Poetry competition CLOSED 28th March 2019 8:21pm
WINNER
Billy_Snagg (Rist Jizzmann)
Billy_Snagg (Rist Jizzmann)
RUNNERS-UP:
Jade-Pandora
and JusTim_
World Poetry Day
Poetess
She paints with sorrow
she paints with fun
she paints with the sun
she paints with the birds
she is an artist and she paints with her words
she paints with fun
she paints with the sun
she paints with the birds
she is an artist and she paints with her words
Written by odinwolf
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Only because it's a required field
All that's left to feel and see, if not for the art of poetry
Written by Amorous_tryst
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
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words
my joy takes flight
on lightest wings of butterflies,
words! my flight of fancy-
of fleeting, colored fireflies.
on lightest wings of butterflies,
words! my flight of fancy-
of fleeting, colored fireflies.
Written by MonicaT
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Poetrys chinks of light
The blackout blinds were drawn
The white page of scrabbled thoughts
A note book, not open and not closed
A clause thats always starting with pause
Looking for a long lost doubloon
Those accolades so hard persued
The X upon the treasure map
The bard that wears a floppy hat
A garret temprement of loneliness and misery
When your muse is all at sea
An app thats sometimes prone to crash
And trauma come to un-jam with pizazz
Gifts of saffrons golden blush
The spice and colour on the brush
Paint all you work with pro's and verse
It is a blessing and a curse
Blood spilt in words that heamorrhage
That well won't flow as you intend
Barren field you drilled for oil
Last short straws the one you chose
The casket where you lie
Its lid screwed not quite home
The white page of scrabbled thoughts
A note book, not open and not closed
A clause thats always starting with pause
Looking for a long lost doubloon
Those accolades so hard persued
The X upon the treasure map
The bard that wears a floppy hat
A garret temprement of loneliness and misery
When your muse is all at sea
An app thats sometimes prone to crash
And trauma come to un-jam with pizazz
Gifts of saffrons golden blush
The spice and colour on the brush
Paint all you work with pro's and verse
It is a blessing and a curse
Blood spilt in words that heamorrhage
That well won't flow as you intend
Barren field you drilled for oil
Last short straws the one you chose
The casket where you lie
Its lid screwed not quite home
Written by slipalong
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
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