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Poetry Contest Voting - A Poet's Mind

Poll closed Jul 26, 2009.
  1. Nothing Left - J_F

    3 vote(s)
    15.0%
  2. Think Again - Gannon

    7 vote(s)
    35.0%
  3. I Am a Poem - Justjoshinbyj

    7 vote(s)
    35.0%
  4. A gift to mankind - Lesander Arnaut

    0 vote(s)
    0.0%
  5. From Black - Nobeler Than Lettuce

    3 vote(s)
    15.0%
  1. Torana
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    Torana Contributing Member Contributor

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    Poetry Contest Voting - A Poet's Mind

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Torana, Jul 23, 2009.

    The
    89th
    Poetry Contest
    VOTING!



    The contest is closed, and voting shall now commence!

    This week's theme (courtesy of Myself) is: A Poet's Mind

    Voting will end on 26th July, 2009. Voting for yourself is entirely at your own discretion. I'm frankly sick of discussion on the matter, so any in here will be deleted. If you want to vote for yourself, go for it, but I personally wouldn't do that unless I genuinely believed mine was the best.


    The winning poem will be stickied for a week in the poetry contest.



    Oh, and if I catch anyone cheating, their entry will be removed from the contest and you will be unable to enter a poem into the contest for a month. Sorry to be such an ogre about this, I don't want to be, but rules are rules and are in place for valid reasons. If you can not follow the rules, you face the consequences.

    There is no prize to be won here, you can not claim you are an award winning poet, so as you can see, cheating really is pointless here!

    Best of luck to all entrants, and happy voting.




    Torana

    DO NOT POST A REPLY TO THIS THREAD UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES! It is not a hard rule to follow!
     
  2. Torana
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    Nothing Left - J_F

    When the coins pop out
    Of my mind onto the page,
    The clink they make is
    A fury of broken gears.

    Draft, erase, rewrite, scrap,
    Cover all my mistakes.
    A great line dispenses but
    It whistles an already known tune.

    In the dew of these dreadful days,
    A pinch (or pint) goes a long way.
    I take a walk and listen, just listen
    For life, but only a cistern of silence.

    And all my words are
    Like ancient etches
    In a valley of moss and tombstones,
    There’s nothing left to write.
     
  3. Torana
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    Think Again - Gannon

    Diving real pearls from a dry-docked vessel
    in some keyless footnote to the horror world,
    they look for that light-bulb (locked chest of cliché):
    seeing it all from a willing quill unfurled,
    dear reader, we present the ensuing mêlée.

    Shuffling the long graffiti streets of Earth,
    in some cloud capp'd realm of NYC feet,
    the poets can be that which they truly are:
    easy towering leaps, then cold, cold defeat
    in that space so near, so unattainably far.
     
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    I Am a Poem - Justjoshinbyj

    I am a poem
    written quickly
    in the margin of a menu,
    malleable, hot, a spark,
    beginning sparse,
    a splash of color in the dark
    formed into awkward jutting consonants
    and gritty syllables.

    I’m primal, unrefined,
    repeating the mistakes of my ancestors
    and skirting clichés about immortality
    but stumbling onto subtle truths and
    all so suddenly breaking out into an archaic rhythm.

    I’m faint, quiet, but firm,
    out of excessive lines and silly metaphors I pull
    a grain of profound understanding from
    the depths of the past, shining between
    shadows of understated importance and
    clear crimson blades thrown skyward in plea.

    I’m obliquely aware of my purpose.
    I intend to end in a grand conclusion,
    linking novae to death, and solace to insanity,
    and all the smaller things that so quietly augment life,
    but really I end below
    in that great white silence at the bottom of the page.
     
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    A gift to mankind - Lesander Arnaut

    The creativity
    The feelings
    The images so profound
    Words stacked in piles, Adjectives ,verbs and nouns.


    The open pallet white and so inviting
    Feelings empowered, by imagery of words they’re writing.
    Brushing back the cog webs, the fog of the mundane,
    Melon collie of the day begins to wane.


    conjuring pictures, blending words, with purposeful positioning
    Calling out feelings, bringing forth memories, of moments fleeting.
    With such impact as not to fade, conveying to those, a shared emotion, a place in time, in the poets mind.



    The best in craft can put you on a sunny day in the pouring rain,
    With the written word can make you feel joy and pain.
    By choice they share, in hopes that the world will care,
    The poets mind is both hugely brave and wonderfully kind.



    A poet has the power, to let a blind man see, the beauty of a flower
    Make him see the ugliness of a starving third world child,
    make him feel the hunger, feel the sorrow, feel the absence of tomorrow.



    The images they share, with words and care,
    Convey feelings, time, sentiment and rhyme.
    A gift to mankind
    THE POETS MIND
     
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    From Black - Nobeler Than Lettuce

    All chemical and electrical.
    Six degrees to knowing.
    Word centers knowing.
    Plain bodies speaking.
    Webs geometrical,
    and daftly refining.
    Constant with my dreams.
    Moving without seeing
    underlying means.
    No longer frozen thoughts stayed.
    We're left different when time ebbed and came.
    Cold starving, fair troubles
    love, life in bubbles.
    Casement to decay.
    “We have to start seriously questioning our mortality here, and our existence as a human on this planet. You know I think we all know enough about the universe and science. We've killed god. We've killed god so we just have to move forward and forget about religion because it doesn't explain a god damned thing about life on this ball of ****.”
     

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