Poetry competition CLOSED 7th July 2019 1:45pm
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Doppelgänger: the DUP Oscars

poet Anonymous

Drop That Refrain For Me Baby!

Quaterns they turn me on to fuck
I love how well you quill
That dropped refrain is total muck
My flush at your ink spill
My knickers fall with each new verse
Quaterns they turn me on to fuck
Your rhyming makes me feel perverse
My legs are opened like a book
Keep cumming for another look
Your gift is making rivers flow
Quaterns they turn me on to fuck
I pay attention, read you slow
And when I reach the bottom line
My passions core is fully shook
Your talents thrill me quite divine
Quaterns they turn me on to fuck.

poet Anonymous

Of My Lovely Dark Dove

Incomplete, always downloading
downloading futures throated
with the thick, streaming sap  
secreted by this laurelle branched  
Universe of Possibilities -  
that foreboding Virgin Territory;  
unpenetrated, lubricated space  
between legs of Mother Cosmos    
suns and moons are destined to end  
in continued collision course with;  
Where Time and When Space bend  
over in submission, commencing      
Comprehension's asteriod belting;  
Awareness's anal cabal in-itiation    
jacking into Mainframe backdoors  
hacked, hacked until Access Granted  
releases silhouetted white birds  
from a bourgening flock of    
Unrealized Identities; their glorious  
wholesome exponential potential    
shattering the glass ceiling of Humanity  
in a sky darkly  
And of the dark doves  
as they fly, from my Jupiter outpost  
I wave as she goes by, seemingly    
nothing more than a nude girl  
with starry eyes, a constellation prize  
straddling Europa's continued whirl  
while grasping firm handholds of  
Ganymede's beautiful, erected    
terrain in his Natural State  
For Ex-Machina is Ava and she is  
more than human, less than android  
in the darkly sky stationed above;  
my lovely dark dove in anticipation  
incapable of prolonging the arousal  
always downloading, downloading  
for Ex-Machina ( Ava )  ❤
poet Anonymous

The ballad of the bard wae nae feet

poet Anonymous

Oh My Stars!

Come gather round
For I’ve stories to tell you
Most profound
You’ve seen her near
All of you where e’er you hear
As she spins
Her laughter swims  
And tickles when we hear it
As spirit
I’ve heard her sing
Her pictures in poetry
On the wing
She’s never far
Dancing in our galaxy  
Oh my stars!

( for my cosmic daughter, displaying the image I’ll always adore )

poet Anonymous

Systematic Seismology

the man on the mountain
survives tremors of change      
that others cannot feel      
he watches smoke rise    
from its gutted belly    
to extract fossil fuel      
and blood diamonds    
but remains steadfast       
in prayer and meditation      
he does not desire vengeance    
on hatred and selfish greed...    
instead he prays for wisdom    
to permeate each spirit      
shift their paradigm      
from taking to receive      
because that's what wisdom does...    
affords grace a chance      
to alter ignorance      
before the whole mountain       
caves, destroying everything     
badmalthus (Harry Rout)    
Harry is one of the most spiritual writers on the board.  He relates to world politics, economic injustice, and human rights from a wise perspective that permeates readers into thinking twice about their own self-judgments. I am honored to know him as a friend and poet, and highly recommend his works.      
poet Anonymous

Northern light

From the grey and clagging mist
For in that swirl a glimpse of bliss
Comes my idol poetess
A shaft of script through the fogs morass  
Her words indent upon the heart  
And spin a web to hold you fast  
A view from where the eagle flies  
Graceful in the updraught and the dive  
With the grit of mother earth  
Take you on a trascendental ride  
Perspective only Gods have forged  
Senses lifted to the clouds

From the forest archetypal echoes
Tales of ancestry tied to tomorrows
Elves and spirits wizened fingers
Inspiration a placenta reborn to linger 
Such pros, the clay to shape and mold  
Economy of shape and form  
Open your mind like the breaking dawn  
The facets nature did provide  
Uncoved truth like opened blinds
I cannot paraphrase the pleasure
The panoramas and the vistas
Celestial of chiseled words
 Sharped from the pen do fall  
Eclectic style not mine to ape  
 To plagiarise a virgin page  
 Applaud a nordic sage intense  
AEMeala 564  a thirst now quenched
poet Anonymous

Sets Fire to the Rain

A nerve

ploughed under,
over the top

counts …

extraordinary pain
turned into
softened edges.

