Poetry competition CLOSED 4th June 2013 4:49pm
WINNER
BlackVelvetRose (Ragdoll Raven)
BlackVelvetRose (Ragdoll Raven)
Nature
Anonymous
Naturally...
It was as natural as
scratching an itch
and as thoughtless
the assault by your pheromones
on my senses
my entanglement from instant curiosity
the blatant disregard of everything but us
as the sun shone brighter
the clouds hung whiter, puffier
the blues and grays deeper
every sunrise
better than the last
Naturally, I thought it'd last
but the truth is
everything dies
the earth dimmed down again
I was forever changed
but I still remember those
brighter days
when even the air
smelled like flowers and rain
It was as natural as
scratching an itch
and as thoughtless
the assault by your pheromones
on my senses
my entanglement from instant curiosity
the blatant disregard of everything but us
as the sun shone brighter
the clouds hung whiter, puffier
the blues and grays deeper
every sunrise
better than the last
Naturally, I thought it'd last
but the truth is
everything dies
the earth dimmed down again
I was forever changed
but I still remember those
brighter days
when even the air
smelled like flowers and rain
Anonymous
THE SACRED FOREST
She bathes under the rays of the moon
It gives her a sensual phosphorescence
She rubs her skin with the emissions of stars
Her skin so polished, so smooth, so soft
Her hair is long, down to her waist
Anointed with rose oil and flowers
She swims in a hidden pool
Where only nymphs and satyrs know
She dances dressed in many veils
All sheer and studded with pearls
When she walks, the bells ring
In an anklet chain of pure gold
One day, a handsome young man
Got lost in the magical forest
Saw her naked with her flower like nipples
When she saw him she froze in fright
He in turn was mesmerized
By beauty so ample and fantastic
"I am lost", he managed to say
She did not understand him - for she was fey
She thought he was thirsty for he drank from the pond
She gave him plants he never ate before
They walked to the clearing to find the others
They were hiding, afraid of intruders
The enchantress and the young man spent the night together
He was so happy, having never experienced such pleasure
When dawn came, she was gone
He was lost and alone
When the Warlock came with his walking stick
Told him never to come back
Showed him the exit
The enchantress gave birth to a son named Dragone
He rules the wilderness now, the ones humans can never own
Anonymous
LAKE SUPERIOR / MUNISING
1.
Created in fire and ice, ten thousand years ago
Ojibwe called it Gichigami: THE GREAT INLAND SEA
Holding 3 quadrillion gallons of water
The Plano, the Shield Archaic and other people
Lived here, ancestors of the Ojibwe and Cree
It had been formed for 22 million years
The French were the first westerners to see this lake
It was not “discovered”, it was already there.
2.
Lake Superior's beauty is deceiving
Called the “graveyard of the great lakes”
Thousands of boats and people missing
“Lake Superior seldom gives up her dead”
The lake is dark, the lake is deep, the lake is cold
The lake is stormy, the lake kills without remorse.
3.
Lake Superior called to me, so I went to Munising
To see the Pictured Rocks, to ride on the water
The splendor of the cliffs, the colors of the strata
The caverns along the shore, filled me with awe
I could see why the Chippewa would speak of spirits
For the water and the scenic sandstone cliffs
Never failed to enchant me.
4.
Lake Superior reveals herself only to those
Who come with receptive souls
It draws our awareness
Closer to the surface
The rocks speak to us
If we only listen
For our quantum particles
Are the same as theirs
Who says nature is not sentient?
It has been warning us constantly
Emotional and spiritual reality
Is linked to scientific discovery.
5.
Lake Superior is a sacred place of power
Visit it – you will find it to be
A sanctuary against the instability
Of our life in the twenty-first century.
