Poetry competition CLOSED 25th February 2016 8:41am
WINNER
RSena (Sena)
RSena (Sena)
RUNNER-UP:
Zambambo
Portrait...through words....
calamitygin said:Ramon!
This is so beautiful...
you captured him...his history
your admiration and love...
and i have a vivid image of this man....
admired Him, and his mistreated hands,
His body swaying on the rocking chair,
His tired eyes, looking at the moon,
telling Me history while listening to jazz and blues.
am Your blood ma man,
I am your profound silent,
I am your time.
love love love this sugar!
oh thank you for this entry! saving it for last
This is so beautiful...
you captured him...his history
your admiration and love...
and i have a vivid image of this man....
admired Him, and his mistreated hands,
His body swaying on the rocking chair,
His tired eyes, looking at the moon,
telling Me history while listening to jazz and blues.
am Your blood ma man,
I am your profound silent,
I am your time.
love love love this sugar!
oh thank you for this entry! saving it for last
Sexy hands
You were my opportunity to touch a face
I knew that if I’d do it once, then I’d be able to hug forever,
nobody ever left me to feel this gift
I was born with penis in the position of the hands
when I try to touch, people think I wanna have a crush.
When my sexy hands are erected, I go to play golf,
I go swimming in virgin seas, doomed to be in nudist scenes
when my sexy hands fail to launch, I go to sleep,
I touch my boobs and fondle my labia until I can sing.
You were trying to jump from the memory bridge,
you were crying harder and harder
nobody was giving a shit, mobile people never been charged
they are just charging the misery of life and don’t look or listen
the existence of a broken soul, on the edge of the cliff, sniff…
I run to you, unable to save you with my corrugated hands
I needed something sexy, something dirty, to be your savior.
And then this wind came from your eyes
when you looked at me with this glance full of mistakes,
it turned me on like a lighthouse, my two penis appear to grow
and the people around started to fear the breeze
and they all cover all of their holes.
“Stop! Please don’t jump mysterious man!
Have you ever been touched from a bald woman
with penis for hands in the need to love and be loved back?”
You felt like a magnet in need of a metallic hero to get stuck on him.
Your melancholy was now printed off the small rock in the shape of a heart
and was calling me for the deepest need of all the human beings
the warmth of a kiss, the warmth of a finger touch, the warmth like a God.
With passion out chests got connected, the voices inside went crazy
I wanted this moment to last for ever
My prayers were heard from the Prince of desire and
two young ladies run to me and started to blowjob my hands
in order for you to remain the longest possible
inside my hug.
You were my opportunity to touch a face
I knew that if I’d do it once, then I’d be able to hug forever,
nobody ever left me to feel this gift
I was born with penis in the position of the hands
when I try to touch, people think I wanna have a crush.
When my sexy hands are erected, I go to play golf,
I go swimming in virgin seas, doomed to be in nudist scenes
when my sexy hands fail to launch, I go to sleep,
I touch my boobs and fondle my labia until I can sing.
You were trying to jump from the memory bridge,
you were crying harder and harder
nobody was giving a shit, mobile people never been charged
they are just charging the misery of life and don’t look or listen
the existence of a broken soul, on the edge of the cliff, sniff…
I run to you, unable to save you with my corrugated hands
I needed something sexy, something dirty, to be your savior.
And then this wind came from your eyes
when you looked at me with this glance full of mistakes,
it turned me on like a lighthouse, my two penis appear to grow
and the people around started to fear the breeze
and they all cover all of their holes.
“Stop! Please don’t jump mysterious man!
Have you ever been touched from a bald woman
with penis for hands in the need to love and be loved back?”
You felt like a magnet in need of a metallic hero to get stuck on him.
Your melancholy was now printed off the small rock in the shape of a heart
and was calling me for the deepest need of all the human beings
the warmth of a kiss, the warmth of a finger touch, the warmth like a God.
With passion out chests got connected, the voices inside went crazy
I wanted this moment to last for ever
My prayers were heard from the Prince of desire and
two young ladies run to me and started to blowjob my hands
in order for you to remain the longest possible
inside my hug.
Art...
You never fail to give me the unique!
penis for hands .
reminds me some of my fav book Even cowgirl get the blues...
she has long phalic thumbs...
could have used a bit more visual and emotional description...not so much story....that was the intent...
but I loved it! .
thanks Art!! for yourbfabulous mind and crazy form of entertaining...
no one ever has to say art think out of the box!!!!! love it!
jen
You never fail to give me the unique!
penis for hands .
reminds me some of my fav book Even cowgirl get the blues...
she has long phalic thumbs...
could have used a bit more visual and emotional description...not so much story....that was the intent...
but I loved it! .
thanks Art!! for yourbfabulous mind and crazy form of entertaining...
no one ever has to say art think out of the box!!!!! love it!
jen
calamitygin said:Art...
