Poetry competition CLOSED 14th October 2018 12:17pm
WINNER
Anonymous
Anonymous
RUNNER-UP:
Medinda
A Conversation With:
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Little Indian Man
Dear Gandhiji
Loving Bapu
How I wish
To spin with you
And walk to waters
Where salt is sand
On journey through
Your mystical land
My Mahatma
Soul of light
Teach me to stand
And refuse to fight
Like brother, Jesus
Giving all
In sacrifice
To lead the small
You live eternal
In my heart
Sewing seeds
Of peace and change
And in flower gardens
Where love is grown
Your memory remains
Loving Bapu
How I wish
To spin with you
And walk to waters
Where salt is sand
On journey through
Your mystical land
My Mahatma
Soul of light
Teach me to stand
And refuse to fight
Like brother, Jesus
Giving all
In sacrifice
To lead the small
You live eternal
In my heart
Sewing seeds
Of peace and change
And in flower gardens
Where love is grown
Your memory remains
Written by Medinda
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Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Genius
You see my face but can’t decipher,
A blank slate
You invade my space while I dismiss you without ceremony,
Tail between your legs, wondering Why a nuisance like you
Is unworthy of my company
Wanting to know what’s up,
Because you don’t see what’s going down,
On the sides, above your head
Behind your back, in your face
But who cares?
Life, is just a Monet, right?
Painted hologram of happiness
You take it, no question
Satisfied being in denial
Rather glide in gold grime,
Then dive in a lucid lake
Ok, that’s your coin toss
That’s your choice to make,
But don’t expect me to join hands & Skinny dip in your
Leprechaun philosophy
Really, just speaking freely,
Putting it out there for the record to show, since it seems like you didn’t receive this memo...
I can’t tolerate phoniness or sincere pettiness,
Patience starting to quake,
Like a rash ready to break
So make no mistake-
I’m itching with vexation,
And no, this isn’t some dramatic exaggeration
I’m just allergic to Bullshit,
Fossilized, metaphoric,
Real life or fictional
Public or domestic,
Lyrical or political, so…..
Is it beginning to calculate,
How the odds differentiate?
It’s pretty obvious, you don’t have to be a genius,
The point’s been made: Why even try to having a conversation in the first place?
A blank slate
You invade my space while I dismiss you without ceremony,
Tail between your legs, wondering Why a nuisance like you
Is unworthy of my company
Wanting to know what’s up,
Because you don’t see what’s going down,
On the sides, above your head
Behind your back, in your face
But who cares?
Life, is just a Monet, right?
Painted hologram of happiness
You take it, no question
Satisfied being in denial
Rather glide in gold grime,
Then dive in a lucid lake
Ok, that’s your coin toss
That’s your choice to make,
But don’t expect me to join hands & Skinny dip in your
Leprechaun philosophy
Really, just speaking freely,
Putting it out there for the record to show, since it seems like you didn’t receive this memo...
I can’t tolerate phoniness or sincere pettiness,
Patience starting to quake,
Like a rash ready to break
So make no mistake-
I’m itching with vexation,
And no, this isn’t some dramatic exaggeration
I’m just allergic to Bullshit,
Fossilized, metaphoric,
Real life or fictional
Public or domestic,
Lyrical or political, so…..
Is it beginning to calculate,
How the odds differentiate?
It’s pretty obvious, you don’t have to be a genius,
The point’s been made: Why even try to having a conversation in the first place?
Written by SeaEntity1
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On Madness and Creativity
Dear Mr. Williams,
I always admired your brilliance,
Your pizazz and energetic flow,
How you used to run a show with non-stop verve and drive
Accessing the deepest recesses of your mind,
How the words just seemed to pour out,
And sometimes not fast enough.
Dear Mr. Williams,
You brought so much joy and laughter to millions,
I was always amazed at your range and scope,
You were such a gifted and talented human being,
That aside at laughing at your jokes,
Your warmth seemed to gives others hope.
But when I heard the news of your demise,
I wondered why or how could it be,
That such a person with great creativity,
Could keep their pain from the public eye.
Were you also a tortured soul?
Where the madness down inside could not let go?
And that despite whatever demons in your head,
You transferred them into wonderful things instead.
We didn’t see your suffering,
At first it all seemed so puzzling,
But little by little I came to understand.
I’m lucky to have lived in the same time,
To have witnessed such a genius,
And since I have not words to depart,
I’ll simply use Whitman’s expression to heart,
O Captain! My Captain!
Dear Mr. Williams,
I always admired your brilliance,
Your pizazz and energetic flow,
How you used to run a show with non-stop verve and drive
Accessing the deepest recesses of your mind,
How the words just seemed to pour out,
And sometimes not fast enough.
Dear Mr. Williams,
You brought so much joy and laughter to millions,
I was always amazed at your range and scope,
You were such a gifted and talented human being,
That aside at laughing at your jokes,
Your warmth seemed to gives others hope.
But when I heard the news of your demise,
I wondered why or how could it be,
That such a person with great creativity,
Could keep their pain from the public eye.
Were you also a tortured soul?
Where the madness down inside could not let go?
And that despite whatever demons in your head,
You transferred them into wonderful things instead.
We didn’t see your suffering,
At first it all seemed so puzzling,
But little by little I came to understand.
I’m lucky to have lived in the same time,
To have witnessed such a genius,
And since I have not words to depart,
I’ll simply use Whitman’s expression to heart,
O Captain! My Captain!
