Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd September 2021 3:13pm
WINNER
Anonymous
rosette
RUNNER-UP: badmalthus

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Poem of the Month - SEPTEMBER 2021

LunaGreyhawk
Dangerous Mind
United States 19awards
Joined 8th July 2019
Forum Posts: 923

Poetry Contest

Three weeks to nominate your favorite poems!
You have THREE weeks to nominate no more than THREE of your favorite poems from another DUP poet!

Please note the following guidelines when making nominations:
The voting for this competition is anonymous; therefore,spoken word nominations will be disqualified. You may nominate Spoken Word pieces in the competition below.

Spoken Word of the Month Comp is here:

(Link coming soon!)

New Member ( six ( 6 ) months of less ) of the Month comp is here:

https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/12017/

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. You may nominate only THREE poems from THREE different DU members.

3. No DUPLICATE NOMINATIONS. If you nominate a poem that has already been nominated you will be asked to replace the nomination.

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 winning will be automatically disqualified.

6. One win per member per calendar year, beginning with the month they win.

7. Please notify your nominee they have been nominated.

Nomination Duration is three weeks followed by a week of site voting!

Current Poem of the Month Hall of Famers:

2021:
January - brokentitanium (k.)
February - SatinUgal
March - X
April - RiAN
May - DaisyGrace
June - Bluevelvete
July - Jemac
August - pending

2020
January-  NEW BEGINNINGS
February - EDIBLE WORDS
March - MADAME LAVENDER
APRIL - MONKEYMAN
MAY - TIMAGINATION543
JUNE - LEPPEROCHAN (Craic-Dealer)
JULY - STRANGEWAYS_ROB  
August - Daniel Christensen
September - Aspergerpoet
October - Lunagreyhawk
November - Kristinax
December - Ahavati

2019
January - DANIELCHRISTENSEN
February - SOPHIE_ERICSON
March - AUDIOHARLEEA
April - FROM THE ASH
May - MISS_SUB
June - NAAJIR
July - LAYLA
August, 2019 - AHAVATI
September - MISS_SUB
October - HOWLING_WHELMS
November - JOHNNY BLAZE
December - RACHEL_LAUREN

2018
January - LADY_OF_THE_QUILL
February - LEPPEROCHAN Craic in a Box
March - TINABUBUYA (Tee Mali)
April - CROWFLY
May - ATOMIKBOMB
June - MISS_SUB (Missy)
July - MEADOWSWEET
August - LAYLA
September - COLD FUSION
October  - TODSKI28
November - TheMUSE22
December - BENDER

2017
January - VEE
February - CRIMSIN
March  - ONEFIFTYSIX
April - DANIEL CHRISTENSEN
May - ALEXANDER CASE
June - AEMelia564
July - THE_SILLY_SIBYL (Jack Thomas Heslop)
August - QUIETUSQUILL
September - _SHADOE_
October - POETSREVENGE
November - NAAJIR
December - POETSPEAK

2016
November  - JOHN FEDDELER
December - AHAVATI

Bluevelvete
Tyrant of Words
United States 74awards
Joined 21st July 2020
Forum Posts: 2349

HEY! where did you come from?

    
   
   
while drinking coffee, or    
reading a book,    
I feel his hand resting    
upon my  
shoulder.    
   
I look back and no one is    
there.    
   
when walking down the    
street,    
I see his shadow    
following me.    
   
I turn around, but nobody    
is present.    
   
I taste him in bites of my    
food and sips of wine.    
   
I sense him in the words    
I write,    
and see him in the eyes    
of others.    
   
in bed at night,    
I think about how I  
would chase    
the tigers of passion,    
   
all those beautifully
imperfect women
and men who  
welcomed me to
enter the sacred
temple's of their    
bodies, hearts
and souls,    
   
and afterwards,    
lying together,    
the twilight falling    
around us like manna,    
   
soft, gentle giggling at    
little secrets shared    
between small kisses    
of afterplay,    
   
whispering silly pet    
names like song birds    
singing from tree to    
tree.    
   
now I lie here,    
feeling the weight of    
his arm dangling over    
my back in some    
spectral hug,    
   
I roll over,    
but no one is    
there...    
   
