Poetry Competition Ends 14th October 2024 2:44pm
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Make it Real & Surreal
The reflections of A lost Goodbye (white lines on the bitumen)
I have driven this road so many times before in the past
I will drive this road so many more times in the future
The rout that I drive never held any further significance for me until .... well
Until I met you.
I remember driving this road for our first encounter
A full tank of anxiety fueld excitment as ,
I drove with you by my side , loving memories of our banter, driving late at night finding comfort in one another's silent presence
I remember driving that road alone , empty in my heart as I manuvered into the worst crash I have ever experienced ...
I still have to drive that road , and to me it will always be a constant reminder of you , to you it's just white lines on the bitumen .
-Grifta
I will drive this road so many more times in the future
The rout that I drive never held any further significance for me until .... well
Until I met you.
I remember driving this road for our first encounter
A full tank of anxiety fueld excitment as ,
I drove with you by my side , loving memories of our banter, driving late at night finding comfort in one another's silent presence
I remember driving that road alone , empty in my heart as I manuvered into the worst crash I have ever experienced ...
I still have to drive that road , and to me it will always be a constant reminder of you , to you it's just white lines on the bitumen .
-Grifta
Written by u53l355
(The_Real_Grifta)
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Empire of Senses
My love aches for purple abandonment
In the twilight of forgotten crops.
Where shadows dance with silent lament
and the moon spews forth black dew drops.
Oh, how the ocean gets addicted
to the rapture of poodles in flight!
The stars whisper secrets
in the madness of velvet delight.
Eternity fiddles with time’s strings
a symphony of chaos and grace.
Heaven shines like jelly, voluptuous,
in the embrace of a Dodo’s face.
The sun throbs with fermented oysters.
Its rays a tapestry of decay
as a red rose erupts with donkey spit
in a garden where reality frays.
Mountains weep with laughter’s echo.
Rivers flow with liquid gold.
Trees hum tunes of ancient sorrow
in a forest where stories unfold.
Clouds paint the sky with whimsy.
Rainbows drip with honeyed blues,
birds sing songs of forgotten lore.
In a world where logic skews.
Time melts like butter on a stove,
moments blend in na unreal stew.
Dreams and nightmares interlace
in a dance both old and new.
Stars blink with mischievous glee.
Planets spin in drunken waltz.
Galaxies swirl in cosmic spree
inside an universe without faults.
Love aches for purple abandonment
in the heart of a cosmic jest
where reality and fantasy blend
in an almost real etereal quest.
In the twilight of forgotten crops.
Where shadows dance with silent lament
and the moon spews forth black dew drops.
Oh, how the ocean gets addicted
to the rapture of poodles in flight!
The stars whisper secrets
in the madness of velvet delight.
Eternity fiddles with time’s strings
a symphony of chaos and grace.
Heaven shines like jelly, voluptuous,
in the embrace of a Dodo’s face.
The sun throbs with fermented oysters.
Its rays a tapestry of decay
as a red rose erupts with donkey spit
in a garden where reality frays.
Mountains weep with laughter’s echo.
Rivers flow with liquid gold.
Trees hum tunes of ancient sorrow
in a forest where stories unfold.
Clouds paint the sky with whimsy.
Rainbows drip with honeyed blues,
birds sing songs of forgotten lore.
In a world where logic skews.
Time melts like butter on a stove,
moments blend in na unreal stew.
Dreams and nightmares interlace
in a dance both old and new.
Stars blink with mischievous glee.
Planets spin in drunken waltz.
Galaxies swirl in cosmic spree
inside an universe without faults.
