Poetry competition CLOSED 3rd June 2016 8:14pm
WINNER
Trixareforkids
Trixareforkids
RUNNERS-UP:
Poetryman
and JohnFeddeler
Poem about poetry
Anonymous
Type O Negative
Empty pages beckon to be filled
Like a patchwork quilt of farmland
Painstakingly instilled with seed
The soil freshly tilled
Sprouts a solitary weed
I regret to inform you
The typographical error of your ways
Is a hypodermic needle full of nonsense
Injected into an otherwise perfectly written verse
Disrupting my entire fucking universe
Your unwanted presence
Leaves my stomach illed
You heard me right and
For having killed my appetite
Thou shall bleed
Take that
Feather quilled pen
Dipped in the inkwell freshly filled
Plunged deep into your vacuous heart
And exit the grand scheme of things
Story I now must write your wrongness out of
Empty pages beckon to be filled
Like a patchwork quilt of farmland
Painstakingly instilled with seed
The soil freshly tilled
Sprouts a solitary weed
I regret to inform you
The typographical error of your ways
Is a hypodermic needle full of nonsense
Injected into an otherwise perfectly written verse
Disrupting my entire fucking universe
Your unwanted presence
Leaves my stomach illed
You heard me right and
For having killed my appetite
Thou shall bleed
Take that
Feather quilled pen
Dipped in the inkwell freshly filled
Plunged deep into your vacuous heart
And exit the grand scheme of things
Story I now must write your wrongness out of
"My Body of Ink"
My pearly white skin bears no colorful stain
Not one drop of dye will drown my membrane with pain
The ink in my verse colors my sheath in metaphors
Each time I read out at open mic poetry nights
My body of art adorns a canvas of sound
And on pages from trees that surrendered their lives
Saving my bark from branding with a permanent mark
My personal choice means after death I'll still have a voice
Then when my poems are read I am resurrected
As my rainbow of rhyme survives chiseled in time
My pearly white skin bears no colorful stain
Not one drop of dye will drown my membrane with pain
The ink in my verse colors my sheath in metaphors
Each time I read out at open mic poetry nights
My body of art adorns a canvas of sound
And on pages from trees that surrendered their lives
Saving my bark from branding with a permanent mark
My personal choice means after death I'll still have a voice
Then when my poems are read I am resurrected
As my rainbow of rhyme survives chiseled in time
My (ad)dictionary
When I write a poem
it’s because I see an entire world
inside the eyes of a word.
I always liked the easy words:
Ineffable, insatiable,
demagogue, counterfeit,
meticulous, panacea,
plethora.
However, I decided the study
of the difficult ones,
the ones that cannot fit in any dictionary:
Love, tenderness, caress…
and the verb of life.
When I write a poem
it’s because I see an entire world
inside the eyes of a word.
I always liked the easy words:
Ineffable, insatiable,
demagogue, counterfeit,
meticulous, panacea,
plethora.
However, I decided the study
of the difficult ones,
the ones that cannot fit in any dictionary:
Love, tenderness, caress…
and the verb of life.
Poetry
It makes me happy, it makes me sad
sometimes it even makes me mad
Thoughts racing in my head,
of topics that's long been dead.
Staring blankly with a pencil in my hand
maybe it'd be easier to start a band.
A story begins to flow,
a new poem, here I go.
It makes me happy, it makes me sad
sometimes it even makes me mad
Thoughts racing in my head,
of topics that's long been dead.
Staring blankly with a pencil in my hand
maybe it'd be easier to start a band.
A story begins to flow,
a new poem, here I go.
Anonymous
The Curator
See how our combustion blooms!
A fragrant flame too hot to touch
For more than just these fleeting months
Of lush and fruitful spring.
The way it overawes my eyes
With scorching hues that soon must fade
As blossoms do --
O let me pluck it,
Singe my fingers,
Press it 'twixt the pages of a book,
Preserve it there, ethereal and faint.
