Poetry competition CLOSED 16th May 2019 8:56am
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RUNNER-UP: inechoingsilence

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Tyrant of Words
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Poetry Contest

whats your heritage ?

Hello dear Fellow Poets,

This competition is about heritage. What is your heritage? Your personal  legacy What makes you you, what is your specific passion, gift, skill, dream, wish, Is it your bloodline, your past, present, a hobby, a craft, a kindred item, a kindred wish,?
What do you think will be remembered of you, by you?
What is a specific trade or feature of you?

Write about it in a shot text or poem
Any style length, show respect
No extemities or hate poems
Be creative
ONE per poet
one month

Dangerous Mind
United States
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A Motherís Grace

I hail from a bloodline  
of accomplished imbibers  
whose stout men all died  
younger than I am today  

Their legacy is violence  
steeped in the tears of  
wives and children  
who lived and died in their  
mercurial shadows  

A woman of principle  
once loved one of these men  

She bore him children and  
true to his nature  
he failed as a father,  
a husband, a man.  

She tried to fix him with love  
She cried but no one came  
She prayed and no one answered  
She denied in abject shame

To the desperate night  
a boy was born into chaos.

The woman lifted the boy  
to the sky and offered him  
to Godófor she feared  
she could not protect him  

Hearing no reply  
She took him into the forest  
Where they lived together  
alone and very poor  

She toiled daily  
bending branches for a home  
and foraging for food  
Suffering untold humiliations  
Sacrificing her life for his  

And she taught him †
to be a man.

Some lessons he learned  
And some he rejected  
His mind was his own  
And this made her proud  

Having no tradition  
He chose his own inspiration  
And selected his heroes,  
his demons, his myths  

Young women broke his heart  
And his pantheon shifted  
Whisky and Vice took their place  

ópaternal blood runs deep  

But violence had  
left the line forever  
all for a good Motherís grace.  
Written by highlyfunctional
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Tyrant of Words
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Thank you much, HighlyFunctional, for sharing your heritage, greets, Melia

Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 1st Mar 2016
Forum Posts: 80

The Heritage of Writing

Ink flows through my curdled veins, crippled in the midst of a weave.

Words cross paths, ordering attentive natures.

Past brutally fornicates with the present haunting the lines of my lineage.

Whispering mind tossing thoughts around a page.

Gripping the ends of curiosity, holding the audienceís ear.

Wandering webs of the heart parting to kiss the air.

A message seeping from the ink.

Writing is my heritage.

Tyrant of Words
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Joined 20th Apr 2016
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Thank you much, Erotic_ Goddess for sharing your heritage, greets, Melia

Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 17th Apr 2019
Forum Posts: 207

More than DNA

Where I come from is no easy question  
The answer even more complicated  
For I am so much more than my ancestry  

I was born in the land of the free  
Yet my soul is old, from foreign lands  
I queue, apologize for apologizing, yet  
My bluntness borders on breathtaking  
A cuppa solves all the worldís problems  
So do many shot glasses of ice cold vodka  

I come from generations of stiff-necked people  
Stubborn, willful, unyielding, even unto death  
My race is my religion, I bow before no man  

Poets, painters, scientists, innovators precede me  
So many geniuses struck with the artistís disease  
I was not spared their fate, I just know to live better  
Eccentric, eclectic, experimental, educated, earnest  
Are just a few words that describe my inheritance  
So are manic, melancholy, melodious, magnanimous †

If I perished tomorrow, what would be my legacy?  
A survivor, mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend  
My words, force of will, devotion to absolute truth  
Will be remembered of me -I ask for nothing more.
Written by inechoingsilence
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Tyrant of Words
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Thank you much, Erotic_ Inechoingsilence,  for sharing your heritage, greets, Melia

David Macleod
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Warriors Tears

