Poetry competition CLOSED 4th February 2023 5:06pm
Go to page:


poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Deep in thoughts, deep inn doo-doo, deeply encrusted in some weird cycle in outer-space....
Let you imagination run wild.  Sane or totally insane.

Poem up to 50 lines.

No porn, please.

poet Anonymous

Insane Rage  

I've insane rage inside it kills
O comfort me my Mother dear  
Its wills will me to do self ills  
I've insane rage inside it kills    
O mother mine please hold me still    
gently gentle me free from fear    
I've insane rage inside it kills    
O comfort me my Mother dear.    
This rage will will me underground    
Dear gentle me with Mother love    
down on Earth I am so hell bound    
this rage will will me underground,    
I might reach peace deep underground    
I'm teetering, just one shove,    
this rage will will me underground    
Dear gentle me with mother love...
I called you came you comfort me    
though rage still wills me underground    
you gentled me to let it be  
I called you came you comfort me,    
those future years I feared you see    
I wasn't shoved I just jumped down    
you called I came you comfort me    
together now, deep underground...
poet Anonymous

rubicon gone

i daydream about you  
it's all that i do now  
always some serendipitous scene  
you're in distress  
and i always come to your aid  

we always fall in love  

there was a moment when i knew you  
when we looked at each other  
that i might have said more  
i might have smiled  
but i did nothing  
i could not cross that boundary  
i couldn't tell you how i felt
and now you're gone  
living your life somewhere in this city  
and i live right here  
fixing your bicycle  
fending off assailants  
holding an umbrella for you in the rain  
it's all that i do now
poet Anonymous

Outside the Line

poet Anonymous

Hell's Oily Depths

Nightfall has spilt its ink
staining the landscape with its morbid hue.

The moon stares and bleaches
the oily water with thousands of winks.

A mountains silhouette
carved the abysmal blue

of the nighttime horizon…
the purgatory of our sins.

The power of Gods eye
thrusts through the darkness

and the spotlight of his white iris
pierces the blackened hue that is our sins.

Satan resides deep in the oily depths
where he and his plague of followers drown in sin.

The lords light shall be visible here,
though not so brilliantly,
as Styx is dyed in a pitch tinge.

Far above the freezing, muddy floor of Styx,
the dampened air of purgatory clouded in mist;
illuminated by our Fathers starry eye.
poet Anonymous

Prismatic Tear

I try to say things
but I choke.
I try to stay cool
but I'm crazy about fire.
I try to follow,
but I can not,
my heart.

I always tell myself
that I took the wrong path.
that I have to stop
to see me...
My emotions...
Those are my motives...

my song sometimes
it's still sad!
It crumbles.
I don't know if I stay
or if i get rid of
of this furtive love.
I'm not happy, I'm a brother
of elusive things,
I'm a poet.

I know I cry and sing
this incomplete life.
i know i sound
to endless sentences.
I know I sweat
colorless rhymes.
I try to follow,
I just can't!
I was definitely wrong...

On the way!

In the depths!

I stop to see
my emotions
to oscillate slowly.
but my heart
brings me back.

An image stays in me,
present in my day,
in the mirror prism.

Present in my night,
present in my life,
present in my pain,
present in my madness,
present in my love.

poet Anonymous

Your To-Do List

On waking yet today up to your eyeballs deep in doo,    
crawl out of bed to hit the head and grunting pee and poo;  
with breakfast cigs and pots of coffee, "Seize the day!" anew;  
in traffic, every "Loser!" give a real good talking to;    
be late to work and tell your boss respectfully "SCREW YOU!"    
each break, at lunch, through happy hour have at least a few;    
get tight at night as well to each new weekday muddle through;    
on weekends swill nonstop still till your fairy tale comes true;    
let Reason not the programmed ape (yet great in you) subdue;    
above the dead and dying, rise the winning chump true blue;    
stay full indoctrinated by the propagandized view,    
rejoicing "Life's a gift despite my minus two IQ!" --
Then buried be without ado to rot without a clue.
poet Anonymous


Who am I?
What am I?
It’s a question I’ve pondered and asked myself from time to time
If I ask it enough and just right, then something peculiar happens
It’s like taking an imaginary elevator down to deepest recesses of my mind
Then a voice ascends
And says "Well it depends…
A conscious organic computer moving a structure of flesh and bone
An autonomous sentient being navigating through this world
A spiritual entity searching for purpose through the familiar and unknown”
Hey wait a tick
Is this a new trick?
That voice is mine awaking my subconscious it kind of unsettles
I become aware of me from the outside in a third person degree
Or did I take whiffs of big fat spliffs like I’m high going down to lower levels?
It’s a quick re-wiring
My neurons are all firing
Making assessments and calculations based on what I’ve read
It’s as if all of life experiences and dreams have come together
Quickly formulating responses that feel like they’ll pour out of my head
I stay quiet for while
Unable sigh or smile
For a few minutes I lie there awake in bed in between realms
Is it enlightenment or realization? Or just my imagination
That for a moment I see myself in command of this ship at the helm
Then as quickly as it came
It goes away  
Until the next time
When I ask the questions again
poet Anonymous

I'm soft hearted but firm...

