Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd November 2012 7:54am
WINNER
emoadi
emoadi
RUNNERS-UP:
opheliac
and MGC
In this silence
Poetry Contest Description
In this silence
Write a poem about silence, your own silence, someone else's, how it feels to be ignored, the silence of incarceration (jail, hospital... etc), basically any way you can conceive silence, dark, lonely, funny, refreshing, liberating... any and all emotions are welcome.
Rules:
NO PORN OR EROTICA!
Two poems per person.
Two weeks.
Have fun.
Rules:
NO PORN OR EROTICA!
Two poems per person.
Two weeks.
Have fun.
Trouble
Dosey doors snore and swing.
ascending steps taps footsteps' echo.
Evidently trying to do our jobs
fingers stain white leaved sheets.
Movements are traced, inquisitions
follow us home into dreams' restless sleep.
Imagination bangs its head
on smooth hard walled corridors
and through an endless hapless maze of dreams
lifes dignity screams, in silence.
Adrian Cox
Dosey doors snore and swing.
ascending steps taps footsteps' echo.
Evidently trying to do our jobs
fingers stain white leaved sheets.
Movements are traced, inquisitions
follow us home into dreams' restless sleep.
Imagination bangs its head
on smooth hard walled corridors
and through an endless hapless maze of dreams
lifes dignity screams, in silence.
Adrian Cox
Dust skips
in the light that
glares on us
it's hot
on the back of
my head but my hands
still cold
yearn for
consolation
seconds turn to
minutes while rhythmic
heartbeats mix
with doubt
and
like spiders'
last erratic twitch
before sudden death
my fingers shrivel in
my palm deciding not to lock
within yours.
Lonely Love
The world is a place to sit and think,
Be in the corner and imagine all your dreams,
In your mind it doesn't matter,
What the people around you think.
It's not love you desire,
It's the hope that you belong,
Singing your lonely song,
Wishing in the corner.
I have a wish and it's for you,
Tune your strings and find the rhythm,
You are not truely alone,
You just shut yourself out.
Woe of ballad hear my words,
The love you don't desire is right here,
I'll give you songs of love and hope,
If you take my hand and leave the silence.
The world is a place to sit and think,
Be in the corner and imagine all your dreams,
In your mind it doesn't matter,
What the people around you think.
It's not love you desire,
It's the hope that you belong,
Singing your lonely song,
Wishing in the corner.
I have a wish and it's for you,
Tune your strings and find the rhythm,
You are not truely alone,
You just shut yourself out.
Woe of ballad hear my words,
The love you don't desire is right here,
I'll give you songs of love and hope,
If you take my hand and leave the silence.
When You're Broken
There's
Nothing
Like the
Tortured sound
Of
Deafening
Screams
In the
Dead of
Silence
Never
Getting
Out of
Bed
So you can
Watch
The playful
Antics
Of
Claustrophobic
Shadows
Dance
Amidst the
Walls
An
Emptiness
In the hallowed
Chambers
That
Desperately
Clenches
To the
Beating of a
Desolate
Crippled
Organ
The only
Friendly
Company
That dares
Enter
Your
Unorthodox
Habitation
Is a thirty
Pack
Of canned
Bush
And a half
Carton of
Cigarettes
Numbing
Your
Emotions
With the fake
Caress
Of Romeo
And of
Devotion
Attained from
Toxic
Chemical
Imbalances
The unbearable
Waiting
For the last
Week
You paid
Off on
Your
Soul diminishing
Phantom of
Untimely
Monthly rent
When the
Cruel fate
Of the
Streets
Sing to
Your
Subconscious
Once again
Because
It's now
Become your
Only haven
Clutching
To the
Tiny beckon
Of hope
For
A
Phone call
Or maybe
A
Facebook
Message
Reading
You have a
Place to
Rest your head
That
Your not
Completely
Unloved
Unfortunately
The
Disastrous truth
Is that
Your
Irrepressible
Anger
And
Self pity
Is all that
Remains
When you're
Broken
Do you feel this qualifies? If not I'll delete it.
