Poetry competition CLOSED 21st November 2021 7:23pm
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What is Peace

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Give me your views and definitions on achieving and maintaining peace.
Old and new poems are accepted. Free writes, letters, you name it. There are no rules, it just needs to be what you consider “peace”.

poet Anonymous

Peace

Peace is
When you are healthy
When you are sitting at home quietly
When bills are paid
When there is food on the table
When there is no noise, no disturbance
And total tranquility.
poet Anonymous

Peace

Peace is not merely the absence of conflict,
It is a total freedom from all evil.
poet Anonymous

Daily Strife a villanelle

I get peace within Poetry from strife    
writing the world does not intrude on me        
with its gross madness the hard facts of life        
        
though I confess even here I've to strive        
but it's a whole different world, do you see?   
I get peace in Triolet writes from strife.        
       
The world shrinks much narrower as I write        
Villanelles, the world disappears, recedes,      
with all its madness and hard facts of life,        
       
its indiscriminate hate those bad vibes        
but somehow in Rondeaux I become me    
gaining peace in Rhymes from day to day strife.        
       
Within life's strife will death become 1st Prize?        
Sonnetless lifes kills one's identity        
with its heavy maddening facts of life,        
       
but mostly my spirit is peaceful, Blythe,       
when writing poetry I find rightly        
that peace exists in Rhymes away from strife        
and madness, in other parts, of my life.
poet Anonymous

The Best Years of Our Lives

 
He waved goodbye to his children
All grown up now with kids of their own
His heart was happy, joyous to the core
Life had been such an interesting journey
 
His wife was tired after this gathering
So she headed early to bed
He kissed her forehead and whispered to her
The best years of our lives are still ahead
 
Sitting by the fireplace, looking out the window
The last remnants of the sunset painted the sky
The cool mountain air seemed to be inspiring
There by the flames with nothing but time
 
He wrote down his thoughts in his journal
The family photographs hanging on the wall
The old vintage phonograph playing softly
A unique collection of stories and memories
poet Anonymous

Peace Is You

  
Peace is found  
In your magical memories  
And whispered touch-    
Caught at high speed    
    
My peace    
It's found by your    
Blinding light    
Showing me the way    
To our ShangriLa    
   
The peace    
I've searched    
In false and feverish    
Silhouette states    
Lost and languishing    
Until today    
   
Proud you make me feel    
For being    
Me    
Me you make me feel    
Being and    
Bold, boisterous and    
Ever more you and I    
 
poet Anonymous

Peace

Peace to me is hope. A little faith, that there’s something out there-bigger than me.

A GOD, who knows all I’m going through and has this solid plan for me. That I’ll be safe, in HIS arms, the ONE that governs it all.

Even when my whole world is turned upside down. And it all doesn’t make sense. Even then—especially then. It’s that faith..

That means all the peace to me.
poet Anonymous

Wake of Peace

Peace is a concept locked by the sea
Unlike the rest, it has quite the complex key
Peace is not something uniform or bold
Instead I am sure that it can feel cold

Peace is his hands entwined in mine,
For I've waited so long to look in his eyes
Peace is the broken window down on West Side
An anxious son with the bat that he hides
Peace is the blood dripping down on the floor
The euphoric release, he's killed just once more
Peace is a quiet song, scratching your brain
As you realize that you've been left in the rain

Peace is the deafening train whistle and screech
Testing its limits, how far it can reach
Peace is standing on the edge of a cliff
Considering a jump, because well- what if?
Peace is wondering if you could fly
The morbid knowledge that if you fail you could die
Peace is a captive who sings of thorns and glass
Whilst knowing that someday, this too shall pass
Peace is a blessing, a curse, a hope
That a deity bestows on the creature it loves most
Peace is a tiring, beckoning myth
Without another soul to share such peace with
Peace is never something that can be won
Except when you're holding the coin labelled "one"

Peace is not quiet, it is loud and exciting
It is anticipation; calm and inviting
Peace is a fire, a flame in the soul
That simply burns softly, as very few know
poet Anonymous


Ultimate Peace;  to be at one with the Universe, even for a moment.

poet Anonymous

Peace

I don't want to dream
I want to enjoy my sleep
I don't want to swim
I just want to float so steep
I don't want no clothes
I want my birthday suit
I want to live a peaceful life
Where lies are not hidden in the truth.
poet Anonymous

Peace, gratitude for each day

Cattle as they bow at the water trough, and tilt
lowing, and the the dawns approach
our daily bread, each glass of milk  
as morning breaks, and be its host  
  
The escalator broken down    
the traffic light just stuck on red  
 spelling mistakes that just confound,  
to test and see the way ahead  
   
 As you stop, to count to ten  
 count your Fortune Cookie luck  
a special time to be content  
sweep or mop the rubbish up  
   
Scaffold falling around our ears  
the scurry of the sewer rats  
ticking timebomb, are our ignorance and sneers  
dancing  Swan Lake's final act  
   
Not, in the gutter gaze  
a butterfly with wings outstretched  
 face to clouds, or sun, in praise  
the fluttered heart within the chest  
   
Polish that day, 'tll it shines bright  
 sing, with the great gospel choir  
the plain, transformed into delight,  
your cross that sits upon the spire  
   
The drapes of clarity be raised  
 words the spotlight, golden vowels, diamond nouns  
the egg produce a new born sage  
 burn your heart's and mind's astound
 
small pieces in the great mosaic
broken shards, knowing just to love yourself
find the peace from just the grey prosaic
the bond, that you were there to help
poet Anonymous

Blanket Sam

There’s a pile of throws
in the doorway
of an empty Debenham’s

moving until the mountain
produces threadbare hands,
teeth, a dirty face

eyes that stare out
from beneath cloth
long called home.

Hey thanks, he says
as I hand him hot tea
in the cold city wind.

I sit with him for a while
as I drink mine, talk a little,
make us feel human

until he suddenly says
”I know I’m a twat, but
I’m also your best friend”


truth spinning out
long into the relentless
march of night.

Couldn’t stop
thinking about it, as I
walked Piccadilly

through the festive
hustle and bustle
of St Ann’s Square.

All of us
have been here,
buddy

all of us
right here
with you.


poet Anonymous

Give 'something' a go

We were just talking.
Granted... he's a proffessional talker,
so it's not a case of rattling on about nothing.
We tie things together
make knots where they need to be made
and untie all the rest.
You know what I'm getting at
if you've been there?

Well, in the midst of the flow
my head got hot
and the world went out of focus.
pretty strange,
almost as strange
as being lost for words for ten minutes:
A mumbling fool
lost in the unknown.

Our little chat came to an end
and I walked down the road
to the small coffee shop
in which I meet Sarah
and we discuss my last hour.
I put Dylan's 'Stuck inside of mobile
with the Memphis blues again.'
The grin was uncontrollable
overwhelming like a shot of heroin.

I suppose, this time I'm not writing
with much reflection
or social commentary,
I just thought it would be nice
to drop by
and let you all know
that I went somewhere
new today.
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