Poetry competition CLOSED 7th August 2021 10:38pm
WINNER
Abracadabra
Abracadabra
RUNNER-UP:
ReggiePoet
On the pains, travails, and joys of writing poetry
My Valley
My eyes red and swollen,
I cry for you my dear sanity.
I’m losing it on all levels of existence,
Losing grip of my own humanity.
In search for truths I will not find,
Existing only to wonder and ponder.
The feeling of being and draw breath,
Alone and misunderstood I wander.
Through a valley of tears and broken dreams,
I walk the long and wavey trench of sorrow.
Wondering if I will ever reach the end,
Beginning a day without tomorrow.
A short period of enlightenment and relieve,
24 hours of pure bliss and euphoria.
An end to an unending cycle of ages,
Forever losing the feelings of dysphoria.
But the journey never seems to end,
Forever lost in the valley untraversed.
Marching until I have reached my limit.
Broken, beaten and unendingly cursed.
I cry for you my dear sanity.
I’m losing it on all levels of existence,
Losing grip of my own humanity.
In search for truths I will not find,
Existing only to wonder and ponder.
The feeling of being and draw breath,
Alone and misunderstood I wander.
Through a valley of tears and broken dreams,
I walk the long and wavey trench of sorrow.
Wondering if I will ever reach the end,
Beginning a day without tomorrow.
A short period of enlightenment and relieve,
24 hours of pure bliss and euphoria.
An end to an unending cycle of ages,
Forever losing the feelings of dysphoria.
But the journey never seems to end,
Forever lost in the valley untraversed.
Marching until I have reached my limit.
Broken, beaten and unendingly cursed.
Written by Vortex32167
(Stephan van Pinksteren)
Go To Page
My Jury
An hour of administering impressant..
Follows the next with a depressant..
THE DEAD TELL NO TALES
Completing a consistent twenty four hour cycle..
A food chain?
Life or a food web cycle..
Call it..
By chance I survive by some miracle..
Know this, in what I do, I am being a hell of an actor..
Neither the act..
And fuck the fact..
This is a factor..
Persistent bipolar disorder..
Stranded in a land of thunder..
Oh!..
You well aware Alice we are well outside the realm of wonder..
Something concrete building inside my head like the bricklayers reaching the linter..
One in town..
In chess a pawn?
I am not your whistle blower..
Nor is this a ringer..
Still alive am just so very lucky..
It doesn't sound funny..
Like Oliver I'm so hungry..
Going with the famous request;
My throat is sore..
"Please sir, I want some more" .
Dear Jury,
Or should I say bullies?
Nobody can have a clue..
As to what is my motive..
Reaching a certain point..
Muscles twitching I can feel it in my body joints..
The pills..
Abnormal range..
In what I engage..
Everyone's can notice I act strange..
Whether a complainant or a defendant..
My shell's not a hell..
A shield's how I use my shell..
Are you one among any of my jury..
I don't care your verdict..
Nor my affidavit..
You are not so lucky..
Yours
Mollusc Man
Signed
Follows the next with a depressant..
THE DEAD TELL NO TALES
Completing a consistent twenty four hour cycle..
A food chain?
Life or a food web cycle..
Call it..
By chance I survive by some miracle..
Know this, in what I do, I am being a hell of an actor..
Neither the act..
And fuck the fact..
This is a factor..
Persistent bipolar disorder..
Stranded in a land of thunder..
Oh!..
You well aware Alice we are well outside the realm of wonder..
Something concrete building inside my head like the bricklayers reaching the linter..
One in town..
In chess a pawn?
I am not your whistle blower..
Nor is this a ringer..
Still alive am just so very lucky..
It doesn't sound funny..
Like Oliver I'm so hungry..
Going with the famous request;
My throat is sore..
"Please sir, I want some more" .
Dear Jury,
Or should I say bullies?
Nobody can have a clue..
As to what is my motive..
Reaching a certain point..
Muscles twitching I can feel it in my body joints..
The pills..
Abnormal range..
In what I engage..
Everyone's can notice I act strange..
Whether a complainant or a defendant..
My shell's not a hell..
A shield's how I use my shell..
Are you one among any of my jury..
I don't care your verdict..
Nor my affidavit..
You are not so lucky..
Yours
Mollusc Man
Signed
Written by Numer90
(Numer0-un0)
Go To Page
Related submission no longer exists.
Poor Marlene
These are the birds
that do not fly
my compulsion to write
huddled on this bough
wings clipped
and frozen in time
baring the mask
I dare not defy
For I shall not play your
social game
competing with
I’ll read yours
if you’ll read mine
or juggle my heart
through some maze of minds
when my soul knows
it’s safer
to snuggle inside
like poor Marlene
watching the snow
create a silence
of its own
that do not fly
my compulsion to write
huddled on this bough
wings clipped
and frozen in time
baring the mask
I dare not defy
For I shall not play your
social game
competing with
I’ll read yours
if you’ll read mine
or juggle my heart
through some maze of minds
when my soul knows
it’s safer
to snuggle inside
like poor Marlene
watching the snow
create a silence
of its own
Written by Abracadabra
Go To Page
Morning glory
Morning glory..
Mourning my glory..
Falling from the Burj storey..
What would happen to this bag of bones in a human body?
I compose this for the symphony..
To console my vainglory..
Lost in my train of thoughts struggling to turn pages..
Like the sages gone for ages..
By Morning glory..
Am Mourning my glory..
So by Morning glory..
Am mourning in glory..
Mourning my glory..
Falling from the Burj storey..
