Poetry competition CLOSED 7th July 2019 1:45pm
WINNER
Ahavati (Tams)
Ahavati (Tams)
RUNNER-UP:
David_Macleod
Doppelgänger: the DUP Oscars
Sweet Grass🌾
( after ImperfectedStone aka Poppy )
( a Sonnet )
I walk an endless mile with fringe that sways,
The pony beads, their colors, story tells.
My hair is braided on which sunrise plays,
And silver cones that jingle just like bells.
I hear the metered drumbeat as life’s clue.
For prairie fox and birds among the blades,
A lush great plains sweet grass ablaze with dew;
The foraging resumes as footstep fades.
It’s all my sanctuary and my friends;
The sky, the clouds & moon to rest beneath.
In sagebrush I hear prairie chicken hens,
I wear, of mustard green & mint, a wreath.
I take my basket filled with where I roam,
And go back to my home away from home.
My tribute to ImperfectedStone aka Poppy Banks
I started to get to know Poppy’s wonderful garden “Rockhollow”, where she lives in England, when we participated in DUP’s NaPoWriMo 2019 through last April. I became such an ardent follower of the beautifully detailed entries, there was no question in my mind how I would emulate Poppy’s soul-satisfying horticultural series. And, instead of an English garden, I have transported the reader to a region of the American Great Plains, where the speaker of “Sweet Grass” is my version of Poppy as an Arapaho woman. If you have yet to be introduced to her “Rockhollow” series, do yourself a huge favor and start reading, and be transformed. —Jade
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/ImperfectedStone/
( a Sonnet )
I walk an endless mile with fringe that sways,
The pony beads, their colors, story tells.
My hair is braided on which sunrise plays,
And silver cones that jingle just like bells.
I hear the metered drumbeat as life’s clue.
For prairie fox and birds among the blades,
A lush great plains sweet grass ablaze with dew;
The foraging resumes as footstep fades.
It’s all my sanctuary and my friends;
The sky, the clouds & moon to rest beneath.
In sagebrush I hear prairie chicken hens,
I wear, of mustard green & mint, a wreath.
I take my basket filled with where I roam,
And go back to my home away from home.
My tribute to ImperfectedStone aka Poppy Banks
I started to get to know Poppy’s wonderful garden “Rockhollow”, where she lives in England, when we participated in DUP’s NaPoWriMo 2019 through last April. I became such an ardent follower of the beautifully detailed entries, there was no question in my mind how I would emulate Poppy’s soul-satisfying horticultural series. And, instead of an English garden, I have transported the reader to a region of the American Great Plains, where the speaker of “Sweet Grass” is my version of Poppy as an Arapaho woman. If you have yet to be introduced to her “Rockhollow” series, do yourself a huge favor and start reading, and be transformed. —Jade
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/ImperfectedStone/
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Quoth tha DaDa, evermore
metaphorical metafours
for ( some reason)
confuscian twilight
time
again ?
A Universal(ly)
twinkle wink o me eye
while darkness (dis)appears
wit all this
finality ,
then mornin’ rise’n
as if nothing (no thing)
happen(stanced)
into the sum of my
shortened life-
time being almost over
from being anything a’tall
(The light being too bright to remember the stars
ye wished upon ( up up and on) )
a dreaming replica (of my chyld),
wit
more than this
to be seen a'gin,
when aye'm finally gone
&
poets a'griev(anced) for such unhappy’daze
lacking
( of )
me
we'll see.
we'll see.
(Won't wee?)
how sincere
aye(eye) I say ,
Quoth tha DaDa
evermore ,
metaphorically
that be. . .
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Ahavati\\\\\\\\\\\\\\2019////////////
~
Daniel Kozak
dkzksaxxas_DanielX (DadaDoggyDannyKozakSaxfn)
Danny is the reason I am here. We met in a poetry group on facebook well over five years ago. I saw one of his posts and was mesmerized by his break from conventional vocabulary as well as form. He will always be one of my favorite poets here on DU. He is an iconic legend whose style will remain unmatched in the poetic community.
He is currently battling cancer and heart disease, and I cannot imagine DU without him. Much Love, Danny.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/dkzksaxxas_DanielX/
for ( some reason)
confuscian twilight
time
again ?
A Universal(ly)
twinkle wink o me eye
while darkness (dis)appears
wit all this
finality ,
then mornin’ rise’n
as if nothing (no thing)
happen(stanced)
into the sum of my
shortened life-
time being almost over
from being anything a’tall
(The light being too bright to remember the stars
ye wished upon ( up up and on) )
a dreaming replica (of my chyld),
wit
more than this
to be seen a'gin,
when aye'm finally gone
&
poets a'griev(anced) for such unhappy’daze
lacking
( of )
me
we'll see.
we'll see.
