Poetry competition CLOSED 14th September 2018 00:45am
WINNER
Anonymous
Anonymous
RUNNERS-UP:
takis1917
and Eerie
Blood In The Ink Well
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
... so you want to be a writer?
Let me ask you one question: Why do you write?
Choose one of the following quotes and then use it as a basis on a poem about why you write at all. I’m looking for fearless humanity. I’m looking for passion. I’m looking for you to bare your blood on paper:
“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.”
—Ernest Hemingway
“If a nation loses its storytellers, it loses its childhood.”
—Peter Handke
“Style means the right word. The rest matters little.”
—Jules Renard
“Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.”
—Ray Bradbury, WD
“Keep a small can of WD-40 on your desk—away from any open flames—to remind yourself that if you don’t write daily, you will get rusty.”
—George Singleton
“The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes.”
—Andre Gide
“I always start writing with a clean piece of paper and a dirty mind.”
—Patrick Dennis
“writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all”
—Charles Bukowski
Rules
* One entry only per human
* Include the chosen quote at the top of your poem.
* Please title your entries.
* New entries only
* Audio & video accepted
* No collabs
* Poetry, not prose
* Any length just don’t go mad
* I’m judging it. No vote.
Any questions, please ask.
the day the words went away
“writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all”
—Charles Bukowski
I've hit the wall
you know the one
where you've dug so deep inside yourself
until there's nothing left but a hole
I'm bringing up nothing
pure shite
regurgitated cliches
it's all been said before
I'm empty and it hurts
it's the words
they fill me up
keep me going
when I want to die
I burn with them
with the telling
it's passion bottled
until it explodes
no other way than out
I can hear the words
feel them in my soul
dream about them
when I close my eyes
I ache when they quiet
I cry for their absence
in the still hours I listen intently
for what needs to be said
and how to say it
without the words I am a void
they lift me up
make me more than I am alone
in the end I'm just a guardian
charged with seeing them on their way
a mouthpiece for the divine
when I'm used up
and their is nothing left to say
I will return to dust
Written by smackdownraven
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When the Words Still Burn
“Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.”
—Ray Bradbury, WD
Let the light guide you home like the sailor
Who is lost at sea and looks for a lighthouse
To bring him back to his rightful place. Let
The words mend your wounds like a tailor
Who repairs the holes of a tattered blouse.
Darling, I hope that you never truly forget
The world burns from your touch. It is your
Words that turns the world on its axis and
Is never straight. You make people afraid.
It is when you walk through the front door
And people notice you that you understand
Your words have the same power. They bled
For the people who do not have paper. They
Burn for people who do not have a spark to
Start a fire. They talk for those who do not
Have voices. When the world has all gray
Skies and have none that are painted blue
There is a new sense of hope that is brought.
—Ray Bradbury, WD
Let the light guide you home like the sailor
Who is lost at sea and looks for a lighthouse
To bring him back to his rightful place. Let
The words mend your wounds like a tailor
Who repairs the holes of a tattered blouse.
Darling, I hope that you never truly forget
The world burns from your touch. It is your
Words that turns the world on its axis and
Is never straight. You make people afraid.
It is when you walk through the front door
And people notice you that you understand
Your words have the same power. They bled
For the people who do not have paper. They
Burn for people who do not have a spark to
Start a fire. They talk for those who do not
Have voices. When the world has all gray
Skies and have none that are painted blue
There is a new sense of hope that is brought.
Written by eswaller
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Anonymous
Thank you Crim and Eswaller for starting things off with a bang :)
“If a nation loses its storytellers, it loses its childhood.”
—Peter Handke
If we as a people
lose
our storytellers
we lose the wisdom
that is imbedded within
we lose our childhood
where we can begin
to understand
what lays deep
within
one and all
of us
who write
there will always be
blood sweat and tears
within our ink well
of Life
—Peter Handke
If we as a people
lose
our storytellers
we lose the wisdom
that is imbedded within
we lose our childhood
where we can begin
to understand
what lays deep
within
one and all
of us
who write
there will always be
blood sweat and tears
within our ink well
of Life
Anonymous
Thank you for your entry, Drone 
UNAPOLOGETIC
“Style means the right word. The rest matters little.”