Rescued from a life of Roman slavery under the whip
Strongly he picked up her weakened an injured body  
He takes her up in his powerful arms and cradles her
He pushes her matted hair away from her blackened
And muddy face takes the tartan rebel flag soaks it
And starts to clean her face, he is stunned by her beauty
Underneath all that blood and muck her eyes flicker open
She should be scared starring into the eyes of this bearded
Warrior; all the stories she had heard about the Scots and
Their rough and ready ways, but somehow the fear was
Absent or maybe it was because she felt so near to death
Her breath shallow scared to close her eyes in case it was
Going to be the last time they would be open ever again
She forces a smile at her tartan and leather-clad warrior
In his beard, he smiles back "You'll be fine lass just fine"
He rides through the night and by dawn he is at the castle
He carries her over the threshold into his chambers and lays
Her on the bed, his servants run around fetching things
Trying to help he tells them to leave and tends to her himself
He tends to her needs as fever grips her, day and night he
Cares for her moping her brow and her tears, he is slowly
Falling in deeply in love with her, he holds her hand and
Prays. Despite convention, the Warrior breaks down and  
Weeps: His tears seal her wounds as she wakes and stokes  
His hair etching the start of their story into her whip marks
Love blossoms: As a couple they are inseparable, †laughing,
Playing †and loving, going everywhere together †and hibernating
In front of a huge log burning fire, lovemaking is gentle and tender
She is in love with her gentle warrior "I love you, you saved my life"
"Aye an Ah'm sae glad Ah did petal." Her heart melts into his hug
As he succumbs to her beauty and with passion they make love
This becomes their life they marry and have a son that they adore
For three years all is perfection: On a dark night outriders arrive
Looking for volunteers for a rebel army to repel the Roman advancement
He feels the pull of loyalty to his nation and countrymen †and he knows
He cannot reject this request and as she sleeps on as he readies himself
Claymore, dagger and shield, armour of leather hide: He watches her
Sleeping, †and kneels to kiss her goodbye; she wakes looking into his
Eyes and she knows and he knows that she knows "Ah'm awfy sorry lass."
"Please tell me you are coming back to me my love." " Aye lass I will be
With you in this lifetime and the next petal." Time for that last embrace
Strong, tight and warm she tries not to let him go but she must, they lovingly
Look into each other's eyes "I will wait for your return, my hero." †She can see
The glassiness of his teary eyes, "Aye lass tae be sure Ah will come back tae ye
Petal." With military precision, he about faces walks to and mounts his horse
He rides of at speed and doesn't look back, she weeps for her tartan warrior  
The battle rages for seven long hours, lots of blood and severed heads and limbs
Deliberate torture of the Roman captured all will die by the sword this day
Her warrior's face has been lance slashed, he carries two crossbow bolts, one
Through the thigh, the other through leg at the calf his legs and feet stained red
He staggers from fight to fight slashing and stabbing like a mad man on a blood
Spree. He takes a sword stab to the shoulder and a dagger thrust to the belly
He screams in pain as he continues his blood lust, killing, even more, reinforcements
Of the clan Macgregor and the clan Macdonald and a band of crazy Irish thugs
Yet again the Romans shite their skirts and run back over the wall. Her warrior
Stands claymore in the air he shouts "Men of the clan Macleod stand with me!"
Only a few left, a handful; but they come to be by his side they raise their bloody
Shields and claymores and at the top of their lungs they scream "MACLEOD!"
Her warrior falls to his knees, he has lost so much blood they pick him up and
Put him on his horse "I huv tae get back tae ma petal." They let him ride off
Fearing his death. He rides through the night to get to her and arrives at the
Castle slumped over his horse barely alive, he falls with a clatter on to the stony
Ground. Awake she hears him an runs to be by his side she nurses his dying head
Screams for the servants to attend, one goes to fetch the shaman, the rest carry
Him inside and put him on the table, his breath is shallow and slow she hugs him
Tightly and prays for him not to die she whispers "I love you to the moon, please,
Please come back to me, you promised." Still weeping she sees him whispering
"Aye petal A'm here, just like Ah sade I wud be." She holds him tight still crying
For her warrior.
The shaman arrives and goes to work, she looks on "is he going to live?" the
Shaman answers in the negative, "Ye dinnae †waant tae be here the now. Go!"
She runs in slow motion covering her ears but can still hear the screams, through
The halls and throws herself on the bed sobbing, the screams continue as they
Saw off both of his legs above the knee, they apply a poultice †to both stumps and
Wrap them tightly with muslin. †They mend his other wounds applying a poultice to
Those as well. His screams turn to whimpers, she rushes to his side she takes him  
Up tenderly into her arms and cradles him. She pushes his matted hair away from  
His blackened and muddy face, takes the tartan rebel flag soaks it and starts to clean
His face, she is stunned by his courage. Underneath all that blood and muck his eyes
Flicker open, "Ah luv yea sae much ma petal."Her servants run around fetching things.  
Trying to help she tells them to leave and tends to him herself He tends to her needs  
As fever grips him, day and night she cares for him, moping her brow and his tears,  
He is slowly healing. Six months pass like a heartbeat, but he has come back to her
Just not all off him. He puts his armour back on as memories cloud his vision. He
Want to fight, but he can't. Her hugs and love cause more healing, though half a
Man she helps make him whole again, completes him
When the warrior takes off his armour, her tears
Seal his wounds etching their story into his scars
Written by David_Macleod (David Macleod)
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Tyrant of Words
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Thank you much, Erotic_ David,  for sharing your heritage, greets, Melia

