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  1. Banzai
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    Banzai One-time Mod, but on the road to recovery Contributor

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    Weekly Poetry Contest (199) - Midsummer

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Jul 2, 2012.

    Weekly
    Poetry Contest
    One Hundred and Ninety Nine




    Weeks come and go, and the poetry contest comes and goes with them.

    The Rules
    • All entries must be on the set theme.
    • Only one entry per member.
    • No editing of entries once posted without my express permission (i.e. PM me and ask).
    • Poems must be titled
    • Entries must not have previously posted on the forums, and are not permitted to be posted for critique until AFTER the contest is completed.
    • Any violation of these rules will result in disqualification of entries, and possibly infraction.


    The entry stage will be open for seven days, closing on Monday 9th July 2012.

    The voting stage will begin immediately, and will be open for three days, ending on Thursday 12th July 2012.

    And this week's theme is: (courtesy of me) Midsummer


    The next (100th) contest's theme will be (courtesy of E.Thomas): Unwarranted Unwanted Obsession, and it will be opened on Monday 9th July 2012.


    Be imaginative, have fun, and get writing.


    Banzai


    PS: If you have any questions, please feel free to PM me. I don't bite (much).
     
  2. Agatha Christie
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    Agatha Christie Contributing Member

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    GREENS & BLUES

    Dappled light on leafy trees
    Greener than you've ever seen,
    Temperatures at high degrees
    Warmer than they've ever been.
    Once no life on dreary branches
    Before the summer heat arrived.
    Now each branch, it leaps and dances
    With bright green that's grown and thrived.

    Sparkling seas reflecting heaven
    Bluer than you've ever seen.
    Rising sun well past eleven
    Warmer than it's ever been.
    Once fierce and crashing was each wave
    Before the summer heat appeared.
    Now the beach brings out the brave
    To swim blue seas no longer feared.

    Of all the bright midsummer hues
    The ones I love are greens and blues.
     
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  3. nomadpenguin
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    nomadpenguin Member

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    Sitting on My Bed on a Summer Afternoon

    It is summer,
    very close to the day that our nation clambered
    out from under her father’s coat
    and pointed a gun at his face.

    Later, millions of men will
    light their grills,
    and dream of a time when
    there was no work,
    no money,
    no telephone
    to keep their wives locked indoors,
    a time when all a man needed to be happy
    was to kill an animal and
    watch it blacken over a fire.

    Even later, millions of fiery blossoms
    will festoon our skies,
    and as children marvel at
    the lights and the sounds,
    some of us will quietly slip inside
    because the memory of anti-aircraft fire
    is too terrible and frightening
    to bear.

    But for now, there is nothing for me to do
    but sit in my bed,
    pleading the grey skies to bestow us with
    a drop of rain to ease our suffering,
    watching young people make the long trek
    to the pool, towels slung over their shoulders,
    wondering where my pen, like
    a holy man wandering in the desert will lead me next.

    Perhaps it will decipher the secretive
    whisper of the ceiling fan,
    or tell of our intrepid forefathers,
    or perhaps, if I plead and
    whine and cajole enough,
    it will lead me to you,
    sitting in your bed, wondering
    where your pen will take you next.
     
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  4. nomadpenguin
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    nomadpenguin Member

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    Sitting on My Bed on a Summer Afternoon

    It is summer,
    very close to the day that our nation clambered
    out from under her father’s coat
    and pointed a gun at his face.

    Later, millions of men will
    light their grills,
    and dream of a time when
    there was no work,
    no money,
    no telephone
    to keep their wives locked indoors,
    a time when all a man needed to be happy
    was to kill an animal and
    watch it blacken over a fire.

    Even later, millions of fiery blossoms
    will festoon our skies,
    and as children marvel at
    the lights and the sounds,
    some of us will quietly slip inside
    because the memory of anti-aircraft fire
    is too terrible and frightening
    to bear.

    But for now, there is nothing for me to do
    but sit in my bed,
    pleading the grey skies to bestow us with
    a drop of rain to ease our suffering,
    watching young people make the long trek
    to the pool, towels slung over their shoulders,
    wondering where my pen, like
    a holy man wandering in the desert will lead me next.

    Perhaps it will decipher the secretive
    whisper of the ceiling fan,
    or tell of our intrepid forefathers,
    or perhaps, if I plead and
    whine and cajole enough,
    it will lead me to you,
    sitting in your bed, wondering
    where your pen will take you next.
     
  5. Shane Grayson
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    Shane Grayson Member

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    A Midsummer’s Night-mare
    By Shane Grayson

    Heat waves.
    Dried and dying leaves of grass, lack of water, desert hills with cactus, lizards—
    Dying of heat exhaustion.
    My throat is dry, my skin is hot, my forehead boils sweat.
    Is that a mirage? In the distance, is that some kid living in a desert?
    Is this a Midsummer’s Night-mare? Sipping dirt through a straw;
    It tastes like the beach, but much dryer; and maybe a little less salt too.

