Poetry competition CLOSED 31st March 2012 5:18am
WINNER
marielavoue (Gypsy Red)
marielavoue (Gypsy Red)
RUNNERS-UP:
stormz_of_fire
and grasshopper
Weeping willows yield deep waters
Poetry Contest Description
Write a sad/distressed poem using natural elements
By natural elements I mean relate it to nature in some way.
rules:
1) 2 posts MAX
2) try to make it deep, not just another post.
3) use discresion with profanity (guard your tounges, please)
The poem can be any length, and part of a past poem.
rules:
1) 2 posts MAX
2) try to make it deep, not just another post.
3) use discresion with profanity (guard your tounges, please)
The poem can be any length, and part of a past poem.
Just serenity
Silent cranes depart the lake,
Trudging toward our meeting place
50 years and still the same
Though the clouds sit heavy for summer,
Around our feet lay wild flowers
Weeds left to live in daylight hours
Scent so fragrant, so fresh and untampered
The farm where we weaned and brought up animals
Couldn't sell them to the slaughter
The bee keeper never took our bees
From native shrubs and exotic trees
This land now owned by our sons
We sat here and scrutinized when our lives first begun
And although those pines and oaks in the distance
Are gentle giants waiting to dawn
I'm glad we didn't fall them
Because I couldn't dream to take from
This land thats given so much to us
Thus the means to feed our family
To learn a true work ethic
Or atleast die in trying
No traffic in the clearing
Just serenity at it's most reliable
Now to the city we go...
Silent cranes depart the lake,
Trudging toward our meeting place
50 years and still the same
Though the clouds sit heavy for summer,
Around our feet lay wild flowers
Weeds left to live in daylight hours
Scent so fragrant, so fresh and untampered
The farm where we weaned and brought up animals
Couldn't sell them to the slaughter
The bee keeper never took our bees
From native shrubs and exotic trees
This land now owned by our sons
We sat here and scrutinized when our lives first begun
And although those pines and oaks in the distance
Are gentle giants waiting to dawn
I'm glad we didn't fall them
Because I couldn't dream to take from
This land thats given so much to us
Thus the means to feed our family
To learn a true work ethic
Or atleast die in trying
No traffic in the clearing
Just serenity at it's most reliable
Now to the city we go...
Granddad
17 shades of grey,
The cemetary lies dormant
Beneath my ruffled blue bouquet
Of lavander sweetpeas and orchards
The gates open, for me to trudge in
With the ghastly scent
Of reminiscent ghosts
In the eye of a hoax, in the eyes of a being
He lies there in the path of weeds distruction
He dies there, forever and a day
As I brush away the dead red roses, I left last december
I hope he remembers what he did for us.
17 shades of grey,
The cemetary lies dormant
Beneath my ruffled blue bouquet
Of lavander sweetpeas and orchards
The gates open, for me to trudge in
With the ghastly scent
Of reminiscent ghosts
In the eye of a hoax, in the eyes of a being
He lies there in the path of weeds distruction
He dies there, forever and a day
As I brush away the dead red roses, I left last december
I hope he remembers what he did for us.
Earths Emotions
As I sit here
feeling overgrown
I can hear
sleeping thoughts unfold
and blowing near
is all fear
as gravity fights to keep hold
the tears of the wind
can be felt through it's groan
all the souls that have sinned
can be heard howling alone .
Picking up force
proving it's around
showing no remorse
through full strength
and ghostly sound
an element in course
a planet spinning around
a lunar full of flaws
trying not to be pulled down .
Each day we fight the seconds
with each tick
the end does beckon
our lives flick
like pages unsettled
death does kick
our boiling life kettles
as we battle on with it .
As I sit here
feeling overgrown
I can hear
sleeping thoughts unfold
and blowing near
is all fear
as gravity fights to keep hold
the tears of the wind
can be felt through it's groan
all the souls that have sinned
can be heard howling alone .
Picking up force
proving it's around
showing no remorse
through full strength
and ghostly sound
an element in course
a planet spinning around
a lunar full of flaws
trying not to be pulled down .
Each day we fight the seconds
with each tick
the end does beckon
our lives flick
like pages unsettled
death does kick
our boiling life kettles
as we battle on with it .
When It Rains
When it rains...
