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  1. Banzai

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

    Mar 31, 2007
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    Reading, UK

    Weekly Poetry Contest (155) - Worlds Apart

    Discussion in 'Monthly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Jun 22, 2011.

    Poetry Contest
    One Hundred and Fifty Five

    And once again, we're back to being off schedule. Oh well, the show goes on.

    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 five days, closing on Monday 27th June 2011 Monday 4th July 2011.

    The voting stage will begin immediately, and will be open for three days, ending on Thursday 30th June 2011Thursday 7th July 2011.

    And this week's theme is: (courtesy of Sundae) Worlds Apart

    The next (156th) contest's theme will be: (courtesy of TheHedgehog) Broken and Fixed, and it will be opened on Monday 27th June 2011 Monday 4th July 2011.

    Be imaginative, have fun, and get writing.


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

    Cain Member

    Jun 19, 2011
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    Cambridge, UK

    Winter morning making no promises,
    Quiet darkness holding the light away,
    The man and wife at a breakfast table,
    Another new day breaking, quietly sitting.

    For year after year she had waited to hear,
    Some small heartfelt whispers declaring his love,
    To be flung back with a passionate embrace,
    Patience standing firm, then withering, vanishing.

    He had watched her retreat from his open arms,
    Yearning for her warm touch, declare her love,
    So many occasions rejected, passed by and forgotten,
    Moments slipping away, atrophying, dying.

    Apart they looked for the breaking daylight,
    Together they saw their lives slowly drift on,
    Cold toast, old coffee, broken dreams, lost love,
    Waiting, until death do them finally part.
  3. jo spumoni

    jo spumoni Active Member

    Jun 23, 2010
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    La Jolla, CA (and Mission Viejo, CA, during the su
    Anne Frank

    The ink from your little fountain pen
    Wrote in a language
    I do not speak
    About persecution
    I never knew
    In a place
    I've never seen

    The ink from your little fountain pen
    Built a bridge between our worlds
    That you cross with each reading of your yellowed pages
    And in spite of the typhus in Berlin
    That sent you to your unmarked grave
    Your vibrance and your courage
    Shall never truly die
  4. Adi

    Adi New Member

    Apr 4, 2011
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    The Queen
    The queen stands tall for her engagement.
    She must after all, life is only so short.
    And like a steel-taloned Roc she is a
    hunter, laying any bourbon faced buffoons as prey,
    as soon as they enter her chambers.
    Who would stand her predatory beauty?
    A pittance to erect such fine grandeur!
    Ivory towers with gilded banisters,
    Eatery of the thousand cornered world,
    And embroidered well dressings for the,
    Cake eating commoners!
    A queen of what, you may ask?
    Well she is a queen sofa,
    In a dump filled with psuedo-scientific
    mechanical works, and nihilistic grub,
    that only emphasize her glamour.
    Is it not beautiful?
  5. Kontrast

    Kontrast New Member

    Jun 7, 2011
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    Internally External

    The flowers- yes- those flowers
    the ones growing indoors
    without dirt, without rain
    they blossom on the floor

    yellow leaves whisper to petals
    red veins, stem from cracks
    a miracle? Its not real
    in a house made of glass

    They will always live- swear it!
    cross your eyes and ears
    keep the buds a'budding
    don't let this disappear

    When wars rip worlds
    and disease spreads its wings
    let the flowers grow-
    ever after Spring

    Take the death and blood
    before it congeals
    and feed it to the seeds-

    show them how to feel
  6. Banzai

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

    Mar 31, 2007
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    Reading, UK
    Okay, so because I cocked up this contest at the beginning, and there hasn't been much time for entry, I've made the decision to extend it by a further week. This means that the contest entry will remain open until Monday 4th July 2011. The voting stage will then open, closing on Thursday 7th July 2011.

    Sorry about this, but hopefully it'll give more members the opportunity to enter, raising the number of participants.
  7. Jonathan22

    Jonathan22 New Member

    May 9, 2011
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    Dublin, Ireland
    A Hectic Life

    It's a hectic life:

    for peroxide blondes
    and powerhouse sons -
    the human bombs
    fallen upon Envy Town;

    for the motley MP crew
    who, with empty promises,
    leave poisonous marks
    on pride's measly form;

    for know-it-all teachers
    who don't know a thing
    about children wishing
    for fun-filled futures;

    for people of business,
    living life in a rush
    when they should all stop
    and live for life - not a job;

    and for, of course, the media
    that feeds us with stories
    of the above atrocities
    without serving a cure.

