Competition Ends 28th February 2019 2:53pm

The Saddest Lines Written

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 20th Mar 2015
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Poetry Contest

Classic Corner tribute to Pablo Neruda

Co-Host - Ahavati ( the architectress of these educational comps )

Part X in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most well-known poets, both classical and modern.

Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto (12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973), better known by his pen name and, later, legal name Pablo Neruda, was a Chilean poet-diplomat and politician. Neruda became known as a poet when he was 13 years old, and wrote in a variety of styles, including surrealist poems, historical epics, overtly political manifestos, a prose autobiography, and passionate love poems such as the ones in his collection Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair (1924). He won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971.


Write a new poem honoring Neruda from any of his published poetry.  We feel listing poems may be constricting, and want you to follow the inspiration wherever it leads.

Do your best to make us feel as though we are reading poems by Neruda. The more we feel you "capturing his essence" in "your own words" , the higher you will score.  This will involve choice of wording, delivery, subject material, formatting, target audience - a wide range of factors.  

The Rules

1.  One entry per DUP persona.  

2. No erotica; this is open to all ages and can't be viewed with an ECW.  

3. No exact word limit; however, attempt to keep it no more than 250 - 300.  

4. Any form is acceptable ( but studying the poet is advised ).  

5. Hashtag your poem #PabloNeruda and link to your poem here. Do NOT copy paste your poem to the competition. The point is to eventually direct visitors searching for Neruda to your poem via the hashtag we hope will eventually be implemented by the Webmiss.  

Comp will be judged by a panel including myself.  You have one month; best of luck to all entrants.    

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 971



Slate grey was the lumbering
leviathan slowly making its way
chameleoned in a lowly mist;
drifting through canal derelict
with madness swirling, thicked
across decked cargo unclaimed

If one were to further inspect -
this is what you may have missed;

a behemoth's hull full of sadness
as it meandered unpurposeful
having nowhere in particular to go;

ghost of a titan long ago


Written by JohnnyBlaze
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jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 9th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 4170

The Scent Of The Night I Was Born

It’s still not too late  
as I rise near a light  
to a knock at my  
front door this evening,  

Carefully wrapping  
myself in a robe from  
the chill in the air  
and whoever is there,  
so they will think me  
a respectable whore.  
Yet I see no one as I  
stay in the soft light at  
the threshold,  
in the thin clean air  
of the Chilean Andes,  
with a scent of  
split cordwood in a pile.  
And I step out on  
the porch where  
cane chairs are stacked,  
brought to me by men  
who buy them from me  
as payment.  
I am a handsome  
woman, still young even,  
but not too much.  
I have always  
remembered myself  
like this, and no other.  
As I sit in a cane chair  
to wait for the first  
light of a rising moon,  
I forget the  
cigarette I drew on  
inside as it dwindles  
and goes out,  
And a new memory  
tries to surface.  
For I have no  
memory of being born,  
or the woman  
who bore me.  
Yet I think I have died,  
but I lose no sleep.  
And I never weep for  
burnt wood  
long gone to ash.  
And I don’t know why,  
but I like to try to  
imagine the scent  
of the night I was born.  
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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P M Banks
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
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Joined 10th Oct 2010
Forum Posts: 994

To Linger (Neruda)

I remember you as you were in the last autumn,
in black and white, in sheets and sheets, on fallen leaves, in puddles, by torch-light -
in reflections of eyes unable to see  
the metal core of your soul.  
Your will still bent me as espalier trees,  
the buds contorted, the bones ill at ease.  
A bonfire of awe inside my youth was burning  
as the delicate flowers of my spring were nurtured to show.  
You relieve, as deciduous leaves, upon consistent growth.  
The sheets and sheets fall, the still frame of our moment migrates  
where our touches caught beneath torch-light    
are frozen in black as char, in white as snow.  
The heady ball of light makes puddles of us,  
melts harsh history to purer reflections cast upon our familiar sky  
as buds are constrained to pay my toll.  
Those Autumn days hollowed out the soul.  
Written by ImperfectedStone (P M Banks)
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 3rd Feb 2014
Forum Posts: 1540

Ode to the Forbidden Fruit

It was not the apple 🍎
That was the cause
Of the man's downfall
Rather, it was the avocado
With green snakeskin hide 🐍
And a stone hardcore heart
The avocado is Satan’s pride
In the shape of the serpent’s eye
What other fruit could Eve
Use to tempt Adam's integrity,
A tender fig or fuzzy kiwi?
Or maybe a shiny cherry?
Offer a peach to an outlaw biker
And you'll get punched
Give him an avocado
And you'll get a hug
For strawberries nor nectarines
Compliment beer and football 🏈
Like the virile macho avocado
Primitive hardy with beefy flesh
Nothing says, "Masculinity"
Like a bowl of guacamole
Written by snugglebuck
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Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 1st Nov 2017
Forum Posts: 40

