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  1. Banzai

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

    Mar 31, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Reading, UK

    Weekly Poetry Contest (218) - Wall Art

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Dec 10, 2012.

    Poetry Contest
    Two Hundred and Eighteen

    Another year is almost out. Another year of contests.

    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 17th December 2012.

    The voting stage will begin immediately, and will be open for three days, ending on Thursday 20th December 2012.

    And this week's theme is: (courtesy of Darkkin) Wall Art

    The next (219th) contest's theme will be (courtesy of me): The Apocalypse (well, we had to didn't we?) and it will be opened on Monday 17th December 2012.

    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. sabs

    sabs New Member

    Dec 11, 2012
    Likes Received:
    This happy brick facade

    Behind the spray paint
    browned up blood,
    splattered guts,
    evenly ordered bullet holes
    to tie the piece together.
  3. Michael Collins

    Michael Collins Contributing Member

    Nov 9, 2012
    Likes Received:
    Rome, Italy.


    Grey cement walls
    black clouds, dark sky.
    I face the concrete
    hand trembling.
    Your name,
    a sudden dash of colour
    warms my soul.
  4. jwg1763

    jwg1763 New Member

    Jun 6, 2010
    Likes Received:

    Dads is doing 15-20 in the penn
    Moms got no jobs, we aint got no money
    my bothers been dead since I been ten
    life is shit in the city

    dark in the night I am free
    painting madly on these prison walls
    rattle cans are my keys
    escaping from reality
  5. Darkkin

    Darkkin Reflection of a nobody Contributor

    Jun 21, 2012
    Likes Received:
    Following the footprints in the sand...
    Guests of Luxeberry White Enamel Masquerade

    Guests of the Luxeberry White Enamel Masquerade

    Smugglers' Moon arisin'
    The Banshee haunts the moor.
    Nocturne's voice drifting from the cove.
    Slim fingers upon a handle press,
    Releasing the terrace door.

    Through a sea of glass,
    Into the heart of a lost masqued ball,
    A dreamer slipped and took up the steps.
    Transformed into a Lady,
    Beloved by one and all.

    Onto the terrace she passes now.
    Nine the Rampant, steadily pacing
    With her gentle stride.
    Silken whispers of her skirts and on the shore, far below,
    A sight that sets her heart, a'racing.

    Smugglers' Moon aglowin'
    Reflecting off the sand.
    Sea and brine billowing out, cloaking a form,
    A shadow from the deepest reaches,
    A Beastie from the No Man's Land.

    But it is not the Beastie,
    Which has caught the Lady's eye,
    It is a great ship upon the water,
    A galleon, upon a sand bar, stranded,
    It's crew prepared to die.

    Smugglers' Moon swallowed,
    By shrouds of fitful clouds, entombed
    Down the shore, a plague of greed,
    Comes sweeping in, a tidal surge,
    The Lady, watches, knowing the galleon doomed.

    A tear from stormy eyes,
    Drifting down her cheek,
    Quickly she whips it away,
    Now is not the time for tears,
    For they show that she is weak.

    An indigo sail kissed by gold.
    The ship, the galleon, trapped upon the bar
    It is the fabled Night Galleon,
    A treasure, beyond price kept within her hold.
    A relic of a bygone age, more precious than a star.

    The Lady watches fingers clenched,
    Upon the balustrade of stone,
    Nine the Rampant at her side,
    As the Moon Cussers swarm, toward the Night Galleon,
    Their hearts carved out of bone.

    The Beastie in the shadows lurking,
    Waiting for its chance to spring,
    Fast and swift and sure.
    It knows the origins of the Relic in the hold.
    One chance, alone, it has to beat Nine the Rampant to sky and wing.

    Behind the Lady, the ball progresses,
    The dancers a maddening blur.
    Among the masked, there is a Knight,
    Clad in the Highwayman's rags, of worn boots and black,
    And a silver rapier that has ended many a mannerless cur.

    From the stranded Galleon,
    A great ring does arise.
    The clanging of the ship's bell,
    As the Moon Cussers, converge.
    Seeking to claim their coveted prize.

    Through the doorway, away from the ball,
    Passes the Knight as the Highwayman, clad.
    His fingers trace his Lady's cheek.
    Nine the Rampant, Keeper of the Strangeways, coming to the fore.
    Blade at the ready, mask affixed, wings unfurled, violence to be had.

    Nine the Rampant, before the Highwayman bows,
    Snow drifting from his crown.
    Wings unfurled unto the fullest,
    The Highwayman of Kettering Shore upon the Living Stone is mounted,
    Waiting with bated breath for the Lion's flight down.

    With blade in one hand and mane wound 'round the other.
    He pressed a kiss upon his Lady's cheek.
    Still pale and moist from those tears,
    Those hated tears...
    That made her so weak.

    Pirates' Moon aglowin'
    Glimmering off the sea, reflecting from the stone.
    The Highwayman of Kettering Shore,
    A living ribbon of Quicksilver, forged.
    A single strike and it falls away, flesh and blood and bone.

    Blind with greed the Moon Cussers,
    Intent upon their prize,
    Fail to take note,
    Of the Highwayman of Kettering Shore borne by Nine the Rampant,
    Baring down to darken, forever, their covetous demons' eyes.

