Poetry competition CLOSED 7th May 2012 1:03am
WINNER
Page_Writer (Mad Girl)
Page_Writer (Mad Girl)
RUNNER-UP:
Devilish
Your greatest fear
My body trembles, breathing fast,
Curled into a ball-
So the boogy man can't drag me down.
eyes shut tight,
It's so dark outside.
Open again-
Thump, bump, thump!
What's out there?
dark halls, conrners,
Closets- everythings gone black.
Thump! Bump! Thump!
it's just my heart...
or does something lurk-
Out there, in the dark.
Curled into a ball-
So the boogy man can't drag me down.
eyes shut tight,
It's so dark outside.
Open again-
Thump, bump, thump!
What's out there?
dark halls, conrners,
Closets- everythings gone black.
Thump! Bump! Thump!
it's just my heart...
or does something lurk-
Out there, in the dark.
Karrabear said:My body trembles, breathing fast,
Curled into a ball-
So the boogy man can't drag me down.
eyes shut tight,
It's so dark outside.
Open again-
Thump, bump, thump!
What's out there?
dark halls, conrners,
Closets- everythings gone black.
Thump! Bump! Thump!
it's just my heart...
or does something lurk-
Out there, in the dark.
That was good, a great start to my competition.
Curled into a ball-
So the boogy man can't drag me down.
eyes shut tight,
It's so dark outside.
Open again-
Thump, bump, thump!
What's out there?
dark halls, conrners,
Closets- everythings gone black.
Thump! Bump! Thump!
it's just my heart...
or does something lurk-
Out there, in the dark.
That was good, a great start to my competition.
Haunted
Sore and in pain..
Scars re-opened....
Why must this happen?
Why do I wake up bleeding
And the closet door is open?
Tears fall, and I begin to shake.
What is doing this?
Why do I feel afraid..?
It's like... I'm
Dealing with more than what I can handle.
I fear to sleep...
'Cause I know what's to come..
Is it all in my head?
Just my schizophrenia at work?
Or is there really something?
Is it Alla Jashin, who is coming for me?
Or perhaps his sister, Annalai who's out for revenge and
A great laugh?
Whatever it may be.. It's not leaving...
I need help..
I fear to sleep..
'Cause of what's waiting for me in my head..
Is it in my head?
Or am I haunted?
Sore and in pain..
Scars re-opened....
Why must this happen?
Why do I wake up bleeding
And the closet door is open?
Tears fall, and I begin to shake.
What is doing this?
Why do I feel afraid..?
It's like... I'm
Dealing with more than what I can handle.
I fear to sleep...
'Cause I know what's to come..
Is it all in my head?
Just my schizophrenia at work?
Or is there really something?
Is it Alla Jashin, who is coming for me?
Or perhaps his sister, Annalai who's out for revenge and
A great laugh?
Whatever it may be.. It's not leaving...
I need help..
I fear to sleep..
'Cause of what's waiting for me in my head..
Is it in my head?
Or am I haunted?
The darkness is creeping over me
Is this what you wanted to see?
The dirt weighs down on my coffin
Love is lost
Hope has died
You yourself said so
I'm clothed in a red silk gown
I feal a heavy pressure on my head
Blood trickles from my nose
Where am I?
No one knows
My screams are silent above ground
But amazingly he was riding by on his horse
Help me! I cry, hearing him breathing my precious air
Weight starts falling away and I'm lifted into oblivion
The light hurts my eyes
My skin is on fire
A cool hand of shade protects me
I open my eyes
Welcome the pastor greets the congregation
I cannot see him
I'm staring at the ceiling
People walk over to where I lay
Dead, but so alive
Then my love comes next
Please I plead with my eyes
He spits
With a smile he says:
"not this time"
Once again my coffin is sealed
But this time forever
Is this what you wanted to see?
The dirt weighs down on my coffin
Love is lost
Hope has died
You yourself said so
I'm clothed in a red silk gown
I feal a heavy pressure on my head
Blood trickles from my nose
Where am I?
No one knows
My screams are silent above ground
But amazingly he was riding by on his horse
Help me! I cry, hearing him breathing my precious air
Weight starts falling away and I'm lifted into oblivion
The light hurts my eyes
My skin is on fire
A cool hand of shade protects me
I open my eyes
Welcome the pastor greets the congregation
I cannot see him
I'm staring at the ceiling
People walk over to where I lay
Dead, but so alive
Then my love comes next
Please I plead with my eyes
He spits
With a smile he says:
"not this time"
Once again my coffin is sealed
But this time forever
Only Fear is Fear Itself
"The only fear is fear itself."
