Competition Ends 26th October 2019 8:18am
Go to page:

Poem of the Month October 2019

LobodeSanPedro
LobodeSanPedro
Guardian of Shadows
Sierra Leone
109awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 16th Apr 2013
Forum Posts: 3263

Poetry Contest

It’s time to let everyone know about that exceptional piece that we should all be reading
It's time for our "Poem of the Month" to be featured in the DUP 'Poem of the Month Hall of Fame' and on the official facebook page for October 2019!.

You have three weeks to nominate no more than two of you favorite poems from another DUP poet!

Please note the following when making nominations:

1. Self nominations are not accepted. The great majority of the competitions here are about spotlighting one's own work on a particular topic or theme.  This is a chance to nominate that poem that you wish you had written but some other great talent here beat you to it.

2. Please limit your nominations to TWO poems. You can nominate a single poem for two different poets; but the nomination maximum remains at TWO (no matter how many pseudonyms they have).  The majority of competitions on DUP cap nominations at one or two poems so there's no need to go beyond that.

No DUPLICATES. If someone nominates the same poem the entry will be deleted. If you like it that much wait and vote for it!

Any genre except erotica or pornography. This is a Facebook feature and we must adhere to their guidelines.  

BIG CHANGE:

ALL POETS ARE ELGIBLE AT THIS TIME, INCLUDING PREVIOUS WINNERS!  


Any member who is banned or disables their account PRIOR to the win will be automatically disqualified.

Any nominated member who wishes to opt out of the competition may do so by messaging me ( Poem-Worm ). I will contact the person who nominated you and request an alternate nomination.

Nomination Duration is three weeks followed by a week of site voting!

Running list of winners:

January 2019 ... DANIELCHRISTENEN
February 2019 ... SOPHIE_ERICSON
March 2019 ... AUDIOHARLEEA
April 2019 ... FROM THE ASH
May 2019 ... MISS_SUB
June 2019 ... NAAJIR
July 2019 ... LAYLA
August 2019 ... AHAVATI
September 2019 ... MISS_SUB

November 2017 ... NAAJIR
December 2017 ... POETSPEAK
January 2018 ...      LADY_OF_THE_QUILL
February 2018 ...    LEPPEROCHAN Craic in a Box
March 2018 ...        TINABUBUYA (Tee Mali)
April 2018 ...           CROWFLY
May 2018 ...            ATOMIKBOMB
June 2018 ...            MISS_SUB (Missy)
July 2018 ...              MEADOWSWEET
August 2018 ...        LAYLA
September 2018 ... COLD FUSION
October 2018 ...       TODSKI28
November 2018 ...   TheMUSE22
December 2018 ...    BENDER

... So, what have you read that's incredible!?

poet Anonymous

Eden

LunasChild8
Go To Page  

poet Anonymous

Glissading

Backsliding,  
I caught Your cold
sneezed  thousands
of butterfly wings
into simmering  
celestial coals
of love everlasting
past over
past out
passed
 
Green and grayish red
ashes of a coronal
relationship  
like a wiccan candle
burning itself out
in lieu of being snuffed
 
(at least I don’t have  
that type of closure to
contend with)
 
an amorous odor
of solid friendship
remains in  
my backdrop
deflected from  
a full moon or 2
ago
hope and solace
among flora and fauna
Faeries and elementals
In Gaia’s keep
 
Dancing,  
my Ghosting partner
and me in our ballroom’d
forest’d floor
 
thereupon reposed healing. . .
Written by Tallen (earth_empath)
Go To Page  

cold_fusion
cold_fusion
Tyrant of Words
Australia
19awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 14th June 2017
Forum Posts: 2242

