Poetry competition CLOSED 1st November 2019 5:03pm
Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
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RUNNERS-UP: Josh and slipalong

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Classic Corner Championship - Male Division

Tyrant of Words
United States 23awards
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 5572

Poetry Contest

2019 King of the Classics

Co-hosted by Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze

Welcome to our first annual Classic Corner Champion Male Division challenge, of which the winner will be crowned our 2019 King of the Classics! Why in October? Because we are taking November and December off
to enjoy the holidays and focus on NaPo 2020 before next year's mad rush!

The winner will be awarded a specially designed trophy.  

Firstly, only participants of previous Classic Corner comps qualify to receive any award. If your name is on the lists below, you qualify!

Imperfected_Stone 👑  Jade-Pandora 👑 eswaller 👑 mel44 👑  PoetsRevenge 👑 Heaven_sent_Kathy 👑 nightbirdblue 👑 jemac 👑  Amorous_tryst 👑 summultima 👑 yelluw_always 👑 Rachelleundrgrd 👑 Black-kwacha 👑 sophie_ericson 👑 Sky_dancer 👑 DevlinDLC 👑 imogeequeen 👑 MysticalRose 👑 delanee PandoraUnleashed

Vandel_Viaclovsky 👑 Hepcat61 👑 Josh 👑 Blackwolf 👑 Oshinome 👑 KGERICD 👑 ReggiePoet 👑 Taurus385 👑 Slipalong 👑 AdamW 👑 Switchblade 👑 runaway-mindtrain 👑 wallyroo92 👑 snugglebuck 👑
gothicsurrealism 👑 SatinUGal 👑 NewBeginnings 👑 blinkers55 👑
JusTim_ 👑 nomoth 👑 highlyfunctional 👑 badmalthus 👑 Commentonly 👑 rabbitquest 👑 AspbergerPoet56 👑 _boybrains 👑 BobbyJames

Secondly, wait ... why the two lists above?

We want you to feel comfortable participating in the comp of your choice. If you are on either list, but identify with being a male, then this is your comp.

If you identify with being female, then only submit entries to the Female Division comp posted by Ahavati here:


Thirdly, you are allowed to submit a maximum of 2 entries emulating any of the following poets you choose to honor:

Elizabeth Bishop
Emily Dickinson
Mary Oliver
Denise Levertov
Sharon Olds
Kim Addonizio
Agnes Torok
Anne Sexton
Maya Angelou
Rupi Kaur

Arthur Rimbaud
Rainer Maria Rilke
Jellaludin Rumi
Robert Frost
Dr. Seuss
Pablo Neruda
Federico Garcia Lorca
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Kahlil Gibran
Wendell Berry
E.E. Cummings
T.S. Eliot

We will judge which is the best of your two entries to ensure that three individuals have an opportunity to qualify for the Crown and placements.

Fourthly, what does it mean to emulate? We want YOU to make everyone believe your poem was written by one of these poets. Write as though you were that poet!

Fifthly, the RULES! Each entry must be NEW and

1) be linked to in the forum, NOT copy/pasted.

2) be tagged with the theme of the poet being emulated ( for example, #MaryOliver ).

3) have links or titles to poems belonging to said poet being emulated that inspired yours. Put this information in your poem's Notes. We use this to determine if you were truly inspired or simply swapped fresh words into an existing poem  ( which is a form of plagiarism ).

4)  NOT contain any erotica; this is open to all ages and can't be viewed with an ECW ( Extreme Content Warning ).

5) contain a minimum of 50 words in the body, but try to keep it no more than 250 - 300.

Comp will be judged by Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze.

You have one month; best of luck to all entrants!

If you have any questions, please post them to the Classic Corner Discussion thread in the Speakeasy forum:


Tyrant of Words
United States 23awards
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 5572

[ CC ] underworlds of words uncovered

with diction dynamite; she digs  
mightily carving out  
a straight, n'arrow route;  
opening statements initiated  
with blasting CAP[ital]S detonated  
sequential to maximize  
their exponential potentials  
perhaps consider taking cover?  
never leaves anyone bored  
breaking right on through  
chambers hitherto unexplored  
where hides the poetry lover  
[in you]  
for within every poem by her  
there resides truth diamond hard  
unearthed in this infinite mine[d]  
underground; complex  
of my mind vastly simplified into  
a mansion of continual expansion  
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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Joshua Bond
Tyrant of Words
Palestine 40awards
Joined 2nd Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 1402

Story Poem, Nr.15 — The Wall and The River

Josh (Joshua Bond)
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Four generations, friendly, side by side
our two families had farmed, with the old wall
a place for meeting and shaking of hands
discussing harvests, the weather, a stall
for the Christmas Fayre; plus old friends who’d died.

