The Arena: RANDOM POEMS [2] De POWER [Opium] THREE

For updates and more info on what's going on in this comp or if you want to post a comment about a poem you read here, please go to the following forum thread:

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/poetry/read/7440/


Round One Challenge 1 Results

Group 1
Genre: Self Poem
Location: [/b]Institute for the insane
Object: Fish
Poets:
David_Macleod - Mother: 10 points
SeekingKate - VOICES: 14 points
jIMNUT_rOARIN - [No Poem]: 0 points
HHMCameron - untitled: 12 points
Indie - [No Poem]: 0 points


Group 2
Genre: Erotic Poem
Location: An empty house
Object: Button
Poets:
Magdalena - Pincushion: 9 points
summultima - Fate of the Nailed up Lampblack Mansion: 8 points
LobodeSanPedro - nestled in your warmth: 11 points
Waterviolet - Peyote buttons and belly buttons: 3 points
RSaba - gone: 14 points


Group 3
Genre: Upbeat Poem
Location: A bridge
Object: Paper
Poets:
Angels-Remedy - [No Poem]: 0 points
jakehammer - Bridge Of Old Man Joe: 6 points
Atakti - The Way of the Hunted Sun: 9 points
JohnRot - at hemingville creek: 13 points
Jestalessa - origami: 14 points


Group 4
Genre: Love Poem
Location: An underground mine
Object: Ring
Poets:
Lord Viddax - The Ring of Lament: 12 points
lepperochan - Coalbrook: 15 points
deadwolf - I Me Mine, AND Ours… It’s Here Now: 7 points
MadameLavender - BLACK CANARY: 8 points
EM20XX - [No Poem]: 0 points


Round One Challenge 2 Results

Group 1
Genre: Drug Poem
Location: A space station
Object: Scissors
Poets:
David_Macleod - SPACE: 12 points
SeekingKate - SPECIAL DELIVERY: 12 points
jIMNUT_rOARIN - !!! RED ALERT : BAD TRIP !!!: 9 points
HHMCameron- untitled: 9 points
Indie - [no poem]: 0 points


Group 2
Genre: Dark Poem
Location: A lighthouse
Object: Telephone
Poets:
Magdalena - Intermittent Departure: 9 points
summultima - "I am in the Coming,   Again and Again": 8 points
LobodeSanPedro - we were never Gods: 13 points
Waterviolet - [no poem]: 0 points
RSaba - *lines and light*: 12 points


Group 3
Genre: Observational Poem
Location: An aquarium
Object: Jar
Poets: Angels-Remedy - [no poem]: 0 points
jakehammer -  "Seaweed Shaken In A Ringed Glass Jar": 6 points
Atakti - reverse aquarium: 9 points
JohnRot - endangered list: 12 points
Jestalessa - "from in here": 15 points


Group 4
Genre: Anger Poem
Location: A farm
Object: Radio
Poets:
Lord Viddax - My camp - by the Fury: 13 points
lepperochan - Of a bleeding Emerald: 11 points
deadwolf - untiled: 6 points
MadameLavender - BOOMERANG: 12 points
EM20XX - [no poem]: 0 points


Round Two Challenge Results

Group 1
Genre: Erotic Drug Poem
Location: Dance Floor, Odessa Ukraine http://youtu.be/xAWjSWj-Vz8
Object: Name Tag
Poets:
RSaba - *what have we become?*: 8
LobodeSanPedro - feathers on the dance floor: 9
Atakti - Male Order Ride: 10
Viddax - Black Sea Salt Sex Spin: 3


Group 2
Genre: Dark Spiritual Poem
Location: Paris Catacombs, Paris France http://youtu.be/MzDOhnpDhgY
Object: Camcorder
Poets:
SeekingKate - les catacombes: 4
MadameLavender - If He'd Lived: 5
JohnRot - dead batteries: 10
HHMCameron - Grumpy Skull: 11