I'll put those glowing petals thus to bed
Between the paper sheets,
Until a germinating spark
Suffuses them with brightness
And propagates the flame,
So anyone who reads
Will quicken with the sweet
Perennial candescence of our love.
See how our combustion blooms!
A fragrant flame too hot to touch
For more than just these fleeting months
Of lush and fruitful spring.
The way it overawes my eyes
With scorching hues that soon must fade
As blossoms do --
O let me pluck it,
Singe my fingers,
Press it 'twixt the pages of a book,
Preserve it there, ethereal and faint.
I'll put those glowing petals thus to bed
Between the paper sheets,
Until a germinating spark
Suffuses them with brightness
And propagates the flame,
So anyone who reads
Will quicken with the sweet
Perennial candescence of our love.
When Once A Scribbler...
Words on a page
invite, assuage
a pain, a hurt, a loss
with freeing turn of phrase.
The invitation is implied;
none but the right
poet need apply
to mold the phrase and give it flight.
A change of words can carve a soul
with cuts of a thousand swords.
When two poets exchange
their inner thoughts,
what once was inside now glistens on the page.
Words on a page
invite, assuage
a pain, a hurt, a loss
with freeing turn of phrase.
The invitation is implied;
none but the right
poet need apply
to mold the phrase and give it flight.
A change of words can carve a soul
with cuts of a thousand swords.
When two poets exchange
their inner thoughts,
what once was inside now glistens on the page.
Anonymous
Trixareforkids said:Fishing for Words
The first line always comes easy, it's the lure
that sets you off on a journey for the hook
Painstakingly casting out lines just waiting
for the keepers to swim your way, so close now
You reach to grab them but sensing your hunger
they dart away taking their brilliance with them
Nice. Do I know you from somewhere?
The first line always comes easy, it's the lure
that sets you off on a journey for the hook
Painstakingly casting out lines just waiting
for the keepers to swim your way, so close now
You reach to grab them but sensing your hunger
they dart away taking their brilliance with them
Nice. Do I know you from somewhere?
"Metaphorically Inking"
Let's read what breed of spells we can spill
From the alpha-beta brew cast into this caldron
Bubbling with anticipation of soul burning sensations
Boiling with blistering images that invoke a spinal chill
Travelling up and down through interlocking bones
That sway in the breeze atop the cloud where sleeps the idle muse
Awakening our silent beast to bring forth her yawning roar
That stirs the magic language swirling within her ink stained well
The cloud she rested her bones upon turns dark and ominous
As the stain of words begins to rain down on two poets dripping verse
At first a sprinkle gently taps the page one hushed whisper at a time
Forming a sentence as if collaboration was a conspiracy of crime
But when the line has sucked the blood and let the quill run dry
Dipping the tip into her well with a yawp comes forth another line
Soon the thick hot rain is pouring from a rhythmic thunder cloud
Crying out the song to crown the long overdue expecting muse
At last the tearful clamor has become our newborn child's tune
For conjoining two creative souls upon the muse's bed
Brings to life in black and white, this brood dubbed poetry
by Poetryman
JJ Johnson
Let's read what breed of spells we can spill
From the alpha-beta brew cast into this caldron
Bubbling with anticipation of soul burning sensations
Boiling with blistering images that invoke a spinal chill
Travelling up and down through interlocking bones
That sway in the breeze atop the cloud where sleeps the idle muse
Awakening our silent beast to bring forth her yawning roar
That stirs the magic language swirling within her ink stained well
The cloud she rested her bones upon turns dark and ominous
As the stain of words begins to rain down on two poets dripping verse
At first a sprinkle gently taps the page one hushed whisper at a time
Forming a sentence as if collaboration was a conspiracy of crime
But when the line has sucked the blood and let the quill run dry
Dipping the tip into her well with a yawp comes forth another line
Soon the thick hot rain is pouring from a rhythmic thunder cloud
Crying out the song to crown the long overdue expecting muse
At last the tearful clamor has become our newborn child's tune
For conjoining two creative souls upon the muse's bed
Brings to life in black and white, this brood dubbed poetry
by Poetryman
JJ Johnson
A Poet's Voice
Giving a purer sense to the
Dialect of the tribe, to get
The ecstasy and the heightening
Of the drug, the indolence, to
Lay hands upon all other hands
That I could, the sensation of
Ev'ry experience that I could,
The challenge of not only reading
But solving me, a draft of speech
Of a lurid existence
Grown ashen and sober, this star
With pallor I mistrust - hasten,
Let us not linger,
Let us fly, for we must.
