Poetry competition CLOSED 24th October 2015 6:04pm
WINNER
Zazzles (Broomie)
Zazzles (Broomie)
RUNNERS-UP:
Grace
and harliequin
True Friendship
"Own your pain" For Robin
I'd like to take your tears
and turn them into diamonds
To own your pain
My precious stone..
Show you your priceless worth
White out the darkness in your eyes..
You're only blood and bone
That skin....
Is not your home
It's just what you're living in
This time.
Your face tells me a story
Of broken hearts
and shattered glass
A carved statue of pain..
Cracks in it's smile...
All These things.
They mend in time.
But, time is a man made thing
Like hope
And dreams
You have a few decades on me
An old soul like mine
Clings to your youthful spirit
I'll be strong for both of us...
Time passes by
we cling to hope
Dreams crumble
Like sand
But our friendship is as solid
As the heart of stone
You long for.....
I hope you never know
What you're missing...
You're too warm
to ever feel that cold.
And I love you that way.
Promise me you'll never change.
I'd like to take your tears
and turn them into diamonds
To own your pain
My precious stone..
Show you your priceless worth
White out the darkness in your eyes..
You're only blood and bone
That skin....
Is not your home
It's just what you're living in
This time.
Your face tells me a story
Of broken hearts
and shattered glass
A carved statue of pain..
Cracks in it's smile...
All These things.
They mend in time.
But, time is a man made thing
Like hope
And dreams
You have a few decades on me
An old soul like mine
Clings to your youthful spirit
I'll be strong for both of us...
Time passes by
we cling to hope
Dreams crumble
Like sand
But our friendship is as solid
As the heart of stone
You long for.....
I hope you never know
What you're missing...
You're too warm
to ever feel that cold.
And I love you that way.
Promise me you'll never change.
Real Friends
------------------------------------------------
When I was sixteen, my boyfriend died the night I started dating him.
His name was Dylan Thomas Coyer, and some might argue that he wasn't my boyfriend. Some might say he had another girlfriend. I can't honestly tell you the truth in that. But I can tell you that we had spent about a week hanging out together, we had been cuddling and kissing that day, and I had hoped to spend more time with him than I was able to.
But he had a party to go to.
I'll admit, he wasn't really the best boyfriend material. He was radical, rude, obnoxious, a real gypsy kind of guy -- a juggalo -- who was difficult to pin down. But he was sweet and charismatic and funny and cute, with his spiked hair, Tripp pants, aluminum ball chain necklace, Joop cologne and pouty lips. And he seemed to genuinely like me.
I gave him my best hangdog puppy-eyed pout, begging him to just stay and hang out with me. I'd have given anything to go to that party with him, but my dad would never have allowed it on a school night. And I could hardly blame him for choosing the party over me; we were young and dumb and partying was the only thing exciting we had in the vast cornfields of Indiana.
So we parted with a kiss before he jumped into his friend's convertible, after making plans for him to sneak into my bedroom window late at night after the party. I stayed up late, anticipating his arrival. But part of me knew he probably wouldn't show up, so I let sleep claim me.
------------------------------------------------
Months earlier, there was a rumor of some guy who'd killed himself. I had been fooling around with a guy named Jay and we were making out at a small gathering in our friend's basement when someone rushed in breathlessly, announcing "Dylan killed himself!"
Hours of frantic pacing, crying, cursing chaos ensued as my group of friends mourned and scorned the gods at the loss of their dear friend. I didn't know Dylan at the time, but it was emotionally taxing to see all of my friends so torn up about it. Surely this guy was awesome, he seemed so loved. Meanwhile, it was a real buzzkill to my high, so I simply suggested we smoke in his honor.
Days later, we found out it was all a prank. A ruse. A cry for attention, perhaps. The kind of people I hung out with were rather cruel and found humor in the darkest of notions.
-----------------------------------------------
Aug. 23, 2000
My friend Mary and I made our way to our friend Aric's house the following day, where we'd known Dylan had been crashing for the past couple of weeks. I was anxious and excited, if a bit disappointed that Dylan had not spent the night as I had hoped, but eager to search him out and find him (probably hung over).
He wasn't there. And Aric wasn't sure where he was. He regaled us with a story of the night, the cruel humor our kind had found so much revelry in. Dylan had gotten so drunk, he'd puked all over himself and a bunch of them had dragged him out back, practically to the woods. And instead of taking care of him, like real friends might, they tortured him. Drew on his face, smeared mustard and god-knows-what else on him, pissed on him, removed his shoes and threw them into the woods. And left him there to sober up.
How had I ever considered these people to be friends? I don't know. But when he told the story, I was on drugs and somehow found it funny, too, if a bit over the top.
A piece of me worried about Dylan. But he was scrappy, he'd find his way back to me sooner or later, whenever he sobered up. I gave in to the waves of euphoria calling, the drugs more powerful than my fear and anger.
------------------------------------------------
Aug. 24, 2000
I strode into school, after crashing from heights too high to handle, not really present enough to even be concerned about where Dylan might be.
"Did you hear?" a normally-jovial voice toned somberly -- my jokester friend, Andrew, asked in the hall, students rushing around, some frantic, some careless, to get to class. My brow furrowed and I shook my head, wondering what had gotten into him.
"Dylan's dead..."
Cold fear gripped my heart, knocking the wind out of me, my nostrils flaring and lower lip sucked incredulously between my teeth. "No..." I breathed, several heartbeats skipped in my chest. But I blinked. "Is this like the last time?" I asked angrily, yet an edge of humor tinted the edges of my voice.
"No...this time it's for real."
News spread quickly through the tight little crew of those who knew Dylan. He was too old for school - it was sort of weird, now that I think about it, for a 20 year old to be hanging out with a bunch of punk-kid high schoolers. But it had never occurred to me then. The news wasn't as huge of an incident school-wide. But to the juggalos...to the goths, the punks, the outcasts...our world came crashing down. Everyone knew Dylan. Everyone loved Dylan. Even the people who claimed to hate him.
My knees buckled beneath me, and the next thing I knew I was sitting in the nurse's office, crying hysterically. Tidbits of information came to me throughout the day, and conspiracy theories started flying through my brain.
Dylan had been hit by a car just before the crack of dawn, as he walked down the street from the party he'd gone to. Some said he was stumbling drunk, the driver hadn't seen him. Others whispered suicide. My mind whispered murder.
"Why would he commit suicide?" I shrieked, inconsolable, "He had me! He was coming to see me!" And that seemed like the truth...because the road he was walking was not the one that led to his house, but to mine. Or at least that's the truth I like to tell myself. The truth that makes the most sense.
Why? Why would he commit suicide, I asked?
Could it be because those he thought were friends, those he trusted...had abused, mistreated and tortured him? Had left him soiled and soleless [or soulless] in the chill Indiana night? Could the prospect of a girl he barely knew be enough to keep his booze-soaked mind from wandering the lanes of self-pity and hopelessness?
Perhaps it was suicide. I wouldn't blame him, considering the friends he kept. I'm only sorry I wasn't enough to save him.
Though, my mind rests easier in the belief that it was a drunken misstep in the middle of the night, and poor reactions of a late-night/early-morning driver.
Either way, real friends don't let friends walk home drunk, alone in the wilderness and covered in filth.
------------------------------------------------
In Loving Memory
DYLAN T. COYER
Dec. 5, 1980-Aug. 23, 2000
ELKHART -- Dylan T. Coyer, 19, of 114 Brady St., died at 4:51 a.m. Wednesday (Aug. 23, 2000) from injuries he suffered in a traffic accident on U.S. 20 between C.R. 15 and C.R. 17.
He was born Dec. 5, 1980, in LaPorte, the son of Roy L. and Molly M. (Combs) Coyer. He is survived by his parents, of Elkhart; a sister, Mrs. Doug (Georgianna) Gunter of Lafayette; one brother, William Diedrich of Elkhart; and grandmother, Eunice Harmon of Anderson, Ala.
Friends may call from 10 a.m. to noon on Monday at Walley-Mills-Zimmerman Funeral Home & Crematory. A procession will then leave for the graveside service at Frame Cemetery with the Rev. Toni Carmer of Trinity United Methodist Church officiating.
