Poetry competition CLOSED 30th January 2020 8:50pm
WINNER
EdibleWords
EdibleWords
RUNNERS-UP:
Ahavati
and Kinkpoet
ROAST, the RUTHLESS
Need Mo Whiz, Dumb
I tol u
Yur back-wurd
Get smarts
No bumazz
Smartur
I C yew
Dats wear u gunna
B
If U can spale
Dis is stoop-id
Tryin ta talk 2U
Yur back-wurd
Get smarts
No bumazz
Smartur
I C yew
Dats wear u gunna
B
If U can spale
Dis is stoop-id
Tryin ta talk 2U
Written by EdibleWords
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I am conscious of the Scribe
I have become conscious, lately, that Awesome Others
Seemingly are conscious of my consciousness.
And most of the time I had taken for granted this
Consciousness of consciousness to what consciousness,
My consciousness actually is.
Privately and Publicly, a few of this,
All scriveners, Bards and writers alike
Told me, tell me I am more than amanuensis –
I am that Special Gifted individual
…..who writes.
Have I truly moved from being the scribe
Who jots downs shit for the monk
In a cave in the mountains of Tibet?
When?
When did this transformation take place!
Goddamnit! The love I FEEL
Is making my face wet again.
No longer the artistic assistant,
I am.
I am the monk who scribes in a cave
In the mountains of Tibet.
I am.
I am also the Scribe.
Seemingly are conscious of my consciousness.
And most of the time I had taken for granted this
Consciousness of consciousness to what consciousness,
My consciousness actually is.
Privately and Publicly, a few of this,
All scriveners, Bards and writers alike
Told me, tell me I am more than amanuensis –
I am that Special Gifted individual
…..who writes.
Have I truly moved from being the scribe
Who jots downs shit for the monk
In a cave in the mountains of Tibet?
When?
When did this transformation take place!
Goddamnit! The love I FEEL
Is making my face wet again.
No longer the artistic assistant,
I am.
I am the monk who scribes in a cave
In the mountains of Tibet.
I am.
I am also the Scribe.
Written by Tallen
(earth_empath)
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All I could think with being consciously conscious of our consciousness of you..... is ......
That depends on what the meaning of "is" is.
And now I'm full of salad. Darn stuffed.
Related submission no longer exists.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/202605-the-physics-of-snow-angels/
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. *shakes head*
I thought you knew those little Cretans don't drift around by evening! They crash into walls and make holes! Full of hot cocoa and venom. Best they be kept out making snow angels until evening. Then they'll be too hypothermic to make trouble.
And rather than forgetting your words like so many clean blown angels... get ready for the icy snow bank of histrionics in your face as they shove you down headfirst from behind!!!
Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. *shakes head*
I thought you knew those little Cretans don't drift around by evening! They crash into walls and make holes! Full of hot cocoa and venom. Best they be kept out making snow angels until evening. Then they'll be too hypothermic to make trouble.
And rather than forgetting your words like so many clean blown angels... get ready for the icy snow bank of histrionics in your face as they shove you down headfirst from behind!!!
Nothing is that Serious
“All the great sadnesses, great temptations,
and great mistakes are almost always
the result of loneliness.”
-- José Saramago, Margaret Jull Costa
In the end we all become graves,
our differences united by the same
neglect of weeds and immense
necropolis whose swathed residents
observe from quiet encasements.
Beyond our mounds will spread
giant limbs of balboa, tapping
like trapped hangers behind closet
doors casting macabre shadows
across plastic flowers and dirt.
Visitors and memories are decimated
by time until all that remains
is a hovel of chiseled stone.
History becomes an illusion
of mystery, like that black dog,
there -- just beyond Aiken's bench,
sniffing out with such diligence you
would swear it was seeking the birth
certificate of God, until it cocks its leg
and pisses on the concrete instead.
~
and great mistakes are almost always
the result of loneliness.”
-- José Saramago, Margaret Jull Costa
In the end we all become graves,
our differences united by the same
neglect of weeds and immense
necropolis whose swathed residents
observe from quiet encasements.
