Poetry competition CLOSED 16th September 2018 5:53am
WINNER
Bonzi
Bonzi
RUNNERS-UP:
brokentitanium
and SatInUGal
Parents Vent
Poetry Contest Description
Time to fume about parenthood
Parents so often get the short end of the stick.
Children
Their grandparents
Society
Or just anybody who isn't doing your job!
Dang it! Nobody gets it, do they!?
However many poems you want. Go to town.
You can't beat 'em.
You can't join 'em.
But you can rant your hearts out!
Feel free to collaborate, cause that's how this happened in the first place!
Prose welcome
Most of the time I'm at DU I prolly should be doing something else...
So please don't expect me to personally respond to each poem, but I cheer you all on with my whole heart!
Children
Their grandparents
Society
Or just anybody who isn't doing your job!
Dang it! Nobody gets it, do they!?
However many poems you want. Go to town.
You can't beat 'em.
You can't join 'em.
But you can rant your hearts out!
Feel free to collaborate, cause that's how this happened in the first place!
Prose welcome
Most of the time I'm at DU I prolly should be doing something else...
So please don't expect me to personally respond to each poem, but I cheer you all on with my whole heart!
Joey🐞
.
It never was 'cause mommy didn't want you
That she couldn't have babies like others do.
Maybe God thought she needed you more than me
Sending back for you before I saw and smelled
And able to kiss your sweet face damp with birth,
Nuzzling your tousled dark wisps of brown hair,
And sensing the grasping of your wee pink hands,
As you show me how I guide you to my breast,
And smiling, as I thrill at your awkward try.
I still feel the faint phantom presence of where
You grew in the months that we had together.
Joey, you remember how I'd sing to you
Everywhere I'd go; to the store, to the park.
And, rocking, I'd read to you my poetry
Of stories I'd make up and all just for you,
And showed you, through my eyes, the littlest things:
The flowers I picked by the curb of our street.
One still had a ladybug perched on its stem,
And looking right at me as if to say "Hi!"
"It looks like your baby will come in the spring!"
Then, lifting its wings she rose up and flew home.
It wasn't too long before that would be true,
But fate has a way to throw curveballs at you.
My son was called back to where death is a cloud,
And Joey's that star to the right of the moon.
.
It never was 'cause mommy didn't want you
That she couldn't have babies like others do.
Maybe God thought she needed you more than me
Sending back for you before I saw and smelled
And able to kiss your sweet face damp with birth,
Nuzzling your tousled dark wisps of brown hair,
And sensing the grasping of your wee pink hands,
As you show me how I guide you to my breast,
And smiling, as I thrill at your awkward try.
I still feel the faint phantom presence of where
You grew in the months that we had together.
Joey, you remember how I'd sing to you
Everywhere I'd go; to the store, to the park.
And, rocking, I'd read to you my poetry
Of stories I'd make up and all just for you,
And showed you, through my eyes, the littlest things:
The flowers I picked by the curb of our street.
One still had a ladybug perched on its stem,
And looking right at me as if to say "Hi!"
"It looks like your baby will come in the spring!"
Then, lifting its wings she rose up and flew home.
It wasn't too long before that would be true,
But fate has a way to throw curveballs at you.
My son was called back to where death is a cloud,
And Joey's that star to the right of the moon.
.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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Breakfast of Champions
I'm a mother of 9 and counting
I eat guilt for breakfast
but apart from all the accusing voices
One stands out clear
"This is my beloved daughter
In whom I am well pleased"
Of all the shallow guilts I have
Not one is black
Like sin
I eat guilt for breakfast
but apart from all the accusing voices
One stands out clear
"This is my beloved daughter
In whom I am well pleased"
Of all the shallow guilts I have
Not one is black
Like sin
Written by EdibleWords
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Anonymous
Called To Become
I was once told
that I simply “didn’t get it”
as a woman clutching her child
looked at me like something
she stepped in
don’t think it effected me
until Mother’s Day passed every year
and I began to think about my life,
all the little hands I craved
and could not own.
