Poetry competition CLOSED 22nd April 2017 10:23pm
WINNER
case28 (Alexander Case)
View Profile Poems by case28
rosette
RUNNER-UP: JohnnyBlaze

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Poem of the Month - May 2017

crimsin
Unveiling
Tyrant of Words
United States 121awards
Joined 25th Jan 2011
Forum Posts: 2608

The Traveler 3 . . . Reworked

He stood; naked, afraid, and alone.
Should he go back or forward?I
Instead of doing either
he placed his hand on the bridge's railing,
hoping his knees wouldn't give way.
A terrifying dread overcame him.
He leaned forward,
trying to steady himself,
the noise; ferocious.
He knew he shouldn't,
tried not to,
but he cast his eyes down and beheld the rapids.
Wait.
But wait.
The foaming water was not rapids at all.
Oh no, it was only a languid little stream.
It was foaming and churning because of all the
drowning Libidos and accompanying Egos.
 
“Please, what do you want from me?”
 
No one answered him.
He didn't expect them to.
He stared down at the horrible scene below,
hundreds,
no thousands of perishing Libidos
screamed for one more chance.
To be able to go back,
go back to the very perversion
which had sent them to their watery grave in the first place.
Defiant and lustful to the absolute end
is mankind's fascination with skin against skin.
The traveler allowed his eyes to linger
on the scene below,
to not do so he would have had to look into himself.
He gulped a few quick,
intense, mouthfuls of air,
leaned further over the railing,
into the turbulence below
as if he were seeing the very last thing left on earth.
Rank odor emitted from the water now,
an odor which could mean only death and decay.
Suddenly he saw something scurrying from the stream.
Then another.
And more.
egos making a mad dash for . . . where?
Where could an Ego go if it had no body to prod and to push?
Still, they were leaving the water
by the hundreds, maybe thousands,
looking so comical
the traveler laughed aloud in spite of his own calamitous situation.
The egos bounced ahead without feet,
a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly black,
dark blues or heavy greens,
no wimpy colors for the Egos of the world.
And the noise!  
Deafening.
How could Egos make sounds?
But they did.
Angry, spiteful sounds,
like jet planes screaming inside his head.
Then suddenly,
they stopped.
The traveler watched in fascination and horror
as the Egos became too big for themselves
and burst into gore and globs of Ego matter.
Then they were gone;
seeping down the bank into the stream.
What had been fetid odors wafting from below
gave way to a different fragrance;
the lingering smell of All The Lovers he had known.
The combined smell was at first pleasant and satisfying,
taking the traveler back to better times,
the sensuousness of women's caresses.
Faces flooded his thoughts.
Headless, naked bodies fought for dominance inside his head,
until there was only one left.
It was grotesque.
Looked neither feminine or anything remotely close to it.
It was a misshapen apparition,
but it did have a head,
and the face on the head was recognizable.
See?
The face spoke.
I am your lover. Can you not see that?
I am you
Written by standingmyground
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Fallen_Angel_194
Angel.
Thought Provoker
United States 5awards
Joined 24th May 2014
Forum Posts: 318

Enough is Enough

Too many have died,
Too many fourteen year old's have been found dead,
Too many wrists dripping red,
How dare you tell them their too young to know.

The body count rises each day,
Because Ignorant people tell them It's a sin to be gay.
Love is love,
And no one can fucking take that from us.

It hurts to see lives ended,
Before they had even begun,
Enough is Enough,
If you kick your kid out for being gay,
You're basically holding the gun.

Too many have died for human rights.
The world is an ugly place,
Especially when someone tells a child it's not okay to be gay.

Love is love,
And No one can take that way from me.
Enough is enough,
Too many have died,
For this simple wanting to love.
Written by Fallen_Angel_194 (Angel.)
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Jenny1959
Lost Thinker
Joined 14th Jan 2017
Forum Posts: 5

A Week In The Life Of Edith Brown

It’s eight ‘o’ clock on Monday morning
And a certain someone is on the bus to town
It’s the start of another hectic week
In the life of Edith Brown

At ten she meets her old friend Pam
In the Pink Teapot Cafe
There'll be tea and cakes waiting for her
And as usual Pam won’t let her pay

Pam will moan about her husband Fred
Who’s the laziest man on earth
Ever since she married him
He’s been more trouble than he’s worth

Edith will listen attentively
But she’s cautious to offer advice
Pam can be very defensive
Sometimes downright nasty to be precise

