Poetry competition CLOSED 30th May 2018 4:20pm
WINNER
Anonymous
Anonymous
RUNNER-UP:
Hepcat61
Speak To Me Of Your Muse
Poetry Contest Description
Write A Poem About Your Muse Corporeal Or Etherial
You May Submit Three Poems
They May Be Written Before Or Newly Penned
Absolute Focus On The Muse And The Inspiration
And Passion To Write : Do Not Deviate From That Theme
Length Of Poems Is Not Restricted Yet Please Consider
Though I Can Take Much In , I Too Have A Neural Limit...
Competition Will Be Judged By Myself With Three Non
Participating Members Of My Choice Who I Have Seen
Prove Themselves In Their Writing Style And Subject Matter...
Listen Closely To That Inner Voice Because You Will Be Writing
About The One Who Is Speaking To You As You Speak About Her...
And Please Enjoy This Challenge And Have Fun !
( To Begin I Shall Give An Example : I Am Of Course Not Competing )
They May Be Written Before Or Newly Penned
Absolute Focus On The Muse And The Inspiration
And Passion To Write : Do Not Deviate From That Theme
Length Of Poems Is Not Restricted Yet Please Consider
Though I Can Take Much In , I Too Have A Neural Limit...
Competition Will Be Judged By Myself With Three Non
Participating Members Of My Choice Who I Have Seen
Prove Themselves In Their Writing Style And Subject Matter...
Listen Closely To That Inner Voice Because You Will Be Writing
About The One Who Is Speaking To You As You Speak About Her...
And Please Enjoy This Challenge And Have Fun !
( To Begin I Shall Give An Example : I Am Of Course Not Competing )
The Muse Speaks
In The Wild , And In The Dark ,
And In The Night , Before The Spark ,
Where In The Dance Of The Abyss ,
She As Chaos , Gave Her Kiss ,
None To Say Nay , None To Say Aye ,
None To Affirm , None To Deny ,
She Who Whispered , In The DarkWild ,
I Am Your Muse , Infinity's Child ,
See Me , Hear Me , And You Shall Attain ,
Deny Me Once , I Shall Drive You Insane ,
There Is No Escape , And No Return ,
Run From My Passion , And You I Shall Burn ,
I Bring The Wisdom , I Bring The Word ,
Some Say Is Truth , Some Vow Is Absurd ,
Little I Care For What Others Say ,
All Is As It Is , And Shall Be As It May...
And In The Night , Before The Spark ,
Where In The Dance Of The Abyss ,
She As Chaos , Gave Her Kiss ,
None To Say Nay , None To Say Aye ,
None To Affirm , None To Deny ,
She Who Whispered , In The DarkWild ,
I Am Your Muse , Infinity's Child ,
See Me , Hear Me , And You Shall Attain ,
Deny Me Once , I Shall Drive You Insane ,
There Is No Escape , And No Return ,
Run From My Passion , And You I Shall Burn ,
I Bring The Wisdom , I Bring The Word ,
Some Say Is Truth , Some Vow Is Absurd ,
Little I Care For What Others Say ,
All Is As It Is , And Shall Be As It May...
Written by Blackwolf
(I.M.Blackwolf)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
My Muse Resides
I see in creases no others found
where souls seem low
and duty bound
where sparkle waits
in dreamlike states
amid anxious eyes
here her smile lies
I see in darkness under guise of moon
where beauty moves
no heart's immune
where kindness roams
alive in poems
held deep inside
my muse resides
where souls seem low
and duty bound
where sparkle waits
in dreamlike states
amid anxious eyes
here her smile lies
I see in darkness under guise of moon
where beauty moves
no heart's immune
where kindness roams
alive in poems
held deep inside
my muse resides
Written by JusTim_
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Thank You Ash , JusTim , and Loud Ninja Master for your entries !
Each excellent in their individual ways...;)
This is starting off wonderfully , and I did feel the Muse in each poem ;
This will be an interesting and difficult competition to decide , that is obvious...