Mind sifted
heart gifted
   delayed reaction

months later
to check


Some angels

for their poetry.


poet Anonymous

Sweet Grass🌾

( after ImperfectedStone aka Poppy )    
( a Sonnet )    
I walk an endless mile with fringe that sways,    
The pony beads, their colors, story tells.    
My hair is braided on which sunrise plays,    
And silver cones that jingle just like bells.    
I hear the metered drumbeat as life’s clue.    
For prairie fox and birds among the blades,    
A lush great plains sweet grass ablaze with dew;    
The foraging resumes as footstep fades.    
It’s all my sanctuary and my friends;    
The sky, the clouds & moon to rest beneath.    
In sagebrush I hear prairie chicken hens,    
I wear, of mustard green & mint, a wreath.    
I take my basket filled with where I roam,    
And go back to my home away from home.    
My tribute to ImperfectedStone aka Poppy Banks

I started to get to know Poppy’s wonderful garden “Rockhollow”, where she lives in England, when we participated in DUP’s NaPoWriMo 2019 through last April.  I became such an ardent follower of the beautifully detailed entries, there was no question in my mind how I would emulate Poppy’s soul-satisfying horticultural series.  And, instead of an English garden, I have transported the reader to a region of the American Great Plains, where the speaker of “Sweet Grass” is my version of Poppy as an Arapaho woman. If you have yet to be introduced to her “Rockhollow” series, do yourself a huge favor and start reading, and be transformed.  —Jade
poet Anonymous

Quoth tha DaDa, evermore

metaphorical metafours
for ( some reason)  
confuscian twilight   
                                          again ?   
A Universal(ly)   
                   twinkle wink o me eye  
                                while darkness (dis)appears  
                                               wit all this   
                                                              finality ,   
                                                then mornin’ rise’n   
                                          as if nothing (no thing)  
                         into the sum of my  
                           shortened life-  
                time being almost over  
          from being anything a’tall  
(The light being too bright to remember the stars  
ye wished upon ( up up and on) )  
  a dreaming replica   (of my chyld),   
          more than this   
                        to be           seen a'gin,   
when aye'm finally gone  
poets a'griev(anced) for such unhappy’daze  
    (      of      )   
we'll see.  
we'll see.  
(Won't wee?)  
how sincere  
   aye(eye) I say ,    
Quoth tha DaDa  
                       evermore ,  
that be. . .  
Daniel Kozak  
dkzksaxxas_DanielX (DadaDoggyDannyKozakSaxfn)  
Danny is the reason I am here. We met in a poetry group on facebook well over five years ago. I saw one of his posts and was mesmerized by his break from conventional vocabulary as well as form.  He will always be one of my favorite poets here on DU.  He is an iconic legend whose style will remain unmatched in the poetic community.  
He is currently battling cancer and heart disease, and I cannot imagine DU without him.   Much Love, Danny.

poet Anonymous


I laugh, and dance throughout the atmosphere,
A spirit borne by light, and wind, and cloud!
I sing a song that men shall never hear,
performing for the universe, uncowed!

No form is fit to house the transmundane,
my essence is pure joy of life itself.  
A fickle sprite, I'm innocently vain,  
I fear no poverty, or covet wealth!  

