Poetry competition CLOSED 14th July 2021 00:59am
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Underground Elegy

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Write an elegy
In modern literature, according to Google, an elegy is defined as “a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for the dead.” For this contest, write an elegy.

No word count or rules, except that your poem must be an elegy.

If it helps, elegies are defined by a haunting, mournful, regretful, and wistful atmosphere. I’ve included a few examples from literature below:

* https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44733/lycidas
* http://www.online-literature.com/tennyson/718/
* https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45480/when-lilacs-last-in-the-dooryard-bloomd
* https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50756/natal-command
* https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/49508/you-were-you-are-elegy

poet Anonymous

Fermented & Seasoned

Fermented like grapes inside of fine wine
Seasoned like steaks on plates of fine dine
Standing erect with the spine of a stand-up man
Crossing many of plains that contain quicksand

Hard to withstand the music that's playing repeatedly
Tired of taking knees in memory of fallen family
Bravely, I still rise like a rose beneath the Sun's rays
Wondering when it'll be me who sees my end of days

You could say it's morbid of me to constantly think of mortality
But I see that, at the drop of a dime, I can be a casualty
Another fatality prematurely meeting his demise
Causing my family to grieve with more tears in their eyes

Trying to focus my eyes on more joy than pain
As blue skies get enveloped by clouds and rain
How do you maintain smiles through miles of decay
As hope's tires start displaying signs of fray

When losing your way despite the use of GPS
Cause satellite images get distorted by stress
All I can do is my best while behind the wheel
And hope hydroplaning doesn't total my steel
poet Anonymous


I'm haunted by the words of a disturbed mind  
A woman seeking peace but could never find  
Cause other things would bind onto her soul  
Escaping its firm grasp was her ultimate goal  
Innocence was stole at a tender, young age  
Causing her mind to have fits of rage  
Finding the final page of endless chapters  
Is the conclusion she was chasing after  
Faster & faster was the decline of her health
Mental and physical but pixels were in stealth  
Her bundle of wealth entered the scene at 16  
Bringing some joy into a world that's so mean  
She nor I ever dreamed that we'd depart  
Leaving several years in an unclaimed cart  
Breaking our hearts; she left me no choice  
Now on Mother's Day, I yearn for her voice  
That's no longer a choice afforded either of us  
Cause she's taken a journey on a one-way bus  
Now I must keep on; being torn by her words  
Tethered to my psyche as spilled milk curds
poet Anonymous

Elegy for a lost gig

There was prayer to be found  
in the chaos of frantic feet  
grinding swollen concrete,  
the crush lacerating hot ribs  
until lyrics began bleeding  

holiness draped waiting ears  
ringing black crowns like bells.  
We folded ourselves  
into death-sized pieces,  
gifted them to every open mouth  
filled our coffins with memoirs  
words, the epitaph  
      song, the memory.  
You remembered our hands  
punching sweat-drenched air  
how we lost ourselves to it—  
the whip of chorus freeing us  
in ways we couldn’t explain  
but we sank our teeth  
into its writhing flesh  
promised ourselves  
there would never again  
be a moment more vivid  
ever the same.
poet Anonymous


Fearless, as most youth can be,
I abased my dose of purity.
Spent all of my days trying to conquer the night
With reckless curiosity,
I courted Death with intensity
And shunned all chaperones, save pure Delight.
I did not heed the mourning dove
Or the consequence of requited love,
Convinced that I was somehow born invincible.
I committed the worst of crimes,
Social suicide so many times
That even my ghost has now become invisible.
poet Anonymous


There isn't any dark underbelly
or shadow clad evil waiting to drag us
kicking into the opening roots of a bloody tree.

You won't find that the room temperature
drops and a pale figure appears dripping wet
because the previous owner of the house
wants you to find her bones at the bottom of a well.

But you will see that shock of grey hair
walking up the hill with her shopping bags
as you drive past and think for a moment
it was her.

You will kneel in the garden
to tie off daffodils and remember that
she showed you how to do it.

You will hear your name being called
when you play loud music and turn it down
to listen for that voice again.

You will be asked to spare some change
by a man in the supermarket
who smells of sweet sherry and Sunday roast.

