Competition Ends 5th February 2021 4:42pm

Poem of the month January

Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 10th May 2020
Forum Posts: 136

Poetry Contest

It’s a new year! Nominate the best written works.. show some love.
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.
You have THREE weeks to nominate no more than THREE of your favorite poems from another DUP poet!

Please note the following when making nominations:
NOTE: The Spoken Word of the Month comp is here:
Because the vote for this com is anonymous, and spoken word pieces cannot be anonymous due to avatars and voices, we would prefer you nominate those pieces in the appropriate comp above so that voting remains fair.

NOTE: New Member ( six ( 6 ) months of less ) of the Month comp is here:

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. You may nominate only THREE poems from THREE different DU members.

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

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

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

6. One win per member within a Calendar Year.

7. You must personally notify the member that they have been nominated.

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

Current Poem of the Month Hall of Famers:


January 2020-  NEW BEGINNINGS
February 2020 - EDIBLE WORDS
JUNE 2020 - LEPPEROCHAN (Craic-Dealer)
August 2020 Daniel Christensen
September 2020 Aspergerpoet
October 2020 Lunagreyhawk
November 2020 Kristinax


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
October, 2019 - HOWLING_WHELMS
November, 2019 - JOHNNY BLAZE
December 2019- RACHEL_LAUREN


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


January, 2017 - VEE
February, 2017 - CRIMSIN
March, 2017 - ONEFIFTYSIX
June, 2017 - AEMelia564
July, 2017 - THE_SILLY_SIBYL (Jack Thomas Heslop)
August, 2017 - QUIETUSQUILL
September, 2017 - _SHADOE_
October, 2017 - POETSREVENGE
November, 2017 - NAAJIR
December, 2017 - POETSPEAK


November, 2016 - JOHN FEDDELER
December, 2016 - AHAVATI

Tyrant of Words
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Joined 21st July 2020
Forum Posts: 1544

Smaller Still

In smaller places  
like closed cupboard doors  
like between the washer and dryer
where McDuff got stuck
the dog of crooked ears and tail  
of whimpers and runtism  
in small places  
like tunnels  
near those tennis courts and the creek  
like tunnels  
the dear made in forsythia bushes    
in this years sunken behind  
like saggy skin  
small enough  
for me and Sarah  
for me and Eliza  
for Caroline and I  
an orangey bloomy spring  
the wide ride  
through neighbor Bobs sprinklers  
the trucker, the fucker  
who slashed the forsythias  
and left west on the I-70 Interstate  
"Run!" I think were caught  
its a small space, escape  
smaller under the covers  
smaller even more in the euphoria of forests  
and contained and concentrated euphoria  
glittering breathing cathedral  
smaller like tunnels  
like sex  
such a small space  
your limited lovely face  
small space, the waist  
is it weird that I stuck my tongue in your nose?  
is it odd if I drink straight from the hose?  
or when Bridgid the dog  
was lost in the bog  
gone for five wide days  
and came back blind  
smaller when she bonked into unseen cabinets  
and cried through the night  
I think thats how it went  
to remember  
the tangled knot of before  
the before time  
like pavement, hot  
like mirage, hotter  
like gray carpet  
rough rough and rougher  
like capers  
like solitude  
none had like I  
in my small small world  
untangling the past  
shrinking shrinking knot  
knot del pasado  
pasando por nada
older, smaller knot  
older now  
smaller still  
smaller today  
to walk these street and still feel this way  
wider the sky  
larger the form  
and even so    
I walk this life  
shrinking from shore to shore  
Written by plexus
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 21st July 2020
Forum Posts: 1544

Silence (NoPoo 59)

Every single night
I endure the silence
Witbout you
Fighting to feel
Everything we were
Here in the dark

The pantomime of life
Endless parodies
Of missed choices
Teardrops dancing on skin
For something lost
In the heart

Long suffering kiss
Felt deep within
Reminders of love
A wavelength
Of the soul
Forever vibrating

Every single night
In the void
My heart
Has not lost you
In the silence
Written by AspergerPoet56
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 21st July 2020
Forum Posts: 1544


In the four stages of decomposition
At first you get the initial decay
This is when the cells self-digest
And bacteria begin to proliferate

Once all the liquids have been expelled
Next the body starts to Bloat
Gases accumulate due to bacteria
Like an ego that once used to gloat

And during this marbling stage
Sulfur binds to molecules in the blood
It changes the color of the skin
To an orange tinge like fetid mud

Then come the flies and maggots
Answering the call of death and decay
Feeding on the rotting flesh
Entering any orifice to feast and play

The maggots come in endless numbers
Hatching even more maggots to feed
They only care to devour the tissue
With an endless hunger and greed

But the maggots, the maggots are everywhere
They come out of the woodwork in a rage
Feasting on the orange bloated corpse
As the body begins to purge in this stage

In the final phase of advanced decay
The maggots eat up everything that lies
The body shrinks down to the bones
As the nearby vegetation dies
Written by wallyroo92
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 9123

