Poetry competition CLOSED 19th December 2018 9:05am
WINNER
crimsin (Unveiling)
crimsin (Unveiling)
let's see how vulnerable you can be!
Sweet Red Wine
A glass of wine you say
Oh I know you want to play
WIne so sweet and crimson red
We drink before we go to bed
Letting that brew go to our heads
Wine so red and sweet
It is now our lips should meet
Watched my clothes fall to my feet
Then intwined we are to greet
In that tangled web we spun
The wine and night has finally won
Oh I know you want to play
WIne so sweet and crimson red
We drink before we go to bed
Letting that brew go to our heads
Wine so red and sweet
It is now our lips should meet
Watched my clothes fall to my feet
Then intwined we are to greet
In that tangled web we spun
The wine and night has finally won
Written by Selosa67
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This Storm
This storm is right before my eyes
Thought I had seen them all
Feeling the strength of it
My senses now know
It’s a new reality
On the edge of destruction
A fragile moment sinking in
Like cracks on old porcelain
Everything is slowly breaking down
Drifting into the black
What was beautiful is now ugly
I am just a stain on the world
An unclean shadow
Dirty in every way
No redemption even from the devil
Close to my skin the knife cuts
A creator of scars
It never goes deep enough
I offer nothing but breath
To this dark saviour
Thought I had seen them all
Feeling the strength of it
My senses now know
It’s a new reality
On the edge of destruction
A fragile moment sinking in
Like cracks on old porcelain
Everything is slowly breaking down
Drifting into the black
What was beautiful is now ugly
I am just a stain on the world
An unclean shadow
Dirty in every way
No redemption even from the devil
Close to my skin the knife cuts
A creator of scars
It never goes deep enough
I offer nothing but breath
To this dark saviour
Written by AspergerPoet56
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
I'm so Lonely
I'm lonely
So damn lonely
As lonely as can be
If only
I had someone
To love me
Hold me
Kiss me
And tell me
Sweet things
O how much happier
I'd be!
So damn lonely
As lonely as can be
If only
I had someone
To love me
Hold me
Kiss me
And tell me
Sweet things
O how much happier
I'd be!
Written by snugglebuck
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The Agony of Reality
If this is reality, then why does it feel so agonistic to my soul and just?
It is this foul winters’ slapping gust
That wants one to conform their “abnormal” psyche to certainty,
But I want my surrealist mind, and I can only hallucinate the senses of reality.
Can a flame live, breath and burn
In a mold of ice?
I have nowhere else to turn,
The realist world is not very nice.
And why is it when I walk down this surrealist, slush-ridden path
That my shoes don’t damp?
Sometimes I feel it is an innate wrath
When I suffer from writer’s-cramp.
Am I the flame?
Realism
and surrealism
are not the same!
Though I stand in the corner, I am the flame,
But the light shines not from what realists can see.
I’ve been there my whole life,
Its solitude quite hellish; loud with internal strife.
We all stare at corners; at what’s veiled within them;
And we don’t like who we see within cause’ they’re reticent.
I don’t like what I see hiding in the corner either, yet I stand there too!
I love me, yet I despise me. I can’t hate what I am, nor will I change it.
I am me
And not you.
You are you
And I’m glad you’re not me.
All my realistic thoughts subdued,
Like a drunkard swigging wine.
Keep you to your solitude
and me to mine.
It is this foul winters’ slapping gust
That wants one to conform their “abnormal” psyche to certainty,
But I want my surrealist mind, and I can only hallucinate the senses of reality.
Can a flame live, breath and burn
In a mold of ice?
I have nowhere else to turn,
The realist world is not very nice.
And why is it when I walk down this surrealist, slush-ridden path
That my shoes don’t damp?
Sometimes I feel it is an innate wrath
When I suffer from writer’s-cramp.
Am I the flame?
Realism
and surrealism
are not the same!
Though I stand in the corner, I am the flame,
But the light shines not from what realists can see.
I’ve been there my whole life,
Its solitude quite hellish; loud with internal strife.
We all stare at corners; at what’s veiled within them;
And we don’t like who we see within cause’ they’re reticent.
I don’t like what I see hiding in the corner either, yet I stand there too!
I love me, yet I despise me. I can’t hate what I am, nor will I change it.
I am me
And not you.
You are you
And I’m glad you’re not me.
All my realistic thoughts subdued,
Like a drunkard swigging wine.