    Should I make some coffee? How about some soup? or jalapeño poppers?
    If I go outside, I might shrivel up like a dried prune.
    I might die in a desert—all alone—with nothing but cactus juice.
    Why would anyone drive in the middle of a desert?
    Especially during an afternoon in a Midsummer’s Night-mare.
    Well, maybe except to find food, water, or just some cheap AC.

    Once the sun dips below the horizon, I am sure to be free from this heat.
    This heat is slowly killing Time, killing Fate, killing the rocks under my feet.
    Why do these waves still persist? My God! Even during these cloudless, blue evenings
    Ifrit still scorches the land, Apollo still rides the flames, Jehovah still burns the bushes;
    Am I going mad?
    Is the sun still out? Is the moon—producing heat? Are the stars just giant-gas explosions?
    It must be natural to ask so many questions during a Midsummer’s Night-mare, right?
    It must be, because this kind of heat makes you crazy, makes you insane, makes you thirsty,
    And a bit mundane.

    What a terrible day, temperatures above tens of thousands of degrees—
    Divided by a hundred or so.
    Please writer, I beg you, write something nice and cool; like snowflakes, polar bears, or
    Ice Cream—dried drool.
    Will you do this for me? Yes? No? Answer me damn you! Please, I beg you!
    Please, just one line…

    I never received an answer from him, and now—
    I lay here in my bed with the AC up as high as I can get it; no blankets, no sheets, no clothes,
    A swirling fan and a throat full of sand.
     
  6. KingDerekx
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    KingDerekx Member

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    Location:
    Revere, MA
    synthesis:

    the flowers had bloomed
    they were such a delight
    i sat there and watched
    what a beautiful sight

    i forgot to water
    they started to die
    alone with the plants
    i sat there and cried

    my tears gave them life
    but took mine away
    i sat there alone
    that midsummer day
     
  7. Darkkin
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    Darkkin Reflection of a nobody Contributor

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    Location:
    Following the footprints in the sand...
    Waif.

    In the heat of the day.
    Away from the light...
    Here in the high midsummer.
    Eyes, watchful, ever bright...

    A shimmer of water...
    A sprinkler...on.
    Laundry flapping upon the line.
    A flicker, a whisper...gone...

    Bloody sky and cobalt rags...
    The air, a hot bath, gone cold.
    Between the trees, the grass, unmowed...
    A shadow...a something...that story...told...

    The high midsummer's fading light...
    Provides a cloak, allowing dreams to form...
    A ripple, spreading on the reflection of night.
    Curling flame, glowing eyes, gleeful...the coming storm.

    Laundry fluttering, butterfly wings...
    A child, pauses amid billowing sheets.
    Banners of war, the storm wind sings...
    Betwixt the white, above the black,

    A pair of eyes...Peers right back.

    The Waif...A pixie lost...Guardian of pools,
    Of cool, damp glades...
    Best friend of the child, with no one to play.
    Found in the haze...at the end of the midsummer's day.

    - Darkkin, the Tedious
     
    2 people like this.
  8. jo spumoni
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    jo spumoni Active Member

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    Location:
    La Jolla, CA (and Mission Viejo, CA, during the su
    Reverie

    The day is standing still again
    And all the world seems paralyzed
    By the splendor of the fervent sun
    Set in the cloudless firmament.
    My computer dozes on my desk
    As I slip into a languid dream
    Of popsickles and swimming lessons
    The vivid taste and smell of salt
    The sense of sand on sandaled feet
    And castles long since fallen
    To the kingdom of the sea.
     
  9. seelifein69
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    seelifein69 Active Member

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    Location:
    SW Florida
    Lime Island

    You’ll never hear it from us
    But midsummer is the time
    When you should leave home
    And enter the Island of Lime

    There, women are jungle beauties,
    Bearing breasts and thunderous thigh
    They can catch a fish for dinner,
    Or tease and tie you with fishing line

    On Lime, there are no quarrels
    Never a comparison of size,
    For every man is happily drunk
    Laughing with big blood shot eyes

    Here the liquor is as strong as Poseidon
    When he crashes down his hand
    And causes the rain to come down
    as we laugh and drink upon the sands

    We’ll never give up the secret
    That summer is the pristine time
    You’ll never hear it from us locals
    Because now it’s our time to unwind
     
  10. Admin
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    Admin Contributing Member

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    Location:
    Minnesota
    How I Miss You

    How I Miss You

    I’d give it all to look into your eye
    In the old, beautiful way I saw you.
    Winter, how I miss you on this July.

    It used to shine like a star was nearby
    And it sparked happiness and hope anew –
    I’d give it all to look into your eye.

    Now with the neon green grass and breeze’s sigh
    That snow sparkle’s dim; that beauty askew.
    Winter, how I miss you on this July.

    Where once was gorgeous dark flesh that did die
    Now lays the bones revealed by melted snow.
    I’d give it all to look into your eye.

    Winter reminds me of the name I cried
    With a young love upon my heart like dew.
    Winter, how I miss you on this July.

    It’s a steady reminder of why my
    Love Winter turned to Summer’s harsh breakthrough.
    I’d give it all to look into your eye –
    Winter, how I miss you on this July.
     
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