Poetry competition CLOSED 26th April 2020 4:04pm
WINNER
Tallen (earth_empath)
Tallen (earth_empath)
UNDERGROUND RETROSPECT SHOWCASE
Begging...
Begging....
Bound by chains, my souls screams
at the sun for burning light, then at
the trees for blocking light.
Is what burns gone, or just
consumed by the greedy light?
Who stores the screams of the
begging souls, tormented by the
loss of sight? The sky collects but
oceans store in the deep, so deep
the screams aren’t heard
and the monsters of the sea feed
and rise to torture the world
with fears of the unknown.
Once fear is instilled they return to
the deep to feed again.
The oceans get revenge,
baiting humans. Humans beg
and the monsters return and feed.
Bound by chains, my souls screams
at the sun for burning light, then at
the trees for blocking light.
Is what burns gone, or just
consumed by the greedy light?
Who stores the screams of the
begging souls, tormented by the
loss of sight? The sky collects but
oceans store in the deep, so deep
the screams aren’t heard
and the monsters of the sea feed
and rise to torture the world
with fears of the unknown.
Once fear is instilled they return to
the deep to feed again.
The oceans get revenge,
baiting humans. Humans beg
and the monsters return and feed.
Written by anvinvil
(Anvillan)
Go To Page
WHERE GIANTS REST
(A Ghost Club Story)
Somewhere in Italy we rendezvous
exploring some fresh spectral lore.
We’ve all traveled far to serve on this crew
with distinctive why and what for.
Villagers claim it’s laid deep with the bones.
Of a haunted nightspot they speak.
Late, late at night they hear drum beats and moans.
Club Amontillado we seek.
In ancient churchyard the entrance is found
to the catacombs vast and uncharted
Sir Crow volunteers to be first underground
anxious to get the quest started
Aimlessly walk cobwebbed hall after hall
when whispers Sophie, “I can hear muted laughter.”
And a bass palpitates behind this brick wall.
It seems we’ve found what we’re after.
Excited we look for the secret club door.
True to the tale no portal was made.
In haste the mason left his tools on the floor.
Trowel blades rusted, wooden handles decayed.
Slowly succumbing to aggravation.
Just barely convinced that there must be a way.
Al spied on the wall an incantation.
Scrawled in blood or red wine, hard to say.
Jade, Luna and Zazzles chant the mysterious spell.
In an instant we’re there in the room
jarred by the rush of sight, sound, and smell
A grand “WELCOME!” resounds in the tomb.
A skeletal dandy takes center stage.
Propped on a cask filled with sherry.
Bleached bones of indeterminate age.
When sober his suffering was scary.
Edgar Allan and the Poettes
playing lively yet macabre tunes.
A popular act at phantasmal fêtes.
At his Annabel smiles as he croons.
Katja dances with nary a care.
Layla waits for open mic hour
when Angelou, Plath, and Kerouac share
their wisdom in one mighty shower
Frost and Whitman bartending.
More teaching than dispensing booze.
Masterclass without ending.
We bask in their uncluttered views.
Heroes of verse occupy the seats.
Over there sits an auspicious trio.
García Lorca, Oscar Wilde, John Keats
conversing, guffawing con brio.
There in that booth, Sendek and Seuss
sipping gin with a moose and a goose.
Animatedly debating rare sightings
of the ever elusive Sibilicuss-Sleuce.
On cocktail napkins Shakespeare scribes
sonnets to Rose Jasmine and Mel.
Entranced by the bard each with gusto imbibes
every word that flows from his well.
Like moth to a flame Li’l Dragonfly glides.
Her diaphanous wings merrily flit.
Destined to land where Emily’s soul abides.
As she on Lord Byron’s waiting lap lit.
Splitsunsets senses the new day dawning.
It’s time we ascend to the surface.
Sad to abandon new friendships spawning
We promise to live with more purpose.
Some plead with our host, “please can we stay?”
Your membership here must be won.
You’ve much left to write, dues yet to pay,
love left to prove ere you’re done.
Somewhere in Italy we rendezvous
exploring some fresh spectral lore.
We’ve all traveled far to serve on this crew
with distinctive why and what for.
Villagers claim it’s laid deep with the bones.
Of a haunted nightspot they speak.
Late, late at night they hear drum beats and moans.
Club Amontillado we seek.
In ancient churchyard the entrance is found
to the catacombs vast and uncharted
Sir Crow volunteers to be first underground
anxious to get the quest started
Aimlessly walk cobwebbed hall after hall
when whispers Sophie, “I can hear muted laughter.”
And a bass palpitates behind this brick wall.
It seems we’ve found what we’re after.
Excited we look for the secret club door.
True to the tale no portal was made.
In haste the mason left his tools on the floor.
Trowel blades rusted, wooden handles decayed.