Beyond our mounds will spread
giant limbs of balboa, tapping
like trapped hangers behind closet
doors casting macabre shadows
across plastic flowers and dirt.
Visitors and memories are decimated
by time until all that remains
is a hovel of chiseled stone.
History becomes an illusion
of mystery, like that black dog,
there -- just beyond Aiken's bench,
sniffing out with such diligence you
would swear it was seeking the birth
certificate of God, until it cocks its leg
and pisses on the concrete instead.
~
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
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OMG
Ahavati!
That was such gross erotica! I never knew you had it in you!
Old people gotta have fun, too.
Dogs dinner
Did you write what you thought good
Like music it fell and it was rich
And posted it and others swarmed to say a like
Your chest it swelled with haughty pride
Be be be on that self gravy train
You pour it out those thick and lumpy lines
The plate so full of that mundane
That jus that some proclaim as fine
The veg it diced on perfect shape
Like scrabble letters in the rack
You feel the height of that elate
The stanza on the platter stacked
The form and round from stalk in ground
A company to please all tastes
The green sprout of symmetry sound
That assembled crowd that looked so great
The meat its slices overcooked
Dry of metaphor and refrain
And inane rhyme that you mistook
All sinew to rewrite again
Give up the bloody quest you seek
The vegan plate that is good select
Your cooks collective cutlery just to slice that glean
The entrecote given false respect
Condiments of compliments so laid
Foul the palate when it should be clean
The dogs dinner fit to throw away
Hot lukewarm comments that demean
The Michelin stars the poets peak
Its your own roast that tastes the best
Get a like or a add to my favorites list
This poem will instantly destruct itself
Like music it fell and it was rich
And posted it and others swarmed to say a like
Your chest it swelled with haughty pride
Be be be on that self gravy train
You pour it out those thick and lumpy lines
The plate so full of that mundane
That jus that some proclaim as fine
The veg it diced on perfect shape
Like scrabble letters in the rack
You feel the height of that elate
The stanza on the platter stacked
The form and round from stalk in ground
A company to please all tastes
The green sprout of symmetry sound
That assembled crowd that looked so great
The meat its slices overcooked
Dry of metaphor and refrain
And inane rhyme that you mistook
All sinew to rewrite again
Give up the bloody quest you seek
The vegan plate that is good select
Your cooks collective cutlery just to slice that glean
The entrecote given false respect
Condiments of compliments so laid
Foul the palate when it should be clean
The dogs dinner fit to throw away
Hot lukewarm comments that demean
The Michelin stars the poets peak
Its your own roast that tastes the best
Get a like or a add to my favorites list
This poem will instantly destruct itself
Written by slipalong
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I Have A Plan
I simply said ‘I have a plan’,
‘Twas off the record, did I say?
It’s early and I just began,
Don’t want the muse to go astray.
It doesn’t mean we’re on a clock,
I simply said ‘I have a plan’.
It’s promising no writer’s block,
In fact you may become a fan.
No guarantee it’s better than
The competition’s good intent.
I simply said ‘I have a plan’,
I’m not revealing where it went.
So hold your horses, wait a spell,
Watch’d pots don’t boi’l says a pan.
A magic potion? who can tell,
I simply said ‘I have a plan’.
( a non-entry )
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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I Have A Plan
I simply said ‘I have a plan’,
‘Twas off the record, did I say?
It’s early and I just began,
Don’t want the muse to go astray.
It doesn’t mean we’re on a clock,
I simply said ‘I have a plan’.
It’s promising no writer’s block,
In fact you may become a fan.
No guarantee it’s better than
The competition’s good intent.
I simply said ‘I have a plan’,
I’m not revealing where it went.
So hold your horses, wait a spell,
Watch’d pots don’t boi’l says a pan.
A magic potion? who can tell,
I simply said ‘I have a plan’.
