Poetry competition CLOSED 21st January 2012 8:45pm
WINNER
diddi (StephenPaul Summerscales)
diddi (StephenPaul Summerscales)
Page:
Midwinter
Poetry Contest Description
Write a poem about winter, Christmas, Santurnalia, Hanukkah, the winter solstice etc etc
So... I'm going to be really mean to everyone in the southern hemisphere and ask for poems about winter.
No other rules, really. Do what you will!
No other rules, really. Do what you will!
twas the nightmar on xmas
i dread the time for christmas day
wish summer could last like hottist bay.
dad come home drunk once more
hunting me down of natures war.
i no he dosnt mean this,
the cuts an brusis how.
to take a toll of bottle,
hes way to drunk know.
just a christmas day to remember
on this cold day of december....
a day of celebration, that came to a fall,
haunted nights of xmas,and masquerade ball.
i dread the time for christmas day
wish summer could last like hottist bay.
dad come home drunk once more
hunting me down of natures war.
i no he dosnt mean this,
the cuts an brusis how.
to take a toll of bottle,
hes way to drunk know.
just a christmas day to remember
on this cold day of december....
a day of celebration, that came to a fall,
haunted nights of xmas,and masquerade ball.
Plastic Sibling's At Christmas
That time of year
has come
where all
the phoney
cheer gets sung
no money coming in
and no jobs to be done
adverts they sing
kids in competition
each parent worrying
about the world
and what they think
their treasured little girl
is in a Disney whirled
playing with some pretend , plastic sibling .
So much temptation
and then the condemnation
if they employ some
contemplation
in buying their boy
the latest playstation
so where's the joy
in this creation
it's a no choice
kind of situation
there is no time
for recreation
working till 9
for a fabrication
car's manned by wine
mount the pavement
a yuletide surprise
for some compensation
business and lie's
add there complication's
I don't know why
we allow implication
for such a ride
through expensive
extortion
every year
every time
we scrape through
this portion
of drunken fights
and expectation
it's so not right
all this infestation .
That time of year
has come
where all
the phoney
cheer gets sung
no money coming in
and no jobs to be done
adverts they sing
kids in competition
each parent worrying
about the world
and what they think
their treasured little girl
is in a Disney whirled
playing with some pretend , plastic sibling .
So much temptation
and then the condemnation
if they employ some
contemplation
in buying their boy
the latest playstation
so where's the joy
in this creation
it's a no choice
kind of situation
there is no time
for recreation
working till 9
for a fabrication
car's manned by wine
mount the pavement
a yuletide surprise
for some compensation
business and lie's
add there complication's
I don't know why
we allow implication
for such a ride
through expensive
extortion
every year
every time
we scrape through
this portion
of drunken fights
and expectation
it's so not right
all this infestation .
The night preluding Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas
when all through the house
not a creature was stirring
not even a mouse
you know of this tale
already read it's verse
but this is a different Christmas
its outcome much worse.
Saint Nick has lived
a thousand years perhaps more
visits through your chimney
never through a door
imagine only going out
only one night a year
even then to deliver
presents and good cheer.
Well his mind has gone
all flakey
his attitude has changed
poor old Saint Nicholas
has gone a bit deranged.
His speech is a bit slurred
and he checks corner's out of fear
and his beard is stained light brown
from where he keeps spilling his beer.
He's got slightly bitter
as the decades flew past
but he's losing all his patients
all losing it fast
so choose your list quite wisely
there isn't much he'll give
but he still smiles now and then
he knows where the bad girls live.
So on the night before Christmas
and all through the flat
came the sound of Saint Nicholas
and he's pissed as a rat.
Twas the night before Christmas
when all through the house
not a creature was stirring
not even a mouse
you know of this tale
already read it's verse
but this is a different Christmas
its outcome much worse.
Saint Nick has lived
a thousand years perhaps more
visits through your chimney
never through a door
imagine only going out
only one night a year
even then to deliver
presents and good cheer.
Well his mind has gone
all flakey
his attitude has changed
poor old Saint Nicholas
has gone a bit deranged.