Plea

honest critique can be an oxymoron
it's sometimes an excuse used by the egotistical
to be as harsh as they want, sparing no feelings
bearing no responsibility when destroying writers
these consider themselves as the elite but not so
the do not care who they hurt or how they hurt them
they point the finger and laugh at writers they see as peasants
they find their peers wanting in all areas because they have to
in their lust for power over others, they will stop at nothing
there is not a place they won't go in fact the lower the better
they assassinate, they gossip, they prime others to think their thoughts
these people are the poisoners of many wells and always aim personally
they collect "friends" as a hobby, but what happens if you dare question
firstly there is the lambasting, secondly the abuse, lastly the harassment
hate-filled narcissists by their very nature are incapable of any critique
that doesn't involve the destruction of the poet unless of course they
are part of this sycophantic clique, who bow and scrape to their masters
all forms of writing have these people around - they are called critics

but there is a better way
treat all writers in a community as equals
when critiques are requested, gently does it
firstly use encouragement and be empathetic
concentrate on the positive things of the piece
make respectful suggestions on possible changes
always deliver critique with a kind and humble heart
listen, really listen as the poet might know something
you don't that is true of any poet despite education
never discourage, give poets the best of your knowledge
be humble enough to accept the poet's right to choose
on any suggestion you make It must be their vioce,
words and their intent is paramount above all things

this is the way critique should be in a public forum
so-called honest critiques should be done in private
there are new or nervous people able to view them
some will leave as a result, some won't ever post
this is an avoidable loss and should be a source of
sadness and guilt for all members baring grudges
these fight and flames are seen in public sadly
maybe we shouldn't pick fights, maybe we shouldn't retaliate
maybe we should resolve our differences or just keep away
maybe we shouldn't target people regardless of history

I write this as a plea
to reinstall peace to the site
to not seek to inflame
to only do what is positive for the site
to promote DU and what it could be
to think before typing "would this hurt someone" then desist
this is an ideal world scenario but why not try
aiming for perfection will always make you better

Now before people go jumping up and down
I am making this plea to myself as a flawed human being
somewhat broken but willing to try (are you?)
I plead guilty to sometimes being short with others
I plead guilty to sometimes being over reactionary
I plead guilty to sometimes of unguarded retaliation
I plead guilty to sometimes typing without thinking
I plead guilty to sometimes making my dislike of people obvious
I plead guilty to sometimes deliberately flaming
I plead guilty to sometimes writing veiled poems
I plead guilty to sometimes hurting peoples feelings
I am guilty as charged
for the second time, I offer an unreserved apology
to anyone I have hurt or offended, that means anyone
I am sure there are a few
this is my confession
this is my plea
a plea for it all to stop
Written by David_Macleod (David Macleod)
Go To Page  

souladareatease
souladareatease
Tyrant of Words
United States
25awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 28th Dec 2012
Forum Posts: 3481

I shall swim through sand

I shall swim through sand,
leave all sensible problems behind
and just proceed stroke by stroke
as the sandwakes sighs in soft susurrations.
Let the Sun bless me
as arms slowly but purposefully
make wide rotations
churning through the dusty dunes
like orbiting planets
languidly spinning in infinity's serenity.
Let me lose myself
to the eternal expanse
transcending the senses
synchronised with a higher tune
that reverberates across all and the void;
the momentary now becomes
submissive to the displacing motion.
While I, am a desert swimmer
a fish out of water
but immersed in another great body
striving on and onward seeking,
making waves with wavign arms
being wild and free
under an endless sky,
unconcerned about movement and place
entranced by inner visions of outer planes of existence
as I swim through sand.
as silly as that may sound;
We all seek to move somewhere.
Written by Viddax (Lord Viddax)
Go To Page  


Miss_Sub
Miss_Sub
- Missy -
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
98awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 26th June 2011
Forum Posts: 8072

simple furnishings

we languished  
underneath  
a tree  
talking of things
that couldn't be  

and then died singly  
in rooms  
with simple furnishings  
 
-  
 
I remember church:  
with deep carpets  
and white pulpits,  
flowers and coffee  
in the tiled lobby,  
colourful Bibles  
on shelves.

The generations tidied up  
and plastered stony walls,  
installed stoves,  
de-splintered pews,  
upholstered God  
from beard to robe,  
and scented Him  
with fresh lemons.
 
That's Anglican to me:  
barley water, cakes,  
and tea.