May Your Muse Be With Each Of You !
Each excellent in their individual ways...;)
This is starting off wonderfully , and I did feel the Muse in each poem ;
This will be an interesting and difficult competition to decide , that is obvious...
May Your Muse Be With Each Of You !
My Muse Who Will Stay
When the sunlight is hitting his face
First thing in the morning, he
Reminds me of an angel who sleeps
So peacefully. His halo of light has
My hand itching to write all down.
His features that I want to trace
With my palm and pen. He would be
My muse and inspiration that seeps
Through my soul. My mind that is as
Dark as the night sky turns around
And makes everything light up again.
Those moments in between every
Kiss when I smile like I have not been
Smiling or laughing for many years.
It is in those moments that the rain
Has finally stopped and the reverie
Comes to life. Everything is clean
And green again. All of the tears
Have come but stopped before they
Could go further. My muse will stay.
First thing in the morning, he
Reminds me of an angel who sleeps
So peacefully. His halo of light has
My hand itching to write all down.
His features that I want to trace
With my palm and pen. He would be
My muse and inspiration that seeps
Through my soul. My mind that is as
Dark as the night sky turns around
And makes everything light up again.
Those moments in between every
Kiss when I smile like I have not been
Smiling or laughing for many years.
It is in those moments that the rain
Has finally stopped and the reverie
Comes to life. Everything is clean
And green again. All of the tears
Have come but stopped before they
Could go further. My muse will stay.
Written by eswaller
Go To Page
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Invocation -
(sonnet)
The time has come again to raise the dead,
We cast our souls upon your waters’ fire.
That smoke from burning rocks on winds are fled,
And words are born from ash of funeral pyre.
Your tresses hang on fervent mothers’ breast,
Your wings expand to cover all that’s seen.
Now shower milk of verse for our success,
And show the heart’s inspire from all that’s been.
Are Poets lost without your honeyed gifts,
And flounder with the words you won’t beguile.
But with a single breath, your graces lift
And echo songs that free our hearts’ exile.
Oh, honored Muse, we humble bow to you,
That with your touch, you equal honor do.
The time has come again to raise the dead,
We cast our souls upon your waters’ fire.
That smoke from burning rocks on winds are fled,
And words are born from ash of funeral pyre.
Your tresses hang on fervent mothers’ breast,
Your wings expand to cover all that’s seen.
Now shower milk of verse for our success,
And show the heart’s inspire from all that’s been.
Are Poets lost without your honeyed gifts,
And flounder with the words you won’t beguile.
But with a single breath, your graces lift
And echo songs that free our hearts’ exile.
Oh, honored Muse, we humble bow to you,
That with your touch, you equal honor do.
Written by Hepcat61
(geoff cat)
Go To Page
Muse
(villanelle)
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise,
A glimpse of furled smile's grace in new dawn light,
When I with guided hand her touch advise.
Her riffs and rills bring thrilling pen’s arise,
As sacred ink flows free from fingered plight.
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise.
How quick she spreads her need that I baptize
With mouth’ed line and phrase for her delight
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise.
With every stroke complete and stroke revise,
She opens more her gain, my wants incite.
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise.
‘Til rushing come: her ink, my pen’s surprise,
In finished pulsing song we both recite,
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise.
How stains on sheets, our congress work supplies,
How sweet the spoils taste, on lips excite.
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise,
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise.
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise,
A glimpse of furled smile's grace in new dawn light,
When I with guided hand her touch advise.
Her riffs and rills bring thrilling pen’s arise,
As sacred ink flows free from fingered plight.
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise.
How quick she spreads her need that I baptize
With mouth’ed line and phrase for her delight
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise.
With every stroke complete and stroke revise,
She opens more her gain, my wants incite.
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise.
‘Til rushing come: her ink, my pen’s surprise,
In finished pulsing song we both recite,
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise.
How stains on sheets, our congress work supplies,
How sweet the spoils taste, on lips excite.
