Poetry competition CLOSED 2nd November 2024 9:57pm
WINNER
Lilliputian
Lilliputian
Page:
Dark Trousseau
Poetry Contest Description
Using "Dark Trousseau" as prompt. Dark poem 15 lines or less. Non erotic and no AI, please
NOT FOR THE COMP.
Dark Trousseau
In the stillness of a feckless hum from a dark
trousseau and cold winds spilling ink in deep
quarters from my mind's obituary of Cynide's
dysentery coming in from the cold only to scalp
the womb of the sarcophaguses and then crow
the parable of Twilight's anonymous listening
to the worms charm the barcode off my shelflife
fading into the compost of gluttonous souls
stirring the roux making glue for your father's
mustache and walking shoes in the stillness
of a feckless hum from a dark trousseau
Dark Trousseau
In the stillness of a feckless hum from a dark
trousseau and cold winds spilling ink in deep
quarters from my mind's obituary of Cynide's
dysentery coming in from the cold only to scalp
the womb of the sarcophaguses and then crow
the parable of Twilight's anonymous listening
to the worms charm the barcode off my shelflife
fading into the compost of gluttonous souls
stirring the roux making glue for your father's
mustache and walking shoes in the stillness
of a feckless hum from a dark trousseau
The King's Chambers
in her chambers a young virgin bleeds
her trousseau of linen grieves
the loss of her blush to bear, witness of the deed.
cruelty of favor rush
a lady in waiting
a gift to the King's service
keening a maiden's bloom taken to soon
a dowery to gain favor
the sin's of the Father had made them penniless
the debt to be paid in full by the young fair miss
the King robbing the cradle
traded to the castle to entertain at court
then when no longer desired, off with her head
Written by crimsin
(Unveiling)
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"Bone Seeker"
From graves unlatched in still decay
A dark trousseau unlatches, bare
Its gowns of dirt and graven sum
Unfurl beneath the stagnant air
Cold winds spill ink on fractured stone
Where hands of rot disturb the dead
And worms, in whispered tongues, intone
The harvest of what’s left unsaid
Exhumed from sleep, the bones are torn
Their silence cracks beneath the claw
As twilight’s mouth, unholy born
Consumes the flesh by nature’s law
The father’s shoes, once clean with pride
Now walk on dust where virtues died
From graves unlatched in still decay
A dark trousseau unlatches, bare
Its gowns of dirt and graven sum
Unfurl beneath the stagnant air
Cold winds spill ink on fractured stone
Where hands of rot disturb the dead
And worms, in whispered tongues, intone
The harvest of what’s left unsaid
Exhumed from sleep, the bones are torn
Their silence cracks beneath the claw
As twilight’s mouth, unholy born
Consumes the flesh by nature’s law
The father’s shoes, once clean with pride
Now walk on dust where virtues died
Dark trousseau (something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue)
From shadows, secrets bearing its receipt
the palest skin, pained porcelain
hopes, that hurt would not repeat
to hide the cracks her heart had borne
blood stained underwear
that was tied to trauma`s thorns
its lace- just oh so slightly frayed
borrowed amber stones, that hide the flaws
hidden deep but they still gnaw
the patina of old mistakes
blue bruising worn and faded slow
grey painted white, but its all fake
memories darkened with a touch of indigo
white veil and milk fresh silk
the dark trousseau, hiding that unburdened guilt
the palest skin, pained porcelain
hopes, that hurt would not repeat
to hide the cracks her heart had borne
blood stained underwear
that was tied to trauma`s thorns
its lace- just oh so slightly frayed
borrowed amber stones, that hide the flaws
hidden deep but they still gnaw
the patina of old mistakes
blue bruising worn and faded slow
grey painted white, but its all fake
memories darkened with a touch of indigo
white veil and milk fresh silk
the dark trousseau, hiding that unburdened guilt
Written by slipalong
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Soul Proposal
Echoes of stiletto heels within the ebony château,
My graphite garters donned
Under my ball gown,
Its shade derived from an onyx of ivory’s depths.
Descending stairs of life’s timer,
A slow tread towards my metal casket,
Adorned with cloisonné
Of my shadows’ prints.
My beloved Grim Reaper
Offering a dark trousseau,
As a bundle to propose
To my soul,
With a scythe to entrance my corpse.
Softly crooning and rocking me
To sleep in my condemned cradle.
My graphite garters donned
Under my ball gown,
Its shade derived from an onyx of ivory’s depths.
Descending stairs of life’s timer,
A slow tread towards my metal casket,
Adorned with cloisonné
Of my shadows’ prints.
My beloved Grim Reaper
Offering a dark trousseau,
As a bundle to propose
To my soul,
With a scythe to entrance my corpse.
Softly crooning and rocking me
To sleep in my condemned cradle.
Written by Lilliputian
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DARK WINBERIGE OF TROUSSEAU
In the shadowed vineyard of Dark Trousseau,
Where winberige's hang heavy with a glum allure,
Each fruit ripe with blood that starts to flow,
As full moon rises, their essence pure.
The vines writhe as if in agony,
Their tendrils dark and twisted with despair,
Blood red grapes a sight so grim to see,
Their taste a poison that none can bear.
Whispering sounds that no one hears
Vultures standby to watch something die
Waiting for a human to eat its deadly tears
Pain of cries that troubles one's flesh inside
At full moon's peak, the grapes transform,
Into a perfect shape, a perfect taste,
A stygian essence in the sheen night warm….
Where winberige's hang heavy with a glum allure,
Each fruit ripe with blood that starts to flow,
As full moon rises, their essence pure.
The vines writhe as if in agony,
Their tendrils dark and twisted with despair,
Blood red grapes a sight so grim to see,
Their taste a poison that none can bear.
Whispering sounds that no one hears
Vultures standby to watch something die
Waiting for a human to eat its deadly tears
Pain of cries that troubles one's flesh inside
At full moon's peak, the grapes transform,
Into a perfect shape, a perfect taste,
A stygian essence in the sheen night warm….
Written by NANCY_RDZ_STORIES
(WRITER LYRICIST ARTIST)
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One of Them
Cold shadows collected, strewn through the night
Like a dark trousseau full of mourning and grief
As the remnants of ghosts and specters past
Gather around like a den of thieves
But my eyes could not distinguish life from death
The very fabric of reality has been lost to memory
With an emptiness that seems to weigh a ton
Where the silence feels quite deafening
There, secrets are whispered in frayed threads
Fractured and broken in mnemonic tones
Lost forever in the echoes of time
Knowing I’ll become one of them
Written by wallyroo92
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