Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest' started by thirdwind, Jul 5, 2014.
the cellar door waits...
beyond it, lies those unknown
Down a flight, steep and narrow
Small feet, race, chasing a goal
Straight and true, an arrow.
Checks stinging, a livid bruise
Her dreams, her voice
She refused to lose.
Anne, of Gabled fame,
Leather bound and weighted
With her came.
Through a door, ages old
Leading to a garden, a vision
Of a Secret, told.
The flagstone floor, uneven and heaving
A sea of ice, the cracking floes
An imagination, wheeling.
Rock People, Fey, the Echo...
Fleeing Dreamer into a world of elsewhere
By way of the cellar door, a path she learned so long ago.
The mysterious disappearance of Old Man Kipper's battered red cellar door and the impending doom to follow as told by Cranky Pete, his ten-year-old grandson who is the offspring to his favorite son Michael (not that he has favorites)....
'Where the hell's the cellar door!?'
Grandpa yelled in shock,
Staring at the gaping hole,
'And why'd they leave the lock?'
'Who the hell breaks in a home,
and steals a bloody door?
It's old and worn and slightly bent,
What's a robber need it for?'
'That's mighty weird,' he shook his head
Still a bit perplexed
Little did the old man know,
The mower wheels were next!
Then I'd have a rocket ship,
Built for 'Death Trap' hill,
Where I smashed up my last billy-cart,
Looking for a thrill.
The Secrets of a Faceless Man.
A cellar door.
hidden in a public place
openable by a bookcase.
where horrors hide.
the faceless man
a plain set of armour
reason to believe that
he is the one doing the killing.
an owl faced helm.
he works late at night
beginning and ending
behind that cellar door.
where his bloody instruments
replace the bottles of wine.
for bottles of blood, bone and horn.
show no mercy for the living.
Beyond the Cellar Door
Beneath the thick of dust and more,
It lie asleep beneath the floor,
Carved with symbols Knights once wore,
The Chalice out of sight.
He’d found the gate just once before,
An aging wooden cellar door,
A secret lying ‘neath the floor,
That brought him here tonight.
For now upon his breast he wore,
The symbols carved upon the door,
Allegiance to the Craft he’d swore,
A Seeker of the Light.
But when he stepped upon the floor,
That lie beyond the cellar door,
And found the chest that he’d come for,
The reason for his plight.
He found just wood and nothing more,
Inside the chest that he’d come for,
The key to life forever more,
Was still beyond his sight.
Now back before the cellar door,
He stood just as he had before,
And turned to travel East once more,
Into the dark of night.
In search of what was had before,
What now was nothing more than lore,
That granted life forever more,
From spark…to flame…to Light.
You can barely see me clearly
It's already getting dim
Far beneath a home's warm light
I wait, my expression grim
I am foreboding, composed of wood
My hinges have resigned to rust
For ages I have locked away a secret
But you, and only you, I trust
Many lean on sun and fire
And can only work in the light
Abandon your crutches, walk on your own
Reach out and embrace me, if only for one night
Behind me, light will never shine
Our thoughts are all you'll see
Look and hear what is and isn't
After all, you have the key
I'll open up, step inside the cellar
Learn not to go by vision
What you use to find what cannot be seen
Is only your decision...
On drunkards ...
His nose a little bent and red,
His gut is rotting not yet fed,
His mind is thinking of the shed,
Where age old whiskey casks still bled.
‘For all my thirst i squirm about,
For all the parching of the drought,
For all the nights you wore me out,
My darling barrels of old stout.’
‘She hid the key!’, the drunkard swore,
He even searched beneath the floor,
He’s got an axe, he’ll get it torn!
That forlorn cellar door!
Muffled Mockery and Murder
Muffled mockery and murder
I used to breathe without choking on myself
Untainted by the overwhelming, looming
Sprawling giant of a fervour
That deludes me into hope
Crippled, cut and cold
The next day resided on the greener edge
Where the saccharin of your smile, your peace
Didn’t plough my cavities beyond mould
Or stirred the dead in me
Will you beckon, once more
This fear, apprehension, hollering horror
Entrench it in the semblance of control
Before I have to block off the cellar door
And lose myself again
Age of Innocence
Dressed as frog and princess,
We acted for him,
Often rarely missed,
Behind that cellar door.
We knew something was wrong,
But we told no one,
We just went along,
Behind that cellar door.
We lost our innocence and childhood,
Taken before it began,
Time we'll never see again,
Lost behind that cellar door.
Voting is now open for Poetry Contest #250. The poll will close in 14 days on Sunday, August 31.
You can read all entries in the posts below. Once the poll ends, all entries will be de-anonymized.
A big thanks to everyone who entered, and good luck!
Separate names with a comma.