So you see, this is how they come to haunt us,
to make us remember, this is how they keep a foot
in our world, this is how we hold on.
poet Anonymous

Corn flower and dust

The car park is pay and display now  
and I know I'll say to someone  
"it used to be free"  
just to hear my voice  
and watch my words dissipate  
in pretend smoke plumes.  

I chose the old bench,  
it seems to fit the curve of my back  
and I like the rough crackle of green paint  
splintering into that front door blue.  
It reminds me of your paint palette hands.  

The foundations have spread beneath  
the rivers bend, the fallen millstone  
flashes silver ghosts of breached wellingtons  
and spun dry socks, the bark and flap  
of dog chased ducks.  
The old stone bridge  
lends its arc to frame the fields beyond.  
A heavy frost is hiding fleeced sheep  
from my cold watering eyes.  
I didn't get the hot chocolate,  
Nigel would have asked  
and I need it to be summer,  
its back packed sandwiches,  
its childish chase around the toilet block  
and the dressed in all the gear  
walkers, saying "we come here every year"  
Yes, Nigel would have asked,  
so I'll see you when it's warmer.  
I'm going to wait in the car,  
give someone my ticket,  
and they'll say "thank you"  
I'll say "you're welcome"  
and they'll know I miss you.
poet Anonymous

Mambo #5

the end of a well-worn path
seems to arrive unexpectedly  
~ never mind you’ve been waiting,  
watching in slow motion
its march across the horizon  
inch by excruciating mile,  
~never mind it should feel  
familiar by now;  
the moment shows up unannounced,  
scratching fresh paint from the door,  
lost and unmoored, overflowing  
empty hands deprived of everything  
you once offered;  
stale breath overfills these lungs  
spilling out in mumbled curses ~  
one by one, they tumble headlong    
into the silence that’s settling    
deep into my bones;  
lines that separate you from me  
feel drawn in permanent marker    
poet Anonymous

Emmitt Till

To that young boy named Emmitt Till
Whose death was heard on Capitol Hill
Whose crime was naught but he was black
Whose judgement was his life to lack

A time when freedom hid her face
And reason was without her place
A decade, two, and century still
To maim, and pulverize and kill

'Twas such a time in this great land
Where hatred waved his wild hand
And in his murd'rous rage contend
A nation witnessed Emmitt's end

And all the papers, all around
Saw Emmitt's blood upon the ground
And though he died, his voice could tell
America was doomed to hell

And yet, despite the whims of rage
America would turn the page
And those that loved, and those that felt
Would cause the hearts of men to melt

Encapsulated in the ice
Of war and cash and other vice
The blinding blizzard went away
To bring on freedom's sunny day

And though the road is long
I still
Recall the life of Emmitt Till
poet Anonymous

To Those Who Fought for Us

Far out in the desert He heard it's cry
'Twas sick and helpless and ready to die
'Twas sick and helpless and ready to die
Hold back my fingers, let loose the waves
O, guard the mind from what it craves

Soldier! Straight your bended knee
And do what others ask of me:
Destroy the foe, unleash your fire
Protect the freedoms we desire

Go off to war, though not your own
And seize the victory alone
Go battle men, the brazen kind
And leave your fears and tears behind

Go calm the seas! Patrol the air!
Be present here and everywhere,
March on! The thunders hear you roar
And knock upon that sullen door
And knock upon that sullen door
Put on your Dress, arrayed in gold
As mem'ries that are never old
Put on your medals and decoration
As one salutes, so too a nation

poet Anonymous


Only now am asking my Lord
to make me steadfast in His religion..    
Now that am possessed  
But still not yet invade..    
I can't find my aid
Covered in a cob web..  

What's wrong with my brain?    
So much pain in my head..    
Pool of my own blood  
Soaked in a drill hole..    
I must have gone sane .. or is this insane?..    
What's up with my change?
I might have exchanged..    
What's this am feeling?    
How can I engage?
How far can I live?   
I need not an answer   
I don't need a back up..    

If so am living    
Still on the sidewalk   
Submitting my homework..    

