Poetry competition CLOSED 28th March 2011 6:48pm
WINNER
LesAngelWi (SSensitiveSoul)
LesAngelWi (SSensitiveSoul)
Challenge: stream of visceral conscience
Poetry Contest Description
Write a run on sentence to the length of your chosing. The purpose is to paint images within the mind that impose feelings or reaction. Congruent theme and rhyme is not required, just flow freely.
The winner will be determined by the poems ability to penetrate the surface and move the reader with its intended emotions and/or devices.
If this is not too chaotic for you please feel free to throw down. Submissions will be accepted the entire month of March.
If this is not too chaotic for you please feel free to throw down. Submissions will be accepted the entire month of March.
In my humble opinion this kind of writing is one of the hardest and one of the most, massacred form of writing that I know.
One must be genuine, and must be in that 'certain zone' to be able to write something like this, but unfortunately I've seen a lot of writers who tried to fake the process and worst, crammed a confusing mix of flowery shinning shimmery splendid--Pretty. Empty. Words. Just for shock quality. Sigh...
Words have weight. Period.
(I didn't mean to offend, just being honest.)
--------------------
No writer is entirely without sin....
One must be genuine, and must be in that 'certain zone' to be able to write something like this, but unfortunately I've seen a lot of writers who tried to fake the process and worst, crammed a confusing mix of flowery shinning shimmery splendid--Pretty. Empty. Words. Just for shock quality. Sigh...
Words have weight. Period.
(I didn't mean to offend, just being honest.)
--------------------
No writer is entirely without sin....
no, I think it's good, LesAngelWi. I felt the slight abating tension...
(and my sincere apologies for the unnecessary prattles...)
here's mine:
Lately, I figured that I like your lies and deceit more than I've loved you, because the page fills faster and the pen writes harder whenever your tongue seems to be sharper and your body mechanics rougher-- thus, I like you more, intoxicated...
(and my sincere apologies for the unnecessary prattles...)
here's mine:
Lately, I figured that I like your lies and deceit more than I've loved you, because the page fills faster and the pen writes harder whenever your tongue seems to be sharper and your body mechanics rougher-- thus, I like you more, intoxicated...
I shall write a sentence to leave all the others in my wake shake the foundations up down left right picture of a sea sand there no not there over there there is the wave serpent ans the eldar the eldar are leading them to destruction but I am digressing and digressing from my tale and as such I am stressing warmth light heat joy to be to live to die to be human and inhuman and watch the letters prattle in type and why must I have to move my fingers in such a way why wont the world and the words purely flow like some elemental force from my being like bllod down a window pane what do I mean by that well I am not sure but I hope it creates a wonderful picture and a false memory speaking of which I just remembered and saw the bathroom view from the window in spring or summer and thus you get a glimpse into my life and i get a glimpse into my life but it probably affestc me less than it affects you and I should really stop now and I find typing the capital I is such a labouress bore whore and I shall now mess with your mind.
Thus Viddax thought!
Thus Viddax thought!
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< writing >
Doing it a lot makes it easier to say what you're saying but of course you still need
a what and when you begin to get those working you start feeling you have to say it to someone
and then more than one and if you do all that you're not happy with it anyway and you end up
dying at about the same time so it's probably better to go feed the dog and not get bitten
but if you were that sensible you wouldn't have started in the first place and besides it doesn't
take that much time to feed the dog.
- - -
< writing >
Doing it a lot makes it easier to say what you're saying but of course you still need
a what and when you begin to get those working you start feeling you have to say it to someone
and then more than one and if you do all that you're not happy with it anyway and you end up
dying at about the same time so it's probably better to go feed the dog and not get bitten
but if you were that sensible you wouldn't have started in the first place and besides it doesn't
take that much time to feed the dog.
- - -
As I sit on bed surrounded by a dozen pillows in the dark running water from the fish tank far off in the back ground I stalk your movement through the technology before me the glow of the screen the tapping of my nails on the keyboard your name, her name, your postings the ones you think I cant see your blazen lies typed across my laptop for the world to see but not me the pain of your words through my heart like a knife the heat of my anger flush through my chest aching in my head text messages sent regretfully knowing there will be more lies arguements and my own stupidity.