Group 3
Genre: Anger Love Poem
Location: Hippie Commune Taylor Camp, Kauai Hawaii http://youtu.be/58WKzxMWZpU
Object: Stars and Stripes Flag
Poets:
lepperochan - Three little birdies: 9
David_Macleod - [No Entry]
summultima - "Thirteenth Heaven”: 7
Jestalessa - "north nam wasn't the only enemy”: 11


Round Three Challenge 1 Results

Group 1
Genre: Miscellaneous Poem
Location: Khumbu Icefall, Mount Everest http://youtu.be/moBJMGNSql4
Object: Cell Phone
Jestalessa - Thank you, Siri: 4
LobodeSanPedro - -.-. --- -.. .: 5
Atakti - Mortal Binds: 9


Group 2
Genre: Miscellaneous Poem
Location: Ostfront (World War II) Russia http://youtu.be/uvrXIVRdcsU !Extreme Content Warning!
Object: Magnet
HHMCameron - Heerführer Winter: 6
JohnRot [no poem]: 0
lepperochan - Caught between the Dniestr and the Bug: 9


Round Three Challenge 2 Results

Group 1
Genre: Philosophical Horror Poem
Location: inside a car
http://youtu.be/ywEiabtYhMc
Object: a red pill
LobodeSanPedro - Want a ride Alice?: 4 points
Atakti - Numbers: 5 points


Group 2
Genre: Thriller Romance Poem
Location: merchant ship
http://youtu.be/BX3kFCgvKp4
Object: a blue pill
HHMCameron - Lost at Sea Again: 3 points
lepperochan - Ballad of the Queen Mary: 6 points


The Scoreboard - Final Results

1st Place - Atakti: 52

2nd Place - lepperochan: 58

Jestalessa: 44
LobodeSanPedro: 42
HHMCameron: 41
JohnRot: 35
RSaba: 34
SeekingKate: 30
Lord Viddax: 28
MadameLavender: 25
summultima: 23
David_Macleod: 22
Magdalena: 18
deadwolf: 13
jakehammer: 12
jIMNUT_rOARIN: 9
Waterviolet: 3
Indie: 0
Angels-Remedy: 0
EM20XX: 0

Tough crowd....gonna need to bring your sparkles.

Coalbrook  


Tell her
I sit with her picture in hand
when the sun
hits the point in the sky
that some  light
filters through the nooks
for a minute or two

tell her
when the walls collapsed
acrid soot and dust filled our lungs
and those that stood beside me
cried out for their gods
but only her name was on my tongue

and tell her
that in the thick of it when the rocks hit
I heard her voice
soothing like the flow of Kaaimans
and when I woke
our ring was stuck to the palm of my hand
blood-soaked

and tell her  

...tell her

when they bring me up
to search my top left pocket
because it's there where our ring sits
to catch the last few beats
of my heart  





Group 4
Genre: Love Poem
Location: An underground mine
Object: Ring

edited out--congrats Atakti!

Group 3
genre:upbeat
location: bridge
object: paper
poets:
Angels-Remedy
jakehammer
Atakti
JohnRot
Jestalessa

"Bridge Of Old Man Joe"

just a boy, in a no name town
crossing 'Old Man Joe's Bridge', walking to school
I remember him always busy
in the middle of his bridge
smiling, dancing between cars
selling his papers; waving, singing his spiel,
"Got the news, latest going on. Read all about it."
rain, snow; no matter, hustling hard
Old man Joe and his bridge

Joe always wore his beat-up cap,
with his cigar jutting from his mustache
his frayed gloves showing ink stained finger-tips
shoes of well worn leather, an old jacket
big dungarees, plenty of patches and mended sun-glasses
always smiling, asking of dad and the family
his world seemed without, but he was always there
dad said he was cut from the school of hard knocks
war hero forgotten, served over seas proud somewhere

growing up, I use to help him peddle his papers
Old man Joe told me, "Always ask about the people."
seeing him dodging traffic, greeting faces warmly, unpretending
reminiscing through the years, we all drifted our own ways
visiting home sometimes, he was still there, familiar face as always
I learned later he lived under the bridge that was his..
content to be humble among his friends, simply with..
his life of selling papers, smiling and..
showing others' he was more than just Joe with his bridge