His speech is a bit slurred
and he checks corner's out of fear
and his beard is stained light brown
from where he keeps spilling his beer.
He's got slightly bitter
as the decades flew past
but he's losing all his patients
all losing it fast
so choose your list quite wisely
there isn't much he'll give
but he still smiles now and then
he knows where the bad girls live.
So on the night before Christmas
and all through the flat
came the sound of Saint Nicholas
and he's pissed as a rat.
Anonymous
The Pressure of It All
Damming the pressure of it all,
the couch beckons a partner to cuddled up.
To ignore persistent phone calls,
while cold hands cradle a warm cup.
Stretch and yawn,
let the hours blur.
Let all things in need of doing be forgotten.
Yes, this is what cold winter mornings are for!
Slowly swallowed by the cushions,
no fighting, no resistance.
No screaming, no pushing;
only melancholies dogged persistence.
Crisp leaves rake the roof, trying not to let go.
Heavy eyes offer sleepy glimpses of blurred reflections
silhouetted on the window pane snow
highlighting simple artistic perfection.
Finally, silently, succumbing to an internal fire
that replaces the chill of winters call,
hidden hands unfold secret desires,
releasing the pressure of it all.....
Damming the pressure of it all,
the couch beckons a partner to cuddled up.
To ignore persistent phone calls,
while cold hands cradle a warm cup.
Stretch and yawn,
let the hours blur.
Let all things in need of doing be forgotten.
Yes, this is what cold winter mornings are for!
Slowly swallowed by the cushions,
no fighting, no resistance.
No screaming, no pushing;
only melancholies dogged persistence.
Crisp leaves rake the roof, trying not to let go.
Heavy eyes offer sleepy glimpses of blurred reflections
silhouetted on the window pane snow
highlighting simple artistic perfection.
Finally, silently, succumbing to an internal fire
that replaces the chill of winters call,
hidden hands unfold secret desires,
releasing the pressure of it all.....
Anonymous
Ya'll Come!
It’s Winter and 75 degrees down south,
where the gentle gulf winds blow,
while up north the arctic winds howl
and it’s 25 below!
Oh, they’ll say they love it up north
when the snow's up to their butt;
where they can’t take a winter breathe
without their noses freezing shut.
Yes, this southern weather is wonderful;
ya’ll pack up and come on down.
That is, if you folks up North,
ain’t frozen to the ground!
It’s Winter and 75 degrees down south,
where the gentle gulf winds blow,
while up north the arctic winds howl
and it’s 25 below!
Oh, they’ll say they love it up north
when the snow's up to their butt;
where they can’t take a winter breathe
without their noses freezing shut.
Yes, this southern weather is wonderful;
ya’ll pack up and come on down.
That is, if you folks up North,
ain’t frozen to the ground!
[font=Verdana]m i d w i n t e r
shadow-play of a leaf-less tree
feeble sprinklings of infectious glee
a de-saturated de-humidified cheer-less town
the northern wind across the fluttering gown
remnants of a luster-less moth-eaten moon
mis-carriage of the non-descript escapist sun
the cold steel and the ash in the urn
little lives darting faraway-on the run
silent-standstill
broken-chaffed
brittle-pallid
cold-unkind
a spark. a spring.
a sprig. a sprint.
hibernation
moderation
isolation
urine drops on burst crackers
putrid smell and maggots
on leftover dinner
crawling-growing-involved
hapless. endless. ageless.
The red costume hangs above
the daymares
and the soiled mask
as the satin wrapped
stainless blade
feels the pang
and a kid exorcises bubbles
on the roof.
shadow-play of a leaf-less tree
feeble sprinklings of infectious glee
a de-saturated de-humidified cheer-less town
the northern wind across the fluttering gown
remnants of a luster-less moth-eaten moon
mis-carriage of the non-descript escapist sun
the cold steel and the ash in the urn
little lives darting faraway-on the run
silent-standstill
broken-chaffed
brittle-pallid
cold-unkind
a spark. a spring.
a sprig. a sprint.
hibernation
moderation
isolation
urine drops on burst crackers
putrid smell and maggots
on leftover dinner
crawling-growing-involved
hapless. endless. ageless.
