Competition Ends 7th October 2019 10:56am
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Soap and Skin

AEMelia564
AEMelia564
Y
Tyrant of Words
Norway
52awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 20th Apr 2016
Forum Posts: 2293

Poetry Contest

dedicate a poem

Soap and skin,  The amazingly gifted talented artisistic renewing eye opening artist Anja Plaschg, born in austria, Some of my friends say her music is weird but Id call it reborn.
Its very deep, tragic, eloquently spiritual, and transforming. These songs are not for just anyone, and its no rock n roll...Its tragedy, dramatic piano, deep deep depths so warned are thee....Give it a chance, open up to it....you might be surprised.
For me this music triggers deep emotions but then I like to really dive deep into music and feel its soul.

Here is more info on fraulein Anja

https://www.freundevonfreunden.com/interviews/anja-plaschg

the songs

https://youtu.be/FD0hTwO_cf8

https://youtu.be/6kQFQL1d_2w

https://youtu.be/5drPtaPcu6g

https://youtu.be/xd9LpME3jnk?t=3

https://youtu.be/SxjRBzWGJ18



Choose one of the above and write what it brings to you, doesnt have to be song related
Write a new poem or text, in a respectful way, if you dont like the song or music then kindly refrain from this feeling or this competition.

Any style, length
Colaborations accepted
One month
New  works only

Enjoy

Greets

Melia

_boybrains
_boybrains
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
2awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 10th July 2017
Forum Posts: 101

The Austrian Siren.

I remember the  
back corner  
of a double  
decker bus,
 
a head tilted  
towards a  
cold winter
window,
 
the ventilation
stains dance  
back and
forth,
 
I ponder  
shuffling from  
bleak empty
soil,
 
piano keys
echo through
my ear phones
full volume,
 
an austrian
accent singing  
like a soothing
siren,
 
I think
anja knew
my deeper
troubles.
Written by _boybrains
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Tunde_e
Tunde_e
Strange Creature
  profile   poems   message
Joined 1st Sep 2019
Forum Posts: 6

It hurts my eyes

You were hungry and little would grow.
Everyone wears dark clothes and sighs.
The stones are slippery, they walk slow.
Dalmatians have sad donkey eyes.

From the black hole of your memory,
I watch the morning scene in surprise.
White pebbles, blue umbrellas, still sea,
sunlit, dazzling. It hurts my eyes.

Who are all these people? I'm confused.
Those wealthy skins don't tan to leather.
Where are the headscarfed babas who used
trolleybags, and their drear get-togethers?

My raw skin hurts
from the heat of
two summers. Your
door I've peeked through
closed years ago.
There's nothing here.
Written by Tunde_e
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