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Poetry Contest (01) Part 2

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    Poetry Contest (01) Voting part two.

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Raven, Apr 21, 2007.

    Poetry Contest (01)
    Voting Time​


    The winner of this contest will be stickied in the Poetry Section Until the next winner.

    Voting will end 23/04/07. You can vote for yourselfs But i would hope in the name of good sportsman ship you'd vote for a poem you haven't written. But I'll leave that decission up to you.


    Good Luck and happy Voting.



    ~Raven.


    Below are the poems.
     
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    White Rider

    Nothing Left
    ________________________________________
    Nothing left.

    He stumbles, the horse beneath him trembles.
    He moves with pretended purpose through the crowded
    streets. Everywhere wives and children rush out to greet
    their husbands and fathers.

    The air rings with laugher but he’s empty inside. The war was
    won but the cold aching in his heart will never be filled. He
    can’t hear the joy of others, his own pain is too great. Three
    sons lay dead back there, somewhere on the battle field.
    The love he’d had died a year ago with his one and only
    lover.

    Why did he make it? When so many who’s lives were
    full perished before his very eyes.
    So what if they were free once more? To him there’s nothing
    left worth coming home for.
     
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    Sayso

    The Long Road Home
    ________________________________________
    Carmine rivers course the fields
    covered with bodies of skin and bone.
    Men lay sleeping where they fell
    no longer wanting to go back home.

    A soldier; deaf to cries of pain
    stumbles on yet another rotting arm,
    makes his way past a ruined house
    and through the yard of an empty farm.

    He looks up from his silent death
    to a road laid out open wide,
    lined with flowers; blood of men;
    poppies fill the hedge on either side.

    The soldier bends down to pick one
    and holds it close to his aching heart.
    This is the one that walked away
    though from the others, he'll never be apart!

    He has no wounds for us to see
    but many lie deep inside;
    a soldiers journey home from war
    is one that many cannot abide.
     
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    Myst

    Never said sorrow
    ________________________________________
    The trees mourn in their pale routine
    of swaying and patterned fall of leaves-
    a landscape now painted in monochrome
    despair.

    "Charge!" and its an echo
    of dead men's glory;
    for the soldier who has walked upon
    blood-caked streets
    -arms bandaged
    with cold friend's destinies-
    his eyes would be blind to paradise.

    The flowers on the road shine
    in the sky's twilight weeping,
    and only he can see their roots
    tangled around corpses.

    "Never said sorrow" and its an empty song
    whistled in anticipation of the night.
    For all the soldiers advanced in their
    seperate journeys
    and he had dragged their emptiness
    away from life.

    The orange halo descends
    -creaking in the wake of lost souls-
    while the wind chimes in dedication
    its solemn tunes.
    For the blind man, his paradise
    would be with his comrades,
    singing sorrow to dawn
    in the sun's different hues.
     
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    Torana

    Returned To Leave
    ________________________________________
    The soldier lays upon his bed this night,
    his heart filled with joyous pride.
    Tomorrow he is going home
    to be by his lovers side.

    Wash away the dirt of war,
    shave the whiskers off his face.
    To rid his skin of all the pains,
    he's glad he gets to leave this place.

    He now prays that he can cope,
    with living a civilians life.
    He wants so much to make it work,
    to be happy at home with his wife.

    But if the nightmares never fade,
    and bitterness takes over his soul.
    Will his family stay by his side?
    Their happiness is his only goal.

    The fear growing oh so strong,
    will they see the grief within his eyes,
    from all the horrors he has seen.
    He prays this won't be his families demise.

    The new day comes,
    he is at the gates,
    his wife and child,
    and all of his mates.

    Standing there welcoming him home,
    with warmth and love she holds him tight,
    the tears flow she knows something's wrong.
    And now all have left them for the night.

    They sit within the family room,
    and tell him of events that did unfold.
    His stands a smiles and says goodbye,
    his last words they were so very cold.

    "I can not live this life you see,
    Sorry but this is how it has to be."

    Part of him never left that place,
    part of him never will.
     
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    Misty Moon

    Day by Day
    ________________________________________
    He stepped down onto solid ground.
    His face smiled but his heart frowned.
    His family was there with a warm greeting.
    It made him feel good but the emotion was fleeting.