The red costume hangs above
the daymares
and the soiled mask
as the satin wrapped
stainless blade
feels the pang
and a kid exorcises bubbles
on the roof.
- Red Dream, White Winter -
I watched the flowers bloom in the spring, and my hope did soar anew,
I beheld as they withered in the summer heat, but still I did hold true.
To dreams so fleeting that I wonder if they had graced my soul at all,
I did cling, with the faith of one who stands strong before the squall.
Oh muses, grant my lips the fire with which to speak of my madness...
To speak of passions hoped for, eternal love yearned for in sadness!
I watched my dreams wither, as the mountains are worn with years,
I beheld so many loved ones pass before me, each loss many tears.
The fire, unquenched within me, stirred with the autumn colors' rising,
And in that fire I thought I spied a maiden's face ever young, undying.
The symbol of a quest unfinished, a year not through, a life to live full,
As there is no emptiness in dreams, only strong hope born of the will.
Are all who quest for happiness made first to know pain?
Mayhap, for true relief arrives if we survive past strain!
Thus winter came unto me unbidden, and the snow fell upon the land!
My ears heard the wailing of the wind, howling past my windowpane,
And sleepily I dreamed anew, my eyes grown heavy with night's sand.
That soil which saps one's reason, and takes hours for each tiny grain,
So came I to walk in lifetimes past, my soul's memory journeying back.
And in a hall I stood, with many robed men and women, eyes all black!
My own were blue as the sky, as they ever were, and so I did behold...
An elder gentleman walk up to me, a question forming on lips very old.
'Do you still seek the Grail, noble knight, and if so then answer truly...
For you the Grail is a maiden, and that is the truth that you discovered,
And so I must ask thee, noble knight, if you still seek the Grail, verily...
For none who seek it must abandon the journey they have uncovered.'
Are all who quest for enlightenment forced to see clear?
Mayhap, for clarity is the fabric felt best when sheer!
Still I seek, for what is the Grail but an ideal of what can save us best?
My heart years for the salvation that only love can bring, and so at last,
The truth of dreams leads one to ask, how many times have I sought...
Through age after age, time after time: until peace is so dearly bought.
No coin may purchase the treasure I seek; who shall pass me the Cup;
That I may drink of her lips, drowning my fire in the wine of love deep?
Oh Queen of Cups, before you I am meek and gentle, a newborn pup,
For were I to kneel before any mortal, I would choose to at your feet.
Reveal yourself, for am I not the Fool for which you have awaited long?
Our cards were drawn before the world was made, 'ere the first dawn!
Stronger than the thrones of kings, and with that strength I do endure,
As the snow, falls and wind howls, and as the ocean batters the shore.
Are all who quest for peace made mad by a desire for it?
Mayhap, but peace is the warmest lap in which to sit!
Such was the maelstrom of my thoughts on awakening from old dream;
That I felt as if I glimpsed a universe of emotions, adrift upon a stream.
I dare not cast them away, for every feeling did bear my truest name...
And what would I be without my heart, which must eternally be aflame?
A single question forms upon my lips as I cast about once more to pray:
'Who is she for whom I have sought for lifetime after lifetime now past?
This one yet is unfinished, and I must find her 'ere the years go astray;
I must be strong, I must endure; even hard mountains I must outlast!'
But time presses all to be swift, and so I seek swiftly, and ever strong.
The Red Queen awaits me, though I know her not and yet am devoted,
As are all who set upon the path that dares not stray nor go too wrong!
She holds a rose in her hand, the perfume of which makes me besotted.
Are all who quest for love made mad by passion in turn?
Mayhap, but love is the fire in which, comforted, I burn!
I will place the wood upon the cold hearth, but who shall kindle the fire?
When chill grows the year and bitter the air, I play a song upon my lyre.
A song of love, writ long ago in red letters upon my spirit in another era,
When gods were not so distant, and many knew so well Zeus and Hera!
Who shall I teach the words to, when the time is come to pass it hence?
On winter nights, my voice alone fills the air and travels upward thence.