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Norma Jean Baker
Plain girl norma jeane baker
never guessed where fame would take her
the quetion I should ask please give me a clue
If you were in her shoes in retrospective views
Question
if you had the foresight so to choose
that you would be the worlds newest muse
turned heads in unison before in chorus
wolf whistles passing go not un-noticed
Question
there is a presumption to speak ill
when you are trapped on that treadmill
they molded you from clay to gold
iron pyrites of fame that you were sold
Question
a birth certificate with different surnames
did it leave you a mixed up dame
were there cracks in that flawless beauty
the out takes your life's nitty gritty
Question
the small town girl, stars in her eyes
but all the studio saw was $ signs
and they called you Marilyn Monroe
oozing sex appeal from every pore
Question
the picture of you in a swirling skirt
updraught of fame that cant be reversed
that when the dies cast there's no going back
is that simple life dream, dead in its tracks
Answer
the gilded cage that held quiet rage
thrown to the lions, the script on the page
the naked truth in depressions deepest roots
in foetal outline, death, the message is so moot
never guessed where fame would take her
the quetion I should ask please give me a clue
If you were in her shoes in retrospective views
Question
if you had the foresight so to choose
that you would be the worlds newest muse
turned heads in unison before in chorus
wolf whistles passing go not un-noticed
Question
there is a presumption to speak ill
when you are trapped on that treadmill
they molded you from clay to gold
iron pyrites of fame that you were sold
Question
a birth certificate with different surnames
did it leave you a mixed up dame
were there cracks in that flawless beauty
the out takes your life's nitty gritty
Question
the small town girl, stars in her eyes
but all the studio saw was $ signs
and they called you Marilyn Monroe
oozing sex appeal from every pore
Question
the picture of you in a swirling skirt
updraught of fame that cant be reversed
that when the dies cast there's no going back
is that simple life dream, dead in its tracks
Answer
the gilded cage that held quiet rage
thrown to the lions, the script on the page
the naked truth in depressions deepest roots
in foetal outline, death, the message is so moot
Written by slipalong
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To Demi Lovato: Stay Strong
I close my eyes to let your music wash over my soul, finding its way
Through the crevices, cracks, fissures and holes of my imperfections.
We are one in the same person because we both use the words to
Heal a broken soul and to help us forget the pain we used to stay
With for a very long time. Our lives that go in different directions,
But they have the same destination; towards the shining light. You
And I can no longer fight this battle completely alone. Stay strong
Tattooed on our chest. We need to remember them in the midst of
A war and uphill road we cannot give up on. This is a dance and song
That is far from over, but what we need most of all is our self-love.
Through the crevices, cracks, fissures and holes of my imperfections.
We are one in the same person because we both use the words to
Heal a broken soul and to help us forget the pain we used to stay
With for a very long time. Our lives that go in different directions,
But they have the same destination; towards the shining light. You
And I can no longer fight this battle completely alone. Stay strong
Tattooed on our chest. We need to remember them in the midst of
A war and uphill road we cannot give up on. This is a dance and song
That is far from over, but what we need most of all is our self-love.
Written by eswaller
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
John (when he was Winston) Lennon
Who were you, really,
back then,
before you were Ono.
It was well known
what you’d been born into.
A family of strong women.
The aunties, sisters bonded
stronger than any men were
even from the Mersey docks.
Julia was the wild one;
seashell eyes, windy smile.
No, that was Yoko;
we’re not going there.
Art student, played Skiffle,
worshiped Mr Hips Swivelin’,
dated and bedded a blond.
Had to be a blond, like Bardo.
She an artist from the right side,
and the last thing you’d
admit to was being posh.
Traitor. Eventually.
Bloody daft if anyone
mistook you for anything
than working class.
With winkle-picker shoes
and zip-up leather jacket,
greased hair & sideboards,
with the gaunt look of youth
as a northerner born privileged,
and passing for a teddy boy
‘‘No, I’m a mocker!’’
Even Cynthia had said
if she had it to do over again,
she would turn and walk away.
back then,
before you were Ono.
It was well known
what you’d been born into.
A family of strong women.
The aunties, sisters bonded
stronger than any men were
even from the Mersey docks.
Julia was the wild one;
seashell eyes, windy smile.
No, that was Yoko;
we’re not going there.
Art student, played Skiffle,
worshiped Mr Hips Swivelin’,
dated and bedded a blond.
Had to be a blond, like Bardo.
She an artist from the right side,
and the last thing you’d
admit to was being posh.
Traitor. Eventually.
Bloody daft if anyone
mistook you for anything
than working class.
With winkle-picker shoes
and zip-up leather jacket,
greased hair & sideboards,
with the gaunt look of youth
as a northerner born privileged,
and passing for a teddy boy
‘‘No, I’m a mocker!’’
Even Cynthia had said
if she had it to do over again,
she would turn and walk away.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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•‘‘No, I’m a mocker!’’ is a line Ringo said in ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ when asked “Are you a Mod or a Rocker?”
• Cynthia Powell Lennon 1939-2015
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
DEVIL TOMATO
Demi Lovato
I know nothing
About you
Except that
I want you
To please add a 't'
To your surname
I love anagrams
You see
And I could then
Rearrange you
To be my
Sweet
Devil tomato
I know nothing
About you
Except that
I want you
To please add a 't'
To your surname
I love anagrams
You see
And I could then
Rearrange you
To be my
Sweet
Devil tomato
Written by SatInUGal
(Kumar)
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