Poetry competition CLOSED 28th April 2017 8:59pm
WINNER
LunaLove6963
LunaLove6963
RUNNER-UP:
mysteriouslady
Page:
DUP Gentlemen Appreciation Week
Poetry Contest Description
Write about your favorite male DUP poet
[ the male version of the last competition]
Whether you're personally friends with them or just love their poems write them a little something special!
Show 'em love!
Rules:
~ One entry only
~ You can only pick ONE DUP poet to write about
~ Nothing sexually vulgar
~ Title the poem with the DUP name
~ Explain why they are special
~ Can be as long or short as you want
You have one week get started!!!
Whether you're personally friends with them or just love their poems write them a little something special!
Show 'em love!
Rules:
~ One entry only
~ You can only pick ONE DUP poet to write about
~ Nothing sexually vulgar
~ Title the poem with the DUP name
~ Explain why they are special
~ Can be as long or short as you want
You have one week get started!!!
Satanssperm
Your style is as unique
As you
Your words are raw and ruthless
And often the un-pretty side of life
No traditional writings from you
That's what drew me in
And now how I feel about you
Has gone far beyond admire
My flame rose higher
For your words
Seduced my mind
And your love
Possessed my soul
Now I'm sitting in our home
And I watch you
Pushing to sell your book
And as you begin to write
Even after a long day at work
I can still see your madness
Leave your hand
Throw pencil to pad
And I can't wait to read
What's been formulating
In that mind of yours all day
Your style is as unique
As you
Your words are raw and ruthless
And often the un-pretty side of life
No traditional writings from you
That's what drew me in
And now how I feel about you
Has gone far beyond admire
My flame rose higher
For your words
Seduced my mind
And your love
Possessed my soul
Now I'm sitting in our home
And I watch you
Pushing to sell your book
And as you begin to write
Even after a long day at work
I can still see your madness
Leave your hand
Throw pencil to pad
And I can't wait to read
What's been formulating
In that mind of yours all day
`Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind[s]´ of JohnnyBlaze & Co*
Before an aide-memoire existed, there was poetic form;
oral transmission through
ancient civilization:
The preservation of priceless
Tradition and familiar Lore
containing Ancestral secrets;
ways of Life otherwise lost
amidst generations of the World:
Hundreds of centuries
have long set sail since
'The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor'
crash-landed upon the annals
of cultural and literary History
2500 years before the Christian era.
From this resting place of Beginning
would return Armadas of Word bearing
all languages from the four corners
of the Earth
Captained by well-seasoned Poets
charged with the preservation
of priceless Poetic forms.
Various hybrids were conceived
retracing the journey by sailors on leave,
born of wayward affairs of the Heart
upon islands of Crete
and other foreign countries.
Sired by Captains of Sonnets,
First Mates of Meter
and deckhands of Rhyme,
they were rejected by traditionalists
as bastards only to become
the Masters of Modernistic
and Confessional Verse.
Throughout evolving generations,
Death after Death of physical existence
from poverty and disease manifested,
until only an epitaphed lineage
of Legacy remained in Words.
( For there is no money in Poetry
for the living sea of humanity. )
And the dying Poet vows ( again )
from his deathbed to a True Love,
"I'll come back a rich man
next time around, I promise;
give you all you deserve."
While the Poem sits by his side
loyally, unable to imagine
having more than they have now.
Because a Poet isn't of flesh
nor bone, nor of only one mind unto himself,
but a flowing Consciousness of Blood;
and Blood is a Life unto itself
that neither be directed nor controlled.
But, rather, controls the course
of its own fate to those worthy few.
Nor does it forget, or fail
to find its way back home.
Even if the Poet were to pay Charon
across the River Styx
that his memory to be erased
before each new Life,
his Blood would boil and lunge
upon meeting her star in season
a million miles from Origin
Rhyme, or Reason.
He would lose his Heart to Love
all over again, and die destitute
penning of her demure coquetry,
When face-to-face in the presence
Of pure Poetry.
~
* MaryWalker, PsycoticMastermind, Magnetron, and Anarchitect
Entered in the "DUP Gentlemen Appreciation Week".
oral transmission through
ancient civilization:
The preservation of priceless
Tradition and familiar Lore
containing Ancestral secrets;
ways of Life otherwise lost
amidst generations of the World:
Hundreds of centuries
have long set sail since
'The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor'
crash-landed upon the annals
of cultural and literary History
2500 years before the Christian era.
From this resting place of Beginning
would return Armadas of Word bearing
all languages from the four corners
of the Earth
Captained by well-seasoned Poets
charged with the preservation
of priceless Poetic forms.
Various hybrids were conceived
retracing the journey by sailors on leave,
born of wayward affairs of the Heart
upon islands of Crete
and other foreign countries.
Sired by Captains of Sonnets,
First Mates of Meter
and deckhands of Rhyme,
they were rejected by traditionalists
as bastards only to become
the Masters of Modernistic
and Confessional Verse.
Throughout evolving generations,
Death after Death of physical existence
from poverty and disease manifested,
until only an epitaphed lineage
of Legacy remained in Words.
( For there is no money in Poetry
for the living sea of humanity. )
And the dying Poet vows ( again )
from his deathbed to a True Love,
"I'll come back a rich man
next time around, I promise;
give you all you deserve."
While the Poem sits by his side
loyally, unable to imagine
having more than they have now.
