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Old 10-01-2012, 05:57 PM View Post #1 (Link) Return of the biweekly poetry contest!
lalodragon (Offline)
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First place-- And we were brushed off the boulevard into darkness, Ares
silence below is louder
compared to our songs on the surface
A melody brews with smoke
and clouds are just the tip of the translucent smokescreen
that covers us in our inverted sky
from the eyes of the universe which pry.

And who were we to say, to proclaim
to decide with impartial convictions
that we will save the Earth, that we were a selfless herd
we will salvage our land
only to ruin it another day

Like ants on an ice floor
we lay paralyzed till she (he)
with his (her) androgynous misogyny
turned into an exterminator of our lives (our lies)
till it's urge to clean its surface
became stronger than its tolerance of it's four limbed murk

Beyond the false promises and resolves
lies a greed
a greed to save our mother whore for another day
to be pests on the leaf
till it falls off, throwing us into the dense abyss
that is the floor of the rainforest

Beyond the realization of our lies,
lies a realization
that we had surfeited our land
till she wanted to clean her depthless exterior
of the waste that we were.

Second place-- The Moral Gap, lostbookworm
See that child
Dark skinned Injun’
Bones and rags of flesh
Walking on two sticks
Pathetic excuses for legs
She’s starving
Should we feed her

Nay, she’s useless
She’s a mouth
We shan’t abide her
We shan’t carry her -
Her skin is a curse from below
Satan’s child
She is a waste of air
A vermin
An Injun’

She is but a child
No evil resides inside her
She is not of Satan
But Lord Almighty -
How can you be so certain
And allow her to waste away
To be just bones on these plains
With her flesh given to vultures
Because of her colour

She is not human
For she is not like us
Brutish savages were her people
And she will be like them
You see us -
Little food for our children
How can we bring her
Without depriving ours
Would you they die
Rather than her

But the heat
She is dieing
And you would do nothing -
What is God if he let his creations
Starve upon his lands
Their lips parched for water
While others from his hands
Pass her by with contempt

Silence your words rider
It is not your place
To question His ways -
If you wish so dearly
The child should not suffer
Then return to her
And place a hole
Between her eyes.

Based on a true story of a family migrating with a group of settlers from California to Oregon in 1846.

Third place-- Strung Words, Wig
If I lined all the words we waste
in a row, perhaps five per syllable,
and tried to piece it together
(a mismatched jigsaw puzzle,
like the ones with missing pieces
you can buy in garage sales)
I'd be left with crumbs of excess -
fragments of letters we brush under the carpet
and pretend no one can see
because we are afraid of our past words
and how they can fall back together.

I could string them together,
and take them with me.
Have a necklace of forgotten words -
I could sell them for a dollar each
on the corner of the sidewalk.
They'd buy one and go home
make a cut in the necklace and let the words spill
onto the table between them.
They'd watch the words
(and hear them too)
and pick the ones they like to make their own necklace.

If I lined all the words we waste
in a row, perhaps five per syllable,
and tried to piece it together
I'd be left with a collection of voices -
sad, broken, lost voices -
because the wasted are always broken.

Congrats! Thank points awarded in 3... 2... 1...
Crits will be sent as they're done.

Sadly there aren't any runners up; we had only three entries. Come on! You can't lose anything by entering, but you'll have drool-worthy crit.

Rules & stuff:
We're starting out the month right! I ought to make you wait until midnight to start but as far as I am concerned you can start right now.
The deadline is midnight the 15th.

Slightly seasonal theme. Leaves are gaudy on trees, but litter on the ground. Pumpkins are bright. But the gardens are plowed under. Halloween decorations are going up in stores, looking like trash already (shredded shrouds) and quite overdone with fake blood. Old ladies put on more makeup and shop for Christmas sweaters. What are you throwing away, what are you putting on?

The judges are Isis, mfarr1992, and lalodragon.

-- Entries should be sent to one of the judges via Personal Message (special love if you send entries to all judges).
-- There are no physical prizes, but there are three places for winners: first place gets five thank points, second place gets three thank points, third place gets one thank point, and runners-up get a peck on the cheek.
						Last edited by lalodragon; 10-21-2012 at 12:42 AM.
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Old 10-02-2012, 01:40 PM View Post #2 (Link)
The Enchanted Muggle (Offline)
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Woo, okay, after much thinking and debating with myself, I've decided that I'm going to join!

Originally Posted by sbenzing
Wow. So youre a Korean girl who grew up in Hong Kong, lives in the United States now and is studying Spanish in college? You know that's crazy right?
Jisun: I feel like I'm writing some Twilight shit.
Kanen: Ji, I feel like that all the time.
Kanen: The difference is,
Kanen: this is only your first draft.
Kanen: for her, it was her last.
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Old 10-02-2012, 04:26 PM View Post #3 (Link)
lalodragon (Offline)
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Why'd it take that? You're supposed to see the words poetry and contest and start jumping up and down.
I forgot to post this, but every contest I want you to find published poems related to the theme. Post them here or in the collection (with a link here)!
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Old 10-02-2012, 04:51 PM View Post #4 (Link)
Wig (Offline)
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I'll enter c: I'm a little busy so it might not be like asdfghjkl but you will get something from me.

Burning Trash
John Updike

At night—the light turned off, the filament
Unburdened of its atom-eating charge,
His wife asleep, her breathing dipping low
To touch a swampy source—he thought of death.
Her father's hilltop home allowed him time
To sense the nothing standing like a sheet
Of speckless glass behind his human future.
He had two comforts he could see, just two.

One was the cheerful fullness of most things:
Plump stones and clouds, expectant pods, the soil
Offering up pressure to his knees and hands.
The other was burning the trash each day.
He liked the heat, the imitation danger,
And the way, as he tossed in used-up news,
String, napkins, envelopes, and paper cups,
Hypnotic tongues of order intervened.
you can't beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
- Bukowski
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Old 10-04-2012, 03:01 PM View Post #5 (Link)
Squint (Offline)
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I need to beat my block... Count me in.
Most of my poetry is smut these days.
Epic narcoleptic.
I like giving crits
VM me if you want one
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Old 10-04-2012, 03:18 PM View Post #6 (Link)
lostbookworm (Offline)
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I need to write some poetry, and trash is a brilliant theme for me.
and he saw himself nailed to the cross of his own cradle and coffin
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Old 10-04-2012, 08:14 PM View Post #7 (Link)
lalodragon (Offline)
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I love you all.
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Old 10-07-2012, 12:26 PM View Post #8 (Link)
Julian (Offline)
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Count me in!
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Old 10-07-2012, 01:41 PM View Post #9 (Link)
bookworm (Offline)
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Originally Posted by Julian View Post
Count me in!
Just to give the penguin poet some competition, I'm gonna write something in the plane <3
Originally Posted by Samuel Beckett, Worstward Ho
The void. Before the staring eyes. Stare where they may. Far and wide. High and low. That narrow field. Know no more. See no more. Say no more. That alone. That little much of void alone.
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Old 10-14-2012, 03:51 PM View Post #10 (Link)
Isis (Offline)
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One more day to go: I'm looking forward to reading (and critiquing) your work!
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