Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd December 2019 2:28am
WINNER
Rachel_Lauren
Rachel_Lauren
Poem of the Month December, 2019
Persimmons
How long had it been?
No matter, as she grew,
she dreamt of children.
Even as an only child
born of an only child;
where she was in life,
she wanted girls.
Not just one - to raise as
an only child and still be
alone in one’s mortality.
It was a time of war
when first conceived.
The streets were grey
and rubble-filled
in stillborn drifts of snow.
She had conceived
during a time of war;
she knew she’d have a girl,
when prayers would echo
from ruins of rooftops,
for God is great
’Allah akbar’ in the smoke.
What a beautiful child,
born when there should be
flowers & ripe persimmons.
She knew she’d have a girl;
it was a time of war—
how long had it been?
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
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We Walk Like Gods
The white sun riptide
built a vast sandbar
high and wide
and with bare feet
we walk like gods
across the Atlantic
As it rose
the floor’s gold shimmer
transfused blue waters
with tropic shades of green
and reflective scatter
of confetti emeralds
flirted with our
salt-stung eyes
Little feet stepped
carefully in plush sand
around sharp coral edges
as the fish and eel
slipped through our legs
like silver party streamers
and we celebrated
We could map across
an entire ocean jungle
speaking a child’s
language—
our musical laughter
bounced bright notes
off the choral
seaweed carnival
at our bending knees
and we celebrated
Cataclysm would not
harm us newly born
so we walk like gods
across the Atlantic
and wide earth’s
freedom filled our
young, brave
guts until
we burst
Soon, as our
volatile star sets
the sea would revert
from teal to sapphire
against a lively
yellow moon—
we are not in
our mothers’ homes
above catacombs
We walk like gods
full of dark, wild earth
as the moon’s pull is strong
the merciless tide is heavy
we are immaculate still
Written by Rachel_Lauren
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Related submission no longer exists.
hibiscus-and-sparrow
flowers giant
pink &
green
projected thru
the window screen
((and the wind blows like the wind
and the wind blows thru the trees
and the wind blows the leaves away
and the wind blows time away
but not the doings of time
entirely )
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
nnnnnnnnnnamo AmitaBhaa
i reflected
rather benignly
upon
the spiritual movements
of this
with tea
to whomever
and the shelf beside
on its stomach is a radio
(….maybe I will say gramophone.....)
no,
on its stomach
is a radio
ripped open
from which music spills, gushing,
like the Rhône
-euro-new-lounge-
electro
-jazz
-Caribbean
-zephyr chill
with
quaalude feathers
and speckled bills .
..hello.....
….hellow
is anybody home?
or is this just
some kind of
slow motion lonesome?
hey there bruv,
What is love,
you think it true?
Yea,
sure i do ,
but not a thing to take on faith alone
and thus behold
or thus be sold
at its word or name
or face or fame
nor to set on simmer either
in backgrounds like a stew
but is, we shall say, that what is done for you,
& that which you do and do and do.
(jejune
à ma
grande
surprise )
from here
i hear
your pulse
and your
pause
like a sunrise.
just outside my door
violet air streams by,
just up my floor,
from out yonder it pours,
rushing in
and all around
submerged as i am
sunken eyed bug eyed
as a phantom of hot air
or dart frog with the suck-it tongue
in this body
as empire and none
but prone, you know?
as if floating
in ever deepening ever widening
hexagonal daydream aquariums
aerial millponds
fuzzy loafing
bog comas
of ghostly ellipsis
echoes of
the vast undercurrent, legions of
smoke lagoons come liquid Soma
stalagmite reality of riptide and thy tender eyes
glittering whitely but far far far from any sight of mine.
so yeah
sometimes we float atop the surface so lightly
and sometimes we sink in,
down beneath
(the smothering stone of psyche)
and sometimes we fall under
more concisely
and drift along
the bottom
sucking mud, a flounder,
a mudskipper
sucking bloodworm artemia
-or along the far edges
and the outskirts
and the purlieu
of the world and the centermost world,
and the world indeterminate, out of sequence, such fare, what
difference? for destitute is my plenitude &the
earth of lagoons in swan light and amphibian yields or flowery fields
dressed to the nines, a painter's muse,
giant and brightly
pink &
green
surveyed thru
a rubber tangerine
until the end of art or years or everything.
