Poetry competition CLOSED 24th July 2018 3:32pm
WINNER
slipalong
slipalong
RUNNERS-UP:
Jade-Pandora
and Cyndi_Moone
THROUGH THE BINOCULARS
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
In Their Defence, Your Worship.
Answering the cross examination questioning, in the appeal hearing.
strolling way down
Commissioner street
in the centre of town
during morning's peak time
wearing bright green shorts
looking a complete clown
I don't play sports, it's mid winter
(I should buy a gown)
ladies with eyes
men staring wide, smiling side to side
I took offence, then nearly died;
glancing down in the fuss
my face went blush-red
the heart skipped six beats
I'd given up cool-street-cred;
From the side of those shorts
peeked my left ball-sack
like a crinkly bald head
with a pimple on it's back
The newspaper had heard
today's front page story
with print and a picture
my nut! in all it's glory
and there I was running
to the local public library.
Your worship, forgive me
if I seem kinda flustered
I do feel a heel, on a cross-dressed fairy
-x-
Written by RevolutionAL
(Alistair Plint)
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Tunnel Vision
In a forest during dusk
An intensely bright light had struck
Over a large lake where drinking animals had fled
Than it abruptly disappeared; had I imagined it all in my head?
From my position on top of a cliff overlooking the lake
I pulled out my binoculars, and I didn’t know what to make
Of what I saw; it was strange
A group of figures in the middle of an exchange
Yet one group was shorter than I’d have envisioned
As if my line of sight was through tunnel vision
I adjusted my binoculars, and what I saw blew me away
Strange, humanoid creatures with skin the color of grey
Heads larger than their bodies, and big eyes as black as the night
Just looking at them had me trembling in fright
Why was a group of humans dealing with them?
If it had to be done in secrecy, then surely, it’s to be condemned
Yet when I crawled out to get a better view from among the trees
A black helicopter suddenly appeared on top of me…
One day, I received an envelope in my mailbox
It read: “Keep quiet, or you’ll get bashed with rocks.”
An intensely bright light had struck
Over a large lake where drinking animals had fled
Than it abruptly disappeared; had I imagined it all in my head?
From my position on top of a cliff overlooking the lake
I pulled out my binoculars, and I didn’t know what to make
Of what I saw; it was strange
A group of figures in the middle of an exchange
Yet one group was shorter than I’d have envisioned
As if my line of sight was through tunnel vision
I adjusted my binoculars, and what I saw blew me away
Strange, humanoid creatures with skin the color of grey
Heads larger than their bodies, and big eyes as black as the night
Just looking at them had me trembling in fright
Why was a group of humans dealing with them?
If it had to be done in secrecy, then surely, it’s to be condemned
Yet when I crawled out to get a better view from among the trees
A black helicopter suddenly appeared on top of me…
One day, I received an envelope in my mailbox
It read: “Keep quiet, or you’ll get bashed with rocks.”
Written by LunasChild8
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DANCE OF THE DEAD
Clock strikes midnight; without expecting anything spectacular
I take in my hands grandpa’s old binoculars.
What do my wandering eyes see?
People dancing when I peek.
Women in elegant dresses, dancing with men in suits and bow ties.
Dancing and laughing, having themselves a jolly-good time!
Far right corner, linen-dressed tables and sash-covered chairs
There, to the left, children enjoying a carnival fair!
Distant music continues to play as I sit there and ponder where are they from?
Mesmerized by their elegant dance, I begin to hear faintly a roll of the drums.
Party is over; people and children begin to run
Each one to a grave before the rise of the sun.
Sun pierces through the cracks of dawn
Everyone melted before they were gone.
Sound asleep on the old rocking chair, I awaken from slumber; binocular’s gone.
“It was a dream!!” I say as I yawn.
Knock at the door, who could it be?
An envelope waiting, addressed to me.
Opened the letter; guess what it said:
You shouldn’t have watched the dance of the dead.
Tonight, they’re coming; time to dread
Unless you offer a sacrifice
For all good things come with a price.
Note: Tweaked a bit from original write to comply with the comp rules of 200 word maximum limit.
Clock strikes midnight; without expecting anything spectacular
I take in my hands grandpa’s old binoculars.
What do my wandering eyes see?
People dancing when I peek.
Women in elegant dresses, dancing with men in suits and bow ties.
Dancing and laughing, having themselves a jolly-good time!
Far right corner, linen-dressed tables and sash-covered chairs
There, to the left, children enjoying a carnival fair!
Distant music continues to play as I sit there and ponder where are they from?
Mesmerized by their elegant dance, I begin to hear faintly a roll of the drums.
Party is over; people and children begin to run
Each one to a grave before the rise of the sun.
Sun pierces through the cracks of dawn
Everyone melted before they were gone.
Sound asleep on the old rocking chair, I awaken from slumber; binocular’s gone.
“It was a dream!!” I say as I yawn.
Knock at the door, who could it be?
An envelope waiting, addressed to me.
Opened the letter; guess what it said:
You shouldn’t have watched the dance of the dead.
Tonight, they’re coming; time to dread
Unless you offer a sacrifice
For all good things come with a price.