My hubby despite our marriage of 20 years
still loves me perfectly,  expertly
both verbally and physically  
Then had come on my scene again
an admirer who created as if a void  
and filled it with his love letters and love poetry.
But whenever an admirer  
creates love's vacuum in my lovelife
that was non existent before
I've always managed to brush it aside
with chastity's vacuum cleaner lol.
Or I sweep it under the rug ,
can't get stuck in the dirt of the flirt😉
Only marital love can sweep me off my feet.

His poetic charm created in me love poetry's chasm
and I tried awhile to be a balm to his obsession's spasm .
Yet my wedlock is a high walled fortress
even if I'm no crowned regal princess
So while my hubby still bills and coos in love
this admirer inked me his billet doux
What a batter, what a roux!
I'm softhearted but not towards soft porn
Thank God its over, phew!
poet Anonymous

How I’d know if you’d left this Earth

because the external world  
would give up its folklore
in favour of the fog  
of its lifeblood
because minutes on the clock
would perch on the precipice
of each hour, blunting themselves
on the black passing of time  
because the dog would bark  
in grey morse code in the rain,
rattling a pauper’s saucepans  
and jagged soup lids  
because these eyes would deny
the crack in the ceiling dripping
decades of dust down  
onto a barren hearth
because all of my roots
tangled at the source;
those crushing terrors
would come tumbling out.
poet Anonymous

I light my safety.
I inhale deep enjoying the feel of it between my lips...solid
beautiful white puff billowing around me pulling me into a soft embrace, whispering "to live is to die....don't be afraid

poet Anonymous

Even Shadows Have Pride

"Even Shadows Have Pride"

Trapped by darkness inside
Even the shadows have pride
A true testament of this life
Knowing that it cuts like a knife

I don't fear what stays hidden
So many years ago I was bitten
I find much comfort in the dark side
If you ask me someone fukking lied

When a hanging moon brightly glows
The witching hour consumes my soul
Buried very deeply within the shade
Is the pull of ebony that will knot fade

So when late evening begins falling
It will be the night hunter whose calling
I will chase the very last shooting star
For just one day alive without any scars

My screaming dreams are my reality
Just another day filled with brutality
With no promises of more tomorrows
But a definite contract of bitter sorrow

I'll keep on keeping on that's what I do
Continuing to walk in the same shoes
Loneliness cries from beyond the grave
Finality of death is all that I truly crave

The Punk Poet…
  Always Be Punk…
Always Be Drunk…
  (On Poetry)

poet Anonymous

house of open yearnings

It creeps up on you, this soft decay. On Tuesdays the words get caught in the dream catchers. My bedroom a litany of strange music and moans. A woman crooning from the Victrola and voices carrying through the wallpaper. Despite everything, there is always ache. All hanging lights and star charts. My mother's face haloed and strange as she reaches to turn out the lamp. We huddle under blankets while the ice thaws in my father's whiskey. Vats of face cream like canopic jars and limbs of broken mannequins bending towards the light. All the brass keys lost in my body's curves and folds, the vacuum bags choked with ash. How lovely I sat in the longing while crosses dangled from my ears and the blinds choked out all the light. I'll remember the moans and Marlboros at your lips, Sister's endless collecting, the wooden trays dripping with candle wax and porcelain birds. The terrible terrible pink hearts of their mouths.

poet Anonymous


It's early and
I'm not fully awake.

I slide
and let my feet
penetrate the
variegated surface.

At once
at home here,
I let the water
awaken my body
as it begins to move
in the rhythm
it knows so well.

Delving into the depths,
I discover
a cool, quiet world.
It's just me
and the water.

Time slows down and
responsibilities drop away.
My mind relaxes as
there's nothing to think about
but the arc of my arm,
the cadence of my kick,
the angle of my pinkie finger
as it slices and curves
without splashing.
poet Anonymous


Isolating prison:
crushing melancholia.

Fighting motionlessness
in the dark—

s l o  w  l  y.
Go to page:
Go to: