Poetry competition CLOSED 14th September 2018 00:13am
WINNER
ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
RUNNER-UP:
archetype23
Barfly
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Fallen diva
Perched in a peacock pose
feather fascinator, the net in holes
gin bottles in her line of sight
the tonic lost in her hidden plight
The darken end of fame exposed
stage make up the cracks and flaws
the mascara like black lace daubed
mirror reflects the self absorbed
If she could order a round of applause
the effervescence of yesterdays clothes
time with its passing shows all your warts
again the highball that drew the encore
Eloquence that her fingers speak
a beckon scripted in endless repeats
cost of that old fashion tipple
champagne ego its bubbles so fickle
But i would like to toast an ageing poster
the Broadway star now just a ghost "her"
an anecdote her life condensed
flickering diva, bar flys, decent
feather fascinator, the net in holes
gin bottles in her line of sight
the tonic lost in her hidden plight
The darken end of fame exposed
stage make up the cracks and flaws
the mascara like black lace daubed
mirror reflects the self absorbed
If she could order a round of applause
the effervescence of yesterdays clothes
time with its passing shows all your warts
again the highball that drew the encore
Eloquence that her fingers speak
a beckon scripted in endless repeats
cost of that old fashion tipple
champagne ego its bubbles so fickle
But i would like to toast an ageing poster
the Broadway star now just a ghost "her"
an anecdote her life condensed
flickering diva, bar flys, decent
Written by slipalong
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Dr. Jack Daniels
A thirtysomething woman she took a seat at the bar. I could tell by her face that she was troubled.
She called the bartender. “I’m not feeling to well, so, give me a double shot of Dr. Jack Daniels.”
As he poured her the drink he asked concerned, “what’s ailing you?”
Taking off a diamond engagement ring, she held it with one hand, as she took up her whiskey with the other. Placing the stone between her lips she washed it down with a quick massive sip, then answered.
“My fiance forever just told me has a new younger lover. There’s no better medicine for a broken heart than a whiskey on a three-carat rock.”
“Do you really think this will make you feel better,” the bartender asked.
“You bet it will,” she answered after draining her glass. “Because that bastard wants his ring back, and I’m going to give it to him, but he’ll have to dig through my shit to find it. Now bartender if you please, give me another hit of Jack Daniels Rx.”
She called the bartender. “I’m not feeling to well, so, give me a double shot of Dr. Jack Daniels.”
As he poured her the drink he asked concerned, “what’s ailing you?”
Taking off a diamond engagement ring, she held it with one hand, as she took up her whiskey with the other. Placing the stone between her lips she washed it down with a quick massive sip, then answered.
“My fiance forever just told me has a new younger lover. There’s no better medicine for a broken heart than a whiskey on a three-carat rock.”
“Do you really think this will make you feel better,” the bartender asked.
“You bet it will,” she answered after draining her glass. “Because that bastard wants his ring back, and I’m going to give it to him, but he’ll have to dig through my shit to find it. Now bartender if you please, give me another hit of Jack Daniels Rx.”
Written by snugglebuck
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Polaroids
Polaroids decorate the walls and halls of the bar,
Memories of patrons and regulars from years past,
And if you look closely you’ll notice many pictures,
Of a beautiful woman who seemed to have a blast.
The snapshots graced the entire barroom,
A recollection of good times like smiling ghosts,
Where the libations never stopped pouring,
Everyone having drinks and sharing toasts.
But of all the images hers seemed to stand out,
With an appealing aura of splendor and delight,
As if all eyes tuned into her charm and loveliness,
Like some old ritual that took place every night.
And yet there she was, sitting across the bar,
Sitting there all alone at this late hour,
Gazing at the drink waiting for the last call,
Slumped just a bit, like some wilted flower.
Her short skirt rode up just a little too high,
Her top low enough to show a heart tattoo,
As if exposing her inner self under the light,
Waiting for her prince to come to her rescue.
She was the shadow of those photographs,
Time seemed to have slipped away from her,
She looked as if she was waiting for someone,
Like expecting another camera flash to occur.
“Give me another one” she said out loud,
Her voice echoed tautly across the room,
And as the bartender serves her she smiles,
Like a small ember in the melancholic gloom.
Ten Years Gone plays softly in the jukebox,
Like a theme of the lovely figure lost in a glass,
Like a dream of a lonely whisper gone cold,
Reminiscing about days old now at an impasse.
There she sits, looking at her past in the drink,
Trying to forget and remember at the same time,
Sipping slowly, as if every memory had been unholy,
Recalling the flattery and compliments in her prime.
“Last call” the bartender finally blurted out,
To the two lonely souls across the smoky room,
She gave the stranger that Polaroid smile,
The secret magic and appeal made him swoon.
Polaroids decorate the walls and halls of the bar,
Memories of patrons and regulars from years past,
And if you look closely you’ll notice many pictures,
Of a beautiful woman who seemed to have a blast.
The snapshots graced the entire barroom,
A recollection of good times like smiling ghosts,
Where the libations never stopped pouring,
Everyone having drinks and sharing toasts.
But of all the images hers seemed to stand out,
With an appealing aura of splendor and delight,
As if all eyes tuned into her charm and loveliness,
Like some old ritual that took place every night.