(Won't wee?)
how sincere
aye(eye) I say ,
Quoth tha DaDa
evermore ,
metaphorically
that be. . .
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Ahavati\\\\\\\\\\\\\\2019////////////
~
Daniel Kozak
dkzksaxxas_DanielX (DadaDoggyDannyKozakSaxfn)
Danny is the reason I am here. We met in a poetry group on facebook well over five years ago. I saw one of his posts and was mesmerized by his break from conventional vocabulary as well as form. He will always be one of my favorite poets here on DU. He is an iconic legend whose style will remain unmatched in the poetic community.
He is currently battling cancer and heart disease, and I cannot imagine DU without him. Much Love, Danny.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/dkzksaxxas_DanielX/
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
Transmundane
I laugh, and dance throughout the atmosphere,
A spirit borne by light, and wind, and cloud!
I sing a song that men shall never hear,
performing for the universe, uncowed!
No form is fit to house the transmundane,
my essence is pure joy of life itself.
A fickle sprite, I'm innocently vain,
I fear no poverty, or covet wealth!
This game, called love, that earth-bound mortals play
seems such a waste of time and energy!
Their lives so short, then ending in decay,
a stunning contrast to my reverie!
This passing thought, of mankind’s misery,
dismissed without intentional disdain,
as, like the wind, I have no history
to give me pause, or memories of pain!
Written by ReggiePoet
(Reggie)
Go To Page
I confess I wrote this last year; yet, I discovered that The Transmundane does indeed exist among us: She is Sky_dancer!
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems-by/Sky_dancer/
She Danced On The Moon
Writer of amazing potential
(I say potential because you keep deleting everything)
spewed it across the written canvas for all to read
your story, emotions and fine perspective
Queen of the metaphor
one of the truly troubled artists
depths so deep you kept hidden
even from me
A beautiful mystery
she got high, danced on the moon
caused havock in the forums
then fucked off never to be found again
Where ever your feet tap and sway
whatever lake you sit beside
I know she's happy
For Miki moondancer wherever she may be
Writer of amazing potential
(I say potential because you keep deleting everything)
spewed it across the written canvas for all to read
your story, emotions and fine perspective
Queen of the metaphor
one of the truly troubled artists
depths so deep you kept hidden
even from me
A beautiful mystery
she got high, danced on the moon
caused havock in the forums
then fucked off never to be found again
Where ever your feet tap and sway
whatever lake you sit beside
I know she's happy
For Miki moondancer wherever she may be
Game Of Queens (Inspired By Ahavati)
The chess pieces were all in a row,
intents liked up for the game.
Whether or not to win was
the first question,
Whether or not to take the journey
was the last.
In the beginning the pawns
were prepared for slaughter,
later they saw its purpose in
relationships to placements
of higher echelons -
They were the important ones
despite terminal moves,
all was fair in a game of no winners
or losers, only survivors in witness to
a higher purpose and the learning of it.
The journey was the absorption of
all strategies and the mastering of them
with a prayer for the other side.
In the heat of checkmate, the Queen in
full view is a player, not merely a piece
or a member of a board.
She had watched intently
her fatherly ascendants
in order to prepare for this moment,
to be placed here and to stand alone -
She knew her strength and was not afraid of it,
she had been a pawn once.
Her guard was retained in
placement of her intentions
to rise above the game,
the favor of which she had already won,
and she knew it's secret,
she was always a step ahead -
The queens were the kingpins
on which the kingdom hinged;
they were everything..
.....
Inspired by Ahavati's Napowrimo 2019 series which had a powerful presence and a running theme of strength through wisdom gained throughout life.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/345570-afterward-proverbs-napowrimo-2019/
intents liked up for the game.
Whether or not to win was
the first question,
Whether or not to take the journey
was the last.
In the beginning the pawns
were prepared for slaughter,
later they saw its purpose in
relationships to placements
of higher echelons -
They were the important ones
despite terminal moves,
all was fair in a game of no winners
or losers, only survivors in witness to
a higher purpose and the learning of it.
The journey was the absorption of
all strategies and the mastering of them
with a prayer for the other side.
In the heat of checkmate, the Queen in
full view is a player, not merely a piece
or a member of a board.
She had watched intently
her fatherly ascendants
in order to prepare for this moment,
to be placed here and to stand alone -
She knew her strength and was not afraid of it,
she had been a pawn once.
Her guard was retained in
placement of her intentions
to rise above the game,
the favor of which she had already won,
and she knew it's secret,
she was always a step ahead -
The queens were the kingpins
on which the kingdom hinged;
they were everything..
.....
