Poetry competition CLOSED 3rd February 2021 3:17pm
WINNER
da_poetic-edifier (Damon)
da_poetic-edifier (Damon)
RUNNERS-UP:
I_IS_ME
and Poems4me
BAME (Black And Minority Ethnic) free topic contest
The Hallowed Wo/Men
( After T.S. Eliot )
Another era of repetition
puncture a historic dial—
become a thorn inside seconds
meaningless at the core; hollow—
no one different than the other
the other no different than before;
each brigade of sixty seconds
or minutes, marching as to war
one by one follow the hands
hour after hour,
until their time is no more.
Here is where repetition is born:
a needle dancing with its own echo
in the parlor— scratchy throated—
a shallow crevice preventing
forward movement
into the heart of the song—
its music trapped in time
repeating itself, mirroring
over and over:
conflict, death— conflict, death
we follow no other compass.
How have we evolved into colonialism—
escaping the Gun Powder plot
beneath the Houses of Parliament
distracting from the blood disease
of imperialistic ideology—
its hand stretched forth in greed
continents between fingers;
roots exposed, dangling limbs of Being-
repeating itself— over and over
until it becomes a mantra
for future generations:
conflict, death— conflict, death
we follow no other compass.
Battlefield earth, her symbiosis designed
to accommodate the whole of Life—
looks no different than the other
the other no different than before—
spears, arrows, weapons of rock:
Cain, Able, the cost jealousy affords
when we covet our brother’s lot.
Sword, musket, antler knife, gunpowder
treason and plot— who does remember
they are their brother’s keeper
in the midst of tragic loss.
Between the beginning and end
lies the repetition;
between the opening and closing
lies the repetition;
within the solar plexus of the repetition
lies an unmeasured lesson
in time, pain, and experience.
Fertile lands embraced
our foreign ways of trade
between ocean and land;
beyond islands and continents—
its hair invisibly combed
into banners of conquerors.
Those hallowed men and women—
those colored-skinned nations
their ancient customs foreign;
spun from great dynasties of spirit
into silken tapestries of origin.
They were the meek ones—
the workers, providers;
their offerings suffocated
into martyrdom from nooses
whipping poles, diseased blankets
and boiling sugar water.
Sparks rising from pyres in the night—
dissipated of their heat, disappearing
behind their cloaks of darkness;
their burial palls black as graves—
legends, burnt offerings
of flesh melting from bone—
their slayers asleep in their beds
visions of the new world
circling over homesteads—
warpaint of pride, conquest
smeared across their dreams.
What is so different about this
from which we escaped—
we have become the monster we hate;
and, this world,
this world,
this world
will not end with peace;
but, the bloodshed of innocence:
land, air, and ocean polluted of breath—
all lifeforms on the brink of collapse;
this is how it will come to pass
this and nothing else—
not the top one percent
tossing crumbs to the indigent;
nor corporate giants squeezing
every cent from the middle-class;
but, as it was in the beginning:
a brilliant flash of light!
followed by silence
dust
and ash.
~
Another era of repetition
puncture a historic dial—
become a thorn inside seconds
meaningless at the core; hollow—
no one different than the other
the other no different than before;
each brigade of sixty seconds
or minutes, marching as to war
one by one follow the hands
hour after hour,
until their time is no more.
Here is where repetition is born:
a needle dancing with its own echo
in the parlor— scratchy throated—
a shallow crevice preventing
forward movement
into the heart of the song—
its music trapped in time
repeating itself, mirroring
over and over:
conflict, death— conflict, death
we follow no other compass.
How have we evolved into colonialism—
escaping the Gun Powder plot
beneath the Houses of Parliament
distracting from the blood disease
of imperialistic ideology—
its hand stretched forth in greed
continents between fingers;
roots exposed, dangling limbs of Being-
repeating itself— over and over
until it becomes a mantra
for future generations:
conflict, death— conflict, death
we follow no other compass.
Battlefield earth, her symbiosis designed
to accommodate the whole of Life—
looks no different than the other
the other no different than before—
spears, arrows, weapons of rock:
Cain, Able, the cost jealousy affords
when we covet our brother’s lot.
Sword, musket, antler knife, gunpowder
treason and plot— who does remember
they are their brother’s keeper
in the midst of tragic loss.