You never fail to give me the unique!
penis for hands .
reminds me some of my fav book Even cowgirl get the blues...
she has long phalic thumbs...
could have used a bit more visual and emotional description...not so much story....that was the intent...
but I loved it! .
thanks Art!! for yourbfabulous mind and crazy form of entertaining...
no one ever has to say art think out of the box!!!!! love it!
jen
Thank you Jen! Glad you liked it. I enjoyed the scene writing it
I tried to create a personality of the character, hence the story, hehe. I used the second character to help me on that, but yes... maybe too much story, you are right.
Very nice poems here!
Kiss!
Art
You never fail to give me the unique!
penis for hands .
reminds me some of my fav book Even cowgirl get the blues...
she has long phalic thumbs...
could have used a bit more visual and emotional description...not so much story....that was the intent...
but I loved it! .
thanks Art!! for yourbfabulous mind and crazy form of entertaining...
no one ever has to say art think out of the box!!!!! love it!
jen
Thank you Jen! Glad you liked it. I enjoyed the scene writing it
I tried to create a personality of the character, hence the story, hehe. I used the second character to help me on that, but yes... maybe too much story, you are right.
Very nice poems here!
Kiss!
Art
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Artemios said:
Thank you Jen! Glad you liked it. I enjoyed the scene writing it
I tried to create a personality of the character, hence the story, hehe. I used the second character to help me on that, but yes... maybe too much story, you are right.
Very nice poems here!
Kiss!
Art
m
You realy are unique. The way you write this one "sexualization " is the technic you used. Good one..
Sena
Thank you Jen! Glad you liked it. I enjoyed the scene writing it
I tried to create a personality of the character, hence the story, hehe. I used the second character to help me on that, but yes... maybe too much story, you are right.
Very nice poems here!
Kiss!
Art
m
You realy are unique. The way you write this one "sexualization " is the technic you used. Good one..
Sena
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
Title: The Girl
This girl was wild; inside and out
From the day that she was defiled, she knew what lust was about
Branded a slut at the age of nineteen
She slept with men to stay out of a rut; she was looking for one who wouldn't be mean
Fueled by alcohol, she searched high and low
after the first one asked: "Don't you ball?" too naïve to answer that; she didn't know
Get a little booze in her, and she was raring to go
to the bar, to a party, wherever men were always the prize to show
In nineteen seventy-five
she was a tall Italian lass
innocent, curious, with booze, she came alive
She had thick dark hair parted in the middle and quite a large shapely ass
Night after night, the men showed interest
but she never could hang on to any of them
until one day she realized it wasn't the thirst
for attention; it was a broken heart in need of a mend
Picture a beautiful little girl; two and a half years old
Beaming with joy at the sight of her father
If he was in the room, as the story was told
She was always fixated on him, like no other
She was his pride and joy, to her mother’s dismay
Until, his fist went through the wall; it was meant for her mother
No more bouncing on his lap or touching his face with tiny hands that may
She was ripped from his life, in a struggle like no other
Taking her to live five states away, to her grandmother’s house
The police and locals watched over the property
They circled several times a day, always as quiet as a mouse
It only took one phone call, and they would be there, free
Imagine being whisked away with no warning, often to houses in the middle of the woods
They were friends of your mother’s, and the visits sometimes lasted for days at a time
Whenever the little girl’s father came to town, everyone knew they should
and did, hide her away, until the coast was clear, and there was no sign
Eventually, he stopped trying. With no signs left of her father and no mention of his name
and no one answering her when she asked where he was and why she was hid
She would sit on her bed and look out the window, imaging just the same
thinking that he would come to visit, but he never did
As the story goes, she cried for months and a spell
And she continued to ask where her daddy was and if he would be there in a few
Until, after a while, she stopped, and withdrew into a shell
Barely three, she began to overeat, and she stopped smiling and playing like children do
She gained weight. There was no question. She became obese, not just fat
By the age of five; the children at school made fun of her
She had no father, and she had a strange last name, it was Italian for “The cat”
It didn’t take long for her early memories to become nothing but a blur
Growing more depressed as the years went by
She internalized every bad thing. She remained quiet, put happiness up on a shelf
She hated school; didn’t even try
Her daddy, she decided, left because of her; she blamed herself
Until she started drinking, and the longing for love hit hard and always ended in tears
She grew up without hugs, and sought them wherever she could
Her addictive personality in full rage, she lost many years
in blackouts. As she got older, she knew that loss was inevitable and that nothing was good
