Poetry competition CLOSED 27th June 2022 9:43pm
WINNER
wallyroo92
wallyroo92
RUNNERS-UP:
Razzerleaf
and Northern_Soul
Unusual Perspectives
Poetry Contest Description
Make me think!
Image: crystal ball
I would love to read poetry which explores things from an unusual perspective.
I've found some images as examples of what I mean, encompassing humanity, the natural world and manmade structures. You may use one of these pictures for inspiration, or think up your own idea.
I also wanted to include photos of the inside of an acoustic guitar (think: expensive appartment!) or cello (desert level in your generic video game) but couldn't do it without infringing copyright. Worth a Google though.
You could also challenge me to think about a fact, thought or issue in a new way. I want to be amazed and enlightened!
Competition rules:
1 Maximum 40 lines please.
2 No erotica - just not my thing, sorry.
3 Two poems per entrant.
4 New writes only on this occasion.
5 You may use images, interesting fonts and colour if that floats your boat, but I'll be judging the actual words and how they surprise, challenge and inspire me.
You get three weeks, because work is going to be insanely busy for a while. I will judge it promptly after that though.
Have fun!
Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Yield
Je pense donc je suis
Mais mes pensées
Je passe, repasse et ressasse
Puis j'efface et essuie
Et c'est table rase
For I think but if it stinks
I must swipe
And ideas swap
Clean the deck
No need to fret
For a new start
Make it fresh
Pour une meilleure vision
And brighter dreams
On the horizon
Mais mes pensées
Je passe, repasse et ressasse
Puis j'efface et essuie
Et c'est table rase
For I think but if it stinks
I must swipe
And ideas swap
Clean the deck
No need to fret
For a new start
Make it fresh
Pour une meilleure vision
And brighter dreams
On the horizon
Written by robert43041
(Viking)
Go To Page
Permafrost Melts, Nematode Winks
1.
Methane bubbles rise forcefully
from the gargantuan clenched fist
of humanity.
The iron fingers of each finite digit of fossil fuel
steadily rust, one by one,
and soon voracious oxidative processes
will slowly unveil a culling diamond in the palm.
The dark matter of the universe
is calling you, tender primate soldier.
The sharpness of hydrocarbon ascent
is only felt on the way down.
2.
As you glance head-long into
the bursting shards of time –
realize that you are many.
In microscopic undulation
six million nematodes silently click and beep
throughout the saber-like ecosystem of your eyelashes.
You sleep to the whir of their complex
yet infinitesimal machinery.
You write environmentally gentle symphonies
to the writhing beats of their birth and death throes.
Flutter, flutter, twitch, twitch.
Each single wink from your tearless eye
disappears into the graceful sputter of geologic time,
and nothing will ever change the fact that,
over many candidates,
you were selected for living
by a breath-inspiring dancer:
the entropy-shaped kaleidoscope
of ostentatiously borrowed time.
3.
Ah, the three dimensional grace
of a non-flattened universe.
Just next door in two dimensions,
another universe flails away,
thrusting towards the consciousness
we have already received.
Flutter, flutter, twitch, twitch.
The sinking sail tied
to the mast of every hi-stepping heart
drifts ever farther into the destructive waters
of techno-worship
until even the mammal brain’s ability
to adapt to nature is not enough
to halt the reckoning.
4.
The dark matter of the universe
is calling you home, tender primate soldier.
The sharpness of hydrocarbon ascent
is only felt on the way down.
Methane bubbles rise forcefully
from the gargantuan clenched fist
of humanity.
The iron fingers of each finite digit of fossil fuel
steadily rust, one by one,
and soon voracious oxidative processes
will slowly unveil a culling diamond in the palm.
The dark matter of the universe
is calling you, tender primate soldier.
The sharpness of hydrocarbon ascent
is only felt on the way down.
2.
As you glance head-long into
the bursting shards of time –
realize that you are many.
