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Weekly poetry contest (57) voting

Poll closed Oct 28, 2008.
  1. Scarlett_156 - The Writer's Big Clock, or "The Simple Tale of a Successful Prank Told in Rhyme"

    15.0%
  2. Nobeler Than Lettuce - The Beach.

    10.0%
  3. Mariami - And Then She Dies...

    10.0%
  4. Steve Benson - The Sands of Time

    15.0%
  5. wendijane - A Forgiving Moment (in time)

    5.0%
  6. vangoghsear - Winds Wind the Sands of Time

    5.0%
  7. Helmutt_II - Sand Between My Toes

    5.0%
  8. Triggerhippie - The Sands Of Time:

    10.0%
  9. JinX - A|L Fa|ls DowN

    25.0%
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  1. Torana
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    Weekly poetry contest (57) voting

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Torana, Oct 25, 2008.

    The
    Fifty Sevent
    h
    Poetry Contest

    Voting!

    The contest is closed, and voting has now begun.

    This week's theme was (courtesy of Steve Benson): Sands of Time

    A number of good poems this week

    Voting will end on 28th October 2008.

    Voting for yourself is entirely at your own disgression. 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.

    Also, due to previous issues with duplicate accounts, all voting will now be visible. Everyone will be able to see who has voted for whom.

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


    Oh, and if I catch anyone cheating, it'll be castration (or whatever I deem the female equivilent to be). You have been warned *evil laughs, whilst sharpening a carving knife...*

    Seriously folks, don't do it. There is no prize to be won here but bragging rights, making cheating an exercise in pointlessness.

    Best of luck to all entrants, and happy voting



    Torana
     
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    Scarlett_156 - The Writer's Big Clock, or "The Simple Tale of a Successful Prank Told

    Out here on the desert
    It's peaceful and calm
    The windswept night silence
    Is a most pleasing balm.

    But then arrived Mr. Armbruster
    From somewhere out on the coast
    With furniture, trunks
    And demands on our host.

    A small yapping dog
    And shrill telephone
    Always glued to his ear—
    And yet, "I want to be alone!"

    —is how he explained his arrival
    To this little hotel.
    As for why he chose us in the first place—
    It was damned hard to tell.

    He complained about everything:
    The wool rugs and down pillows!
    The coyotes howling!
    The wind in the willows!

    When we asked the owner
    Why she let Armbruster stay here
    She snapped: "He's a famous writer!"
    And gave us some free beer.

    But it was a trial,
    And a hassle, and chore
    To put up with him pacing at night
    On the squeaky wood floor—

    His expletive-filled rants
    When the least thing didn't please him—
    His dog that would growl and lunge
    When no one even teased him—

    His disdain toward our food
    That drove Cookie to tears—
    And his love for loud classical music
    That assaulted our ears.

    But the thing that really
    Made us all vapor lock
    Was Mr. Armbruster's
    Noisy antique grandfather clock.

    Why he had brought it out here
    No one really could say.
    But that clock ticked, rattled, and bonged
    All night and all day.

    When the writer slept
    The hotel was relatively calm
    Except for the clock
    As it tick-tocked loudly on—

    And on… and on…
    And then when it chimed
    You'd jump out of your skin.
    It made me want to climb

    The walls after a week.
    People fled the hotel.
    Our desert oasis became
    A tick-tocking hell.

    Finally I couldn't take it.
    I assembled some friends.
    We agreed that one way or the other
    This saga would end.

    It was hard to persuade him
    To spend some time away
    From the hotel. And it had to
    Be on just the right day—

    With just the right weather.
    But finally the lovely Ms. Leeanne McSwail
    Got him to go with her
    And explore some jeep trails.

    (Of course we had to pay her!)
    The day dawned fair and warm.
    There was no reason to think
    There'd be any meteorologic alarm.

    But we'd checked the forecast.
    The writer and his dog left with Leeanne.
    It was time to execute
    The main part of our plan.