The first time I lost a baby
I got a leaflet on miscarriage
as I sat in a hospital clutching
my empty spaces
for a while, you still feel pregnant
and as the months pass,
your body remains deflated
as your smile follows suit.
The second time, I saw her
fingernails, feet, hair
the world is never as small
as it is in a sterile ward
watching a shape
that used to be your daughter
slip away behind your eyes.
Not much bothers you after that.
By the time four happens
you become used to the pain,
how it lingers in your guts
seeping its silence into your throat
painting its walls with your blood
in visceral shades of existence.
Women are never as complicated
as when they can’t achieve
the very reason they are alive,
and I feel cheated—
I feel fucking cheated
that my useless body can’t fulfil
the one thing it’s supposed to do:
I bought a three-bedroom house
and two of them lay empty;
if that ain’t a metaphor
I don’t know what is.
Sometimes I watch talk shows,
angry young women who complain
about falling on a dick to find
themselves with the one thing I crave
and I can’t even contain the rage
that pulses my broken womb
but the worst, the very worst
are mothers who tell me that I
don’t know what it’s like
to be a parent.
Motherhood is not some weapon
to beat childless women with,
neither is it some societal standard
that those without kids are somehow
failures in a league of eyes.
Ladies and gents,
esteemed members of the jury
chances are I’ll die, but I’d
rather die trying:
called to become
anything more than here.
I was once told
that I simply “didn’t get it”
as a woman clutching her child
looked at me like something
she stepped in
don’t think it effected me
until Mother’s Day passed every year
and I began to think about my life,
all the little hands I craved
and could not own.
The first time I lost a baby
I got a leaflet on miscarriage
as I sat in a hospital clutching
my empty spaces
for a while, you still feel pregnant
and as the months pass,
your body remains deflated
as your smile follows suit.
The second time, I saw her
fingernails, feet, hair
the world is never as small
as it is in a sterile ward
watching a shape
that used to be your daughter
slip away behind your eyes.
Not much bothers you after that.
By the time four happens
you become used to the pain,
how it lingers in your guts
seeping its silence into your throat
painting its walls with your blood
in visceral shades of existence.
Women are never as complicated
as when they can’t achieve
the very reason they are alive,
and I feel cheated—
I feel fucking cheated
that my useless body can’t fulfil
the one thing it’s supposed to do:
I bought a three-bedroom house
and two of them lay empty;
if that ain’t a metaphor
I don’t know what is.
Sometimes I watch talk shows,
angry young women who complain
about falling on a dick to find
themselves with the one thing I crave
and I can’t even contain the rage
that pulses my broken womb
but the worst, the very worst
are mothers who tell me that I
don’t know what it’s like
to be a parent.
Motherhood is not some weapon
to beat childless women with,
neither is it some societal standard
that those without kids are somehow
failures in a league of eyes.
Ladies and gents,
esteemed members of the jury
chances are I’ll die, but I’d
rather die trying:
called to become
anything more than here.
