Poetry competition CLOSED 7th December 2016 10:07pm
WINNER
Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
RUNNERS-UP:
RevolutionAL
and Vandel_Viaclovsky
Oi make my own DOOPEY-art!
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
TRENCH COAT ANGEL
Here's a trench coat angel
with a sweet angel's face,
she's a trench coat angel
who's long fallen from grace.
The sound of her walking
on damp cobblestone
says more than her talking
as she moves on alone.
She shines bright in the night,
all our eyes are on her,
and a body, skin-tight
brings out all your hunger.
And you know that she will
if you look at the sight
of her movements until
your desires ignite.
And the street is alight
with the gift of her love,
and you hope that she might
give you more than enough.
But more than enough,
being this close to touch
with a creature of whom
you've longed for so much.
Original mousework on MSPaint by Jade Pandora.
Poem & Art: Copyright ©2005-2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
This write with artwork is posted on the thread of my
"A Heart of Gold" DUP competition.
Anonymous
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https://s14.postimg.org/59tr2emg1/made_of_atoms.jpg
untitled,
or a stated position concerning
What is this meaning you are after?
What is it? What is it about?
Oh to what intention this?
What echoes after what now?
Oh to what purpose does this thing exist?
For goodness' sake! Whatever do you need meaning for, so desperately so?
Life is sensation, is it not?
The sensation is the means by which an idea becomes a sensible and an ascertainable intelligence within.
Bright and happy bliss,
Pain, sadness, and color,etc.
Fleeting moments and white specks of time, etc.
Life is touch and sound and taste and feeling.
Ceremonies of air and fire; ceremonies of wind and memory, etc.
Bewilderment made flesh. Emotion! Experience! Desire!
By creating thought and building an image, the biological mind is strengthened within itself.
Cousin, I tell you, leave meaning to the mathematicians.
To be alive to the melody of life is the greatest sincerity.
To be alive to the dithyramb of the living head is what it is about always.
*wrods and piktrue by viaclovsky, v.
untitled,
or a stated position concerning
What is this meaning you are after?
What is it? What is it about?
Oh to what intention this?
What echoes after what now?
Oh to what purpose does this thing exist?
For goodness' sake! Whatever do you need meaning for, so desperately so?
Life is sensation, is it not?
The sensation is the means by which an idea becomes a sensible and an ascertainable intelligence within.
Bright and happy bliss,
Pain, sadness, and color,etc.
Fleeting moments and white specks of time, etc.
Life is touch and sound and taste and feeling.
Ceremonies of air and fire; ceremonies of wind and memory, etc.
Bewilderment made flesh. Emotion! Experience! Desire!
By creating thought and building an image, the biological mind is strengthened within itself.
Cousin, I tell you, leave meaning to the mathematicians.
To be alive to the melody of life is the greatest sincerity.
To be alive to the dithyramb of the living head is what it is about always.
*wrods and piktrue by viaclovsky, v.
Morning Star
Her great-great-great grandmother was the first,
An original of the nation, of
Her people, of her village in her youth.
The men were ever awed of this girl child,
Whose mother was proud, and whacked the backsides
Often and hard with a willow switch,
Of man and boy, no matter what their name
Be it Dog, or Bear, or something more rare
Like Hunts Plenty, or Runs Down Enemy.
Nothing came close to the Chief's daughter's name
That came to everyone's voice with the dawn.
And as a young woman, her stride across
The camp in leggings fringed while going through
The pony herd to bathe, and well aware
Of those who would hide in wait, to watch the
Second coming of the sun: her brilliance.
It was she, Morning Star, who flung forth dew
With both hands and arms across prairie grass
Lifting the sun as she cast out the rays
And stepped from the stream to welcome the day.
The artwork is done on MSPaint as "mousework", the image is original, both art & poem done today, 11/10/16, by Jade Pandora.
This piece with preview piece has been entered in a DUP competition.
An original of the nation, of
Her people, of her village in her youth.
The men were ever awed of this girl child,
Whose mother was proud, and whacked the backsides
Often and hard with a willow switch,
Of man and boy, no matter what their name
Be it Dog, or Bear, or something more rare
Like Hunts Plenty, or Runs Down Enemy.
Nothing came close to the Chief's daughter's name
That came to everyone's voice with the dawn.
And as a young woman, her stride across
The camp in leggings fringed while going through
The pony herd to bathe, and well aware
Of those who would hide in wait, to watch the
Second coming of the sun: her brilliance.
It was she, Morning Star, who flung forth dew
With both hands and arms across prairie grass
Lifting the sun as she cast out the rays
And stepped from the stream to welcome the day.
The artwork is done on MSPaint as "mousework", the image is original, both art & poem done today, 11/10/16, by Jade Pandora.
This piece with preview piece has been entered in a DUP competition.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Morning Star
Her great-great-great grandmother was the first,
An original of the nation, of
Her people, of her village in her youth.
The men were ever awed of this girl child,
Whose mother was proud, and whacked the backsides
Often and hard with a hickory switch,
Of man and boy, no matter what their name
Be it Dog, or Bear, or something more rare
Like Hunts Plenty, or Runs Down Enemy.
Nothing came close to the Chief's daughter's name
That came to everyone's voice with the dawn.
And as a young woman, her stride across
The camp in leggings fringed while going through
The pony herd to bathe, and well aware
Of those who would hide in wait, to watch the
Second coming of the sun: her brilliance.
It was she, Morning Star, who flung forth dew
With both hands and arms across prairie grass
Lifting the sun as she cast out the rays
And stepped from the stream to welcome the day.