Inspired by Ahavati's Napowrimo 2019 series which had a powerful presence and a running theme of strength through wisdom gained throughout life.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/345570-afterward-proverbs-napowrimo-2019/
Written by PoetsRevenge
Go To Page
Anonymous
Be sure no moth stows away in the lingerie
I’ve started a scrapbook of places I’ve been to, vicariously, through his slideshow avatar.
It’s like a looking glass, and I’ve become an Alice in Wonderland. So where do we go today?
In a gondola?, riding the canals of Venice, followed by our pet hippo ( that we picked up going down the Congo ), with our luggage strapped on its back as he yawns.
Or sailing up the swollen Nile in a dhow he rented from a friend of his from Iraq. To offset the cost, he traded in a yak, so merrily on we went. How did he manage to keep the mosquitos from biting?
It’s for reasons like these and many more,
Why it’s always fun to travel with him.
Everywhere we go, no matter what for,
There’s no end to the sights of ev’ry whim.
Whether here or there, we’re at the party,
Or at a county fair, we take first prize.
And while on a tear, be square, be arty,
Or on a double dare, eat twice the pies.
The Near, the Middle, and the Far East rocks!
The North & South, the East & West are best!
For all your mem’ories, just set your clocks,
Don’t start to count, just come we’ll do the rest!
My tribute to one of our newer DU members; none other than nomoth😃
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/nomoth/
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
For gritty realism with humour, let John take you on a tour of society’s odd-balls, and show you their humanity is ours too. Razor-sharp observance of American cultural crazy-stuff combined with an integrity of collective soul, pressure-washes all lazy assumptions.
Jardim ( A Villanelle )
By my garden gate’s first-light yawn
reveals entry to the Jardim*
awaiting patiently each dawn
Blue daisy and black-eyed Susan
misty flowers can scarce be seen
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn
Rows of pots and trellised arbor
flora buds in need of weeding
awaiting patiently each dawn
Calla lilies, peony rose,
buttercups and hearts a bleeding
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn
What have I reaped but what was sown;
beauty emerged from seedlings
awaiting patiently each dawn
Every evening I dream and long
for daily blooms and birds' sing-song
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn
awaiting patiently each dawn
~
Josh
Josh is the King of Form and constantly amazes me with the precision he executes them with. I have come to love his emergent leadership from a mature perspective, and admire him as an integral member of the Deep Side.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/Josh/
reveals entry to the Jardim*
awaiting patiently each dawn
Blue daisy and black-eyed Susan
misty flowers can scarce be seen
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn
Rows of pots and trellised arbor
flora buds in need of weeding
awaiting patiently each dawn
Calla lilies, peony rose,
buttercups and hearts a bleeding
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn
What have I reaped but what was sown;
beauty emerged from seedlings
awaiting patiently each dawn
Every evening I dream and long
for daily blooms and birds' sing-song
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn
awaiting patiently each dawn
~
Josh
Josh is the King of Form and constantly amazes me with the precision he executes them with. I have come to love his emergent leadership from a mature perspective, and admire him as an integral member of the Deep Side.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/Josh/
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
Dreamlight Friendship
His friendship, like a ribbon of melody
heard only in quiet nights
subtle like roses rustling
as their blooms inhale the wind
it is he that sits under the moon
revels on the wind upon his face
grateful for a life though not perfect
extracting wonder in his every day
he shares no pompous words
nor does he crave for accolades
just a right to exhale inhale
on his own little patch of sun
a caring hello...telepathic touch
of a kindred spirit
lift his aloneness a little
the smile on his lips linger longer
he has the quiet fire of a poet
an element that symbolises strength
and he sends flowers
unpretentious friendship.
*this poem was entered in a competition here. thank you for reading*
pic-people.desktopnexus.com
Written by Grace
(IDryad)
Go To Page
Of wind & rain, birds & you
( a note of ambient sounds )
I hear a random trill
outside my door
and stop
to lean my head back;
strained eyes closed,
both hands slip off my
lap like a
rush of wind,
where a leather journal
lies open; lined paper,
with inkings
that faintly echo
their vignettes:
cicada shiver
in the rooted trees
from their humid shrill
above the swamp.
It’s times like this
when summer’s young,
nothing like it
will become,
when days are
stretched
‘till after ten at night,
and reason
takes its leave
in flight above the
time that now begins,
to let go the sins
of heat that
I’ve been shackled to
as an inmate
who is
determined
to bust out
of prison and pain
like so many
cloudbursts, of rain!
Guards in their towers
don’t see me
as I venture out
stealthily,
only going late at night
when the fevered air
has turned to mist
I’ve blended in,
and won’t be missed.
Though thoughts of you
in southern climes
are often on my mind,
like soothing sounds of
ambient that I never hear,
but I can always feel
as if by touch, a tap
where then I turn
and look back across
the stillness of the
park I always walk.
