Poetry competition CLOSED 17th June 2019 12:07pm
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Pompous Poet

poet Anonymous

Thank you Missy, I hoped you might submit something to this one. Incredible ink, as always. Cheers! HF

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 3rd Feb 2014
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Incredible Me

Incredible admirable intellectual me
Read my incomprehensible poetry

A narcissistic masturbation creation
My poems beg analysis and interpretation

Product of my superior intellectual brain
'Guess what I'm thinking,' is my game

Never mind that my harangue
Is depressing, boring and bland

You Philistines are so lucky to read
Something from someone as special as me
Written by snugglebuck
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Guardian of Shadows
United States
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highlyfunctional said:Bronson...as in Charles?


Fire of Insight
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highlyfunctional said:Bronson...as in Charles?

Ha!  I was thinking Bronson must be her feline companion.


Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Sir Nigel Buttwipe


In the spirit of  
no holds barred  
nor holding back  
let me give it to you  
truthfully hard
straight up the pipe  
You're a hack  
And not my type:  
pretentiously asshole'd  
forking out the cash  
sold on your own hype  
suffering diaper rash  
Take another swipe  
at my literary cache  
if you must insist  
If you dare  
I really don't care  
Sometimes it's just fun  
listening to a Narcissist  
talk out his derriere  
Written by Anarchitect
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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It's Friday and that fucker is doing it again    
flirting with my Chi  
my morning solace  
I've a mind to kill him today    
with his fake ass smile    
and his black socks    
pulled up to his knees    
poet please    
do you even know the difference    
between form and abjectation?    
Queen Anne's and hemlock?    
the poison's in the blood    
you, just wallow in the mud    
you sling, as you think they sing    
no songs to be heard here    
no bird will catch your worm    
it wiggles towards the warm    
and shrivels inside your hest    
go on and beat you chest    
your shit is less than best
Written by JusTim_
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
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My Pen is Mightier

My pen is mightier than any sword or rod,  
It spits so much fire you’ll be like “Oh my gawd!”  
Because come hell or high water it’s a slaughter,  
My wand is more magical than Harry Potter's!  

My pen is cocked and loaded maybe encoded,  
From tip to cap to stick and shaft and barrel,  
Thus depending on the size of the ball’s point,  
You best believe the ink will feel a little feral.  

Don’t worry, the trick is in not seeing the prick,  
Like sick slick limerick licks that please and tickle,  
It will hit hard like bricks, it's thick like Webster’s dic-  
You’ll definitely find yourself in a stiff pickle.  
So whether you spit them out or swallow the words,  
There is nothing mightier or smarter than this,  
Implied rhymes and lines are like flipping the bird,  
Because that's how I describe how hard my pen is.
Written by wallyroo92
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Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
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You Pompous Ass

Your sarcastic critique
Talking about peasants
Writing above their talent
Rolling of superior eyes
Scoffing outlandishly

Thinking your amongst the elite
Living in the past just a pompous ass
Your perceived finesse
This is the future of the written word
Poetry for the masses

In fact you are a racist a nazi
In the purest sense
Trying to weed out
What is seen as inferior
With scathing words

A sad human being
Holding on to a class system
That should have died
You can’t push back the tide
We are the new ocean of words

Written by AspergerPoet56
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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tiny tin gods

I look at you  
so proud of your self-aggrandizing stature  
and I choke a bit on laughter  
by your lordly pompous posture  
thinking to myself  
behold yonder throne  
there sits an impostor  
bidding one & all  
kiss my poetic feet  
as you spit-shine the polish  
of your gilded idol  
so arrogant & hollow  
you don’t seem to realize  
the glitter covering it is falling  
leaving bare patches  
by the herpes of craft supplies  
but you will prance  
and you do love to preen  
summoning any blinded sycophants who are willing  
to sacrifice free will for your cult  
worshiping your words  
and worse…  
your deeds  
but the sound of your thunder  
actually comes from somewhere…  
in the vicinity  
of where your holy arse  
meets the seat  

(inspired by MadameLavender’s There’s Only One God, and It’s Not You)
Written by FromTheAsh
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Lost Thinker
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Joined 4th Mar 2019
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The sword of hearts