Group 1
Genre: Self Poem
Location: Institute for the Insane
Object: Fish

David_Macleod
SeekingKate
jIMNUT_rOARIN
bootselectric
Indie


VOICES

I hear their voices before I see their faces
like a plane flying through cloud cover
my eyes search for where I am
haze in front, distinguishable features up ahead
walls, a calming blue, ceiling, brilliant white

conversation becoming clearer, some words standing out

‘...fish ... works ... ... with her…
... great ... ... where she’s ….’

what are they talking about?

my nose starts to itch…fuck!
this only happens when they pump me with that bloody drug
have i been dosed up? …the bastards...
what happened?  panic rises in me....
what’s the last thing I remember?

my monthly check up
kept my appointment, I felt like crap
my mind searches the residue
on the perimeter of my memories

agitated; I was agitated
I got up, went to the fish tank
nemo always ‘gets’ me
standing, staring, starting to answer him
what follows is a blur...then black

they’re still talking
don’t know I hear, don’t know I’m awake
it appears the fish tank has a dual effect
calming the fish may be but for some like me they act
as a gauge to where I’m at

I move a hand, one they cannot see, surreptitiously
it goes so far then stops
they’ve strapped me…fucking bastards
it must have been bad if they’ve done this to me
dosed me and strapped me
it can only mean one thing

I’m back in this shit house for another round
balancing my meds, seeing the psych
group therapy if they think it’d work...fuck...
last time I was here for months...
or was it years?
thought I’d go crazy; now there's a laugh…

somebody...please...help me

Group 3
Genre: Upbeat Poem
Location: A bridge
Object: Paper
Poets: Angels-Remedy, jakehammer, Atakti, JohnRot, Jestalessa

 
The Way of the Hunted Sun


The mounts of Llanganates lie resplendent,
verdantly dressed in ancient mists. Years steeped
in whispers lead to this, the myths of the Incas,
cryptic legends of treasure.


A seeker stands flushed by an ocular feast; waterfall sprays
over the rope bridge, the luscious gorge beneath.
His fingers trace Derrotero de Valverde —
the old paper maps the past.


Atahualpa the lost, the last emperor knelt, convert
son to a Spanish gun’s conquest. In rope’s mercy,
offered salvation, he was strangled. A royal ransom’s
interred, deep cavernous gilt.


Where are the riches, thousands pieces of sun
spun in gold? Where are the statues draped, dripped
in glowing jewels, breathing in silver? He steps forward,
his foot on woven cable.


The bridge sways in light’s aubade.
This is the way of the son, the hunted sun.
A seeker on a quest, steps exulted.

Group 1
Genre: Self Poem
Location: Institute for the insane
Object: Fish

Mother

They call it Tartan House
A dark and dreary bleak house
An institute just for the insane
A home for those strange in the brain
Domicidal premises
for homicidal tendencies
A prison to entomb
for those who need a padded room
they’ve got jackets with straps
to stop violent scraps
they’ve got lots of drugs
and encouraging hugs
groups for confessions
as therapy sessions

But Wait!
Close the Gate!

I know what you’re thinking
You haven’t been drinking
Your wondering why I am here
Its true I seem normal
Despite being informal
Apart for this fish in my ear

But Wait!
Close the Tailgate!

Despite what you’d wish
You cant see the fish
You cant even see that its swinging
You’re worried I’m mad
And maybe I’m bad
Cause you cant even hear what its singing

But Wait!
Close the Grate!