In time perhaps,
It’s where your words
will find me then.
Written in tribute to Ahavati.
I hear a random trill
outside my door
and stop
to lean my head back;
strained eyes closed,
both hands slip off my
lap like a
rush of wind,
where a leather journal
lies open; lined paper,
with inkings
that faintly echo
their vignettes:
cicada shiver
in the rooted trees
from their humid shrill
above the swamp.
It’s times like this
when summer’s young,
nothing like it
will become,
when days are
stretched
‘till after ten at night,
and reason
takes its leave
in flight above the
time that now begins,
to let go the sins
of heat that
I’ve been shackled to
as an inmate
who is
determined
to bust out
of prison and pain
like so many
cloudbursts, of rain!
Guards in their towers
don’t see me
as I venture out
stealthily,
only going late at night
when the fevered air
has turned to mist
I’ve blended in,
and won’t be missed.
Though thoughts of you
in southern climes
are often on my mind,
like soothing sounds of
ambient that I never hear,
but I can always feel
as if by touch, a tap
where then I turn
and look back across
the stillness of the
park I always walk.
In time perhaps,
It’s where your words
will find me then.
Written in tribute to Ahavati.
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
Go To Page
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/yelluw_always/
Yelluw_always is one of DUP’s deaf poets - and from that pointed experience of life I have been educated through her poetry to understand humanity with a keener eye. She will do the same for you - if you let her.
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Late Night Automat
Too many years to count
Had passed
But there she was
In a late night automat
(isn’t that how it always starts)
Looking like a painting
Cracked by too much light
As she sipped her coffee
We talked all night
In the ways of strangers
Reacquainting, each hoping
The other understood
What they missed before.
She was a late-night loner
Too caffeinated to see
Beyond her lipstick-stained mug
And me, I needed to feel warm
“So, what do you do now”
She asked nonchalantly
I couldn’t say unemployed
Down and out between jobs
I could barely afford the coffee
We shared
I couldn’t take the pity
Look on her face, again
“Sales”, I explained
Like it was an affliction
A bane in my soul
She was gracious
But knew I was lying
Also knew deep down
I would be gone by morning
She was still single—
We walked to her place
Around the corner
And for a time, I was warm
Until light shredded the illusion
Her eyes didn’t sting
Morning mist and dew
She’d been here before
Knew the routine
Fed me good before I left
“Don’t work too hard” she said
Looking like an old painting
Cracked by too much light
As she sipped her coffee
Never saw her again after that-
But heard years later
She’d married pretty good
I hoped she'd finally found that thing
I could never give her
We were just too different
And yet wanted so badly to love
the other
~
highlyfunctional
highlyfunctional is one of the more unique poets on DU. His poetry springs from a reservoir of personal experience combined with human discovery and recognition of the human spirit when affected by unrequited love and carnal desire. While many of his pieces are erotic, many more shadow noir, reflecting those black and white films of mystery, intrigue, and perils of love. Yet the underlying essence is desire for truth, the real deal of a relationship.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/highlyfunctional/
Had passed
But there she was
In a late night automat
(isn’t that how it always starts)
Looking like a painting
Cracked by too much light
As she sipped her coffee
We talked all night
In the ways of strangers
Reacquainting, each hoping
The other understood
What they missed before.
She was a late-night loner
Too caffeinated to see
Beyond her lipstick-stained mug
And me, I needed to feel warm
“So, what do you do now”
She asked nonchalantly
I couldn’t say unemployed
Down and out between jobs
I could barely afford the coffee
We shared
I couldn’t take the pity
Look on her face, again
“Sales”, I explained
Like it was an affliction
A bane in my soul
She was gracious
But knew I was lying
Also knew deep down
I would be gone by morning
She was still single—
We walked to her place
Around the corner
And for a time, I was warm
Until light shredded the illusion
Her eyes didn’t sting
Morning mist and dew
She’d been here before
Knew the routine
Fed me good before I left
“Don’t work too hard” she said
Looking like an old painting
Cracked by too much light
As she sipped her coffee
Never saw her again after that-
But heard years later
She’d married pretty good
I hoped she'd finally found that thing
I could never give her
We were just too different
And yet wanted so badly to love
the other
~
highlyfunctional
highlyfunctional is one of the more unique poets on DU. His poetry springs from a reservoir of personal experience combined with human discovery and recognition of the human spirit when affected by unrequited love and carnal desire. While many of his pieces are erotic, many more shadow noir, reflecting those black and white films of mystery, intrigue, and perils of love. Yet the underlying essence is desire for truth, the real deal of a relationship.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/highlyfunctional/
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