That's what everyone has told me.
And I like to joke about a lot of my fears.
Clowns, spiders and lawn knomes don't really scare me.
But the dark.
The dark scares me.
Because when I am in the dark.
I feel the cold tendrils of fear close around my heart.
I feel the claws of the beast that hides under my bed.
I smell the blood oozing out of the walls.
Hear my heart pumping in my chest.
Tears slid down my cheeks.
As I watch Him, The Shadow.
He has followed me for months now.
Like most ghosts.
But it makes me wonder about this one.
He seems to have followed me my entire life.
Whisperiing to me in the shadows.
Tempting me to come to him.
Following me outside.
Not allowing people to hear me scream.
Closing in on me.
Hands shaking.
Eyes watering.
Heart racing.
"Don't hurt me."
My voice is a mere whisper.
Barely audible to even myself.
Let alone the monster standing in front of me.
He holds out his hand.
And grabs onto my heart.
A pain twists inside my chest.
He could rip it out with just one final pull.
He's going to kill me.
Kill me right here, right now.
And no one will know why.
Maybe they should have listened to me.
When I spoke of this being.
The darkness.
The monsters.
My paranoia.
I am not insane.
Okay, maybe I am but this things that stands in front of me...
He is real.
The door opens at that moment.
And light filters inside.
The Shadow disappears.
And I am left unharmed.
With the feel of his fingertips still grazing my heart.
I am shaking.
I am crying.
They say it was nightmare.
I was only dreaming.
No believes me.
My pain.
My fear.
It's all my imagination.
Because they may leave the light on now.
But they will leave me in the dark soon.
I can feel it.
No one understands.
No one else sees it.
Hears it.
Feels it.
Only me.
So here I am, alone.
Alone with my fear.
Alone rocking in the corner of the room.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear. . .
"The only fear is fear itself."
That's what everyone has told me.
And I like to joke about a lot of my fears.
Clowns, spiders and lawn knomes don't really scare me.
But the dark.
The dark scares me.
Because when I am in the dark.
I feel the cold tendrils of fear close around my heart.
I feel the claws of the beast that hides under my bed.
I smell the blood oozing out of the walls.
Hear my heart pumping in my chest.
Tears slid down my cheeks.
As I watch Him, The Shadow.
He has followed me for months now.
Like most ghosts.
But it makes me wonder about this one.
He seems to have followed me my entire life.
Whisperiing to me in the shadows.
Tempting me to come to him.
Following me outside.
Not allowing people to hear me scream.
Closing in on me.
Hands shaking.
Eyes watering.
Heart racing.
"Don't hurt me."
My voice is a mere whisper.
Barely audible to even myself.
Let alone the monster standing in front of me.
He holds out his hand.
And grabs onto my heart.
A pain twists inside my chest.
He could rip it out with just one final pull.
He's going to kill me.
Kill me right here, right now.
And no one will know why.
Maybe they should have listened to me.
When I spoke of this being.
The darkness.
The monsters.
My paranoia.
I am not insane.
Okay, maybe I am but this things that stands in front of me...
He is real.
The door opens at that moment.
And light filters inside.
The Shadow disappears.
And I am left unharmed.
With the feel of his fingertips still grazing my heart.
I am shaking.
I am crying.
They say it was nightmare.
I was only dreaming.
No believes me.
My pain.
My fear.
It's all my imagination.
Because they may leave the light on now.
But they will leave me in the dark soon.
I can feel it.
No one understands.
No one else sees it.
Hears it.
Feels it.
Only me.
So here I am, alone.
Alone with my fear.
Alone rocking in the corner of the room.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear is fear itself.
The only fear. . .
Anonymous
An old poem of mine:
Visiting
I visit this place again,
this featureless black expanse.
The place that reveals to me
only hints of it's nature.
At times, there have been
two prostrate steel monolithic
girders - I think - that caught a glimpse
of some foreign light, catching only
the alien corners of these colossal
darkened edifices.
Drilled, they appear, through an
unrecognisable wall,
and stretching perpetually
towards an endless horizon
of black, still.
Other times, in the gargantuan black,
I do not perceive visually,
but become aware of a
breathing titan,
not human, featureless.
An object that presents the
definition of fear.
Yet the polyphemic item
does not stir terror in me.
It merely exists, here,
in this endless chasm,
incomprehesible,
is it alive?