The orderly’s coming
My head needs some numbing
Medication and some of the other
I know I’m a freak
I’ll see you next week
Thanks for coming to visit me mother

Group 3

johnrot
genre:upbeat
location: bridge
object: paper

at hemingville creek

used to pebble drop
spit
count mississippis'
throw perfectly folded aerodynamic pieces of parchment
with a list of demands
and our chosen names on
right over the guardrail
at the horizon
to remind Ra

we are worthy adversaries

prison riot
in purgatory ensued
each side of the CSX line
playing chicken from the top rail
with gravity

always said
cross that one when we have to
tip toe around different hats
had,has
but it's been a min
thought we could connect
with letters again

you recall?

cocky and concieted as we were
converse all stars
kickin up dust
like we had winged boots
write it all down till you can drive away from here
the initials tagged on that ol green oxidized iron
still stick out
like lil white crosses on the side of the highway

have you heard?

dude we went to high school with
is gettin paroled
after killin the guy who killed his daughter

weed and beer are still amazing

i gotta guitar in the truck

that sounds so fuckin good


maybe some of them kites we sent finally made it to the sun

Group 2
Genre: erotic poem
Location: empty house
Object: button


Peyote buttons and belly buttons

Heavy eyes i walk up my icey driveway
The sun creeping over the hiltop bringing
Light to a new day.i hear a car door slam
Behind me a farmiliar voice yell how was work
Fucker.

Oh shit lisa i bet she has a large bottle
Of gin and some so called at one time heroin
That is more like sleeping pills fuckin drug dealers
Around here no pride in there work fuck me

I am not shur why i am always suprised when
The key fits in my door and it opens up
Like i am expecting my land lord to change the
Locks when i am at work.
Ya come on in lisa make your self at home u know
The drill glases in the cubard mirrors under the coutch

Ok so hay are you gona fuck me before we get all messed up?
I dont want u noding off and having to finger fuck myself
And end up driving home to my empty house AGAIN

Ya ya i already did a few lines on my way home feeling prity
Droopy as it is just let me chill for a few and forget about my nite
Man i am baged so tired and hi wish i woulda known she would
Have been wating for me down the street

All i can think of is how tired i am as i feel
Her unzip my panths and grab my hard cock
She goes to work with one hand and her mouth
Clawing my chest with the other dam that that
Feels amazing man this woman can suck dick like
A pro i try not to think about how mutch practice it
Must have taken to get this good

She pulls her milky white breasts out pinching her hard
Nipple as she works her slow magick on me
Oh man she is so good i cant believe she is overpowering
My haroin induced limp dick fuck me i think i am gona cum

With that thought next thing i know bam i am laying
On the floor i rolled off my couch fuck shit noded off again
All i can hear in the back ground is aaawwwww fuck me fuck meee aaaawwwww
Lisa was watching porn before she left she has a vibrater she leaves here
Little button batterys laying allover the coffey
Table tell me she was at it for awhile trying to find
One that wasent dead.now here i am all alone
In my empty house little button batterys everywhere
Porn blaring away in the back ground fuck sakes
What a fuckin loser i am

Group: 2
Genre: Erotic Poem
Location: An empty house
Object: Button



Pincushion



her soft blush came from the sun
the voyeur outside the window
haloing its light around her
bare skin, pressed upon wood splinters
opening up to the phallic rays


the atmosphere old and lost in time
a hollow room, in an empty house
back to the floor and ghosts pulsing within the walls
fingers sweating inside abandoned thighs
she rocked to the replay of memories
pushing the hankering into wet flesh


and he was all around her, pawing her imagination
his pornographic eyes undoing her
she could smell him, like he was real, alive
acting out the slut to all that she wanted
screwing every mental image
she played the star in his explicit onslaught


a storm of sound echoed through the grave
of all they had as he led her into a verbal reaction
her limbs quaked in the grasp of her climatic rise
she would not let him leave the place in her head
not until she had brought the walls down on all of it
he fucked her because she let him


and now the sun is dying, she closed the door
locking in fragments of herself, the wire
tracing her footprints, she pushed a button
the house gave in, dust filled air caught her lungs
she licked the grit off her bruised lips
and left




*

Group 2
Genre: erotica
Location: empty house
Object: button

nestled in your warmth

draped in your skin
i still hear the staccato of your screams in that moment of sheer surrender.

thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's ...