not yet,    
anyway,    
   
but soon    
enough,    
   
soon    
enough.    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
Written by buddhakitty
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Ahavati
Tams
Tyrant of Words
United States 124awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 17055

little things found in secondhand books

a photograph of a young Jack Russell
with a scruffy black head
and white body,
looking like a plucked chicken.

a birthday message,
handwritten, dated two weeks
before it reached my hands.
(the recipient must not have liked
Southern Gothic short stories.)

a postcard of a Van Gogh scene
(“Wheatfield, with Cypresses”).
that one i keep on my nightstand,
backlit by my reading lamp.

i think about the hands
that placed these little gifts
between the pages of the books.
a woman’s hands,
wrinkled, writing on
the first blank page.
a male hand marking the spot,
with the picture of the dog.
Written by The_Silly_Sibyl (Jack Thomas)
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cold_fusion
Tyrant of Words
Palestine 20awards
Joined 14th June 2017
Forum Posts: 5405

Wings of Shame

 
Even the butterflies  
seem terrified  
As a boy  
they would settle on my head  
a kindred flower to bask on
Much rarer now
they shun us all
with wary wings
while our Mother screams
Look!
See what you’ve done
And In silent lines
the birds stray North
flying hard
to escape the sun
Written by Abracadabra
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badmalthus
Harry Rout
Dangerous Mind
19awards
Joined 3rd May 2014
Forum Posts: 433

cold_fusion
Tyrant of Words
Palestine 20awards
Joined 14th June 2017
Forum Posts: 5405

Picnic in the park

 

carrying stones of loneliness
in her cheap Salvo handbag
she stumbles
and
staggers from
park bench
to
park bench
searching for meaning

...for a future
...for something remotely
related to love
and friendship

while by the small pond
she sees Jesus treading
water
while holy humans
throw tired prayers
of wanting
and
longing
into his drowning arms

from her handbag
she unpacks her life
and
spreads
it on the grass
for all to bear witness
before swallowing
the world's misery
and
dying all alone
by the daffodils


Written by badmalthus (Harry Rout)
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badmalthus
Harry Rout
Dangerous Mind
19awards
Joined 3rd May 2014
Forum Posts: 433

Ahavati
Tams
Tyrant of Words
United States 124awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 17055

Muted

As I endure alone, I think.
Shadows flow around me, taunting.
Frightened words do not formulate.
I am left drowning in the ink.

Bold thoughts gather but quickly shrink.
The effort put forth is daunting.
Words pile up, becoming dead weight.
I am left drowning in the ink.

Hoping to see, I do not blink.
I gaze, and it leaves me wanting.
Why does my expression negate?
I am left drowning in the ink.

Steadily I silently sink.
Formless expression is haunting,
and the words become serrated.
I am left drowning in the ink.
Written by Ljdynamic
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Ljdynamic
Dangerous Mind
United States 18awards
Joined 18th Aug 2017
Forum Posts: 374

Related submission no longer exists.

badmalthus
Harry Rout
Dangerous Mind
19awards
Joined 3rd May 2014
Forum Posts: 433

all the centuries in one night

      
     
lying beside      
you      
     
watching you      
sleep in the      
quiet morning      
tide      
     
thinking of last      
night:      
     
your      
feel,      
     
your      
taste,      
     
your      
sound,      
     
your    
motion.    
     
how you gave      
yourself      
freely,      
     
how you gave      
in to yourself      
freely,      
     
the wine of your      
hair spilling      
over our      
faces.      
     
and all the centuries      
that came      
before,      
     
and all the centuries      
yet to come found      
their way to      
this one      
night.      
     
all the defeats      
wiped clean      
from the      
slate,      
     
all the victories      
became inert      
in this one      
night.      
     
and any words I      
write, nothing      
more than      
obvious 
hollow     
cliches.      
     
all I'm left    
with is:     
     
thank you,      
          Danielle.      
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
 
Written by buddhakitty
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Fallen_Angel_194
Angel.
Thought Provoker
United States 5awards
Joined 24th May 2014
Forum Posts: 318

Related submission no longer exists.

summultima
uma
Dangerous Mind
India 34awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1372

Framed [The Loneliness of the Soul]

“As for me. I am a watercolor. I wash off.” Anne Sexton

Knuckled strokes
Wrest wine from skies.

Seeds of light, palimpsest
On the white maps before creation,
That grew here and gave being
In remote corner of the universe
To a suggestion of God’s palette.

