Poetry competition CLOSED 30th May 2018 4:20pm
WINNER
Miss_Sub (- Missy -)
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RUNNERS-UP: Hepcat61 and FromTheAsh

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Speak To Me Of Your Muse

poet
Blackwolf
I.M.Blackwolf
Dangerous Mind
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Joined 31st Mar 2018
Forum Posts: 635

Poetry Contest

Write A Poem About Your Muse Corporeal Or Etherial
You May Submit Three Poems

They May Be Written Before Or Newly Penned

Absolute Focus On The Muse And The Inspiration
And Passion To Write : Do Not Deviate From That Theme

Length Of Poems Is Not Restricted Yet Please Consider
Though I Can Take Much In , I Too Have A Neural Limit...

Competition Will Be Judged By Myself With Three Non
Participating Members Of My Choice Who I Have Seen
Prove Themselves In Their Writing Style And Subject Matter...

Listen Closely To That Inner Voice Because You Will Be Writing
About The One Who Is Speaking To You As You Speak About Her...

And Please Enjoy This Challenge And Have Fun !

( To Begin I Shall Give An Example : I Am Of Course Not Competing )

poet
Blackwolf
I.M.Blackwolf
Dangerous Mind
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Joined 31st Mar 2018
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The Muse Speaks

 In The Wild , And In The Dark ,

And In The Night , Before The Spark ,

Where In The Dance Of The Abyss ,

She As Chaos , Gave Her Kiss ,

None To Say Nay , None To Say Aye ,

None To Affirm , None To Deny ,

She Who Whispered , In The DarkWild ,

I Am Your Muse , Infinity's Child ,

See Me , Hear Me , And You Shall Attain ,

Deny Me Once , I Shall Drive You Insane ,

There Is No Escape , And No Return ,

Run From My Passion , And You I Shall Burn ,

I Bring The Wisdom , I Bring The Word ,

Some Say Is Truth , Some Vow Is Absurd ,

Little I Care For What Others Say ,

All Is As It Is , And Shall Be As It May...
Written by Blackwolf (I.M.Blackwolf)
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poet
FromTheAsh
Tyrant of Words
United States
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if not for the muse in you


the truth is my mind is a dark labyrinthine place  
with long and twisted corridors  
dead ends and unexpected breaks  

it echoes with the howls of beasts †
the kind from which I cannot run †
dragging their infected claws †
along dusty floors of my soul  

what beauty I struggle to see in me  
I can only view through the eyes of you  
(though even then I find it hard to believe )  

there are shadows lurking in corners †
just waiting for me to let my guard slip  
for a chance to sink their teeth in
and slam my back to the ground  

no, it's not pretty in there  
without your distraction  
the lights of your eyes in the dark  
without your inspiration  
and the glowing beauty of you  

the words would all be haunted  
taking me places too painful  
too real to endure  

I would not take you into my nightmare  
into places I long to forget  
I alone walk these alleys  
for I have hardened my skin  

I would shield you from my memories  
it's the least I can do


Copyright © 2017 FromTheAsh. All Rights Reserved
Written by FromTheAsh
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poet
JusTim_
Dangerous Mind
United States
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My Muse Resides

I see in creases no others found
where souls seem low
and duty bound

where sparkle waits
in dreamlike states

amid anxious eyes
here her smile lies

I see in darkness under guise of moon
where beauty moves
no heart's immune

where kindness roams
alive in poems

held deep inside
my muse resides
Written by JusTim_
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poet Anonymous

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poet
Blackwolf
I.M.Blackwolf
Dangerous Mind
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Joined 31st Mar 2018
Forum Posts: 635

Thank You Ash , JusTim , and Loud Ninja Master for your entries !

Each excellent in their individual ways...;)

This is starting off wonderfully , and I did feel the Muse in each poem ;

This will be an interesting and difficult competition to decide , that is obvious...

May Your Muse Be With Each Of You !

poet
eswaller
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 22nd Dec 2015
Forum Posts: 457

My Muse Who Will Stay

When the sunlight is hitting his face
First thing in the morning, he
Reminds me of an angel who sleeps
So peacefully. His halo of light has
My hand itching to write all down.
His features that I want to trace
With my palm and pen. He would be
My muse and inspiration that seeps
Through my soul. My mind that is as
Dark as the night sky turns around
And makes everything light up again.
Those moments in between every
Kiss when I smile like I have not been
Smiling or laughing for many years.
It is in those moments that the rain
Has finally stopped and the reverie
Comes to life. Everything is clean
And green again. All of the tears
Have come but stopped before they
Could go further. My muse will stay.
Written by eswaller
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poet
AEMelia564
Y
Tyrant of Words
Norway
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Joined 20th Apr 2016
Forum Posts: 1958

Ramblings of a river and a day

Epic breath
Beyond molecular journey
Pierced refrained fractures
Saturated fountain
Opens

Through spring rain
All spirals attuned against my window
She stands in the faintest of Light
Gowned in plum blossoms

Ascending green awareness
Ignites hibiscus heart
Whispering her scent

Draping Her cosmic cloak
Around my ink

Pirouetting
Orbs
Till
Night

Cusp

Written by AEMelia564 (Y)
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poet
Hepcat61
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 934

Invocation -

(sonnet)
The time has come again to raise the dead, †
We cast our souls upon your watersí fire. † †
That smoke from burning rocks on winds are fled, † †
And words are born from ash of funeral pyre. † †  

Your tresses hang on fervent mothersí breast, † †
Your wings expand to cover all thatís seen. † †
Now shower milk of verse for our success, † †
And show the heartís inspire from all thatís been. † †