Anonymous
http://pavementpieces.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/6963799362_d440015d87.jpg
I AM THE SPIRIT - MOTHER NATURE IS UNHAPPY
I am the spirit of the earth
Look at me, filled with dirt
Not the kind that earth has chosen
The kind that gets buried in huge landfills
Once I was golden clay
Farmers blessed me
For their crops
Now I am a garbage heap
In some countries people live here
My beauty was so astounding
Green grass, wild flowers
The earth was growing fragrant crops
Now the garbage just piles and piles
These are just some of the indignities
I have had to survive
I have been mined
I have been flooded
Now they are fracking me
Only to discover
That they are getting on my nerves
I am getting headaches
My headaches become earthquakes
This is not my fault
For the raging horrors
That have been heaped upon me
Is making me so sick
I try to vomit the putrid things out
So when the Spririt of Nature
Makes Mother Nature look bad
Just think about me as a living being
Just as you think of yourself
When you consume garbage
Your body starts to rebel
So next time you have a little earthquake
Think of all the gas they sell
I AM THE SPIRIT - MOTHER NATURE IS UNHAPPY
I am the spirit of the earth
Look at me, filled with dirt
Not the kind that earth has chosen
The kind that gets buried in huge landfills
Once I was golden clay
Farmers blessed me
For their crops
Now I am a garbage heap
In some countries people live here
My beauty was so astounding
Green grass, wild flowers
The earth was growing fragrant crops
Now the garbage just piles and piles
These are just some of the indignities
I have had to survive
I have been mined
I have been flooded
Now they are fracking me
Only to discover
That they are getting on my nerves
I am getting headaches
My headaches become earthquakes
This is not my fault
For the raging horrors
That have been heaped upon me
Is making me so sick
I try to vomit the putrid things out
So when the Spririt of Nature
Makes Mother Nature look bad
Just think about me as a living being
Just as you think of yourself
When you consume garbage
Your body starts to rebel
So next time you have a little earthquake
Think of all the gas they sell
Anonymous
"Death on Venus"
It's a fascinating
Earthly-kingdom
we live in,
a daily-struggle,
day in,
night out,
all the same,
survival of the fittest.
We have to be smart,
can't let
our guard down
for even a second,
death could come swift.
In the blink
of an eye,
we could become
a full-course meal.
Just ask Mr. Fly
why he stopped
for a rest,
he should have
known better,
especially on Venus.
It's a fascinating
Earthly-kingdom
we live in,
a daily-struggle,
day in,
night out,
all the same,
survival of the fittest.
We have to be smart,
can't let
our guard down
for even a second,
death could come swift.
In the blink
of an eye,
we could become
a full-course meal.
Just ask Mr. Fly
why he stopped
for a rest,
he should have
known better,
especially on Venus.
Winter's Silence
cloaked in the morning, the silence of December's trees softly heard
letting lose a lonesome sigh as the breeze breaths a ravens cry;
grieving are the mornings songs nestled within the forest's tranquility.
the freezing northern winds whisper, wrapping my bleeding heart within a velvet robe.
my grief falls apart, as if a dream, enchanting within this franconian canopy;
this forest embraces me, caught for eternity dwelling among the dense wood;
such a purity lies within the emerald green veiled beneath this winter's snow.
the dawn now awakens this morning from it's ice with shimmering fountains of light.
cloaked in the morning, the silence of December's trees softly heard
letting lose a lonesome sigh as the breeze breaths a ravens cry;
grieving are the mornings songs nestled within the forest's tranquility.
the freezing northern winds whisper, wrapping my bleeding heart within a velvet robe.
my grief falls apart, as if a dream, enchanting within this franconian canopy;
this forest embraces me, caught for eternity dwelling among the dense wood;
such a purity lies within the emerald green veiled beneath this winter's snow.
the dawn now awakens this morning from it's ice with shimmering fountains of light.
City sky and country hills
The lure of nature grows in its absence.
A lost love hurts more than love delayed.
Mine I surrendered. Its recapture
Showed the full spectrum of what was missed.
A country boy, at first by the seashore
And then entranced by meadows, paths and woods;
By hills and streams and with all that moved there.
Even my university abutted
The Alice in Wonderland river bank.
As a man I embraced the big city.
Who could make a life and future elsewhere?
Yet city suburbs are the no man's land
A transit camp with a daily release
Onto claustrophobic buses and trains.
In central London, ambition achieved,
Only to find that hub was a desert
Of nature- tamed, domesticated
Vegetation in its manicured parks,
Water birds as exotic decoration.
Nature could fight back. Starlings would take roost
In hundreds in the trees of Leicester Square,
Their nocturnal conversations drowning
The human noise of the entertainment
Centre of London- until the trees were felled.
Yet there was one element of nature
Which turned these arrogant humans into
Inconsequential specks of dust. The sky.
Let in when clearing the smog, the people
Then tried to exclude it with their buildings
And by their night time blaze of glaring light.
In one place, the sky triumphed in its
Immensity and its variety.