Because a Poet isn't of flesh
nor bone, nor of only one mind unto himself,
but a flowing Consciousness of Blood;
and Blood is a Life unto itself
that neither be directed nor controlled.
But, rather, controls the course
of its own fate to those worthy few.
Nor does it forget, or fail
to find its way back home.
Even if the Poet were to pay Charon
across the River Styx
that his memory to be erased
before each new Life,
his Blood would boil and lunge
upon meeting her star in season
a million miles from Origin
Rhyme, or Reason.
He would lose his Heart to Love
all over again, and die destitute
penning of her demure coquetry,
When face-to-face in the presence
Of pure Poetry.
~
* MaryWalker, PsycoticMastermind, Magnetron, and Anarchitect
Entered in the "DUP Gentlemen Appreciation Week".
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
Go To Page
To Mr. Anonymouslyhere
Mr Anonymous,
What can I say,
Your work is unlike any other,
I've known you for a long time,
And for as long as I've known you,
All you've ever been is kind,
Mr anonymous,
You've always been kind to me,
Your work is unlike any I've ever seen,
And some day I hope we'll meet.
Mr anonymous,
All you've shown me is kindness,
and I thank you for that,
Your work is phenomenal,
Dear Mr Anonymous,
Your one of the best men I know,
And one day I hope we meet,
Your work in unlike any other,
Thank you,
All you've shown me is kindness,
And I'll never forget that.
Mr Anonymous,
What can I say,
Your work is unlike any other,
I've known you for a long time,
And for as long as I've known you,
All you've ever been is kind,
Mr anonymous,
You've always been kind to me,
Your work is unlike any I've ever seen,
And some day I hope we'll meet.
Mr anonymous,
All you've shown me is kindness,
and I thank you for that,
Your work is phenomenal,
Dear Mr Anonymous,
Your one of the best men I know,
And one day I hope we meet,
Your work in unlike any other,
Thank you,
All you've shown me is kindness,
And I'll never forget that.
Dartford
He is truly a master of words
A juggler of clever concepts
The King of shortened verse
He can be the poetry fool but
His words can confound the wise
His subtlety is sublime
It taps you on the shoulder
It whispers in your ear
His ire is sound and righteous
He is witty and sometimes
He is clearly taking the pith
He throws out superb lines
Like an Oscar winning actor
He can punch you in the face
Like the sharpest of boxers
Or deeply touch your heart
Like the saddest of stories
He can gently massage your ego
Or easily cut you down to size
He has made me cry
He has made me laugh
He has made me sad
He has made me happy
He has made me think
He has made me rethink
His power with so few words
Is completely awe inspiring
He and his words have often
Inspired me to write
But more importantly
He makes me smile
Even on dark days
I only know him as Dartford
Dart – a pointed object for throwing
Ford – a crossing point in a river
Throw the dart into a river
Or click his poetry links
And you can be taken
In absolutely any direction
He has never written
A poem I didn’t like
This is not a bromance
It’s the greatest respect
And tribute I can give to
A poet called Dartford
He is truly a master of words
A juggler of clever concepts
The King of shortened verse
He can be the poetry fool but
His words can confound the wise
His subtlety is sublime
It taps you on the shoulder
It whispers in your ear
His ire is sound and righteous
He is witty and sometimes
He is clearly taking the pith
He throws out superb lines
Like an Oscar winning actor
He can punch you in the face
Like the sharpest of boxers
Or deeply touch your heart
Like the saddest of stories
He can gently massage your ego
Or easily cut you down to size
He has made me cry
He has made me laugh
He has made me sad
He has made me happy
He has made me think
He has made me rethink
His power with so few words
Is completely awe inspiring
He and his words have often
Inspired me to write
But more importantly
He makes me smile
Even on dark days
I only know him as Dartford
Dart – a pointed object for throwing
Ford – a crossing point in a river
Throw the dart into a river
Or click his poetry links
And you can be taken
In absolutely any direction
He has never written
A poem I didn’t like
This is not a bromance
It’s the greatest respect
And tribute I can give to
A poet called Dartford
Anonymous
g o n e
PoetSpeak Perfection
Your thoughts are perfect words
that some merely may think
never allowing the world
what a perfect thought can be
You however are the perfect Poet
always laying down whats real and raw
No guessing, unless its your game
No bullshit, unless you create it
No worries, unless you chose them
No peaking, unless the mask is loose
No back talk, unless you give the command
Sometimes you wear your mouth on your sleeve
You possess a warm and caring heart
And sometimes youre telling us babes
Just shut up and get on our knees
Whether its a single malt alone
or a dirty weekend for 2
Just wanted you to know
this ones for you
Simple. Easy.
PoetSpeak Perfection.
( love to you from me, my friend
pervs and drinkers to the end )
Your thoughts are perfect words
that some merely may think
never allowing the world
what a perfect thought can be
You however are the perfect Poet
always laying down whats real and raw
No guessing, unless its your game
No bullshit, unless you create it
No worries, unless you chose them
No peaking, unless the mask is loose
No back talk, unless you give the command
Sometimes you wear your mouth on your sleeve
You possess a warm and caring heart
And sometimes youre telling us babes
Just shut up and get on our knees
Whether its a single malt alone
or a dirty weekend for 2
Just wanted you to know
this ones for you
Simple. Easy.
PoetSpeak Perfection.
( love to you from me, my friend
pervs and drinkers to the end )
Anonymous
I appreciate this nod, thank you. Thank you for a great comp, and a round of applause to the winner and fellow runner up.
Anonymous
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