And yet there she was, sitting across the bar,
Sitting there all alone at this late hour,
Gazing at the drink waiting for the last call,
Slumped just a bit, like some wilted flower.
Her short skirt rode up just a little too high,
Her top low enough to show a heart tattoo,
As if exposing her inner self under the light,
Waiting for her prince to come to her rescue.
She was the shadow of those photographs,
Time seemed to have slipped away from her,
She looked as if she was waiting for someone,
Like expecting another camera flash to occur.
“Give me another one” she said out loud,
Her voice echoed tautly across the room,
And as the bartender serves her she smiles,
Like a small ember in the melancholic gloom.
Ten Years Gone plays softly in the jukebox,
Like a theme of the lovely figure lost in a glass,
Like a dream of a lonely whisper gone cold,
Reminiscing about days old now at an impasse.
There she sits, looking at her past in the drink,
Trying to forget and remember at the same time,
Sipping slowly, as if every memory had been unholy,
Recalling the flattery and compliments in her prime.
“Last call” the bartender finally blurted out,
To the two lonely souls across the smoky room,
She gave the stranger that Polaroid smile,
The secret magic and appeal made him swoon.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
Thoroughly amazed by the entries so far. Wow. Thank you so much.
Keep ‘em coming!
Keep ‘em coming!
Last Call
Shes beautiful
yet full of sadness
Shes sits alone
yet she is intriguing
The smoke is her soul
soon it will be disappear
The glass of life awaits her lips
whens she ready...
Her mind is full of apologies
yet she has no regrets
A life well lived
mistakes painfully made
She can still smile
yet none are for me
Bartender, send her another
for last call and old times
And dont tell it was from me
She already knows
Shes beautiful
yet full of sadness
Shes sits alone
yet she is intriguing
The smoke is her soul
soon it will be disappear
The glass of life awaits her lips
whens she ready...
Her mind is full of apologies
yet she has no regrets
A life well lived
mistakes painfully made
She can still smile
yet none are for me
Bartender, send her another
for last call and old times
And dont tell it was from me
She already knows
Blame
In this smokey room
The atmosphere can’t let it be
A prison where only addiction is set free
Love and death are to blame
I’ve seen that look before
Whiskey can’t close the door
I guess life is just this way
So we stare into eternity
Lost in our own sanity
I wished I had the courage
To call you by name
Rescue me, I feel the same
The atmosphere can’t let it be
A prison where only addiction is set free
Love and death are to blame
I’ve seen that look before
Whiskey can’t close the door
I guess life is just this way
So we stare into eternity
Lost in our own sanity
I wished I had the courage
To call you by name
Rescue me, I feel the same
Written by buddydog
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WINGLESS BUTTERFLY
I never knew the time of day or night
when I would walk in to see her over there
on display without sending out a single seeming care
never far alone at the end of the bar over there
washed within the liquid lair of the liar
laid down to dream of tainted truth dissolved
and discarded upon the revolving evolution
of swirling saints departed
upon a sea of pearly painted honesty
for all to witness and few to see
I never ever really was entirely sure why
time was an illusion in the den of delusion
as she was kissing the crystal lip of her lover
dismissing the hazy halo hovering above her
Soft swirls of smoke danced in a trance upwards
without words into watered down
dreams of abandoned regret
twirling within an eternal ethereal moment of stillness
while held within the arms of an unjudging ghost
to the soft subtle hum of an invisible choir
Silken silhouettes of milky mangled marionettes
remembering dismembered members
and memories of past pets of last regrets
cast flickering shadows upon dimming embers
She's not a caterpillar crawling like the rest of the worms
She's a butterfly with wings plucked, fucked by her own terms
climbing up a barren tree to see and to be within
what she's always been within past passed steady sin
finally forgotten and forever free
in a way not unlike you and me
an uncaught distraught dissected insect
refusing to die within a new way to fly
---Decision precision perfect---
-----wingless butterfly-----
when I would walk in to see her over there
on display without sending out a single seeming care
never far alone at the end of the bar over there
washed within the liquid lair of the liar
laid down to dream of tainted truth dissolved
and discarded upon the revolving evolution
of swirling saints departed
upon a sea of pearly painted honesty
for all to witness and few to see
I never ever really was entirely sure why
time was an illusion in the den of delusion
as she was kissing the crystal lip of her lover
dismissing the hazy halo hovering above her
Soft swirls of smoke danced in a trance upwards
without words into watered down
dreams of abandoned regret
twirling within an eternal ethereal moment of stillness
while held within the arms of an unjudging ghost
to the soft subtle hum of an invisible choir
Silken silhouettes of milky mangled marionettes
remembering dismembered members
and memories of past pets of last regrets
cast flickering shadows upon dimming embers
She's not a caterpillar crawling like the rest of the worms
She's a butterfly with wings plucked, fucked by her own terms
climbing up a barren tree to see and to be within
what she's always been within past passed steady sin
finally forgotten and forever free
in a way not unlike you and me
an uncaught distraught dissected insect
refusing to die within a new way to fly
---Decision precision perfect---
-----wingless butterfly-----
Written by archetype23
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Anonymous
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