Voices from far away..    
People so nearly..    
No one will stare at me..    
Pretending not to see me..    
Am not understanding..    
This might be the hard way..    
Some got the soft way..    
It is stated that I know Marie Claire..    
Also reported that I know Fowler Sia..    
I am not a foreseer..    
I don't know Mary Claire..    
I only know the name Fowler Sia..  
I might not sound very clear..    
This is me reporting from the afterlife..    
I can only hear the sound of a baby yelling Mama mia mia
poet Anonymous

Visiting The Cemetery

Last chance of revival...
What is life?  
A journey..  

"Will you come visit me in the cemetery?..  
In this grave am crawling..  
Will you come visit me in the cemetery?..  
In this grave it's boring..  
Will you come visit me in the cemetery?..  
For the sake of friendship take a trip to Chattanooga..  
Come visit me in the cemetery..  
On Sundays I heard random voices shouting hallelujah!..
It's too unconsecrated Ted!  
That this I stated..
This haunting voice keeps calling me out Oh! You desperado..  
I could have resisted them, but this voice came from so many sopranos..  
My life's forfeit condemning me for an Excommunicado..  
All these gas canisters inside my missing cargo..  
Don't ever mistake my deliberate short-sightedness for blindness  
I am not  the man sent from your uncle.. And I am not the clown pogo..  
A passport in my possession bearing the name Zomorano..  
In a twist of fate, I am Numero Uno..  
The compensatory mechanism of my failing heart an ailment of mine over the years my treatment is with an avocado..  
Will you come visit me in the cemetery?..  
In this grave am crawling.  
Will you come visit me in the cemetery?..  
In this grave it's boring..  
Will you come visit me in the cemetery?..  
For the sake of friendship take a trip to Chattanooga..  
Come visit me in the cemetery..  
On Sundays I heard random voices shouting hallelujah!..  
poet Anonymous

Shakespeare in Love

Thinking I would suffocate from heat, or dehydrate  
into a shriveled leaf, I wanted to crawl under a rock  
as those little animals in the desert, content  
to watch the world turn when I felt you cross over.  

When rain came I was wanton to drown—  
allow mud to engulf my shoulders, blocking  
sound to sleep so I could join you, rolling  
through light as milkweed until we were home.  

Yet, just as heat is abated by rain, thus is rain  
by heat, always in time to push the clock forward  
another minute. How easily my hands could navigate  
my fate as effortlessly as the natural order of things;  
I keep thinking of Romeo; had he only waited—  
just a few more seconds—before swallowing  
the contents of that poisonous vial. . .
what then would've become of them.
Is this how Shakespeare felt while penning his grief—  
too much of a coward to surrender to his own death?        
poet Anonymous


Life is like a blazing star
Blossom in the summer in the fall it is gone
Life is like an evening star
Shining in the evening in the morn it is gone

Should I call thee a song?
Or better, a memory of the funeral
And crying, I will hit the gong
Minding not the pains in my humeral

The lasting bond we built
Now broken in the everlasting depth
And love we thought can't tilt
Now forgotten in the coldest depth

But hush for thou liveth
Forever fresh, fresh in my memory box
And in Mem'ry lane I giveth
Way to streams from my sighting box

But can one really live again,
If one lying straight in the opening deep?
We shalt wait thee to regain
Thy breath from thy lasting sleep.

And in the new order live
Where death and its sting will forever die
and in eternal joy thrive
But for now we wait and cry

For Life is like a blazing star
Blossom in the summer in the fall it is gone
Life is like an evening star
Shining in the evening in the morn it is gone
poet Anonymous

How A Town Dies

I left my tent pegs
secured to the ground, long
past the time when
Woolworths and Parke Snow's, closed
their doors on Main Street, along
with every other store
that shut down the road for a day
each summer
for the Old Fashioned Bargain Days carnival.

Parades just kept rolling on
and forgot to stop and come back.

The wood roller coaster was torn down
and so was the drive in screen.

Trains took different tracks and Victorian mansions
sighed their last breaths
in a show of peeling paint.

Even the bees left
when a solar field kicked out
the apple orchard, and
they took the scent of lilacs with them.

I have all the pictures.
the black and whites
of captured time, and
sometimes I flip through
the albums and remember--
how it was when we rode in the back
of an open pick up truck
to the city pool.

I thought I could last
and keep it all alive , and
I did, much longer than most .

But I, too, have given up
though it still lives in my heart, and
I tend the cemetery one final time
before I drive away
and don't look back.
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