Are Poets lost without your honeyed gifts, † †
And flounder with the words you wonít beguile. † †
But with a single breath, your graces lift † †
And echo songs that free our heartsí exile. † †

Oh, honored Muse, we humble bow to you, † †
That with your touch, you equal honor do. † † †  
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
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poet
Hepcat61
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Muse

(villanelle)
My Muse appears to me in womanís guise,  
A glimpse of furled smile's grace in new dawn light, †  
When I with guided hand her touch advise. †

Her riffs and rills bring thrilling penís arise, †  
As sacred ink flows free from fingered plight. †  
My Muse appears to me in womanís guise. †  

How quick she spreads her need that I baptize †  
With mouthíed line and phrase for her delight †  
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise. †  

With every stroke complete and stroke revise, †  
She opens more her gain, my wants incite. †  
My Muse appears to me in womanís guise.  
††  
ĎTil rushing come: her ink, my penís surprise, †  
In finished pulsing song we both recite, †  
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise. †
†  
How stains on sheets, our congress work supplies, †  
How sweet the spoils taste, on lips excite. †  
My Muse appears to me in womanís guise, †  
When I, with guided hand, her touch advise. †  
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
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poet
Hepcat61
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 934

At Last, The Muse Gets Real

(sonnet)  
Ungodly hell! You pick today to turn  
Your face and show your scaly lizard soul.  
Twenty-nine days you let your alter burn,  
And last day, Muse, my black heart you extol.  

Did I not please? Did I not offer well  
The guiling whispers of my despírate need?  
Did I not write the self youíd have me tell?  
But no, Lizard Muse, now youíd have me bleed.  

So hear, in clever verse my wants express,  
That life itself would never bring to me.  
I hide, in turn of phrase, my heartís distress,  
That versely sate might end my misery.  

With poisoned heart you sought now at your feet,  
The cycle, Muse, let rest in peace - complete  
††  
  
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
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poet
wallyroo92
Fire of Insight
United States
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Forum Posts: 514

Composition

Sheís like a symphony of words, of chorus and chords,
Of course dripping with emotion and lust sweet to the ear,
Rich in texture with a sheer delectable kinetic resonance,
That the mind goes blind with decadence and joyous cheer.

You might say itís copacetic to hear her spoken expressions,
Her lilts, her inflections, her delivery can be completely magnetic,
Almost prophetic and wholly aesthetically pleasing to the seer,
The way it appears to slip from her lips itís really quite poetic.

Itís almost like that elusive dream with an obtrusive theme,
That unseen or unheard of aural fixation that ignites the night,
A flight of harmonies that fill the senses with utter amazement,
That beautiful, would be an understatement to describe her light.

Sheís like a masterpiece of mystery and clandestine desires,
A fusion of choirs and portrayers assembled to play the play,
By the way each one carries their notes and individual parts,
There is an art to the entire composition that carries me away.

poet
Blackwolf
I.M.Blackwolf
Dangerous Mind
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Joined 31st Mar 2018
Forum Posts: 635

Eswaller , Melia , Hepcat / Geoff , and Wallyroot , thank you all for entering...

I am scanning , sometimes twice , in my mind , each entry...

A lot to take in...yet again excellent each one ;

Eswaller , I will and do note , has brought something into play here ;

Most see the Muse as a feminine presence , or androgynous ;

Yet , in your poem , Eswaller , you have epitomized and presented the

Muse as your animus , so to say...;)

I find that intriguing...thank you for bringing that into the equation !

We have awhile to go , and I am looking forward to many views

of the Muse ( rhyming unintended there , for once ! )...lol !

poet
Miss_Sub
- Missy -
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Forum Posts: 6736

Rampensau

Miss_Sub (- Missy -)
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Rampensau

Some days I wake
and itís just there

rising from my throat
like a belligerent God
sucking down despair

and I race
to the green light
having not slept
because, poetry

and I havenít showered
because-
poetry

and I havenít dressed
because

the words need
to fire out like bullets
and thereís no place
Iíd rather be
than where I feel

just like home.

This

this is
my house

all of it -
broken
crumbling
desolate

but itís mine
none the less.


Thinking
makes it so.

The Germans
have a beautiful
word for this
flavour of chaos:

ďrampensauĒ

the wild animal
of the stage
at home under
the spotlight

the puppeteer
of the microphone,
the slayer of crowds
and public spaces

the truth tellers,
the vocal aficionados
waking every morning
to brush their teeth
with poetry

to piss
poetry

to shit poetry
or get off
the damn pot

...well

thatís an entirely
more British expression...

but I
like to believe
our melded flags
can teach us
the real meaning
of what it is to live

to write

to wake up every morning
and make your life
the poem

bled from veins
to sound waves

fearlessly skinned
in the real.

poet
MercyGiven
Strange Creature
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Joined 22nd Apr 2018
Forum Posts: 2

Wicked Chamber - Part 1.

After all I felt I knew
with the hand he dealt to you and I,
he had me tightening my neck;

with a belt of his hand, I'm hanging from it still.
I turned from God's throne,
and my overwhelming defiance against his selfish intent.

Would've crushed that love I have for you
that I fiercely guard,
even when Christ cut my throat with the leather.

It was HE that
punctured those nine inch nails
to my throat as if I were his dartboard.

I loved her enough to let this obsession die,
even still I take the seroquil.
Over a thousand milligrams I cry.

As it - unable to give me rest at night.

He brought my ego to die,
so I abused my final script of Valium;
in an attempt to keep it alive.

His 'divine'.

NOT as powerful as the love we share
with those fateful bullets I knew
he would have emptied into you and I.

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