Oh! That my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awake'ning till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow
Lest the night be senescent
With the moon of its crescent,
Disrobed and fallow in its sorrow.
.
Giving a purer sense to the
Dialect of the tribe, to get
The ecstasy and the heightening
Of the drug, the indolence, to
Lay hands upon all other hands
That I could, the sensation of
Ev'ry experience that I could,
The challenge of not only reading
But solving me, a draft of speech
Of a lurid existence
Grown ashen and sober, this star
With pallor I mistrust - hasten,
Let us not linger,
Let us fly, for we must.
Oh! That my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awake'ning till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow
Lest the night be senescent
With the moon of its crescent,
Disrobed and fallow in its sorrow.
.
Lyrics of my Soul
Words form coherent thoughts
Inside my tone-deaf mind
Silently screaming melodious rhymes
Quenching my thirsty soul
And soothing my bleeding heart.
Poetry born out of
My heart and mind's fornication.
Their baby, my legacy...
Creating a Harem
Of symphonic orchestra.
Words form coherent thoughts
Inside my tone-deaf mind
Silently screaming melodious rhymes
Quenching my thirsty soul
And soothing my bleeding heart.
Poetry born out of
My heart and mind's fornication.
Their baby, my legacy...
Creating a Harem
Of symphonic orchestra.
PRAYER
(a villanelle)
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me.
Give them the sounds that fill her heart with joy
That she you sent would find my love worthy.
My songs once filled my life and set me free,
But long has life sought to those songs destroy.
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me.
An ill tuned gong my verse appears to be,
And hers like crystal dawning mists employ,
That she you sent would find my love worthy?
But as I make her smile, my words I see,
Become, as she, pure heaven’s true envoy.
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me.
And still I’d have her feel my full degree,
Each line give pleasure to my cute tomboy,
That she you sent would find my love worthy.
So in my every phrase I hope that she
Finds little gifts I leave and she enjoy.
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me
That she you sent would find my love worthy.
(a villanelle)
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me.
Give them the sounds that fill her heart with joy
That she you sent would find my love worthy.
My songs once filled my life and set me free,
But long has life sought to those songs destroy.
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me.
An ill tuned gong my verse appears to be,
And hers like crystal dawning mists employ,
That she you sent would find my love worthy?
But as I make her smile, my words I see,
Become, as she, pure heaven’s true envoy.
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me.
And still I’d have her feel my full degree,
Each line give pleasure to my cute tomboy,
That she you sent would find my love worthy.
So in my every phrase I hope that she
Finds little gifts I leave and she enjoy.
Sweet muse, bestow your graceful words on me
That she you sent would find my love worthy.
Dark Thoughts
Pressure
So much pressure
Dark thoughts swirling, racing
I need release
Pen to paper
Images flow from my mind like black poison
Through the pen
Sweet like honey, warm like blood
Spiritual transformed to physical
I lay my head on my hands
Now spent
Waiting for the black tide to rise again
Pressure
So much pressure
Dark thoughts swirling, racing
I need release
Pen to paper
Images flow from my mind like black poison
Through the pen
Sweet like honey, warm like blood
Spiritual transformed to physical
I lay my head on my hands
Now spent
Waiting for the black tide to rise again