Anonymous
I am half laying half sitting upright in my chair fighting back the urge to ball up in the fetal position and rest my mind but am instead too entranced by this long string of words that springs from my fingers and is electronically transferred to this text box in which I am writing it in thinking about how exhausted my body is from its lack of sleep these past nights due to my mind oppressing its creative thoughts in secrecy instead choosing to reveal only mathematical equations historical names and dates and English vocabulary that barricades my functions to write and paint freely in both class and at home unfortunately severing my use of my brain at all protesting the guards who won't allow me to create but the eyelids fall south the fingers stop typing my tapping foot silences and the computer slowly falls erasing my thoughts
Anonymous
perfect canvas of empty grey colors and the sky is never grey, never was, are commas allowed in our experiments of thought-reactions?, baby baby we glow when the neon is sold and the neons' insides have worn out their own shine, hey the streets are congruent, hey the paths are fluent, hey we've taken too many drugs to know how to build roman aquaducts, baby baby we used the wrong keys again, we played the piano and our hearts bled and our mouths sang but our combined head didn't work longer than China's wall will.
Oh cmon its simple, oh cmon its just a game, oh cmon your words have always meant the same as the ones i translate into late-night-ceiling-stares, wondering where the keys are to type out your heart or my heart or, fuck it, i don't even have a heart.
Bled lately? I cut a deep one for certain. I cut one for your grandma and mother and father's father. I cut one for the whole family to look at and say 'hey how deep, how i knew they were the one they thought they were."
but you pass out in bed and you're hungry but not hungry enough to buy it fast or quick or cheap, only hungry enough to eat whatever's on the plate.
give me your first name and i'll give you mine.
give me a life sentence and i'll edit it until the grammar suits forms of speech i'm familiar with.
it's dark while i type this. tomorrow will be bright again, i hope, i know.
i hope i know.
Oh cmon its simple, oh cmon its just a game, oh cmon your words have always meant the same as the ones i translate into late-night-ceiling-stares, wondering where the keys are to type out your heart or my heart or, fuck it, i don't even have a heart.
Bled lately? I cut a deep one for certain. I cut one for your grandma and mother and father's father. I cut one for the whole family to look at and say 'hey how deep, how i knew they were the one they thought they were."
but you pass out in bed and you're hungry but not hungry enough to buy it fast or quick or cheap, only hungry enough to eat whatever's on the plate.
give me your first name and i'll give you mine.
give me a life sentence and i'll edit it until the grammar suits forms of speech i'm familiar with.
it's dark while i type this. tomorrow will be bright again, i hope, i know.
i hope i know.
I sit here again in the late night darkness dying of myself induced bordem with my blank page and pen I write nothing meaningless crap empty words for me for the masses for no one thinking i should erase them all know she will read these but be to oblivious to realize they are for her for me my feelings wants needs desires my nothing.
I can't walk into a room with mirrors. I stare at myself and wonder who am I looking at a vision of a girl who once knew that freckles and ears that point to the sky were obsolete. that a nose pudgy n round was just a nose not of a clown, lips full like fresh raspberries growing in a field not two red plumply annoying things that call to men like a moth to a flame. I could walk in a room and look at a mirror n state "I am what I am except my fate".. Those days are gone I now look In the mirror only to see an ugly girl staring back at me. Me this ugly girl had dreams of walking on red velvet with a beauty on my arm, a beauty that would make me look better then the summer nights glow. them dreams became dead. once the mirror stared back at me and said "you are ugly"..
[quote]LesAngelWi said:
In the glow of the pale grey moonlight her slightly tanned body is sprawled face down in blissful exhaustation across my crumpled flannel damp sheets.
I so blew it. But hell I tried.
The first couple times I read this I thought the "I so blew it. But Hell I tried" was part of the poem and it was congruent in my imagination, i liked it
In the glow of the pale grey moonlight her slightly tanned body is sprawled face down in blissful exhaustation across my crumpled flannel damp sheets.
I so blew it. But hell I tried.
The first couple times I read this I thought the "I so blew it. But Hell I tried" was part of the poem and it was congruent in my imagination, i liked it
[quote]LesAngelWi said:
As I sit on bed surrounded by a dozen pillows in the dark running water from the fish tank far off in the back ground I stalk your movement through the technology before me the glow of the screen the tapping of my nails on the keyboard your name, her name, your postings the ones you think I cant see your blazen lies typed across my laptop for the world to see but not me the pain of your words through my heart like a knife the heat of my anger flush through my chest aching in my head text messages sent regretfully knowing there will be more lies arguements and my own stupidity.
Winning entry selected by Dragonyear. Congrats to LesAngelWi, you've been added to the Glory List.
As I sit on bed surrounded by a dozen pillows in the dark running water from the fish tank far off in the back ground I stalk your movement through the technology before me the glow of the screen the tapping of my nails on the keyboard your name, her name, your postings the ones you think I cant see your blazen lies typed across my laptop for the world to see but not me the pain of your words through my heart like a knife the heat of my anger flush through my chest aching in my head text messages sent regretfully knowing there will be more lies arguements and my own stupidity.
Winning entry selected by Dragonyear. Congrats to LesAngelWi, you've been added to the Glory List.