Mr. Coyer formerly worked at Western Rubber Co. in Goshen and formerly attended River Baptist Church in Elkhart.
Memorials may be given to the Muscular Dystrophy Association.
---------------------------------------------
September is Suicide Prevention Month
Step one: Be a good friend.
---------------------------------------------
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/217236-real-friends/
------------------------------------------------
When I was sixteen, my boyfriend died the night I started dating him.
His name was Dylan Thomas Coyer, and some might argue that he wasn't my boyfriend. Some might say he had another girlfriend. I can't honestly tell you the truth in that. But I can tell you that we had spent about a week hanging out together, we had been cuddling and kissing that day, and I had hoped to spend more time with him than I was able to.
But he had a party to go to.
I'll admit, he wasn't really the best boyfriend material. He was radical, rude, obnoxious, a real gypsy kind of guy -- a juggalo -- who was difficult to pin down. But he was sweet and charismatic and funny and cute, with his spiked hair, Tripp pants, aluminum ball chain necklace, Joop cologne and pouty lips. And he seemed to genuinely like me.
I gave him my best hangdog puppy-eyed pout, begging him to just stay and hang out with me. I'd have given anything to go to that party with him, but my dad would never have allowed it on a school night. And I could hardly blame him for choosing the party over me; we were young and dumb and partying was the only thing exciting we had in the vast cornfields of Indiana.
So we parted with a kiss before he jumped into his friend's convertible, after making plans for him to sneak into my bedroom window late at night after the party. I stayed up late, anticipating his arrival. But part of me knew he probably wouldn't show up, so I let sleep claim me.
------------------------------------------------
Months earlier, there was a rumor of some guy who'd killed himself. I had been fooling around with a guy named Jay and we were making out at a small gathering in our friend's basement when someone rushed in breathlessly, announcing "Dylan killed himself!"
Hours of frantic pacing, crying, cursing chaos ensued as my group of friends mourned and scorned the gods at the loss of their dear friend. I didn't know Dylan at the time, but it was emotionally taxing to see all of my friends so torn up about it. Surely this guy was awesome, he seemed so loved. Meanwhile, it was a real buzzkill to my high, so I simply suggested we smoke in his honor.
Days later, we found out it was all a prank. A ruse. A cry for attention, perhaps. The kind of people I hung out with were rather cruel and found humor in the darkest of notions.
-----------------------------------------------
Aug. 23, 2000
My friend Mary and I made our way to our friend Aric's house the following day, where we'd known Dylan had been crashing for the past couple of weeks. I was anxious and excited, if a bit disappointed that Dylan had not spent the night as I had hoped, but eager to search him out and find him (probably hung over).
He wasn't there. And Aric wasn't sure where he was. He regaled us with a story of the night, the cruel humor our kind had found so much revelry in. Dylan had gotten so drunk, he'd puked all over himself and a bunch of them had dragged him out back, practically to the woods. And instead of taking care of him, like real friends might, they tortured him. Drew on his face, smeared mustard and god-knows-what else on him, pissed on him, removed his shoes and threw them into the woods. And left him there to sober up.
How had I ever considered these people to be friends? I don't know. But when he told the story, I was on drugs and somehow found it funny, too, if a bit over the top.
A piece of me worried about Dylan. But he was scrappy, he'd find his way back to me sooner or later, whenever he sobered up. I gave in to the waves of euphoria calling, the drugs more powerful than my fear and anger.
------------------------------------------------
Aug. 24, 2000
I strode into school, after crashing from heights too high to handle, not really present enough to even be concerned about where Dylan might be.
"Did you hear?" a normally-jovial voice toned somberly -- my jokester friend, Andrew, asked in the hall, students rushing around, some frantic, some careless, to get to class. My brow furrowed and I shook my head, wondering what had gotten into him.
"Dylan's dead..."
Cold fear gripped my heart, knocking the wind out of me, my nostrils flaring and lower lip sucked incredulously between my teeth. "No..." I breathed, several heartbeats skipped in my chest. But I blinked. "Is this like the last time?" I asked angrily, yet an edge of humor tinted the edges of my voice.