I remember the tears the seemed the forever stream down my face as the black car followed the hoarse into the cemetary. I remember the words that were spoken over caskest as the man that has been a father to me was locked inside. It remember my legs ached from standing and that I was tired for having to get up so early and from all the crying that I had already done. How people seemed to just push me through the day, not allowing me to go at my own pace with anything. It wasn't a ceremony of loss, it was a schedule tht needed to be kept.
When it rains...
I can smell the roses that we placed on top of his wooden casket, me not placing it there but keeping the rose for myself. I needed it as a reminder of this dark day. Days, weeks, months after I still had the rose, frozen and black sitting on a shelf in my freezer.
When it rains...
I can feel his body as I hugged him one last time, no more tensing of muscles and expanding of air as he would breath. Just a hallow shell of a man that gave up too soon.
When it rains...
I am not afraid to cry because then no one can see my tears. No one will ever understand how much I miss him. My grandfather, the only form of a father that I ever had. I try to remain strong for my mother but I know that when I am alone, when it shouldn't hit me-- That's when it does the most. It hits me strong, and hard.
When it rains...
I think of that dark morning in May when my mother screamed my name from the next room, telling me that my grandfather was dead. It was so warm that day, the sun shining it the sky, but in my mind the clouds gathered overhead and rain began to pour, lighting striked and hit my heart and thunder rolled drowning out all the sounds in my mind. I just curled up inside of myself and cried. Cried for the man that was a father to me, my Grand-dad. I cried with the rain that clouded my mind, not thinking about the sun that was shining outside.
So when it rains, I don't see the sun.
All I feel is the darkness and the pain.
Of when I great, funny and wonderful man died.
So I cry everytime, everytime when it rains.
When it rains...
I remember the tears the seemed the forever stream down my face as the black car followed the hoarse into the cemetary. I remember the words that were spoken over caskest as the man that has been a father to me was locked inside. It remember my legs ached from standing and that I was tired for having to get up so early and from all the crying that I had already done. How people seemed to just push me through the day, not allowing me to go at my own pace with anything. It wasn't a ceremony of loss, it was a schedule tht needed to be kept.
When it rains...
I can smell the roses that we placed on top of his wooden casket, me not placing it there but keeping the rose for myself. I needed it as a reminder of this dark day. Days, weeks, months after I still had the rose, frozen and black sitting on a shelf in my freezer.
When it rains...
I can feel his body as I hugged him one last time, no more tensing of muscles and expanding of air as he would breath. Just a hallow shell of a man that gave up too soon.
When it rains...
I am not afraid to cry because then no one can see my tears. No one will ever understand how much I miss him. My grandfather, the only form of a father that I ever had. I try to remain strong for my mother but I know that when I am alone, when it shouldn't hit me-- That's when it does the most. It hits me strong, and hard.
When it rains...
I think of that dark morning in May when my mother screamed my name from the next room, telling me that my grandfather was dead. It was so warm that day, the sun shining it the sky, but in my mind the clouds gathered overhead and rain began to pour, lighting striked and hit my heart and thunder rolled drowning out all the sounds in my mind. I just curled up inside of myself and cried. Cried for the man that was a father to me, my Grand-dad. I cried with the rain that clouded my mind, not thinking about the sun that was shining outside.
So when it rains, I don't see the sun.
All I feel is the darkness and the pain.
Of when I great, funny and wonderful man died.
So I cry everytime, everytime when it rains.
Anonymous
Words written in the sand-
sea shells gathered, you spoke of plans..
Words whispered, tides of change,
happy just seeing you again.
Another bridge over troubled water
another woman,
another's daughter..
I Imagined Today -
Standing in the same spot-
That it all had been different-
and for a moment forgot..
That you are you,
you don't love me
I had to lose you-
just to breathe...
and the sands of time-
are quick to go-
and the waves of of a new phase-
slow to show-
At least we now know-
The Moon is
the only place you can't go.
sea shells gathered, you spoke of plans..
Words whispered, tides of change,
happy just seeing you again.
Another bridge over troubled water
another woman,
another's daughter..
I Imagined Today -
Standing in the same spot-
That it all had been different-
and for a moment forgot..
