Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd July 2012 11:35am
WINNER
SupHomeboi
SupHomeboi
RUNNERS-UP:
rayheinrich
and Cannaballester
Road Trip
Poetry Contest Description
Write a poem about a journey either real or imaginary using elements of the picture below
http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/s720x720/540849_393914697323728_2069487858_n.jpg
Rules:
Two poems per person
Incorporate at least two of the elements from the picture into the poem (such as the books/journals, map, suitcase)
NO PORN! or erotica - Any other genre is welcome
I don't want a journey to your erotic fantasies.
Contemporary/free verse preferred.
Two weeks. Have fun.
Rules:
Two poems per person
Incorporate at least two of the elements from the picture into the poem (such as the books/journals, map, suitcase)
NO PORN! or erotica - Any other genre is welcome
I don't want a journey to your erotic fantasies.
Contemporary/free verse preferred.
Two weeks. Have fun.
Traveling with you has got to be, the best time for you and I
Travel these old dusty roads
Find places lost and unknown
Throw this map aside
Its an adventure
Write down words in a journal
Let the words flow freely
To the desert
Sail the sea
Find a raven
Follow the breeze
No souls can share more love than us
Motivation gives in to our temptation
We could be anywhere, and never live in despair
Travel these old dusty roads
Find places lost and unknown
Throw this map aside
Its an adventure
Write down words in a journal
Let the words flow freely
To the desert
Sail the sea
Find a raven
Follow the breeze
No souls can share more love than us
Motivation gives in to our temptation
We could be anywhere, and never live in despair
Il Torchio
Next door
to the Chiesa Evangelica Luterana,
on Via de Bardi
sleeps
the immaculate
bookbinder's shop
of Erin Ciulla,
an ex-pat Canadian
who has fallen
in love with Florence
and who creates,
among other things,
a wonderful array
of miniature books,
some of which
made their way
abroad
in the housing
of a green suit case,
"Phase I,"
on the occasion
of a contemporary display
of 500 objects
of fiber art
in 2006;
the map,
on the inner liner
of the suit case, shows
the location
of her shop,
the Il Torchio,
a destination
for affectionados
of the handmade book.
http://en.coobiz.it/company/il-torchio-di-erin-ciulla-florence/co1772743/contacts
runningturtle87
Next door
to the Chiesa Evangelica Luterana,
on Via de Bardi
sleeps
the immaculate
bookbinder's shop
of Erin Ciulla,
an ex-pat Canadian
who has fallen
in love with Florence
and who creates,
among other things,
a wonderful array
of miniature books,
some of which
made their way
abroad
in the housing
of a green suit case,
"Phase I,"
on the occasion
of a contemporary display
of 500 objects
of fiber art
in 2006;
the map,
on the inner liner
of the suit case, shows
the location
of her shop,
the Il Torchio,
a destination
for affectionados
of the handmade book.
http://en.coobiz.it/company/il-torchio-di-erin-ciulla-florence/co1772743/contacts
runningturtle87
the ward
every limb becomes a road map
roads that heal next to new roads
dead-ends and roundabouts
from the obsessively clean
to the enemies of sanitation
(the flies reign with their freedom
and acknowledgment of self acceptance)
all carrying maps somewhere
all search for their freedoms
different feathers for different doves
some find it here
amongst the routines restraints
and colourful sedatives
some want more
more than can fit into a pocket or
a suitcase but will be squeezed
between the creases of the ever-numbing
grey matter that in the ward
doesn't matter
the less the better
some couldn't love the world
some loved it too much the wrong way
the world has lists
of what's acceptable
and a place to put what's not
they're then lost to the world
and as spines of books
slowly cracking
from being opened too often
the smart and tortured know
the way out
too many
take a journey from the ward
never to come back
and never to be missed because
they were lost to the world
just names on lists
every limb becomes a road map
roads that heal next to new roads
dead-ends and roundabouts
from the obsessively clean
to the enemies of sanitation
(the flies reign with their freedom
and acknowledgment of self acceptance)
all carrying maps somewhere
all search for their freedoms
different feathers for different doves
some find it here
amongst the routines restraints
and colourful sedatives
some want more
more than can fit into a pocket or
a suitcase but will be squeezed
between the creases of the ever-numbing
grey matter that in the ward
doesn't matter
the less the better
some couldn't love the world
some loved it too much the wrong way
the world has lists
of what's acceptable
and a place to put what's not
they're then lost to the world
and as spines of books
slowly cracking
from being opened too often
the smart and tortured know
the way out
too many
take a journey from the ward
never to come back
and never to be missed because
they were lost to the world
just names on lists
A trip
My friend went on a trip
To get away from all of it
The strain and strive of earning
A meagre living
In the restaurant where she is waitressing
So she decided to go to the seaside
For three days to unwind
She started off quite well
Brought her bikini
Brought her suntan lotion
She looked so beautiful
As she walked about in her mini
Even met a beach boy so handsome
And enjoyed a kiss or two
She ate all she wanted
Barbecued casavas
Roasted sizzling lamb
Chicken dumplings
On beds of coconut sautéed rice
Coconut milk in hollowed pineapple
Scallops in melted butter
She is now in recovery
Stomach pumped of all her delights
Her pretty face all swollen
From suntan lotion unapplied
Her legs all pretty with spots
From sand flies she ignored
To rest in the hospital bed is fine
Before the earning begin
Again.