    They took him home to a celebration.
    He no longer had to feign a look of elation.
    Hoping and praying that he was alive.
    His family had faith that he would survive.

    As soon as they saw him they started the party.
    They laughed and danced happy and carefree.
    He was thankful that he was at home.
    Surrounded by loved ones he still felt alone.

    That night he laid awake in his comfortable bed.
    He couldn't get rid of the pictures in his head.
    So young at the age of eighteen
    But tarnished by the horrors he's seen.

    He tossed and turned while his family slept sound.
    The images in his mind made his heart pound.
    "Why me," he whispered, "why was I saved."
    The others were just as worthy with the fights that they braved.

    Sunlight peeked through his window as the day dawned.
    Another sleepless night passed and he stifled a yawn.
    He got out of bed but his thoughts were frayed.
    His motions were systematic, he lived day by day.

    He looks like a boy yet he is a man.
    He's held a gun and pulled the trigger with his own hand.
    His strength has been tested, tried and true.
    Many today are alive because he did what he had to do.
     
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    Isis

    I’ve reverted To Desert


    I've reverted to desert - I have never had a sword
    or steed, just myself and decade-old lead, a canvas tent. Don't
    try telling me the sheiks lived like this, either,
    in air too hot and open, a sniper's nightmare; we've trashed
    their houses. In the smallest, most like a real home
    a place a family clearly evacuated - familiar paisley, glossy portraits
    on the wall. I pocketed an Italian-made mirror, recognizing the shape,
    barely thinking. I have it in this journalist haven, this dusky
    New York pizzeria; alone and strangely, thankfully hot.

    I'd thought
    of moving to Alaska. City rain is cold enough,
    sharp as machetes. I have become a being of baking
    - see, with this mirror smaller than this torn-up palm,
    it reminded me of a grandmother escaped some ghetto,
    survived long enough to brush her violin-bow hair in a foreign, scalloped mirror
    and imagine the flames to young charges. She is long
    under the shadow of Treblinka, through all her spite;

    left me only burning. And I am. Slowly, I mouth it
    - Treblinka, and Baghdad. It is a comfortable oven and I forget
    that here these journalists have not seen death in the desert,
    that a stoning means calling the neighbors for weed,
    that there is no fear in anyone's English
    but mine.
     
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    Gannon

    Ambrosia
    ________________________________________
    Bowed low and deep he tasted dirt.
    Kissing the soils of his land
    He felt both punctured and hurt.

    His land seemed barren,
    His crops unsown.
    He was shot shot by both sides
    As he breached his home.

    Advancing on the weary farmstead
    With furrowed face he fell,
    Envying those already fallen
    And more those already dead.

    An evil returned to his shores
    Inside but a broken shell.
    The dirt began to taste much sweeter
    As he was peacefully reclaimed by Hell.
     
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    Freshmaker

    Your commandments

    Your commandments are nothing to me now
    I've broken my bond between human and humanity
    Just wait until your father comes home.

    I followed the bright lights in
    To be all that I could be; army strong
    From mass media to mass murder
    Just wait until your husband comes home.

    Dried by the desert sands
    Baptised in fire and shrapnel
    Into the Holy Church of Our Lady Carnage
    These scars are taken as rites of contrition
    Just wait until your son comes home.

    I was only following orders.
     
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    Night Haunter


    Forever Autum

    Falling falling the leaves of autum rush
    Down with the wind in tow.
    Fallen are we broken we are now.
    Misery stricken our once youthful face's
    Loves wait for us
    yet pain reaps us
    we are the Fallen of those lost.

    Time ticks slow now
    Autum comes with dead leaves falling like dead warriors
    Autum the time for the dead.
    What have I done
    Once young now older than ever.
    My hands look pink but I see the stained blood
    Forever to course me.