Lost Thinker
United States
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Joined 14th June 2016
Forum Posts: 19

Judge me not!

I'm bored to death bored outa my fuckn mind
That seeking death is my only grind
I just don't give a fuck I have nothing to live for
Fuck it send me to hell I don't need your pearly gates don't need you to open that door.
All I know is suffer suffering thru sin and since you know it all its been predestined since fucking life begin....
Starting with Adam and Eve you start the world over and over again well God what the fuck do you plan to achieve. I'm nothing more than ya bastard son whom you purposely misguided and completely disowned
I'm on Luchipher side bitch its time you be dethroned
Yet you expect me to keep praying and just have hope; but bitch you never answered one so with my liquor & drugs how the fuck you expect me to cope.
You told me obey man laws but not to trust non so its ironic than instead of "Virgin Mary why wasn't it an angel who gave birth to your only begotten son?
Why can't your bitch ass ever just speak clear without all your puns and riddles
Oh get I'm your catch phase of a bad jokes so it all ain't nothing but shits and giggles
Yet you there Stans before me as a fucking judge God or no God I'll slit ya tucking throat without a blink without a budge
death ain't the enemy its been you this whole fucking time
Yet since you not a man you can't own up to your own tucking crime
What my extinct ancestors did ain't got shit to do with me
Yeah nigga you all knowing and shit so why your dumbass can't see!!!???
I renounce my faith I renounce you ever existed
Made in image right so like you now its my ass to kiss
Written by PerfectSinner
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jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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During one late summer, I took a trip where the native grasses grew as high as the flanks of my grandfather's buckskin, the one with the dark line of equine heritage down its spine. He used him then as a pleasure horse ridden when he had time, but he hardly ever did, especially once his brood started to grow. That's when he hooked up his horse to a plow, that turned the rich soil so that he could plant crops, to start in with helping to feed them all.††† † † † †  
†† † † † †  
My grandfather had two broods actually. The first was five children with his wife Marie who all died in the pandemic of '18. †The second was five more with his final wife. †The union lived long, and they all lived long lives, with Grandfather living a century. † † † † †  
†† † † † †
Longevity brings so many changes, uprooting and moving many times over. Nothing stays the same, even when you want it to. †It never stays young, only memories do. † † † † †  
†† † † † †  
After journey by plane, by train, then by car, I made my way through the bread basket of a nation that fed us, and stayed on to rebuild when tornadoes ravaged and tested the steadfastness of farmers and their families.††† † † †  
†† † † † † †  
I came to a piece of land a fraction the size of what it used to be eighty years before, where an old house sat square in the middle. †I slowly approached and crossed the threshold where Grandfather carried his bride Catherine, and their first-born on that first day to their new home.†††††† † † † †
††††† † † † † † †
As my sight got used to the darkness within, I saw a beauty I'd never known, in spite of, because of, the stained wallpaper, emotive in silence of deepening shadows. †The layers of dust-settled outlining frames of tobacco smoke where once pictures had hung, and aromas from generations ago. † † † † †  
†† † † † †
How many chicken dinners, and rhubarb pies with golden flaky crusts made of lard, passed through the wood burning stove in a land few trees grew. †And appetites after a long day of raising kids and corn and cows and crops and chickens, coming from a kitchen, with its threadbare bone of porcelain, and curled-back linoleum floors. This once-proud home, arthritic & asthmatic, with listing second-floor railings of gingerbread and sagging eves, eyed me suspiciously.††† † † †  
†† † † † † †  
I listened to the distant whine of a windmill being buffeted by frequent breezes' moan, signals that the last of summer was upon us. The frantic thrashing of a blue bottle fly, captured between a window pane and its screen. The journey I'd taken in very few steps brought other sounds I'd never heard until then. † † † †
† † † †
The phantom barking of the family Spaniel who had gone blind from cataracts by then. †And the shouts of children dressed for church spilling onto the covered porch, running across weedy grass to where smoke belched and backfired from the exhaust of their dad's fliver.†††††† † † † †  

