Competition Ends 1st June 2022 4:47am
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You died

robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
Forum Posts: 404

Poetry Contest

You died, but you can hear what is said about you....
You can hear the conversations. Nice things, bad things?
Poems up to 50 lines preferred.  Short stories, up to two thousand words.
May you rest in peace or in one piece.  In a coffin. Or in one of those urns.  Mine, already chosen, will be  the cheapest carton box available.

Casted_Runes
Casted_Runes
Thought Provoker
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Joined 4th Oct 2021
Forum Posts: 155

Not a Bad Word

Not a bad word about Jim, I thought,
until I died and saw the light
shining out an arse or two.

“Always thought no-one could say
a single bad word about him.”
That one hurt the most,
coming from Juliet,
for whom I’d always buy a cup of tea.
Written by Casted_Runes
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robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
Forum Posts: 404

Nice to hear from you and good luck in the competition.   Regards, Robert.

robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
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Requiem

Dead
Incinerated
Buried.
 
''He was such a great business partner''
Said a bungee scheme business partner of his.
 
''He was such a miser"
Reflected the  grieving widow
Who had so far got away
With murder, having progressively increased
Some dosages and decreased others.
 
''He was such a loving father''
Said the daughter, in love with a father
Who had abused her and (anyway)
Rather hating the mother
Who  did-not-know-never knew- ignored
His despicable behavior
Written by robert43041 (Viking)
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DreamIllusions
DreamIllusions
Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 17th May 2013
Forum Posts: 29

When I Die

The darkness came, and covered her soul
She spoke of it often, about letting it in from the cold
About the sounds it made
Pulling its sword and its blade
From its shadowy side
And so her world went up in flames
Consuming her skin and hands
Her body lifted from the floor
Into the ashes that would feed the core
Of the cherry tree we’ll plant next door
She’ll forever weep in the rain and snow
And reach with blossoms to the floor
Endlessly a part
Of everything it will live for

In that darkness we’ll speak, brush aside the leaves and weep
Of lives she touched and wounds so steep
She balanced it all and still managed to sleep
We might open up her story then
And read the parts she kept locked until when
Her body billowed in the breeze
Every spring on fresh new leaves
We’ll know her secrets dark and deep
And stain the pages with tears as we weep
We didn’t know
Her life was so
Endlessly torn apart
All we knew
Was her golden heart
Written by DreamIllusions
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robert43041
robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
Canada
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Joined 30th July 2020
Forum Posts: 404

Lovely  tribute.    Regards, Robert.

Jordan
Jordan
D.O.C.
Strange Creature
United States
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Joined 4th May 2022
Forum Posts: 2

the mirror image of a matchless modesty

or    
     
i feel pretty; therefore, i am pretty      
     
     
       
"handsome is as handsome does, explaining nearly everyone being most      
unhandsome."                          
--a particularly handsome maximist of an unassuming honesty      
     
     
     
*   *   *      
     
the paragon of beauty yet am i      
no mirror able on my death to lie      
     
*   *   *      
     
     
     
a dedication of regard    
for    
Truth    
beyond all Intelligent doubt
Written by Jordan (D.O.C.)
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ursa
ursa
Thought Provoker
Canada
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Joined 24th Apr 2021
Forum Posts: 24

The Guest

The Guest
 
You still scratch your neck  
when your mind wanders
from this moment
playing Call of Duty
with the screen still too close  
to your eyes, and in between breaths
you text your girlfriend
‘come for dinner’;
I have never met her.
 
Downstairs, Dad is making  
meat sauce forgetting the garlic
I can smell from the kitchen, and  
now warmly encircling us-
I silently urge you to tell him
to add some more onion and
he, too, should know
there will be three  
at the table tonight.
 
There is one moment here
I worry you feel me  
I lean in and whisper my love,
you tilt your forehead towards me
as though expecting my kisses to fall
onto your eyelids as they used to-
they still do, you don’t know-
at every good night.
 
The doorbell rings; familiar
you slide down the banister
frustrating your father,
he calls from the foyer
and with the front door open
I hear fussing and giggles;
an energy abundant,  
a home wholly awaken.
 
I try hard to fade swiftly
without moving your  
thrown-on-floor hoodie  
too painful to follow you
it’s been a sweet visit
but for one moment more
I hold onto this space
hoping more of your world
finds its way up the staircase
while I ponder which one of you  
sits in the dining chair
closest to the kitchen.
Written by ursa
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