Sunday school words I cannot heed when it comes to you
for I've seen him when he's manhandled you.
grabbing you by your locks and pulling your head back into his will.
teasing you with the whirr and hum of tools and toys at his disposal
so you're separated from all boundaries.
unravelling at his feet  
left naked and convulsing.

be his servant and savior for the moment
your union is written in the bible and Torah alike
but I am the thief John spoke of
so  I do not hold the condemnation of others as sacred.
for it is the chimes within my heart and loins that ring with the saunter and sway of your ample hips.
your doe eyes and warm swirling mouth beckon me
not God's calling.

On this crisp dawn I contentedly spy the two of you through your window  unnoticed.  
I unbutton my trousers to release my throbbing anticipation.
I stroke manically
catching your eye for a moment.
He, as always is too busy to look up
from your deconstruction.

and once again the grass below my feet is saturated with my thick dew.

sated yet anguished
I return home.
running my palms and fingers over
the armor you've constructed for me.
a coat of arms decorated with whaler's toggles and loops.
woven to in prison my heart and true feelings for you.

As I pass the abandoned hut bordering our properties
I cant help but enter the temple of our sacred rendezvouses.
It is empty save for a lantern.
I inhale deeply seeking the empyrean
scent of your moist juices when you melt on me.
Found.
I'm hard again.
So again I must unfasten and begin to churn my shaft seeking more milk
remembering your warmth and bleating moans.
your supple hips give way to my rhythm and so begins the cackle of the chime.
Quickening my pace.
Leading to my explosion deep in you
And I stagger falling to the dirt floor.

You come to me.

Nibbling at the wooden toggles of my sweater tells me what you now want.
I dig in my trousers for a bit of sweet forbs and feed it to you
And kiss your muzzle.
Ah, my sweet Clara Belle.

-

Group 3
Poet: Jesta
Genre: Upbeat Poem
Location: A bridge
Object: Paper


origami

ten tiny toes dangle low over the water next to me
beneath duelling band shells of cherry tree light
furrowed brow
under an ink black fringe
busy fingers
folding, practice
focus
where only giants, mermaids
eloquent animals and other
rather imperative imaginings
only four-year-old wisdom dictates
may frolick in his stillness

his sofu says tsuru
brings good luck and peace
and the patience of one thousand
will summon a wish from the wild, but
these diligent little hands
care nothing for peace
as they've never seen war
and they know no difference
between fortune and faith
and in so being
would rather fold a fish --
they've naturally mapped the creases
of unsupervised noontime expedition
beetle capture glee
learnt the angles of determination
and felt out the courage enough to swim
as the big sakana do against all ease
all muscle
leaping up a waterfall

he presents to me his finished fish
shuts his eyes
wishes on it anyway
drops it into the lazy flow of the stream
and I would bet my Japanese symbolism
that wish
was not sunk in vain
____________________________________________________________________________________

(alternate title: possibly presumptuous personality profiling of a preschooler)

oh, and..."tsuru" = "crane" [:

Group 1
Genre: Self Poem
Location: Institute for the insane
Object: Fish
Poets:  David_Macleod   SeekingKate   jIMNUT_rOARIN   HHMCameron   Indie

====================================
lost at sea drifting
twixt love and indifference
spies mammal or fish
in the distance sitting
on the sands holding her hand
.
in the foreground is
the little girl that gives life
a whole new meaning
for you i am your daddy
forsooth that is all i am
.
love neither ignites
my dreams nor warms my cold bed
wife would apart sleep
and curses me when my mind
strays towards love both lost and gone
.
slowly over years
shall it be that what i find
is a vision sure
of a presence so divine
that it me leaves quite unhinged
.
what is this i spie
but cruel fate has given me
a vision ten years
out of date, your kat green eyes
and so soft lips derange me
.
as the pain makes me
yet again find me a soft spot
in the wall to bounce
against once more for to find
elusive dreamless slumber
.
divine one would you
then me visit or would you
keep away for him
this begnighted dreamer fain
would know if you would then come