Poetry competition CLOSED 30th September 2013 7:20am
WINNER
FacePaint (Steven D)
FacePaint (Steven D)
RUNNER-UP:
vortexman
Death
Poetry Contest Description
Be elegant morbid however you see it
Death can be described in so many ways weather it be peace full pain full elegant morbid whatever write about how you would see death please dont make it into a novel but also not to short use words that you would have to look into the old ways of speaking like using thous and thys make it worthy of remembrance as if written in an old time period good luck to everyone i look forward to reading them so be creative and only one submission please
"We are gathered here today good folk...."
is how the stranger started-
talking about me,
but I thought , this couldn't be.
I have died ? I questioned myself.
Did I die with anyone else?
Why am I open for all to see..
in this silken-lined casket made just for me?
His words rambled on and the sky was grey.
My stomach was empty and I wanted to say...
anything.
But it couldn't come out.
I was frozen in time.
I was not aloud.
I wanted to reach out my hand to someone.
But alas, I would not move.
My mind seemed intact , for a moment, I thought.
Yet, I could not think of what to do.
Surely I am really dead.
It is not by mistake that this is my bed.
Strangers infiltrated my shell with an imitation
of what use to be real, so I could be taken...
to a field of green clover disguise-
chemically altered for the souls of each life-
that , in the future, will be buried here-
within the earth, sealed with each tear.
My body merely held the diary of me,
pages and pages, now all may read.
If in life , such death was chosen,
the ending becomes with time, unfrozen.
People leave this mournful place,
to celebrate the end.
Those I know will come and go,
but I will live again...
in a dream.
is how the stranger started-
talking about me,
but I thought , this couldn't be.
I have died ? I questioned myself.
Did I die with anyone else?
Why am I open for all to see..
in this silken-lined casket made just for me?
His words rambled on and the sky was grey.
My stomach was empty and I wanted to say...
anything.
But it couldn't come out.
I was frozen in time.
I was not aloud.
I wanted to reach out my hand to someone.
But alas, I would not move.
My mind seemed intact , for a moment, I thought.
Yet, I could not think of what to do.
Surely I am really dead.
It is not by mistake that this is my bed.
Strangers infiltrated my shell with an imitation
of what use to be real, so I could be taken...
to a field of green clover disguise-
chemically altered for the souls of each life-
that , in the future, will be buried here-
within the earth, sealed with each tear.
My body merely held the diary of me,
pages and pages, now all may read.
If in life , such death was chosen,
the ending becomes with time, unfrozen.
People leave this mournful place,
to celebrate the end.
Those I know will come and go,
but I will live again...
in a dream.
Anonymous
http://img1.imagesbn.com/p/9780946621132_p0_v1_s260x420.jpg
REMEMBRANCE OF MY DEATH
1.
Around, all around, the angels gather
My dread grows as the dagger of your words falls against my heart
It crushes me, and darkly my essence drips
2.
To the wicked earth that is my prison
In a strange and terrible glee I beg forgiveness
While oblivion hovers close
3.
Now alone, my cry of mercy falls upon wailing eyes.
This is my salvation
********************************************************
This is the first English translation of the last chapter of Al-Ghazali's Revival of the Religious Sciences (Ihya' 'Ulum al-Din), widely regarded as the greatest work of Muslim spirituality. After expounding his Sufi philosophy of death and showing the importance of the contemplation of human mortality to the mystical way of self-purification, Ghazali takes his readers through the stages of the future life: the vision of the Angels of the Grave, the Resurrection, the Intercession of the Prophet, and finally, the torments of Hell, the delights of Paradise and—for the elect—the beatific vision of God's Countenance.
http://books.google.com/books/about/Kit%C4%81b_D%CC%B2h%CC%B2ikr_Al_mawt_Wa_m%C4%81_Ba%CA%BBdah.html?id=YV0wAAAAYAAJ
REMEMBRANCE OF MY DEATH
1.
Around, all around, the angels gather
My dread grows as the dagger of your words falls against my heart
It crushes me, and darkly my essence drips
2.
To the wicked earth that is my prison
In a strange and terrible glee I beg forgiveness
While oblivion hovers close
3.
Now alone, my cry of mercy falls upon wailing eyes.
This is my salvation
********************************************************
This is the first English translation of the last chapter of Al-Ghazali's Revival of the Religious Sciences (Ihya' 'Ulum al-Din), widely regarded as the greatest work of Muslim spirituality. After expounding his Sufi philosophy of death and showing the importance of the contemplation of human mortality to the mystical way of self-purification, Ghazali takes his readers through the stages of the future life: the vision of the Angels of the Grave, the Resurrection, the Intercession of the Prophet, and finally, the torments of Hell, the delights of Paradise and—for the elect—the beatific vision of God's Countenance.
http://books.google.com/books/about/Kit%C4%81b_D%CC%B2h%CC%B2ikr_Al_mawt_Wa_m%C4%81_Ba%CA%BBdah.html?id=YV0wAAAAYAAJ
Anonymous
Deleted
Remembering the Roses
Withering grass
and field flowers
always show up at funerals
But eulogies only remember
the roses
and it’s hard sometimes
to know what to say
when you’re asking God
to come and bless the day
as we celebrate the
life of the dead
And everything we do that day
is for them
the flowers the music the food
everything just the way they
would have liked it
And it makes me sad that
we never
did it that way
before
Withering grass
and field flowers
always show up at funerals
But eulogies only remember
the roses
and it’s hard sometimes
to know what to say
when you’re asking God
to come and bless the day
as we celebrate the
life of the dead
And everything we do that day
is for them
the flowers the music the food
everything just the way they
would have liked it
And it makes me sad that
we never
did it that way
before
I am Death
Tender I in rising be
Among the fields where humans are
Going about their merry ways
Uncaring of the consequences
Multiply do they
In abandon
Full of glee
For what they sow
Not so true
With what they reap
When I come to claim
What I am destined
To take
They scream and kick
Against the post
Imbibing in portions
All so useless
When the time comes
Nothing still my scythe
To pluck to cut or merely take
I come not in my full splendour
I come within a simple whisper
Times up I say
And lead you away
I come with the roar of trucks
I come with the water bubbles
I come in induced dreams
In fiery conflagration
Indeed I come in many forms
But not the hooded scythed
Groaning figment most depicted.
Tender I in rising be
Among the fields where humans are
Going about their merry ways
Uncaring of the consequences
Multiply do they
In abandon
Full of glee
For what they sow
Not so true
With what they reap
When I come to claim
What I am destined
To take
They scream and kick
Against the post
Imbibing in portions
All so useless
When the time comes
Nothing still my scythe
To pluck to cut or merely take
I come not in my full splendour
I come within a simple whisper
Times up I say
And lead you away
I come with the roar of trucks
I come with the water bubbles
I come in induced dreams
In fiery conflagration
Indeed I come in many forms
But not the hooded scythed
Groaning figment most depicted.
When Death Comes~
Thy eyes see not Beauty in Death,
Only a Life forsaken.
But open them, thine eyes and mind,
And see a path not taken.
Though, yes, Great Love is left behind,
See thee what is awarded.
Take not the thought of life ending,
A Death is not so morbid.
It may come to thee with pain,
But dwell not on such feelings.
Death frees thee from mortal chains,
And Life no loonger healing.
Each man has His Death and dying,
Such is only Life.
But once He's dead who knows what waits?
The limits are what one contrives.
See not Death as ever-leaving,
But as one story ending.
'Tis not the end, only an ending,
And next could be great stories pending.
Open thee thine eyes and mind,
And see what Dreams may come,
When one awakes in the next Life,
Where one Dream ends,
Another Dream will have begun.
When Death comes.
Thy eyes see not Beauty in Death,
Only a Life forsaken.
But open them, thine eyes and mind,
And see a path not taken.
Though, yes, Great Love is left behind,
See thee what is awarded.
Take not the thought of life ending,
A Death is not so morbid.
It may come to thee with pain,
But dwell not on such feelings.
Death frees thee from mortal chains,
And Life no loonger healing.
Each man has His Death and dying,
Such is only Life.
But once He's dead who knows what waits?
The limits are what one contrives.
See not Death as ever-leaving,
But as one story ending.
'Tis not the end, only an ending,
And next could be great stories pending.
Open thee thine eyes and mind,
And see what Dreams may come,
When one awakes in the next Life,
Where one Dream ends,
Another Dream will have begun.
When Death comes.
Anonymous
The Ride
Approaching some state of relent
no second guess theories on this edge
absolving all idea's of maybe and what if
losing time itself
raw and flying a welcome sign
the entrance to the exit
the finish line
smile for the crossing
you died for the ride
Approaching some state of relent
no second guess theories on this edge
absolving all idea's of maybe and what if
losing time itself
raw and flying a welcome sign
the entrance to the exit
the finish line
smile for the crossing
you died for the ride
"A Fairer Master"
If life is a cruel heartless bitch,
Then tell me what is death, her mate?
Death is a gentler master than she
A gracious Dark Lord to her tortured souls
He sprawls whores in dark alleys
He ends the addicts drug-filled holes
He hangs the necks of the ones
Who lost their will to laugh and live
He bleeds lifeblood from slit wrists
He sharpens the inmates dull shiv
Bullets fly straighter to their target
Quick death eases a life's pain
The sadistic mistress fills with outrage
At death ending her silly little game
Life and death are dysfunctional mates
At odds with each others play toys
Death is a more just, gentle fate
Life just drags pain on and on
Hell is a home to many dark fates
Heaven for the holy in their god
Death does not discriminate
Martyrs, suicidals, murder victims, all
The ugly, the beautiful, the rich, the poor
One by one, each man and woman falls
Life is a more biased judging bitch
She treats some with favoritism
Death is a more fair and just master
In total contrast to life's cruel sadism
If life is a cruel heartless bitch,
Then tell me what is death, her mate?
Death is a gentler master than she
A gracious Dark Lord to her tortured souls
He sprawls whores in dark alleys
He ends the addicts drug-filled holes
He hangs the necks of the ones
Who lost their will to laugh and live
He bleeds lifeblood from slit wrists
He sharpens the inmates dull shiv
Bullets fly straighter to their target
Quick death eases a life's pain
The sadistic mistress fills with outrage
At death ending her silly little game
Life and death are dysfunctional mates
At odds with each others play toys
Death is a more just, gentle fate
Life just drags pain on and on
Hell is a home to many dark fates
Heaven for the holy in their god
Death does not discriminate
Martyrs, suicidals, murder victims, all
The ugly, the beautiful, the rich, the poor
One by one, each man and woman falls
Life is a more biased judging bitch
She treats some with favoritism
Death is a more fair and just master
In total contrast to life's cruel sadism
"Something it is said........"
Thine nakedness upon thy slab.
Draped only in the mortality
of funerary arraignment.
As thy Grim Stalker of the Hallow's
sythe tears unto thee flesh.
Thine echo of dark crows and
ghastly banshees known bellow.
Thee scent of decay and blood
run throughout the air. Spelling
a story of time lost and sullen despair.
Know time left but to await thine Judgement
day to risen. Be so incorruptible or a
hellish forged prison.
Thine silent and rest though the hair continues
to grow upon thy scalp. Something it is said
the hair upon the body still groweth in the
decay of this fallen life. Like the weeds in an
unattended garden of forever night.
Thine nakedness upon thy slab.
Draped only in the mortality
of funerary arraignment.
As thy Grim Stalker of the Hallow's
sythe tears unto thee flesh.
Thine echo of dark crows and
ghastly banshees known bellow.
Thee scent of decay and blood
run throughout the air. Spelling
a story of time lost and sullen despair.
Know time left but to await thine Judgement
day to risen. Be so incorruptible or a
hellish forged prison.
Thine silent and rest though the hair continues
to grow upon thy scalp. Something it is said
the hair upon the body still groweth in the
decay of this fallen life. Like the weeds in an
unattended garden of forever night.
