Poetry competition CLOSED 23rd July 2019 11:36pm
WINNER
Eerie
Eerie
A Set of Five Short Poems
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
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Anonymous
Anonymous
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GENETIC MEMORY OF HONEY
MORNING
you spoke orange light
fearless creature movements
but fearing to turn inside out
taking more than your share
of oxygen fucking so violently
MIDDAY
we parted as cowards or snails do
keeping ourselves and our limbs in
more than we’d managed to in 10 days
I turned back to watch you walk
AFTERNOON
came home came back to where we’d left
and slowly I realised you’d left so little of you
I could only find traces of coconut
hair in the fabric of a towel
fuck in the shorts you’d worn
NIGHT
I slept short and dreamful
I slept with my right arm
still extended to the wall
the next day is today and I know
I’ve to erase you/clean/spray/wipe you away
HONEYCOMB FORMATION
after I eat I sit cross legged in the corner
of my room/pull a long hair of yours
from my sock and lay it on the table
near a melted star to either
gather dust or blow away to gather dust
.
Written by MrAlptraum
(Mr A)
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MORNING SOUNDTRACK
I. Cantante de Ducha
Part curtain, SCREEEEEE! riding the rod
SHEEEEE! Frigid herald announces hot blast
Crowd roars...okay, okay the water roars
I'd like to do a Blues number for y'all...
a JT jam "Well I'm a steamroller baby..."
II. Cantante de Vestirse
Carole King, "Tapestry," side A
Memories of little Bobby unwittingly memorizing
On the floor, Indian style, portable phonograph feeds me
50 years gone, I haven't missed a beat
Once mysterious lyrics, now clear, vicissitudes of life informing
III. Cantante de Manejo
Styx...no, Kansas...news maybe? Nah, Kansas
"Carry on my wayward son(red light)mmmmmmmmmmmmmm don't ya cry no more."
Other motorist, with envy, observe
Perhaps thinking. "why can't I be hip like that guy?"
Oh the things we tell ourselves en route to the bus stop.
IV. Escuchante de Autobús
On the bus, music shan't be sung
Within other passenger's hearing
Accordingly I hold my tongue
Evincing my decorous rearing
Ear buds, podcasts no one fearing
V. Caminante de bobble-head
Bus arrives...hard-rocker descending staircase
Craving morning aural caffeine
Distance to office with music timed perfectly
AC/DC, "Let There Be Rock," volume unsafe for any age
Forgo Bon Scott mimicry...opt for Angus Young head-bob
Part curtain, SCREEEEEE! riding the rod
SHEEEEE! Frigid herald announces hot blast
Crowd roars...okay, okay the water roars
I'd like to do a Blues number for y'all...
a JT jam "Well I'm a steamroller baby..."
II. Cantante de Vestirse
Carole King, "Tapestry," side A
Memories of little Bobby unwittingly memorizing
On the floor, Indian style, portable phonograph feeds me
50 years gone, I haven't missed a beat
Once mysterious lyrics, now clear, vicissitudes of life informing
III. Cantante de Manejo
Styx...no, Kansas...news maybe? Nah, Kansas
"Carry on my wayward son(red light)mmmmmmmmmmmmmm don't ya cry no more."
Other motorist, with envy, observe
Perhaps thinking. "why can't I be hip like that guy?"
Oh the things we tell ourselves en route to the bus stop.
IV. Escuchante de Autobús
On the bus, music shan't be sung
Within other passenger's hearing
Accordingly I hold my tongue
Evincing my decorous rearing
Ear buds, podcasts no one fearing
V. Caminante de bobble-head
Bus arrives...hard-rocker descending staircase
Craving morning aural caffeine
Distance to office with music timed perfectly
AC/DC, "Let There Be Rock," volume unsafe for any age
Forgo Bon Scott mimicry...opt for Angus Young head-bob
Written by Gahddess_Worship
(Osomajestuoso)
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Overthinking
Imaginations
Visual projections originating
From my overly stimulated cortex
Converge into
Countless calculations
In the space of seconds
Brooding
I sit on my eggs
Of projections and predictions,
Fervid diligence,
Irrational madness,
"crack", they hatch.