My friend went on a trip
To get away from all of it
The strain and strive of earning
A meagre living
In the restaurant where she is waitressing
So she decided to go to the seaside
For three days to unwind
She started off quite well
Brought her bikini
Brought her suntan lotion
She looked so beautiful
As she walked about in her mini
Even met a beach boy so handsome
And enjoyed a kiss or two
She ate all she wanted
Barbecued casavas
Roasted sizzling lamb
Chicken dumplings
On beds of coconut sautéed rice
Coconut milk in hollowed pineapple
Scallops in melted butter
She is now in recovery
Stomach pumped of all her delights
Her pretty face all swollen
From suntan lotion unapplied
Her legs all pretty with spots
From sand flies she ignored
To rest in the hospital bed is fine
Before the earning begin
Again.
Anonymous
Pappy
I can still recall
when I was almost nine
hearing Pappy playing
his fiddle for the first time
don't know how he did it
and no one can say
but he put a little cajun
down in my soul that day
Pappy played dance halls,
VFW's and some bars
he even played the rodeo
from the back seat of his car
I remember him most
when Christmas comes along
drinking egg-nog with grandpa
singing his bayou songs
Those white shell roads are callin’
and this cold north winds blowin’
leaves off the vine
I need to hear Pappy’s fiddle one more time
So pass ‘round the bottle
And boil up some shrimp
My minds south bound tonight
On a Gulf Coast road trip
I can still recall
when I was almost nine
hearing Pappy playing
his fiddle for the first time
don't know how he did it
and no one can say
but he put a little cajun
down in my soul that day
Pappy played dance halls,
VFW's and some bars
he even played the rodeo
from the back seat of his car
I remember him most
when Christmas comes along
drinking egg-nog with grandpa
singing his bayou songs
Those white shell roads are callin’
and this cold north winds blowin’
leaves off the vine
I need to hear Pappy’s fiddle one more time
So pass ‘round the bottle
And boil up some shrimp
My minds south bound tonight
On a Gulf Coast road trip
Anonymous
ROAD TRIP
Leaving fast
Have to pack
Take only
What is important
My tiny journals
Of my writings
Is all I can carry
On board, as I flee
Nothing else
I have time to take
For now it is
The great escape
Everything is replaceable
Not my life’s journeys
They are my treasures
Diaries, entries, observations
Are the summary
Of my life
Where ever I go
I will make more
These will eventually
Turn into a book or two
I pack my suitcase
Look around
Goodbye refuge
I must find another
That gives me safety
Security and inspiration
Goodbye for now
I take my bag
Heavy with mini-books
Plus another
With some clothing
Off I go with wings
In my heart
I know
I will make
A good new start.
Leaving fast
Have to pack
Take only
What is important
My tiny journals
Of my writings
Is all I can carry
On board, as I flee
Nothing else
I have time to take
For now it is
The great escape
Everything is replaceable
Not my life’s journeys
They are my treasures
Diaries, entries, observations
Are the summary
Of my life
Where ever I go
I will make more
These will eventually
Turn into a book or two
I pack my suitcase
Look around
Goodbye refuge
I must find another
That gives me safety
Security and inspiration
Goodbye for now
I take my bag
Heavy with mini-books
Plus another
With some clothing
Off I go with wings
In my heart
I know
I will make
A good new start.
Anonymous
remnants of love
in the dark
i say my goodbye
i love you
have a good day
i will miss you
in the dark
i slay the
asphalt snake
it leads me away
it pulls me back
all roads lead to you
in the dark
i let all guard down
and cover myself in the
remnants of love
and let the drunken haze
of sleep take control
in the dark
i can believe
i am the only
one for you
i can forgive myself
in the dark
in the dark
i say my goodbye
i love you
have a good day
i will miss you
in the dark
i slay the
asphalt snake
it leads me away
it pulls me back
all roads lead to you
in the dark
i let all guard down
and cover myself in the
remnants of love
and let the drunken haze
of sleep take control
in the dark
i can believe
i am the only
one for you
i can forgive myself
in the dark
