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Layla
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Poem of the Month - August 2018

Zazzles
Broomie
Tyrant of Words
United States 24awards
Joined 23rd Nov 2013
Forum Posts: 1779

Related submission no longer exists.

debug
Twisted Dreamer
Joined 8th May 2014
Forum Posts: 35

debug
Twisted Dreamer
Joined 8th May 2014
Forum Posts: 35

JusTim_
Tyrant of Words
United States 26awards
Joined 22nd Jan 2017
Forum Posts: 171

poet Anonymous

the hidden world of words

 
being a poet is about pushing boundaries
I push mine to the limit
sticking with what you know
is the difference between being at the beach
or playing in a sand box
 
at the beach the tide is going to come in
and wash everything away
writing your poems in the sand
an action in futility?
maybe to some
to me the old is washed away  
leaving room for even greater creativity
 
sometimes you ignite
others combust
but you won't know unless you try
 
people may hate me
some will love me
but I write because I must
it's my passion
my demon
the cross I bear
 
the words come and I must free them
or they will harass me until I do
flooding my mind
until it drowns in them
they clutter my thoughts
with a constant word association game
 
I see them when I sleep
how they fit together
piece by piece
letters and words in geometrical shapes
dancing a hidden dance
only I can see
 
until I release them into the world
and these haunting ghosts are freed
no longer wraiths of my imagination
 
but living
 
breathing
 
beings

Written by crimsin (Unveiling)
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lepperochan
Craic-Dealer
Guardian of Shadows
Palestine 67awards
Joined 1st Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 14449

Strolling with Leah, Sitting with Sonny

 


Years ago, at the beginning of this bizarre century,
Leah, (a teenager at the time), & I were strolling in The Village in NYC on a
                 Saturday night.....we stepped around a corner
           & there was the 2nd manifestation of Sweet Basil (jazz joint).

I could see Sonny Fortune just ending a set, putting his alto on it's stand,
    and starting toward the front of the room.

Not expecting to be recognizedd, i waved at him.   A year before, at the behest
      of the great bassist and friend of mine, Henry Franklin, i'd shared in a
         backstage, post-concert dinner with Sonny, Henry, and Frank Morgan in
             Kansas City.

Sonny came to the front door, and indeed remembered me. He told the doorman
     that Leah and I were his "guests", (no cover charge).

We sat at a booth, waiting for the next set to start.  In the course of conversation,
      Sonny said his daughter had died of cancer several months earlier.

"Damn, that's a terrible thing to lose a child at any age. Life'll never be the same."

As he got up to return to the bandstand, he said: "You be sure & take care of this little girl of yours."


aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
2018dankozakBadArtAndMusicAndPooteryForAll !!
Written by dkzksaxxas_DanielX (DadaDoggyDannyKozakSaxfn)
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lepperochan
Craic-Dealer
Guardian of Shadows
Palestine 67awards
Joined 1st Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 14449

dead roses for writers I admire

 
(i)
 
the dead tell no tales
but ah they do
ask the mortician
they speak more truthful than the living
having no time for lies
they speak on the facts
in black, blues and reds
 
(ii)
 
three poets
Craic, Hemi, and Crimsin
what do they have in common?
nothing but fire in their guts
and haunting these halls longer than most
bumping heads
bumping into one another
mostly staying in eaches corner
 
(iii)
 
Crimsin the shit starter
I can't help myself
old alliances are remembered
no, I've never been in the respected group
I whore myself out too much cest la vie
 
(iv)
 
the respected
I love you all
even try to mimic you
hoping something will catch
I don't know yet  
if anything has sunk in
 
(v)
 
dead roses
on my unmarked grave
I am possessed with writing
will likely die unknown
but somehow I think you will remember me
 
 
(vi)
 
you will won't you?
Written by crimsin (Unveiling)
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And in a totally unbiased nominate :




Amorous_tryst
Dangerous Mind
United States 16awards
Joined 12th June 2017
Forum Posts: 945

to write a poem sweet

 
 
she said  
write me a poem sweet  
and i obliged  
nomind  
 
all was going well  
till the nib  
touched the paper  
 
then  
the pen  
refused to move  
 
the sweet nothings  
emanating from the brain  
just wouldn't  
go past the heart  
which had become  
a giant sink hole  
 
what happened?  
she asked  
why aren't you writing yet?  
 
i had no answers  
for i really had none  
as the mind itself  
was clueless  
 
and i stayed  
stunned  
 
she called me an asshole  
and left  
 
clueless again  
was i  
for i did not know  
what had happened  
and  
what was more  
shocking-  
her leaving  
and like that  
or  
the pen shooting blank  
 
the quest  
to find the answer(s)  
started off strong  
and faded  
with time  
yet never ended  
 
till one day  
shuffling through drawers  
came across  
my first love letter  
though never sent  
for reasons obvious  
and  
redundant at the same time  
 
the little part of the heart  
she- my first and true love  
had captured then  
had always  
kept the grip  
firm  
on the pen  
 
that part never surrendered  
to the power  
of lust  
though the letter  
got buried deeper  
each day  
by dust  
 
