Poetry competition CLOSED 19th June 2021 5:31am
WINNER
Razzerleaf
View Profile Poems by Razzerleaf
sheild
RUNNER-UP: Ljdynamic

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First Poem

Kinkpoet
Kinkpoet
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 9th May 2019
Forum Posts: 846

Poetry Contest

Poems about first poems
Write a poem about your first poem.
No rules just writes.
Have fun.

Kinkpoet
Kinkpoet
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 9th May 2019
Forum Posts: 846

True Story Of My First Poem

images
suppressed for over
thirty years

tucked away
in a locked box
in a collapsed tunnel

somewhere
in my
subconscious

were emerging
unbidden and
uncontrollable

we had met
at a local
meet and greet

more like
two old friends reuniting
than strangers meeting

he was sober
for thirty plus years
(first thing he shared after handshake and his name)

we talked extensively
about the bdsm community in general
and sadism in particular

at the end of the evening
as the barista was closing up

he gave me his number
said “call if you ever need to talk”

i assumed he meant
to continue our
conversation about bdsm

months later nightmares were waking me
shaking soaked in sweat
(sweat of fear and sorrow)

day dreams kept me from
work and society
unable to focus

blood
bombs
dead people

waking nightmares
intruding into
awareness

after three days without sleep
i felt compelled
to call him

not friends
not family
not a preacher

when he answered
i identified myself
nothing more

he didn’t ask
“why did you call” or
“what’s wrong”

he said
“how can i help?”

baffled
i blurted out
“i’m having weird dreams”

he immediately said

“get dressed
meet me at the park
picnic bench nearest the mountain trail
ill be there in twenty-seven minutes”

then hung up

i’m not sure how he knew but
i lived directly across the road from
a local hiking trail

i put on some shorts and hiking boots
walked to the park
found the bench closest to the trail head

twenty-seven minutes later
he roared into the parking area
on his harley

he smelled
of sweat dust
cigarettes and gasoline

not the sweat of fear
but of hard labor
in a hot climate

not household dust
but fine airborne
desert dust

settling across from me
leaning on the table
he looked me in the eye

“tell me about it”

i rambled on about the dreams
blurted a few sentences about the bombing
shaking and near tears

he said “salt water is
always good for the soul
whether tears, sweat or the sea.”

“i've seen this before,
you’ll be stronger
on the other side”

his acknowledgment
and confidence
calmed me

he said ‘write it down, that will help”

i said ‘ive tried journaling…’

he interrupted:

“NO!
Write from your soul!
Write poetically!”

then he stood
said
“call me in a few days”

climbed on his harley
and roared away

two days more without sleep
until
i finally took his advice

the poem poured
effortlessly
onto the page

and then
i slept

(C) 2021 Raibeart Bruis

Peanut
Peanut
Lost Thinker
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Joined 11th Sep 2019
Forum Posts: 12

21 Twist Street

 
 
We were young    
living was fun  
bikes without helmets  
even when    
 soaked in rum    
    
Money was easy    
work cheesy    
Clubs were grand    
even when    
 we played sleazy    
   
   
Lived on the drug    
we bought from Doug    
Danced all night    
even when    
 passed out on the rug    
   
Now it's a Gallery    
for "Art By Vallery"  
paint by numbers    
even when
displayed as canvas poetry
Written by Peanut
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inechoingsilence
inechoingsilence
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 17th Apr 2019
Forum Posts: 295

The Return

Twelve years, closer to thirteen
did Silence reign, absolute
Nothing was Above, nor Below
I was that Silence, mere shadow

Then there was The Music
relentless in the background
barely audible, yet constant
Softly, Silence began to speak

Not aloud, no, not yet, shh
Silence put pen to paper
music filling mind with colors
translated into hesitant words

The colors, muted at first
brightened as time passed
Music drove Silence away
Words returned, so too Life
Written by inechoingsilence
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Razzerleaf
Razzerleaf
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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Joined 15th Sep 2019
Forum Posts: 302

My first poem

It was market day cold,
up at five, unfolding tarps
for anyone who said yes,
hard graft for a ten year old
before cornflakes
and a two mile walk to school.
 
Michelle and I sat boy-girl,
squashed on wooden benches
with beetle-blue ink wells
whose capillary action highlighted
the splits in hard fingerprints
that still cant open an iphone.
 
As instructed I lifted the desk lid
and rummaged for a pale blue,
cloth-backed poetry book
and we read the owl and the pussy-cat.
Michelle cried as she did most afternoons,
I was told to never ask why.
 
"Now its your turn to write something"
Miss Eves was not to be messed with,
a shit your pants stare that she had perfected
in a Hansel and Gretel kind of way.
"Write about nature and make it rhyme"
 
November
 
The crack of a fire
No top to a spire
Autumn leaves swirl round
As they fall to the ground
Birds flee their trees
Ponds start to freeze
Winter sets in
like a great white blanket
covered in sin.

 
Miss Eves put it on the wall
without saying a word
and my mother brought it back
from parents evening.
She kept it pressed between
the pages of a poetry collection
written in Lancashire dialect,
I never saw the point.
 