Hopper’s triangle of lights dissect
dust bowl__ rail road__phantom house__
Curtain-veiled silhouettes seduce the sun:
Skinned as raw deer wounds
To open and invite passing strangers.

In this theatre of drowned clowns
Every waiting moment is a circus of sorrow,
‘Two Comedians’ step into the spotlight
Before all that is known…..recedes and fades.

Somewhere, along dusty kerbs
Beside gasoline streaked streets
Lie pyres of deckchairs
Thumbprint forked by those
Who have sat and watched.


Seas brooding like an empty hospital -
Cancer-soaked blankets await ripple of limbs -
Ships seek coloured harbours
Mute to monochrome by an unstilled vision.

See the waves strain above the anchor
Eternal trench of sadness
----- towards silence
----- of oils & liquid flesh

Picasso blued up the ruelles
Feeding poverty with guts of a guitar,
Absinthe-rich bar dwellers gazing into the void
Of brutale blue that drinks and spills
Over edges of the frame,
Beyond the brink of sight.

Compact machinery of pigment muscle
Strips sinew from lungs of canvas,
Scissored breath sketches
Small worlds within worlds:
The world is everything
That is the case

(Emin)ently, folds in Tracey’s bedsheets
Hold the piss of the universe urinal:
Collect as stained stars in a petri dish.

Abuse sits north by north-west &
Mind the craters on the greyed moon.
Abuse is the heavy breathing fifty yards away
Slashed arms searching for holes to conceal herself.
Fabrics, needlework and crayons
Are just the chicken bones and feathers
Of the animal which some call man.
Sin is often smeared in blood.

The man who paints with his tongue
Tastes the tails of bone windmills, churns
Air in the land they name forever.
And a day,
His teeth rot
Take root in
Canals of abstraction.
He no longer talks, walks
Between rooms until, inevitably,
Comfort is the bedroom:
For the dreams arrive
Always they arrive.

About suffering The Old Masters always knew.
Where were you, dear gallery viewer,
When Icarus crashed from the sky?
How the suffering takes place
When someone else is just eating a burger,
Or listening to R&B on a MP3.


‘Weathered Beach House’ above the mantelpiece,
My eyes diluted by the blackened windows
& stretch of unforgiving coast.
“It will always be summer in here,” Mum chimed -
Fingering the painting
In rhythm to frost-wreathed clock.

On the day we left
‘The Beach House’ sat alone, unframed,
A gravestone for kith and kin
In kiln of broken bricks.
All vision has been inspired by love.

Scream to a sigh
Stars scar the night:
Rather talk of Van Goch ear
Than the beauty inside.
Life still is self-portrait
Inner self being painted
It’s all invented:
Case of cutlery
Vase on a window
Winter trees…..


#Thomas Jones. Häuser in Neapel (Naples) 1782
Written by Strangeways_Rob
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summultima
uma
Dangerous Mind
India 34awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1372

12122010

 


December 12, 2010

first night you
were
gone

realized it was
over

went to backyard
for smoke

looked up

thought of
counting
stars

changed
mind

counted the
darkness
between
the stars
instead
Written by buddhakitty
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poet Anonymous

Caffiene

He called it
coffee table artwork,
illustrations of a bicep
working,
a scarf around a wrist,
wound
contracting at the fixture,
a mixture of his mind
and modern relevance
made a mine that seemed
could be unspent.  
His trousers were soft linen,
eyes, almost beige.
I could consider myself an artist
but the portrayal would pale
in comparison to that
coffee table artwork
and so
I distract myself with window greens,
ignore the simple hues of his
slanted nose and thumbnails almost aether
and we
make petty conversation about the shape of someone's genes,
make up of old wounds,
and heaps of healing time.  
I recall my mother's mouth wrapped around some anecdote he bleeds,  
make tea,
he reads
something off the shelf,
a bird flaps off,
it's wingspan beats against my eardrums
and someone leaves a something
on the 'mat.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
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poet Anonymous

Limbic System Failure

Letting the mind destroy  
what the heart has built  
is second nature.
 
Up and down.  
Right to go left.  
 
The rubble is where poetry lives,
without the stones of decimation  
I fear I'd  have nothing to say.
Written by nikkimoe
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