When the tea and cakes are drunk and eaten
Edith and Pam go their separate ways
No hug as they part company
Cos Pam's not keen on public displays

Edith goes home and does some ironing
Then sits down to watch TV
With a cuppa and a plate of digestives
On a lap-tray upon her knee

When seven-thirty comes around
It’s time for Edith to put up her feet
With a steaming cup of hot chocolate
Watching Coronation Street

She goes to bed at ten-thirty
And wakes up each day at six
After a glass of hot water and lemon
Her fried breakfast she will fix

Two eggs, two sausages and a slice of fried bread
She eats the same thing every day
She’s just about due for her cholesterol check
Goodness knows what her doctor will say

Tuesday is the day she bakes
Cakes she’s not supposed to eat
She uses guesswork for the measures
And ends up with enough cakes to feed the street

On Wednesday Edith plays Bridge
With some friends she’s known for years
Sometimes they play in her sitting room
Other times they play in theirs

One particular friend called Sally
Plays her cards close to her chest
She makes up the rules to suit herself
Much to the dismay of the rest

Whenever she is playing
She likes a large glass of gin
And when someone has a bit of luck
She swears down she's let them win

On Thursdays, Edith goes to the market
Where there are bargains to be found
But the site is on a car-park
Where large potholes are profound

Many a time she’s almost dislocated
Her newly-fitted plastic hip
Not looking where she’s going
And resulting in a trip

The stalls are full of varied things
From furniture to lemonade
Electrical appliances and ornaments
And lots of lamps without a shade

Friday afternoons, Edith goes to the cinema
To see the latest blockbuster
Her favourite film is ‘Son of the Morning Star’
In which Gary Cole played General Custer

At the weekend she takes it easy
Doing a crossword or reading a book
She hopes that no-one needs to contact her
Because her phone is off the hook

She’s got tired of cold-callers
Wanting to know who’s her energy supplier
They pestered her so much
She felt like disconnecting the telephone wire

She’s had a laid-back weekend
Now it’s time to go to sleep
Before Monday morning comes
And the start of another busy week

If you pop into the Pink Teapot Cafe
When you’re in the town
The lady at the table near the window
Is the one and only Edith Brown
Written by Jenny1959
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poet Anonymous

...

PoetSpeak
Tyrant of Words
United States 54awards
Joined 17th Nov 2013
Forum Posts: 166

Missing You

Sometimes 
I like missing you 
It gives me appreciation 
For what I have 
Our bond 
Our connection 
Our us 

Unique 
One of a kind 
As most lovers will say 

When you walk through the door 
I fold into your arms 
Your embrace 
Loving 
With character and grace 
Holding you close 
Wishing the moment had no end

Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States 116awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 14273

[ NaPo 2017 ] Poetry is not

the grand piano in a crate  
custom built to accommodate  
its awkward insect shape on stilted legs    
     
nor is it music eminating from within      
as a starving mouse hurries, scurries      
right to left to right across keys      
in search of a single crumb of cheese      
that may have fallen out of a great  
composer's mustache      
     
Poetry is when underneath that piano  
being hoisted up to a penthouse suite      
with ropes handled by a deliveryman  
who just polished off a bag of Cheetos      
walks a lover of the Ragtime classics        
gaily humming, stepping lively over      
sidewalk cracks ( so as not to break      
his poor mother's back )      
 
oblivious to what happens next      
     
 
 
 
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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Poem-Worm
Poetry Worm
Thought Provoker
Joined 1st Nov 2016
Forum Posts: 346


sankara
Lost Thinker
Joined 24th Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 12

Beauty in Illness

I.
The voices in my head never stop
They overwhelm me like a pebble stuck
In an ocean’s tempest. The insidious screams
Of hidden devils torments my nights
So I paint their unheard whispers
On a wide blank canvas that can envelop
The secrets they share with me

II.
Everyday I drown in my own shadow
Through sundown and moonrise my misery
Encapsulates the sky and turns black the sultry
sun and stars. That darkness is my ink
With which I weave beauty upon a simple white page
From the ashes of nonexistence I bring to life
The broken galaxies trapped within my crippled mind
the words I  stich from my soul’s drooling blood
Are laid bare for all to see

