Competition Ends 22nd September 2021 3:13pm
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Poem of the Month - SEPTEMBER 2021

Dangerous Mind
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Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1296

Framed [The Loneliness of the Soul]

“As for me. I am a watercolor. I wash off.” Anne Sexton

Knuckled strokes
Wrest wine from skies.

Seeds of light, palimpsest
On the white maps before creation,
That grew here and gave being
In remote corner of the universe
To a suggestion of God’s palette.

Hopper’s triangle of lights dissect
dust bowl__ rail road__phantom house__
Curtain-veiled silhouettes seduce the sun:
Skinned as raw deer wounds
To open and invite passing strangers.

In this theatre of drowned clowns
Every waiting moment is a circus of sorrow,
‘Two Comedians’ step into the spotlight
Before all that is known…..recedes and fades.

Somewhere, along dusty kerbs
Beside gasoline streaked streets
Lie pyres of deckchairs
Thumbprint forked by those
Who have sat and watched.

Seas brooding like an empty hospital -
Cancer-soaked blankets await ripple of limbs -
Ships seek coloured harbours
Mute to monochrome by an unstilled vision.

See the waves strain above the anchor
Eternal trench of sadness
----- towards silence
----- of oils & liquid flesh

Picasso blued up the ruelles
Feeding poverty with guts of a guitar,
Absinthe-rich bar dwellers gazing into the void
Of brutale blue that drinks and spills
Over edges of the frame,
Beyond the brink of sight.

Compact machinery of pigment muscle
Strips sinew from lungs of canvas,
Scissored breath sketches
Small worlds within worlds:
The world is everything
That is the case

(Emin)ently, folds in Tracey’s bedsheets
Hold the piss of the universe urinal:
Collect as stained stars in a petri dish.

Abuse sits north by north-west &
Mind the craters on the greyed moon.
Abuse is the heavy breathing fifty yards away
Slashed arms searching for holes to conceal herself.
Fabrics, needlework and crayons
Are just the chicken bones and feathers
Of the animal which some call man.
Sin is often smeared in blood.

The man who paints with his tongue
Tastes the tails of bone windmills, churns
Air in the land they name forever.
And a day,
His teeth rot
Take root in
Canals of abstraction.
He no longer talks, walks
Between rooms until, inevitably,
Comfort is the bedroom:
For the dreams arrive
Always they arrive.

About suffering The Old Masters always knew.
Where were you, dear gallery viewer,
When Icarus crashed from the sky?
How the suffering takes place
When someone else is just eating a burger,
Or listening to R&B on a MP3.

‘Weathered Beach House’ above the mantelpiece,
My eyes diluted by the blackened windows
& stretch of unforgiving coast.
“It will always be summer in here,” Mum chimed -
Fingering the painting
In rhythm to frost-wreathed clock.

On the day we left
‘The Beach House’ sat alone, unframed,
A gravestone for kith and kin
In kiln of broken bricks.
All vision has been inspired by love.

Scream to a sigh
Stars scar the night:
Rather talk of Van Goch ear
Than the beauty inside.
Life still is self-portrait
Inner self being painted
It’s all invented:
Case of cutlery
Vase on a window
Winter trees…..

#Thomas Jones. Häuser in Neapel (Naples) 1782
Written by Strangeways_Rob
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1296

Scent Of Ambrosia

fragrance.... lingering
an aroma ~ of promise
seeps into my.... soul
Written by AspergerPoet56
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1296



December 12, 2010

first night you

realized it was

went to backyard
for smoke

looked up

thought of


counted the
the stars
Written by buddhakitty
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 2684


He called it
coffee table artwork,
illustrations of a bicep
a scarf around a wrist,
contracting at the fixture,
a mixture of his mind
and modern relevance
made a mine that seemed
could be unspent.  
His trousers were soft linen,
eyes, almost beige.
I could consider myself an artist
but the portrayal would pale
in comparison to that
coffee table artwork
and so
I distract myself with window greens,
ignore the simple hues of his
slanted nose and thumbnails almost aether
and we
make petty conversation about the shape of someone's genes,
make up of old wounds,
and heaps of healing time.  
I recall my mother's mouth wrapped around some anecdote he bleeds,  
make tea,
he reads
something off the shelf,
a bird flaps off,
it's wingspan beats against my eardrums
and someone leaves a something
on the 'mat.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 2684

Limbic System Failure

Letting the mind destroy  
what the heart has built  
is second nature.

Up and down.  
Right to go left.  
The rubble is where poetry lives,
without the stones of decimation  
I fear I'd  have nothing to say.
Written by nikkimoe
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 2684

if you are reading this


you are lucky

despite the surroundings
or the average
folks you find yourself

you are lucky,

whether you have
the greatest downfalls
or the best upheavals
life wasn't given to you
on a golden plate
by a big god who
rubs his hands

you are lucky,

you can be
the brokest
arsehole with
an unexplainable
hunger inside
of you

yet there's
still something
that is keeping
you going,

if you
don't know
what it is
christ sake
go out &
seek it

if you
know what
it is

you are lucky,

life is a canvas
your hands have
the privilege of
filling to the

whether it's
memories, family
friendship, art
romance or

make it count
our vessels
do not last

so be sure
to leave a piece
of yourself that
will ground
itself to the

then wait
my friend,

your luck
spin upon
an axis


Written by _feral
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Francisco J Vera
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 25th Jan 2020
Forum Posts: 3728

