Poetry competition CLOSED 4th April 2019 1:45am
David_Macleod (David Macleod)
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RUNNERS-UP: Miss_Sub and Ahavati

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Shock Poet

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

a description of You, as a Poet

Write a poem or two about what sets your poetry/style apart from others

2 Poem Maximum per Poet – because sometimes 1 poem just doesn`t cut it!
New/Old Writes Welcome
1 Week to Enter – as I am not a FAN of long drawn out comps!

poet Anonymous

- Missy -
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Joined 26th June 2011
Forum Posts: 9239

Related submission no longer exists.

Tyrant of Words
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Joined 15th Oct 2018
Forum Posts: 1767

Bookmarks & innuendo

a swallow leaves as pages of palm trees brown.
hardly drinking,  the sopping fish  
no longer around.
It’s winter now upon subtle grounds
and swallowing difficult when one has that
itch and feel that we might be missing something.
Bookmarked the uncertainty, the mainstay  
we do despite the weather,  
friends are left behind. Invite to come along
creates a journey of slow to no growth
and  hence to feather in between the pages.
There’s the climate and climate change ----
reciprocal warmth
saliva worn stamps  
curling off of the
empty envelopes.
Beside the point?
Point is. . .
Montage - Collage
& Perservation…………
The personal journey
is to no where special  
but somewhere
our selves.
Green pages sprout and spring
all the books returned
Bookmarks removed
still  remind
us of how far we’ve traveled.
Trust me,
You will know  
the when
the how
the before and after. . .

the why
Is an eternal path
buried somewhere
within inuendos
of the Living Tome's
I wish I had
Written by Tallen (earth_empath)
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Fire of Insight
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Joined 13th May 2018
Forum Posts: 288

My Poetry?

As a poet, must I choose one path  
to follow? Either sacred, or profane?  
If not, then shall I dare to risk the wrath  
of those whose sensibilities get strained?  
Are my poems art, or entertainment?  
Or perhaps, might they be something more?  
The act of writing poems is most ancient,  
predating everything, but sex and war!  
I sit, and drink my brandy, as I ponder  
who, the hell, it is I’m writing for?  
I think of all the hours that I squander,  
would they be better spent on booze and whores?  
Such questions are best left for greater brains,  
It’s me my poetry must entertain!

Written by ReggiePoet (Reggie)
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Fire of Insight
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Joined 13th May 2018
Forum Posts: 288

Ink and Semen

“I always start writing with a clean piece of paper and a dirty mind.”
—Patrick Dennis

An inner passion drives me to the pen,
not something that I sought, or thought was mine;
and it was very late in my life when
I found my joy in meter and in rhyme!
My fascination with this art form grew
because it wholly stimulates my mind.
It’s not an intellectual pursuit;
but, more! …a carnal embrace, unconfined!
My writing does not oust my masturbation,
the limit set by aged and worn prostate;
when lack of semen limits fornication,
that’s when, on pen and ink, I will fixate...
I am a lucky man, and I rejoice!
I wield both ink and semen! What a choice!

Written by ReggiePoet (Reggie)
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 14th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 1505

Philosophy Therefore Poetry

I think, therefore I am
I am, therefore I feel
I feel, therefore I write poetry
I write poetry, therefore I get criticized
I get criticized, therefore I express my opinions
I express my opinions, therefore I offend those who disagree
I offend those who disagree because they know I am right
I know I am right, I think....
Written by Poetryman
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 14th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 1505

Knot in the Loop

No I am not now nor will I ever be
Within the circle under the cliquing tree
Mirrors reflect the asses being kissed
By the ass kissers on everyone’s list
Who aspire to be elected to an imaginary office
And vote in praise of an all too real orifice

I find it all so distasteful, so full of it
Instead of a kiss, I'd rather get bit
When I offer up my thoughts of critique and of praise
As in my poems, those thoughts express my feelings in a phrase
To cast my vote, join the party and tow the line
Would tie the knot around my neck to be a part of that grapevine
Written by Poetryman
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 15th Oct 2018
Forum Posts: 1767


O my fucking God!
I scribbled another piece of shit on the parchment
And when the monk returns from the city
He’s gonna kick my ass…again!
I am a brain dead scribe - still...
Still jotting down shit for a monk in a dank cave
In a mountain in Tibet.
I AM NO MONK! I am not even certain I wanna be (pompous Fuck!).
I haven’t been formerly trained and this fucking monk
doesn’t show me shit (damn selfish bastard).
Perhaps, my lack of correct syllable
Comes from way too much drink!
Hah! As if that monk saw through my dribble
Of which I continue (to think).....
to scribe.
Written by Tallen (earth_empath)
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Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 5th Mar 2019
Forum Posts: 69

Have a Drink...On Me?

such an inebriant  
alarming aperitif  

Stiff cocktail
hard drink  
thirst quencher  
liquid refreshment  
night cap  
fire water  
One for the Road?
Written by CSD1558 (Minxy)
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Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 5th Mar 2019
Forum Posts: 69