Written by cold_fusion
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Amorous_tryst
Dangerous Mind
United States 16awards
Joined 12th June 2017
Forum Posts: 945

for those with woe

sometimes it’s just chemistry
ph levels and dopamine
a rush of rain overflowing into our streets
unable to find its way back to the canal
wandering
caught as a puddle
till the hot sun frees it to the air
 
sometimes it’s a choice
a switch we forget to flip
it’s binary
i choose dark today because it goes with my blouse
but the sundress is on the couch
thrown from the last romp
right where we left it to go chase frowns
 
sometimes the artificial need for meaning
for the crossword to magically come together
creates tension
of what is and what can never be
but narratives are just words on a string
arranged in a sequence for today
spill them on the floor
and they’ll never be again
what they were yesterday
 
by accident or choice
some are bold
and some behold
a spinning wheel landing on a paper map
did i spin too hard?
or too soft...am i a mouse?
where is my hidden tiger
to help me roar away my fear?
it is often
already whispering in your ear
 
but all of it
all of this
all of that
all of now
and all of then
and even tomorrow that has never been
are only moments
tsunamis and orange horizons
that pass
again and again
the channel will change
sometimes on it’s own
and change will always come
today and tomorrow
 
blink!
wake up to a breath
say yes
and sometimes no
but let your no’s be only a left over right
until you choose right
and leave left
for the birds
they hungry too
Written by poetrician
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Hepcat61
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States 33awards
Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 1028

Three Letters

    
•One•  ( Satan )    
     
I write this to you, a cathartic exercise    
In life, and what I hope to learn in its attempt.    
I write this, though I don’t know why, perhaps you do.    
     
I’ve never believed you were the beast people say,    
That the church preaches, and the Bible teaches us.    
 But the way to explain what goes on in the Mind,      
Where everything resides when we’re born, as we live    
And then, always too soon, though some are blessed      
- we die.    
     
     
•Two•  ( Dad )    
     
I write this to you, a cathartic exercise    
In life, and what I hope to learn in its attempt.    
I write this, though I don’t know why, perhaps you do.    
     
You know I recently lost you, and got Him back.    
I was with you till the last, looked up, there He was.    
And when I talk to you, it’s Him I feel hears me.    
I’ve nothing to repay Him with, except my faith    
Restored when I felt you returned into His keep.    
     
     
•Three•  ( Son )    
     
I write this to you, a cathartic exercise    
In life, and what I hope to learn in its attempt.    
I write this, though I don’t know why, perhaps you do.    
     
Hello, Joey, it’s been a while since I’ve felt you;    
The phantom presence in my womb long-faded, gone.    
It broke me when I sent the boxes to Goodwill.    
Yet what I have of yours still remains in my heart,    
I’ll take with me when Mommy’s loneliness says    
It’s time.
   
   
 
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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Layla
Fire of Insight
7awards
Joined 3rd May 2018
Forum Posts: 1216

At Four-pm

Eta Carinae,  

It was not my intended trajectory  
To be  
A meteoric blaze  
Through your skies  
And I hope my  
Heart  
Of reds  
Compliments the blues  
In your  
Eyes  
 
To burn  
It is my nature  
To burn  
Ceaselessly  
Variable  
Only  
In  
Intensity  
And as the seed  
Never resembles  
The flower  
Intention is only a beginning  
 
Longing, as we do  
Reaching for each other  
Across this divide  
I think of the road that lead us  
To here  
 
Persistent  
Whispers of the  
Past that manacle our  
Ankles to  
Ghosts of loves  
Lost  
And the cruelties of this  
 
Talking, as we do  
When sometimes my love  
Is a folded  
Fist I plunge into your  
Mouth  
And other times  
An open  
Hand  
That beckons  
Fingertips pressed  
Into your wrist  
To draw you in  
To my encircling  
Embrace
 
I am equal parts  
Covetous desire and  
Caring patience  
 
I am yang and yin  
Molded about the curve  
Of your body  
My breath rippling  
The sheets that  
Hold you on a  
Sleepless  
Evening  
My tongue  
Echoing  
Caressing  
Your thoughts  
 
I think of the many paths  
Ahead  
For us  
Each in our individual  
Spheres of  
Obligations  
And crowded around by those  
With their own  
Needs and  
Agendas  
Like my elderly mother  
Whose care has fallen to me  
And the young man who  
Pours out his ardor and  
Probably thinks you are writing to  
Him  
And whomever else  
Is orbiting  
Us  
As our paths  
Begin to curve  
About each other's  
Curious  
Gravity  
And the stark realities of this  
 
Who can define what there is  
Between lovers  
What Promethean  
Spark that  
Ignites a fountainhead of  
Desires  
To utterly consume  
Each other  
Who can say what artist  
Molded us  
Thusly  
 
If I were any more flawed  
I would be rightly defined  
As a man  
But if all that I am  
Is enough  
Than all that I am  
Is what I offer  
 
I feel  
How you've suffered  
As I've walked  
In the halls of your  
Voice  
As I've listened  
To the reserve  
Of your silences  
And I have listened  
And I do hear you  
 
I do not know what  
The future shall hold  
For us  
As we live  
Through each long  
Evening  
And grow  
Into each dawning  
Day  
But, I hope  
 
And hope, then  
Shall be our guiding star  
 
I remain yours,  
R Sculptoris
Written by DanielChristensen (The Fire Elemental)
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LobodeSanPedro
Tyrant of Words
Sierra Leone 109awards
Joined 16th Apr 2013
Forum Posts: 3304

The competition will be updated shortly to reflect the name of the winning poem/poet; currently the nominator's name is reflected.

Thank you for your patience.

admin
DU Webmistress
Mistress of the Underground
1awards

Congratulations to the winning poem The Ghostwriter by Layla nominated by ExistenceInSilence

poet Anonymous

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