weekly Poetry Contest (05) Voting

Poll closed May 21, 2007.
  1. Wordwizard (Forever Dormant)

    1 vote(s)
  2. Isis (The Story Of Sleep)

    2 vote(s)
  3. xXxHeatherxXx (Dreams)

    2 vote(s)
  4. Tornana (Unearthly Dream)

    8 vote(s)
  5. Gannon (Dancing in the Dark / Silent Night)

    5 vote(s)
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  1. Raven

    Raven Banned

    Oct 14, 2006
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    The NetherWorld

    Poetry Contest (05) Voting Time

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Raven, May 18, 2007.

    Poetry Contest (05)
    Voting Time

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

    Voting will end 20/05/07. 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.


    Below are the poems.
  2. Raven

    Raven Banned

    Oct 14, 2006
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    The NetherWorld

    Forever Dormant

    She crawls into my dreams,
    like a starved feline.
    Cheshire grin.
    Her claws extract,
    like a knife slowly unsheathed.
    Eyes glint.

    No way to stop her.
    A painful stigmata.
    Taste it.
    I lazily watch;
    as the crimson escapes,
    draining me empty,
    left to die.

    Rolling in reality,
    I am alone.
    Tracing the scars,
    marking her illusion.
    turn my back on ethics.
    Sinfully awaiting,
    I crawl back under
    my rock of blankets.

    Freedom from the daily grind.
    Anticipate the hurt.
    Make the longing vanish,
    She slowly returns,
    Showing her true self.
    Not a lithesome feline,
    but showing her dancing python muscles.
    She unhinges her jaw like a dredger.
    Swallowing me whole.

    From seductive cat,
    to conniving snake.
    From hoping to sleep forever,
    to wishing to come awake.
    Praying to God,
    let me awake.
    My sin filled dreams;
    no longer in control.
    Turning His back on me,
    I tred in eternal darkness.
  3. Raven

    Raven Banned

    Oct 14, 2006
    Likes Received:
    The NetherWorld

    the story of sleep

    I dream, commonly and in the same few, super-
    saturated colors, remembering how the sunset bled
    through my hands and we all had gems for eyes, and taking rolls of photos
    black & white, sometimes pigment-washed but not always,
    of these magical twilight simplicities. Commonly I dream

    of waking up in the morning to find those pictures there, sitting comfortable
    and waiting, little cats in black and white on my desk, new yes
    but ancient, people smooth and vellum skinned
    and looking out to something, not the camera; I try to climb
    back into bed and wait to wake a second time and find,
    to my surprise, not just those lost earrings in the sheets

    but that I am already awake. This is the jewelry of our days.
    The pictures packed carefully away along with instrument
    and perfect sometimes, often scratched and angled
    set of eyes. I go out. I watch the skies, waiting for a bleeding sunset
    to take a picture of, to see the colors come through newsprint
    and have images of something real.

    Tea on the stove in the evenings, whistling and shrill and then bitter
    - we need cream. I need money. Thinking in pictures my bed becomes loathsome,
    pillows stuffed with something unsavory or at least
    left out in the snow to get all clumpy. A preference to watch the night go slow
    and its sands swift around my ankles, and blow away again to cover
    but lightly my floors. If the moon turns once in my gaze
    this whole house will be a beached beach, or a desert, and I
    an Arab tent, silk and filled
    with both tradition and lusting. Thrusting after something
    that frolics, taunting and elfin behind my eyes; it sings in a language
    I’ve never learned, never will, croons into brooks and
    skyscrapers built not of man but battles, into epics
    in dark translucent cellulose.

    I fall asleep thinking I need to do something useful.
    I wake to pictures. At least I don't need to struggle
    after dreams that flee at dawn these days, and I look through cast iron shadows
    fences of feet, eyes, hands drawn as curtains, something human
    almost but with horns and hooves.

    Another night, another remembered morning. A dream
    dictionary: "possible uncertainty, desire to translate thought to action."
    That's all you've got, book?

    Next time I look for the monsters in my own head and run rampant
    with them in the woods and through the rooftops of the city, always
    something towering. They are giants, they are my desire
    for translation, the monuments of something lost
    and found within it from night to morning. When my body
    separates from sleep I find words on my tongue.
    If only I knew what words, or who said them.

    They speak to me, in shouts and whispers, usually
    with eyes but with words also, written on the backs of signs
    or cheap cardboard, or another's bare back.
    "For a communist punk with whose back of the head looks like a black venus flytrap, I'm pretty
    intelligent. " She's one of the quiet ones, believe it
    or not, though the f-hole tattoos and held-high hair speak
    urgent volumes. "I thought this was the future" and "we all become
    the monsters!" this last from mechanical snout and the most ivory eyeteeth
    and a bloodlust that diffuses like sunset through skin, or
    paper, or time, which spreads fuzzy tendrils into me
    each time I look: shamefully and often.