Slowly succumbing to aggravation.
Just barely convinced that there must be a way.
Al spied on the wall an incantation.
Scrawled in blood or red wine, hard to say.
Jade, Luna and Zazzles chant the mysterious spell.
In an instant we’re there in the room
jarred by the rush of sight, sound, and smell
A grand “WELCOME!” resounds in the tomb.
A skeletal dandy takes center stage.
Propped on a cask filled with sherry.
Bleached bones of indeterminate age.
When sober his suffering was scary.
Edgar Allan and the Poettes
playing lively yet macabre tunes.
A popular act at phantasmal fêtes.
At his Annabel smiles as he croons.
Katja dances with nary a care.
Layla waits for open mic hour
when Angelou, Plath, and Kerouac share
their wisdom in one mighty shower
Frost and Whitman bartending.
More teaching than dispensing booze.
Masterclass without ending.
We bask in their uncluttered views.
Heroes of verse occupy the seats.
Over there sits an auspicious trio.
García Lorca, Oscar Wilde, John Keats
conversing, guffawing con brio.
There in that booth, Sendek and Seuss
sipping gin with a moose and a goose.
Animatedly debating rare sightings
of the ever elusive Sibilicuss-Sleuce.
On cocktail napkins Shakespeare scribes
sonnets to Rose Jasmine and Mel.
Entranced by the bard each with gusto imbibes
every word that flows from his well.
Like moth to a flame Li’l Dragonfly glides.
Her diaphanous wings merrily flit.
Destined to land where Emily’s soul abides.
As she on Lord Byron’s waiting lap lit.
Splitsunsets senses the new day dawning.
It’s time we ascend to the surface.
Sad to abandon new friendships spawning
We promise to live with more purpose.
Some plead with our host, “please can we stay?”
Your membership here must be won.
You’ve much left to write, dues yet to pay,
love left to prove ere you’re done.
Written by Gahddess_Worship
(Osomajestuoso)
Go To Page
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Related submission no longer exists.
If you go to the page, the written words are there.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/227613-outside/
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/227613-outside/
Wandering soul
My soul is lost to the devil inside me
My soul is the devil reincaration
My soul can't be trusted
My soul can go either way
My soul has caused my cursed anger
My soul has the Vera attached to it
So my soul is my cursec but it is also my destiny
My soul is the devil reincaration
My soul can't be trusted
My soul can go either way
My soul has caused my cursed anger
My soul has the Vera attached to it
So my soul is my cursec but it is also my destiny
Written by Phantom2426
(Francisco J Vera)
Go To Page
Super Man's Last Flight
The B-24s, the Liberators,
The Second World War’s incinerators,
They dropped bombs all over the Pacific,
They were key to winning the war,
Legendary amid the corps,
They created a hell on earth that was horrific.
But the service men called them “flying coffins”,
Odds of surviving these missions weren’t too great,
And of all the glories of the men who told their stories,
This is the account of Super Man’s crew and their fate…
Phil and Cuppernell piloted the plane,
Lambert in the tail, Nelson along for the ride,
Brooks and Douglas were the waist gunners,
Exposed on the plane’s sides.
Glassman in the belly, Mitchell in the nose,
Pillsbury was the top turret gunner,
And Louie was the bombardier,
(He had been in the Olympics as a runner.)
Twenty three B-24s took off before dawn that April morning,
Deployed to destroy the enemy’s supplies,
Super Man led the way with the others on the wing,
On a mission sure to bring the adversary’s demise.
It was right after the bombing over the island of Nauru,
As the planes turned around heading back to base,
Japanese fighters converged on the bombers,
A vicious dogfight was about to take place.
The gunners fired away with all their fury,
The Zeros fired back and the tracers flew by,
Many bullets penetrated Super Man,
It was hell under a beautiful sky.
The plane rocked and twisted under heavy fire,
A cannon round struck Super Man in the tail,
Shrapnel tore into Lambert’s hip and leg,
They were unsure if they could prevail.
In the belly Glassman had been hit,
Two hunks of shrapnel penetrated his back,
Adrenalized the gunner didn’t feel a thing,
But Nelson had been hit during the attack.
Then a shell blew a hole near the top turret,
Metal debris and blood was everywhere,
But yet somehow the top turret gunner carried on,
Pillsbury’s foot and knee were torn to shreds.
Louie went to help Brooks who was bleeding,
Lying on the catwalk over the open bomb bay,
As he dangled Louie pulled him back to safety,
But Brooks was hurt badly in the fray.
Douglas and Pillsbury still manned the guns,
While the other bombers encountered flak,
The two gunners kept their eyes open,
As two more Zeros moved in on the aircraft.
Pillsbury still wounded, his foot dangling,
Had a furious look on his face as he scanned,
He spotted the Zero coming toward them,
Thinking, I have to kill this man.