My Muse appears to me in woman’s guise,
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise.
Written by Hepcat61
(geoff cat)
Go To Page
At Last, The Muse Gets Real
(sonnet)
Ungodly hell! You pick today to turn
Your face and show your scaly lizard soul.
Twenty-nine days you let your alter burn,
And last day, Muse, my black heart you extol.
Did I not please? Did I not offer well
The guiling whispers of my desp’rate need?
Did I not write the self you’d have me tell?
But no, Lizard Muse, now you’d have me bleed.
So hear, in clever verse my wants express,
That life itself would never bring to me.
I hide, in turn of phrase, my heart’s distress,
That versely sate might end my misery.
With poisoned heart you sought now at your feet,
The cycle, Muse, let rest in peace - complete
Ungodly hell! You pick today to turn
Your face and show your scaly lizard soul.
Twenty-nine days you let your alter burn,
And last day, Muse, my black heart you extol.
Did I not please? Did I not offer well
The guiling whispers of my desp’rate need?
Did I not write the self you’d have me tell?
But no, Lizard Muse, now you’d have me bleed.
So hear, in clever verse my wants express,
That life itself would never bring to me.
I hide, in turn of phrase, my heart’s distress,
That versely sate might end my misery.
With poisoned heart you sought now at your feet,
The cycle, Muse, let rest in peace - complete
Written by Hepcat61
(geoff cat)
Go To Page
Composition
She’s like a symphony of words, of chorus and chords,
Of course dripping with emotion and lust sweet to the ear,
Rich in texture with a sheer delectable kinetic resonance,
That the mind goes blind with decadence and joyous cheer.
You might say it’s copacetic to hear her spoken expressions,
Her lilts, her inflections, her delivery can be completely magnetic,
Almost prophetic and wholly aesthetically pleasing to the seer,
The way it appears to slip from her lips it’s really quite poetic.
It’s almost like that elusive dream with an obtrusive theme,
That unseen or unheard of aural fixation that ignites the night,
A flight of harmonies that fill the senses with utter amazement,
That beautiful, would be an understatement to describe her light.
She’s like a masterpiece of mystery and clandestine desires,
A fusion of choirs and portrayers assembled to play the play,
By the way each one carries their notes and individual parts,
There is an art to the entire composition that carries me away.
She’s like a symphony of words, of chorus and chords,
Of course dripping with emotion and lust sweet to the ear,
Rich in texture with a sheer delectable kinetic resonance,
That the mind goes blind with decadence and joyous cheer.
You might say it’s copacetic to hear her spoken expressions,
Her lilts, her inflections, her delivery can be completely magnetic,
Almost prophetic and wholly aesthetically pleasing to the seer,
The way it appears to slip from her lips it’s really quite poetic.
It’s almost like that elusive dream with an obtrusive theme,
That unseen or unheard of aural fixation that ignites the night,
A flight of harmonies that fill the senses with utter amazement,
That beautiful, would be an understatement to describe her light.
She’s like a masterpiece of mystery and clandestine desires,
A fusion of choirs and portrayers assembled to play the play,
By the way each one carries their notes and individual parts,
There is an art to the entire composition that carries me away.
Eswaller , Melia , Hepcat / Geoff , and Wallyroot , thank you all for entering...
I am scanning , sometimes twice , in my mind , each entry...
A lot to take in...yet again excellent each one ;
Eswaller , I will and do note , has brought something into play here ;
Most see the Muse as a feminine presence , or androgynous ;
Yet , in your poem , Eswaller , you have epitomized and presented the
Muse as your animus , so to say...;)
I find that intriguing...thank you for bringing that into the equation !
We have awhile to go , and I am looking forward to many views
of the Muse ( rhyming unintended there , for once ! )...lol !
I am scanning , sometimes twice , in my mind , each entry...