Between the beginning and end
lies the repetition;
between the opening and closing
lies the repetition;
within the solar plexus of the repetition
lies an unmeasured lesson
in time, pain, and experience.
Fertile lands embraced
our foreign ways of trade
between ocean and land;
beyond islands and continents—
its hair invisibly combed
into banners of conquerors.
Those hallowed men and women—
those colored-skinned nations
their ancient customs foreign;
spun from great dynasties of spirit
into silken tapestries of origin.
They were the meek ones—
the workers, providers;
their offerings suffocated
into martyrdom from nooses
whipping poles, diseased blankets
and boiling sugar water.
Sparks rising from pyres in the night—
dissipated of their heat, disappearing
behind their cloaks of darkness;
their burial palls black as graves—
legends, burnt offerings
of flesh melting from bone—
their slayers asleep in their beds
visions of the new world
circling over homesteads—
warpaint of pride, conquest
smeared across their dreams.
What is so different about this
from which we escaped—
we have become the monster we hate;
and, this world,
this world,
this world
will not end with peace;
but, the bloodshed of innocence:
land, air, and ocean polluted of breath—
all lifeforms on the brink of collapse;
this is how it will come to pass
this and nothing else—
not the top one percent
tossing crumbs to the indigent;
nor corporate giants squeezing
every cent from the middle-class;
but, as it was in the beginning:
a brilliant flash of light!
followed by silence
dust
and ash.
~
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
I hate..
I hate the Ifs that always comes after..
I hate the buts that supports excuses..
These forms of ifs and buts are negative personalities I was taught..
I hate adding extra to what is ordinary..
I hate self importance..
I hate ogling especially at what is ugly..
I hate discrimination which I believe cremation should be it's penalty..
I hate so many expectations.. so I only expect less..
I hate impersonation but I sure love simulation..
I hate bills so when I say I gotta kill the bills it isn't a threat I am as serious and truth as Thurman..
I hate acting smart it makes me get clever for my own good..
I hate antics, especially adolescent..
Do I care if you masturbate?..
Any purpose?..
Care copying and pasting? I sure don't.. it changes nothing..
I don't care about the stuff "THERE" I put my focus "HERE".
"T" is the only difference which they proved is TIME..
THANKS TO ME THEY WERE RIGHT..
I hate the buts that supports excuses..
These forms of ifs and buts are negative personalities I was taught..
I hate adding extra to what is ordinary..
I hate self importance..
I hate ogling especially at what is ugly..
I hate discrimination which I believe cremation should be it's penalty..
I hate so many expectations.. so I only expect less..
I hate impersonation but I sure love simulation..
I hate bills so when I say I gotta kill the bills it isn't a threat I am as serious and truth as Thurman..
I hate acting smart it makes me get clever for my own good..
I hate antics, especially adolescent..
Do I care if you masturbate?..
Any purpose?..
Care copying and pasting? I sure don't.. it changes nothing..
I don't care about the stuff "THERE" I put my focus "HERE".
"T" is the only difference which they proved is TIME..
THANKS TO ME THEY WERE RIGHT..
Written by Numer90
(Numer0-un0)
Go To Page
Feelings Forsaken
Dirty syringes and rusted scalpels
Unsaid vows and vacant wedding chapels
Charcoal colored roses who have lost its hue
Crossing me will lead you to restless days and sleepless nights filled with rue
Blood spews and incense of death crepts viciously through the bodies of the decomposed
Notes written without a cause left unread and distant memories left unrecognizable to the eye of it's holder destined to be eroded.
Missed phone calls without the simple solice of a voicemail and followed by a missed opportunity that comes once a lifetime
Fights that continue without any resolve and murders left unsolved thus adding to rapid rate of crime
Dead souls from the afterlife strutting mysteriously amongst mortals campaigning and politicking for an earthly host
Twitter and instagram birthing an era of fame whores and egotistal users to posting their lives 24/7 just so they can boast
Money serves not a single ounce of real sentimental and monetary value
Instead it has cashed in and signed off on our minds to control us to think we need a plethora of it to invest in earthly goods that will wither away once we pass anyway.
