Poetry competition CLOSED 29th October 2019 8:29pm
WINNER
Josh (Joshua Bond)
Josh (Joshua Bond)
Page:
Shifting Shades Of The Season
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
Personify death & re-birth
The November show (episode 7) is coming up folks, and we would like to again offer up the hallowed end spot of the show to feature your poetry on the podcast. The podcast goes out on multiple platforms including Spotify and Apple Podcasts, so it’s great exposure.
If you've not heard the podcast yet you can listen to past episodes here: https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/podcasts/
In honour of Halloween, the changing season and all things spooky (including Brexit 😱 ) we would like you to write a poem that personifies death & re-birth as a bit of a challenge.
You can approach this anyway you like, be creative as long as the personification is evident.
Obviously we would really love if you would be able to read and record the poem yourself for us, but please do not feel pressured. We (or a member of the reading team currently being formed) will be able to read the poem out for you if you don't want too. We understand.
Rules
* New poems only
* Audio / video / songs accepted
* Up to 2 entries per human being
* No extreme content / extreme erotica / a little swearing is fine.
* Winner agrees to have their poem read on The Poetcast Project November podcast.
* No word count, just don't go mad
* Any questions, please feel free to ask.
Good luck!
-TPP
Caesarian
They found the child lying
deep in the depths of my womb,
along with other past lives
fermenting into mud
in their cold, watery graves.
Lifted up from the darkness,
five shadowy figures
came and took her from me,
while I could not say how
this had me feel.
But soon it made itself known,
as the new emptiness
opened its mocking jaw,
as clouds of silt slowly rose
from surrounding memories.
There was turbulence
in these waters, to
acquiesce thieves in the night
as they committed Rebirth,
leaving me bereft.
As Death, the passage of Time
means nothing to me—
and each arrival
hears me like a
whale sinking into the deep.
I am a placid liquid
surrounded by Nature’s calm,
reflecting bygone worlds
from where all were born,
and where all shall return.
I am that woman
returning my daughter
to me, her Mother—
so I watch, and I’ll wait,
reminded of Time passing.
I am Death, the other side,
where all my children
in this embrace
shall be equally mourned,
if I should lose even one.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Wildflowers
Lay down, ye little beauties,
make haste before the winds
of winter’s cruel and frostbit fields,
shall come around, agin.
Shake off your dried and golden husks
and scatter all your seeds,
lest tangled vines do take ahold—
tares among the wheat.
O, the petals, silkened, once
retained their rosy glow,
until the days of shadows, long—
“Adieu, we must now, go!”
Sleep, now, darlings, in the soils
a blanket for the days
of wistful skies and gray-hued air,
and sunlight’s stunted rays.
Alas, and lo—we shall traverse
the tricky, glacial rift,
until the thaw from April’s touch
and slumber’s days do lift.
What mysteries abide within
the places where blooms go
to shed their skins and rise anew
in fields where they have sown.
Fare thee well, and blessed be,
I’ll touch you in the days
when stalks are tall and flowers, full—
I’ll walk amongst your waves.
Lay down, ye little beauties,
make haste before the winds
of winter’s cruel and frostbit fields,
shall come around, agin.
Shake off your dried and golden husks
and scatter all your seeds,
lest tangled vines do take ahold—
tares among the wheat.
O, the petals, silkened, once
retained their rosy glow,
until the days of shadows, long—
“Adieu, we must now, go!”
Sleep, now, darlings, in the soils
a blanket for the days
of wistful skies and gray-hued air,
and sunlight’s stunted rays.
Alas, and lo—we shall traverse
the tricky, glacial rift,
until the thaw from April’s touch
and slumber’s days do lift.
What mysteries abide within
the places where blooms go
to shed their skins and rise anew
in fields where they have sown.
Fare thee well, and blessed be,
I’ll touch you in the days
when stalks are tall and flowers, full—
I’ll walk amongst your waves.
Times shades
A span
From begining to the end
The register was called
Our hands did then ascend
Our meaning toil
It gave us roots in which to grow
Some had airs and pretences
Some earth under finger nail
Some to blossom some to fail
Some mighty oak
Some saplings snapped and frail
And there was mortality
Nailed on a cross for each
That expired was but a trial
And faith was not exclusive
For that stairway to heaven
To die and degradation to achieve
Its steps just reinvention
Of form, not just what we have been
That's what I believe
But some cant see wood for trees
From begining to the end
The register was called
Our hands did then ascend
Our meaning toil
It gave us roots in which to grow
Some had airs and pretences
Some earth under finger nail
Some to blossom some to fail
Some mighty oak
Some saplings snapped and frail
And there was mortality
Nailed on a cross for each
That expired was but a trial
And faith was not exclusive
For that stairway to heaven
To die and degradation to achieve
Its steps just reinvention
Of form, not just what we have been
That's what I believe
But some cant see wood for trees
Written by slipalong
Go To Page
She who completes the moon
Moving (to) the rhythm
she gives and she takes.