    Cookie stole the key.
    With buckets, we crept out to the desert.
    Came back, and sat awaiting
    A change in the weather.

    And the weather did change!
    It got chilly, and blew—
    And the clouds covered the sky,
    And boy howdy! the sand flew.

    Armbruster didn't get back
    Until some time that night.
    Red-eyed, grimed with dirt—
    He was a most pitiful sight.

    In a temper, the writer
    Went to his room straight away.
    Ms. McSwail came to ask me
    If our prank went okay—

    But before she could even speak
    A commotion was heard overhead.
    Such swearing! "So it worked!"
    Leeanne smiled as she said.

    The owner was summoned.
    Loud complaints could be heard.
    From the stair landing I eavesdropped
    The following words:

    "This is an outrage! It's been in the family
    For two hundred years!"
    "Well, Mr. Armbruster, then why
    Did you bring it out here?"

    And so on and so forth.
    (It was a long argument.)
    The dawn broke all rosy
    And a driver was sent—

    To town for a repairman.
    We all stayed in our rooms, blessed silence embracing.
    From Armbruster's room could be heard
    Only the sounds of his pacing.

    No more loud chiming—
    No more "tick-tock, tick-tock!"
    The sands of time had run out
    For Mr. Armbruster's grandfather clock.

    (Actually, the sands had run IN.)
    But it was his own fault, ya know!
    Leaving the window open like that
    During such a hard blow.

    So Armbruster took off.
    With his furniture, and trunks,
    And his little mean dog
    And all his other junk.

    And the owner was sort of peeved.
    I think she might have suspected
    That the storm had some help.
    But she didn't seem all that dejected.

    We all got some more free beer
    And sat outside in the still desert night.
    Someone asked me at one point:
    "Hey Scarlett—aint it true that you write?"

    I smiled over my beer at him
    And gave him a wink.
    And he smiled, and then laughed,
    And went back to his drink.

    And didn't the stars shimmer!
    Quiet stole over our loved desert land.
    And all we could hear
    Was breeze stirring the sand.
     
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    Nobeler Than Lettuce - The Beach.

    Well that was that, and east was east
    and I'll tell you that when the ocean met the shore
    such beauty we had never seen before.
    But you've wasted my life following you in step.

    That air that comes with the ocean breeze
    It's tentacles devour me,
    and I scan the sand down by where you walked
    just to find a footprint.

    The ocean breeze is salty.
    Why won't it carry me in the wind?
    I don't mind, how could I mind?
    The footprints matched the sand.

    You messed with time and that begins -
    I wouln't hold my breath.
    You wasted my final step.
    You wasted my final step.
    Why wouldn't you waste it?
     
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    Mariami - And Then She Dies...

    What is life?
    Period of time
    Where we rise
    For a price

    Is it a minute,
    Maybe a while?
    It seems so long,
    My slow song.

    And time flies
    Sun’s not in sky
    Closing my eyes
    Hope no one cries.
     
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    Steve Benson - The Sands of Time

    Long have we sailed,
    Over this sea of memories.
    Treading its rich liquid;
    Only sampling its true vastness.

    Our mother earth allows us,
    To calmly float through,
    The saccharine water of her mind,
    Whilst we search for our father time.

    The sands lie in a direction unknown,
    For time has no body, no matter,
    But only an idea laid waste,
    By our mere sense of it.

    Yet on for eons have we sailed,
    If time truly has meaning,
    Through a dry and dusty wind,
    That scraped at our faces.

    When we try to take more then allowed,
    And mother brings forth a storm,
    Taking some children into the sea,
    To become yet another collected soul.

    Once again the dust blows in our faces,
    Cutting and scraping our skin.
    It ages us with its endless beating,
    And weakens our will to go on.

    We are exhausted now,
    Unable to press on further,
    So we succumb to its will,
    And let the dust blow us where it wills.

    A great shoreline appears,
    Like a golden bar on the horizon,
    Holding the blue curtain of the sea,
    And calls out to us.