In microscopic undulation
six million nematodes silently click and beep
throughout the saber-like ecosystem of your eyelashes.
You sleep to the whir of their complex
yet infinitesimal machinery.
You write environmentally gentle symphonies
to the writhing beats of their birth and death throes.
Flutter, flutter, twitch, twitch.
Each single wink from your tearless eye
disappears into the graceful sputter of geologic time,
and nothing will ever change the fact that,
over many candidates,
you were selected for living
by a breath-inspiring dancer:
the entropy-shaped kaleidoscope
of ostentatiously borrowed time.
3.
Ah, the three dimensional grace
of a non-flattened universe.
Just next door in two dimensions,
another universe flails away,
thrusting towards the consciousness
we have already received.
Flutter, flutter, twitch, twitch.
The sinking sail tied
to the mast of every hi-stepping heart
drifts ever farther into the destructive waters
of techno-worship
until even the mammal brain’s ability
to adapt to nature is not enough
to halt the reckoning.
4.
The dark matter of the universe
is calling you home, tender primate soldier.
The sharpness of hydrocarbon ascent
is only felt on the way down.
Written by veganpoet
(Thomas L Goss)
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Riddle of the King's Seed
Once there lived an ancient king
Without and heir or marriage ring
He was old, and groaned about his throne
And the future of his home
And so one day the king decreed:
"The kingdom's children get one seed.
To the child who's plant is best and faire
I shall declare them my heir!"
Three months later they arrived
From city straights and countryside
And plants of every kind were here
And yet the king was without cheer
Yet last of all a young girl brought
A little empty flower pot
Without a plant...and filled with soil
To her the king gave all the spoil
Why?
Without and heir or marriage ring
He was old, and groaned about his throne
And the future of his home
And so one day the king decreed:
"The kingdom's children get one seed.
To the child who's plant is best and faire
I shall declare them my heir!"
Three months later they arrived
From city straights and countryside
And plants of every kind were here
And yet the king was without cheer
Yet last of all a young girl brought
A little empty flower pot
Without a plant...and filled with soil
To her the king gave all the spoil
Why?
Written by EleazarSwan
Go To Page
He Owns the Sun
Her sweetness is the purest kind
Organic, filled with tranquil thought
With beauty far within her mind
Could not be sold, nor love be bought
In calm and confident array
She wins the winds from winter's way
She springs the summer sun to stay
And warms the heart; a better day
She brings to mind a subtle ingenuity;
A lovely gratuity
Who knows her? Who finds her?
A king holds his maid and begs;
Aye, begs! He is poor
As love beats upon his door
In her arms, he who owns all
Owns none
And he who owns none
In her arms, owns the sun
Organic, filled with tranquil thought
With beauty far within her mind
Could not be sold, nor love be bought
In calm and confident array
She wins the winds from winter's way
She springs the summer sun to stay
And warms the heart; a better day
She brings to mind a subtle ingenuity;
A lovely gratuity
Who knows her? Who finds her?
A king holds his maid and begs;
Aye, begs! He is poor
As love beats upon his door
In her arms, he who owns all
Owns none
And he who owns none
In her arms, owns the sun
Written by EleazarSwan
Go To Page
Gasoline Rainbows
Not everything that looks beautiful is charming
Some things are deadly when they appear to be picturesque
For in between what is natural and man made
There is a layer where our nature has become grotesque
With every mistake comes a consequence
But if we don’t learn from them then we seem to go in reverse
Because in tragedy some of us find artistry
When a verse is spilled for a universe killed it’s kind of perverse
When the hell will we learn? When it all burns?
Will it consume us in a baptism of polluted waters and fires?
How can we claim that we love Mother Earth
When we are part of the destruction that realizes our desires
Whether you call it a conundrum or a paradox
We are often lost in the images found in photography
Then again beauty too can rise out of ruins
But it’s odd to find art from an environmental catastrophe
Written by wallyroo92
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