"No...this time it's for real."
News spread quickly through the tight little crew of those who knew Dylan. He was too old for school - it was sort of weird, now that I think about it, for a 20 year old to be hanging out with a bunch of punk-kid high schoolers. But it had never occurred to me then. The news wasn't as huge of an incident school-wide. But to the juggalos...to the goths, the punks, the outcasts...our world came crashing down. Everyone knew Dylan. Everyone loved Dylan. Even the people who claimed to hate him.
My knees buckled beneath me, and the next thing I knew I was sitting in the nurse's office, crying hysterically. Tidbits of information came to me throughout the day, and conspiracy theories started flying through my brain.
Dylan had been hit by a car just before the crack of dawn, as he walked down the street from the party he'd gone to. Some said he was stumbling drunk, the driver hadn't seen him. Others whispered suicide. My mind whispered murder.
"Why would he commit suicide?" I shrieked, inconsolable, "He had me! He was coming to see me!" And that seemed like the truth...because the road he was walking was not the one that led to his house, but to mine. Or at least that's the truth I like to tell myself. The truth that makes the most sense.
Why? Why would he commit suicide, I asked?
Could it be because those he thought were friends, those he trusted...had abused, mistreated and tortured him? Had left him soiled and soleless [or soulless] in the chill Indiana night? Could the prospect of a girl he barely knew be enough to keep his booze-soaked mind from wandering the lanes of self-pity and hopelessness?
Perhaps it was suicide. I wouldn't blame him, considering the friends he kept. I'm only sorry I wasn't enough to save him.
Though, my mind rests easier in the belief that it was a drunken misstep in the middle of the night, and poor reactions of a late-night/early-morning driver.
Either way, real friends don't let friends walk home drunk, alone in the wilderness and covered in filth.
------------------------------------------------
In Loving Memory
DYLAN T. COYER
Dec. 5, 1980-Aug. 23, 2000
ELKHART -- Dylan T. Coyer, 19, of 114 Brady St., died at 4:51 a.m. Wednesday (Aug. 23, 2000) from injuries he suffered in a traffic accident on U.S. 20 between C.R. 15 and C.R. 17.
He was born Dec. 5, 1980, in LaPorte, the son of Roy L. and Molly M. (Combs) Coyer. He is survived by his parents, of Elkhart; a sister, Mrs. Doug (Georgianna) Gunter of Lafayette; one brother, William Diedrich of Elkhart; and grandmother, Eunice Harmon of Anderson, Ala.
Friends may call from 10 a.m. to noon on Monday at Walley-Mills-Zimmerman Funeral Home & Crematory. A procession will then leave for the graveside service at Frame Cemetery with the Rev. Toni Carmer of Trinity United Methodist Church officiating.
Mr. Coyer formerly worked at Western Rubber Co. in Goshen and formerly attended River Baptist Church in Elkhart.
Memorials may be given to the Muscular Dystrophy Association.
---------------------------------------------
September is Suicide Prevention Month
Step one: Be a good friend.
---------------------------------------------
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/217236-real-friends/
Anonymous
Thanks, Phaedra, and Harlequin... everybody has had amazing entries so far.. keep them coming.. much respect..
Dave
Dave
http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b43/tabithadrake/tes_zpsonwsyxvz.jpg
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qr_qDnDPyA4
*Muse* Supper Massive Black Hole
My Muse, My Shadow
My pocket full of rainbows
my Draken warrior.
He is my magic sock
fitting every odd-ball
that's missing a mate in my DNA
selective cellular structure.
My calibrated configurations,
My Mad Scientist...
Of mind and matter
he is my Tesla
my Hawking
and so much more.
Bogart to his Hepburn,
Rogers to my Astaire
My ALWAYS right!
even when I'm
WRONG!
my confidant
My come hither stare.
My Ludovico Einaudi
My Paso Doble Prince
My Shepherd,
and my ugly...
He breaks me,
takes control of me
He excites me...