    It's a lovely life
    for all of them
    who live in a world
    I will never hold.
  8. J.P.Clyde

    J.P.Clyde Prince of Melancholy Contributor

    Jun 19, 2011
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    Glass Walls

    Glass Walls

    Behind glass walls
    I see her call to me
    Her hands smear these
    crystal walls

    Behind glass walls
    I try to kiss her
    and she tries to

    All that is left is
    the smear of her
    and mine foggy breath
    and the lip stain print
    embedded onto these
    glass walls

    I know she is dead
    She knows she is dead
    Yet we try to communicate
    behind these glass walls

    I see her sometimes crying
    within our window prison
    I reach out to touch her
    only knowing I am touching
    a figment of my own

    Cursed by these glass walls
    I search and seek for
    love that can no longer hear
    each other weep sad tales
    of grief and pain

    Behind these glass walls
    We try to hold each other's
    hands, but the lord she accepted
    the lord she had praised
    takes her away every time

    Visting hour is over and
    I am left to stare at an empty
    wall, remembering what I could
    have been

    Remembering behind these glass
    walls was the future of
    love and family
    These cursed glass walls
    Bring her to me
    So I may touch her skin one
    last time

    And kiss her lips
    And see our baby

    Bring her back is all I ask
    Even though I know this curse
    is a curse I created all within
    my own mind

    I still believe I hold
    the power to bring them back
    Yet, I do not

    Behind these glass walls
    We try to touch one another
    But we realize we're in different places
    All we have is the print left
    As we struggle to break free of
    the universe that separates life and death
  9. joetheauthor

    joetheauthor New Member

    Jun 20, 2011
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    New York
    Who Are They?

    Who are they?

    Where are they now?

    Where are all those who centuries past,
    swore, “Rome’d never fall,”
    And then crumbled to dust.

    Ashen pillars scattered to dust on warm winds.

    Where they now?

    They are here –
    here in our hearts and our homes;
    our buildings and breaths,
    our sweat and steam,
    and all that seems new
    to all those that past.

    Who are they now?
    But children of the wheat?
    Who are they now
    but the rocks ’neath our feet?
    And the waves and the birds
    that finally soar free.

    Immitigable truth;
    such sour reality
    for all those
    who now finally
    soar so freely
    not bound by grave
    or hope of great thoughts,
    and truthfully
    are much better off.

    Dust worries not.
  10. emwinshi

    emwinshi New Member

    Jun 29, 2011
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    Love Before First Sight

    Love Before First Sight

    Love at first sight
    Only happens in bedtime stories
    Only belongs to princesses
    Or knights in shining armor
    She felt love before first sight
    A new kind of love
    Different from that first kiss
    Or that first boy that first night
    Different from the warm hand
    That comforted her as a youth
    This love is worlds apart
    This love is worlds of one

    Daily her love grew
    Fluttering inside her
    Sharing one heart beat
    Beating separate hearts
    Time passed quickly
    Her body moved freely
    Fluttering inside her
    She’s been holding on
    Its time to move on
    Her pain is unbearable
    She doesn’t want to let go
    Her feeling cant be fought
    She pushes through it
    One final breath
    She hears his tear
    Its love before first sight
    His hand sets on her chest
    "I love you" she whispers
    Her newborn snuggles and rests
  11. benfromcanada

    benfromcanada New Member

    Jun 29, 2011
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    [I originally wrote this for an idea I had for a chapbook of 26 poems, each titled after a letter of the alphabet. I initially felt this might not be suitable, but based on brief discussion with one of the mods, I figure this is fine. The one censored word rhymes with another word in the same line.]


    Burned then frozen.
    There I lay in Lover’s Lane,
    Heartbreak Hotel said I overstayed my visit.
    So I move on, go long, get a touch down and so on,
    Then all of a sudden the molten ice that was me saw
    A thing more watchable than TV.
    More poetic than a rusted shut trunk, who’d have thunk
    Those tight denim overalls would be enough to melt my snowballs?
    After all, a month without sex is like a month without air and love smelled sweeter than my new queen’s hair.
    So we walked and we talked and I rocked with my cock and it was over.
    In depth investigation through conversation
    Showed what I already knew
    I’m a Retriever, she’s a Dalmatian.
    Tough luck, but she was a good ****.
    Frozen again, back at the Hotel with the other heartbroken slobs,
    Miserable people is what makes hell Hell.
  12. Vespers

    Vespers New Member

    Jul 2, 2011
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    Sonnet for Michaela #1

    Though thistles sound their whistles without hint
    And thorns curved downward do with hearts collide—
    Though hands be bloodied, several fingers rent,
    And ruthless law strives ever to divide—
    Deceitful stems like towers e’er eclipse
    The sun— a stranger scarcely seen on high—
    The air itself with menace is equipped—
    The tending far more costly than Versailles—
    My banner— crimson standard— I rejoice;
    These open wounds I do refuse to bind.
    Undaunted, quill and parchment trump the voice
    Of all the cynics and their scowls combined.
    The rose atop the fortress will yet thrive;
    Quintessence forces fervor to survive.
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