Larger than sound,
taller than the sky
and blacker than nothing.
Other times, shapeless forms
swim in this void.
But mostly there is emptiness,
a void of total darkness.
This place is visited by me,
secretly.
Struck back by the divine energy
of a lone climactic spasm
in an empty house.
Between consciousnesses,
the herculean blackness before a still coma.
In the smoke of a thousand exotic spirits,
filling my lungs and throat, the blackness lives.
Visiting
I visit this place again,
this featureless black expanse.
The place that reveals to me
only hints of it's nature.
At times, there have been
two prostrate steel monolithic
girders - I think - that caught a glimpse
of some foreign light, catching only
the alien corners of these colossal
darkened edifices.
Drilled, they appear, through an
unrecognisable wall,
and stretching perpetually
towards an endless horizon
of black, still.
Other times, in the gargantuan black,
I do not perceive visually,
but become aware of a
breathing titan,
not human, featureless.
An object that presents the
definition of fear.
Yet the polyphemic item
does not stir terror in me.
It merely exists, here,
in this endless chasm,
incomprehesible,
is it alive?
Larger than sound,
taller than the sky
and blacker than nothing.
Other times, shapeless forms
swim in this void.
But mostly there is emptiness,
a void of total darkness.
This place is visited by me,
secretly.
Struck back by the divine energy
of a lone climactic spasm
in an empty house.
Between consciousnesses,
the herculean blackness before a still coma.
In the smoke of a thousand exotic spirits,
filling my lungs and throat, the blackness lives.
The unseen
It says
Hush, I am not here
I am a shadow
On the wall
I am no where
I am just a glow
Gliding down the hall
Hush, don’t fear
I am just everywhere
Like floating gossamer
Of consciousness
A touch a kiss
A silent caress
Hush, a lonely ghost
Is what I am
A whisper so lost
A touch so cold
A nothingness
Do not fear
It sings in silence
The unseen, my greatest fear
It says
Hush, I am not here
I am a shadow
On the wall
I am no where
I am just a glow
Gliding down the hall
Hush, don’t fear
I am just everywhere
Like floating gossamer
Of consciousness
A touch a kiss
A silent caress
Hush, a lonely ghost
Is what I am
A whisper so lost
A touch so cold
A nothingness
Do not fear
It sings in silence
The unseen, my greatest fear
My Dreams
I am a monster.
I have killed.
In my dreams,
I have no will.
I see the blood
I scream in fright.
I try to wake
But can't at night.
I am a monster.
I have killed.
In my dreams,
I have no will.
I see the gun
I let it pop.
Into my head,
With one last shot.
I am a monster.
I have killed.
In my dreams,
I have no will.
I am a monster.
I have killed.
In my dreams,
I have no will.
I see the blood
I scream in fright.
I try to wake
But can't at night.
I am a monster.
I have killed.
In my dreams,
I have no will.
I see the gun
I let it pop.
Into my head,
With one last shot.
I am a monster.
I have killed.
In my dreams,
I have no will.
How do you like it?
What's your masterplan mate
grow old-fungus-toenails-beard
silent-uninspired-insipid-pathetic
and
then stop breathing
at some ungodly hour in a nondescript place
may be a cheap inn somewhere really faraway
Is that how you want your farewell-ole' pal
an unceremonious-wordless departure-a letdown
Or have you actually put some thought to it
like those countless members of niche-glitterati
who drink aloe vera
eat sushi
travel light
fly solo
buy space-real estate in and around
donate-tweet
throw parties with dada or minimal themes
listen to Pere Ubu or Arvo Part
wear organic-use ergonomic
watch Mexican neo-realism-
read The Book of Dead
subscribe to lifestyle magazines
and news dailies-
pay per square feet(property)
or per square inch
(for the entire page with a pro-made-up mugshot)
after months of discussion-contemplation-discussion
once the show is all over they-like everyone else-cease
to be just who they ever were-
nothing matters thereafter
me-I saw that coming-well I want to go
first thing the day I wake up and don't recognize
myself anymore in the eyes of the ones
I have loved-sans baggage-you know and become
a thought-a memory-a photograph
even if it is taken out of
the frame and rather kept inside
the old album or drawer
but damn not that-never-or
may be I need to plan as well.
