Poetry competition CLOSED 3rd June 2016 8:14pm
WINNER
Trixareforkids
Trixareforkids
RUNNERS-UP:
Poetryman
and JohnFeddeler
Poem about poetry
- The Muse in Me -
As summer ebbs and autumn flows, in the course of the seasons,
I look to find a poetic muse, to grant me her rhyme or reasons…
And so I look to skies above, and pray to gods and angels great!
But not one answer do I hear, nor in divine discourse participate.
For the ways of such beings are unknowable to the mortal mind!
So my muse is not there, either to set free like light or darkly bind.
But that not end my seeking, for I have a heart given to curiosity…
And at the end of my mad, mad search, I find my fair muse in me.
I find my muse, in me!
Upon a dreaming day like this, my pen alights upon the page well,
As I listen to some inner voice, which rings as clear as temple bell.
And as I hear my spirit sing, to form the words that she conveys…
It feels not unlike a prayer, as a child prays in more innocent days.
I am the child, I am the woman, and yet the man too as is needed,
But most of all, I am the hand which guides my pen thus seeded…
With the bloom of poetry, the music of verse, the magic of words!
And at the end of all my writing I have found my fair muse indeed.
I have found my muse, in me!
A poet seeks to spin words of fire, to light imaginations like flame,
Igniting passions, pleasures, and delights that have many a name…
But most of all a poet: seeks to convey what lies within their heart.
And so I seek with all my inner fires, and I craft with all of my art!
The leaves soon shall tumble, from the trees, in gold and red hues,
For that is the magic of the seasons, when such beauty oft ensues.
I had thought to pen something profound, of nature’s quiet dignity,
And though that one line would suffice, I did let my muse run free.
The muse, in me!
As summer ebbs and autumn flows, in the course of the seasons,
I look to find a poetic muse, to grant me her rhyme or reasons…
And so I look to skies above, and pray to gods and angels great!
But not one answer do I hear, nor in divine discourse participate.
For the ways of such beings are unknowable to the mortal mind!
So my muse is not there, either to set free like light or darkly bind.
But that not end my seeking, for I have a heart given to curiosity…
And at the end of my mad, mad search, I find my fair muse in me.
I find my muse, in me!
Upon a dreaming day like this, my pen alights upon the page well,
As I listen to some inner voice, which rings as clear as temple bell.
And as I hear my spirit sing, to form the words that she conveys…
It feels not unlike a prayer, as a child prays in more innocent days.
I am the child, I am the woman, and yet the man too as is needed,
But most of all, I am the hand which guides my pen thus seeded…
With the bloom of poetry, the music of verse, the magic of words!
And at the end of all my writing I have found my fair muse indeed.
I have found my muse, in me!
A poet seeks to spin words of fire, to light imaginations like flame,
Igniting passions, pleasures, and delights that have many a name…
But most of all a poet: seeks to convey what lies within their heart.
And so I seek with all my inner fires, and I craft with all of my art!
The leaves soon shall tumble, from the trees, in gold and red hues,
For that is the magic of the seasons, when such beauty oft ensues.
I had thought to pen something profound, of nature’s quiet dignity,
And though that one line would suffice, I did let my muse run free.
The muse, in me!
Anonymous
scribe
They work with heavy hands
clouded minds and frantic plans
To catch the light within our minds
They sculpt and weave away their time
They work with heavy hands
clouded minds and frantic plans
To catch the light within our minds
They sculpt and weave away their time
Anonymous
Title: She pens her magic
She pens her magic
All of the letters on her keyboard click
Faster and faster; she is addicted to speed
and making things for others to read
A story comes to light
It involves a girl and her fright
But in the end, no one knows
when she writes poetry or prose
Sometimes the stories rhyme
others keep you guessing from time to time
Does she write about herself
or does she write about someone else
The macabre pieces are hard to read
and involve vampire bats getting the blood they need
Others speak of beautiful sunsets and flowers
and all of the Lord's many powers
Reality, morbidity, and dysfunction aside
Put on your reading glasses and hitch up for the ride
When you start reading one, the others are a must
for each has a story in which you are immediately thrust
Some people write as a release from pressure
Their secrets are written and then locked away forever
Perhaps writing is a cure for post-traumatic stress
or at least, it allows the survivors of pain a way to decompress
When she pens her magic fast and profuse
Most people think she is her own muse
She likes to keep people guessing
rather than telling the truth, which would be confessing
Another story of abuse, oh boy
Deep underground poetry has heard it all in its glory
Sex, drugs and rock and roll all night
Go ahead, pull up a chair, and try to decipher what the writers here write
She pens her magic
All of the letters on her keyboard click
Faster and faster; she is addicted to speed
and making things for others to read
A story comes to light
It involves a girl and her fright
But in the end, no one knows
when she writes poetry or prose
Sometimes the stories rhyme
others keep you guessing from time to time
Does she write about herself
or does she write about someone else
The macabre pieces are hard to read
and involve vampire bats getting the blood they need
Others speak of beautiful sunsets and flowers
and all of the Lord's many powers
Reality, morbidity, and dysfunction aside
Put on your reading glasses and hitch up for the ride
When you start reading one, the others are a must
for each has a story in which you are immediately thrust
Some people write as a release from pressure
Their secrets are written and then locked away forever
Perhaps writing is a cure for post-traumatic stress
or at least, it allows the survivors of pain a way to decompress
When she pens her magic fast and profuse
Most people think she is her own muse
She likes to keep people guessing
rather than telling the truth, which would be confessing
Another story of abuse, oh boy
Deep underground poetry has heard it all in its glory
Sex, drugs and rock and roll all night
Go ahead, pull up a chair, and try to decipher what the writers here write
Some things unsaid
Feelings unveiled
Wishes untold
Some scars unseen
One day pen and paper I sat
Writing pages of my own thoughts
Writing my wishes,my scars, my demons, and my dreams
Knowing perfectly all the tangled problems in my head
All the darkness that kept me blind
Now its all on paper in a musical tone
The endless tone of this poets whispers
Feelings unveiled
Wishes untold
Some scars unseen
One day pen and paper I sat
Writing pages of my own thoughts
Writing my wishes,my scars, my demons, and my dreams
Knowing perfectly all the tangled problems in my head
All the darkness that kept me blind
Now its all on paper in a musical tone
The endless tone of this poets whispers
Anonymous
I'm new to competitions - how does a public vote work?
Anonymous
Congrats, Trix. If you would have changed your poem according to my critique, you probably would have lost.
Way to go Poetryman and John Feddderlerlerlerler.
Although, because this was anonymous, which poem of Poetryman's won runner up ?????
Way to go Poetryman and John Feddderlerlerlerler.
Although, because this was anonymous, which poem of Poetryman's won runner up ?????
Congratulations, Trix - a perfect snapshot. I wonder - poets probably don't go for catch and release, though, not voluntarily at least.
Congrats to JF and Poetryman as well, and to the many other poets submitting such good writes I simply couldn't make up my mind.
Congrats to JF and Poetryman as well, and to the many other poets submitting such good writes I simply couldn't make up my mind.
MayRayn said:Congratulations, Trix - a perfect snapshot. I wonder - poets probably don't go for catch and release, though, not voluntarily at least.
Congrats to JF and Poetryman as well, and to the many other poets submitting such good writes I simply couldn't make up my mind.
I catch and release all the time, some are too small, some are pregnant, some are too ugly... You get the idea.
Congrats to JF and Poetryman as well, and to the many other poets submitting such good writes I simply couldn't make up my mind.
I catch and release all the time, some are too small, some are pregnant, some are too ugly... You get the idea.