Hearing Nothing In The Snow

It was from an open balcony,  
where I saw,  
surrounded by    
war-torn deserted streets    
circling the (ruins of an) arena,    
and muffled by a    
winter dusting falling    
where there was no sky,    
muting the    
approach of horses.    
Black crows perch    
on a gentle sway of    
each horse’s back, to their    
synchronized lockstep,    
as mesmerizing    
as the brown shirts, who    
trot next to a solemn truck    
in its slow percussion.    
A frail boy with a rabbit,    
comes out of hiding    
from behind    
an overturned sedan    
that still smolders    
from when it was torched    
since before    
the snow had come.    
A shrill voice cracks the ice.    
“Halt! Schnell    
den Weg frei machen!”    
The boy with onyx eyes    
raises the    
limp rabbit in offering.    
It was dead.    
A soldier jumps from the    
truck, fixing a    
bayonet to his rifle,    
then runs up to the boy    
as he lunges.    
The horses, with their    
Grecian necks of amber,    
toss long manes,    
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 1854

The Fear ( After Pablo Neruda )

We are not naturally afraid of darkness;
we gestate within it, our eyes unclear
thriving in gelatinous sockets of growth—  
it is birth that dilates pupils to fear.  
Abuse, its steel toe boot cracking the teeth  
of our solar plexus in times of innocence;  
adolescence demands our participation—  
microscopically studies each breath.  
Breaking the spine of nonconformity  
fear wills one into a submissive participant;  
dominant peers lord over the weak  
and life is not lived, but tolerated.  
We sit on the rim of the well of darkness  
and fish for fallen light with patience.
We seek havens of peaceful confinement—  
ultimately concluding ourself the safest.  
Written by Ahavati
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Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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Joined 26th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 90

if I am but a memory that fades

I want you to realise
only this.
As I walk    
across pink fescues and red saccharum  
parted by paths rich with rain,  
as I catch  
each drop that wets the lands,  
falling gently through sepia tones  
cedar into my bones,  
as though  
all beauteous aspects in simplicity, simply    
everywhere I go  
in everything that I know  
you exist.  
Now, if I  
piece by piece  
should be swept as particle of air    
then all that will be is dust.  
If I am to be a memory  
which surely fades    
do not ever look to again    
what you will already have lost. 
If time  
fractures and dries  
as the truth of my breath    
reaches by your side,  
and you decide    
to no longer listen  
but rather choose    
not to hear,  
and I am, I become    
a place    
where crows intrude and ignorance floods,  
then I shall    
remain far  
from where, and from all  
that you are.  
But, if  
in each minute  
of every tomorrow
your ability to perceive,    
should have you seek  
resplendent butterflies that call    
for your hand    
to always reach for mine,    
then, I shall forevermore  
set the winds to sail  
with nothing less    
than all that I am,  
and never then  
will my touch  
from yours  
ever be withdrawn.  
Written by sophie_ericson
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Thought Provoker
United Kingdom
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Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 143

Fog of loss;

That tunnel seemed so dark    
the curved ball stoped you in your tracks
Quicksand being where the ground was easily tread
 any chinks of light in that dim place;
The candle flickers but won't be doused
small steps of faith come as increments of closure now
The die that is cast of inconsolable malaise    
times steadies the hand to find the dawn again
To lift a spirit from its cellar dwelling    
the full of disconnected question marks
You somehow brave the incline to the top    
and having scaled the blackness stood aloft
The compass point with its point so bright    
draws you through eclipse to that resting place
# Pablo Neruda
Written by slipalong
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Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 30th June 2016
Forum Posts: 49

Sonnet xxvi (Love's Name)

‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.’

                                 -Pablo Neruda

Deep in the hollow heart
a flame tries to be born
it sparks and flickers
it only thinks of you.
It knows it must be born
for you require its warmth.
It is as a star to those who gaze
at the sky, milky and wide.
It knows its life will be short
compared to the eternity of most things.
It knows itself to be a shooting star
that dies in spite of itself
after the brightest blaze it can effect;
it burns itself for love, only love, its taste
lingers on the night air.

What was that flame I felt,
what was your name, love, love,
I always knew you cared;
when I closed my eyes you were always there
and still you singed with my longing for you.
You were frozen in my lacking, needing.
Still, I only knew you by your name, love, love
and it was I alone who lit the flame.

It was you burning in those embers
glowing in the dark,
it was you rising, a ghost in the fire;
a resurrection of my heart.
You were the scent of all the
unbloomed flowers which
permeated my soul darkly,
solidly and straightforwardly.

I knew no other way to love you
so your arms became mine.
The light of your embrace
became mine for you.
The dark of your heart
became my heart
and somewhere
between my soul and my shadow
my love for you was born


#Pablo Neruda
Written by PoetsRevenge
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Whoop! Whoop!

The vote is on for our next Classic Corner comps!

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 1854

Greetings, honored Classic participants.  The above poll for March has been closed in order to have time to prep the portraits.  

Below is the new poll for April.  This will close March 15 ( so beware the Ides of March and vote before then ).  We are conducting this early in order to prepare DUP's NaPoWriMo Team and Comp. Thank you.

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 22nd Dec 2015
Forum Posts: 525

Love Sonnet (After Neruda)

I do not love you as if you were made of the finest gold
This world has to offer or because your smile can start
A fire. I love you as the darkness desires light and cold  
Touches crave warmth. There is something your heart  
Always wants; to always be loved in all the right ways  
And places without fear of being broken or delicate.  
I wish to love the deepest parts of you, not for days  
You spent in the summer, but when you felt desolate,  
Alone and everyone ignored you when you needed  
Love. That is when I will prove you and them wrong  
Because I never let your tears or voice go unheeded.  
I know only of one way to love you with no ping-pong  
Battle. What I want ends with your head against my  
Chest as you sleep and dream, my hand on your thigh.  
Written by eswaller
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