Poetry competition CLOSED 11th June 2019 12:59pm
WINNER
Carpe_Noctem
View Profile Poems by Carpe_Noctem
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The Talking Stick

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Weave your permission to speak into a poem.

What is a talking stick?

The Talking Stick is a tool used in many Native American Traditions when a council is called. It allows all council members to present their Sacred Point of View. The Talking Stick is passed from person to person as they speak and only the person holding the stick is allowed to talk during that time period.

Here’s a writing challenge for you:

• Record yourself talking to yourself for five minutes either on your computer or on your phone. This is just for you and you do not have to share this recording. Do this somewhere where you will not be interrupted. Give yourself the permission to talk for those five minutes.

• Note what themes arise. What do you start talking about when you’re given the permission to speak? What is it that really matters to you in that moment? Weave this into a poem.

Rules

• Although there’s no way of proving that the recorded bit happened, in the spirit of the comp I do encourage you to do this to explore your own mind.

• NEW poems only

• One entry per human being

• Video / audio entries accepted

* If you would like to comment on the entries, please go to the individual submission pages. This keeps the thread clutter free.

* 2 weeks

RevolutionAL
Alistair Plint
Dangerous Mind
South Africa 29awards
Joined 24th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1257

The Soft Serve Van.

      
       
It plays the most ridiculous        
annologue      
badly recorded tune      
That ice cream van      
doing the rounds      
on a Sunday morning      
       
The business side of my brain      
shudders when      
adding the costs      
of fuel      
maintenance      
a living wage      
against the price of a cone      
       
(Have to remind myself that not all business plans      
are filled with logic and reason)      
       
But the kids and I have turned      
the 9H45      
Sunday rendezvous    
into a little religion      
       
The van offers mixed flavours      
-a little dark    
mixed into some light      
They offer both chocolate        
and caramel dips      
They'll even throw a Flake      
type chocolate        
into the sugar cone mix      
       
(It's all rather daring really)      
       
But that damn music        
playing Jingle Bells in May      
ruins the experience        
 
I think it's to do with        
shouting my order over        
the wonderful petrol smell      
in an old Volkswagen engin      
that shudders profusely      
through the chiming      
chinese megaphone      
that settles me down      
       
As dark and decadent as the menu is      
As tantalizing as the photo        
of dipped flake infused      
mixed flavour      
soft serve is      
       
I always walk away      
with a little scoop      
of Vanilla      
       
in a cup      
       
       
-x-      
 
Written by RevolutionAL (Alistair Plint)
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poet Anonymous

Thanks for the entry, just what we were looking for. 👍🏻

poet Anonymous

Oof. That’s the comment I save for when I can’t say anything else. Thank you for sharing.

MadameLavender
Guardian of Shadows
United States 87awards
Joined 17th Feb 2013
Forum Posts: 5598

Thought Process


One year left
and I can save for the house—the one
near the ocean
with a pantry
and backstairs.

Calculate.  Calculate.
How much can I pay down the truck in a year?

“Bronson—stop opening the cabinet doors!”

I’ve got to find it—
the places where I’m to go
and buy things, old things they don’t want
but I do.
Free things—you tossed it, it’s mine
now.

I need to know what to keep,
what to sell—
God tells me.

“Pearl—get off the counter!”

Damn cats, I love them.

I just washed the laundry
and the smell reminds of summers long ago—
linens drying on the clothesline
lilacs, roses on the wind.

One more thing to add to the picture I live in.
I’m building it.
Assembling the missing parts of myself.

I’ll be the grandmother in the kitchen
someday
captured in the black and white photos
from a simpler time.

crimsin
Unveiling
Tyrant of Words
United States 121awards
Joined 25th Jan 2011
Forum Posts: 2636

waterfall dances in the eternal pools

      
with a heart that aches, I approach the council of wisdom
the universes have been on my mind and my place within it  
so far removed from nature Mother provides us  
wild and free as the wind we used to dance among her  
confined to a virtual cell my mind becomes estranged  
 
I enter the lush ferns of the forests  
the trees hush and quietly whisper tell us your secrets  
child of the dawn we've been awaiting you  
 
my eyes glazed I'm taken to the pools of renewal  
I am told to enter with truth in my heart  
here my soul is refreshed  
 
I blink and open my eyes to a beautiful and strange world  
the daisies themselves raise their faces to me  
imploring me lady where have you been?  
 
have you forgotten the magic of the flowers?  
who cast for your beauty on the airs  
woven in your hair is the beauty of our very essence  
 
do you remember who you are?  
waterfall dances in the eternal pools your ethereal name  
 
I sit and listen in wonder as the forest comes alive with music  
birds chirping, the leaves sweet rustling, the trees creek...swaying  
tears start to flow from my eyes  
it's been so long since I've been in tune  
 
a voice thunders child of the dawn watch your footing  
among mortal foolishness  
 
stay on the path this is a journey meant to expand your thinking  
you are to stay true to your calling  
don't lose your natural ability to an AI invasion  