( a non-entry )
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Jade-Pandora said:
You know.... id roast your poem.... but the risk is id go soft.... ❤️
If you have a plan.... tho.... I'm all ears!👂👂👂👂
You know.... id roast your poem.... but the risk is id go soft.... ❤️
If you have a plan.... tho.... I'm all ears!👂👂👂👂
gentle jack
Listen close dear children
Gather near
I'll tell you a tall one
If you lend me an ear
Tall mountain jack
As big as they come
Arms that can lift you
Onto his back
Legs that can kick mountain goats
Out of the way
Gentle with children
Helps grannies cross the street
Count yourself lucky to
Have jack in your sight
Because with jack
Everything is all right
No bad drugs in your body
No cravings in your head
No worries over rent
a relationship gone dead
Jack brings you
A fine bowl of stew
After playing in the snow
His roaring hearth fire
Warms our cold toe
Jack gives us his glowing glow
Soon jack will bid us farewell
Leaving us to face inner turmoil
And life's grime alone
But he leaves us warm enough
That we won't turn to cold stone
Gather near
I'll tell you a tall one
If you lend me an ear
Tall mountain jack
As big as they come
Arms that can lift you
Onto his back
Legs that can kick mountain goats
Out of the way
Gentle with children
Helps grannies cross the street
Count yourself lucky to
Have jack in your sight
Because with jack
Everything is all right
No bad drugs in your body
No cravings in your head
No worries over rent
a relationship gone dead
Jack brings you
A fine bowl of stew
After playing in the snow
His roaring hearth fire
Warms our cold toe
Jack gives us his glowing glow
Soon jack will bid us farewell
Leaving us to face inner turmoil
And life's grime alone
But he leaves us warm enough
That we won't turn to cold stone
Written by clewluss
(SMOOKY)
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Jog on
Booze filled body Sweety and clammy
I lay next to you Pristine and calm
Once was lovers Such magical times
Our bodies once tangled But my head's so mangled
I think I should leave before I do you harm,
The Voices have ceased calling my name
But all I remember are the words you said
On my way to rehab I wish you was dead
Is this the life we must carry and share
Just because we have a child now their.
I lay next to you Pristine and calm
Once was lovers Such magical times
Our bodies once tangled But my head's so mangled
I think I should leave before I do you harm,
The Voices have ceased calling my name
But all I remember are the words you said
On my way to rehab I wish you was dead
Is this the life we must carry and share
Just because we have a child now their.
Written by BigG
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Halloooo. SMOOKY...
Don’t forget you made a parallel universe over at the twin tower...
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/11207/
We got action!🐾😸✍🏼
Don’t forget you made a parallel universe over at the twin tower...
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/11207/
We got action!🐾😸✍🏼
Right down to the minute, right down to the second
Time passes so slowly
Each grain of sand
Creeps down the hourglass
Feeling the depth of each breath
The air is heavy
It drowns
Trembling finger tips and toes
The sensation crawling
Into your nerves
Every blink
Shutters in slow motion
Lights glare through
The light illuminates your fingertips
Orange skin
Outlined with translucent edges
Every heartbeat pounds
Thudding in your ears
The world is violently vivid
With love and heartbreak
You feel everything
Every minute, every second
The moments before the end
Flicker and flash
The minutes are flaking away
Everything superficial drains
Raw emotions are all that remain
Which keep you holding onto the seconds
Your last breath
The minutes are gone
Your down to the seconds
Each grain of sand
Creeps down the hourglass
Feeling the depth of each breath
The air is heavy
It drowns
Trembling finger tips and toes
The sensation crawling
Into your nerves
Every blink
Shutters in slow motion
Lights glare through
The light illuminates your fingertips
Orange skin
Outlined with translucent edges
Every heartbeat pounds
Thudding in your ears
The world is violently vivid
With love and heartbreak
You feel everything
Every minute, every second
The moments before the end
Flicker and flash
The minutes are flaking away
Everything superficial drains
Raw emotions are all that remain
Which keep you holding onto the seconds
Your last breath
The minutes are gone
Your down to the seconds
Written by Heart_symphony
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