One lone and lonely song, amidst the cry of stars and worlds in infancy...
To reach the ears of divinities now far: in the hopes that I will be heard.
Some would call it foolishness to hope, but faith is ever a kind of lunacy,
And many has been the time when miracles came out of notions absurd!
I will continue to sing, ceasing only when I have someone to sing with...
For long are the hours of night until the morn, and I must make my wish.
I watched the flowers bloom in the spring, and my hope did soar anew,
I beheld as they withered in the summer heat, but still I did hold true.
To dreams so fleeting that I wonder if they had graced my soul at all,
I did cling, with the faith of one who stands strong before the squall.
Oh muses, grant my lips the fire with which to speak of my madness...
To speak of passions hoped for, eternal love yearned for in sadness!
I watched my dreams wither, as the mountains are worn with years,
I beheld so many loved ones pass before me, each loss many tears.
The fire, unquenched within me, stirred with the autumn colors' rising,
And in that fire I thought I spied a maiden's face ever young, undying.
The symbol of a quest unfinished, a year not through, a life to live full,
As there is no emptiness in dreams, only strong hope born of the will.
Are all who quest for happiness made first to know pain?
Mayhap, for true relief arrives if we survive past strain!
Thus winter came unto me unbidden, and the snow fell upon the land!
My ears heard the wailing of the wind, howling past my windowpane,
And sleepily I dreamed anew, my eyes grown heavy with night's sand.
That soil which saps one's reason, and takes hours for each tiny grain,
So came I to walk in lifetimes past, my soul's memory journeying back.
And in a hall I stood, with many robed men and women, eyes all black!
My own were blue as the sky, as they ever were, and so I did behold...
An elder gentleman walk up to me, a question forming on lips very old.
'Do you still seek the Grail, noble knight, and if so then answer truly...
For you the Grail is a maiden, and that is the truth that you discovered,
And so I must ask thee, noble knight, if you still seek the Grail, verily...
For none who seek it must abandon the journey they have uncovered.'
Are all who quest for enlightenment forced to see clear?
Mayhap, for clarity is the fabric felt best when sheer!
Still I seek, for what is the Grail but an ideal of what can save us best?
My heart years for the salvation that only love can bring, and so at last,
The truth of dreams leads one to ask, how many times have I sought...
Through age after age, time after time: until peace is so dearly bought.
No coin may purchase the treasure I seek; who shall pass me the Cup;
That I may drink of her lips, drowning my fire in the wine of love deep?
Oh Queen of Cups, before you I am meek and gentle, a newborn pup,
For were I to kneel before any mortal, I would choose to at your feet.
Reveal yourself, for am I not the Fool for which you have awaited long?
Our cards were drawn before the world was made, 'ere the first dawn!
Stronger than the thrones of kings, and with that strength I do endure,
As the snow, falls and wind howls, and as the ocean batters the shore.
Are all who quest for peace made mad by a desire for it?
Mayhap, but peace is the warmest lap in which to sit!
Such was the maelstrom of my thoughts on awakening from old dream;
That I felt as if I glimpsed a universe of emotions, adrift upon a stream.
I dare not cast them away, for every feeling did bear my truest name...
And what would I be without my heart, which must eternally be aflame?
A single question forms upon my lips as I cast about once more to pray:
'Who is she for whom I have sought for lifetime after lifetime now past?
This one yet is unfinished, and I must find her 'ere the years go astray;
I must be strong, I must endure; even hard mountains I must outlast!'
But time presses all to be swift, and so I seek swiftly, and ever strong.
The Red Queen awaits me, though I know her not and yet am devoted,
As are all who set upon the path that dares not stray nor go too wrong!
She holds a rose in her hand, the perfume of which makes me besotted.
Are all who quest for love made mad by passion in turn?
Mayhap, but love is the fire in which, comforted, I burn!
I will place the wood upon the cold hearth, but who shall kindle the fire?
When chill grows the year and bitter the air, I play a song upon my lyre.
A song of love, writ long ago in red letters upon my spirit in another era,
When gods were not so distant, and many knew so well Zeus and Hera!
