Poetry competition CLOSED 26th February 2021 10:53am
WINNER
DaisyGrace
DaisyGrace
RUNNERS-UP:
anna_grin
and Razzerleaf
Ye Olde English
Bedward
Wind the alarums,
I’m bedward bound.
Just like the man in Psalm 6:6
I swim, though not through
tears of cruel distance from God
but torn pages of guilts
and shame and old pictures.
A sea formed of paper on which
my sins are charted, studied, sketched.
Maybe its distance from God after all
that inspires the sea.
Either way I do not cry,
divorced as modern man so often is
from close relationship
with cat o’ nine scourges, bleeding
the nightly transgressions from back
and shoulder blades.
My closet door yawns wide,
my couch is made and left.
The ancient man was bedward bound
by guilt. The modern is bedward bound,
then free.
He’s invented the subconscious
and locked the guilt inside.
I’m bedward bound.
Just like the man in Psalm 6:6
I swim, though not through
tears of cruel distance from God
but torn pages of guilts
and shame and old pictures.
A sea formed of paper on which
my sins are charted, studied, sketched.
Maybe its distance from God after all
that inspires the sea.
Either way I do not cry,
divorced as modern man so often is
from close relationship
with cat o’ nine scourges, bleeding
the nightly transgressions from back
and shoulder blades.
My closet door yawns wide,
my couch is made and left.
The ancient man was bedward bound
by guilt. The modern is bedward bound,
then free.
He’s invented the subconscious
and locked the guilt inside.
Written by The_Silly_Sibyl
(Jack Thomas)
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LOVE DEATH DEPRIVED
art thou in meander
beloved, beneath the silver moon
boon to Hecate
nay, slave
in darkness dine
and I deprived of thee
hath thou courted him
with thy taunt
for scytheman be not spurned
after thy simper of need
thou sealeth thy doom
in death, yea, the yoke
of destiny
or hath thou scorned my love
beloved
thine eyes turned
away from mine teary countenance
for I Jealous of strange attention,
swiftly hath forsaken thee
and turned once more
to behold thee
gone
into the mist of time
with thine own sword
shalt I chant thee
into being, beloved
for death return no souls
grip they tight
with hardy talons
struggle now, but thou shalt not rise
O death shalt I sing to thee
with this dagger
to be with my beloved
mine breath grows cold
wherefore art thou...
the night draweth nigh.
beloved, beneath the silver moon
boon to Hecate
nay, slave
in darkness dine
and I deprived of thee
hath thou courted him
with thy taunt
for scytheman be not spurned
after thy simper of need
thou sealeth thy doom
in death, yea, the yoke
of destiny
or hath thou scorned my love
beloved
thine eyes turned
away from mine teary countenance
for I Jealous of strange attention,
swiftly hath forsaken thee
and turned once more
to behold thee
gone
into the mist of time
with thine own sword
shalt I chant thee
into being, beloved
for death return no souls
grip they tight
with hardy talons
struggle now, but thou shalt not rise
O death shalt I sing to thee
with this dagger
to be with my beloved
mine breath grows cold
wherefore art thou...
the night draweth nigh.
Written by Grace
(IDryad)
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"Swithe Me Therefore", Reeks of Spoofery
Hark, ye lovesick heathens
of Castle Anthrax--
your night hath arrived , and
your knight, has arisen!
Anoint him with elderberries
and coconuts, for
your spanks are but flesh wounds
upon his heart of armor.
Rejoice! O'harpies of lust, for
the grail hath fallen into your hands
at last
with a whispered password :
" 'Tis nine meters per hour
as the unladen swallow, flies".
of Castle Anthrax--
your night hath arrived , and
your knight, has arisen!
Anoint him with elderberries
and coconuts, for
your spanks are but flesh wounds
upon his heart of armor.
Rejoice! O'harpies of lust, for
the grail hath fallen into your hands
at last
with a whispered password :
" 'Tis nine meters per hour
as the unladen swallow, flies".
Written by MadameLavender
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Bedward
What have I done
with another day?
Relics from times when music
wasn't atrocious
flood my vehicle with raw voices --
And me, one bead
on highways of abacus strings
zipping
back and forth
'twixt the frame of work and sleep.
Ah, to drive at night
when few souls are conscious ..
I own the roadways , then,
until I give into
routines of slumber , each
feline, in their places
among my bedding , where
it no longer matters
what happened to the hours .
with another day?
Relics from times when music
wasn't atrocious
flood my vehicle with raw voices --
And me, one bead
on highways of abacus strings
zipping
back and forth
'twixt the frame of work and sleep.
Ah, to drive at night
when few souls are conscious ..
I own the roadways , then,
until I give into
routines of slumber , each
feline, in their places
among my bedding , where
it no longer matters
what happened to the hours .
Written by MadameLavender
Go To Page
elflock
i been buying her flowers
and watching how she does it
i been twirling her hair
i can almost pass for grown
and i want it locked
i promise i’m ready
i won’t talk to strangers
i’ll look when i cross
and before i leap
i brush and plait before bed
she guides my hand
i don’t do it every day
sometimes it’s too hard
sometimes i just wanna play
and watching how she does it
i been twirling her hair
i can almost pass for grown
and i want it locked
i promise i’m ready
i won’t talk to strangers
i’ll look when i cross
and before i leap
i brush and plait before bed
she guides my hand
i don’t do it every day
sometimes it’s too hard
sometimes i just wanna play
Written by anna_grin
(ANNAN)
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Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Brabble
Every time I come in here and hear this brabble
I ignore the horde of hard ignorant psychobabble
It’s a slippery slope when I hope to walk on gravel
Because then the idiocy slowly comes to unravel
It's rabble-rabble, but these turkeys like to gabble
Trying to get the last word in as if playing scrabble
Spittin’ nonsense like they’re ready to go to battle
But they fail to grasp that they too are the cattle
They continue to dabble in all this endless haggle
To get their point across but it sounds like gaggle
Sittin’ there all high and mighty in their saddle
Not realizing they’re down the creek without a paddle
And they can never ever handle all this scandal
But unlike Handel, their Messiah was a vandal
They took a chance and it was a fuckin’ gamble
They stirred shit up and then it was just a scramble
Best believe I have ample samples and examples
A stampede of truth that pummels and then tramples
But the rope can be too dangerous when it wrangles
It can strangle when viewing from twisted angles
Don’t argue with assholes who want to grapple
Even if they deserve a karate chop to the Adam’s apple
Their fiendish schemes seem like those of a jackal
And the gibberish feels like it’s an evil feeble cackle
I didn’t mean to ramble or mangle the real cavil
But we gotta drop the hammer like it’s a gavel
And if they continue with their ceaseless babble
Slam the door shut to stop their petty brabble
Written by wallyroo92
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Well done everyone, I have really enjoyed this comp, super idea Missy, thank you. Big congrats to DaisyGrace on taking the trophy. I have enjoyed all the poems and its been really interesting to see the different interpretations on the same themes. Many thanks R