-  
 
and I am an Anglican ghost  
wandering the old churches  
where once we used to rove  
 
the unblemished Spirit  
and I
Written by The_Silly_Sibyl
Go To Page  

Brando
Brando
Brandon Hursell
Twisted Dreamer
United States
1awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 25th Nov 2018
Forum Posts: 50

Little Exercise

( After Elizabeth Bishop )            
               
             —for Clewless and those suffering anxiety                
               
Poison oak grows beautiful on the vine
its lush leaves inviting to the touch,
think of this as life, at times: biting.
 
Behind that velvet green lies a subtle itch—
its urushiol blood birthing blisters that will not last,
yet, stake their claim in pain nonetheless.
 
For everything there is something—
nature ensures that,  Calamine eases
the stinging of rash, Moringa a restless fever.
 
For everything there is something—
including that wasp’s nest expanding its hive
in your chest, the heart now a mangled roost;
 
your bloodstream, an angry swarm of drones
stampeding from all contact, seeking survival
in pocketed passages of isolated capillaries.
 
For everything there is something—
brown bag of L-theanine curbing hyperventilation
of your vascular organ, balancing blood pressure;
 
Passionflower hypnotizing nervousness into submission,
Lavender’s anti-inflammatory Shamans
sacredly shrouding fathoms of doubt with scent.
 
For everything there is something—
Nature being the conduit, soiled hands
embracing her thick trunk, bare feet
 
sinking into dirt and grass, breathing in time
with her natural algorithm, whispering,
“Think on this little exercise—repeat:
 
For everything there is something;
emotional uprisings are defeated by relief;
its war party poised to strike any given moment.”
             
~
Written by Ahavati
Go To Page  

Brando
Brando
Brandon Hursell
Twisted Dreamer
United States
1awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 25th Nov 2018
Forum Posts: 50

________

   
'is      
an      
overdose      
of one’s own      
marrow'
     
     
at dawn      
     
it  can    
painfully    
dismember      
everything    
once    
known    
..only then    
to enrich    
details untold    
   
 
it’ s merely      
the authoress      
of  
~Spatial Acts~
written in
cursive   
     
when one      
takes the      
garden      
pathe      
that leads      
home or to      
somewh’er      
yet another      
recognise      
not the      
principle of      
your exit
     
     
at dusk      
     
it’s an eye          
with seven      
angles of
sight
     
     
it’s neither      
     
a provocative      
lover      
or enemy..      
therefore its      
tendencies      
are of  mutual      
differentiation      
in each      
and every      
animus/anima      
     
a seeker of      
blood’honey..

     
     
     
     
     
     









a healing pause of thought..
Written by HowlingWhelms (Noire)
Go To Page  

crimsin
crimsin
Unveiling
Tyrant of Words
United States
92awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 25th Jan 2011
Forum Posts: 1991

A Cold Bastard

The poison lingers on my lips
like salivation, uncontrolled,
and waiting to ruin everyone’s day.

I get it from my dad, I say,
which certainly isn’t a lie.
But really, ugliness is me,

as near the Divine as I get.
Some people reach it perfectly,
projecting only thoughts and deeds

to make an angel blush
redder than a teenager,
on watching with his parents that

scene in the movie where
the leads take off their clothes.
That isn’t me.

Sarcasm, and bitterness,
the lowest form of wit:
that’s me.

My dad’s an Enfant Terrible
even in his latter years.
Without ever meaning to be,

his words are like thumbscrews,
cat o’nines, and other such playthings
with which to sing the blues

in tones of cackling laughter.
Paraphilia, divorce, crimes of war
and wretched hate, the broken whore

of life in all its vicious modes...
it’s always, always ripe for jokes.
And I don’t want to be a cold,

offensive, mean bastard
(given that bastards don’t have dads
and mine, however flawed, will do).

I’d like to be a comfort and a joy.
But sheer grotesquerie can be
its own strange alchemy,

and we don’t notice flowers less,
nor turn away from art,
just because the cut of our jib

is lined with razorblades.
Written by The_Silly_Sibyl
Go To Page  

butters
butters
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
1awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 17th Sep 2019
Forum Posts: 393

The Hallowed Wo/Men

Ahavati
Go To Page  

butters
butters
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
1awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 17th Sep 2019
Forum Posts: 393

Innocence returning

There's a cold breeze
coming through the back door
causing it to creak on its hinges,
Grandad's gone across the backs
to feed his pigeons.
 
