Poetry Competition Ends 12th November 2024 9:06pm
Page:
Roadkill
Poetry Contest Description
How does roadkill make you feel when you see it?
Roadkill is pretty much everywhere. I see plenty every day myself.
How does it make you feel?
What do you think about it?
Have you ever thought about it?
Go crazy, I would love to see some beautiful works on this topic.
Any length, just stay on the topic of roadkill
How does it make you feel?
What do you think about it?
Have you ever thought about it?
Go crazy, I would love to see some beautiful works on this topic.
Any length, just stay on the topic of roadkill
"Food For Talons"
Upon the shadowed road he crept
A fragile breath, a fleeting sigh
The timid hare in silence stepped
Beneath the vast and vacant sky
He cast his gaze across the lane
A chasm deep and dark as sin
His heart beat soft, a soft refrain
Unknowing what would lie within
Like lamb who knows not wrath’s descent
Or Eve who walked through Eden’s gate
He crossed the path where angels went
And danced along to meet his fate
Yet none to save, no warning call
No hand to shield from fate’s design
And in that stillness, iron’s thrall
Struck down his life, by heaven’s sign
O broken hare, in silence laid
Thy tender flesh to earth returned
A hawk above, with gaze betrayed
Descends to feast where blood once burned
No psalm will rise, no mercy found
No ark to bear thee from thy rest
For dust reclaims without a sound
And life and death as one are blessed
Upon the shadowed road he crept
A fragile breath, a fleeting sigh
The timid hare in silence stepped
Beneath the vast and vacant sky
He cast his gaze across the lane
A chasm deep and dark as sin
His heart beat soft, a soft refrain
Unknowing what would lie within
Like lamb who knows not wrath’s descent
Or Eve who walked through Eden’s gate
He crossed the path where angels went
And danced along to meet his fate
Yet none to save, no warning call
No hand to shield from fate’s design
And in that stillness, iron’s thrall
Struck down his life, by heaven’s sign
O broken hare, in silence laid
Thy tender flesh to earth returned
A hawk above, with gaze betrayed
Descends to feast where blood once burned
No psalm will rise, no mercy found
No ark to bear thee from thy rest
For dust reclaims without a sound
And life and death as one are blessed
Uncrossing
Silent screams on the asphalt,
life that stops in the blink of an eye.
A feathered dream falls,
a hairy hope falls,
lost in the blur of the floor.
The road, cold and indifferent judge,
echoes in so much absence
with legs and wings,
that once vibrated
in the sweet embrace of nature.
The pain remains
in tire tracks,
a testimony to the fleeting life
and the cruel intersections
of human haste
and wild innocence.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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The Last Stop
Flattened fur and bunny ear,
A weary grin now here appears,
Crushed little bones where tyres tread,
I guess it’s Bugs—yes, Bunny’s dead.
A brutal scene laced across its face,
Left for crows’ pickings, no shame, no grace,
Eyes peeled wide, a little like balloons,
A sudden death with instant doom.
A hooter honks to warn the hare,
Still he crossed; he seemed to dare,
We hope his end was quick and swift,
Paws skyward, soul adrift.
He met the tyre, body split in two—
What’s a driver meant to do?
Now fur and whiskers grace the road,
A life’s small spark in flattened mode,
A cartoon ending, some might jest,
But even the wild needs time to rest.
So here he lies, our Bugs laid flat,
A grim reminder, the bunny splat.
I guess that's just the end of that ....
A weary grin now here appears,
Crushed little bones where tyres tread,
I guess it’s Bugs—yes, Bunny’s dead.
A brutal scene laced across its face,
Left for crows’ pickings, no shame, no grace,
Eyes peeled wide, a little like balloons,
A sudden death with instant doom.
A hooter honks to warn the hare,
Still he crossed; he seemed to dare,
We hope his end was quick and swift,
Paws skyward, soul adrift.
He met the tyre, body split in two—
What’s a driver meant to do?
Now fur and whiskers grace the road,
A life’s small spark in flattened mode,
A cartoon ending, some might jest,
But even the wild needs time to rest.
So here he lies, our Bugs laid flat,
A grim reminder, the bunny splat.
I guess that's just the end of that ....
Written by MalcolmG
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