Keep you to your solitude
and me to mine.
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
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Secrets Revealed…Kind Of
I’m a walking riddle hiding amidst verses gone unnoticed,
Keeping meaningless age old secrets in an empty box,
And in the middle of these overlooked compositions,
I’ve revealed the truth but concealed it in a paradox.
I’ve expressed myself with the angst of a thousand years,
Cried tears that tried to tear and split my soul in half,
And the words poured like poor jeers falling on deaf ears,
So I hid amid lines and rhymes that will make you laugh.
But I like to capture the moment, despite of the torment,
This poetry is a diary destined to eventually tell my story,
Maybe it will pass the test of time when they read the signs,
But deciphered all too late because I lived without the glory.
I’m an exaggerator, a dreaming schemer and collaborator,
Exposing my raw emotion that takes cover in plain sight,
Even when the blatant and apparent trivial innuendo,
Lies there with open arms waiting for you to shine the light.
I’m a walking riddle hiding amidst verses gone unnoticed,
Keeping meaningless age old secrets in an empty box,
And in the middle of these overlooked compositions,
I’ve revealed the truth but concealed it in a paradox.
I’ve expressed myself with the angst of a thousand years,
Cried tears that tried to tear and split my soul in half,
And the words poured like poor jeers falling on deaf ears,
So I hid amid lines and rhymes that will make you laugh.
But I like to capture the moment, despite of the torment,
This poetry is a diary destined to eventually tell my story,
Maybe it will pass the test of time when they read the signs,
But deciphered all too late because I lived without the glory.
I’m an exaggerator, a dreaming schemer and collaborator,
Exposing my raw emotion that takes cover in plain sight,
Even when the blatant and apparent trivial innuendo,
Lies there with open arms waiting for you to shine the light.
Stranded with Manners
Abroad in some sunnier yard
a cup clatters, slicing innocuous
remnants naively
from it's china
elsewhere...
elsewhere...
***
Fine as my fragility, tissue glass...this skin
I am choice - a hostess
I make no clinking
No issue
No issue
My chicken-wing scapulas
itching bare
cold sweat
my new, near-evening dew
crying into flaccid grasses
I'll be so good
I'll let it pass
-
pre-morning moaning
a melting nightchill
And the sun scales deafly over
while childhood is pried
nullified
beneath weighty limb and will
A recess time deeper leagues
my
my
mariner mind
sailed to fairer airs and fare
My vessel seized
a tempest of silence diseased
this hill - spoiling child breath
I could assemble my toys...
...after,
have a bit of tea...
Written by AtoMikbomb
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Black Earth
He meant well,
my brother,
when he was “Just sayin’”
that I could get back into life
and there still might be
some good guys left.
How could he have known
that I AM alive
and a man on my arm, does not
define my every breath?
Freedom, my sole requirement
for living
hath no permissions,
approvals
or Nazi interrogations on the heels
of my every step—
I can still feel,
therefore, I must be alive,
drunk on electric skies before storms
and names of towns like
“Black Earth”, that make me
want to touch their soils
to see if I belong there.
There are no absolutes
in existence,
merely differing opinions
of lifes and deaths.
He meant well,
my brother,
when he was “Just sayin’”
that I could get back into life
and there still might be
some good guys left.
How could he have known
that I AM alive
and a man on my arm, does not
define my every breath?
Freedom, my sole requirement
for living
hath no permissions,
approvals
or Nazi interrogations on the heels
of my every step—
I can still feel,
therefore, I must be alive,
drunk on electric skies before storms
and names of towns like
“Black Earth”, that make me
want to touch their soils
to see if I belong there.
There are no absolutes
in existence,
merely differing opinions
of lifes and deaths.
even you dont know
i am ready to get hurt anytime
even you dont know
i am willing to get wounded just for you
i am ready to love you more than you know
are the clouds arent enough at the heavens above
just to cover that past that hurts you soo much
every moment im ready to get hurt
even you dont know
lets try
just give me a chance
cloSe your eyes
and forget the past
cause i am ready to get hurt even you
dont know
even you dont know
i am willing to get wounded just for you
i am ready to love you more than you know
are the clouds arent enough at the heavens above
just to cover that past that hurts you soo much
every moment im ready to get hurt
even you dont know
lets try
just give me a chance
cloSe your eyes
and forget the past
cause i am ready to get hurt even you
dont know
Written by KGERICD
(Kurt Geric Dili)
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