 
Written by crimsin (Unveiling)
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slipalong
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom 41awards
Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 825

The baton

The orchestra it sits. assembled
 Instruments not raised and ready
Chatter is the score the rising hububb
Now comes the conductor short and chubby

Comand the rostrum with his presence
 Robes he wears, the suited elegance
He turns about with confidence
The upturned looks and baited breath

He holds the floor in a pregnant pause
With arms aloft the baton raised
All eyes await that downward progression
That stick hold each players to attention

They will follow as it dances
Rapid movements, slow cadenza
 Speaking as the melody intended
That stick the ruler till its ended

Silence or cresceno bellow
All in time and fathful follow
Power born of disciplin and talent
To interupt a crime abhorrent

Raise the orchestra out of their chairs
Take the cheering and applause
Boquets and the roses thrown
That digit music knot and grain

That metronome that rocks
The word it brings straight from the Gods
For music speaks all languages
A wand that lifts it from of the page

Written by slipalong
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wallyroo92
Tyrant of Words
United States 147awards
Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1794

Ramblin’

There’s a ten minute window
From the time I drop off my son at school
Until I get to work
Where I have time to myself,
Preparing mentally for the day,
Reflecting on where I am versus where I want to be.

(Left turn)

I don’t mind the time in traffic but it seems that lately...
I haven’t put much my effort into where I want to go.
I’ve written two full books and haven’t done any editing,
I started a third book but it relies on the first two,
I written a fourth book in parts, like a puzzle, saying to myself…
“This is going to be my opus”.


(The man in the car next to me sees me talking to myself,
But I keep looking ahead pretending to be on my phone).

I don’t want to get stuck in a rut again,
Barely making ends meet when I know there’s more for me,
I know I have potential,
I may not make a fortune,
Or become famous,
But the satisfaction of publishing

(Right turn at the light)
Will probably shed a light on more possibilities,
And there I’ll have a better definition of myself,
A clearer picture of my purpose.

(Back on the freeway, punch it to 75)
Because I want to feel alive,
Share with the world my work,
Even if I fail,
At least I know I tried.
I know I’m ramblin’,
But I really have to work the plan.


wallyroo92
Tyrant of Words
United States 147awards
Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1794

deleted

caxton
Thought Provoker
United States 1awards
Joined 9th July 2013
Forum Posts: 158

Killing loneliness

I’m killing loneliness so it doesn’t kill me
Broke down, I’m dying
I set myself free
Burning in a fire
Of leaving when you leave
The dark emptiness
Haunts and chases me
I can’t escape it
I might never be free
Shadows of pain
Follow
Attached
Attracted to me
So I’m killing loneliness
Before it kills me.

Ely
E.A.Rothwell
Dangerous Mind
Mexico 6awards
Joined 20th May 2018
Forum Posts: 297

Deity and Theism

I never could see
the point
in worshipping a deity
so insecure that it wanted to be…

worshipped in the first place…

and 'im with such a self-indulgent slew of bad habits of 'is own…
like jealousy… anger and taking revenge…

All traits that in us... aren't allowed…

You might think that, "Our Father" could set a better example for all us children to follow…

it's worth so much more than cheap words…

Then there are all the other gods out there...shall we delve into their pecadillos too?

And while we're at it…
what's with all this "temptation" bullshit…
 
It's like teasing animals in the zoo…

"Go on Billy...poke 'em with yer stick… don't you want to see what they'll do?"



Written by Ely (E.A.Rothwell)
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Carpe_Noctem
Tyrant of Words
Spain 8awards
Joined 3rd Mar 2013
Forum Posts: 2915


The Demons I've Slain

Born with a death sentence
the clocks always been ticking
so what does it matter anyway
by the time you read this I will
have long been dead

Always the last thing to fade away
with each passing moment
a little hope slowly dies
that downward spiral
blood stained walls the floor
carpeted empty booze bottles drug paraphernalia
Could climb some place high
do a swan dive though I'm no Monet
it would be my impression
of a dying landscape

Call the coroner
broken hearts don't show up on autopsys

Find it morbidly ironic though
through forgiveness you could show clemency
You sure ripped my heart out
guess it never was mine
that day I gifed it to you
to have and to hold
better or for worse

A hundred suicide notes
piled next to the overflown bin
If you do find this it's probably better this way
Who applauded when he tried
who mourned when he died

Tell her I love her
tell her daddy died fighting demons

poet Anonymous

poet Anonymous

All were magnificent entries into this competition... but the trophy goes to Carpe_Noctem who I felt used this space the most of all to let out what really mattered at the time, and captured the true spirit of this competition the most. He allowed himself to be vulnerable. To speak his truth.

Thank you all. They were all really worthy entries. x

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