Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd March 2021 2:33pm
WINNER
Braver_Than_A_Noun (Andie...)
Braver_Than_A_Noun (Andie...)
New Member of the Month ~ MARCH 2021
Poetry Contest Description
New Member of the Month Feature!
Welcome to "New Member of the Month"!
You have 3 weeks to nominate Your favorite poems from a NEW DUP poet - someone who has been a member for no more than six months.
To locate New Members simply click on 'Poems' > *Latest Poems > Sort Poems > New Members!
Please note the following guidelines when making nominations:
1. Self nominations are not accepted. The great majority of the competitions here are about spotlighting one's own work on a particular topic or theme. This is a chance to nominate that poem that you wish you had written but some other great talent here beat you to it.
2. Until this comp is established, there is no limit to nominations; however, you can't nominate more than one poem per individual new member. *****
3. No DUPLICATES. If someone nominates the same poem the entry will be deleted. If you like it that much wait and vote for it!
4. Any genre except erotica or pornography. This is a Facebook feature and we must adhere to their guidelines.
5. Any member who is banned or disables their account PRIOR to the win will be automatically disqualified.
6. One win per member per calendar year ( 12 months ).
7. All nominators should notify their nominees of nominations.
8. PLEASE DON’T NOMINATE RECENT WINNERS ( see list below )
Any nominated member who wishes to opt out of the competition may do so by messaging me. I will contact the person who nominated you and request an alternate nomination.
Nomination Duration is 3 weeks followed by a week of site voting!
Current Winners:
November 2019: LunaGreyhawk
December 2019: Rachel_Lauren
January 2020: cobralips (Abbey)
February 2020: timkit (Tim Kitchen)
March 2020: Pete82
April 2020: ravisa
May 2020 Lazy_Dead (.Julia.)
June 2020 RiAN
July 2020: syandeneJahia (sy4ndene44)
August 2020: plexus
September 2020: LtDansLegs
October 2020: Bluevelvete
November 2020: Vermillion_Apples (Jacob W)
December 2020: Salient_Swan
January 2021: Andres_Castro
February 2021: _Skylark_
man coiled in menses
a journey has commenced
something that can be sensed
as lining breaks she aches
she wears my shirt to pacify pain
my scent gives her solace
I bestow myself to her
placing pillows for her comfort
she lies her head gently
as the drums invade to serenade
her temporary visitor
tracing the outlines of her face
in attempt to place her in stillness
she rises and kisses my lips
while I persist to soothe her pain
I watch it drain her essence
slowly I bleed too
she shows concern for me
in plight and still
she takes flight for my rescue
I am nature and she is nurture
something that can be sensed
as lining breaks she aches
she wears my shirt to pacify pain
my scent gives her solace
I bestow myself to her
placing pillows for her comfort
she lies her head gently
as the drums invade to serenade
her temporary visitor
tracing the outlines of her face
in attempt to place her in stillness
she rises and kisses my lips
while I persist to soothe her pain
I watch it drain her essence
slowly I bleed too
she shows concern for me
in plight and still
she takes flight for my rescue
I am nature and she is nurture
Written by Remy_L
(Remington Lancaster)
Go To Page
Solace.
Solace.
The children of the apocalypse are hipsters sleeping in burnt out cars, a duvet of metal beneath a blackened tree with spider leg branches, scowl in the wind that blows it's molten leaves. The parents of their time are unashamed because they brought them here with excuses and time lapses.
The sky rots with the sun and the rocks boil as the perfume of burnt soil sticks to the skin. My brother is a corpse with lungs filled with cement, he's a mannequin of ash and dust while my sister has a face painted with rust.
There are children hung up by their necks, swaying like a zombie disco. Nothing more than mere blunt wind chimes.
The horizon gapes like a scar ripping open.
A barren eternity whisps through my hair as a dirge while I gaze upon the mountains shaped like corpses, I wander barefoot over broken glass and warped fingernails. Shards of history remain half buried and half burned. Such death spoke that day long ago, it's still speaking now, silently whispering, deviously moving. The trees, like a forest of scapes.
My polluted skin is carved with disease, or it maybe old age.
Such screams I bled dry from this throat, for them only to be caught by empty eye sockets that creep with darkness. I could feel nothing within this heart, apart from the fly eggs and maggots, all caged within ribs of diesel. Being alive I felt like a pariah but merely because everything else was dead. Until I found what I thought couldn't be found, a flower of such purity standing strongly amongst the eradication, be it sentient or not I was enamoured by it. So in absolute awe and hunger I impaled my fingers into the earthly flesh of our Mother to create a henge of digits, terminal members to grasp that last pound of fruitful dirt, to swallow whole.
There are no ghosts here, I haunt this place.
The children of the apocalypse are hipsters sleeping in burnt out cars, a duvet of metal beneath a blackened tree with spider leg branches, scowl in the wind that blows it's molten leaves. The parents of their time are unashamed because they brought them here with excuses and time lapses.
The sky rots with the sun and the rocks boil as the perfume of burnt soil sticks to the skin. My brother is a corpse with lungs filled with cement, he's a mannequin of ash and dust while my sister has a face painted with rust.
There are children hung up by their necks, swaying like a zombie disco. Nothing more than mere blunt wind chimes.
The horizon gapes like a scar ripping open.
A barren eternity whisps through my hair as a dirge while I gaze upon the mountains shaped like corpses, I wander barefoot over broken glass and warped fingernails. Shards of history remain half buried and half burned. Such death spoke that day long ago, it's still speaking now, silently whispering, deviously moving. The trees, like a forest of scapes.