The Zero pilot drawing near hesitated,
That’s when Pillsbury shot heavy rounds,
The tracers penetrated the cockpit,
And took the Zero down.
A second later Douglas at the waist,
Shot down the last of the Zeros,
And if the plane made it back,
The crew would be hailed as heroes.
Still it was a five hour flight back to base,
Running out of fuel and with no landing gear,
Half the crew was injured and the plane was shot to hell
But crashing in the ocean was the biggest fear.
Louie bandaged and took care of the men,
While the pilots managed to fly the plane,
Most of them bleeding, one of them dying,
None of them would ever be the same.
Phil and Cuppernell made a hard landing,
The plane stopped at the runway’s end,
And all twenty-three B-24s made it back,
Though none were shot up as bad as them.
Medics took care of the wounded,
But the crew lost Brooks in the end,
With five hundred ninety four bullet holes,
Super Man would never fly again.
The Second World War’s incinerators,
They dropped bombs all over the Pacific,
They were key to winning the war,
Legendary amid the corps,
They created a hell on earth that was horrific.
But the service men called them “flying coffins”,
Odds of surviving these missions weren’t too great,
And of all the glories of the men who told their stories,
This is the account of Super Man’s crew and their fate…
Phil and Cuppernell piloted the plane,
Lambert in the tail, Nelson along for the ride,
Brooks and Douglas were the waist gunners,
Exposed on the plane’s sides.
Glassman in the belly, Mitchell in the nose,
Pillsbury was the top turret gunner,
And Louie was the bombardier,
(He had been in the Olympics as a runner.)
Twenty three B-24s took off before dawn that April morning,
Deployed to destroy the enemy’s supplies,
Super Man led the way with the others on the wing,
On a mission sure to bring the adversary’s demise.
It was right after the bombing over the island of Nauru,
As the planes turned around heading back to base,
Japanese fighters converged on the bombers,
A vicious dogfight was about to take place.
The gunners fired away with all their fury,
The Zeros fired back and the tracers flew by,
Many bullets penetrated Super Man,
It was hell under a beautiful sky.
The plane rocked and twisted under heavy fire,
A cannon round struck Super Man in the tail,
Shrapnel tore into Lambert’s hip and leg,
They were unsure if they could prevail.
In the belly Glassman had been hit,
Two hunks of shrapnel penetrated his back,
Adrenalized the gunner didn’t feel a thing,
But Nelson had been hit during the attack.
Then a shell blew a hole near the top turret,
Metal debris and blood was everywhere,
But yet somehow the top turret gunner carried on,
Pillsbury’s foot and knee were torn to shreds.
Louie went to help Brooks who was bleeding,
Lying on the catwalk over the open bomb bay,
As he dangled Louie pulled him back to safety,
But Brooks was hurt badly in the fray.
Douglas and Pillsbury still manned the guns,
While the other bombers encountered flak,
The two gunners kept their eyes open,
As two more Zeros moved in on the aircraft.
Pillsbury still wounded, his foot dangling,
Had a furious look on his face as he scanned,
He spotted the Zero coming toward them,
Thinking, I have to kill this man.
The Zero pilot drawing near hesitated,
That’s when Pillsbury shot heavy rounds,
The tracers penetrated the cockpit,
And took the Zero down.
A second later Douglas at the waist,
Shot down the last of the Zeros,
And if the plane made it back,
The crew would be hailed as heroes.
Still it was a five hour flight back to base,
Running out of fuel and with no landing gear,
Half the crew was injured and the plane was shot to hell
But crashing in the ocean was the biggest fear.
Louie bandaged and took care of the men,
While the pilots managed to fly the plane,
Most of them bleeding, one of them dying,
None of them would ever be the same.
Phil and Cuppernell made a hard landing,
The plane stopped at the runway’s end,
And all twenty-three B-24s made it back,
Though none were shot up as bad as them.
Medics took care of the wounded,
But the crew lost Brooks in the end,
With five hundred ninety four bullet holes,
Super Man would never fly again.
Written by wallyroo92
Go To Page
Related submission no longer exists.
2nd Amendment.. “Flipped”
a boy and a man
meet on a street..
on a corner they stand shoe to shoe,
on his hip
the man proudly displays
“amendment number two”,
the boy pulls a gun
and robs the man,
and now the boy has two..
the boy shouts
“up da money ol man
or i’ll bust “two” caps in you!!”,
the frightened man
hands over his cash,
the boy says “ yeah this will do!!”,
my dad has gone,
my brother is hungry,
and there is no money in school!”
a gun displayed
or on your hip
in this crazy “sign of the times”..
may have cost you
a half stack or more,
but now it’s not worth a dime,
your life could come
to a sudden end
by your worst mistaken slip,
i’ve witnessed this
with my own two eyes,
it really was a trip!
don’t have
500 bucks or more,
openly dripping off your hip,
baby may need
a new pair of shoes
and now you are the special hit,
heed the warning
and take my advice,
or your dignity may horribly be stripped,
cause this is how they really roll,
in the “Topsy Turvey Twilight Zone”
called..