Love aches for purple abandonment
in the heart of a cosmic jest
where reality and fantasy blend
in an almost real etereal quest.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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Daily Black and White
The man opened the newspaper
To see how the world had changed
Since yesterday's newspaper
The paper wrapped round his face
Filled his ears
Covered his eyes
Silenced his mouth
Read his mind
Suffocated him until
He forgot his name
He turned black and white
Written by James_A_Knight
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"Anti-Schema"
I woke this morning to a sky of glass
The sun was cracked, leaking golden spills
I thought of how last night, time seemed to pass
So slowly, like the turning of rusted mills
The coffee tasted like forgotten dreams
Each sip a memory that slipped away
And the kitchen clock whispered its schemes
While the fridge hummed a song from yesterday
The sidewalks were soft beneath my feet
Like walking on words that were never said
The trees leaned in, murmuring bittersweet
Branches tangled with the thoughts in my head
I passed a man with a face like rain
His eyes were puddles reflecting the street
He smiled at me, but it felt like pain
As if he knew the end we all would meet
At work, the papers flew like birds
Filing cabinets opened with a sigh
Phones rang not with voices, but with words
That folded into paper planes to fly
By evening, the city had turned to smoke
Buildings drifted off into the sky
I watched as each conversation broke
Scattered like dust when the wind passed by
I got home, but the door was gone
Just an empty frame where it used to stand
So I walked right through and carried on
Fingers tracing invisible strands
The moon hung low, close enough to touch
But I knew that if I reached, it’d fall apart
And as I lay down, it all felt too much
The world, my mind, the weight of my own heart
I woke this morning to a sky of glass
The sun was cracked, leaking golden spills
I thought of how last night, time seemed to pass
So slowly, like the turning of rusted mills
The coffee tasted like forgotten dreams
Each sip a memory that slipped away
And the kitchen clock whispered its schemes
While the fridge hummed a song from yesterday
The sidewalks were soft beneath my feet
Like walking on words that were never said
The trees leaned in, murmuring bittersweet
Branches tangled with the thoughts in my head
I passed a man with a face like rain
His eyes were puddles reflecting the street
He smiled at me, but it felt like pain
As if he knew the end we all would meet
At work, the papers flew like birds
Filing cabinets opened with a sigh
Phones rang not with voices, but with words
That folded into paper planes to fly
By evening, the city had turned to smoke
Buildings drifted off into the sky
I watched as each conversation broke
Scattered like dust when the wind passed by
I got home, but the door was gone
Just an empty frame where it used to stand
So I walked right through and carried on
Fingers tracing invisible strands
The moon hung low, close enough to touch
But I knew that if I reached, it’d fall apart
And as I lay down, it all felt too much
The world, my mind, the weight of my own heart
The raven and the peacock
Smothered in melancholy,
words left unspoken—
a stillness so sullen
as if blackness was all that I stood for
And the colours;
the ones that sting my iris
are the lifeblood of the audience
in unrelenting ovation
and the colours started streaking
The streaks formed opinions
Opinions formed persuasion
And I just stood there— blunted
A pinch of crimson introduced itself to my dark—
as a reminder of a lost abundance
the flair of my youth
where audacity painted each quip
I tread boulevards that stretched yonder;
climbed mountains to every apex
I had an attachment
to the spirit quivering—
once
before the red turned black
I spent years in the emerald sward
I was a raven crowing at peacocks
their mottle inspired me;
in the shroud
within a rainbow
in the pause
of a storm
In the marble
of bliss
Where the desire of the colours
was to bleed out the blackness
to spread life to the languid;
to embellish their whitewashed feathers
Where lament influences
so much less than not at all
in this vivid portrait
as my world fades to autumn
Saffron and chestnut
paints the sentiment
before the snow—
subtle shades gently introduced
leaf by leaf
until their release
where their bodies blanket the fade of the flowers
I prayed their ambiance would linger—
that aura in crimson
and it would paint the coat
of every rose
words left unspoken—
a stillness so sullen
as if blackness was all that I stood for
And the colours;
the ones that sting my iris
are the lifeblood of the audience
in unrelenting ovation
and the colours started streaking
The streaks formed opinions
Opinions formed persuasion
And I just stood there— blunted
A pinch of crimson introduced itself to my dark—
as a reminder of a lost abundance
the flair of my youth
where audacity painted each quip
I tread boulevards that stretched yonder;
climbed mountains to every apex
I had an attachment
to the spirit quivering—
once
before the red turned black
I spent years in the emerald sward
I was a raven crowing at peacocks
their mottle inspired me;
in the shroud
within a rainbow
in the pause
of a storm
In the marble
of bliss
Where the desire of the colours
was to bleed out the blackness
to spread life to the languid;
to embellish their whitewashed feathers
Where lament influences
so much less than not at all
in this vivid portrait
as my world fades to autumn
Saffron and chestnut
paints the sentiment
before the snow—
subtle shades gently introduced
leaf by leaf
until their release
where their bodies blanket the fade of the flowers
I prayed their ambiance would linger—
that aura in crimson
and it would paint the coat
of every rose
Written by Everavalon
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