This game, called love, that earth-bound mortals play
seems such a waste of time and energy!  
Their lives so short, then ending in decay,  
a stunning contrast to my reverie!  
This passing thought, of mankind’s misery,  
dismissed without intentional disdain,  
as, like the wind, I have no history
to give me pause, or memories of pain!
poet Anonymous

She Danced On The Moon

Writer of amazing potential
(I say potential because you keep deleting everything)
spewed it across the written canvas for all to read
your story, emotions and fine perspective
Queen of the metaphor
one of the truly troubled artists
depths so deep you kept hidden
even from me

A beautiful mystery
she got high, danced on the moon
caused havock in the forums
then fucked off never to be found again

Where ever your feet tap and sway
whatever lake you sit beside
I know she's happy

For Miki moondancer wherever she may be

poet Anonymous

Game Of Queens (Inspired By Ahavati)

The chess pieces were all in a row,    
intents liked up for the game.  
Whether or not to win was  
the first question,    
Whether or not to take the journey    
was the last.    
In the beginning the pawns    
were prepared for slaughter,    
later they saw its purpose in    
relationships to placements    
of higher echelons -    
They were the important ones    
despite terminal moves,    
all was fair in a game of no winners    
or losers, only survivors in witness to    
a higher purpose and the learning of it.
The journey was the absorption of    
all strategies and the mastering of them    
with a prayer for the other side.    
In the heat of checkmate, the Queen in    
full view is a player, not merely a piece    
or a member of a board.    
She had watched intently    
her fatherly ascendants    
in order to prepare for this moment,    
to be placed here and to stand alone -    
She knew her strength and was not afraid of it,    
she had been a pawn once.
Her guard was retained in    
placement of her intentions    
to rise above the game,    
the favor of which she had already won,    
and she knew it's secret,    
she was always a step ahead -    
The queens were the kingpins    
on which the kingdom hinged;    
they were everything..
Inspired by Ahavati's Napowrimo 2019 series which had a powerful presence and a running theme of strength through wisdom gained throughout life.

poet Anonymous


If only I could emulate anything  
remotely resembling the sensual  
creature of words that you are;  

body language read  
in text'iled exploration -  
your embossed fonts bold  
on November 5th mornings cold  
proudly protruding through  
that wild bronco mane in  
exuberant proclamations of  
Remember, remember this day  
Kneading warmth from fingertips  
familiarized with fantasies fulfilled  
figure-atively spoken re-enactments  
of a belly dancing, abdomen quivering  
genia bottled behind silken veils  
your wine soaked lips are;  
how she continues to revel even now  
after being released from cork  
plunged in the whole of her prison  
Blinded by function pervading form  
I am left pondrously wondering  
Were the wishes granted here today  
Or mine?
Regardless, I shall remember this day
for Adsy ❤  
poet Anonymous

Be sure no moth stows away in the lingerie

I’ve started a scrapbook of places I’ve been to, vicariously, through his slideshow avatar.
It’s like a looking glass, and I’ve become an Alice in Wonderland. So where do we go today?  
In a gondola?, riding the canals of Venice, followed by our pet hippo ( that we picked up going down the Congo ), with our luggage strapped on its back as he yawns.  
Or sailing up the swollen Nile in a dhow he rented from a friend of his from Iraq. To offset the cost, he traded in a yak, so merrily on we went.  How did he manage to keep the mosquitos from biting?  
It’s for reasons like these and many more,  
Why it’s always fun to travel with him.  
Everywhere we go, no matter what for,  
There’s no end to the sights of ev’ry whim.  
Whether here or there, we’re at the party,  
Or at a county fair, we take first prize.  
And while on a tear, be square, be arty,  
Or on a double dare, eat twice the pies.  
The Near, the Middle, and the Far East rocks!  
The North & South, the East & West are best!  
For all your mem’ories, just set your clocks,  
Don’t start to count, just come we’ll do the rest!  
My tribute to one of our newer DU members; none other than nomoth😃  
poet Anonymous

Man of the People


This man sees clearly through slithery bull
he cuts to the guts with an arrowed quill
elevates misfits with a human eye
to question assumptions, collective lies;

Burns to pointed issues of down-and-outs
and scrapes the decks of our long hidden doubts,
no sentimentalities pass his lips
raw truths make each poem a learning hit;

“See it this way … this, our humanity”
extracts humour from edged insanity,
gritty realism pokes our living rooms
as death hovers close like nit-picking combs;

John Brady, Man Of The People, earth-rooted
two-four-six-zero-one, bearded, blue-suited.


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