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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 (91) - On Your Deathbed

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Aug 7, 2009.

    Weekly
    Poetry Contest
    Ninety One








    Alrighty then! It's been a while since I did one of these, but let's give it a go shall we?


    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 a minimum of seven lines long
    • 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 last seven days, meaning it will close on Friday 14th August 2009.

    The voting stage will begin immediately, and will be open for three days, ending on Monday 17th August 2009.


    And this week's theme is (courtesty of Hazel Eyed Scribe): On Your Deathbed


    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. TheHedgehog
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    TheHedgehog Contributing Member Contributor

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    Love's Deathbed




    She wrote our names inside a heart
    Carved into one of the old oak tree’s bark.
    But then one night, she goes and accuses
    Me of all my secrets kept behind sorry excuses.

    Walks and long nights,
    Romance and valentines:
    So sorry that our love’s on a deathbed of lies
    Might as well be dead
    at least that’s what she said.
    Our love’s on a deathbed of lies, too bad they all were mine.
     
  3. GlassSandwich
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    GlassSandwich New Member

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    East Lansing, MI
    To My Friend

    Do not
    Despair friend.
    Your life,
    All life,
    Is meant to end.

    As you wilt
    And join the earth,
    You create
    Your progenies
    Hearth.

    Though life is
    Short
    And your toil
    Long,
    Your seeds will
    Not sit
    Below the soil
    Long.

    And even on your
    Deathbeds hour
    Still I see
    A beautiful
    Flower.
     
  4. K~la
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    K~la Senior Member

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    Newfoundland
    The Embrace of A New Beginning

    Gasping for one last breath
    as the reaper reaches out for me,
    I ponder about the times
    that have come and gone.
    Most tend to look at my life
    and call it a horror story.
    To me, it is nothing more
    than dark humor.

    Regret is only for the weak,
    for everything has its purpose.
    There is much more to be seen
    if only to widen your eyes some.
    My body may lie still
    but my spirit roams forever.
     
  5. eliza490
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    eliza490 Member

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    Georgia
    Regrets

    Lying on my deathbed,
    No chance to fix my mistakes.
    The end is getting closer.
    Soon I will sleep and never wake.

    I lived like I would live forever,
    Like there would never be an end;
    Never thinking of the consequences,
    Or cherishing my friends.

    Now lying on my deathbed,
    Almost free from my regret,
    At least I know in my heart,
    Those who loved me will never forget.
     
  6. Palmer
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    Palmer Senior Member

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    Location:
    Philippines
    Auguries of Demise

    How does the loss of life remind
    The heathens to all pray?
    How often does it come to mind
    That your life will end one day?

    How many others do think the same
    When they see the beggars weep?
    Or how about the women in shame
    Who live their lives to sleep?

    What about the philospher
    Who rejects the blatant truth?
    Or the oaf who sells his coffer
    To learn of things uncouth?

    How about the wars that emerge
    Which leave the meadows bare?
    Or the wealthy barons that spend and splurge
    And keep no coins to spare?

    What about the noble trust
    That is later soon denied?
    Or the adoration meant to rust
    To find another bride?

    How about the vanity
    Of the girl who basks in splendor?
    Or the man who has lost his sanity
    And declines his only gender?

    What about the callous men
    Who steal to sniff Cocaine?
    Or the pretentious priests that say "Amen!"
    And delight in things profane?

    How about the witless fool
    Who condemns through plain complexion?
    Or the man who cannot use a tool
    To tell the right direction?

    What about the pestilence
    That takes a million lives?
    Or the Being of omnipotence
    Whose tomorrow soon arrives?

    How do these things awaken
    Of what their fate might be?
    These lives are all forsaken
    And their deathbed they shall see.
     
  7. becca
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    becca New Member Contributor

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    Alone

    removed
     
  8. wan
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    wan New Member

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    The meaning of life.

    This is what you did when you died.
    First you lowered your head as if to hide,
    then you slipped a smile you couldn’t hold,
    as you remembered things you hadn’t yet told.


    You lifted your head as memories began to flow.
    You spoke so we could see, and we would know.
    We stood silently and wiped away the tears.
    How happy you had been for all of these years.


    You were still so young, just sixty years old,
    Now your tales and stories have all been told.
    You left your mark to make this a better place.
    You were a warming smile on a beautiful face.


    We watched as you lay still, now no one cried.
    We could feel the happiness and love, deep inside.
    Memories for your family, friends, and for your wife.
    Is this why are we here? Is this the meaning of life?
     
  9. Drdoggerel
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    Drdoggerel New Member

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    X

    X

    No final sigh "Goodbye cruel world" is heard
    You make no moving speech to gathered heirs
    No priest is there, your sins remain uncleared
    No friends or relatives shed any tears

    Instead a curly-haired white-coated lamb
    Who strains to hear the crackles of your chest
    This skittish child whose so-called healing hands
    Have pierced and bruised with countless futile tests

    Your bony arms, and their loose folds of skin
    Shake as you pull his face down toward yours
    Then your cracked lips stretch to a kindly grin
    And plant a kiss, a last surge of life force

    He feels a sense of peace almost divine
    Transmitted in a way he can't define

    It's not quite at that time you pass away
    Such things occur in poems, not in truth
    But still, your final breath, exhaled that day
    Is witnessed by the same exhausted youth

    He cannot feel a pulse within your wrist
    No reflex to the light shone in your eyes
    He checks off all the boxes on his list
    And then notes down the time of your demise

    That lamb has aged, the years moved further on
    Flesh toughened by a life working with death
    Yet, that exchange with you, long dead and gone
    He'll carry with him till his own last breath

    And when , in time , his final lap is run
    In the same way he'll pass the baton on.
     
  10. payelK
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    payelK Member

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    Location:
    My own lonely cocoon
    Until Death!

    Crushed and broken,
    you are queuing for a death penalty.

    The fragments
    and the sharpness of it
    poking and seeking for answers,
    over and over-

    the pain for a loss
    internally influenceable!
    Agony of nights
    can't be beaten
    by a thoughtful mind,
    a weak substance-

    as you always are,
    counting on the time
    to ease
    and it never worked-

    so you are to choose
    run or hide.
    tough as it may seem
    you have drawn your card
    and nothing will be missed-

    the smell of the untouched clothes,
    the touch of the half-used bed,
    the sound of the hushed breath of yours,
    An abominable loneliness-

    illuminating the exit to force you out.
    And so you are ready now, ready to follow
    something desired, found and lost again.
    Follow till the darkness falls!
     
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