    The dusty wind drives us forth,
    Into the vast coast ahead,
    Leaving our unmanned oars,
    To scratch the surface of the sea.

    At long last we have found it.
    The sea of a lifetime of records,
    Has finished our life’s journey,
    And fulfilled our destiny.

    Our father rejoices as he welcomes,
    His burdened children ashore,
    For we have toiled through life,
    And survived the sea of memory.

    Now at our end we are finally home,
    To release our encumbered souls.
    Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
    Upon the sands of time.
     
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    wendijane - A Forgiving Moment (in time)

    Walking in,
    I could feel the strange silence settling on my skin .
    Deep rooted chills ran through my spine ,
    as I tryed my best not to look behind .
    I looked at you sitting alone, like the last one left .
    I saw the sadness in your eyes as you struggled for your breath.
    I saw the tears you cryed for me ,by the light slowly flickering.
    I forgot our harsh words ,our heat ,our tears ,and all our crule bickering .
    You raised your hand........ then tapped the seat ,
    You hadnt had company for many weeks ...
    And as i walked over to where you sat .
    You clasped my hand and whisperd "im back" . ..............
     
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    vangoghsear - Winds Wind the Sands of Time

    Winds whip and wind
    the sands of time
    in spiral shafts
    that unwittingly bind.

    Surrounded by the searing grains,
    attempt to access or desert,
    each minute too close to close, confine
    the desert more open
    than our minute minds.

    Alternate between affects
    and alternate affects between
    the various objects
    of our lives that lives
    within objective unseen.

    The granules seep
    from hand held heaps
    content distributed on useless whims
    then lie contented, not incensed to burn,
    as incense burned to acknowledge sin

    secreted refuse,
    secreted within.
     
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    Helmutt_II - Sand Between My Toes

    Lick me, I am a drink.
    Wash me, I am a sink.
    Dispute me, for I think.
    Bathe me, for I stink.
    Listen to me, for I am a shrink.

    Sand between my toes,
    On the beach in between us.
    God only knows
    When we stopped ticking and turned into rust.
    Grandfather, I miss you
    And the tick-tock to the beat of the rock.
    Dance, dance to the Skip-To-My-Lou.
    Run, run and join the flock.

    There's sand in my sandals.
    Maybe that's why they were named.
    There's sand in my sandals.
    The sediment is to be blamed.
    There's sand in my sandals.
    The sun is going down.
    There's sand in between my toes and in my sandals.
    Come over to me so that we can skip hand in hand back to town.
     
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    Triggerhippie - The Sands Of Time:

    Broken and re-broken,
    The hands of a clock.
    Words never spoken,
    Quiet as a rock.

    Taken from within,
    All it’s left without.
    Older than sin,
    As young as a sprout.

    Time Left to wonder,
    Which path is right.
    The one going under,
    Or the one that is bright.

    Past forsaking life,
    And living as death.
    Cold like a knife,
    And Cold winter breath.

    Sand from an hourglass,
    Falls slowly down.
    Entering the past,
    To demand renown.

    Never explained,
    And misunderstood.
    Nothing gained,
    And here for good.

    Time is a mystery,
    To those that stand by it.
    But if you’re like me,
    You’ll learn to defy it.

    Living each day,
    In the realm of sublime.
    Not living in gray,
    With the sands of time.
     
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    JinX - A|L Fa|ls DowN

    Welcome to life, this wonderful disguise
    Take in the world through infants eyes.
    Listen to sounds so foreign, so new,
    Witness the glass cracking, breaking just for you.

    Shattering, splintering, cancerous little shards,
    Pouring through your life with no regard.
    They fall like tears and curse as lies,
    Introducing you to your first goodbyes.

    They burn; they eat away all that you hold dear,
    Tearing, ripping, breaking down anything too near.
    You heart aches, face breaks birthing rivers of dismay.

    Strike out if you can, fight with all that you are.
    Rage again what is, try to wash away the scars.
    Push harder, force closed the ever widening gate,
    Even as it sweeps all that you love away.
     
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