The artwork is done on MSPaint as "mousework". Both art & poem are original by Jade Pandora.
Copyright ©2005-2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
Anonymous
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Comet-trysting
There are moments of passing
each other like pieces of
stars from two moons colliding.
So far apart, between trysts
as we circle around suns,
fired up, pulled apart by
gravity, then surfing rings
of braided ice, becoming
trails of swelling comet tails.
Bringing our passion's climax
to the brink before we leave
once again when fires fade.
Artwork is done on MSPaint as "mousework", the image & poem are original by Jade Pandora, Copyright ©2016. All Rights Reserved.
each other like pieces of
stars from two moons colliding.
So far apart, between trysts
as we circle around suns,
fired up, pulled apart by
gravity, then surfing rings
of braided ice, becoming
trails of swelling comet tails.
Bringing our passion's climax
to the brink before we leave
once again when fires fade.
Artwork is done on MSPaint as "mousework", the image & poem are original by Jade Pandora, Copyright ©2016. All Rights Reserved.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Comet-Trysting
There are moments of passing
each other like pieces of
stars from two moons colliding.
So far apart, between trysts
as we circle around suns,
fired up, pulled apart by
gravity, then surfing rings
of braided ice, becoming
trails of swelling comet tails.
Bringing our passion's climax
to the brink before we leave
once again when fires fade.
Artwork is done on MSPaint as "mousework". Art & poem are original by Jade Pandora, Copyright ©2016. All Rights Reserved.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
The NAIL broke my screens!
My doopy arts is done with recycled materials. The cardboard was an election poster and the pen was stolen from the bank. It's real recycled arts.
The Praying Hands
A letter published to
my spirit
would
burn
in a blaze, ignited
with
no
match, spark
or flare
The envelope
would
leave confetti
spewed
in the
lawn
like snow flakes
dropping in a
hail storm
As searing sparks
combust the appetite
for meditation
When fueled addresses
drench the dreams
I held true
Staring; at the oasis
that
promised everlasting
life and
white wings on a halo
I wonder, sometimes
if what artistic humans
write
say
and do
is ever true?
-x-
https://i.imgsafe.org/07aa0c02b5.jpg
spiderkissedtt
(.. oh went deathly dreadfully quivering the poor fellow surely down...)
Quietly as a spiders kiss pours pitiless into the wound
How soon returns persistent despair
To break my stride from room to room,
How soon returns to knock me down again
For I had tried to stand against it too .
How quickly the spirit gnaws at all I know
With the sneer of its yolk to declaim
Hand over fist of incestuous flame
Which turns the knife or turns the screw the same,
Friendless artless heartless and poor as a clod.
How prompt the toggery of its gloom
I most faithless cementing
Down shadow streets which pace in cold
Alone with rage and such ochroid blood
Alone by its body and grief of perfect bedlams
And everything abscessed to the core.
Just how far gone I?
How long have I lived in this shell, still to feel outnumbered
by the weaknesses of soul?
How many failures, how many beatings incurred?
How oft have I wished death upon myself one breath
and wished life upon myself the next?
Quietly as a spiders kiss pours pitiless into the wound
How soon returns insistent despair
And its seven senses of rot all and doom
How soon returns to knock me down again
For I had tried to stand against that too .
words &(p)ainting by viacloxxxy
(.. oh went deathly dreadfully quivering the poor fellow surely down...)
Quietly as a spiders kiss pours pitiless into the wound
How soon returns persistent despair
To break my stride from room to room,
How soon returns to knock me down again
For I had tried to stand against it too .
How quickly the spirit gnaws at all I know
With the sneer of its yolk to declaim
Hand over fist of incestuous flame
Which turns the knife or turns the screw the same,
Friendless artless heartless and poor as a clod.
How prompt the toggery of its gloom
I most faithless cementing
Down shadow streets which pace in cold
Alone with rage and such ochroid blood
Alone by its body and grief of perfect bedlams
And everything abscessed to the core.
Just how far gone I?
How long have I lived in this shell, still to feel outnumbered
by the weaknesses of soul?
How many failures, how many beatings incurred?
How oft have I wished death upon myself one breath
and wished life upon myself the next?
Quietly as a spiders kiss pours pitiless into the wound
How soon returns insistent despair
And its seven senses of rot all and doom
How soon returns to knock me down again
For I had tried to stand against that too .
words &(p)ainting by viacloxxxy
I a dark place I eyes dat I see
Fight to the end the prize what I seek
What in the dark comes to the light
Fuck it like to middle fingers I had take a peek
The surface is plane so I flew high and I went in deep
Like poems on the Internet I love them so much I wish the words was a yellabone freak or a Brazilian chick with nice tits
So I can rub on sentence's and the periods on the end of the sentences I would like on the clit and curess her assjectives while I'm kissing her nouns make the each paragraph moan out each syllable and finally make the story take my kids in the vaginal area so we can make make more stories and call them poems fuvk poetry I love you
Fight to the end the prize what I seek
What in the dark comes to the light
Fuck it like to middle fingers I had take a peek
The surface is plane so I flew high and I went in deep
Like poems on the Internet I love them so much I wish the words was a yellabone freak or a Brazilian chick with nice tits
So I can rub on sentence's and the periods on the end of the sentences I would like on the clit and curess her assjectives while I'm kissing her nouns make the each paragraph moan out each syllable and finally make the story take my kids in the vaginal area so we can make make more stories and call them poems fuvk poetry I love you
Anonymous
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Anonymous
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