Poetry competition CLOSED 4th April 2019 1:45am
WINNER
David_Macleod (14397816)
David_Macleod (14397816)
RUNNER-UP:
Ahavati
Shock Poet
Poet's Wormy Tree
Ill Rational Warped By Walls Of Words Gone Bye
Like A Cyber Press Set To Impress As I Express
Upon A Mess Hall Of Minds Melted Mental Blind
Weirds Wired Well Inspired To Weave Wending Ways
For This My Kiss Upon Loose Lips Tongue Well Tipped
Rapier Wit Rappers Writ Byte And Bit Spite And Spit
For This I Lay It Down to Drown In Sound Set Surround
Like A Cyber Press Set To Impress As I Express
Upon A Mess Hall Of Minds Melted Mental Blind
Weirds Wired Well Inspired To Weave Wending Ways
For This My Kiss Upon Loose Lips Tongue Well Tipped
Rapier Wit Rappers Writ Byte And Bit Spite And Spit
For This I Lay It Down to Drown In Sound Set Surround
Written by Blackwolf
(I.M.Blackwolf)
Go To Page
a description of me, as what I think I could be, if I were a Poet
lay it all down
steadily
heavily
make em hot
or maybe not
while they feel and read
make em all internally bleed
when they reveal
knowing the feel
of drugs, sex
and fuckin rock n roll
as feelings take their toll
not making a claim
feelin like much less
than any fame
really kinda fucking lame
then theres hearts
maybe dead flowers
making me wanna hollar
what the fuck is this
is there something I missed
inner turmoil and emotions
being spewed and hissed
when all we want is to be cherished
at special times
like with a master and his whip
or a deep orgasm's afterglow
especially when
that four letter word "love"
is tossed around like a salad
on a hot summer's sweaty eve....
did I say I was hungry muther fucker?
lay it all down
steadily
heavily
make em hot
or maybe not
while they feel and read
make em all internally bleed
when they reveal
knowing the feel
of drugs, sex
and fuckin rock n roll
as feelings take their toll
not making a claim
feelin like much less
than any fame
really kinda fucking lame
then theres hearts
maybe dead flowers
making me wanna hollar
what the fuck is this
is there something I missed
inner turmoil and emotions
being spewed and hissed
when all we want is to be cherished
at special times
like with a master and his whip
or a deep orgasm's afterglow
especially when
that four letter word "love"
is tossed around like a salad
on a hot summer's sweaty eve....
did I say I was hungry muther fucker?
MUSE
Each writer born must have a muse,
Or so I’m told, for if they do,
And if they should, do they know how
To let it in or haven’t found
A way to hear it whispering
Like mine, who tells me everything,
And always watches after me
To heed the way I ramble free.
For years before I touched a pen,
It’s always loved the little wren
That plays, and sees me in this way,
Both in the dark and light of day.
And when I don’t know what to say,
It doesn’t coddle me per se.
In fact the muse is very wise
Unlike myself when I surmise,
And get in trouble; to the point,
For when it sees I’m out of joint
It doesn’t wear dark robes to judge
Or let’s me hang, it doesn’t budge.
And never does it find me dull,
To serve a life without a lull;
This poet’s mind is very full
And that’s because the brain is mine.
No other like it will you find;
I never seek, or gravitate.
Just like the charge it motivates,
The muse is on my family tree;
A special branch some will agree.
For what it knows is every truth
Since time of birth & from my youth,
It doesn’t need to pull a tooth.
It doesn’t care for rational,
It loves me unconditional.
From rising moon to setting sun
The Muse, the Mind & I are One.
Or so I’m told, for if they do,
And if they should, do they know how
To let it in or haven’t found
A way to hear it whispering
Like mine, who tells me everything,
And always watches after me
To heed the way I ramble free.
For years before I touched a pen,
It’s always loved the little wren
That plays, and sees me in this way,
Both in the dark and light of day.
And when I don’t know what to say,
It doesn’t coddle me per se.
In fact the muse is very wise
Unlike myself when I surmise,
And get in trouble; to the point,
For when it sees I’m out of joint
It doesn’t wear dark robes to judge
Or let’s me hang, it doesn’t budge.
And never does it find me dull,
To serve a life without a lull;
This poet’s mind is very full
And that’s because the brain is mine.
No other like it will you find;
I never seek, or gravitate.
Just like the charge it motivates,
The muse is on my family tree;
A special branch some will agree.