If this is passive, very well, I'll go on the offensive
No girls breaking hearts here, promise
I'm not putting nothing straight anywhere
But I implore you, parasite, hear
The lecture has begun, sit down and shut up

I buy my metaphors
At the well of the muse herself
And unlike yours
Mine do not rot on a dry, untouched shelf
For my heart beats out a song that moves her
My metaphors are her gift for my song, that's how I get them, Sir

What have you ever done but haunted others?
So pompously, I laugh, cause yours is not one word
Spoken of admiration or of love

All you do is being a messenger of our time
A herald of presumption, who worships at the shrine
Of making others insecure, portraying them as weak
You've chosen the wrong prey this time
As this poet's not timid or open for your message
Full of insecurity, your message speaks of a heart
Who's small, who's outlook on all life is bleak

Pentameter, hexameter, damn the meter!
It's the words that matter
You soulless technician
You architect of what you know will please

The real fraud here is you

This is not for gentlemen or gentlewomen
This is for the ones who dare to give a piece of them
To the world, to rouse, to move and to inspire

What do you "gentlemen", wait no, I'd rather call you snobs
even know of true passion and desire?

I am a poet, no one takes that from me
Not you and your sad, small, little words
I have nothing but pity for your shallowness
You've never known the source of all my rhymes
You've never known the source of all my song

For mine's a blade that's forged in deepest darkness
Mine is a sword that was hardened by the brightest sun
And every single one
Of those who ever loved to read what I have written
Forges this blade

The ones you move are where all beauty begins
And they are all that matters

They are where it starts
Their love for beauty forges

The sword of hearts
Written by AltairEndian
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Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 4th Apr 2019
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It's True, Sir -- My Poetry May Lack Finesse, But...

your so-called poetry is like a two hour long high mass
in Latin
on Christmas eve
when all we wanted was Santa
though in truth the magic was gone
and we were just pretending for our parents' sake
because, i swear to god, we were there when they bought the freakin' toys
so deep down they knew we knew and we knew they knew we knew
there was no Santa
but everybody was pretending
trying to thwart the tick of time
and your poetry is also something like that --
a pretentious stab at authenticity
producing the dust-dry little vessel from which, for your sake,
we pretend to quench our thirst.
Written by javalini
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Twisted Dreamer
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Poetry, It’s Offshoots and a Fuck You From the Working Class

Ivory towers and pot-shots go hand in hand
whining bullets puncture the masses
pontificated too from straight-pipes and the like
told what we must enjoy
how we must write
what to feel

each pulse of my heart pours blood into the inkwell
I tear off my finger nails and curse-ively write out
the sounds of flesh as it’s parted by a blade
the smell of concrete in the nostrils of a junkie
that sleeps in his own urine praying to god he won’t wake up sober
the taste of ash and bile as another overdose is passed over
as simply the affliction of a drug addiction
nihilism tastes like cool aide
you know the type
sweet with the flavour of pussy and melted-dreams

but you wouldn’t know real
hunger gnawing at your insides
a childs cry as you try to satiate it with water
and tears
swallowing your anger trying to make a meal of pain
because it’s soft lament is all you can muster
as you screamed yourself hoarse
while your partners fists beat a drum of failure into your skin
then turned that drum on your children
while you lay a pile of broken things

I didn’t buy my metaphors
I earnt them

tearing open wounds so you can
touch the world of the working class
but we’re too unclean for the likes of you
so sit
pontificate on metre and rhyme
and we’ll burn here
where it’s real
Written by Commentonly
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Thanks highlyfunctional for posting such a fun thought provoking comp.  I loved reading all the entries.  
Congratulations to the winner, Commentonly.

Twisted Dreamer
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Forum Posts: 111

Thank you for the competition host in drawing up something highly creative and a bit different, it was a very mixed bag of pieces in this comp and I didn't know if I should enter or not, thank you to the other poets for putting out your pieces, and thankyou for the first place.

Tyrant of Words
United States
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A well deserved win! Congratulations Commentonly!  :-)

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