces
life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found
when de-composition
has to be un-earthed.
This is still a Daddy's girl
curled in new punctuation.
This is Her... vade mecum.
This library necropolizes;
Glossaries of grimoires laid out
seemingly salted, and limed.
She never wanted to jimmy again
stacks of catacombs, leaving
skeleton keys to rot
away in her mind. Yet here, his
curriculum rests in peace
those definitions of hell
and she could tell you of a well
placed window, the framing of a kiss
upon her cheek, communicating
"It is not time yet to open that book."
She'll define instead a scolding finger
and the crooked grinned look
of an old man's vocabulary not ready
to verbalize missing sentences.
He never needed to speak...
with his intersecting language;
a most readable vade mecum
road-marked upon her.
" I will always be with you. "
Turning the black encyclopedias
back to conjure him
he glamours her spellings
so she might find pages more alive.
Some will scream, some yell
it is her own lock's spinning sound.
But they do not know
the background of him in her voice
his inference mortaring the vault of each syllable.
This is a Father's daughter
where closed eyes, and a consecrated mind
pronounces life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found among the booming
outcome of voice. Within this morpheme
Da lives, and no demons can manage
the polis of he, and she.
On streets of blue eyes, markers
of recognition are placed.
" I... will always be with you. "
This library of glossaries - gold gilded
interpet old signatures, breathing fixtures open
and pulsing her flesh with skilled research
to bring about the right conclusion.
He adopts her city where she traffics the dead
in strong vehicles of speech.
She is his... applied appendage
alphabetized, and organized
into soft synonyms.
Once an orphaned phrasing,
"This is a Father's daughter"
Now with wide eyes
and a consecrated mind she pronounces
life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found
when de-composition
has to be un-earthed.
This is still a Daddy's girl
curled in new punctuation.
This is Her... vade mecum.
Anonymous
WHERE WE ESCAPED TO
When they no longer wanted us on earth
When we had no place to go
We settled on a space colony
Named "The Chosen People"
There we made everything biblically correct
We built our houses in the center
Radiating out from the core
Like spokes in the wheel
Each village with its Temple
Each Temple with its Rabbi
Oh what crops we grew
They were unclassifiable
But with dispensation
We ate them and were healthy
We allowed no-one to be poor
We allowed no-one who did not follow our rules
Heretics were sent back to earth
That is why I was returned
The light is that of Mark Chagall
There is a wedding in the village
For seven days they will celebrate
How far away these people are
When I left in my Amish dress
A virgin and one who could not speak
Any earthly language
I wandered into a people who were kind
Now I wonder what I left behind
A Sabbath kept strictly on the seventh day
No dancing, no fun in any way
All we do all day is pray
The husband who came back with me is my rock
On this planet they have some who are so dark
They look at me and him
His plaited hair and easy smile look like a sin
It is clear I never belonged
But it is time for the special prayers
Which haunt my dream with their exotic chant
I relive my youth, which had no care
In this enclosed space
All was provided for
All was perfect for G*D's grace
There are no worries anymore
The freedom of my life
Is it better than the prison of this paradise
Where you are told what to do
From morning until night
My children with their golden skin
Wide eyed take everything in
Cling to their Daddy, cling to me
Who are these aliens we have come to see
They are dressed in an artificial way
Modesty is the key
My mother is hugging me and her grandchildren
Crying because she knows
When we leave, the door is closed
We cannot live with them
They are grateful for peace at last
Nobody goes to this little planet
Only the chosen, only the persecuted
This is the life they chose
It did not choose me
So I must leave with my family
To fight the good fight
Against racial brutality.
When they no longer wanted us on earth
When we had no place to go
We settled on a space colony
Named "The Chosen People"
There we made everything biblically correct
We built our houses in the center
Radiating out from the core
Like spokes in the wheel
Each village with its Temple
Each Temple with its Rabbi
Oh what crops we grew
They were unclassifiable
But with dispensation
We ate them and were healthy
We allowed no-one to be poor
We allowed no-one who did not follow our rules
Heretics were sent back to earth
That is why I was returned
The light is that of Mark Chagall
There is a wedding in the village
For seven days they will celebrate
How far away these people are
When I left in my Amish dress
A virgin and one who could not speak
Any earthly language
I wandered into a people who were kind
Now I wonder what I left behind
A Sabbath kept strictly on the seventh day
No dancing, no fun in any way
All we do all day is pray
The husband who came back with me is my rock
On this planet they have some who are so dark
They look at me and him
His plaited hair and easy smile look like a sin
It is clear I never belonged
But it is time for the special prayers
Which haunt my dream with their exotic chant
I relive my youth, which had no care
In this enclosed space
All was provided for
All was perfect for G*D's grace
There are no worries anymore
The freedom of my life
Is it better than the prison of this paradise
Where you are told what to do
From morning until night
My children with their golden skin
Wide eyed take everything in
Cling to their Daddy, cling to me
Who are these aliens we have come to see
They are dressed in an artificial way
Modesty is the key
My mother is hugging me and her grandchildren
Crying because she knows
When we leave, the door is closed
We cannot live with them
They are grateful for peace at last
Nobody goes to this little planet
Only the chosen, only the persecuted
This is the life they chose
It did not choose me
So I must leave with my family
To fight the good fight
Against racial brutality.