That you are you,
you don't love me
I had to lose you-
just to breathe...
and the sands of time-
are quick to go-
and the waves of of a new phase-
slow to show-
At least we now know-
The Moon is
the only place you can't go.
Anonymous
The birds flew in symmetry
to their winter havens,
banished from lands in which
they had once called home.
The barren landscape opened up
beneath my feet.
Miles upon miles of wasted marsh land,
that held dead memories
of past souls encased in peat.
My expelled despair mingled thick
with the frost bitten air.
I looked sky bound at that avian army,
and made silent wishes,
that I too, may gather the courage
to leave this place.
I missed you.
With every mortal fibre
that allowed myself to give chase of you.
I imagined your embrace,
thawing my blue mottled skin.
My unsteady hand on your face,
giving safe passage to lips unfurled.
There was nothing.
Just solitude. Bitter sighs.
In the immortal echoes of Britannia's lies.
to their winter havens,
banished from lands in which
they had once called home.
The barren landscape opened up
beneath my feet.
Miles upon miles of wasted marsh land,
that held dead memories
of past souls encased in peat.
My expelled despair mingled thick
with the frost bitten air.
I looked sky bound at that avian army,
and made silent wishes,
that I too, may gather the courage
to leave this place.
I missed you.
With every mortal fibre
that allowed myself to give chase of you.
I imagined your embrace,
thawing my blue mottled skin.
My unsteady hand on your face,
giving safe passage to lips unfurled.
There was nothing.
Just solitude. Bitter sighs.
In the immortal echoes of Britannia's lies.
This clouded sky compliments
the shaded streets below.
Sporadic rain is the only life,
adding moisture to this grey broth.
A boy of maybe six or seven
walks slow, head down
dragging his feet in agreement
with the melancholy scene.
As i watch from my window i wander
to a memorable smile of you.
Then the solemn sights
hold an essence of beauty.
The rain sends waves of tranquil
contentment rushing through
my secondhand soul, but
I now must face the other memories
the ones where smiles vacated,
replaced instead with tear-washed
screams of hate and bitter words.
The sky keeps rolling, and raining
like a woeful chameleon.
Streets get busy, full of nobodies
trying to escape this broth.
the shaded streets below.
Sporadic rain is the only life,
adding moisture to this grey broth.
A boy of maybe six or seven
walks slow, head down
dragging his feet in agreement
with the melancholy scene.
As i watch from my window i wander
to a memorable smile of you.
Then the solemn sights
hold an essence of beauty.
The rain sends waves of tranquil
contentment rushing through
my secondhand soul, but
I now must face the other memories
the ones where smiles vacated,
replaced instead with tear-washed
screams of hate and bitter words.
The sky keeps rolling, and raining
like a woeful chameleon.
Streets get busy, full of nobodies
trying to escape this broth.
SkinWalker
I wear this skin and make it mine,
transforming into this creatures’ design.
Raven, wolf or the mighty bear,
of its abilities I become heir.
The choice of animal is limitless,
a need defines what I select.
The change is painful and slow,
inherent power you never outgrow.
Many fear and deem it witchery,
the true nature is ablutionary.
Much misunderstood and maligned,
I maintain a solitary confine.
Supernatural, our power is taboo,
to speak of us will condemn you too.
It is believed we kill a family member
thus acquiring our potential full power,
unknown, an elder chooses when to pass on the gift,
we just release their soul so into infinity it can drift.
We are nature’s guardians, unseen,
protecting her in times of great need,
for man has become abusive
in his selfish and thoughtless ways,
he takes without replacing,
forsaking the wisdom of the old days.
Beware, sons of Adam and daughters of Eve,
of this warning you must take heed:
the day will come when nature will call
upon all her guardians, both great and small,
that includes pestilence and disease,
obliterating you and all your havoc creating seed.
Gypsy Red
I wear this skin and make it mine,
transforming into this creatures’ design.
Raven, wolf or the mighty bear,
of its abilities I become heir.
The choice of animal is limitless,
a need defines what I select.
The change is painful and slow,
inherent power you never outgrow.
Many fear and deem it witchery,
the true nature is ablutionary.
Much misunderstood and maligned,
I maintain a solitary confine.
Supernatural, our power is taboo,
to speak of us will condemn you too.
