Poetry Competition Ends 21st December 2024 1:03pm
Page:
MASKS we wear
Poetry Contest Description
masks we wear
MASKS
as images and their symbolism has always been something that fascinates me greatly, I recently heard these lines in a podcast.
What is your face going to look like when you die?
What was your face before you were born?
I would like you to write a poem or text about the theme masks.
Use the two questions above in either which way you choose
So you might have a metaphorical way of writing about this
But you have to answer both questions in your entry
60 words minimum
title your works
no explicit poetry, no AI poetry
new work only
one entry per person
image free download
Helena Jankovičová
enjoy
bright blessings
Rianne
Faded photography
when I wasn't born yet
didn't have a face
can only have one face who is
who stays and remains like hate
like fear and oblivion
faces exist to be forgotten.
when I have died
I won't have a face
could only have one face
for who would be
nothing will remain
like desire or the body
faces that existed
and were forgotten.
the face I have is perishable
is soluble in water
sublimates into the air.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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Beneath it all there was just one feeling
In the shadow of a fading day,
Where whispers linger, lost in the fray,
I gather fragments, pieces of light,
Searching for meaning in the heart of the night.
Ghosts of laughter echo through trees,
The wind carries secrets, a gentle tease,
Yet silence, a shroud, holds tight to my breath,
As I dance with the specters of love and of death.
Beneath the surface where colors drain,
I walk through memories, both joy and pain,
A tether to moments that slip through my hands,
Like grains of soft sand on forgotten sands.
What does it mean to feel the weight,
Of sorrow and joy intertwined by fate?
In darkness I wander, in light I may roam,
Seeking the warmth of a heart once called home.
And in the stillness, a question remains,
Do words hold power when wrapped in chains?
If apologies echo in absence and void,
What’s left of the heart when all love is destroyed?
So here I stand, on the edge of this fall,
Searching for solace in the midst of it all,
With each breath I take and each tear I release,
I’ll find my own way to that fragile peace.
Where whispers linger, lost in the fray,
I gather fragments, pieces of light,
Searching for meaning in the heart of the night.
Ghosts of laughter echo through trees,
The wind carries secrets, a gentle tease,
Yet silence, a shroud, holds tight to my breath,
As I dance with the specters of love and of death.
Beneath the surface where colors drain,
I walk through memories, both joy and pain,
A tether to moments that slip through my hands,
Like grains of soft sand on forgotten sands.
What does it mean to feel the weight,
Of sorrow and joy intertwined by fate?
In darkness I wander, in light I may roam,
Seeking the warmth of a heart once called home.
And in the stillness, a question remains,
Do words hold power when wrapped in chains?
If apologies echo in absence and void,
What’s left of the heart when all love is destroyed?
So here I stand, on the edge of this fall,
Searching for solace in the midst of it all,
With each breath I take and each tear I release,
I’ll find my own way to that fragile peace.
Written by Ashriyon
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To whole the nothing
In the womb, I am writ of scarlet
My ivory is transparently written in the blood where I simmer, waiting for my birth to ensign this porcelain veil
As a child, I wear the mask of dishevel
I have not yet mastered design with a chiselled quill
I have yet to plaster the nigh with unwholesome will
I have yet to curtail the bloom of unfettered delight
I have yet to prevail over the moon in the night
In my youth, I wear the mask of rebellion
I hamper wit with my fist
I sample tryst with my lips
I measure fate as a bone
I pleasure my wait upon a throne
In my prime, I wear a mask of endeavour
I fix the lines as a sketch
I tangle spines with the wretch
I commit to grit as a seed
I urge its growth under my knees
To splay the cards without an ace
To discard the words that devils lace
In expiration, my face will be unlined
Smoothed by the transference of need to wait
I soothe the tongue of all its splinters
Seek tranquility over the clamorous
Seek futility over the amorous
I shimmer in the mask of atonement
and add flair to the eyes
To feather the cheeks with resilience
To guild consequence with strength
Embellish the furrow with swank
To mother the stillness of my pen
To whole the nothing
and wear the coronet of a Queen
in the presence of none
My ivory is transparently written in the blood where I simmer, waiting for my birth to ensign this porcelain veil
As a child, I wear the mask of dishevel
I have not yet mastered design with a chiselled quill
I have yet to plaster the nigh with unwholesome will
I have yet to curtail the bloom of unfettered delight
I have yet to prevail over the moon in the night
In my youth, I wear the mask of rebellion
I hamper wit with my fist
I sample tryst with my lips
I measure fate as a bone
I pleasure my wait upon a throne
In my prime, I wear a mask of endeavour
I fix the lines as a sketch
I tangle spines with the wretch
I commit to grit as a seed
I urge its growth under my knees
To splay the cards without an ace
To discard the words that devils lace
In expiration, my face will be unlined
Smoothed by the transference of need to wait
I soothe the tongue of all its splinters
Seek tranquility over the clamorous
Seek futility over the amorous
I shimmer in the mask of atonement
and add flair to the eyes
To feather the cheeks with resilience
To guild consequence with strength
Embellish the furrow with swank
To mother the stillness of my pen
To whole the nothing
and wear the coronet of a Queen
in the presence of none
Written by Everavalon
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Its Love Actually
A soulmate trapped
in a circle of waiting
an empty fist
just keep holding on
promises made on thin air
sieves without end
No words spoken
yet strong in its keeping
vice like grip
on the dying vine
never letting go
until fire turns to ember
its love actually
the fierce undying kind
through thick and thin
and water run to forever
But you keep on Running
from what may come
time for changes
stop...wait.
in a circle of waiting
an empty fist
just keep holding on
promises made on thin air
sieves without end
No words spoken
yet strong in its keeping
vice like grip
on the dying vine
never letting go
until fire turns to ember
its love actually
the fierce undying kind
through thick and thin
and water run to forever
But you keep on Running
from what may come
time for changes
stop...wait.
Written by Grace
(IDryad)
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