    I see battles, I am not scratched but I fought and watched
    from above, riding an eagle
    who never shows up but for wingtips, but I know. It's freedom,
    it's the greatest golden bird, snatching the bravest soldiers
    from our place in the sky and screaming declarations in furrows
    between their twisted mutant armies. There's exhilaration in their sad
    heights, their dirty faces and letters home. There are pictures of moths,

    and hands, and fluttering maps
    against the plains of the places they lead, but no
    cold lands. Snow and ice, yes, and their delightful shadows
    furrows in earth and brow, arched and glittering
    a fairy-tale without the cold, which I can't (thankfully) feel.
    My skin grows back black and white through the days,
    though I still chase sunsets; so do my walls
    papered and glossed. When the big hands come down
    and pry my rooms open like ripe fruit
    and lay them flat, remove the furniture and account
    for the eyes of doors and windows
    there will be some portrait, myself perhaps or whatever I become
    in sleep, or in waking dreams, something more dramatic
    and glorious, toned and layered and only grainy
    where all fades to dust motes in the sun. I will be
    a house of image
    on image, memory and mirrors and smoke
    in the snow.

    My bed is dirty and a darkroom threatens
    to spill chemical contents all over my sandy floors
    in caustic little rivulets, or call the police on neglect; spouse or child though,
    this case I can’t imagine. Can’t fathom selling off my dreams,
    my feathers from flying, though I can imagine
    the money some would get. Hoaxes at least. Barnum would be jealous.
    I keep my ‘pinions and O, grow so poor, but not in mind.
    I will die with diamonds of shattered glass, water shrapnel
    lighting on hair and eyelashes, finally and fully
    in black in white, in that special kind of contrast
    between dreams and slow, steady aching.
  4. Raven

    Raven Banned

    Oct 14, 2006
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    The NetherWorld

    How confusing they may be,
    Silly little thoughts that,
    Tickle your mind,
    Ebbing colours and draping words,
    That hang in a never ending time,
    The songs that cloud your vision,
    Their notes sprawled out in lines,
    And they dance around,
    To the flames of music,
    Dancing, dancing, dancing,
    And you sing,
    Quite little rhythms,
    And you follow the yellow brick road,
    Over the rainbow,
    And to the land of the munchkins,
    To see your hopes,
    Your ambitions,
    Spread out in front of your eyes,
    So that your blurred hands can grab,
    At wisps of pleasure,
    And happiness,
    And the things you’d always wanted,
    Until the corner of sight,
    Turns black as the night,
    And the void grows,
    Infecting all that you had created,
    And rotting away your dreams,
    So that you wake in your little bed,
    And awake,
    Waiting, Wishing,
    For your dreams to return tomorrow night.
  5. Raven

    Raven Banned

    Oct 14, 2006
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    The NetherWorld

    Unearthly Dream

    It's a blood stained dream.
    Heavy hearted beating in front of me.
    A soulless face is all she sees,
    remnants of a loved one gone.

    She walks along the shores
    hoping he is there.
    The night sky weeps at the sight.
    The moon fades out
    and the stars they fall.

    Unearthly angel in the light
    longs to walk with her,
    but is held to the heavens.

    She stands in shallow waters,
    gentle waves push at her shins.
    Tear drops crystallized,
    lighting up the night.

    The waters soaking up her grief.
    The rage it builds and soon it shows.
    The ocean stands before her now,
    the earth it is soon to devour.

    She smiles and smashes through the wall.
    Built of bricks ten feet tall,
    but its not really there at all.

    The world it sinks within,
    flooded by the wave of a desperate plea.
    Crystallized tear drops fall from heaven,
    being captured in her eyes,
    they shine so bright...

    Longing to reunite,
    with her unearthly angel.
    Stepping upon the blood shed steps,
    that she thought would be white.
    Up to those golden gates
    she walks with pride.

    Fallen down into the mud
    she sinks so low.
    Holds her hand out, begs for help.
    But helps not there.

    She suffocates in a pit of feathers.
    No escape route, it is the end...

    Now she opens up her eyes.
    She is left upon her bed in a daze.
    She wonders what it means,
    then lets it go just like before.
    This is my dream...
  6. Raven

    Raven Banned

    Oct 14, 2006
    Likes Received:
    The NetherWorld

    Dancing in the Dark / Silent Night


    A towering cliff in a single leap,
    anything is possible when asleep.

    By bad luck or happy occasion,
    no matter the far or false location,
    Be it Alpha Centauri or NYC,
    Places no less foreboding than that
    feared to become or wanted to be.

    A realm of towers capp’d in cloud is ours
    for the everyman and his everyday powers.

    A place where we can be who we truly are,
    A place so near yet so actually far.
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