What's your masterplan mate
grow old-fungus-toenails-beard
silent-uninspired-insipid-pathetic
and
then stop breathing
at some ungodly hour in a nondescript place
may be a cheap inn somewhere really faraway
Is that how you want your farewell-ole' pal
an unceremonious-wordless departure-a letdown
Or have you actually put some thought to it
like those countless members of niche-glitterati
who drink aloe vera
eat sushi
travel light
fly solo
buy space-real estate in and around
donate-tweet
throw parties with dada or minimal themes
listen to Pere Ubu or Arvo Part
wear organic-use ergonomic
watch Mexican neo-realism-
read The Book of Dead
subscribe to lifestyle magazines
and news dailies-
pay per square feet(property)
or per square inch
(for the entire page with a pro-made-up mugshot)
after months of discussion-contemplation-discussion
once the show is all over they-like everyone else-cease
to be just who they ever were-
nothing matters thereafter
me-I saw that coming-well I want to go
first thing the day I wake up and don't recognize
myself anymore in the eyes of the ones
I have loved-sans baggage-you know and become
a thought-a memory-a photograph
even if it is taken out of
the frame and rather kept inside
the old album or drawer
but damn not that-never-or
may be I need to plan as well.
Anonymous
Entering this, because it was one of the scariest things in my life.
Beg, Steal And Borrow.
I have composed a new lie
dwelling below the water line
beyond the curve of the small of my back
and like most women, the fear of learning
is not the unknown
but the heavy weight of knowing too much
and dealing with the residual spirits that dwell
where knowledge refuses to flow
and I believe you too, were afraid.
And had I been what I always was,
a selfish woman with zealous needs
I still may have learned to cradle you
and held your fists close to milk
and you would have farmed me dry.
But the lie did not protrude.
It coveted
like roots in december that lay in dormant wait
in tribute to Lazarus and his final reincarnation.
You remained inside, stagnant and misplaced
waiting for the expansion of lungs under ribs,
waiting for the tiny finger nails to appear
and tear messages into the walls of my womb
to prove you were here,
that you existed, and you were more than just fear
capsizing in a volatile sea,
your existence only lent to me
In the vacant space to rent within.
Beg, Steal And Borrow.
I have composed a new lie
dwelling below the water line
beyond the curve of the small of my back
and like most women, the fear of learning
is not the unknown
but the heavy weight of knowing too much
and dealing with the residual spirits that dwell
where knowledge refuses to flow
and I believe you too, were afraid.
And had I been what I always was,
a selfish woman with zealous needs
I still may have learned to cradle you
and held your fists close to milk
and you would have farmed me dry.
But the lie did not protrude.
It coveted
like roots in december that lay in dormant wait
in tribute to Lazarus and his final reincarnation.
You remained inside, stagnant and misplaced
waiting for the expansion of lungs under ribs,
waiting for the tiny finger nails to appear
and tear messages into the walls of my womb
to prove you were here,
that you existed, and you were more than just fear
capsizing in a volatile sea,
your existence only lent to me
In the vacant space to rent within.
Visitation in your house..
Limitations..
crossing swords with
expectations..
Equal
domino
segregation..
200 spiders...
lined up to get inside her...
a buddy system.
mechanical malfunction
in beastly consumption..
186 left to go..
where is the raid.
not enough cages
for these bastards.
a natural disaster is almost enticing compared..
Spinning webs.. in our beds
tryin to get in our fucking heads..
die already..
i dont know which is worse..
the roach or the curse.
id say both .
they both play host
in our fucking homes
like its summer vacation
our lively hood is there
meditation.
soon forms a gestation
even god threw in the towel..
This land is not your land
this land is not my land..
for this land belongs to
punk ass dirty as a dog
festers like a hog..
in our everyday lives,
fuck nine to five ..
thats when the bastards thrive..
So as long as there alive..
we are merely visitors...
Limitations..
crossing swords with
expectations..
Equal
domino
segregation..
200 spiders...
lined up to get inside her...
a buddy system.
mechanical malfunction
in beastly consumption..
186 left to go..
where is the raid.
not enough cages
for these bastards.
a natural disaster is almost enticing compared..
Spinning webs.. in our beds
tryin to get in our fucking heads..
die already..
i dont know which is worse..
the roach or the curse.
id say both .
they both play host
in our fucking homes
like its summer vacation
our lively hood is there
meditation.
soon forms a gestation
even god threw in the towel..
This land is not your land
this land is not my land..
for this land belongs to
punk ass dirty as a dog
festers like a hog..
in our everyday lives,
fuck nine to five ..
thats when the bastards thrive..
So as long as there alive..
we are merely visitors...