At Waterloo bridge, to the east St.Pauls,
To the west the Houses of Parliament,
Faded into structures evanescent
The sky had forgotten to obliterate.
That sky changed from day to day. Benign or
A threat, imperious or spectacular.
No wonder it turned the song "Waterloo
Sunset" into celebration and not
The usual hoped for or dreamt of
In the end, I could not resist the pull
Of that tangible nature which brushes against
The cheek. In the Calder valley and its
Enveloping hills, the vegetation,
Birds, mammals are within touching distance.
The bleak grandeur of its hills had inspired
Reconstruction by Emily Bronte
Of human relationships with nature.
The valley was home for more recent poets
In life, Ted Hughes. In death, Sylvia Plath.
The salute to the warm immediacy
Of the valley leading onto Bronte's
Depiction of people liberated
By wild beauty is a continuum
Completed by the sky of Waterloo.
Perhaps the best way to comprehend so
Not to be shackled by the natural world.
The lure of nature grows in its absence.
A lost love hurts more than love delayed.
Mine I surrendered. Its recapture
Showed the full spectrum of what was missed.
A country boy, at first by the seashore
And then entranced by meadows, paths and woods;
By hills and streams and with all that moved there.
Even my university abutted
The Alice in Wonderland river bank.
As a man I embraced the big city.
Who could make a life and future elsewhere?
Yet city suburbs are the no man's land
A transit camp with a daily release
Onto claustrophobic buses and trains.
In central London, ambition achieved,
Only to find that hub was a desert
Of nature- tamed, domesticated
Vegetation in its manicured parks,
Water birds as exotic decoration.
Nature could fight back. Starlings would take roost
In hundreds in the trees of Leicester Square,
Their nocturnal conversations drowning
The human noise of the entertainment
Centre of London- until the trees were felled.
Yet there was one element of nature
Which turned these arrogant humans into
Inconsequential specks of dust. The sky.
Let in when clearing the smog, the people
Then tried to exclude it with their buildings
And by their night time blaze of glaring light.
In one place, the sky triumphed in its
Immensity and its variety.
At Waterloo bridge, to the east St.Pauls,
To the west the Houses of Parliament,
Faded into structures evanescent
The sky had forgotten to obliterate.
That sky changed from day to day. Benign or
A threat, imperious or spectacular.
No wonder it turned the song "Waterloo
Sunset" into celebration and not
The usual hoped for or dreamt of
In the end, I could not resist the pull
Of that tangible nature which brushes against
The cheek. In the Calder valley and its
Enveloping hills, the vegetation,
Birds, mammals are within touching distance.
The bleak grandeur of its hills had inspired
Reconstruction by Emily Bronte
Of human relationships with nature.
The valley was home for more recent poets
In life, Ted Hughes. In death, Sylvia Plath.
The salute to the warm immediacy
Of the valley leading onto Bronte's
Depiction of people liberated
By wild beauty is a continuum
Completed by the sky of Waterloo.
Perhaps the best way to comprehend so
Not to be shackled by the natural world.
Nature
Nature is the deep blue sky
With puffy clouds
Nature is when it starts to cry
Tears of bucketing rain
Nature is the blazing sun
That dips into the ocean
Disappearing into the horizon
Allowing the moon to shine
Nature is the velvet sky
During midnight hours
Where bats fly by
And owls swoop up
Nature is what you see
In green flora, and fauna
Nature is life and death
Nature is you and I
Breathing the air
Of nature
All come from Nature
and shall return to Nature.
Nature is the deep blue sky
With puffy clouds
Nature is when it starts to cry
Tears of bucketing rain
Nature is the blazing sun
That dips into the ocean
Disappearing into the horizon
Allowing the moon to shine
Nature is the velvet sky
During midnight hours
Where bats fly by
And owls swoop up
Nature is what you see
In green flora, and fauna
Nature is life and death
Nature is you and I
Breathing the air
Of nature
All come from Nature
and shall return to Nature.
Butterflies in camouflage
A thousand wings lay before me,
Turning to dust with fading colors,
Memories engraved in those tinted frames,
Reflecting the lives of our long gone brothers.
Symbols of happiness, freedom and change,
Fly fleetingly by our self shortened lives,
Bleeding for others against our will,
In life, we do what we must to survive.
We live because we are alive,
Though with different colors we are the same,
Speak to me about the definitions of a barbarian,
Whom kill their own kin on a false claim.