The altercation came one Fall when cows
of mine, just twenty or so, were found
eating his grass, having crossed a broken spot
where crumbled stones collapsed in a small mound
rolled down the slope to where the river flows.

He banged hard on my door, smelling of drink
shouting obscenities and with a curse
I tractored out to deal with all the mess -
and slowly, to avoid things getting worse,
mended the wall alone, with time to think.

What demons lie in a man’s gut and heart?
Men’s ancient charge to provide and protect,
build homes, women and children first, fight wars,
duty, leaving shell-shocked men, young lives wrecked
unless by chance they heal the damaged parts.

After that our conversations grew thin;
a minor matter fouled what once had been
an easy-going friendship. And war’s pains?
Manly seen as just another job, keen
to “get over it” - a solution; gin.

The boundary river with natural length
oblivious to Man’s testy divides
provides water for the both of us still;
while the wall, one tenth as wide, might decide
peace or war, with an unreasonable strength.


Inspired by Robert Frost's poem "Mending Wall" for theme; stanza layout inspired from reading a variety of his work; no particular poem has this layout as far as I know.
Written: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44266/mending-wall
Special Audio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMXB-C2iKpM (NaPo team will know)
Audio + Written: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8tTeMQ0RAg

Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom 38awards
Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 778

Ode to Pablo Picasso # Federeco Garcia Lorca

Obtruse angles fall the slanted eyes
Tears like lemons castrated from the tree
Franco's crow of broken strings
Guernica is that post mortem
Bull rings echo's with the last Ole - Ole - Ole
Squeezed Pigment tube, no top
Loves lost, frames fractured insanity
That awash turned to the wall
Encased past ducks and drakes
Sunset groom departs
Caricatures of black doves
Origami folds so sharp
Palette with its drying worms
Hangings in the Mausoleum
Remembered vivid images of being

reflections on (ode to Salvador Dali )
Written by slipalong
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Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom 38awards
Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 778

Motherhood # Wendell Berry

At five AM the cock had crowed
Petticoats with small pink bows
Tousled hair like tangled straw
Shout up the stairs "now wake up boys"
That mirrors dirt that hides the years
Put it on the list of chores
Pout your lips and blush your cheeks
The rouge fresh air applies for free
Eggs and bacon dance in the pan with glee
That nurcher is my bond my pride
It springs, that flow will not subside
My motherhood of breasts that will provide
Trace of smile across my lips
The heaviness around my hips
Satisfaction when the baby kicks
Origin poem (From the handing down)
Written by slipalong
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Tyrant of Words
Scotland 30awards
Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 1851

Poison Chalice

Is a poison chalice  
For everyone  
But you already know  
What I mean  
Everything put in neat little boxes  
Stacked up laid out  
With their labels  
The beauty of the world is lost  
Nature forgotten under concrete and steel  
Little ants constructing a bland society  
Anything that breaks out of the constraints  
Considered dangerous  
A disease to eradicate  
Is a poison chalice  
For everyone  
But you already know  
What I mean  
Those splinters of difference  
That smash against grey walls  
Look at the world with unique eyes
Forcing the masses to think  
To feel in a way not imagined  
Break the chains of mediocrity  
The beauty of a dew drop on a leaf  
Opening of petals to the day  
Is lost when your walking with eyes closed  
Is a poison chalice  
For everyone  
But you already know  
What I mean  
You don’t  
Sorry your already  
Swallowed up by normality  
Written by AspergerPoet56
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Thought Provoker
Joined 20th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 156

Doubled up, sorry

Thought Provoker
Joined 20th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 156

I Think, I Thought

When thinking of thoughts      
We think we already thought        
Out loud, we might say        
The other night on replay        
When we say it today        
Maybe said, the other day        
Now, but not before        
Before, but not now        
Forever, I will now know        
For now, I will never know        
My thoughts, I think        
I'm thinking, I thought        
I think, I thought        
My thought, I think        
Don't think of thoughts        
You think, I thought        
When thinking about, thoughts before        
I thought we should, just think right now        
I sort of think.        
I sort of thought.
Written by Fetchitnow
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Fetchitnow said:


Maybe inspired by a few different Dr, Seuss sayings, not any particular one.