Fear
My body shakes and quakes.
Proceeding from cracked shells
Are eerie interpretations.
"When did I start seeing the future?"
"Now, I guess"
Headache
Overworked organs do protest,
Cerebral pains manifest.
"Can the day get any worse?"
I reach for the bloody pills.
Truth
The truth comes out,
I am way off the mark.
Feelings of relief and disgust,
"I need a break!"
Visual projections originating
From my overly stimulated cortex
Converge into
Countless calculations
In the space of seconds
Brooding
I sit on my eggs
Of projections and predictions,
Fervid diligence,
Irrational madness,
"crack", they hatch.
Fear
My body shakes and quakes.
Proceeding from cracked shells
Are eerie interpretations.
"When did I start seeing the future?"
"Now, I guess"
Headache
Overworked organs do protest,
Cerebral pains manifest.
"Can the day get any worse?"
I reach for the bloody pills.
Truth
The truth comes out,
I am way off the mark.
Feelings of relief and disgust,
"I need a break!"
Written by Kingvirky
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Five senses
Smell
You are my new mown grass
First smell of coffee
When the seal first comes detached
Pervading my being
Bouquets that I draw so close
Sight
You are all natures radiance
A retina to take that picture
Hold and never blink
Portray the best of our instincts
Drawn subtle tones your rainbows self
Touch
The fingers whispered grass
A childs small hand on it first grasp
Affection without need to speak
Each skin that felt so incomplete
Cold or hot, so tactile for those besot
Taste
Sweet the sugar that my taste buds crave
The bitterness when she goes away
Swallow pain like it was mothers recipe
The sour taste when two hearts disagree
Lick the bowl of life, savour it for free
Heard
Intervals they are the dashes and the dots
Hearing is not listening
For all of that cacophony is mostly dross
A step where meanings sometimes gel
The deft of deaf if you hear well
You are my new mown grass
First smell of coffee
When the seal first comes detached
Pervading my being
Bouquets that I draw so close
Sight
You are all natures radiance
A retina to take that picture
Hold and never blink
Portray the best of our instincts
Drawn subtle tones your rainbows self
Touch
The fingers whispered grass
A childs small hand on it first grasp
Affection without need to speak
Each skin that felt so incomplete
Cold or hot, so tactile for those besot
Taste
Sweet the sugar that my taste buds crave
The bitterness when she goes away
Swallow pain like it was mothers recipe
The sour taste when two hearts disagree
Lick the bowl of life, savour it for free
Heard
Intervals they are the dashes and the dots
Hearing is not listening
For all of that cacophony is mostly dross
A step where meanings sometimes gel
The deft of deaf if you hear well
Written by slipalong
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musings upon a morning's...
brush
with death
is what these canines and crowns
get through thrice most days
such horrible stench perhaps the one of decay
if not for the toothbrush's morbid routine
the washing
they say water cleanses, purifies
perhaps a symobilc ritualistic necessity
the bath
a futile fight against (one's) nature
yet we do it, till it is done, for us
the look
into the mirror
oh the mirror
how it tells me the opposite
of what i am
the linen
the wrinkled, scrunched chaos
that is the bed
refuses to let me leave
till it is sorted into order
neat and folded so unlike the insides of my head
the lock
the autopilot ensures
the front gate is reached
before the OCD sends me back
to check one last time
the knob doesn't turn
with death
is what these canines and crowns
get through thrice most days
such horrible stench perhaps the one of decay
if not for the toothbrush's morbid routine
the washing
they say water cleanses, purifies
perhaps a symobilc ritualistic necessity
the bath
a futile fight against (one's) nature
yet we do it, till it is done, for us
the look
into the mirror
oh the mirror
how it tells me the opposite
of what i am
the linen
the wrinkled, scrunched chaos
that is the bed
refuses to let me leave
till it is sorted into order
neat and folded so unlike the insides of my head
the lock
the autopilot ensures
the front gate is reached
before the OCD sends me back
to check one last time
the knob doesn't turn
Written by cold_fusion
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Anonymous
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