Who shall I teach the words to, when the time is come to pass it hence?
On winter nights, my voice alone fills the air and travels upward thence.
One lone and lonely song, amidst the cry of stars and worlds in infancy...
To reach the ears of divinities now far: in the hopes that I will be heard.
Some would call it foolishness to hope, but faith is ever a kind of lunacy,
And many has been the time when miracles came out of notions absurd!
I will continue to sing, ceasing only when I have someone to sing with...
For long are the hours of night until the morn, and I must make my wish.
Winter
The snow laden bough
Creaks for release
The gentle falling snow
Does not cease
It falls merciless
to the ground
Somewhere a child is lost
In the snowed up hamlet
High up in the mountains
There is quietness
So eerie
As we wait for news from
the searchers
A candle on the window
To light the path of all
Lost in the deep snow
In midwinter
The snow laden bough
Creaks for release
The gentle falling snow
Does not cease
It falls merciless
to the ground
Somewhere a child is lost
In the snowed up hamlet
High up in the mountains
There is quietness
So eerie
As we wait for news from
the searchers
A candle on the window
To light the path of all
Lost in the deep snow
In midwinter
- The White Lady of Hope -
Walking in the lonely cold, amidst the snow as white as cloud,
I looked up at the clear night sky, bejeweled with stars so bright.
Perhaps madly, I imagined there must be hope, however proud,
And foolish, some say, it is to kindle such warmth in the night...
There must be some hope that love endures with the human spirit!
Like a prophet lost in the wilderness, I wandered seeking to know,
Drawing nearer to nothing, yet too innocent was I to rightly fear it.
I wandered far, so lost and cold, beneath the stars, amidst the snow.
Coming at last into a wood, which looked crystalline; alien beauty,
For one used to days more fair, I found it wondrous and strange.
I tarried there enchanted, by I know not what, and soon I could see,
A greener land: not very distant and encircled by a rugged range.
Warmer was the air as the snow was lost, my feet upon the grass,
Soft as carpet, and how much more stately since it was of nature!
Many trees still lay in frost, and seemed fey in their look as glass,
Where ice made them unusual, amidst the green as so much more.
Children played in that field of green, dressed in Victorian fashion,
Laughing, singing, without a care in their hearts and they danced...
As I watched them: I saw they were not children of just one nation,
But many, and they asked me join them out there as they pranced...
Finding it not beneath my station, I let them take me by the hand,
And felt much as I had in my childhood years, beneath the stars...
Grass spinning under my feet, music playing from some old band,
Of minstrels fair to hear, that soon: gone were adulthood's scars.
Flowers began to bloom from the earth, pain and sorrow forgotten,
Whilst my hands were held by a lady, clad in white as the winter...
Perhaps a fantasy, born of fantasies past, and strangely begotten,
By the magic of whatever enchantment held me, so I did not stir...
From the frolic and the play, led by the lady, so very like an angel.
I looked into her eyes, and found I could not hold her mystic gaze,
Until all I could do was to call out and ask her of her power, to tell.
And her voice was a song, which enchanted me into a bright daze!
She sang of a world at peace, that being the stuff of purest dreams,
She sang of hearts united by love, knowing nothing of darker past.
She sang of pleasant meadows and the gentleness of moonbeams,
She sang of how the human heart, can build dreams that ever last.
And so my reverie came to an end, as I found myself in cold mists,
Haunted by the music of the White Lady, remembering lost magic.
She appeared again and blew at me a snowflake born from her kiss,
Upon the wind, the drop of snow at last caressing my cheek: tragic.
For it's warmth faded before the returning cold, the green vanished,
And no children's voices filled the silent air as I walked on home...
Though for but a moment's happiness once more, I secretly wished,
And I beheld the lady's apparition, at my side, as I walked on alone.
She smiled, saying nothing, until I neared my house and looked up...
To behold the Evening Star in all it's glory, shining amidst darkness.
It was then I realized that not yet vanished from this world, is hope!
Gone was the Lady, but her message remains with me, ever endless.