My polluted skin is carved with disease, or it maybe old age.
Such screams I bled dry from this throat, for them only to be caught by empty eye sockets that creep with darkness. I could feel nothing within this heart, apart from the fly eggs and maggots, all caged within ribs of diesel. Being alive I felt like a pariah but merely because everything else was dead. Until I found what I thought couldn't be found, a flower of such purity standing strongly amongst the eradication, be it sentient or not I was enamoured by it. So in absolute awe and hunger I impaled my fingers into the earthly flesh of our Mother to create a henge of digits, terminal members to grasp that last pound of fruitful dirt, to swallow whole.
There are no ghosts here, I haunt this place.
Written by Ronethone
(Kieron)
Go To Page
A Letter From The Small Sliver Of Hope In Your Junk Drawer And What He Could Become
To whom it may concern,
All I want to be is
The one you miss from time to time
When you’re out with your friends or back at your folk’s place
When you feel more alone with them than you do yourself anyway
I want to be your warm welcome
All I want to be is the first person you call on the phone
When you find yourself panicked, shaken, and alone, Unable to sleep
I'll tell you . . . “I’m here.”
Can’t you see me? Because I see you.
Maybe you can see me.
But you can’t hear the words coming out of my mouth.
Over the sound of your grinding teeth
To you, I’ll always be the wind that blows above your head
The hand that’s out of reach
If you ever find yourself struggling to breathe.
I want to be the oxygen that flows through you right before you smoke your last cigarette
And when you contemplate death
I want to be the thought that says, “Don’t go. You’re not done yet.”
I don’t want to be the one you need.
I just want to be a some-what steady plot of land beneath your feet.
I want you to feel grounded.
All I want to be is a part of your life
Sincerely,
- The Small Sliver Of Hope In Your Junk Drawer
All I want to be is
The one you miss from time to time
When you’re out with your friends or back at your folk’s place
When you feel more alone with them than you do yourself anyway
I want to be your warm welcome
All I want to be is the first person you call on the phone
When you find yourself panicked, shaken, and alone, Unable to sleep
I'll tell you . . . “I’m here.”
Can’t you see me? Because I see you.
Maybe you can see me.
But you can’t hear the words coming out of my mouth.
Over the sound of your grinding teeth
To you, I’ll always be the wind that blows above your head
The hand that’s out of reach
If you ever find yourself struggling to breathe.
I want to be the oxygen that flows through you right before you smoke your last cigarette
And when you contemplate death
I want to be the thought that says, “Don’t go. You’re not done yet.”
I don’t want to be the one you need.
I just want to be a some-what steady plot of land beneath your feet.
I want you to feel grounded.
All I want to be is a part of your life
Sincerely,
- The Small Sliver Of Hope In Your Junk Drawer
Written by Braver_Than_A_Noun
(Andie...)
Go To Page
Sunday Shoes
inspired by wife Vanessa
Can you walk a mile
In my Sunday shoes?
Go to places I've been long and wide
Or some places you'll pay your dues?
Can you wear my shoes
That danced in God's praises
Cutting a step or two
Head reared back and voice raises high
Those old dusty Sunday shoes.
I walked places far as well a near
And back again to anywhere
To any place I want to go from here
And then again.
To marches long for freedom's cry
To church on a dusty country road
To the fields where cotton grow high
In my old dusty Sunday shoes.
Can you just walk in
These old dusty shoes?
Being foe or either friend
In those old dusty shoes.
If i have to walk to hell and back
I would in these dusty old shoes
But I only walk to church in them in fact
These old dusty Sunday shoes.
I'll keep walking in them until
The Good Master calls me home
Hoping someone will someday fill
These old dusty Sunday shoes.
Dec. 2007
Can you walk a mile
In my Sunday shoes?
Go to places I've been long and wide
Or some places you'll pay your dues?
Can you wear my shoes
That danced in God's praises
Cutting a step or two
Head reared back and voice raises high
Those old dusty Sunday shoes.
I walked places far as well a near
And back again to anywhere
To any place I want to go from here
And then again.
To marches long for freedom's cry
To church on a dusty country road
To the fields where cotton grow high
In my old dusty Sunday shoes.
Can you just walk in
These old dusty shoes?
Being foe or either friend
In those old dusty shoes.
If i have to walk to hell and back
I would in these dusty old shoes
But I only walk to church in them in fact
These old dusty Sunday shoes.
I'll keep walking in them until
The Good Master calls me home
Hoping someone will someday fill
These old dusty Sunday shoes.
Dec. 2007
Written by kennethrjenkins
(Kenneth R. Jenkins)
Go To Page
I Forgive You
walking thru the silence of my soul
facing the pain it still holds
looking inside the strength of me
searching a way for me to feel peace
so I toss my heart in the wind
carrying a hug to you my friend
you'll always be a fond memory
but it's time to set this soul free
forgiveness I sincerely offer you
cause not forgiving only makes me blue
always will hold you in my prayers
cause you made me feel something so rare
I'm sure our paths will never cross again
so I wash my pain away in the fresh falling rain
Copyright © 2015 Flowergirl
All Rights Reserved
walking thru the silence of my soul
facing the pain it still holds
looking inside the strength of me
searching a way for me to feel peace
so I toss my heart in the wind
carrying a hug to you my friend
you'll always be a fond memory
but it's time to set this soul free
forgiveness I sincerely offer you
cause not forgiving only makes me blue
always will hold you in my prayers
cause you made me feel something so rare
I'm sure our paths will never cross again
so I wash my pain away in the fresh falling rain
Copyright © 2015 Flowergirl
All Rights Reserved