It is believed we kill a family member
thus acquiring our potential full power,
unknown, an elder chooses when to pass on the gift,
we just release their soul so into infinity it can drift.
We are nature’s guardians, unseen,
protecting her in times of great need,
for man has become abusive
in his selfish and thoughtless ways,
he takes without replacing,
forsaking the wisdom of the old days.
Beware, sons of Adam and daughters of Eve,
of this warning you must take heed:
the day will come when nature will call
upon all her guardians, both great and small,
that includes pestilence and disease,
obliterating you and all your havoc creating seed.
Gypsy Red
Esbat, the Blood Moon
Luna Sanguine (Blood Moon);
your legend speaks of death, you strike fear
in the hearts of flora, fauna as well as men.
During your changes,
Gaia makes visible of winter’s arrival,
the first signs; hard won
is every living creatures survival.
Borea’s cold breath signals the floras’
silent sentinels to change colors,
as it heralds the winter season
and whispers impending signs of trouble.
All manner of creature make ready
for the dominion of winter,
the epoch of foreboding,
of demons and their underlings, we enter.
The woodland animals hurriedly collect
any last bits nourishment,
before it is hidden away
by winter snows’ white carpet.
Beds have been made ready
by those who slumber through the cold months,
towards the south the flying fauna has fled,
taken to the air for warmer lands
they are in search of.
The grain has been moved to the winter store
and sealed are the dwellings tightly
against the bitter, biting cold
of Borea’s winds and winter storms.
Gaia has become barren,
and so her children turn to the hunt.
It is the time, when the world toils with fervor
to make ready for the season to come,
the elders whisper the tales
that to the Luna Sanguine they dedicate.
For she and only she will capriciously dictate
who will still be among the living
come spring’s first new day.
She, “the Old Woman Who Never Dies”
and “the Eternal One” strikes fear in many;
woe for she is capricious
and relishes death, beholden to no man,
she will steal your very last breath,
careful do not her nature test.
Her creatures groan, grunt and howl
their pleasure at her site
for this is their season, their time of delight.
Today the moon´s mood is evident;
she is dressed once again in blood.
Ominous is what will come
and unseen what can happen.
While she is tranquil,
in her finest white she dresses,
adorned by her radiating stars,she is impressive;
but when she is sad her azure dress she will don.
Luna sanguine you herald what has been
and shall once again come about
for we have not yet learned the lesson
that should have left us with no doubts.
“Something wicked this way comes”
Gypsy Red
Luna Sanguine (Blood Moon);
your legend speaks of death, you strike fear
in the hearts of flora, fauna as well as men.
During your changes,
Gaia makes visible of winter’s arrival,
the first signs; hard won
is every living creatures survival.
Borea’s cold breath signals the floras’
silent sentinels to change colors,
as it heralds the winter season
and whispers impending signs of trouble.
All manner of creature make ready
for the dominion of winter,
the epoch of foreboding,
of demons and their underlings, we enter.
The woodland animals hurriedly collect
any last bits nourishment,
before it is hidden away
by winter snows’ white carpet.
Beds have been made ready
by those who slumber through the cold months,
towards the south the flying fauna has fled,
taken to the air for warmer lands
they are in search of.
The grain has been moved to the winter store
and sealed are the dwellings tightly
against the bitter, biting cold
of Borea’s winds and winter storms.
Gaia has become barren,
and so her children turn to the hunt.
It is the time, when the world toils with fervor
to make ready for the season to come,
the elders whisper the tales
that to the Luna Sanguine they dedicate.
For she and only she will capriciously dictate
who will still be among the living
come spring’s first new day.
She, “the Old Woman Who Never Dies”
and “the Eternal One” strikes fear in many;
woe for she is capricious
and relishes death, beholden to no man,
she will steal your very last breath,
careful do not her nature test.
Her creatures groan, grunt and howl
their pleasure at her site
for this is their season, their time of delight.
Today the moon´s mood is evident;
she is dressed once again in blood.
Ominous is what will come
and unseen what can happen.
While she is tranquil,
in her finest white she dresses,
adorned by her radiating stars,she is impressive;
but when she is sad her azure dress she will don.
Luna sanguine you herald what has been
and shall once again come about
for we have not yet learned the lesson
that should have left us with no doubts.
“Something wicked this way comes”
Gypsy Red
