Poetry competition CLOSED 12th June 2012 11:05pm
WINNER
harlequin
harlequin
RUNNER-UP:
drogedarain
Where There are No Shores
My Last Cry I Think
Staring into your eternal jail
No morning sun for you
Six feet under turning pale
The bouquet I left for you
Surviving off the morning dew
Trying not to end up like you
Dead and withering away
The bouquet don't want to decay
Destined to be fertilizer or worm chow
It breaks my heart but I'll make it somehow
I reach into my bag for a tissue
I now realize how much I miss you
Sighing, crying, clenching the gate
Saddened by this awful fate
Well I better be getting home
I'm walking alone
And it's getting late
Staring into your eternal jail
No morning sun for you
Six feet under turning pale
The bouquet I left for you
Surviving off the morning dew
Trying not to end up like you
Dead and withering away
The bouquet don't want to decay
Destined to be fertilizer or worm chow
It breaks my heart but I'll make it somehow
I reach into my bag for a tissue
I now realize how much I miss you
Sighing, crying, clenching the gate
Saddened by this awful fate
Well I better be getting home
I'm walking alone
And it's getting late
"Because The Sun Don't Stop"..edit
Clutching a bag in his arms
Daffy looked back once more at the cemetery. How it was gated
Looking as if to keep the departed inside. Who knows?
Perhaps to keep ‘em from moving; as if they could
Yet the grave that mattered to him most had fresh flowers on it
Some other folk had added their own bouquet that same morning
Daffy concluded it had been a long morning
Long if one was to count how midnight meets the dawn
Then how it sometimes runs quietly; sliding into noon
Gone too soon.
After getting some things off his chest; wiping away his tears
Daffy then turned and walked away
The bag, its contents, he had decided to hold onto
Thinking again, it’s sometimes best to keep stuff moving
Change does bring about change yet
Sometimes a planned stop needs to keep on moving
Daffy was thinking this might even be true in death
...
edited version
Clutching a bag in his arms
Daffy looked back once more at the cemetery. How it was gated
Looking as if to keep the departed inside. Who knows?
Perhaps to keep ‘em from moving; as if they could
Yet the grave that mattered to him most had fresh flowers on it
Some other folk had added their own bouquet that same morning
Daffy concluded it had been a long morning
Long if one was to count how midnight meets the dawn
Then how it sometimes runs quietly; sliding into noon
Gone too soon.
After getting some things off his chest; wiping away his tears
Daffy then turned and walked away
The bag, its contents, he had decided to hold onto
Thinking again, it’s sometimes best to keep stuff moving
Change does bring about change yet
Sometimes a planned stop needs to keep on moving
Daffy was thinking this might even be true in death
...
edited version
Nothing is what it seems...
As he walks back to the street,
He sees a little girl,
"Where is your mother?" he says,
Watching her words unfurl,
"I've been here quite some time..."
She says back to the man,
"Standing here for a while,
I don't know where I am..."
He takes pity on the idea,
Of a child all alone,
"Come with me," he says,
"I'll help you to get home..."
So on the way they went,
Walking aimlessly in the streets,
Not a soul in sight,
Not a single eye to meet,
They continue to walk on...
Unaware of where they were,
They stop to think of a plan,
In the streets they start to confer,
He reaches in his bag,
Pulling out his phone for help,
It rang twice then static,
He couldn't describe what he felt,
Throwing his bag on the ground,
He turned around, unable to translate,
Looking in shock around him,
To be standing by the cemetary gate,
She followed him inside,
Where he had ran in to see,
Sobbing the entire way,
On how this all could be,
She found him standing there,
By a grave next to a tree,
She couldn't hear what he said, but,
"Oh my god...this grave...is me!"
As he walks back to the street,
He sees a little girl,
"Where is your mother?" he says,
Watching her words unfurl,
"I've been here quite some time..."
She says back to the man,
"Standing here for a while,
I don't know where I am..."
He takes pity on the idea,
Of a child all alone,
"Come with me," he says,
"I'll help you to get home..."
So on the way they went,
Walking aimlessly in the streets,
Not a soul in sight,
Not a single eye to meet,
They continue to walk on...
Unaware of where they were,
They stop to think of a plan,
In the streets they start to confer,
He reaches in his bag,
Pulling out his phone for help,
It rang twice then static,
He couldn't describe what he felt,
Throwing his bag on the ground,
He turned around, unable to translate,
Looking in shock around him,
To be standing by the cemetary gate,
She followed him inside,
Where he had ran in to see,
Sobbing the entire way,
On how this all could be,
She found him standing there,
By a grave next to a tree,
She couldn't hear what he said, but,
"Oh my god...this grave...is me!"
Congratulations to Harlequin for winning the competition; the poignancy of the protagonist’s feelings or thoughts are made so clear through the words that it moved me. Miss Sub, congratulations for writing such a beautiful poem about your feelings for someone who had passed on, the way I see it. Drogedarain, you wrote a beautiful piece about the thoughts of the bereaved. All participants have shown tremendous talent in telling their own story or version of the competition title. Thank you very much for your participation.
