Poetry competition CLOSED 8th May 2019 10:15pm
WINNER
Anonymous
Anonymous
RUNNER-UP:
Jade-Pandora
Poem of the Month - May 2019
Poetry Contest Description
I'm Back ... I hope you all have been reading some GREAT ink!
Okay, so I was busy tilling and nurturing the soil for my garden, and left the wolf man in charge, and of course he botched it (always whining about grad school
) But hey, I'm back and you all know the drill ... and yes there's some overlap here with the April comp still open; but this gives you a chance to nominate something you wanted to get into the April showdown but didn't for whatever reason ...
If the poet you nominated in April wins, you can replace a May piece with another nominee. Cheers!
Greetings, Fellow Poets! It's time for our "Poem of the Month" to be featured in the DUP 'Poem of the Month Hall of Fame' and on the official facebook page for May 2019!.
You have three weeks to nominate no more than two of you favorite poems from another DUP poet!
Please note the following when making nominations:
1. Self nominations are not accepted. The great majority of the competitions here are about spotlighting one's own work on a particular topic or theme. This is a chance to nominate that poem that you wish you had written but some other great talent here beat you to it.
2. Please limit your nominations to TWO poems. You can nominate a single poem for two different poets; but the nomination maximum remains at TWO (no matter how many pseudonyms they have). The majority of competitions on DUP cap nominations at one or two poems so there's no need to go beyond that.
No DUPLICATES. If someone nominates the same poem the entry will be deleted. If you like it that much wait and vote for it!
Any genre except erotica or pornography. This is a Facebook feature and we must adhere to their guidelines.
BIG CHANGE:
ALL POETS ARE ELGIBLE AT THIS TIME, INCLUDING PREVIOUS WINNERS!
Any member who is banned or disables their account PRIOR to the win will be automatically disqualified.
Any nominated member who wishes to opt out of the competition may do so by messaging me ( Poem-Worm ). I will contact the person who nominated you and request an alternate nomination.
Nomination Duration is three weeks followed by a week of site voting!
Running list of winners:
January 2019 ... DANIELCHRISTENEN
February 2019 ... SOPHIE_ERICSON
March 2019 ... AUDIOHARLEEA
April 2019 ... FROM THE ASH
November 2017 ... NAAJIR
December 2017 ... POETSPEAK
January 2018 ... LADY_OF_THE_QUILL
February 2018 ... LEPPEROCHAN Craic in a Box
March 2018 ... TINABUBUYA (Tee Mali)
April 2018 ... CROWFLY
May 2018 ... ATOMIKBOMB
June 2018 ... MISS_SUB (Missy)
July 2018 ... MEADOWSWEET
August 2018 ... LAYLA
September 2018 ... COLD FUSION
October 2018 ... TODSKI28
November 2018 ... TheMUSE22
December 2018 ... BENDER
... So, what have you read that's incredible!?
Who I Am
Who am I to tell you who I am?
I am a daughter with a sacred ring
I am a son of the living king
I am the life animating bones
I am the skin in exotic tones
I am the breath of a better way
I am the sun of a brighter ray
I am a child, a prince, an heir
I have a crown, and beauty faire
I am the rhyme, without a scheme
I am the stitching without the seam
I am the wind; although you hear it
Truly fills my spirit
I am the voice in the wilderness call
I am the voice of the one in the hall
I am the one that appears to the One
I am the victory already won
I am a daughter with a sacred ring
I am a son of the living king
I am the life animating bones
I am the skin in exotic tones
I am the breath of a better way
I am the sun of a brighter ray
I am a child, a prince, an heir
I have a crown, and beauty faire
I am the rhyme, without a scheme
I am the stitching without the seam
I am the wind; although you hear it
Truly fills my spirit
I am the voice in the wilderness call
I am the voice of the one in the hall
I am the one that appears to the One
I am the victory already won
Written by EleazarSwan
Go To Page
I’m Not Alone: Notes of an Online Journal
”I’m Not Alone”
In my walks I chase blue skies at night
When the living of day go inside.