Note: Tweaked a bit from original write to comply with the comp rules of 200 word maximum limit.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
the focus of Ziess
hand stitched leather case
hand stamped letters in Gothic type face
patina ingrained with signs of age
never reached a horizontal plane
feel the quality and weight
look beyond the garden gate
turn the focus thumb wheels pawls
see the prisms rise and fall
the caps that keep the lenses clean
as the dawning sees sunshine's beams
beyond our touch and feel
to bring into perspective the distances between
to watch and wait
with drawn heartstrings separate
bend the horizons line so far
shorten time bend that spar
look and still believe
faded evening, love letters breath
for your return as if from death
binoculars look out, towards the west
look at beauty look at life
look backwards towards natures night
for night vision cant find the infrared
to reignite the love you left
hand stamped letters in Gothic type face
patina ingrained with signs of age
never reached a horizontal plane
feel the quality and weight
look beyond the garden gate
turn the focus thumb wheels pawls
see the prisms rise and fall
the caps that keep the lenses clean
as the dawning sees sunshine's beams
beyond our touch and feel
to bring into perspective the distances between
to watch and wait
with drawn heartstrings separate
bend the horizons line so far
shorten time bend that spar
look and still believe
faded evening, love letters breath
for your return as if from death
binoculars look out, towards the west
look at beauty look at life
look backwards towards natures night
for night vision cant find the infrared
to reignite the love you left
Written by slipalong
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Binoculars: Finding My Way Home (part 1)
In retrospect this starry night,
I settle, drifting mentally
To take a sentimental flight
Through old mementos’ fam’ily.
Binoculars to where we’d go
When I was hardly big at all.
We’d visit mother’s great-Aunt Ro'
Who lived a few yards from the pier
Where I would play when we would call).
A wooden stairway, painted white
With rails that lead up to the house.
An open porch, airy and bright;
She kept the ashes of her spouse.
Built long before the nineteen-tens;
The screen door always creaked back then.
She’d greet us in a floral frock
The last time that we saw her when.
While on the rug I’d fond recall
The rooms were dimly lit within,
The music heard from down the hall),
And always kept neat as a pin.
Where seagull shades had always flown
From light thru’ stained glass window panes.
The polished floors and ceilings shone
Throughout the beachside bungalow.
The parlor with its faded grace
For me, the very best of all.
The youthful glee upon my face,
Wide-eyed, and still so very small.
Binoculars: Finding My Way Home (part 2)
Through beveled cabinets of glass,
Though I was tall enough to look
And see the treasures on display
That laid among the leather books.
The china doll with bee-stung lips,
And silky finger-wave of curl.
A child-sized portrait of the world,
The clothes & doll house furniture.
A crystal perfume bottle set
Still holding rosewater remnants,
Of parties, plays and dinner show.
A pressed corsage from long ago.
A medal, and some ribbons, too
Were laid by her son's baby shoes;
The one who wore them years before
He died; the war to end all wars.
Hand-drawn & painted souvenirs
From Rio, Rome and olde Tangiers.
Then from the roof I heard rain fall,
The tumbledown of thunder's squall.
The breakers soon would churn the beach,
And drown the music out of reach,
I couldn’t hear it anymore—
The gulls had all flown into shore.
Now once the shades had all been drawn,
Great-Auntie's careworn hands were gone.
And by the morning from my bed,
Among the pile of dreams I took,
A faded note slid from a book
Of which I opened, and it said:
“Only mem’ries are meant to last.
You aren’t meant to stay in the past.”.
Private Moments
I take one last look into the binoculars and
It is like I am invading on a private conversation
Between two lovers who have known each other
For what seems like a lifetime. They could stand
Out in the melting snow or meet at a train station
Somewhere and there will be nothing they rather
Do than being face to face, seizing every minute
Of every day they have together. Love that will stain
The bed sheets and every square inch of space all
Around them with smooth strokes. Hair that is flat
And are laugh lines. They get fully lost in the rain.
Watch them as they back up against the brick wall,
Still staying intact and together like eggshells that
Will not break no matter how hard you try to shake
Them up like a snow globe. They take a deep root.
Like a note slipped that is quietly slipped underneath
The crack of my door… “As I am lying here awake
I can never forget you. Even as you gritted your teeth
To keep yourself from laughing in the middle of a serious
Moment, to me you still have that mysteriousness.
You are feeling delirious.”
It is like I am invading on a private conversation
Between two lovers who have known each other
For what seems like a lifetime. They could stand
Out in the melting snow or meet at a train station
Somewhere and there will be nothing they rather
Do than being face to face, seizing every minute
Of every day they have together. Love that will stain
The bed sheets and every square inch of space all
Around them with smooth strokes. Hair that is flat
And are laugh lines. They get fully lost in the rain.
Watch them as they back up against the brick wall,
Still staying intact and together like eggshells that
Will not break no matter how hard you try to shake
Them up like a snow globe. They take a deep root.
Like a note slipped that is quietly slipped underneath
The crack of my door… “As I am lying here awake
I can never forget you. Even as you gritted your teeth
To keep yourself from laughing in the middle of a serious
Moment, to me you still have that mysteriousness.
You are feeling delirious.”
Written by eswaller
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
Embarrassing indeed, but hilarious that the papers had nothing more urgent than the malfunction of those green shorts! Excellent detail and a great skill to relate this story. Bravo! 😜