Walking in the lonely cold, amidst the snow as white as cloud,
I looked up at the clear night sky, bejeweled with stars so bright.
Perhaps madly, I imagined there must be hope, however proud,
And foolish, some say, it is to kindle such warmth in the night...
There must be some hope that love endures with the human spirit!
Like a prophet lost in the wilderness, I wandered seeking to know,
Drawing nearer to nothing, yet too innocent was I to rightly fear it.
I wandered far, so lost and cold, beneath the stars, amidst the snow.
Coming at last into a wood, which looked crystalline; alien beauty,
For one used to days more fair, I found it wondrous and strange.
I tarried there enchanted, by I know not what, and soon I could see,
A greener land: not very distant and encircled by a rugged range.
Warmer was the air as the snow was lost, my feet upon the grass,
Soft as carpet, and how much more stately since it was of nature!
Many trees still lay in frost, and seemed fey in their look as glass,
Where ice made them unusual, amidst the green as so much more.
Children played in that field of green, dressed in Victorian fashion,
Laughing, singing, without a care in their hearts and they danced...
As I watched them: I saw they were not children of just one nation,
But many, and they asked me join them out there as they pranced...
Finding it not beneath my station, I let them take me by the hand,
And felt much as I had in my childhood years, beneath the stars...
Grass spinning under my feet, music playing from some old band,
Of minstrels fair to hear, that soon: gone were adulthood's scars.
Flowers began to bloom from the earth, pain and sorrow forgotten,
Whilst my hands were held by a lady, clad in white as the winter...
Perhaps a fantasy, born of fantasies past, and strangely begotten,
By the magic of whatever enchantment held me, so I did not stir...
From the frolic and the play, led by the lady, so very like an angel.
I looked into her eyes, and found I could not hold her mystic gaze,
Until all I could do was to call out and ask her of her power, to tell.
And her voice was a song, which enchanted me into a bright daze!
She sang of a world at peace, that being the stuff of purest dreams,
She sang of hearts united by love, knowing nothing of darker past.
She sang of pleasant meadows and the gentleness of moonbeams,
She sang of how the human heart, can build dreams that ever last.
And so my reverie came to an end, as I found myself in cold mists,
Haunted by the music of the White Lady, remembering lost magic.
She appeared again and blew at me a snowflake born from her kiss,
Upon the wind, the drop of snow at last caressing my cheek: tragic.
For it's warmth faded before the returning cold, the green vanished,
And no children's voices filled the silent air as I walked on home...
Though for but a moment's happiness once more, I secretly wished,
And I beheld the lady's apparition, at my side, as I walked on alone.
She smiled, saying nothing, until I neared my house and looked up...
To behold the Evening Star in all it's glory, shining amidst darkness.
It was then I realized that not yet vanished from this world, is hope!
Gone was the Lady, but her message remains with me, ever endless.
Frost
your breath attracts condensation; steam
frozen brain and a slowed down dream
skating on an iced stream
fingers bitten , the cold so mean
driven like snow and shoveled away
pure white angels at mid-day
cold steep sledging we shall play
winter; i wish it could always stay
spring makes it's way for the snow to melt
at least ill health can be dealt
with warmth that can be surely felt
let's hope springs showers does not pelt!
your breath attracts condensation; steam
frozen brain and a slowed down dream
skating on an iced stream
fingers bitten , the cold so mean
driven like snow and shoveled away
pure white angels at mid-day
cold steep sledging we shall play
winter; i wish it could always stay
spring makes it's way for the snow to melt
at least ill health can be dealt
with warmth that can be surely felt
let's hope springs showers does not pelt!
Anonymous
A Late Spring Snow Storm
(with apologies to Sir William...)
Mother of all natures land,
Spring Time is here at hand,
And the blooms, full birthed by thee,
Pleading to be frost free.
Shall we their foolish frostbite see?
Lord, what nuisance these snowflakes be!
(with apologies to Sir William...)
Mother of all natures land,
Spring Time is here at hand,
And the blooms, full birthed by thee,
Pleading to be frost free.
Shall we their foolish frostbite see?
Lord, what nuisance these snowflakes be!