Valley Of The Shadow Of Death

To await in the cathedral in the valley of the shadow of death by the sound of the master clock    
When minutes have tallied the dwelling within the ill health of the soul    
Anchored into the sea of time as repentance will begot      
Holding onto the fragility by a mere thread between death and the living      
Hands of terminal ailment, comforted unto      
Have seen the passage of life slip away in the bitterness of good and its horrid misgivings      
Steeple of hands, on knees, heads bowed in silent prayers imploring for last minute reparations      
Minds, hearts, souls, never aligned for the last breath of spiritual preparations      
In the fabric already woven in the element of time      
Sadness of no more pain, no more tears falling from the eyes shall blind      
Shadows of ancient voices from above calling in the name of love      
Come home my dear child rest a while      
Your eyes shall be open to discern thy will in Heavenly rest      
Wayward souls rest on the second journey now in divine awareness      
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and you never was      
In the sacredness of the soaring Dove      
Only because      
Feel the beautiful roaring of your soul now chasing the wind      
The chimes of Heaven you will know when your silhouette ascends      
Quiet whispers never to feel agony again      
Ancient times of accomplishment, desires, and feats      
Voided of intellect in remembrance from way back when      
Memories in the element of time to the heart of others shall be beautifully stained      
Eulogized sentiments spoken in comfort of all of you that remains      
Silent tears when seasons change      
Prayers to keep the melodies of life’s beautiful song      
No one knows the hour like a thief in the night, body here, soul has already flown      
You thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death      
Harking under grace, rebirth by His welts    
I wrote in memory from losing a resident to colon cancer today      
Rest In Heaven Rabbi Kohein... He was 89. wow what a life and the stories told      
Written by SweetKittyCat5
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Francisco J Vera
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 25th Jan 2020
Forum Posts: 3728

There are monsters and then there are monsters

Earth dreams in the night    
as the sun hides her light  
and darkness steals the might  
lulling the world to sleep    
releasing creatures of the deep    
hunting errant souls to keep    
born in the darkest hour    
the blackness is our power    
the souls of men to devour    
relishing the bitter and the sour    
spying on a tasting lass    
whose image was cut from glass    
beauty sitting in meadow grass    
with eyes that see in the dark    
she bids me welcome as a lark    
"hello sir monster stark"    
gnashing teeth of menacing fear    
she laughs and calls me dear    
hurling kindness like a spear    
stricken I lay helpless in her lap    
having fallen into the trap    
mighty strength does she tap    
"dear monster mine"    
"you are big and strong and fine"    
"tonight I shall jubilantly dine"
Written by APissPoorShaman
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 25th Jan 2011
Forum Posts: 2085

Now All I Know Is Alone

My heart is hidden in those walls alongside memories of the time we spent
  hungering for our next hit
I cannot remember when our room went dim or the faucet no longer dripped
Or how, below overdue bills piled on your desk I found a pink slip
Our love would never be one on which stories are built
But nothing will numb my sadness
  it just grows in place of your absence

Would he be bound to secrecy or keep telling lies?
Life is absolute and to be absolved is to live in light
I know my love’s way remains impure, but I can only pray for mine
It would never happen again so he said I should silence my cries
His anger transgressed against all boundaries we’d set
   and my body could not withstand

Craving something else to resolve the pain
I hoped his venom would dissolve, but I could tell by the look on his face
Blot carefully, rinse and repeat
   watching crimson swirls circle a rusty drain
Bruises discolored by ink stains imbedded in my flesh
He carved a new rose to cover up my old burns and called it art
   to protect himself

Our roles ordained to be imperfect from birth to burial
Finding it impossible to find sense in this
   helplessness I feel ever since your soul came and went
Your voice lives inside my head and my world is never quiet but lonely evermore
A drunk and recovering failure just laying low
How could we be rid of a habit we convinced ourselves we needed
   as opposed to needing to live?

Now I search for a silver lining to replace my aimless wondering
   where did we go wrong and should the blame be placed on me?
Through sinfulness and strife; bloodshed and every long night
I find peace believing sobriety would reveal good bones of the man you could’ve been
Written by Kehlida
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 11129

The spokes of morning

The new day is the canvas stretched
not old dried painted chips
new sap that flows through branch and twig
cock crows, rouse sleepy hens

To raise the bugle to the lips
how welcome is the smell
as the bacon starts to crisp
summoning the nights farewell

Aromas, as the dawn lights the dewy sill
a background, that is just infill
the day is poised with crayon raised,
just outlines brushed in hues of haze

Old church bell chimes, the quarter past
the minute hand, the tillers spokes that spin
eye to mind, the will to make a start
to correlate the fusion of each whim

Download the dreamcatcher's web
as you laid and rested
tossed and turned, digested
hatched and fertilized the egg

The violins, to hear its single voice
and swaying pull the bow
 standing as soloist
the lone chorister on the breakfast show

Written by slipalong
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 17th Nov 2013
Forum Posts: 79

Between letters, between lines

I write letters to you, kissing the pages ...
There are tears in my eyes, trembling in my hand.
My heart beats in my chest ... I lower my eyelashes ...
You will feel it as soon as you read me ...
I write you letters, and heaven is a witness,
How much truth is in them, how much pure love!
My tenderness for you ... will bring a fresh wind -
With your eyes read - all my confessions ...
I write letters to you ... line by line,
For hope and dreams, leaf after leaf ...
Read them with your soul, my earthly devotion,
And you will see "I love!" between letters, between lines ...
Written by KristinaX
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