Expanding.
Contracting.
Focusing upward
she births the moon.
Infinite times, full bright
Moving inward, now a sliver.
Blackness.
Fullness.
Light.
She enterres herself as readily as she begets.
Refractory period spent in reverence to her own divinity.
She stills.
Plays in worship of her utter darkness.
Satiated, she comes in rays of glorious light.
R.
she gives and she takes.
Expanding.
Contracting.
Focusing upward
she births the moon.
Infinite times, full bright
Moving inward, now a sliver.
Blackness.
Fullness.
Light.
She enterres herself as readily as she begets.
Refractory period spent in reverence to her own divinity.
She stills.
Plays in worship of her utter darkness.
Satiated, she comes in rays of glorious light.
R.
Written by Rachelleundrgrd
Go To Page
Josh said:
FIRST RAIN
After months without,
it comes unapologetically —
greying skies had been hinting a couple of days,
the wind adding its signal of change,
dry ground licking its lips in anticipation,
believing reward for good behaviour, resilience and fruitful labour
was soon due.
My months
of faithful watering throughout the Summer,
viewed by plants as discriminatory and laced with ignorant bias,
are swept into history as the whole region is soaked,
equally —
generating gasping hours of sensual bliss
across the landscape.
In the garden
delicate petals of a second flowering
of roses are hurled onto the hammered ground
during the grand finale of a massive tropical deluge.
Suddenly it stops, like a passing motorcade - gone;
and sounds of glistened dripping fill the air.
I step outside to smell the moment,
that once-a-year reminder of salvation’s cycle,
and pick up some petals
arrange them mandala-like on an old plate
where they lie in state
before being buried back
into the wet
earth.
FIRST RAIN
After months without,
it comes unapologetically —
greying skies had been hinting a couple of days,
the wind adding its signal of change,
dry ground licking its lips in anticipation,
believing reward for good behaviour, resilience and fruitful labour
was soon due.
My months
of faithful watering throughout the Summer,
viewed by plants as discriminatory and laced with ignorant bias,
are swept into history as the whole region is soaked,
equally —
generating gasping hours of sensual bliss
across the landscape.
In the garden
delicate petals of a second flowering
of roses are hurled onto the hammered ground
during the grand finale of a massive tropical deluge.
Suddenly it stops, like a passing motorcade - gone;
and sounds of glistened dripping fill the air.
I step outside to smell the moment,
that once-a-year reminder of salvation’s cycle,
and pick up some petals
arrange them mandala-like on an old plate
where they lie in state
before being buried back
into the wet
earth.
The Cemetery Groundskeeper
I think maybe they don’t understand
the hard love of tending frozen grounds.
Keeping watch in mornings where your stomach folds in on itself, cringing against the cold,
barely blinking to defy whatever it is that sees beauty
and wants to stomp it out.
Sometimes it’s kids with their indiscriminate anger.
Sometimes it’s wealthy men growing nearer to the grave than their money can prevent.
With cold faith, I tend to the soil’s sleeping womb,
trusting its secret fertility,
that springtime waits to awaken her wild sex
on the roar of birds and rain.
They see my clothes and callouses and my deathly house and think of me as a grifter,
conning a coin to row you endlessly nowhere,
but I am no such thing.
I am a primer coat on the mural.
I am the empty lot where the storied bar once stood.
I am the terrible question on the heels of the great feat,
The usher of tomorrow through the night.
the hard love of tending frozen grounds.
Keeping watch in mornings where your stomach folds in on itself, cringing against the cold,
barely blinking to defy whatever it is that sees beauty
and wants to stomp it out.
Sometimes it’s kids with their indiscriminate anger.
Sometimes it’s wealthy men growing nearer to the grave than their money can prevent.
With cold faith, I tend to the soil’s sleeping womb,
trusting its secret fertility,
that springtime waits to awaken her wild sex
on the roar of birds and rain.
They see my clothes and callouses and my deathly house and think of me as a grifter,
conning a coin to row you endlessly nowhere,
but I am no such thing.
I am a primer coat on the mural.