All across
the slipshod waste
the woodblock ballet
thunks away
the garden
is a machinery of mud
Hokusai paints prettily at the buds
and like Wang Ch'i
his petals offer up
their ruby charms
for madrigals
and Montifrignilla
while wandering Sordello
dredges back to Goito,
he pulls his trunk alone, a broke-down elephant dud,
amid flowers
giant pink and green
blueberry canary yellow
hibiscus and sparrow
yes i remember now
have pity on a fool
oh, hell,
let me explain
but, no,
i never will.
Written by Vandel_Viaclovsky
(Van)
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Lost Men
( a double Quatern )
For some to whom the years have not been kind,
And beaten into treads of alley cracks.
Where poison oleander of the mind,
Grows pink and scarlet all along the tracks.
Is omnipresent, making all else dim,
For some to whom the years have not been kind.
The remnants of a battle none to slim,
To oust the honored few we leave behind.
The marches in the blinding rain confined,
The ossify of driftwood’s living dead.
For some to whom the years have not been kind,
In olive camaflage of jungle red.
To row a swollen stream without an oar,
Or bleach upon a dune in dreams to find.
Did all the lost men fight a godless war,
For some to whom the years have not been kind.
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets,
The host omnipotent is torpor’s self.
To wander aimlessly, each day repeats,
With nothing left to show for of itself.
Existing in oblivion as truth,
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets.
The price to pay to sacrifice one’s youth,
Will mean the cost of flags like covered sheets.
The timpani of echoed solemn beats,
“When will they ever learn?”, so goes a song.
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets,
In darker bows in search of what went wrong.
Like orca, to bring death before the mast,
Another generation fills more seats.
The overture, their fate has long been cast,
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets.
For some to whom the years have not been kind,
And beaten into treads of alley cracks.
Where poison oleander of the mind,
Grows pink and scarlet all along the tracks.
Is omnipresent, making all else dim,
For some to whom the years have not been kind.
The remnants of a battle none to slim,
To oust the honored few we leave behind.
The marches in the blinding rain confined,
The ossify of driftwood’s living dead.
For some to whom the years have not been kind,
In olive camaflage of jungle red.
To row a swollen stream without an oar,
Or bleach upon a dune in dreams to find.
Did all the lost men fight a godless war,
For some to whom the years have not been kind.
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets,
The host omnipotent is torpor’s self.
To wander aimlessly, each day repeats,
With nothing left to show for of itself.
Existing in oblivion as truth,
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets.
The price to pay to sacrifice one’s youth,
Will mean the cost of flags like covered sheets.
The timpani of echoed solemn beats,
“When will they ever learn?”, so goes a song.
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets,
In darker bows in search of what went wrong.
Like orca, to bring death before the mast,
Another generation fills more seats.
The overture, their fate has long been cast,
As if their shadows stay to walk the streets.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
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The winner of this competition and any runners up were decided by public vote.
Thank you to the following members for voting:
Stoney223, inechoingsilence, nutbuster, _boybrains, crimsin, LunaGreyhawk, Josh, Poetrybydhyana, Kinkpoet, Layla, Tallen, fields_broke, Jade-Pandora, zinnzinn, LunasChild8, russell_snow, badmalthus, PoetsRevenge, summultima, Heaven_sent_Kathy, Poetic_Strength, butters
Thank you to the following members for voting:
Stoney223, inechoingsilence, nutbuster, _boybrains, crimsin, LunaGreyhawk, Josh, Poetrybydhyana, Kinkpoet, Layla, Tallen, fields_broke, Jade-Pandora, zinnzinn, LunasChild8, russell_snow, badmalthus, PoetsRevenge, summultima, Heaven_sent_Kathy, Poetic_Strength, butters
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