Poetic agony

Her poetic voice must be heard                            
fallen tears now stain her pages                  
concerned with not that which she slurs                  
her poetic voice must be heard                              
she does not care she takes her turn          
she tries to hide her written rages                          
her poetic voice must be heard                            
fallen tears now stain her pages                                       
And so she must defend her name                          
for many came to hear her rhyme            
she took her place an claimed her fame              
and so she must defend her name                        
she will not fail tis’ not a game                                
her hand is steady just this time                           
and so she must defend her name                        
for many came to hear her rhyme                                      
The curtain calls come to an end          
they will remember why she came          
her need to write she wont pretend          
the curtain calls come to an end            
penned poetry has been her friend          
her victory she must reclaim          
the curtain calls come to and end            
they will remember why she came
Written by Zazzles (Broom)
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 21st Aug 2013
Forum Posts: 630

How to start a day

How to start a day:  
“With gratitude and humility”
sounds so trite  
and is easier said than done.  

Instead, start with coffee.  
When I’m groggy and depressed  
and can’t summon gratitude for anything else,  
coffee softens my edges.  
Next, get out Into the world  
and notice things,  
wonder about mysteries,  
connect with wisdom.  
I consider it prayer,  
but the label doesn’t matter.  
Noticing (awe) --  
--That the gray sky is not gray at all.  
If I was a painter, I’d need a full palette  
of muted blue-gray, purple-gray, orange-gray…  
it is beautiful, and I get to see it.  
--That the thin skiff of snow  
collects on one side of each pebble,  
showing the direction of the wind as it fell…  
it is intriguing, and I get to witness it.  
Wondering (curiosity) –  
--about the tracks in the snow  
Was that a cat, or some other small ditch-dwelling mammal?  
How did it jump so far?  
I ponder mysteries large and small.  
--about how the stars are still burning above me,  
beyond the daylight, above the clouds,  
although my current context won’t let me see them…  
here and now is not their moment to shine.  
(after noticing  
   and wondering  
      I find my point of connection)
Connecting (wisdom) --  
Stars always make me think of Time,  
and the double-think  
of smallness and significance.  
I am, by objective measures, of no consequence in this vast universe.  
I am also, at some moment, to someone, in some context,  
exactly what is needed,  
and therefore infinitely important.  
Small and large – like stars -- brilliant and invisible.  
I don’t think I’ll know my moment of significance –  
maybe it’s already passed.  
My purpose is to just keep shining
for that opportune moment of fulfillment,
trying not to get in the way  
of being what I am.  
Noticing.. wondering… connecting…  
Once I’ve grasped both  
my immeasurable insignificance  
and my unique belovedness  
I can begin.  
Equipped with a Self  
and with Resources  
for a Purpose --  
How shall I use them today?  
How to start a day:  
with gratitude and humility.
Written by brokentitanium (k.)
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 23rd Nov 2013
Forum Posts: 1483

Jo Jo Bulldog

Sitting at my feet
Smelling of mildew
Abused as we know
The head of a Snapping Turtle
A large fighting dog of the 1800's
American Bulldog
Everybody's friend at adoption shelter
Bit 5 people
Animal control "gonna put him down"
PTSD = Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
He was afraid of the dark
Lost a sex organ, driven over by a truck
Hateful mean people hurt this...
Innocent creature
Painful arthritis, I related to him
Only defended himself
Trusted only several kennel workers
And the Volunteers
Putting hot dogs into his
Excited and hungry jaws
He had separation anxiety
Went frantic every time I left
Pushing his head against the fence
He cried out like a puppy
Then we would meet again
I taught him not to bite my hands
And gave him bacon dog treats
The truck came for euthanasia
As I tied my tennis shoes
I felt his big warm tongue on my face
And he said a heroic's goodbye
With tears in his eyes
And in the Devil's grip
I yelled to him...
"See you in Heaven Good Boy"
And they restrained him
And drove down the gravel pathway
Written by Recovery-Ministry (Kevin Rottweiler)
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 23rd Nov 2013
Forum Posts: 1483


MyEyeDelight (Rachael Alexandra)
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 5th Sep 2018
Forum Posts: 351

Dear God...It's Me Again

Dear's me again
It's now been 14 months since I lost my best friend
The pain is subsiding but it never goes away
I think about my little brother every single day
I still talk to him as if he was still here
Tell him about my day as I wipe away the tears
He was so young, God, I just don't understand
He was in the prime of his life. Why you take him out like that?
But then again, I know you never make mistakes
My brother is in Heaven and I know that he's ok
Comforted by the fact that he's no longer in pain
He's better off with you than being in a hospital bed
Writing you is my therapy for my sadness and sorrow
Goodnight, dear God...Talk to you tomorrow
Written by MoeBetta (Moe Betta)
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 9123

Nuyorican Dawn



          Of my life
Have fed me
Along the way—

          Made me ready for this
          Recasting city—
                                       Bedraggled and Masked,
          Still happy to walk slowy
          In the rain—
In this  
New body—

             As I Breathe
Once more.
Not lost.
Not dreaming.