In the hopes it was fantasy’s flight,
And the evening, when I come alive.
And my every care gone with the sun
As the cool air of dusk starts to spin.
With a soft touch of breezes undone
That exhale hyacinth I breathe in.
All about the stars wheel thru’ the trees
Linking hands in a park on my own.
Rustled whisper of tender new leaves
To remind me that I’m not alone.
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
In my walks I chase blue skies at night
When the living of day go inside.
In the hopes it was fantasy’s flight,
And the evening, when I come alive.
And my every care gone with the sun
As the cool air of dusk starts to spin.
With a soft touch of breezes undone
That exhale hyacinth I breathe in.
All about the stars wheel thru’ the trees
Linking hands in a park on my own.
Rustled whisper of tender new leaves
To remind me that I’m not alone.
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
Go To Page
Anonymous
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
GoinG SomewherE? - - - NAPO ALONE19
If you ask the question
Who actively loves you
And you can't come up
With a single name
Then you are unloved
Ask yourself about real love
Real love needs to be active
Real love needs to be evident
Where there is no daily proof
Then you are unlovable
If you ask yourself the question
Who is actively caring for you
And you can’t come up
With a solitary single name
Then nobody is caring for you
Caring has to be more than
An occasional phone call
Or a once a month visit
It’s daily and always active
If you can't come up with
A single solitary name
Then nobody cares about you
If you ask yourself the question
Do you have any real friends
Who are with you, good or ill
And you can’t come up with
A single solitary name
Then you are friendless
Nobody in the real world to talk to
To go for coffee and a catch-up
To go to the pub for the same
To go walking in nature
To make you laugh or smile
If you can't come up with a
Single solitary name
Then you are alone
If you ask yourself the question
Is there anyone there to support
You when you are in real need
To give you a real warm hug
If you can't come up with
A single solitary name
You will always be sad
Real support takes time and effort
Never make you feel like a burden
Like an inconvenient job of work
Like a charity case waste of space
What if professionals won't help
If you are being left on your own
To cope alone
Then you are unsupported
If you ask yourself the question
If I am unsupported, always sad,
Always alone, lonely, friendless,
Nobody supporting or caring, not
Being loved, positively unloved
If you are all these things then
A Teddy bear's hug will not suffice
Nor will a warm mug of chicken soup
You are terminally lost
If you ask yourself the question
What will happen after you die
Ask yourself how long it would
Affect anyone you know
And you start counting in days
And weeks some even hours
Then its time you were not here
Written by David_Macleod
(14397816)
Go To Page
Anonymous
sex
after some
preliminary teasing , which
had become quite same-same
the more at stake the less shameless we are
i took my broken hand and struck it lightly across your face
i was afraid you would falter
you did not
(much)
a boy says he wants one thing when he's alone
with his hand down his pants
hoping to get into yours
with his dick out, he wants to be another man
the trick is to never break your gaze
preliminary teasing , which
had become quite same-same
the more at stake the less shameless we are
i took my broken hand and struck it lightly across your face
i was afraid you would falter
you did not
(much)
a boy says he wants one thing when he's alone
with his hand down his pants
hoping to get into yours
with his dick out, he wants to be another man
the trick is to never break your gaze
Written by anna_grin
(ANNAN)
Go To Page
That Boy Ain't Right - Day Six
(unrhymed quatern in 10 syllables)
I never thought to think I wasn’t right.
I always thought my brain worked just the same
As everyone I met and who I’d tell
The everything I thought was in my brain.
How hard the spit and fists would find their marks,
I never thought to think I wasn’t right.
The fights that were no more than lesson plans
To teach me how to “act” in diff'rent ways.
My fat and glasses added to the scene
And drama had to change to comedy –
I never thought to think I wasn’t right –
‘Cause laughing meant that I could get away.
The hours spent in scrutiny’s alert,
In reading every twitch and flinching glance.
Till I could mimic every single one,
I never thought to think I wasn’t right.