    The Captain of the Night Galleon, a horn, to his lips is raised,
    A call to arms, knowing it might be his final song.
    As Nine the Rampant, over the balustrade leaps,
    His wings flaring wide and silent,
    His heart beneath the Highwayman's knee, steady and brave and strong.

    As the Highwayman and Nine, spiral with the gathering storm,
    The Lady can no longer keep them back,
    This tide of tears, in torrents they fall.
    One by one by one joining the rushing of the sea.
    From the Night Galleon a cannon erupts, shattering the stillness with a mighty crack.

    The Moon Cussers, two dories down,
    Continue to press the Galleon, beached.
    From the shadows, the Beastie of No Man's Land,
    After Nine the Rampant chases,
    The end of its patience, reached.

    All hands on deck! To arms! To battle! To the cannons, boys!
    Quickly! Quickly! Now!
    Aim for the leering sneers of greed.
    Sight in tight and true and sure.
    Come on lads, you know how.

    Protect the treasure, the Relic,
    Carried in her hold.
    The half broken, full glass, Quicksilver forged.
    The Glass of Looking and Seeing,
    More precious than all the world's gold.

    It was the Key to the Strangeways,
    The Pathways of the Lost.
    Up and down the Stepping Stone,
    A secret to be guarded from the Terror,
    Kept safe no matter what the cost.

    So it was out to sea into the gale, raising
    Nine the Rampant, Lion of Winter swept.
    Upon his back the Highwayman of Kettering Shore,
    Wielded his blade left and right and back again.
    Felling Moon Cussers, risking all, while his Lady wept.

    The cannons barked and roared,
    An angry beast at war.
    Onto the deck of the Night Galleon,
    Moon Cussers swarmed, greed at the fore.
    Hands and eyes searching, their empty souls calling more.

    Into the midst of the melee.
    To the heart of the fight,
    Nine the Rampant, the Lion of Winter,
    Delivered the Highwayman of Kettering Shore,
    His mighty claws giving aid to the Knight.

    The Knight and the Lion Rampant,
    Claws and blade, singing,
    So busy with the Moon Cussers,
    Missed the Beastie of No Man's Land,
    Which to the Night Galleon was winging.

    The Lady, through her tears, she saw.
    She knew the Terror, she knew the Law.
    Should the Beastie, this Terror born,
    Lay hold of the Glass of Looking and Seeing,
    Evil would triumph, snuffing out hope 'neath a demon's paw..

    There was no time for warning,
    No words to be had.
    She knew this Old Terror, this Nightmare's swift form.
    For decades it hunted her, a shadow in her mind.
    She knew if she didn't move fast things would get bad.

    She swallowed her fear and took a leap.
    Over the balustrade, fingers reaching for the sky.
    Like a river of new milk, warm and soft and white,
    Her fingers closed around a bow, a sliver of the crescent moon,
    Her arrow, a comet mounted, her fall broken by the Owl, source of the Nocturne's cry.

    The Lady upon the Owl, settled,
    Nocturne's flight a whispered hush.
    She closed in from the rear.
    Coming in upon the Terror, she had one chance to do this right.
    As the wings beneath her carried her toward the Beastie in a steady rush.

    Upon the Night Galleon the battle raged.
    Moon Cussers fell dead, left and right.
    But still they would not surrender.
    They would not abandon their prize.
    Not while there was still a man remaining to fight.

    Into the hold a Moon Cusser broke.
    Down to the bowels of the ship, after the treasure, peaking.
    Through the struggling sailors and the cannons' roar.
    Through the smoke and the grit, he was looking for something.
    For the Glass of Looking and Seeing, he went seeking.

    From the bowels of the Galleon to the bloodsoaked deck,
    He carried the Glass, brandished high.
    The Moon Cussers cheered, thinking they had won the day.
    When the Highwayman of Kettering Shore, cut them to the ground.
    As the Glass clattered to the deck, victory was nigh.

    This was the moment, for which the Terror,
    The Beastie of No Man's Land had waited.
    Now was the time to strike.
    Folding his wings the demon dropped.
    But blocking his path was the Lion of Winter, Nine the Rampant, the Guardian, hated.

    The Glass shimmered and swirled like a firefly tide.
    The Terror lunged, talons slashing.
    The Lion of Winter was driven back, the Beastie cackled, the goal so close at hand.
    Only Nine and the Knight stood in the way
    Until the Lady, her arrow, a comet mounted, sent the Terror crashing.

    The Beastie of No Man's Land, bled out upon the deck.
    As the Highwayman of Kettering Shore, his blade sliced a final bone.
    The Captain of the Night Galleon and his crew raised up a cheer.
    For the raiders were all dead, the Glass was safe once more.
    All that remained was to free the Night Galleon, a job for the Living Stone.

    Great streamers of cloud and moonshine,
    Woven into ropes, the indigo sails to unfurl.
    The fallen tears had lift the trapped ship.
    Off of the sandbar, holding.
    To the Nocturne and to the Lion, were harnessed the twisted strands of pearl.

    With a leap and a heave into the air.
    A rush of wind and the might of wing.
    Back into the cobalt sea,
    The Nocturne and the Lion of Winter, drew the Night Galleon,
    And with it now sailed the Lady and the Knight, a well contended pair.

    The Terror of No Man's Land,
    Was vanquished there that night.
    The Strangeways to Nowhere, once more protected.
    Children now smile at the grinning moon,
    Knowing there is no cause for fright.

    (Inspired by the framed ad hanging above my writing table.)
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