Endless possibilities
under his radar
under his thumb
where I fit best....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qr_qDnDPyA4
*Muse* Supper Massive Black Hole
My Muse, My Shadow
My pocket full of rainbows
my Draken warrior.
He is my magic sock
fitting every odd-ball
that's missing a mate in my DNA
selective cellular structure.
My calibrated configurations,
My Mad Scientist...
Of mind and matter
he is my Tesla
my Hawking
and so much more.
Bogart to his Hepburn,
Rogers to my Astaire
My ALWAYS right!
even when I'm
WRONG!
my confidant
My come hither stare.
My Ludovico Einaudi
My Paso Doble Prince
My Shepherd,
and my ugly...
He breaks me,
takes control of me
He excites me...
Endless possibilities
under his radar
under his thumb
where I fit best....
My Friend
Hair black as midnight
skin ivory coloured
shined elephant tusks
eyes of deepest brown
beautiful without and within
a child moulded with love
by a mother
abused by her father
my home her sanctuary
plates of rice shared
tears shed
together in our secret place
we grew up during the hungry years
together looking forward
to what life had to offer us
grew together apart
Children later
a husband and divorce
meeting again
crying together
like never having lived apart
now we travel over mountains
across rivers and plains
telling each others pain
in laughter
in tears
healing together
with my friend.
Hair black as midnight
skin ivory coloured
shined elephant tusks
eyes of deepest brown
beautiful without and within
a child moulded with love
by a mother
abused by her father
my home her sanctuary
plates of rice shared
tears shed
together in our secret place
we grew up during the hungry years
together looking forward
to what life had to offer us
grew together apart
Children later
a husband and divorce
meeting again
crying together
like never having lived apart
now we travel over mountains
across rivers and plains
telling each others pain
in laughter
in tears
healing together
with my friend.
Anonymous
Thanks, Ms. Z. , and Grace for two brilliant entries.. this is going to be tough to judge...
Dave
Dave
"Friendship Doesn't Always Rhyme"
Remember when we met, how you trusted me
The distant past is a distance too long to see
Living too far apart for our clocks to sync
Hour hands will never clap when ours cannot interlink
Though time ages what can be seen
Inside we are who we've always been
It takes love for hearts to be defined
And mine doesn't want to be confined
To secret conversations in the night
Or the seductive verse I sublimely write
Our sometimes friendship doesn't have to rhyme
Nor be expressed in metaphoric line
In my core we are more than beneficial friends
By now you know how my lonely heart pretends
Transmitting lies within truths it slyly bends
Down lustful roads embracing lovers meet tragic ends
So if fleeting feelings will leave our friendship dead
Then the word kept silent is better left unsaid
Remember when we met, how you trusted me
The distant past is a distance too long to see
Living too far apart for our clocks to sync
Hour hands will never clap when ours cannot interlink
Though time ages what can be seen
Inside we are who we've always been
It takes love for hearts to be defined
And mine doesn't want to be confined
To secret conversations in the night
Or the seductive verse I sublimely write
Our sometimes friendship doesn't have to rhyme
Nor be expressed in metaphoric line
In my core we are more than beneficial friends
By now you know how my lonely heart pretends
Transmitting lies within truths it slyly bends
Down lustful roads embracing lovers meet tragic ends
So if fleeting feelings will leave our friendship dead
Then the word kept silent is better left unsaid
Anonymous
Brenda, and i.. went back and forth over all these great entries.. But the winner is Zazzles congrats on a beautiful write.. and congrats as well to our runners up.. Harliequin, and Grace.. but great job done by all.. so glad to read your work all participants.. glad to see such brilliance in this competition.. love..
Dave
Dave
My first trophy in almost 4 years! Omg thank you Dave & Crim I am speechless if you can believe that..
Grace I have to admit when I saw your entry I was sure you was gonna take it, a fine entry indeed..
Harlequin your entry was also very heartfelt, and to everyone else, it was a a pleasure reading your thoughts!
Grace I have to admit when I saw your entry I was sure you was gonna take it, a fine entry indeed..
Harlequin your entry was also very heartfelt, and to everyone else, it was a a pleasure reading your thoughts!
