Weekly Poetry Contest (231) Voting

Poll closed Mar 29, 2013.
  1. Guardian of Puddle Great ~ Darkkin

    1 vote(s)
  2. Gasoline Rainbows ~ mbinks89

    2 vote(s)
  3. A Thought Between ~ Nee

    1 vote(s)
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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 (231) Voting - Puddles

    Discussion in 'Monthly Poetry Contest Archives' started by Banzai, Mar 26, 2013.

    Poetry Contest
    Two Hundred and Thirty One

    Vote, and vote often!

    And this week's theme was: (courtesy of SwampDog) Puddles

    Voting will end on Friday 29th March 2013.

    Voting for yourself is entirely at your own discretion. 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.

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

    Oh, and if I catch anyone cheating, their entry will be removed from the contest and you will be unable to enter a poem into the contest for a month. Sorry to be such an ogre about this, I don't want to be, but rules are rules and are in place for valid reasons. If you can not follow the rules, you face the consequences.

    Best of luck to all entrants, and happy voting.

  2. Banzai

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

    Mar 31, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Reading, UK
    Guardian of Puddle Great
    By Darkkin

    Night Galleon sails unfurled,
    High and proud and tight.
    A slender form breaches the sea,
    Silver and cobalt and raven's night.

    Sea spray and mist whirling.
    Overhead clouds and stars,
    Wheeling and twirling.
    Up from the depths she comes.

    Night dark velvet, a curtain of hair,
    A course flowing down her back.
    Cobalt eyes shining like a deep sea star,
    Chart the course, set the track.

    In the wake of the waves,
    Before the leeward side of the gale,
    The albatross, her herald, drifts,
    Weaving in and out of the Night Galleon's sail.

    Finned yet not of the fish or beast,
    A breather of both sea and sky,
    A daughter of Triton, a child of myth,
    In a sleek, long leap, silhouetted, about to fly.

    The eagle ray, the dolphin, and seal, barking,
    Along the shore and between the stones,
    With the tide and with the surge,
    She swims, the song of the sea in her bones.

    Amidst the spray and above the cheer,
    Comes the her voice, a legend, spoken.
    Sweet and bright and clear.
    Some call her the Siren, others a Guardian.

    A Guardian and Keeper of Things.
    Things Lost and Things Found.
    Some Things Forgotten by all, but a Legend
    Long gone into hiding deep in the Ground.

    Breach and splash, the seals bay...
    Night Galleon, hard to Starboard,
    Draw sail. Quickly now! She is the Way.
    Silver fins and shimmering scales.

    Upon the land, Snow White,
    Some have called her in stories, Lost,
    But in the Sea she a Rose, a Compass, true.
    Her knowledge gained by a duck, a Pearl of priceless cost.

    Marianna of the Fathoms Deep,
    Guardian of Puddle Great.
    Such are the secrets of Things Lost and Things Found, she does keep,
    A Navigator of the Strangeways to Nowhere.
  3. Banzai

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

    Mar 31, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Reading, UK
    Gasoline Rainbows
    By mbinks89

    Cars zipped along the road, like buzzing
    prehistoric insects, dome-eyed and gigantic,
    their grilles: teeth, their headlights: eyes,
    yellow with vicious hunger.

    On the road, gasoline rainbows.
    Iridescent mirrors reflecting
    the pedestrians walking past.
    Girls, in dresses, lithe and pretty,
    wore black sunglasses, and chatted idly
    about this that and the other.
    Boys walked by too, dressed in striped rugby shirts,
    telling crass jokes in good humour.
    Roughhousing and fraternal punches.

    A car hit the puddle and it became
    and everything changed.
    It turned into an ocean of flint,
    all jagged waves,
    stormy and dark.
    Ships whaling in the Atlantic
    under gunmetal skies and clouds black as hearts.
    Seas teeming with sharks, blue and white and
    with black beads for eyes and maws like caves studded with teeth
    that were alabaster stalagmites.

    The boys were no longer brothers, no longer comrades and chums.
    Primates in an uneasy alliance, the faces snarling,
    The girls, like statues of gold under Helios,
    Had become, in the garbled water: ugly, vain. Shallow.
    Talking about a thousand things but saying nothing.
    Two island nations readying for war,
    battleships and fighter jets and missile cruisers
    getting oiled up. Espionage-in-action as lies
    mixed with truth came shooting like bullets
    From the between the red lips of the propaganda machine.
    At any second, tensions might burst.
    Tempers might mushroom up like A-bomb clouds.
    No tolerance for faux pas.

    Their faces: twisted and ugly,
    French gargoyles leering at a sleeping cobblestone
    city. They were not lithe and skinny but anorexic.
    Skeletons. Minds warped by a society that spewed trash.
    TVs that blared like loud drunken idiots,
    vomiting up soundbites and laughtracks,
    that wore stoles by broadcasting close-ups of starving children.
    Yes, shove that camera in their face, they want to see its black, glass eye.
    This lens is perfect for capturing the xylophone ribcage,
    But there’s no rice to spare, sorry!

    The sun, angry eye of Ouranos,
    grilled all the stupid things dawdling by.
    Then, a red light.
    And the swarm of meganeurae obliged.

    The puddle slick with gasoline became still once more.
    And the chimp-men were boys, laughing, horseplaying,
    and the skeletons, the Aztec goddesses all bone and tombstone teeth
    hungry for sacrifice of a screaming man’s blood
    Were girls once again.
  4. Banzai

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

    Mar 31, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Reading, UK
    A Thought Between
    By Nee

    Like the surface of some blackened alien moon
    A myriad of puddles crater across the open parking lot
    Reflect a hundred views of the sky hung with that same moon
    Although surface ripples, if to venture, I still may yet fall through.

    Like doors left wide open onto inverted worlds
    Are they only liquid mirrors depicting the sky above?
    Passing clouds, in puddle and sky, puts my head into a whirl
    As I ponder, should I risk a toe? "If you will,” whispers the moon.
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