    Home I see
    A glimpse of the shadow I once was
    A warrior lost in a world that needs me not
    My heart slows I see my love
    My heart yearns for her once again
    But The shadows taunt me
    Night becomes hell
    The dark reminds me
    the trigger I once pulled killed
    The night stalks me
    Forever and evermore
    I will know no peace again
    The stained blood runs to deep

    For the trigger I pulled killed
    So be it the night stalks me
    As the shadows taunt me
    Forgivness lost to me
    No more shall I see peace
    Forever locked within the battle

    My sight sees the dead watching me
    Happy once never again
    The shadows taunt me
    As the night stalks me.
    Forever autum
    As the leaves fall dead and decayed
    Forever Autum
     
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    Everlyn


    Sunday Dinner

    Bring out the best china, and the good silver too,
    The holiday linens, nothing other will do.
    At last Sunday Dinner will be just like before -
    Our sweet darling Johnny is home from the war.


    And everyone's here to welcome Johnny back home
    Great-Aunt Agatha's come, even Grandpa Jerome.
    Come sit round the table, and will Johnny say Grace?
    Thank you, Lord, for this food, and for this blessed place.


    We've got chicken with gravy, and biscuits and greens.
    There're all Johnny's fav'rites, even pie and ice cream.
    Our dear little Johnny's come back hale and able,
    And he's carving the meat at the head of the table.


    There're lines in his face now, and too much in his eyes,
    And he says he's no hero, not like some of those guys.
    But he'll cheer up real soon, it'll be just like before -
    Our own sweet boy Johnny is home from the war.


    It shouldn't have shocked us, we all know where he's been.
    And we all forgive him such a venial sin.
    It just sort of happened, wasn't really his fault.
    He forgot where he was, and said "Pass the d*mned salt."


    He's run to the bathroom, and he's locked himself in.
    I thought I heard sobbing, though that couldn't have been.
    He won't open the door, says he's not fit for his kin:
    "An *sshole like me'd only f*** it up again."
     
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    Because I can only have 10 voting options and have 12 poems I've had to open a second thread for the two poems i could fit into place.

    So Here you go.

    **Heather**

    Frost
     
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    **Heather**

    Coming Home

    The guns, oh how they blazed,
    They would bang above my head,
    Blind my sight and rattle my brains,
    And blood would cover the dead.

    The rats beneath my feet, they scurry,
    Trench foot infecting my toes,
    People around are all in a hurry,
    Although there’s nowhere to go.

    The lice in my top, oh how they crawl,
    My clothes, how they make me itch,
    A man at my feet, from the top he did fall,
    As he tried to scramble out of the ditch.

    And now I think of my wife, who’s at home,
    And the kids who are tucked up in bed,
    I smile to myself, and my memories, they do roam,
    And “oh betty,” were the last words I said.
     
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    Frost

    Foreign Comfort


    And where the cacaphony once rendered this mans useless;
    Peaceful silence. Sirens and horns of plummeting -

    But what? Hastened natural process brings no tears,
    Leaves no grief. As the metal strikes the ground,
    The silence strikes my sides. A mere rumble in
    The earth's belly: We fertilise the soils.

    Nights and days passed, billowing into years from the day.
    White walls.
    White lights.
    White sheets.
    White papers signed with red ink - permission to return home.

    But saphire skies overhead don't blend with emerald leaves,
    decorating the foregrounds of this foreign house.
    Cream walls and a shining roof of silver bring back
    Images of shoreline sands and flashing metal in the sun.

    Then there she stands, with a shaking body. Wide smiles and
    Flowing tears, swaths through the deserts on her cheeks.
    Foreign comforts.
    Useless.
    Useless.

    The gentle vibrations as my chest hits the floor, the darkness
    as my head hits the pavement.

    Foreing comfort.
     
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    The first weekly poetry contest has closed.

    White Rider (Nothing Left) (1)
    Sayso (The Long Road Home) (1)
    Myst (Never Said Sorrow) (3)
    Torana (Returned To Leave) (0)
    Misty Moon (Day By Day) (1)
    Isis (I've Reverted To Desert) (3)
    Gannon (Ambrosia) (0)
    The FreshMaker (Your commandments) (0)
    Night Haunter (Forever Autum) (6)
    Evelyn (Sunday Dinner) (1)
    **Heather** (Coming Home) (0)
    Frost (Foreign Comfort) (2)


    The Winner Night Haunter. with Forever Autum.
    The poem will be stickied for one week until the next winner of this weeks Poetry Contest.
     
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