Written by Andres__Castro
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 9123

Cordoned Off


I think I get too caught up on blooms and blossoms
Flowers come in so many colors;
We were out in the meadow,
I kept getting snagged by the little burrs
My sister pointed out a tall red in the grass:
It's a poppy
Mature petals swirled around a black head
And the bees were out,
The sun was particularly gentle,
There was no wind,
I love it when it's like this.
The meadow is sectioned;
There is the gravel road that goes through the tall grasses and the purple flowers
It goes by the gazebo
Wood shingled roof and stone base;
No picnic table though, and I've never seen it used,
This dark wooden skeleton that scowls in the sunshine,
Lonely and unused,
A little sad, bemused by the wasp hive it harbors in its kneaves;
The meadow is littered with wildflowers that lie low until you get close;
You can just skip about
There's a stricter area to the right
Thorny bushes and tendrils
And uneven ditches and mud
Still look beautiful:
Roses and butterflies
The stream, quiet,
But it is a forbidden place, over there,
So I watch from the meadow flowers.
Written by asbr808 (Anthony R)
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 23rd Nov 2013
Forum Posts: 1483

Boston (Common)

branded Continental, in truth
they're half that in this case.
i've been teleported to the Hub
for business, neglectful of
pleasure in hastily-pressed
and noticeably baggy attire.
for i'm a mite more svelte
in times lean of sustenance.
which begs the question of
why i've packed four outfits
for a three-day conference and
wind up carrying on sneakers
and slippers to avoid airline
taxation of my looseknit largesse.

i but shrug. mine are sturdy shoulders.

the nor'east is timidly frigid in this
first trimester of rusted foilage. the
trees blush, shed their crunchy adornments
and let the occasional howlgust slip their
sentinel pose to whooshparch my exposed skin.
it's fahty-two degrees, as one native observed,
and youse fellas ah weahin' heavy jackets. not
from around here, no sir. we're just momentary,
semi-voluntary transplants to your parts and
if that snahky Rutgah Hauwah wannabe at my hotel
opens his yap once more in his condescending tone,
this here cowboy's new Hi-Tecs are rearranging his
chiclets at Beckett speed. shut up and gimme my receipt.

i but sneer. mine are piledriver legs.

this is an odd place for an odd specimen like me
to seek enlightenment, be it official or subconscious.
by morning, freshly tired from six pillows and Crowne
Plaza luxuriants, i sit with 26 strangers and listen
to Massachusetts geeks explaining their database techniques.
come dusk at the quittin' whistle, i hoof it 'round Natick
in search of more equipage, decent eats and something
to distract me from the realization that having to front
my hotel fare, surprise, surprise, has effectively
rendered me a prisoner of two-step discoveries and
silently cursing to myself about the need of others
to call and make sure Enterprise has cars available
before we paint the landmarks red and our shuttle
chaffeur has booked it looking for better tippers.

i but sigh.  mine are higher percentages.

in between serving as surrogate instructor for
the country-boy Luddite sitting next to me in class,
i find myself fascinated by the new york nurse and
the maine neapolitan, each of them so New England
they're begging to be advertisements on WGBH. his
Bahstonness oozes in each syllable, deliberately
intelligent and insightful, as he's the umpteenth
person to notice i ain't from around here, are ya?
she's not classically sexy, Rubenesque and earthy
but open to conversations with three strangers in
the lobby of our host. she complains about Beantown's
cab fares and longs for sturdy beers and cain't-see-
to-cain't-see entertainers.  i catch glances at her
breasts and her sidesway as she postulates seeing
us again in February for our next level of training.

i but smile.  mine are boilcrotch hormones.

they ask for volunteers to leave on Saturday and two
of us defer, getting hefty air travel vouchers in return
and the opportunity to sleep in a Peabody shithole with
an apathetic cabbie cellphoning in Arabic and serving
as there-and-back transportation.  fuck Carrabbas,
their one-hour tablewait and no acknowledgments after
ten minutes.  i zip my heavy coat, brave the blindnight
and tumble into a Bertucci's booth while Kerri apologizes
for everything taking too long to be served.  no worries,
sweet thing.  you smiled at a weary troubadour, promptly
served the cabernet i guzzled down and earned a twenty-buck
tip on a thirty-five ticket.   think well of texans, i asked.
one thinks well of you, hot as the fringes while i'm icesouled.

i but simmer.  mine are appreciative eyes.

and at last airborne, unaccompanied this time, squeezed in
over a freedom bird's stiffwing.  i followed the
flight attendant's thighs as high as her skirt and
opportunity would allow, admonishing myself silently
for being me.  no miles ever drag me far enough from
reality to give a respite from being the axis upon which
so many depend for perspective, enlightenment and anchorage.
and i expelled the remainder of Boston air, overrated lobster
and vaguely Eastcoaster deference from my lungs to suck of
the chokeair humidity and zigzag routine of my Gulf Coast
days.  it's a demanding geography, an often-thankless sentinel
life of machines, haste and fragile personalities.  i'll
eventually enjoy being here and there, i suspect.

i but strive.  mine are callused feet.
Written by raconteur
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