There's
Nothing
Like the
Tortured sound
Of
Deafening
Screams
In the
Dead of
Silence
Never
Getting
Out of
Bed
So you can
Watch
The playful
Antics
Of
Claustrophobic
Shadows
Dance
Amidst the
Walls
An
Emptiness
In the hallowed
Chambers
That
Desperately
Clenches
To the
Beating of a
Desolate
Crippled
Organ
The only
Friendly
Company
That dares
Enter
Your
Unorthodox
Habitation
Is a thirty
Pack
Of canned
Bush
And a half
Carton of
Cigarettes
Numbing
Your
Emotions
With the fake
Caress
Of Romeo
And of
Devotion
Attained from
Toxic
Chemical
Imbalances
The unbearable
Waiting
For the last
Week
You paid
Off on
Your
Soul diminishing
Phantom of
Untimely
Monthly rent
When the
Cruel fate
Of the
Streets
Sing to
Your
Subconscious
Once again
Because
It's now
Become your
Only haven
Clutching
To the
Tiny beckon
Of hope
For
A
Phone call
Or maybe
A
Message
Reading
You have a
Place to
Rest your head
That
Your not
Completely
Unloved
Unfortunately
The
Disastrous truth
Is that
Your
Irrepressible
Anger
And
Self pity
Is all that
Remains
When you're
Broken
Do you feel this qualifies? If not I'll delete it.
Anonymous
Husk
It's just skin.
A plastic bag for organs
seared near the top with occasional pearls,
that reflect gently in my eyes.
It has mottled through the years
spreading outwards like tiny drops
of rain in a puddle
making circles,
the large dark rings creep in;
the ivory of my face lies swathed.
Sometimes it would be easier, I'm sure
to never unlock the front door, and leave
to small town taunts and drudgery
and feel the burning jealousy
of every she
unmarked and unmoved
by the devil beneath my skin.
Yet sometimes, in the quiet
I fantasise perfection
and breathe.
It's just skin.
A plastic bag for organs
seared near the top with occasional pearls,
that reflect gently in my eyes.
It has mottled through the years
spreading outwards like tiny drops
of rain in a puddle
making circles,
the large dark rings creep in;
the ivory of my face lies swathed.
Sometimes it would be easier, I'm sure
to never unlock the front door, and leave
to small town taunts and drudgery
and feel the burning jealousy
of every she
unmarked and unmoved
by the devil beneath my skin.
Yet sometimes, in the quiet
I fantasise perfection
and breathe.
Anonymous
“The Sound of Razor Wire”
http://www.gorin-images.com/blog/images/20060103221817_acs051230rwabs0001.jpg
Noiselessness,
like razor wire,
cuts to the bone.
I bleed in dark sciences,
loneliness is my ancient virtue,
crawling in my muteness
through the iron curtain,
separating the solo
from the usual stuff.
In secrecy, I sulk gleefully.
Those who prey never
have a chance to succeed,
they remain speechless,
dumbfounded by their
own lack of wit.
http://www.gorin-images.com/blog/images/20060103221817_acs051230rwabs0001.jpg
Noiselessness,
like razor wire,
cuts to the bone.
I bleed in dark sciences,
loneliness is my ancient virtue,
crawling in my muteness
through the iron curtain,
separating the solo
from the usual stuff.
In secrecy, I sulk gleefully.
Those who prey never
have a chance to succeed,
they remain speechless,
dumbfounded by their
own lack of wit.
For The Moment
she speaks
and all is silent
for the moment
he is stunned
her silence at first
merely an imposition
soon he will be
at her command
for his accusations
drive her inward
not understanding
he carries on
have you no heart
no kind words to impart
she has him
at her fingertips
her silence unbearable
to him now still
his words can not
touch her for
she has seen to it
he can not penetrate
the shield of her silence
she speaks
and all is silent
for the moment
he is stunned
her silence at first
merely an imposition
soon he will be
at her command
for his accusations
drive her inward
not understanding
he carries on
have you no heart
no kind words to impart
she has him
at her fingertips
her silence unbearable
to him now still
his words can not
touch her for
she has seen to it
he can not penetrate
the shield of her silence
quicksand
with your feet so firmly planted in the quicksand
is it any wonder you're going down fast
did you ask yourself how such a happy man
could be so lonesome with all the friends he has
so you light yourself another cigarette
drink another beer just to try and forget
when the going gets rough and you've had enough
you crawl back into bed and cover up
dear, i wish that i could reach you
there's so much that i could teach you
sometimes i wish i didn't care
what i say just falls on deaf ears
there's no point in getting angry anymore
and i guess i'll go on living anyway
but there's no point in pretending it won't hurt me
as you turn around and walk the other way
with your feet so firmly planted in the quicksand
is it any wonder you're going down fast
did you ask yourself how such a happy man
could be so lonesome with all the friends he has
so you light yourself another cigarette
drink another beer just to try and forget
when the going gets rough and you've had enough
you crawl back into bed and cover up
dear, i wish that i could reach you
there's so much that i could teach you
sometimes i wish i didn't care
what i say just falls on deaf ears
there's no point in getting angry anymore
and i guess i'll go on living anyway
but there's no point in pretending it won't hurt me
as you turn around and walk the other way
Silence is my enemy,
Questioning my every thought.