Anonymous
MaggieG said:Her... Vade Mecum
This library necropolizes;
Glossaries of grimoires laid out
seemingly salted, and limed.
She never wanted to jimmy again
stacks of catacombs, leaving
skeleton keys to rot
away in her mind. Yet here, his
curriculum rests in peace
those definitions of hell
and she could tell you of a well
placed window, the framing of a kiss
upon her cheek, communicating
"It is not time yet to open that book."
She'll define instead a scolding finger
and the crooked grinned look
of an old man's vocabulary not ready
to verbalize missing sentences.
He never needed to speak...
with his intersecting language;
a most readable vade mecum
road-marked upon her.
" I will always be with you. "
Turning the black encyclopedias
back to conjure him
he glamours her spellings
so she might find pages more alive.
Some will scream, some yell
it is her own lock's spinning sound.
But they do not know
the background of him in her voice
his inference mortaring the vault of each syllable.
This is a Father's daughter
where closed eyes, and a consecrated mind
pronounces life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found among the booming
outcome of voice. Within this morpheme
Da lives, and no demons can manage
the polis of he, and she.
On streets of blue eyes, markers
of recognition are placed.
" I... will always be with you. "
This library of glossaries - gold gilded
interpet old signatures, breathing fixtures open
and pulsing her flesh with skilled research
to bring about the right conclusion.
He adopts her city where she traffics the dead
in strong vehicles of speech.
She is his... applied appendage
alphabetized, and organized
into soft synonyms.
Once an orphaned phrasing,
"This is a Father's daughter"
Now with wide eyes
and a consecrated mind she pronounces
life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found
when de-composition
has to be un-earthed.
This is still a Daddy's girl
curled in new punctuation.
This is Her... vade mecum.
MaggieG....you write the most amazing poetry.
In awe of your talent....Kitty
This library necropolizes;
Glossaries of grimoires laid out
seemingly salted, and limed.
She never wanted to jimmy again
stacks of catacombs, leaving
skeleton keys to rot
away in her mind. Yet here, his
curriculum rests in peace
those definitions of hell
and she could tell you of a well
placed window, the framing of a kiss
upon her cheek, communicating
"It is not time yet to open that book."
She'll define instead a scolding finger
and the crooked grinned look
of an old man's vocabulary not ready
to verbalize missing sentences.
He never needed to speak...
with his intersecting language;
a most readable vade mecum
road-marked upon her.
" I will always be with you. "
Turning the black encyclopedias
back to conjure him
he glamours her spellings
so she might find pages more alive.
Some will scream, some yell
it is her own lock's spinning sound.
But they do not know
the background of him in her voice
his inference mortaring the vault of each syllable.
This is a Father's daughter
where closed eyes, and a consecrated mind
pronounces life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found among the booming
outcome of voice. Within this morpheme
Da lives, and no demons can manage
the polis of he, and she.
On streets of blue eyes, markers
of recognition are placed.
" I... will always be with you. "
This library of glossaries - gold gilded
interpet old signatures, breathing fixtures open
and pulsing her flesh with skilled research
to bring about the right conclusion.
He adopts her city where she traffics the dead
in strong vehicles of speech.
She is his... applied appendage
alphabetized, and organized
into soft synonyms.
Once an orphaned phrasing,
"This is a Father's daughter"
Now with wide eyes
and a consecrated mind she pronounces
life in letters, giving shape
to the bulk, and bulge
of word-mounds found
when de-composition
has to be un-earthed.
This is still a Daddy's girl
curled in new punctuation.
This is Her... vade mecum.
MaggieG....you write the most amazing poetry.
In awe of your talent....Kitty
Anonymous
Grace...thank you for the competition. Is it just me or are fewer people hosting competitions?
Peace
Kitty
Peace
Kitty
somelikeithot said:Grace...thank you for the competition. Is it just me or are fewer people hosting competitions?
Peace
Kitty
I thought it was just me, Kitty, but it does indeed seem that way. I remember back a year ago when there were several pages worth of contests that were being hosted, but now it is only about a page and a half, the rest being either over or endless. A shame, if it represents a trend, since I do love the contests very much!
Peace
Kitty
I thought it was just me, Kitty, but it does indeed seem that way. I remember back a year ago when there were several pages worth of contests that were being hosted, but now it is only about a page and a half, the rest being either over or endless. A shame, if it represents a trend, since I do love the contests very much!
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