I am the empty lot where the storied bar once stood.
I am the terrible question on the heels of the great feat,
The usher of tomorrow through the night.
Written by hgnichols
(Harry Nichols)
Go To Page
Born of Fire
Somewhere deep in the woods
L
I
G
H
T
N
I
N
G
S
T
R
I
K
E
S
A tree catches fire
and soon almost the
entire forest
goes
up
in
flames.
Beetles smell the smoke miles away,
They swarm the forest and lay their eggs in the charred trees.
The eggs hatch and the larvae feed on the dead bark.
Birds too smell the smoke and flock there to feed on the
Bountiful food.
Woodpeckers peck through the deadwood,
Creating nests inside the dead trees and raise their babies.
A variety of flowers and shrubs begin to sprout,
The heat of the fire seems to have opened their seeds
Growing out of the soil enriched by the fire.
The flowers attract different kinds of insects and other birds as well.
Deer and all sorts of creatures then come to feed on the fresh grass
and vegetation which the forest fire has made more nourishing.
The dead trees fall, the decaying wood fertilizes the soil.
Another cycle begins…
A new generation of trees grow
And the forest,
Born of fire
Has returned to life.
L
I
G
H
T
N
I
N
G
S
T
R
I
K
E
S
A tree catches fire
and soon almost the
entire forest
goes
up
in
flames.
Beetles smell the smoke miles away,
They swarm the forest and lay their eggs in the charred trees.
The eggs hatch and the larvae feed on the dead bark.
Birds too smell the smoke and flock there to feed on the
Bountiful food.
Woodpeckers peck through the deadwood,
Creating nests inside the dead trees and raise their babies.
A variety of flowers and shrubs begin to sprout,
The heat of the fire seems to have opened their seeds
Growing out of the soil enriched by the fire.
The flowers attract different kinds of insects and other birds as well.
Deer and all sorts of creatures then come to feed on the fresh grass
and vegetation which the forest fire has made more nourishing.
The dead trees fall, the decaying wood fertilizes the soil.
Another cycle begins…
A new generation of trees grow
And the forest,
Born of fire
Has returned to life.
Written by wallyroo92
Go To Page
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Garnet Recollections
In all my beauty, I am undone slowly
after a season of changes.
Summer is remembered here,
under the canopies of Autumn's colors;
it is underfoot like pine and spruce cones
and a carpet of burnt sienna needles
over still green grass,
it hangs in dewy air in spirit form.
Every glorious Summer day is recollected
and displayed among Autumn's bounty;
there is no true death here, what falls are
still living things in motion.
Autumn doesn't yet know Winter, it is
oblivious to its fate; it is still a child
celebrating in carefree play.
The changing leaves are worn with pride
on seasoned trees, their barks encrusted
with lichens in their primordial wisdom.
How can a death be so alive as
a falling leaf is?
In this same way, part of me dies
as Summer does yet is never lost,
but repurposed; this is the birth of
hope and faith and the dream of Spring:
To envision new growth
and to be reborn.
.....
after a season of changes.
Summer is remembered here,
under the canopies of Autumn's colors;
it is underfoot like pine and spruce cones
and a carpet of burnt sienna needles
over still green grass,
it hangs in dewy air in spirit form.
Every glorious Summer day is recollected
and displayed among Autumn's bounty;
there is no true death here, what falls are
still living things in motion.
Autumn doesn't yet know Winter, it is
oblivious to its fate; it is still a child
celebrating in carefree play.
The changing leaves are worn with pride
on seasoned trees, their barks encrusted
with lichens in their primordial wisdom.
How can a death be so alive as
a falling leaf is?
In this same way, part of me dies
as Summer does yet is never lost,
but repurposed; this is the birth of
hope and faith and the dream of Spring:
To envision new growth
and to be reborn.
.....
Written by PoetsRevenge
Go To Page
Anonymous
Congratulations to Josh on the win for this one! There were some excellent entries to this.
We’ll be using this at the hallowed end spot on the November podcast 😊
👏🏻 👏🏻 👏🏻 🏆
Thank you all for supporting the podcast! Until next month guys 😊
We’ll be using this at the hallowed end spot on the November podcast 😊
👏🏻 👏🏻 👏🏻 🏆
Thank you all for supporting the podcast! Until next month guys 😊
I'm very honoured to win this TPP comp on the theme of Nature's seasons, Nature herself providing the timely stimulus too. I'm always amazed and intrigued too to read the diversity of poems by other poets on the same theme - this group no exception.