—Jules Renard
A little birdie asks why I write?
Wow!!
I write because I'm a writer,
Writers write, and so do I.
I mean...I'm a writer!
Right?
I write because my pen is orgasmic,
My pen is hard, like a huge penis.
Literally.
I make love to different sheets of paper,
and when the loving is good enough,
We conceive many words of poetry.
I write because it's my calling...
and my call is my mission.
No matter how hard I write,
I just cannot stop writing.
So, I write.
I write about life...
and about love...
other times about sex.
But whatever the case,
I write.
I write about my life...
sometimes.
I write about other people's too.
Life is like that, you know.
I write to make a change,
but not always.
I mostly write to pass a point,
Sometimes to make one.
I write to change lives,
and also to get noticed,
...but rarely for attention.
I write because I'm a mad man,
A mad man says anything...
exactly how I live.
I write because the world is mad,
and madness runs the world.
I write to make sense out of things.
I write because I'm conscious,
luckily, my consciousness is poetic.
I write because I am often unapologetic...
I'm a writer.
I write because it's right.
It's right but no one is.
Therefore...
I write because no one is right.
—Jules Renard
A little birdie asks why I write?
Wow!!
I write because I'm a writer,
Writers write, and so do I.
I mean...I'm a writer!
Right?
I write because my pen is orgasmic,
My pen is hard, like a huge penis.
Literally.
I make love to different sheets of paper,
and when the loving is good enough,
We conceive many words of poetry.
I write because it's my calling...
and my call is my mission.
No matter how hard I write,
I just cannot stop writing.
So, I write.
I write about life...
and about love...
other times about sex.
But whatever the case,
I write.
I write about my life...
sometimes.
I write about other people's too.
Life is like that, you know.
I write to make a change,
but not always.
I mostly write to pass a point,
Sometimes to make one.
I write to change lives,
and also to get noticed,
...but rarely for attention.
I write because I'm a mad man,
A mad man says anything...
exactly how I live.
I write because the world is mad,
and madness runs the world.
I write to make sense out of things.
I write because I'm conscious,
luckily, my consciousness is poetic.
I write because I am often unapologetic...
I'm a writer.
I write because it's right.
It's right but no one is.
Therefore...
I write because no one is right.
Written by eleven_mashariki
Go To Page
The Royals vs the poet's realm
Of splendid thrones of gold
or treasures manifold
Of jewelled caskets
or lavish banquets
Of Emirs and rajahs
Of Sultan and Shahs
Of kings and queens
Of rulers and emperors
Of sparkling crowns
or flowing gowns
Of their subservient stewards and obedient pages
Of their stalwart squires and servile knaves
Of poor humble, docile minions
who tended to regal pavilions
And obeisantly carried royal palanquins
Oh and some were real life harlequins
Of castles and palaces
of abounding gold and silver
in ostentatious regal splendour
The sidelined fanning maids in waiting
Yet to me only one thing worth noticing
The minstrels who came to sing
from afar for the queen and king
For I'd rather be a poetess for kings
so to my tunes swayed a kingdom
than I be the king of mere subjects
and be filled with regal boredom!
So I could join ranks of
troubadours
and sing for the king
some folklores.
A passion for poesy
For magic of literacy [/b]
Written by Zaynab_kamoonpury
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Ink and Semen
“I always start writing with a clean piece of paper and a dirty mind.”
—Patrick Dennis
An inner passion drives me to the pen,
not something that I sought, or thought was mine;
and it was very late in my life when
I found my joy in meter and in rhyme!
My fascination with this art form grew
because it wholly stimulates my mind.
It’s not an intellectual pursuit;
but, more! …a carnal embrace, unconfined!
