Poetry competition CLOSED 25th October 2018 5:02am
WINNER
nightbirdblue (enbyblue)
nightbirdblue (enbyblue)
The Background
Back to Country
Allow me to draw
From my southern
Heritage, y'all
and watch it befall
Like pretty little
Ole waterfalls
Into dark bubbly
Babbling Brooks where
We like to throw
Our fishing hooks
Against the vines
Overhanging trees
Creeping and climbing
Into our dreams
Like molasses strings
From the lip of the jar
Only inches away
And yet ever so far
From breaking the strand
Tied together tight like
Momma's apron strings
Always done up right
She never puts up a fight
When daddy comes home
Stinking drunk and stoned
From the dive down on
The county line
Where he buys that
Backdoor whiskey or
Even some moonshine
It's a straight shooting
Copper kettle perfection
Of southern selection
Pouring smooth fire
Into your soul
And burning hotter
than the old wood stove
Back in granny's cabin
Where papaw used to
Talk while whittling
With a long slow
Southern drawl
That was just his
Heritage, y'all
From my southern
Heritage, y'all
and watch it befall
Like pretty little
Ole waterfalls
Into dark bubbly
Babbling Brooks where
We like to throw
Our fishing hooks
Against the vines
Overhanging trees
Creeping and climbing
Into our dreams
Like molasses strings
From the lip of the jar
Only inches away
And yet ever so far
From breaking the strand
Tied together tight like
Momma's apron strings
Always done up right
She never puts up a fight
When daddy comes home
Stinking drunk and stoned
From the dive down on
The county line
Where he buys that
Backdoor whiskey or
Even some moonshine
It's a straight shooting
Copper kettle perfection
Of southern selection
Pouring smooth fire
Into your soul
And burning hotter
than the old wood stove
Back in granny's cabin
Where papaw used to
Talk while whittling
With a long slow
Southern drawl
That was just his
Heritage, y'all
Written by Medinda
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Rise
Thousands of lanterns light up the night sky,
Each one a memory going off into the distance,
Each one floating away into the dark expanse,
Like wishes and thoughts whisper into existence.
The fire burns fervently within and then into the wind,
Decorating the heavens like all the stars are nearby,
A background of lights as if the scenic night extends
An invitation to endless possibilities for those who try.
Slowly they ascend like lively lovely souls transcend,
Carrying hope and dreams flying gently into the night,
Ferrying woes and worries never to be seen again,
With the expectation that everything will be alright.
Notions and emotions drift off into the vastness,
Creating new made promises to wondrous eyes,
Bringing faith to yearning hearts and minds alike,
When the multitude of beautiful spirits rise.
REFLECTION IN THE BACK OF A SPOON
Seeing you
from behind
while the cat
rhythmically
laps water
from the bowl
flick
after
dripping wet
flick
reminds me
of all the times
I've awoken
to the back
of your spoon
jiggling
flick
after
dripping wet
flick
from behind
while the cat
rhythmically
laps water
from the bowl
flick
after
dripping wet
flick
reminds me
of all the times
I've awoken
to the back
of your spoon
jiggling
flick
after
dripping wet
flick
Written by SatInUGal
(Kumar)
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Wallflower
a quiet girl observes
around the room
although she makes
eye contact
with you
only briefly, fleeting
she wonders
how you make
it look so easy
you, with your
casual yarning
laughter and charm
while she, silent
waits for her turn
and fumbles for
something to say
wishing she were
more down to earth
pretending that
everything’s okay
while the truth is
it hurts to smile
her cheeks are tired
and her teeth
are clenched
she starts to sweat
her face turns red
as she swiftly exits
but no one noticed
Written by nightbirdblue
(enbyblue)
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Background
The crystal clear blue sky is hanging over your head
Like chandeliers draped all in diamonds and stars.
You make this your home when you lay and spread
On the blanket soft blades of grass. All your scars
And tears forgotten about for those quiet moments as
You get lost in the galaxies. To you it never matters
If clouds roll in because you find comfort in what has
Your attention like the cosmic background that splatters
With color like a painter that takes a paintbrush across
The sky with magical beauty, never needing the gloss.
Like chandeliers draped all in diamonds and stars.
You make this your home when you lay and spread
On the blanket soft blades of grass. All your scars
And tears forgotten about for those quiet moments as
You get lost in the galaxies. To you it never matters
If clouds roll in because you find comfort in what has
Your attention like the cosmic background that splatters
With color like a painter that takes a paintbrush across
The sky with magical beauty, never needing the gloss.
Written by eswaller
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English Lane
I sit in the old servants quarters of
an English stately home. Behind the wall,
a partly cobbled green lane which I love.
Going down the lane from this aging Hall
in a wooded glade is a metalled road.