Picture a beautiful young women of nineteen
Sitting, in the park, with a bottle in a paper bag
Waiting for a man, not just any man, one that wouldn’t be mean
With no one coming to her rescue, she was destined to become an old hag
The woman now sits in a lawn chair, looking toward the back field
She is almost sixty years old, and she looks seventy and then some
Weathered, gray, and her broken heart still sealed
as she still waits for here daddy; she is still fixated on him
She has stopped looking for a man
Instead, she is trying to try to love herself
She learned long ago that if she does not, nobody else can
So years ago, she put the bottle up on the shelf
This girl was wild; inside and out
From the day that she was defiled, she knew what lust was about
Branded a slut at the age of nineteen
She slept with men to stay out of a rut; she was looking for one who wouldn't be mean
Fueled by alcohol, she searched high and low
after the first one asked: "Don't you ball?" too naïve to answer that; she didn't know
Get a little booze in her, and she was raring to go
to the bar, to a party, wherever men were always the prize to show
In nineteen seventy-five
she was a tall Italian lass
innocent, curious, with booze, she came alive
She had thick dark hair parted in the middle and quite a large shapely ass
Night after night, the men showed interest
but she never could hang on to any of them
until one day she realized it wasn't the thirst
for attention; it was a broken heart in need of a mend
Picture a beautiful little girl; two and a half years old
Beaming with joy at the sight of her father
If he was in the room, as the story was told
She was always fixated on him, like no other
She was his pride and joy, to her mother’s dismay
Until, his fist went through the wall; it was meant for her mother
No more bouncing on his lap or touching his face with tiny hands that may
She was ripped from his life, in a struggle like no other
Taking her to live five states away, to her grandmother’s house
The police and locals watched over the property
They circled several times a day, always as quiet as a mouse
It only took one phone call, and they would be there, free
Imagine being whisked away with no warning, often to houses in the middle of the woods
They were friends of your mother’s, and the visits sometimes lasted for days at a time
Whenever the little girl’s father came to town, everyone knew they should
and did, hide her away, until the coast was clear, and there was no sign
Eventually, he stopped trying. With no signs left of her father and no mention of his name
and no one answering her when she asked where he was and why she was hid
She would sit on her bed and look out the window, imaging just the same
thinking that he would come to visit, but he never did
As the story goes, she cried for months and a spell
And she continued to ask where her daddy was and if he would be there in a few
Until, after a while, she stopped, and withdrew into a shell
Barely three, she began to overeat, and she stopped smiling and playing like children do
She gained weight. There was no question. She became obese, not just fat
By the age of five; the children at school made fun of her
She had no father, and she had a strange last name, it was Italian for “The cat”
It didn’t take long for her early memories to become nothing but a blur
Growing more depressed as the years went by
She internalized every bad thing. She remained quiet, put happiness up on a shelf
She hated school; didn’t even try
Her daddy, she decided, left because of her; she blamed herself
Until she started drinking, and the longing for love hit hard and always ended in tears
She grew up without hugs, and sought them wherever she could
Her addictive personality in full rage, she lost many years
in blackouts. As she got older, she knew that loss was inevitable and that nothing was good
Picture a beautiful young women of nineteen
Sitting, in the park, with a bottle in a paper bag
Waiting for a man, not just any man, one that wouldn’t be mean
With no one coming to her rescue, she was destined to become an old hag
The woman now sits in a lawn chair, looking toward the back field
She is almost sixty years old, and she looks seventy and then some
Weathered, gray, and her broken heart still sealed
as she still waits for here daddy; she is still fixated on him
She has stopped looking for a man
Instead, she is trying to try to love herself
She learned long ago that if she does not, nobody else can
So years ago, she put the bottle up on the shelf
This was so incredibly hard.....
Jamers...blocat...Gardenlover...great pieces.....You all weighed heavy on my decision. Art, Primo...Excellent work!!!
And every one of them were so good. I had 2 people help score. Much of the focus was on theme....how strong a portrait you created. There was not a piece in this comp that wasn't a very good poem.....I would have liked to have given 10 awards!!!!
Everyone thank you and be very proud!!!!
Jamers...blocat...Gardenlover...great pieces.....You all weighed heavy on my decision. Art, Primo...Excellent work!!!
And every one of them were so good. I had 2 people help score. Much of the focus was on theme....how strong a portrait you created. There was not a piece in this comp that wasn't a very good poem.....I would have liked to have given 10 awards!!!!
Everyone thank you and be very proud!!!!