Damn, She's Hot revised

I cannot believe, it's so surreal    
I have wanted her for so long  
damn, she's hot  
And she's mine    
everyone notices us    
I can't wipe this grin away    
yeah, she's a badass    
wait until you see her sway    
tonight's the night    
I know it is    
I've practiced and practiced gotta get everything right    
Oh shit, the clock is ticking!    
now's the time    
Fuck! I'm in her    
Damn, she's hot!   
come on now    
hold on, Don't    
you got this    
make it last    
heart pounding    
hips grinding    
here she comes    
Oh, Oh, mgmmm,    
I can't hold out anymore    
Damn, she's hot!    
This is it! Here it comes    
shaft flying,    
perfect synchronization    
Oh feel the adrenaline    
the rush of heat    
blasting through your body you're pushed back in your seat    
you're vision is clouded    
and you smell her aroma lingering in the air    
you pull out if her slowly    
wobbling to your feet    
every eye is on you    
Oh shit, what do I do?!    
then they erupt in    
catcalls and praise    
Damn, she's hot!    
your smile returns    
as you realize    
you're ready to go again    
and so  does she    
Written by CSD1558 (Minxy)
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Guardian of Shadows
United States
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Joined 17th Feb 2013
Forum Posts: 5191

Bitching in Print

Sometimes, God
lights my fingers on fire across
the keyboard, or
spills His DNA from my pen.

Sometimes I do it myself, when
there is nothing but screams
behind my eyes.

God and I, both have something to say
where does He end
and I begin?

Perhaps there is no end
or no beginnings, and
it’s all one continuum
like the endless strings of chemical reactions
I see in my mind
of everything, down to the atomic level.

because I cannot make it stop
so words already written
form on paper
in rants and laments, but…..

flowers and diamonds grow, in between
and the world really is alright.

Lost Thinker
United States
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Joined 20th Aug 2016
Forum Posts: 36


What makes me different?
My style is in question here,
well sis just look at the
pen, how many times
have you seen the whim
of a spot on the neck of
a great artist lost in space
never to be found a gem in
the ruff they say, but I'm
here to stay. I hope you see
with those green eyes the
shine that makes I contrast
to all, no longer will I fall.
I draw inspiration from the
kings of Nile, I'm Earth's gravel
and win, fire in the belly within.
Does that explain a little about
my verbal sling, the wild style
of the future, but whatever
suits you I say.

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 7947

You must know

You must know there are times
I will not choose you over the poem;  
nor your email, text or pouting silence
over the verse;  
Bulging zippers will not sway me  
nor swollen suitcases by the entrance.  
If you want to be first in someone’s life    
you must know, it can never be mine.    
I'll never be the faithful wife  
skinning vegetables at the sink;
a gimlet eye’d grandmother supervising,
starched apron and recipe splayed
submissively across the counter -  
contents spooned carefully;
the roast, flayed, awaiting its wake -
attendees of potatoes and carrots
following into the heated pyre.    
I'll never be the faithful mistress  
in a négligée holding a drowning olive  
after a cocktail party --
alarm at attention so we don’t oversleep
alerting your wife to your late absence.  
I'll be in the tub with the poem instead;
gluttonous ink splashing imagery  
over its porcelain skin with each spit  
of candle and stroke of pen.    
You must know, in bed I'll fantasize  
about the poem, how it carried me    
shielding my isolated survival
from extinction, while hunted
by laundered mindsets
firm in sects of belief.  
You must know the poem  
is 'One Hundred Years of Solitude',  
a plantation abandoned by death;  
it’s 'All the archived Names'  
without Ariadne’s Thread;
the Life that Pi actually dreamt    
'The Shipping News' reporting anthologies
modern American beats underground;  
it’s 'Water for Chocolate' torched  
by match heads; it's 'Midnight  
in the Garden of Good and Evil';
it's Romeo; it's Juliette.    
You must know, that if betrayed  
by lies or entrapment I will escape    
elope, even commit suicide  
before captured alive;    
we’ll die together, deeply inhaling afterlife  
as Plath – taping your sleeping existence
away from us, towels caulking the frame;    
and you, you must know  
you'll wake lonelier than you’ve ever been.    
Written by Ahavati
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David Macleod
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Joined 5th Nov 2014
Forum Posts: 2945

The Kind of Poet I am

Some people would say I have no style
kinder ones say I have no particular style
some people would say I have no class
kinder people could say He's in his own class
I consider myself to be classless
but certainly not ass-less

I'm a workhorse
I am a war horse
sometimes a wounded horse
but never a donkey
I am a dreamer
wide-eyed like a lemur
sometimes a screamer
but never a monkey
I enjoy offending
I am not for bending
sometimes pretending
but never clunky
I am irreverent
and such a discontent  
sometimes irrelevant
but never all spunky
with rules, I do not comply
I am high on my own supply
but sometimes I  cry
but never a junkie
I'm happy and sad
the good and the bad
joyless and glad
I am not jack the lad
I am Angelina's Brad
I put the mad into mad
annoying a tad
cool and rad
old man and lad
a hope that was had
I once was a dad
but that was a fad
I am so not a cad
in armor, I'm clad
I'm a poet for all seasons
with all the right reasons
to know it
I am the Poet
Written by David_Macleod (David Macleod)
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