Going right, past a white wash Lodge withal
a scattering of dwellings now bestowed
by this beautiful walk through bright sunbeam.
Toward a bridge under which a burn flowed
where trout swim stationary in the stream
and, sometimes in the woods, roe deer are seen.
Continuing on this road as a dream
especially at dusk, where before we've been.
Road and stream like rod and snake reach a ford,
where two foot trout shimmer, quiver, careen
across to spawn; a sight to be adored.
Where stream and road cross a ford, where we roam -
pleasant and relaxing with health restored.
Along the lane where the trees make a dome,
around the corner and starting to climb,
the single track lane will then take us home.
If I stood up and rotated around:
each way you look, this journey is background.
an English stately home. Behind the wall,
a partly cobbled green lane which I love.
Going down the lane from this aging Hall
in a wooded glade is a metalled road.
Going right, past a white wash Lodge withal
a scattering of dwellings now bestowed
by this beautiful walk through bright sunbeam.
Toward a bridge under which a burn flowed
where trout swim stationary in the stream
and, sometimes in the woods, roe deer are seen.
Continuing on this road as a dream
especially at dusk, where before we've been.
Road and stream like rod and snake reach a ford,
where two foot trout shimmer, quiver, careen
across to spawn; a sight to be adored.
Where stream and road cross a ford, where we roam -
pleasant and relaxing with health restored.
Along the lane where the trees make a dome,
around the corner and starting to climb,
the single track lane will then take us home.
If I stood up and rotated around:
each way you look, this journey is background.
Written by AnonymousBystander
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I Am The Background To My Own Foreground Merged
(An Acrostic Poem for the "Background Competition)
I Am The Background To My Own Foreground Merged
Images merge like an hallucinations on top of a mirage
At the conjuncture to the truth and lies
Mentalist have such wet dreams that they are parched
The reality is hidden in an unreal fashion
Hidden behind many onion skins and layers
Ernest divination is nigh on impossible
But to be honest my background is sadness
Actively tortured and abused as a child
Church paedophile swap meet
Knuckled candy kisses on clergies members
Given prayer and the laying on of hands in private places
Recurring violence for violence sakes
Open heart surgery with innocence removed
Underlying guilt trips to seaside places
No rescue, no salvation and no prayers answered
Dreams of death and desires of my demise unbounded
To this apparent background
Only this is missing; a foreground
My adult hood paints a picture
Yet unfinished in its final hours
Only repeated like rich food and alcohol
Welcome to the greyness pixelated
No colours in high definition
Foreground is laid over background with surprising results
Only the actors are different but the abuse remains similar
Registering abuses covering the rest of adulthood
Easily takes on the victims role, wish, rinse and repeat
Generating adult abuses of parenthood, victimised in reverse
Readily with ease I was abused as a child and an adult
Offered nought in marriage her guilty of so many affairs
Unfortunately love came to late to change the narrative
Needlessly I've been broken by my past and future
Death and the desire for death have not left me
Methinks the only purpose in life was my suffering
Endless is the hurt I have undergone
Right and wrong have very little to do with it
Genuinely my background is merging to my foreground
Endless is the suffering that comes from the composite image
Death is the only constant in my life, framed to perfection
I Am The Background To My Own Foreground Merged
Images merge like an hallucinations on top of a mirage
At the conjuncture to the truth and lies
Mentalist have such wet dreams that they are parched
The reality is hidden in an unreal fashion
Hidden behind many onion skins and layers
Ernest divination is nigh on impossible
But to be honest my background is sadness
Actively tortured and abused as a child
Church paedophile swap meet
Knuckled candy kisses on clergies members
Given prayer and the laying on of hands in private places
Recurring violence for violence sakes
Open heart surgery with innocence removed
Underlying guilt trips to seaside places
No rescue, no salvation and no prayers answered
Dreams of death and desires of my demise unbounded
To this apparent background
Only this is missing; a foreground
My adult hood paints a picture
Yet unfinished in its final hours
Only repeated like rich food and alcohol
Welcome to the greyness pixelated
No colours in high definition
Foreground is laid over background with surprising results
Only the actors are different but the abuse remains similar
Registering abuses covering the rest of adulthood
Easily takes on the victims role, wish, rinse and repeat
Generating adult abuses of parenthood, victimised in reverse
Readily with ease I was abused as a child and an adult
Offered nought in marriage her guilty of so many affairs
Unfortunately love came to late to change the narrative
Needlessly I've been broken by my past and future
Death and the desire for death have not left me
Methinks the only purpose in life was my suffering
Endless is the hurt I have undergone
Right and wrong have very little to do with it
Genuinely my background is merging to my foreground
Endless is the suffering that comes from the composite image
Death is the only constant in my life, framed to perfection
Written by David_Macleod
(14397816)
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