Tyrant of Words
United States 23awards
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 5572

The RULES have been amnended to state that only NEW writes are being accepted for this comp. Such was mistakenly left out.

NEW writes will be receiving priority over old writes when it comes to judging.

Tyrant of Words
Scotland 30awards
Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 1851

JohnnyBlaze said:The RULES have been amnended to state that only NEW writes are being accepted for this comp. Such was mistakenly left out.

NEW writes will be receiving priority over old writes when it comes to judging.

I assumed that was the case with your hosted competitions

Tyrant of Words
United States 143awards
Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1700

The Wally Sticks

Sit back, kick back, I will tell you a story in rhyme,
‘Bout Wallyroo Ninety-Two in his prime time,
So we’ll travel back to nineteen eighty nine,
When he was just fifteen and joined the drumline.

Earlier Wally had been a “sucky" drummer,
Could not keep up the beat, it was a bummer
But over the summer he practiced real hard,
And once in high school he got his calling card.

He leaned to read music and how to play notes,
A skinny nerd who'd never been able to gloat,
He still sucked but he was getting much better,
For one day he would be the school’s trendsetter.

On the first competition some didn’t show,
The teacher told Wally “you’ll do the solo”,
Unsure of himself Wally gave a sad frown,
To which the director said “water it down”.

Sure enough that day the band scored a first place,
A huge surprise, you should’ve seen Wally’s face
In the section caption drumline also got first,
Wally’s lack of confidence had been reversed.

Over the year he was determined to learn,
Practicing all rudiments at every turn,
Music was a new passion he’d be wrapped in,
And the next year he was named drumline captain.

But Wally’s determination didn’t stop there,
He discovered a skill and now he had flair,
Drumming all the time despite blisters and cuts,
And then at home he drove the family nuts.

After school he’d take the snare out to play,
Others would join him just to have a heyday,
Those who once mocked him then in contrast,
Out of respect said “dude now you’re a badass”.

Wally knew he was part of a special team,
Together they achieved many goals and dreams,
His last year to his surprise the shy teenager,
He tried and had been named one of the drum majors.

The band and colorguard experienced great success,
He developed leadership skills (and some finesse),
After graduation the kids would always be friends,
The kind of bond that never really ends.

One day Wally stopped by the school just to see,
The old band room that still holds all the trophies,
Pictures and portraits of many championship years
And old Wally smiles and fighting back happy tears.

The only trophy Wally has is a piece of his uniform,
In a glass case next to his books he likes to adorn,
In the band room the director kept many relics,
One which the young kids named the “Wally Sticks”.
Written by wallyroo92
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Tyrant of Words
United States 23awards
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 5572

[ CC ] I Know You Can

It's not that you are living a lie      
You've been lying to yourself      
for decades, never fully      
tuned into the truth    
of who you were    
through no one's influence    
on the dial but your own    
The real struggle began when    
I can became I can't      
because ...
and for whatever the reasons    
continued, train of thought    
gained momentum in direction    
counter-clockwise to desire    
travelling far off course    
yet going nowhere    
except in frustrating    
Believing you are capable    
is one thing;   
I can      
is a whole 'nother story    
Here is the next part of yours    
---you are the author    
Same as the poetry you pen    
write it with care    
---revise, revise, revise    
knowing you can    
And If you must insist upon otherwise      
know I'll be waiting at the station    
for your arrival    
Until then ...    
see you there    
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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non entry

Tyrant of Words
United States 115awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 13071

We have roughly 24 hours left to enter.  Thank you to all participants thus far; best of luck!

geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States 33awards
Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 1028

