Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd June 2018 12:18pm
WINNER
AtoMikbomb
AtoMikbomb
RUNNERS-UP:
Jade-Pandora
and Layla
World of Geisha
Anonymous
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Muses
Siamese muses,
their seashell faces
and hair like
mountain runoff
pillow each other
and I as host
collect the ankle bones
while moonlight
bathes white their
naked coastline curves
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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Anonymous
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Geisha and tea
A bow refined to a higher place
supplication with a china face
silk kimono obi red
tea ceremony with cross-ed legs
a theater of slow motion puppets
each movement a whispered step
each action is grace
refreshment the spirit the style and the pace
statuesque porcelain with hair beehive alive
an orchid specimen the centuries refined
the sheen of their lives served on a tray
a brew an infusion of cultures past day
small feet in a choreographed conceit
a mask of refinement designed to intrigue
or detached reality neatly contrived
a little white lie of chalky disguise
supplication with a china face
silk kimono obi red
tea ceremony with cross-ed legs
a theater of slow motion puppets
each movement a whispered step
each action is grace
refreshment the spirit the style and the pace
statuesque porcelain with hair beehive alive
an orchid specimen the centuries refined
the sheen of their lives served on a tray
a brew an infusion of cultures past day
small feet in a choreographed conceit
a mask of refinement designed to intrigue
or detached reality neatly contrived
a little white lie of chalky disguise
Written by slipalong
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
My best, your best
Good but not good enough
Constantly writing in search of that perfect line
Constantly trying to write a piece better than my last
Everytime I can feel it rise in me
Every day I feel it burning in me
Begging me to write it out
No matter how much I try, its always never good enough
It's not about my lack of motivation
It's not about my lack of words nor creativity
It's the need to grow
The need to be better
It’s the fear of being absolute
It rises in every writer, every poet
It burns inside every singer, in every artist
Begging to be written out
Begging to be said aloud
Begging to be drawn,painted and to be sang out
What I've written today is not my best
What I'll write tomorrow is no my best
Even if it rises inside of me
Even it it burns inside of me
As long as I can hold a pen, a paint brush, a microphone
I still haven't done my best
My best, your best
It dies with me, it dies with you
I'm the best, you're the best
Constantly writing in search of that perfect line
Constantly trying to write a piece better than my last
Everytime I can feel it rise in me
Every day I feel it burning in me
Begging me to write it out
No matter how much I try, its always never good enough
It's not about my lack of motivation
It's not about my lack of words nor creativity
It's the need to grow
The need to be better
It’s the fear of being absolute
It rises in every writer, every poet
It burns inside every singer, in every artist
Begging to be written out
Begging to be said aloud
Begging to be drawn,painted and to be sang out
What I've written today is not my best
What I'll write tomorrow is no my best
Even if it rises inside of me
Even it it burns inside of me
As long as I can hold a pen, a paint brush, a microphone
I still haven't done my best
My best, your best
It dies with me, it dies with you
I'm the best, you're the best
Written by poetOftragedy
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Summer Plums
To enter house of geiko’s eve’ning tea,
Who plucks the string of shamisen & heart
With repertoire of words & melody.
Though geisha is a student of the art,
One sweetest blossom sings to only me.
I am a customer who visits there,
As modern times have opened door I see.
For lady in her prime who seeks the care
Of lovely flower trained to serve & be
The lilt to lift my day, to lighter bare.
She is the touch to ev’ry sense & drum,
As sipping on my tea, may Buddha bless,
A note of gentle speak, to hear it come.
The sight of this alone, my mind’s caress:
She wears kimono of the summer plum.
And comes a time I pray will not arrive;
To leave! (but knowing, glad to be alive.)
Copyright©️2018 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
Jade adds: This is about how, in recent times, women in Japan now also visit geiko (fully trained Geisha) in what once was an exclusive society for men only. And please note this:
Sheridan Prasso wrote that Americans had "an incorrect impression of the real geisha world ... geisha means 'arts person' trained in music and dance, not in the art of sexual pleasure". K. G. Henshall wrote that the geisha's purpose was "to entertain their customer, be it by dancing, reciting verse, playing musical instruments, or engaging in light conversation. Geisha engagements may include flirting with men and playful innuendos; however, clients know that nothing more can be expected. In a social style that is common in Japan, men are amused by the illusion of that which is never to be.”
Who plucks the string of shamisen & heart
With repertoire of words & melody.
Though geisha is a student of the art,
One sweetest blossom sings to only me.
I am a customer who visits there,
As modern times have opened door I see.
For lady in her prime who seeks the care
Of lovely flower trained to serve & be
The lilt to lift my day, to lighter bare.
She is the touch to ev’ry sense & drum,
As sipping on my tea, may Buddha bless,
A note of gentle speak, to hear it come.
The sight of this alone, my mind’s caress:
She wears kimono of the summer plum.
And comes a time I pray will not arrive;
To leave! (but knowing, glad to be alive.)
Copyright©️2018 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
Jade adds: This is about how, in recent times, women in Japan now also visit geiko (fully trained Geisha) in what once was an exclusive society for men only. And please note this:
Sheridan Prasso wrote that Americans had "an incorrect impression of the real geisha world ... geisha means 'arts person' trained in music and dance, not in the art of sexual pleasure". K. G. Henshall wrote that the geisha's purpose was "to entertain their customer, be it by dancing, reciting verse, playing musical instruments, or engaging in light conversation. Geisha engagements may include flirting with men and playful innuendos; however, clients know that nothing more can be expected. In a social style that is common in Japan, men are amused by the illusion of that which is never to be.”
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
A Sunset That Never Ends
She tells the story of her lover,
A warrior,
A samurai fighting for honor,
A love for the ages,
And the promise of tomorrow,
A kimono in different shades
With black trims and other vivid colored flowers,
But mostly a burnt orange,
Like a sunset that never ends,
Where she lies in wait…
Waiting and waiting.
Each dance move tells an expression,
A sigh,
A heartbreak,
A tale of honor,
How he went off to war in the spring
But never returned.
And with averted eyes
She conveys the pain,
Now the walks amid cherry blossoms
Are lonely and sustained.
Behind a white painted face,
Ruby red lips and jet black hair like ink,
Is a woman bare,
Bearing a pain no else can feel,
Telling the story of loss,
In the most fluid perfect motions,
Mesmerizing to the naked eye,
Symbolizing how her soul has cried,
And continues to lie in wait,
Staring off into that burnt orange,
Into the never setting sun,
Waiting…
She tells the story of her lover,
A warrior,
A samurai fighting for honor,
A love for the ages,
And the promise of tomorrow,
A kimono in different shades
With black trims and other vivid colored flowers,
But mostly a burnt orange,
Like a sunset that never ends,
Where she lies in wait…
Waiting and waiting.
Each dance move tells an expression,
A sigh,
A heartbreak,
A tale of honor,
How he went off to war in the spring
But never returned.
And with averted eyes
She conveys the pain,
Now the walks amid cherry blossoms
Are lonely and sustained.
Behind a white painted face,
Ruby red lips and jet black hair like ink,
Is a woman bare,
Bearing a pain no else can feel,
Telling the story of loss,
In the most fluid perfect motions,
Mesmerizing to the naked eye,
Symbolizing how her soul has cried,
And continues to lie in wait,
Staring off into that burnt orange,
Into the never setting sun,
Waiting…
Anonymous
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