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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 (167) - An Execution

    Discussion in 'Monthly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Oct 17, 2011.

    Poetry Contest
    One Hundred and Sixty Seven

    After a brief server-enforced hiatus, we're back!

    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 24th October 2011.

    The voting stage will begin immediately, and will be open for three days, ending on Thursday 27th October 2011.

    And this week's theme is: (courtesy of CMacgregor93) An Execution

    The next (168th) contest's theme will be: (courtesy of KingDerekx) Self vs. Society, and it will be opened on Monday 24th October 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. Mr.Tekin

    Mr.Tekin Active Member

    Jul 6, 2011
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    What does 'An Execution' mean?
  3. Banzai

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

    Mar 31, 2007
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    Reading, UK
    Whatever you want it to. The theme is entirely open to your interpretation.
  4. Dithnir

    Dithnir New Member

    May 17, 2011
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    The American

    From a glistening red purse in ‘91
    slithered into life and a mother’s breathless curse
    the pawn who would be king.

    The wet nurse feeds the soft bones and blue eyes
    from the darkness of a barge in the garbage of the Nile
    his father on trial on television,
    guest of the American.

    The crowd was hired, the judge was fired
    on the day the soldiers came.
    His father and the American played a game
    of chess, while the mob waved placards of his
    father’s face, not yet the ballot for the Palestinian race.

    “Sharon will back down,”
    said the American with a frown, wiping sweat
    from his brow and the steel grey quiff,
    “Make this speech for the news, we’d prefer you choose
    conciliation. Though twenty are dead you should think of
    the nation, I hear the Nobel winner wears your shoes.”

    Now the bunker recluse who’s dying his hair
    can smell in the air his son’s dark Zephyr,
    he’s learned to shave, to shoot, and save
    his people from the blue linen suit
    of the American

    who’s yelling “You lied when you said he died,”
    and the father barely stifled a smile,
    “He can’t be bought or taught like me
    to sentence the flowers of Palestine.
    He’s in the city, the scene is set, in an hour I will resign.”

    Unpeturbed the American reached for his mobile phone
    but was held by the eyes of blue,
    “Twenty years my father bowed, while planning out this coup.”
    The shot was muffled, the American fell, his father picked up the phone,
    “Tell his children he died alone,
    And tell your people my son is home.”
  5. Jetshroom

    Jetshroom Active Member

    Oct 17, 2011
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    When last I saw my lover,
    removed from loving arms,
    blamed by friend and neighbour,
    convicted by her charms.

    Her sins and mine were equal,
    yet the crowd had turned.
    So my nights companion,
    upon the square was burned.

    Logs were piled upon the green,
    the pyre, there erected.
    Then fire they called to christen,
    their vile witch, detected.

    A haze of putrid ashes,
    Her cries burned in my ears,
    My true love, I could not save,
    my love of many years.

    Her screams encouraged cheering.
    They watched her as she burned.
    My broken heart was steeled,
    noble courage had returned.

    No longer could I endure,
    my lover’s awful pains.
    So I hurled myself upon,
    those loving, lustful flames.

    And so we burned together,
    convicted of false crimes,
    that we may love forever,
    until the end of times.
    1 person likes this.
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