“The 2nd Amendment.. Flipped ”.
meet on a street..
on a corner they stand shoe to shoe,
on his hip
the man proudly displays
“amendment number two”,
the boy pulls a gun
and robs the man,
and now the boy has two..
the boy shouts
“up da money ol man
or i’ll bust “two” caps in you!!”,
the frightened man
hands over his cash,
the boy says “ yeah this will do!!”,
my dad has gone,
my brother is hungry,
and there is no money in school!”
a gun displayed
or on your hip
in this crazy “sign of the times”..
may have cost you
a half stack or more,
but now it’s not worth a dime,
your life could come
to a sudden end
by your worst mistaken slip,
i’ve witnessed this
with my own two eyes,
it really was a trip!
don’t have
500 bucks or more,
openly dripping off your hip,
baby may need
a new pair of shoes
and now you are the special hit,
heed the warning
and take my advice,
or your dignity may horribly be stripped,
cause this is how they really roll,
in the “Topsy Turvey Twilight Zone”
called..
“The 2nd Amendment.. Flipped ”.
Written by OG-Poetry
Go To Page
Light 'em Up
In darkness floats a lonely orb
Inhabited by lonely folk
Their universe is harsh and cold
An existential dirty joke
Find a candle!
Little sparks through history
Philosophers and sages, bold
Dismissed, as feeble sophistry
And so, the dark retains control
Light a candle!
Even though their hearts cry out
They choose the darkness, cold and dank
They mock the light, as too devout
And chase the things most foul and rank
Light your candle!
Alone, you can’t illume the world
Yet, you can light a single heart
The light of love, when once unfurled
Two candles’ brightness now imparts
Light your candles!
Trust not in principalities
And rulers who in darkness reign
Light your own locality
Your love and light will break those chains!
Light more candles!
With all these billions candles lit
Our universe, so bright and warm
Then, bearing out the holy writ
Love’s light becomes a fire storm!
Light ‘em up!
Written by ReggiePoet
(Reggie)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Trivial Influence
Unsettling are these remote misgivings
Like parched bosoms, gushing emptiness
Casting stones at careless despondency
Hence, voices chasten hearts that wither
Untamed faithfuls confide in their dogma
Abiding to a will that refuses to succumb
Frolic hordes of vile skeptics are burdened
Dreadfully subdued by mournful prudence
At the forefront lies unwearied desolation
Quietly withering among shades of despair
Bonded by the shackles of waning thoughts
While skillful deterrents roam from within
Shadowed are some, cast out by obedience
Unbecoming of those who defend a purpose
Discerning motives drown in their stringency
Faltered by the amenity of trivial influence
Like parched bosoms, gushing emptiness
Casting stones at careless despondency
Hence, voices chasten hearts that wither
Untamed faithfuls confide in their dogma
Abiding to a will that refuses to succumb
Frolic hordes of vile skeptics are burdened
Dreadfully subdued by mournful prudence
At the forefront lies unwearied desolation
Quietly withering among shades of despair
Bonded by the shackles of waning thoughts
While skillful deterrents roam from within
Shadowed are some, cast out by obedience
Unbecoming of those who defend a purpose
Discerning motives drown in their stringency
Faltered by the amenity of trivial influence
Written by Flowolf
Go To Page
The winner of this competition and any runners up were decided by public vote.
Thank you to the following members for voting:
buddydog, Vintagemind05, AspergerPoet56, socksscareme, Frustrated_prole, Stoney223, Hepcat61, Josh, runaway-mindtrain, NewBeginnings, gifteth, AlisVolatPropriis8, nutbuster, FromTheAsh, monkeyman, sekatana, wallyroo92, Kinkpoet, Chris_Pleasures, Layla, TCLilly, PoetsRevenge, the5thRiddler, badmalthus, ReggiePoet, Razzerleaf, Fidofood, Billy_Snagg, Grace, ChynaBay311, Laluma, ManorMyth
Thank you to the following members for voting:
buddydog, Vintagemind05, AspergerPoet56, socksscareme, Frustrated_prole, Stoney223, Hepcat61, Josh, runaway-mindtrain, NewBeginnings, gifteth, AlisVolatPropriis8, nutbuster, FromTheAsh, monkeyman, sekatana, wallyroo92, Kinkpoet, Chris_Pleasures, Layla, TCLilly, PoetsRevenge, the5thRiddler, badmalthus, ReggiePoet, Razzerleaf, Fidofood, Billy_Snagg, Grace, ChynaBay311, Laluma, ManorMyth