People come and people go, shit thats lifes way of going with the flow
Earth without a rotation and it's life forms tend to lie still without motion
Succumb to loosing your emotions if you want, but be warned they will coerce you to fall victim to the demise of being one with your nervous system
Have you ever heard of a downward spiral, well welcome to a mental meltdown where you will lose the ability to feel and live life without a sense of algorithm.
Unsaid vows and vacant wedding chapels
Charcoal colored roses who have lost its hue
Crossing me will lead you to restless days and sleepless nights filled with rue
Blood spews and incense of death crepts viciously through the bodies of the decomposed
Notes written without a cause left unread and distant memories left unrecognizable to the eye of it's holder destined to be eroded.
Missed phone calls without the simple solice of a voicemail and followed by a missed opportunity that comes once a lifetime
Fights that continue without any resolve and murders left unsolved thus adding to rapid rate of crime
Dead souls from the afterlife strutting mysteriously amongst mortals campaigning and politicking for an earthly host
Twitter and instagram birthing an era of fame whores and egotistal users to posting their lives 24/7 just so they can boast
Money serves not a single ounce of real sentimental and monetary value
Instead it has cashed in and signed off on our minds to control us to think we need a plethora of it to invest in earthly goods that will wither away once we pass anyway.
People come and people go, shit thats lifes way of going with the flow
Earth without a rotation and it's life forms tend to lie still without motion
Succumb to loosing your emotions if you want, but be warned they will coerce you to fall victim to the demise of being one with your nervous system
Have you ever heard of a downward spiral, well welcome to a mental meltdown where you will lose the ability to feel and live life without a sense of algorithm.
Written by LibraSoul96
Go To Page
Ecstasy Found
I can't get you out of my head, like a thought that cannot be explained.
My feelings for you are running rampant, like a escaped prisoner, hard to be detained.
I don't think I can surpress my dirty fantasies and cravings for you much longer.
My body is dehydrated and I need you to quench its undying thirst.
I take pride in being the Virgin Mary of the group and not giving my fruitful cherry to just anyone.
No, I'd rather preserve it's nutrients for someone worthy of it's delectable, juicy goodness.
But for you I'll let you ravish into my flesh like a famished vampire who lacks of blood.
Take me apart one by one like it's an intense game of jenga.
Fondle with my pink rose so soft and urgent with care through each finger, like it's a guitar.
When you get a teaspoon of me you won't need any type of porn to send chills down to your erogenous zones.
My body can be the stimulator that garners up all of your sweet lustful moans.
You want my heart well baby become one with the veins within it.
Be my Achilles heel, be the back bone I need to stand on my own two feet.
It turns me on when you tell me the things you want to do to me once you have the opportunity to get me in bed.
I'm not no damn one night stand, so don't expect no quickies or basic head.
I'm a classic girl, wine and dine me to get to the nucleus of my soul.
Nothing gets me off than a man who can treat a woman like a cherished fossil instead of a rusted old tool in the shed.
I want that love where you shut out the world and not answer a phone call or a text.
But instead just be lost in each others orgasmic melodies and the pleasures of our sex.
Our love will be the kind of love where you can't live without me and my life is yours to uphold.
A love where marriage is the center of binding our commitment legally and you taking my hand to hold.
A blushing bride dying to give all of her warm embraces to her doting groom.
A groom that looks at me with hunger when it comes to devouring me with his mouth from six ways to Sunday during honeymoon night.
A groom that wants to explore putting my body into different positions like a contortionist with all his everlasting might.
My dreamlover you make me feel alive and filled with heavy adrenaline.
I want to be the one that heals all your aches like I'm your own prescribed penicillin.
My body is an open safari baby now come use it for your own unawaited exploration.
I'm your forever and always
I'm ecstasy found, but an angel to society.
Come be my proprietor baby and forever keep me in your possession.
My feelings for you are running rampant, like a escaped prisoner, hard to be detained.
I don't think I can surpress my dirty fantasies and cravings for you much longer.
My body is dehydrated and I need you to quench its undying thirst.
I take pride in being the Virgin Mary of the group and not giving my fruitful cherry to just anyone.
No, I'd rather preserve it's nutrients for someone worthy of it's delectable, juicy goodness.
But for you I'll let you ravish into my flesh like a famished vampire who lacks of blood.
Take me apart one by one like it's an intense game of jenga.
Fondle with my pink rose so soft and urgent with care through each finger, like it's a guitar.