It would be 40 years before  
I would write another poem
and I still don't know why I did.
The exploration of words maybe
or the image of a well crafted simile
or maybe it was a wood where a Piggy-wig stood,  
"with a ring on the end of his nose, his nose
with a ring on the end of his nose"
 

 
 

 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
Written by Razzerleaf
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LostViking
LostViking
Lost Viking
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 2nd Apr 2020
Forum Posts: 6

Is There Redemption? (Revisiting my first poem)

I revisited my first poem today
wondering who I was back then.
It was written from my history crashing into
a young lady in a coffee shop,
waking me from a numbing sleep
to face the wrong I’d committed years before.

My enthusiastic seeking of animal pleasures got the best of me,
leaving two souls with regrets.

That guy wasn't much different than who I am today.

But now I know that even regrets may hold magic.
Damaged hearts may feel love and carry scars that
add pleasure to their passions as they are redeemed
in the selfless giving to another.

Had her scars been healed by the family she made and love she spread?
Had my scars become badges of pride in my tireless pursuit of pleasure?
Would there never be redemption for me?
If offered, would I even accept it?

Both love in its purest form and the lusts of our hearts in their sprouting seeds of obsession remain always worth the seeking.

And so, I seek.
Written by LostViking (Lost Viking)
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Kinkpoet
Kinkpoet
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 9th May 2019
Forum Posts: 846

Wow! Amazing entries!

Sound135
Sound135
Ryan M. Becker
Strange Creature
United States
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Joined 10th June 2021
Forum Posts: 4

coxdenis32
coxdenis32
Strange Creature
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Joined 7th Dec 2020
Forum Posts: 14

Thanks for recommending wonderful poetry. I am inspired by cool modern prose. I recently read a story about a Puerto Rican woman. This book https://freebooksummary.com/category/when-i-was-puerto-rican is about natural beauty and human qualities. I liked the main idea of freedom of human choice. Freedom is a symbol of the poetry that follows the authors every second.

Sound135
Sound135
Ryan M. Becker
Strange Creature
United States
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Joined 10th June 2021
Forum Posts: 4

LostViking
LostViking
Lost Viking
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 2nd Apr 2020
Forum Posts: 6

Thanks for the idea. It was good to revisit the past.

PittinixDesigns
PittinixDesigns
Thought Provoker
Jamaica
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Joined 8th Feb 2020
Forum Posts: 45

My First Poem

I used to write stories about real events
A girl called Michelle inspired me to write poems
She was writing in a notebook on the counter
Out of curiosity I asked her what she was writing
And she said that she was writing a poem

I told Michelle that I wanted to read it,
But at first she was reluctant to show it to me
She said that her poem was personal
I kept urging her to show me the poem
She handed me the notebook and I read it

Michelle's emotional writing impressed me
Her feelings of love were similar to mine
And I was really moved by one of the stanzas
I could fully understand her depression,
For I had been experiencing sadness too

That night I took a long time to fall asleep
I was thinking deeply about the things I read
The words of her poem kept ringing in my mind
I had to reveal my secret pain to someone,
So in the morning I wrote a poem of love

My first poem was entitled, “Nobody Loves Me”
The next day I showed Michelle the poem
She silently read it and then she looked at me
I could easily tell what she was thinking
And from then on I have been writing poems
Written by PittinixDesigns
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Ljdynamic
Ljdynamic
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Aug 2017
Forum Posts: 116

When Pencil Met Paper

As I search in the reflection of my first poem,
I find myself exploring with a fine-tooth comb.
Every gaze, every kiss, and touch of my cheek
being relived, those love moments, how weak.


I wrote about a cocky devil dog;
how his love left me in a fog
of mysteries and uncertainty.

I wondered if I should stay or run free.
So insecure I asked for assurance;
the distance fractured the endurance.

Engrossed in the curiosity of do I matter?
Adamant in avoiding the crash that could shatter.
So many sweet lines, decorated but hollow,
I remained starved, but I still followed.


What kept me was the idealization
of being loved and the reuniting culmination
of our long-distance love ungapped.
Eventually, the strings binding me snapped.
Written by Ljdynamic
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wallyroo92
wallyroo92
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 1302

November 29, 1989

 
I remember it well
I was only fifteen
And though I’d seen so much death and destruction at a younger age
On that day
I didn’t know how else to cope with loss

Sam and I had been friends when we were kids
The last time I saw him I was nine
We said we would write to each other
But for some reason, we never did

From time to time I would wonder what happened to him
One tends to wonder if friends are swept off by the rage of civil war
As a casualty
Or joining the cause… (for whatever side)
But my memory of Sam seemed to become more distant as I got older

I remember my mom’s best friend coming over for Thanksgiving
And amidst conversations she broke the news
“My nephew drowned…”

I felt guilt
I felt anger
The thought of my friend no longer filled me with a sadness I hadn’t felt before
Pieces of childhood memory seemed surreal
Someone I knew was gone

For days I moped and pondered
How?
Why?
And though I never spoke of him
He became an inspiration
I fantasized a lasting friendship that would takes us on epic adventures
All the teen angst I felt filled my head with words
And so, Sam become my first poem
Written by wallyroo92
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admin
admin
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Mistress of the Underground
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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:

DevilsChild, Numer90, ArtToChokeHearts, nutbuster, Honoria, Tallen, Josh, wilberfloss, toniscales, Cipher_O, Phantom2426, Grace, Marks, Remy_L, Kinkpoet, AnonymousBystander

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