How Many
People want to hear a number
How many children do I want
I don't need to tell a number
It's not a number hunt
Children won't overfill the world
They increase capacity
When from my home their wings unfurl
They're raised to reciprocity
My wages make me work
The wages are fair
My children are my wages
A satisfying care
How many children do I want
I don't need to tell a number
It's not a number hunt
Children won't overfill the world
They increase capacity
When from my home their wings unfurl
They're raised to reciprocity
My wages make me work
The wages are fair
My children are my wages
A satisfying care
Written by EdibleWords
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How Small
How small do I feel
My daughter
Not based on my height
Or the laughter
Of the women to my right
They may fall
But to you I look
Fruit of my all
You I believe in
Resident
Through my door
From heaven
Tear me down with a look
Or build up
If our gifts you recieve
Mean anything
Honor your mother and father
My daughter
Not based on my height
Or the laughter
Of the women to my right
They may fall
But to you I look
Fruit of my all
You I believe in
Resident
Through my door
From heaven
Tear me down with a look
Or build up
If our gifts you recieve
Mean anything
Honor your mother and father
Written by EdibleWords
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Little Sponges
The amount they need
To bloom with rich life
Is far less than what
They are willing to take
With watery-eyed gaze
They enchant today
Even though you could let them
Fuss down on the floor
And so in a daze
You commit to so much more
To bloom with rich life
Is far less than what
They are willing to take
With watery-eyed gaze
They enchant today
Even though you could let them
Fuss down on the floor
And so in a daze
You commit to so much more
Written by EdibleWords
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MY Kitchen
I noticed in the kitchen
The other day
How things were rearranged
Your own way
You didn't bother to ask
Or imagine
My preferred task
I've forgiven
But I need you to remember
My kitchen
Feels more like
My kitchen
If I don't have to go on strike
To get my say in
The other day
How things were rearranged
Your own way
You didn't bother to ask
Or imagine
My preferred task
I've forgiven
But I need you to remember
My kitchen
Feels more like
My kitchen
If I don't have to go on strike
To get my say in
Written by EdibleWords
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Nepotism of Friendship
It's much harder to hear
Than it is to defend
That your own child dear
Is not simply your friend
Friendship nepotism
Is heartache without end
When I was a child
I was ignorant then
The ignorant and wild
Do not make a gentle friend
Teamwork, respect and wit
A visionary grit
A soft shoulder for tears
Grounded minds dampen fears
Kids are easy to love
But as for getting along
Not hand-in-glove
Some are the exception
They know who they are
Obviously gentle children
Who act with great care
Than it is to defend
That your own child dear
Is not simply your friend
Friendship nepotism
Is heartache without end
When I was a child
I was ignorant then
The ignorant and wild
Do not make a gentle friend
Teamwork, respect and wit
A visionary grit
A soft shoulder for tears
Grounded minds dampen fears
Kids are easy to love
But as for getting along
Not hand-in-glove
Some are the exception
They know who they are
Obviously gentle children
Who act with great care
Written by EdibleWords
Go To Page
The Lonely Path
Going my way looks like bliss
'cause I have a home in heaven
With an amazing saint of a husband
with a whole bunch of little kids
One has even grown up
Past high school into apartment
Fiancé, scholarship and all
But they don't see the siege
the stalkers, bigots, assailants
cyber bullies, child stealing old perverts
and really, so many more
all waiting outside our door
while some dig in the back way
like internet zombies buying confusion
in the hopes of stealing someone's brain
one more time....
cause someone didn't learn
They don't see the shell shock;
Seemingly meaningless isolation of two souls
trying to grow in the dark like mushrooms
so birds of prey can't steal love
from dizzying heights of manipulation
All to protect a brood in heaven...
one family under seige
just past the smoldering entrance of Hell
'cause I have a home in heaven
With an amazing saint of a husband
with a whole bunch of little kids
One has even grown up
Past high school into apartment
Fiancé, scholarship and all
But they don't see the siege
the stalkers, bigots, assailants
cyber bullies, child stealing old perverts
and really, so many more
all waiting outside our door
while some dig in the back way
like internet zombies buying confusion
in the hopes of stealing someone's brain
one more time....
cause someone didn't learn
They don't see the shell shock;
Seemingly meaningless isolation of two souls
trying to grow in the dark like mushrooms
so birds of prey can't steal love
from dizzying heights of manipulation
All to protect a brood in heaven...
one family under seige
just past the smoldering entrance of Hell
Written by EdibleWords
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Your smile
You scream and make me want to scream back!
I try so hard to please you, to see how you see.
I’m unable to understand the language you speak,
My frustration is filled to the brink,
And my eyes overfill to create streaks.
When my heart feels like it is about to break
You turn to me with innocent eyes that say,
“Mommy my smile is all you need today”
I try so hard to please you, to see how you see.
I’m unable to understand the language you speak,
My frustration is filled to the brink,
And my eyes overfill to create streaks.
When my heart feels like it is about to break
You turn to me with innocent eyes that say,
“Mommy my smile is all you need today”
Written by Bonzi
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