Words: 135
Unique Words: 75
#NaPoWriMo2019
NaPoGloPoWriMo2019
I never thought to think I wasn’t right.
I always thought my brain worked just the same
As everyone I met and who I’d tell
The everything I thought was in my brain.
How hard the spit and fists would find their marks,
I never thought to think I wasn’t right.
The fights that were no more than lesson plans
To teach me how to “act” in diff'rent ways.
My fat and glasses added to the scene
And drama had to change to comedy –
I never thought to think I wasn’t right –
‘Cause laughing meant that I could get away.
The hours spent in scrutiny’s alert,
In reading every twitch and flinching glance.
Till I could mimic every single one,
I never thought to think I wasn’t right.
Words: 135
Unique Words: 75
#NaPoWriMo2019
NaPoGloPoWriMo2019
Written by Hepcat61
(geoff cat)
Go To Page
He Shook Her World
The time he shook her world the day snow fell,
For she was yet to learn his language, spun.
And it was her first time under its spell
Of silent drifts that muted out the sun.
For she was drama borne on crested waves.
The time he shook her world the day snow fell,
He sought to claim the native of the caves
As if to see her risen from a shell.
He heard the siren’s words & knew them well
Upon the ocean wind of lyrics sown.
The time he shook her world the day snow fell,
Would either be for love or lover flown.
And when at last for Fate to lay its wreath,
His voice reciting with the tidal swell,
She laid down arrows and her quiver’s sheath,
The time he shook her world the day snow fell.
NaPoGloPoWriMo 2019
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Happy Happy
That’s what they called it, happy happy, the alcoholic interludes
Tainted with nicotine delights, the pseudo-fiesta fares foraged from
The Gardens of Others, cooked over fires burning from sinful woods
Stolen – no – taken, from the old woman who died of a weak lung
Because they poisoned the country air with their happy happy.
They had lights that ran from the roof to the ground, like the rats
That infested the debris from their food and vomit, yet the decor
Was impressive, garish without pretense of poverty, tasteless ersatz
Of glittering plastic and foil, and wide flat screen television interior
Lighting terrifying the fireflies that hoped to find a mate in the night.
And there was music, and singing, such frightful singing that struck
The bitches to abort, microphonic singing that confused the birds
To migrate, heroic singing applauded by the explosive cough
Of tuberculosic air bags and sticky pipes, rotten teeth, swollen gums
And all the time in the world to dye their hairs down to the roots.
Why not indeed, after many years of servitude and petty larceny
Rewarded by an old age pension, why not happy happy indeed
After a trail of disposable wives and the last to keep for the laundry
Happy happy not only for oneself but also for those in great need
Of alcohol in their blood, smoke in their lungs and a dildo in their ears!
Tainted with nicotine delights, the pseudo-fiesta fares foraged from
The Gardens of Others, cooked over fires burning from sinful woods
Stolen – no – taken, from the old woman who died of a weak lung
Because they poisoned the country air with their happy happy.
They had lights that ran from the roof to the ground, like the rats
That infested the debris from their food and vomit, yet the decor
Was impressive, garish without pretense of poverty, tasteless ersatz
Of glittering plastic and foil, and wide flat screen television interior
Lighting terrifying the fireflies that hoped to find a mate in the night.
And there was music, and singing, such frightful singing that struck
The bitches to abort, microphonic singing that confused the birds
To migrate, heroic singing applauded by the explosive cough
Of tuberculosic air bags and sticky pipes, rotten teeth, swollen gums
And all the time in the world to dye their hairs down to the roots.
Why not indeed, after many years of servitude and petty larceny
Rewarded by an old age pension, why not happy happy indeed
After a trail of disposable wives and the last to keep for the laundry
Happy happy not only for oneself but also for those in great need
Of alcohol in their blood, smoke in their lungs and a dildo in their ears!
Written by absinthe
(Fats)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Jalopy
I do not trust this bucket of bones body,
Ramshackle, jury-rigged, clanging as it rumbles,
puttering farts pumping air bubbles through awkward piping
angles that don't quite close,
lines not quite straight,
all put together half-assed,
one mistake covering another.