A Warrant of Crows

(while considering “The Drunken Boat” by Jean Nicholas Arthur Rimbaud)  
In first ray’s light, the empty crows descend,    
Black beaks that tear apart the road’s edge death,    
Urine caressed, the end of tony night,    
Reflecting steams of neon sputters end.    
How graceful silks arise above the blood.    
How leather’s polished gaze in gentile steps,    
From stone to stone, avoids the gentile muck,    
The gentile eyes that never find its flood.    
The white plates’ stack, the grace of black hat crows,    
Who find in sweet disgust, the fault that lies    
Beneath, the folded, creased in linens’ damp,    
That waits to take the loves expressed in those.    
With wash of rain that should in grace absolve,    
Raise up the vomit stench of soirees’ hopes,    
Despaired in bottles spent in night’s disgust,    
To rise again in dawning crows’ resolve.      
The city bright, the sun that warms in light,    
So bright, in teaming streets of fractured life    
The base in maggots’ lace, in catacombs    
Of prophets’, saints’, and artists’ feinted blight.    
In cabs that merely pause our turpitude,      
The parks and views that needles barely mark,    
How swift the windows rise reflecting masques    
Of ever-present streaming death’s exude.    
The defecating streets bloom in flowers,    
In Lawns, hedges, perfect cuts of bleeding    
Sap that stains in ungloved foreign tending,    
That own no place but own its full power.    
Her pinkest ruffled crinolines that glide,    
My softest hands that find her pinkest throat,    
The surest kiss that flashes red on hills    
That speak of blood and parks of skulls reside.    
In irons wrought of tight pain closing locks,    
In smells of lilac’s barely covered piss    
In swiftest want to brace my overcome,    
To gauge the storm and putrid chiming clocks.    
The blinding white of virgin frock sustains    
The day of dirt-brown mud in garden lakes,    
The cattails sprout like turgid members thrust    
To sun from rotting throat, like song’s refrain.    
The berry gash of haunted eyes betrays,    
As party afternoons of rose dead light    
That swirl like talk and whirlpools’ catching fate,    
That languid sense of gravestones' lingered gaze.    
So, she and I in languid congress sweat,    
Release in mourners’ grey, as passionless      
As blood-flecked mucus handkerchiefs in sleeves    
Of Paris silks, and Persian’s fouled regret.    
She smiles, my slow flowing erase that pools    
Below the diamond crusted snout of love,    
That seeps in languid path to evening clothes,    
That stains her voice like pomegranate stools.    
Latrines of soft mahogany inlaid      
With truest ivory that bucks and scales,    
Buboes in bone tureens of turtle soup,    
With every silver spoon, the rot’s repaid.    
In streets that fly, with reservations’ thrush    
That lights by rusted trees and feathers preen,    
That seeks in road-side dirt the grubs, the worms    
Of soul to wretch in mouths of evening’s lush.    
The tables held like horses’ skittered reigns,    
With welcome chairs’ extend like manacles,    
The steams of china’ed muck, the Champaign spills    
And Bordeaux seeps like liv’ried menstrual stains.    
We dance like ghouls on crystal graveyard edge    
As waiters change the spoons for Aztec knives,  
In fingered loss, as orchestra withdraws,    
We thrust over the heart a feral pledge.    
Our hearses gape for laughter born of tombs    
Yet still we laugh in hymns of falling bones,    
For youngish night with razors slowly cuts,    
As tattered children hope to lick the wounds.    
How easily our opened mouths, like caves,    
The stench of gourmet carrion perfume,    
Extend in serpent conversations’ lull    
The taste of flesh that stillborn life enslaves.    
We burst in warrens held by those still whole,    
Who grimace at our putrefied refines;    
Who stare, prepared to kill the ridicule    
Of those who’d steal their very lives’ extol.    
The undead rot that drinks their beer and speak    
As if these streets were ours from our unbirth,    
We peck and caw, attempts to stay death’s path,    
But suns will rise with other tearing beaks.    
How crystal crypts still sing in torch-like dirge,    
With candle waves, as storks in aprons pass    
In absinthe curves, their thoughts of life’s revenge,    
In darks that creep like poison’s wasting surge.      
Though I push hard at Death’s forever press,    
That I redress in gallons of her blood,    
A flood of sanguine nose-gays bought from skulls,    
This earth can barely swallow my confess.  
What gay cadavers! bound in heaven’s bloat    
Of signs imparted, carved into our souls,    
Of taxis’ blare like banshees’ lulling screech,    
Like retching joy expelled from drunken boat.    
The skies betray a dawn of grey stone rows,    
The owls have long since torn their mice to shreds,    
The dead have long since festered in my dreams,    
And claimed by her blood a warrant of crows.
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
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Unfortunately, based on the poet and poem, I had to use the number of words required (see author's notes)

Tyrant of Words
United States 23awards
Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 5572

Same as with our sister comp, please bear with us, as we are consulting a third party to assist in awarding the trophy soon! Thank you for your patience!

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