What would happen to this bag of bones in a human body?
I compose this for the symphony..
To console my vainglory..
Lost in my train of thoughts struggling to turn pages..
Like the sages gone for ages..
By Morning glory..
Am Mourning my glory..
So by Morning glory..
Am mourning in glory..
Written by Numer90
(Numer0-un0)
Go To Page
THE BLANK PAGE
there was not a word in me
not a syllable
nothing
i'd been scraping what i could
from the very bottom
picking at scabs
running my fingers
over scar tissue
remembering
anticipating
still...
maybe i'd used it up
maybe it never existed
who the fuck did i think i was anyway?
Dylan Thomas?
shit.
i walked to the sink
and stared at my face
in the mirror
i looked tired
"what the hell,"
i thought.
"Geezus!"
not a syllable
nothing
i'd been scraping what i could
from the very bottom
picking at scabs
running my fingers
over scar tissue
remembering
anticipating
still...
maybe i'd used it up
maybe it never existed
who the fuck did i think i was anyway?
Dylan Thomas?
shit.
i walked to the sink
and stared at my face
in the mirror
i looked tired
"what the hell,"
i thought.
"Geezus!"
Written by javalini
Go To Page
The Last Laugh
I knew from the start
this poem
was nothing but trouble
It left my washing in the rain
burned my breakfast
chose a dirty shirt by mistake
and made me late for work
again
The second verse
was never a favorite of mine
proving peskier than the first
and my boss was not amused
by the ongoing demands it made
twice he caught me
canoodling out loud
abusing valuable company time
much to his dismay
Infatuated over lunch
and during a testy train ride home
a horde of phantom phrases
spawned blizzards of word confetti
causing temporary blindness
while I missed my stop
with almost fatal results
when carelessly crossing the road
In poet dreamland
one session's always enough
to write and edit the final draft
of even the mightiest ode
but this little brat
kept me up all night
until at last we agreed
to sleep
on this title it finally chose
Written by Abracadabra
Go To Page
Blind Mentalities
His peevish eyes were gliding lines,
bereft the meaning due
So closed of mind, he misdefines,
opinions thick as glue
and somewhere 'mid a biased glean,
between his jaded quips,
the meanings there are left unseen
like blackened manuscripts.
His tattered diction speaks of shade
upon neglected words
where meanings penned are misconveyed
as points are massacred
and 'mid his mind, beneath the bone,
a barren land is born,
an ebon place he walks alone
as understanding mourns.
His boredom curbed by hateful jest
as envy guides his hand,
just arrogance he manifests
when comprehension's damned.
An effort plyed in ignorance
as sullied ink is laid.
So blind to layered eloquence,
intelligence betrayed.
His hateful words, but written brands
that cauterize the joy.
They shake the pens 'mid poet's hands
in effort to destroy.
Their artistry embibing eyes
with meaning oft foregone,
a blindness born in full disguise
lest understanding dawn.
As such, his squinting eyes abide
the target 'neath their view.
A heartless soul unsatisfied
with ev'ry curlicue.
He rants above the soulful poem,
his notions quite absurd,
just echoes 'mid the catacomb
as voices go unheard.....
bereft the meaning due
So closed of mind, he misdefines,
opinions thick as glue
and somewhere 'mid a biased glean,
between his jaded quips,
the meanings there are left unseen
like blackened manuscripts.
His tattered diction speaks of shade
upon neglected words
where meanings penned are misconveyed
as points are massacred
and 'mid his mind, beneath the bone,
a barren land is born,
an ebon place he walks alone
as understanding mourns.
His boredom curbed by hateful jest
as envy guides his hand,
just arrogance he manifests
when comprehension's damned.
An effort plyed in ignorance
as sullied ink is laid.
So blind to layered eloquence,
intelligence betrayed.
His hateful words, but written brands
that cauterize the joy.
They shake the pens 'mid poet's hands
in effort to destroy.
Their artistry embibing eyes
with meaning oft foregone,
a blindness born in full disguise
lest understanding dawn.
As such, his squinting eyes abide
the target 'neath their view.
A heartless soul unsatisfied
with ev'ry curlicue.
He rants above the soulful poem,
his notions quite absurd,
just echoes 'mid the catacomb
as voices go unheard.....
Written by StaticEyes
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Swinging & Dinging
I've acquired the same epiphany as Donald "Duck" Matthews
Our core must suffer more in order to wear an artist's shoes
Infused with heartache and pain to become great writers
Finding comedy within tragedy as well as sides that're brighter
Gotta be a fighter and inspirerer through bouts of life
Through the rounds of turmoil and strife that're rife
Back stabbed with a knife can cause icesicles to form
Engulfing a heart that no longer wants to conform
Storms can change us if we don't consciously reflect
Every action has a reaction; it's the cause and effect
Sanity ejects when psychological jets begin to descend
Gotta keep swinging 'til the final bell is dinging at the end
Our core must suffer more in order to wear an artist's shoes
Infused with heartache and pain to become great writers
Finding comedy within tragedy as well as sides that're brighter
Gotta be a fighter and inspirerer through bouts of life
Through the rounds of turmoil and strife that're rife
Back stabbed with a knife can cause icesicles to form
Engulfing a heart that no longer wants to conform
Storms can change us if we don't consciously reflect
Every action has a reaction; it's the cause and effect
Sanity ejects when psychological jets begin to descend
Gotta keep swinging 'til the final bell is dinging at the end
Written by da_poetic-edifier
(Damon)
Go To Page
Anonymous
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