I do not like driving it through my day-to-day
or on long trips far out of help's reach
relying on it like a child on a driving drunk
probably being fine.
A friend of mine said, "A man will drive himself mad
listening to the sounds a car makes,"
And so for years I chose not to listen at all,
washing my ears squeaky clean in decibel waters,
letting irregular heartbeats and phantom lumps live like dings I never noticed.
But the beating swelled from beneath the gas pedal,
Overcame the tumult as if to yank a tow chain named for my children
And I woke again, attuned to the whole chattering lot.
I can't help but give ear to every hum and interference,
squealing and crack of corner-bones on my aluminum can frame,
the slow glug of oil through my veins that probably means nothing
until it doesn't.
I can't ignore the certain knowledge that my innards are rusting, waiting to err,
that one day without question they will crumble and bottom out like viscera.
I can't be the dilapidated pile on the highway curb, ragless window, rotting
while my loves walk unsheltered,
for damage fast eroding,
jalopies themselves.
Ramshackle, jury-rigged, clanging as it rumbles,
puttering farts pumping air bubbles through awkward piping
angles that don't quite close,
lines not quite straight,
all put together half-assed,
one mistake covering another.
I do not like driving it through my day-to-day
or on long trips far out of help's reach
relying on it like a child on a driving drunk
probably being fine.
A friend of mine said, "A man will drive himself mad
listening to the sounds a car makes,"
And so for years I chose not to listen at all,
washing my ears squeaky clean in decibel waters,
letting irregular heartbeats and phantom lumps live like dings I never noticed.
But the beating swelled from beneath the gas pedal,
Overcame the tumult as if to yank a tow chain named for my children
And I woke again, attuned to the whole chattering lot.
I can't help but give ear to every hum and interference,
squealing and crack of corner-bones on my aluminum can frame,
the slow glug of oil through my veins that probably means nothing
until it doesn't.
I can't ignore the certain knowledge that my innards are rusting, waiting to err,
that one day without question they will crumble and bottom out like viscera.
I can't be the dilapidated pile on the highway curb, ragless window, rotting
while my loves walk unsheltered,
for damage fast eroding,
jalopies themselves.
Written by hgnichols
(Harry Nichols)
Go To Page
Related submission no longer exists.
Lakeside 23/30
There is something elemental
in telepathy,
something that returns to how man watched
the fire in the shelter of a dark place and
pointed to his own lungs
conjuring conjunction.
This equals that. In-between of sleep. Rewinded
connections. Rewards of holes by a red-
crested woodpecker.
This transient place of repair and
removing bugs. Even knowing all this,
I am reluctant to close my eyes and drop
the track of germination,
even back then,
I crawled walls seeking infinity of restless
recording. Trying to count all the letters
I finger drew on the walls.
Picasso reiterated
the image of bull in all its forms all the while
it’s on its hundredth gambit of grass into cud.
All these years I have gestated
the thoughts
and here they are. Sleepless nights and our
telepathy has finally time-travelled as lines.
If that’s not a waking
dream, I don’t know what is.
in telepathy,
something that returns to how man watched
the fire in the shelter of a dark place and
pointed to his own lungs
conjuring conjunction.
This equals that. In-between of sleep. Rewinded
connections. Rewards of holes by a red-
crested woodpecker.
This transient place of repair and
removing bugs. Even knowing all this,
I am reluctant to close my eyes and drop
the track of germination,
even back then,
I crawled walls seeking infinity of restless
recording. Trying to count all the letters
I finger drew on the walls.
Picasso reiterated
the image of bull in all its forms all the while
it’s on its hundredth gambit of grass into cud.
All these years I have gestated
the thoughts
and here they are. Sleepless nights and our
telepathy has finally time-travelled as lines.
If that’s not a waking
dream, I don’t know what is.
Written by yelluw_always
(Haley Quaquaversal)
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