III.
I tremble at the slightest touch of a stranger's gaze
I’m uncomfortable in the skin in which I was borne
A raging sea of red ants crawl underneath, tiptoeing
Quickly across my shaken sanity. I shudder underneath
The weight of my clumsy words, I let slip so inelegantly
My frail thoughts for all to ignore, the softly uttered mumblings
Of a ghost. I slink away into invisibility to be alone with my
Anxiety. Yet in my music, I’ve found something
A new body, stability from the air in my lungs,
Strength from my quivering diaphragm,
Courage from the persistent vibrations in my voice
In my music I am born anew
Written by sankara
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KDAmB
Tyrant of Words
Australia 13awards
Joined 5th Sep 2014
Forum Posts: 6358

[ NaPo 2017 ] Degenerative Metrics

     
Generation Degenerate    
knocking everyone different    
downgraded as second rate

Denigrate
   
Equate terrorists with Muslims    
Muslims with Blacks    
within the borders of your    
White Supremacist STATE
STATE   
STATEments written in a rage
Rabid foamings at the mouth    
about the Rebel Flag's heritage    
and its importance to the South    
Rejecting friends, family    
everything worthwhile    
   
Degenerate Generation
living in denial    
   
I've no desire to keep up  
    
with your live stream of
HATE, HATE, HATE    
   
Endless descentS
into maddening Intolerance  
Your beliefs taking precedence    
   
Politics and Religion
     
Religion and Politics    

feeding your daily fix  
A radio with one station  
Volume cranked up to  
SHOUT, SHOUT, SHOUT    
   
What choice are we left with    
but to tune you out?  
   
 
Written by Magnetron
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Poem-Worm
Poetry Worm
Thought Provoker
Joined 1st Nov 2016
Forum Posts: 346

Only a few more days! Get those nominations in!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mABuS9eSWnQ

Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States 116awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 14273

[ Lesbian ] Dreams

  
Some dreams aren't  
 
meant to be anything more  
than what they already are  
 
I've accepted that  
Made my peace with it  
 
There are more lifetimes ahead  
for such flights of fantasy  
 
and I feel sorry for those  
poor souls who believe this is  
our one and only chance at  
the happiness God intended  
for us to experience  
 
I may have been born this way  
but I'll be damned if I die  
settling for anything less  
this time around  
 


 
Written by MaryWalker
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Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States 116awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 14273

catch me never

Magdalena (Spartalena)
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Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States 116awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 14273

Pieces of a Day

Hi. Wanted to say thanks to everyone who has left comments. I'm sorry I haven't responded. Trying to go back to school and take care of pestering bills. But thank you so much, you don't know what your comments mean to me.

(1/16/2012)

Fall arrives softly, creeping, circling,
Licking around the edges of the house.
The sky a shivering pink while clouds
Coagulate into thin streams of blood.

I want to die but I don't kill myself, it's like
When you're about to put out that last
Cigarette but you wait. Not yet. Not yet.
I once was in love with a guy

Who swore death sounds like the moment
A butt hits water,
That beautiful transparent
Hiss.

You try to wring something out of the day,
Some final fit, use words like naked
And nubile, fumble to give classification
To this hunger inside you. Silence drapes

The windows while emptiness snarls and
Tears beneath your skin. Desire has you
Bent and moaning aloud, whispering promises and pleas to the wind.

I ache to give the right language to the
Feeling hissing inside me. My will like
Hands gently guiding a lover.
Not like that. Like this.
Written by toniscales (Lost Girl)
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Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States 116awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 14273

A Transcendence

Beyond our past and our dead
that which mourning did not erase  
a passage for our soul exists  
and remains for us to embrace    
   
Each upon a journey  
an expedition of survival  
inward renaissance  
preceding a revival  
   
A personal pilgrimage  
consciousness raising  
psychology of self  
internal appraising  
   
Seeking revelation  
a pathway to peace  
awareness is dawning  
liberating release  
   
As our lives transcend    
outside the literal sense  
we rediscover ourselves  
without pretence
Written by mel44 (Melgar)
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Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States 116awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 14273

[ NaPo 2017 ] No Apologies

  
Forgive me for withholding
many details of my personal life  
through my poetry; I prefer  
not to stir up ghosts    
   
Rather than evict them  
reclaim old haunting grounds  
I chose to move out and live  
in the moment; the Present is    
where I battle my demons  
   
Wraiths of childhood bullies  
who occasionally materialize  
linger only long enough    
as a reminder that  
   
I already killed them  
   
not in the arena of my mind  
to no avail  
   
but by turning my back on them  
and walking away  
   
Time does not heal a damn thing  
   
We do, with great self restraint  
refraining from severing scar-tissue    
in misguided attempts to slit the throats   
of our unwanted apparitions


Written by PsycoticMastermind
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