When you get a teaspoon of me you won't need any type of porn to send chills down to your erogenous zones.
My body can be the stimulator that garners up all of your sweet lustful moans.
You want my heart well baby become one with the veins within it.
Be my Achilles heel, be the back bone I need to stand on my own two feet.
It turns me on when you tell me the things you want to do to me once you have the opportunity to get me in bed.
I'm not no damn one night stand, so don't expect no quickies or basic head.
I'm a classic girl, wine and dine me to get to the nucleus of my soul.
Nothing gets me off than a man who can treat a woman like a cherished fossil instead of a rusted old tool in the shed.
I want that love where you shut out the world and not answer a phone call or a text.
But instead just be lost in each others orgasmic melodies and the pleasures of our sex.
Our love will be the kind of love where you can't live without me and my life is yours to uphold.
A love where marriage is the center of binding our commitment legally and you taking my hand to hold.
A blushing bride dying to give all of her warm embraces to her doting groom.
A groom that looks at me with hunger when it comes to devouring me with his mouth from six ways to Sunday during honeymoon night.
A groom that wants to explore putting my body into different positions like a contortionist with all his everlasting might.
My dreamlover you make me feel alive and filled with heavy adrenaline.
I want to be the one that heals all your aches like I'm your own prescribed penicillin.
My body is an open safari baby now come use it for your own unawaited exploration.
I'm your forever and always
I'm ecstasy found, but an angel to society.
Come be my proprietor baby and forever keep me in your possession.
Written by LibraSoul96
Go To Page
Scarred Bark
Tall barren trees with fallen leaves
Outstretched arms as they grieve
Praying for relief only given by the Sun
Always in the crosshairs of man's gun
Wanting to run before someone yells timber
Evading the fate of being gone 'til November
Embers of their dreams are being extinguished
While many take a blind eye to how they're anguished
Some choose to still wish upon the falling stars
Even though their barks are stark with keloid scars
From afar, where you are, they seem to be whining
Ignoring how, during every season, they are dying
Outstretched arms as they grieve
Praying for relief only given by the Sun
Always in the crosshairs of man's gun
Wanting to run before someone yells timber
Evading the fate of being gone 'til November
Embers of their dreams are being extinguished
While many take a blind eye to how they're anguished
Some choose to still wish upon the falling stars
Even though their barks are stark with keloid scars
From afar, where you are, they seem to be whining
Ignoring how, during every season, they are dying
Written by da_poetic-edifier
(Damon)
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Dreams Of Kings
What's a pawn to a King that has big dreams
Truth of the matter is, it means everything
For it takes a team to bring dreams to fruition
Need helping hands to demand our elevation
In every equation or situation, there's strength in numbers
To turn dreams into reality, many must depart their slumbers
Wonder why things just don't seem to ever really change?
Blood filled with hate pumps & gyrates through their veins
Too many refrain from calling it exactly how it is
In bondage to money and he with the highest bid
Should we bid farewell to the fairytale of peace?
Can nonviolence truly bring violence to a cease?
Should peace be a suitable solution to repeated execution?
Is it an oxymoron to do no harm during a revolution?
Do we live in an institution for the mentally insane?
Would Dr. King's revelation inevitably change lanes?
The gameplan isn't yielding great return on investment
Proof's in the pudding of centuries of testaments
The element of being patient has long ago expired
All evil entities should be unwillingly retired
Truth of the matter is, it means everything
For it takes a team to bring dreams to fruition
Need helping hands to demand our elevation
In every equation or situation, there's strength in numbers
To turn dreams into reality, many must depart their slumbers
Wonder why things just don't seem to ever really change?
Blood filled with hate pumps & gyrates through their veins
Too many refrain from calling it exactly how it is
In bondage to money and he with the highest bid
Should we bid farewell to the fairytale of peace?
Can nonviolence truly bring violence to a cease?
Should peace be a suitable solution to repeated execution?
Is it an oxymoron to do no harm during a revolution?
Do we live in an institution for the mentally insane?
Would Dr. King's revelation inevitably change lanes?
The gameplan isn't yielding great return on investment
Proof's in the pudding of centuries of testaments
The element of being patient has long ago expired
All evil entities should be unwillingly retired
Written by da_poetic-edifier
(Damon)
Go To Page