My sanity closes in on me
And crazy fills its slot.
Shadows take the form of people,
And the wind plays their voice.
Its funny how, from the root of silence,
There is the birth of noise.
I'd give anything to break it up,
Before I lose my mind.
This soundless noise is doing more,
Than just killing time
Questioning my every thought.
My sanity closes in on me
And crazy fills its slot.
Shadows take the form of people,
And the wind plays their voice.
Its funny how, from the root of silence,
There is the birth of noise.
I'd give anything to break it up,
Before I lose my mind.
This soundless noise is doing more,
Than just killing time
"When to Stop Smiling"
She Said:
"You fucking liar!"
Yes I am I replied proudly.
Possibly the only thing that makes me human,
that and the ability to smile in my killer's wake,
then the door shuts.
The clock stops;
utter silence
but when I strain my ears
I'm sure I can hear the thuds of soil.
She Said:
"You fucking liar!"
Yes I am I replied proudly.
Possibly the only thing that makes me human,
that and the ability to smile in my killer's wake,
then the door shuts.
The clock stops;
utter silence
but when I strain my ears
I'm sure I can hear the thuds of soil.
December 1914, in parts of the western front, the sounds of rifle fire and mortar shells gave way to singing, in what was to be a powerful show of humanity during one of the bloodiest and bleakest times of that century.
This silence is killing me
Christ, the silence is deafening
because it lets me hear
ringing, that must have been
in my ears for days
a fog is rolling across the grass
thin and low
and the lack of shells exploding
makes the bodies visible
for the first time
like some kind of terrible dream
men, sprawled out face down
some arm-less, some leg-less
some head-less
all voiceless
God has long since left this place
too much like hard work
keeping souls
from the devils hands
The silence has me more afraid
than the thoughts
of running through no-mans land
with shells raining down
hard and fast
and as far as I know
everyone that's tried so far
is face down
under the in fog right now
voiceless
could it be that this war is over
we can all go home now
and leave these dark memories
up the arse of some whore
in a quiet alley off Bridge street
or is this some sick joke
where we all go and shake hands
say "we understand where you're coming from
and know you only follow orders
just like we do
when we mow you down
with our Gatling's
that's ok sir
let's sing Hallelujah
and praise God for his mercy
drink whats left of the whiskey
hope this day last's forever"
'cos I'm not sure I can take
these sentiments of love and peace
only to wake up tomorrow
with the sound of shells
and the acrid smell of burning flesh
my heart busting out my chest
when I'm told to race across that field
to end up face down
arm-less or legless or headless
and voiceless
This silence is killing me
Christ, the silence is deafening
because it lets me hear
ringing, that must have been
in my ears for days
a fog is rolling across the grass
thin and low
and the lack of shells exploding
makes the bodies visible
for the first time
like some kind of terrible dream
men, sprawled out face down
some arm-less, some leg-less
some head-less
all voiceless
God has long since left this place
too much like hard work
keeping souls
from the devils hands
The silence has me more afraid
than the thoughts
of running through no-mans land
with shells raining down
hard and fast
and as far as I know
everyone that's tried so far
is face down
under the in fog right now
voiceless
could it be that this war is over
we can all go home now
and leave these dark memories
up the arse of some whore
in a quiet alley off Bridge street
or is this some sick joke
where we all go and shake hands
say "we understand where you're coming from
and know you only follow orders
just like we do
when we mow you down
with our Gatling's
that's ok sir
let's sing Hallelujah
and praise God for his mercy
drink whats left of the whiskey
hope this day last's forever"
'cos I'm not sure I can take
these sentiments of love and peace
only to wake up tomorrow
with the sound of shells
and the acrid smell of burning flesh
my heart busting out my chest
when I'm told to race across that field
to end up face down
arm-less or legless or headless
and voiceless