I find him inside the empty loft
closing derelict cages,
gently I place an arm
around the confusion.
Using soft words we stumble outside
towards real moments.
 
The overgrown allotment glistens
through droplets, strung out
across gossamer connections
that tremble in the cold morning light.
We hear the rush of racing pigeons
and watch them disappear overhead
like ghosts into field mist.
 
Grandad stood staring at the sky,
"they're not coming back are they son?"
I put my coat around his shoulders,
'no Grandad they've been gone too long".
We start the slow walk back towards the house,
"someone will have to tell your Nan
she loved those birds"
"She's dead Grandad,
Grandma's dead".
Written by Razzerleaf
Go To Page  

Tallen
Tallen
earth_empath
Tyrant of Words
19awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 15th Oct 2018
Forum Posts: 1024

werbepause xvii ~ {blood consciousness ii}

[iv]
she fades inside me,
a frail succubus
[malnourish'd,
triple digit lips
sucking an empty cock]
a shadoe ov me
consum'd by proxy_
i feel her wilt
in the unfamiliar stain
ov peony
flourishing on porcelain,
our tongues tied
[a slip knot
ov profanity & filth]
my urinal mouth, mute ...
... in my husk,
the desecrated temple
ov my cunt,
i
coyly wither with her
unable to peel myself
from shyness
[who is this
uncertain whore,
this tentative harlot,
this timid slut]
fill'd with shame
whose come-hither strut
stutters in fuck-me heels


[iii]
{&} when i spread the waxen pallor ov my thighs
to
push you into myself, forge that act ov communion
{writhe & mewl
& claw need-yous
into my own hips}
i despise the bite ov pain, the scarr'd hieroglyphs rap'd into me_

[ii]
it lurks.
somewhere inside me;
all that was lost
clamoring
howling behind my eyes
there
where the pieces
are pastich'd to a whole_
& i have never liv'd
in the cracks ov myself
until this,
looking to drink from
my stillborn essence '
once so proud
ov how i bent
myself into a sutra
how i laugh'd
even as i broke

[i]
i am going to spend my days
loving men just like you, the ones who fuck their oedipus complex
into the corpse ov my potential.
& i hate you a little more with each moment i am fearful ov how i put myself together
as tho i am too much ov everything
too little ov anything
because my self-worth lies
cuntward.
Written by _shadoe_ (.............)
Go To Page  

Tallen
Tallen
earth_empath
Tyrant of Words
19awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 15th Oct 2018
Forum Posts: 1024

Related submission no longer exists.

souladareatease
souladareatease
Tyrant of Words
United States
25awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 28th Dec 2012
Forum Posts: 3481

________

   
'is      
an      
overdose      
of one’s own      
marrow'
     
     
at dawn      
     
it  can    
painfully    
dismember      
everything    
once    
known    
..only then    
to enrich    
details untold    
   
 
it’ s merely      
the authoress      
of  
~Spatial Acts~
written in
cursive   
     
when one      
takes the      
garden      
pathe      
that leads      
home or to      
somewh’er      
yet another      
recognise      
not the      
principle of      
your exit
     
     
at dusk      
     
it’s an eye          
with seven      
angles of
sight
     
     
it’s neither      
     
a provocative      
lover      
or enemy..      
therefore its      
tendencies      
are of  mutual      
differentiation      
in each      
and every      
animus/anima      
     
a seeker of      
blood’honey..

     
     
     
     
     
     









a healing pause of thought..
Written by HowlingWhelms (Noire)
Go To Page  



________

Heaven_sent_Kathy
Heaven_sent_Kathy
Thought Provoker
United States
9awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 1st Nov 2017
Forum Posts: 155

Would Issa

( a rensaku = linked tanka )
 
 
🍂
 
a cooler morning—
I await the chime of leaves
that rustle and fall
 
but birds have all left to find
nests made of grateful leaves
 
🍂
 
the season is ill—
the sun is facing away
do I only see,
 
setting out a water bowl
for a stray cat with no voice
 
🍂
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
Go To Page  

Go to page:
Go to: