Poetry competition CLOSED 1st May 2014 10:45am
WINNER
brokenyetstrong
brokenyetstrong
Inspiration
THE PEN
One day I picked up a pen
And it became my best friend
I put it to paper over and over again
Knowing our friendship would never end
Every night I stay awake waiting for the next day
Thinking of what I'll write and what the words will say
I visualize it in my dreams
All of the beautiful scenes
I'll chronicle in a collection
Of imaginative affection
Relating all my stories
In a fashion never boring
Never hear anyone snoring
As they read my fantastic poems
Which I can't keep to myself, I always have to show them
It's a feeling of bliss and constant anticipation
Of what I'll write for other's appreciation
They're support alone is enough inspiration
For me to write again
And I'll live this way to the end
I love the art of writing and it all started with a pen.
One day I picked up a pen
And it became my best friend
I put it to paper over and over again
Knowing our friendship would never end
Every night I stay awake waiting for the next day
Thinking of what I'll write and what the words will say
I visualize it in my dreams
All of the beautiful scenes
I'll chronicle in a collection
Of imaginative affection
Relating all my stories
In a fashion never boring
Never hear anyone snoring
As they read my fantastic poems
Which I can't keep to myself, I always have to show them
It's a feeling of bliss and constant anticipation
Of what I'll write for other's appreciation
They're support alone is enough inspiration
For me to write again
And I'll live this way to the end
I love the art of writing and it all started with a pen.
in search of eden days
<<<some days
i swallow sunshine
like a new creation
when i awake
and remember
that You are
the essence
of my galactic reality
my passion is meteorised
by the elemental radiance
of Your Ineffable Love
which penetrates
the heavens
and the earth
in search of
lost souls
such as mine
<<<it is then
that i arise
from my foolish slumber
yearning for
the restoration
of my eden days
ready to surrender to You
my human ways
<<<God in His Holy of Holies
adam and eve in
temporal paradise
and lucifer
the king of earth’s
dark final death
tripartite reality
holding forth the firstfruits
of the blessing
and the blesséd
the human reality
and fallen humanity
the Redeemer
and the redeemed
the curse
and the accurséd
<<<for in my God
Supremacy sits
on His Heavenly Throne
that tolerates
no stain
no sin
no selfish gluttony
and in my eve and me
but frail humanity
together strong
apart an open door
to a fate
contrived
against the Truth
of God
corrupted by
ye shall not surely die
<<<and subtle
is that liar
and that thief
fallen from grace
for sneering
in God’s Face
yet for a season
he shall rule the earth
but for eternity
doom is his worth
<<<i long for eden days
when trees and birds
and animals reverenced
at my every word
when lions purred
beside my restingplace
and sweet contentment blossomed
in God’s Face
<<<i labour for my substance
sweat for bread
but threescore years and ten
then i am dead
her sharp travail
contorts my precious eve
our children’s cries
leaving my soul aggrieved
but Abraham’s Seed
has bruised
the serpent’s head
and death is but
a curse already dead...
© Copyright 2014 April 26
by Clyve A. Bowen
<<<some days
i swallow sunshine
like a new creation
when i awake
and remember
that You are
the essence
of my galactic reality
my passion is meteorised
by the elemental radiance
of Your Ineffable Love
which penetrates
the heavens
and the earth
in search of
lost souls
such as mine
<<<it is then
that i arise
from my foolish slumber
yearning for
the restoration
of my eden days
ready to surrender to You
my human ways
<<<God in His Holy of Holies
adam and eve in
temporal paradise
and lucifer
the king of earth’s
dark final death
tripartite reality
holding forth the firstfruits
of the blessing
and the blesséd
the human reality
and fallen humanity
the Redeemer
and the redeemed
the curse
and the accurséd
<<<for in my God
Supremacy sits
on His Heavenly Throne
that tolerates
no stain
no sin
no selfish gluttony
and in my eve and me
but frail humanity
together strong
apart an open door
to a fate
contrived
against the Truth
of God
corrupted by
ye shall not surely die
<<<and subtle
is that liar
and that thief
fallen from grace
for sneering
in God’s Face
yet for a season
he shall rule the earth
but for eternity
doom is his worth
<<<i long for eden days
when trees and birds
and animals reverenced
at my every word
when lions purred
beside my restingplace
and sweet contentment blossomed
in God’s Face
<<<i labour for my substance
sweat for bread
but threescore years and ten
then i am dead
her sharp travail
contorts my precious eve
our children’s cries
leaving my soul aggrieved
but Abraham’s Seed
has bruised
the serpent’s head
and death is but
a curse already dead...
© Copyright 2014 April 26
by Clyve A. Bowen
When I read the novelette A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess, I was shellshocked that a writer could create such a unique and dark world in so few words. This little book inspired me to be a writer.
Shortly after I watched the film by Stanley Kubrick... I decided then, one day I would be a filmmaker.
This video poem is a tribute to the author and filmmaker who inspired my creativity.
VIDEO POEM: http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/159683-a-clockwork-orange---the-final-chapter/
A Clockwork Orange - The Final Chapter: Antidote for the Masses
There was me, that is Alex, and several devotchkas,
giving me the viddy up and down, thinking
I’m a grahzny ded here for some naughty pol.
We were standing in the old Korova Milkbar,
no room for sharries these days, in the mesto
where Your Humble Narrator and my tree droogs,
once sat drinking milk-plus, plus something else
for the old strobing lights before some ultra-violence.
O my brothers, no more milk-plus for Your Old Humble,
it makes my keeshkas bolnoy and pan-handle snuff it.
The mesto is full of nadsat devotchkas and malchick
dressed in outre edge of fashion, injecting drencrom,
synthemesc and vellocet into their glazz and krovvy.
I find a malenky sharp, eager for the old in-out, in-out
and drag her out by the luscious glory into the alley.
My molodoy devotchka on her knees, lubbilubbing
to her rot. O my brothers, how horrorshow she lapped
and stroked my yarbles, whilst sploshing in her neezhnies.
There was me, Your Wicked Alex, pealing off her platties,
gropping at her groodies, pounding with his pan-handle…
But it all came to an end when my devotchka got poogly
by the zvook of malchick smeching down the lane.
O my brothers, there was no more in-out, in-out
for Your Hardened, Alex. My horny devotchka
grabbed her platties and ran for her jeezny, leaving me
all on my oddy knocky. I viddy four shadows of a shaika,
dratsing amongst themselves, bustling thru my memories.
Just like Your Humble Narrator and my tree droogs,
the shaika were swinging rock and rookers, ready
to do the ultra-violence on some shivering starry
grey-haired ded. O my brothers, Bog and All His Unholy
Bratchny Saints, I was ready to snuff it, for all my strack.
The leader let out a crark, unleashing a wave of fists
tolchock Old Humble to the ground. The shaika,
unmerciful with rooks and boots spilling my krovvy mess,
they broke me real horrorshow, hell-bent to vred.
Oh bliss! Bliss and hell! Oh, it was splendorous-ness
and spoilable-tastic drippings of my razrez flesh.
O my brothers, I did not snuff it! I reached for my britva,
loveted the light of the moon and dreamed of ultra-violence.
Written by Alexander Case
Shortly after I watched the film by Stanley Kubrick... I decided then, one day I would be a filmmaker.
This video poem is a tribute to the author and filmmaker who inspired my creativity.
VIDEO POEM: http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/159683-a-clockwork-orange---the-final-chapter/
A Clockwork Orange - The Final Chapter: Antidote for the Masses
There was me, that is Alex, and several devotchkas,
giving me the viddy up and down, thinking
I’m a grahzny ded here for some naughty pol.
We were standing in the old Korova Milkbar,
no room for sharries these days, in the mesto
where Your Humble Narrator and my tree droogs,
once sat drinking milk-plus, plus something else
for the old strobing lights before some ultra-violence.
O my brothers, no more milk-plus for Your Old Humble,
it makes my keeshkas bolnoy and pan-handle snuff it.
The mesto is full of nadsat devotchkas and malchick
dressed in outre edge of fashion, injecting drencrom,
synthemesc and vellocet into their glazz and krovvy.
I find a malenky sharp, eager for the old in-out, in-out
and drag her out by the luscious glory into the alley.
My molodoy devotchka on her knees, lubbilubbing
to her rot. O my brothers, how horrorshow she lapped
and stroked my yarbles, whilst sploshing in her neezhnies.
There was me, Your Wicked Alex, pealing off her platties,
gropping at her groodies, pounding with his pan-handle…
But it all came to an end when my devotchka got poogly
by the zvook of malchick smeching down the lane.
O my brothers, there was no more in-out, in-out
for Your Hardened, Alex. My horny devotchka
grabbed her platties and ran for her jeezny, leaving me
all on my oddy knocky. I viddy four shadows of a shaika,
dratsing amongst themselves, bustling thru my memories.
Just like Your Humble Narrator and my tree droogs,
the shaika were swinging rock and rookers, ready
to do the ultra-violence on some shivering starry
grey-haired ded. O my brothers, Bog and All His Unholy
Bratchny Saints, I was ready to snuff it, for all my strack.
The leader let out a crark, unleashing a wave of fists
tolchock Old Humble to the ground. The shaika,
unmerciful with rooks and boots spilling my krovvy mess,
they broke me real horrorshow, hell-bent to vred.
Oh bliss! Bliss and hell! Oh, it was splendorous-ness
and spoilable-tastic drippings of my razrez flesh.
O my brothers, I did not snuff it! I reached for my britva,
loveted the light of the moon and dreamed of ultra-violence.
Written by Alexander Case
Anonymous
Musings of a Writer, Blocked
I’m not as intelligent as I used to be
somewhere, somehow, my brain
fell off the grid of post-independence,
now I’m influenced by the vast roaches
inhibiting my fortress of proverbial pain,
though they call to me, whisper my name
their shame becomes all of what I used to be;
the Marigolds no longer bloom on my plantation
they too have become all but a crying out sustenance,
not for water, but for company, companionship,
someone with the greenest thumb to stroke their
whimsical little petals now weltering beneath
the cosmic forces that bind us not as one but as three;
to re-seed another whole new life, I must twist the
dead Marigolds until their necks break, and when those
tiny seeds invisibly bleed out, I am reminded
that now would be a valid time to remember what I have forgotten-
in the soil I watch as those vast roaches clamber beneath me,
soiling those precious anthropoid seeds with their scum scavenger cum;
still, I’m not as intelligent as I used to be but I’m writing again
I’m not as intelligent as I used to be
somewhere, somehow, my brain
fell off the grid of post-independence,
now I’m influenced by the vast roaches
inhibiting my fortress of proverbial pain,
though they call to me, whisper my name
their shame becomes all of what I used to be;
the Marigolds no longer bloom on my plantation
they too have become all but a crying out sustenance,
not for water, but for company, companionship,
someone with the greenest thumb to stroke their
whimsical little petals now weltering beneath
the cosmic forces that bind us not as one but as three;
to re-seed another whole new life, I must twist the
dead Marigolds until their necks break, and when those
tiny seeds invisibly bleed out, I am reminded
that now would be a valid time to remember what I have forgotten-
in the soil I watch as those vast roaches clamber beneath me,
soiling those precious anthropoid seeds with their scum scavenger cum;
still, I’m not as intelligent as I used to be but I’m writing again
As i sit all alone by the ocean side
In darkness except for the moonlight
I hear a sweet melody in my head
A siren's song, a mourn for death
Then I take a pen and ink and write
And so I pass the long cold night
And all the world I leave behind
To capture the melody of my mind
(I hope this makes sense)
In darkness except for the moonlight
I hear a sweet melody in my head
A siren's song, a mourn for death
Then I take a pen and ink and write
And so I pass the long cold night
And all the world I leave behind
To capture the melody of my mind
(I hope this makes sense)
Invocation of the Muse
Sweet muse tarry not too long away from me.
Bring your flowers of unfolding thought.
Cause the flood within to spring
And these mental bars to rot
So that i may now break free
And open wide the gates of truth
Lead me to the evergreen
And fountains of eternal youth
Oh muse! Oh muse!
Do not refuse
To grant the vision that i seek
Annoint my mind
With words
With rhymes
For i am lowly
I am weak
Sweet muse tarry not too long away from me.
Bring your flowers of unfolding thought.
Cause the flood within to spring
And these mental bars to rot
So that i may now break free
And open wide the gates of truth
Lead me to the evergreen
And fountains of eternal youth
Oh muse! Oh muse!
Do not refuse
To grant the vision that i seek
Annoint my mind
With words
With rhymes
For i am lowly
I am weak