The steeple, pointing towards the striking blue of afternoon, of the church three miles south; its windows and doors boarded up from the prairie's reclamation of its original faith, began to sound a bell that called the sheep to come and worship; its peal was clear and humbling as the thunder, when it would warn them that it was time to start the trek homeward.

†††††† †
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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Duncan Alexander
Dangerous Mind
South Africa
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No-thing is corporeal
all is ethereal

A thousand years, a million
all now.

There is no future,
No where-to,
Come from,
Come to,
Written by Duncan (Duncan Alexander)
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Thought Provoker
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Joined 13th May 2019
Forum Posts: 11

We Write The Story

we are all
the sum of our parentsí
ungranted wishes
made or unmade
silently influencing
our own
a tiny urging voice
whispering inside our heads

but finally
itís up to us
to make that final call
Written by delanee
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Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 785

1511 and Counting

I may not leave riches behind,
Or have countless assets to my name,
But the one thing I do have of mine,
Are these poems Iíve always claimed.

Over the last thirty years,
Iíve poured my heart and soul into them,
Iíve shared my laughter and my tears,
Along with the happiness and the mayhem.

They may not always be the best,
But itís the journal to my lifeís adventure,
Along with some secrets encoded in the quest,
Like riddles in the text Iíve always treasured.

Fifteen hundred eleven poems and counting,
God knows how many I have left to go,
But whenever the spirit moves me to write,
With each one I feel it helps me grow.

So to my sons I leave these relics,
Poems from my youth until the day I die,
My inheritance, written proof of my existence,
In verses and rhymes until the day I die.

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 5th Sep 2018
Forum Posts: 55

Lineage and Legacy

Lineage and Legacy as one must come to perceive
Those are lifeís footprints we deem to conceive   †
Moments in time we have achieved †  
As we glance upon a mirror of our reflection †  
Our eyes, nose, lips, lineage at times comes into question †  
What makes us the person who we are †  
From a presence already ordained beyond a constellation of stars †  
Are we playing out our life on a cosmic screen †  
Sight and feelings in time unforeseen †  
Learning in life to keep our noses clean †  
† †
If God does know all †  
Then why do we fight our fate when we stumble or fall †  
From the womb from which life we came †  
Universal love one and the same †  
In life thatís the name of the game †  
Prepared at birth to withstand the stinging rain †  
Have faith through bodily pain †  
Never taking the Lordís name in vain †  
Echoes of cries, donít pour your money down the drain †  
Never to go against the grain †  
† †
Perilous times has ridden the face of societyís dream †  
The white picket fence, Americanís apple pie wishes, so it may seem †  
From the dust from which we shall return †  
While weíre all here we live and we learn †  
† †
Lessons †  
Believing in daily blessings †  
Praying we all put down such deadly weapons †  
Social media has now become our true friend †  
Stroking computer keys to emotions we lend †  
Mental images displayed on screens, never to cease or end †  
Iím a writer, author by trade †  
Words sometimes hidden behind a masquerade †  
† †
My lineage is Haitian, Mulato, French, Creole of old †  
Midwifes in villages, city nurses generational foretold †  
Will I leave my mark, my handprints, my footsteps †  
My written concepts †  
Media sites with memories of my creed †  
A dose of reality always to feed your need †  
† †
My legacy is the signature of my face †  
As I bow my head in a state of grace †  
Being vain, never the case †  
At times, feelings get caught up between a rock and a hard place †  
Aquarian traits, please donít blame me †  
Footloose and fancy free †  
None as blind as those who will not see †  
Roots of the soul †  
Intellectual Creole †  
Which makes me who I am †  
Healer, as Godís tempers my land †  
Legacy and Lineage for me, thatís who †  
My blanket above I have proudly laid out for you †  
Written by SweetKittyCat5
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