For what it knows is every truth
Since time of birth & from my youth,
It doesn’t need to pull a tooth.
It doesn’t care for rational,
It loves me unconditional.
From rising moon to setting sun
The Muse, the Mind & I are One.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Anonymous
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Anonymous
Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
Oh, my ... Wow! ... and Great Entries all around!
Anonymous
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Anonymous
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A Poetess's Work
She is always writing as if the words run
Through her vital veins that have dripped
Like blood on paper with a small piece of
Her heart and they walk right into the sun.
They take a strong hold and have gripped
Everything from essential organs to love.
They are able to bring tears to one’s eyes.
And everyone around her wonders who she
Is. She is a magical poetess with her paper
And a pen, like a warrior who always tries
To tear down every wall. I want to try to be
Like her, completely fearless and a shaper
Of the words that are finding a way home.
A home that creates a meaningful melody.
A safe space for many feelings, emotions,
And ideas. And no matter how far I roam
I still come back to a crystal clear clarity
Of all the words on the horizon. Oceans
Will not keep me from my first and true
Love of poetry in my bones. It separates
Me from someone else who also writes.
Because it is essential as a heartbeat you,
Her and I need to survive. They are gates
Into the world and take us to new heights.
Through her vital veins that have dripped
Like blood on paper with a small piece of
Her heart and they walk right into the sun.
They take a strong hold and have gripped
Everything from essential organs to love.
They are able to bring tears to one’s eyes.
And everyone around her wonders who she
Is. She is a magical poetess with her paper
And a pen, like a warrior who always tries
To tear down every wall. I want to try to be
Like her, completely fearless and a shaper
Of the words that are finding a way home.
A home that creates a meaningful melody.
A safe space for many feelings, emotions,
And ideas. And no matter how far I roam
I still come back to a crystal clear clarity
Of all the words on the horizon. Oceans
Will not keep me from my first and true
Love of poetry in my bones. It separates
Me from someone else who also writes.
Because it is essential as a heartbeat you,
Her and I need to survive. They are gates
Into the world and take us to new heights.
Written by eswaller
Go To Page
My Poetry
My poetry is like a fine mist,
The verses caress like a tender kiss,
But when I drop ink with a twist of my wrist,
I spit mad bars because I get pissed.
Here’s the gist of it,
I slip the quip in there,
It’s whatever comes up to the surface whenever the spirit moves me,
If there’s a lisp in it,
It’s my speech impediment,
I breathe fire because aside from the ire writing also behooves me.
My verses are a mix of history and mystery,
A puzzle of lost pieces with imagery,
Whatever sounds clever I pull the lever and let the words flow,
My thoughts tend to get stuck at the dam,
If there be floods I’ll be damned,
I’m playful yet a little unstable but I’m careful not to let it show.
And so if I had to sum up my poetry,
I’d say it’s a reflection of me,
A twister of emotions filtered, tuned, groomed and rhymed,
I’m not always at my best,
But I get it off my chest,
So long as the words are ready, steady, primed and perfectly timed.
My poetry is like a fine mist,
The verses caress like a tender kiss,
But when I drop ink with a twist of my wrist,
I spit mad bars because I get pissed.
Here’s the gist of it,
I slip the quip in there,
It’s whatever comes up to the surface whenever the spirit moves me,
If there’s a lisp in it,
It’s my speech impediment,
I breathe fire because aside from the ire writing also behooves me.
My verses are a mix of history and mystery,
A puzzle of lost pieces with imagery,
Whatever sounds clever I pull the lever and let the words flow,
My thoughts tend to get stuck at the dam,
If there be floods I’ll be damned,
I’m playful yet a little unstable but I’m careful not to let it show.
And so if I had to sum up my poetry,
I’d say it’s a reflection of me,
A twister of emotions filtered, tuned, groomed and rhymed,
I’m not always at my best,
But I get it off my chest,
So long as the words are ready, steady, primed and perfectly timed.
Anonymous
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Anonymous
I just want to Thank EVERYONE who took the time to enter the comp but as with all comps there can only be one winner … so, CONGRATS to DAVID_MACLEOD for his punch-in-the-gut piece!
I hardly – if not – include Runner`Ups in the comps that I host but MISSY_SUB & AHAVATI do deserve some of the DU spotlight for their thought provoking pieces; if I could award the both of you Trophies, I would.
Again, thanks Everyone. See you next comp!