In hundreds and thousands, they fell like rain,
All in the name what they think important,
Have our kind not lived without them once before?
Or were they worth the lives that were paid?
What once was freedom,
What once was joy,
Was now playing Soldier as little children,
To being one and sleeping in soil.
Innocent or not,
Those powdered wings beat,
Till they're torn and worn out,
There is no option as to retreat.
A thousand wings lay before me,
Turning to dust with fading colors,
Memories engraved in those tinted frames,
Reflecting the lives of our long gone brothers.
A thousand wings lay before me,
Turning to dust with fading colors,
Memories engraved in those tinted frames,
Reflecting the lives of our long gone brothers.
Symbols of happiness, freedom and change,
Fly fleetingly by our self shortened lives,
Bleeding for others against our will,
In life, we do what we must to survive.
We live because we are alive,
Though with different colors we are the same,
Speak to me about the definitions of a barbarian,
Whom kill their own kin on a false claim.
In hundreds and thousands, they fell like rain,
All in the name what they think important,
Have our kind not lived without them once before?
Or were they worth the lives that were paid?
What once was freedom,
What once was joy,
Was now playing Soldier as little children,
To being one and sleeping in soil.
Innocent or not,
Those powdered wings beat,
Till they're torn and worn out,
There is no option as to retreat.
A thousand wings lay before me,
Turning to dust with fading colors,
Memories engraved in those tinted frames,
Reflecting the lives of our long gone brothers.
Day and night
Of all the days we live and such,
The mornings are all a blur,
With baby blue hems with pretty white lace,
Which is blown away when the wind stirs.
The day is fickle, her and her gowns,
Which changes as her moods sweeten and sour,
From purples to blues to greys to reds,
Dost she toss around.
She twirls and turns around the room,
Until her round faced sister takes the stage,
Only one dress hath she to offer,
But infinitely more beautiful than her sister, Day.
Embedded with sparkly things,
Layers of translucent material hang from her sleeves,
That helped time and time again to cover her face,
When that happens, all fall asleep to the silent lullaby she doth sing.
After Day, the silvery voiced, wakes the world from slumber,
Does she rise from beneath the covers,
And bathes the world in all her radiant beauty.
Of all the days we live and such,
The mornings are all a blur,
With baby blue hems with pretty white lace,
Which is blown away when the wind stirs.
The day is fickle, her and her gowns,
Which changes as her moods sweeten and sour,
From purples to blues to greys to reds,
Dost she toss around.
She twirls and turns around the room,
Until her round faced sister takes the stage,
Only one dress hath she to offer,
But infinitely more beautiful than her sister, Day.
Embedded with sparkly things,
Layers of translucent material hang from her sleeves,
That helped time and time again to cover her face,
When that happens, all fall asleep to the silent lullaby she doth sing.
After Day, the silvery voiced, wakes the world from slumber,
Does she rise from beneath the covers,
And bathes the world in all her radiant beauty.
By The Water's Edge
_________________
An endless sunset lies before us,
Beyond the horizon, the sweetest dream,
Breath its warmth and engulf the spray of the sea,
The gift of the Gods, so serene.
Count the sands to turn back time,
A wish thats so desired,
To tides that reached heaven's skies,
The waves tuned to an angel's lyre.
Trapped in time, adorning the shores,
Intricate gems embed themselves,
Returning to dust upon command,
Are multicoloured seashells.
In the light of the full moon,
Does the water glow and glisten,
The birds that serenade the fish to sleep,
One would truly miss them.
Gentle does the breezes blow,
Making the reeds wave in tune,
To dance, to bend, to sway all night,
To the wind, do they gaily swoon.
_________________
An endless sunset lies before us,
Beyond the horizon, the sweetest dream,
Breath its warmth and engulf the spray of the sea,
The gift of the Gods, so serene.
Count the sands to turn back time,
A wish thats so desired,
To tides that reached heaven's skies,
The waves tuned to an angel's lyre.
Trapped in time, adorning the shores,
Intricate gems embed themselves,
Returning to dust upon command,
Are multicoloured seashells.
In the light of the full moon,
Does the water glow and glisten,
The birds that serenade the fish to sleep,
One would truly miss them.
Gentle does the breezes blow,
Making the reeds wave in tune,
To dance, to bend, to sway all night,
To the wind, do they gaily swoon.