My writing does not oust my masturbation,
the limit set by aged and worn prostate;
when lack of semen limits fornication,
that’s when, on pen and ink, I will fixate...
I am a lucky man, and I rejoice!
I wield both ink and semen! What a choice!
Written by ReggiePoet
(Reggie)
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Things of Beauty
“The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes.”
—Andre Gide
In echoes bought with demons’ teeth,
With lucid screams behind the eyes,
The chorus speaks in sundered lines.
The ink with pressure fills the nib,
As point cuts skin in languid grooves,
And, blood soaked, spins its lurid tales.
"Beard opened, Iris, wanton slick,
That fingers take in moistened thrum,
Despair for her not yet awake."
Were better then that I should write:
“I penned a verse of flower's grace
Before she left her sleeping bed?”
No hellish lord would find appease
In drivel words so obvious,
So I refuse to write such stain.
Of sewer pipe and iron rust
Of oily crust in clotted squares,
I have described my writing thus,
So it remains, if any cares.
Hep-atitus
—Andre Gide
In echoes bought with demons’ teeth,
With lucid screams behind the eyes,
The chorus speaks in sundered lines.
The ink with pressure fills the nib,
As point cuts skin in languid grooves,
And, blood soaked, spins its lurid tales.
"Beard opened, Iris, wanton slick,
That fingers take in moistened thrum,
Despair for her not yet awake."
Were better then that I should write:
“I penned a verse of flower's grace
Before she left her sleeping bed?”
No hellish lord would find appease
In drivel words so obvious,
So I refuse to write such stain.
Of sewer pipe and iron rust
Of oily crust in clotted squares,
I have described my writing thus,
So it remains, if any cares.
Hep-atitus
Written by Hepcat61
(geoff cat)
Go To Page
Related submission no longer exists.
The Day I Lost my Mind
“The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes.”
—Andre Gide
For most of my life I'd been rather mute
Despite the fact I am rather astute
Standing aside while other people express
Their deep feelings to relieve their distress
I was trained how to be a quiet girl
But after my 8th child though I cannot explain
A poem for baby just appeared in my brain.
A desire was there to pass on thought
But I don't express myself as I aught
And so now I guess I'm a poet
I use my pen madness to show it
—Andre Gide
For most of my life I'd been rather mute
Despite the fact I am rather astute
Standing aside while other people express
Their deep feelings to relieve their distress
I was trained how to be a quiet girl
But after my 8th child though I cannot explain
A poem for baby just appeared in my brain.
A desire was there to pass on thought
But I don't express myself as I aught
And so now I guess I'm a poet
I use my pen madness to show it
Written by EdibleWords
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NOTHING AT ALL
NOTHING AT ALL
"Writing about writer's block is better than writing about nothing at all."
-Charles Bukowski-
Let me guess, precious princess,
you have nothing within your sinless incest
to confess like the relentless rest of us
in this restless piss pest test contest
-Write tight tonight-
-Find a kind fight-
Stick your seemingly seamless scorn
into a bland hand screaming in bliss
clinging tight in the night never born
bringing light to your singing cum fist
Nothing at all nor deemed to dismiss?
Has it actually come to this?
Stare at the blank plaster wall
the longer, the stronger and faster the fall
the fist will meet bliss
and nothing at all
kissed with sight which insists
That's why I write this
"Writing about writer's block is better than writing about nothing at all."
-Charles Bukowski-
Let me guess, precious princess,
you have nothing within your sinless incest
to confess like the relentless rest of us
in this restless piss pest test contest
-Write tight tonight-
-Find a kind fight-
Stick your seemingly seamless scorn
into a bland hand screaming in bliss
clinging tight in the night never born
bringing light to your singing cum fist
Nothing at all nor deemed to dismiss?
Has it actually come to this?
Stare at the blank plaster wall
the longer, the stronger and faster the fall
the fist will meet bliss
and nothing at all
kissed with sight which insists
That's why I write this
Written by archetype23
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