A lot to take in...yet again excellent each one ;
Eswaller , I will and do note , has brought something into play here ;
Most see the Muse as a feminine presence , or androgynous ;
Yet , in your poem , Eswaller , you have epitomized and presented the
Muse as your animus , so to say...;)
I find that intriguing...thank you for bringing that into the equation !
We have awhile to go , and I am looking forward to many views
of the Muse ( rhyming unintended there , for once ! )...lol !
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/308475-rampensau/
Rampensau
Some days I wake
and it’s just there
rising from my throat
like a belligerent God
sucking down despair
and I race
to the green light
having not slept
because, poetry
and I haven’t showered
because-
poetry
and I haven’t dressed
because
the words need
to fire out like bullets
and there’s no place
I’d rather be
than where I feel
just like home.
This
this is
my house
all of it -
broken
crumbling
desolate
but it’s mine
none the less.
Thinking
makes it so.
The Germans
have a beautiful
word for this
flavour of chaos:
“rampensau”
the wild animal
of the stage
at home under
the spotlight
the puppeteer
of the microphone,
the slayer of crowds
and public spaces
the truth tellers,
the vocal aficionados
waking every morning
to brush their teeth
with poetry
to piss
poetry
to shit poetry
or get off
the damn pot
...well
that’s an entirely
more British expression...
but I
like to believe
our melded flags
can teach us
the real meaning
of what it is to live
to write
to wake up every morning
and make your life
the poem
bled from veins
to sound waves
fearlessly skinned
in the real.
Rampensau
Some days I wake
and it’s just there
rising from my throat
like a belligerent God
sucking down despair
and I race
to the green light
having not slept
because, poetry
and I haven’t showered
because-
poetry
and I haven’t dressed
because
the words need
to fire out like bullets
and there’s no place
I’d rather be
than where I feel
just like home.
This
this is
my house
all of it -
broken
crumbling
desolate
but it’s mine
none the less.
Thinking
makes it so.
The Germans
have a beautiful
word for this
flavour of chaos:
“rampensau”
the wild animal
of the stage
at home under
the spotlight
the puppeteer
of the microphone,
the slayer of crowds
and public spaces
the truth tellers,
the vocal aficionados
waking every morning
to brush their teeth
with poetry
to piss
poetry
to shit poetry
or get off
the damn pot
...well
that’s an entirely
more British expression...
but I
like to believe
our melded flags
can teach us
the real meaning
of what it is to live
to write
to wake up every morning
and make your life
the poem
bled from veins
to sound waves
fearlessly skinned
in the real.
Wicked Chamber - Part 1.
After all I felt I knew
with the hand he dealt to you and I,
he had me tightening my neck;
with a belt of his hand, I'm hanging from it still.
I turned from God's throne,
and my overwhelming defiance against his selfish intent.
Would've crushed that love I have for you
that I fiercely guard,
even when Christ cut my throat with the leather.
It was HE that
punctured those nine inch nails
to my throat as if I were his dartboard.
I loved her enough to let this obsession die,
even still I take the seroquil.
Over a thousand milligrams I cry.
As it - unable to give me rest at night.
He brought my ego to die,
so I abused my final script of Valium;
in an attempt to keep it alive.
His 'divine'.
NOT as powerful as the love we share
with those fateful bullets I knew
he would have emptied into you and I.
After all I felt I knew
with the hand he dealt to you and I,
he had me tightening my neck;
with a belt of his hand, I'm hanging from it still.
I turned from God's throne,
and my overwhelming defiance against his selfish intent.
Would've crushed that love I have for you
that I fiercely guard,
even when Christ cut my throat with the leather.
It was HE that
punctured those nine inch nails
to my throat as if I were his dartboard.
I loved her enough to let this obsession die,
even still I take the seroquil.
Over a thousand milligrams I cry.
As it - unable to give me rest at night.
He brought my ego to die,
so I abused my final script of Valium;
in an attempt to keep it alive.
His 'divine'.
NOT as powerful as the love we share
with those fateful bullets I knew
he would have emptied into you and I.
