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poetry contest
loveandrew-wood
Posts: 131
hi i been here two days im having a contest , it starts now
post you best poems here and im going to have my brother judge them and together we will decide a winner and if you want i can send you a little prize, all i need is you adress love elliot smith here
my brother is a harvard grad so make sure you bring only the best
contest ends sunday midnight
winner is posted sometime before monday 7 pm
im a geeked
post you best poems here and im going to have my brother judge them and together we will decide a winner and if you want i can send you a little prize, all i need is you adress love elliot smith here
my brother is a harvard grad so make sure you bring only the best
contest ends sunday midnight
winner is posted sometime before monday 7 pm
im a geeked
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go get you best poems from the memory and paste them
im so excited
im really a geeked
it floats down like heaven and heavy
feather hard pillows cuss
beneath the weight
of the twice baked potato
that is my head...
little cheese
some garlic
you know...
back in the oven?
and the little duct outside her eye
you know...
the one where the reaper sleeps?
the little duct lie open
inviting
me to swim in the pool her existence
created in me
the anti-shallow ended love
her soul encompassed
she knew she was big
bent and creaked with the weight of hope
that God was watching her smile
but, alas...
t'was only I
10/11/03
where sits the attraction
little flutterby?
a change in the weather
a kink in a thigh?
going in you knew
coming out you loved
but not quite
droll little angels hitch in their barstools
and are deepest in peace on their knees
empty hands pressed flat
to each other
begging forgiveness for imagined sin
begging for someone more wicked to judge
while little flutterbys
taste each flower
and fly
remain beautiful
and die
seta.
ISLE/future holdings
The rain has stopped and the lightning has chased it's tail for the last time. No thunder to rattle the screens, threatening to be let in. The wind no longer shakes the trees, trembling in humility and bowing in unison to the invisible majesty that is any given storm... even nature must worship it seems. The clouds have slowed their screaming to a low moan and the sidewalks are reasserting their dull, grey, cracked exteriors as if to prove that nothing could faze them, nothing excites them, life is all so boring. The birds settle in, resigned to the chores of tomorrow. The worms resign themselves to almost certain doom come early morn and the babes sigh quietly having been shushed of their rumbling fears, the gods at play, their fates held by their own eyes still searching for something to actually see. Windchimes play their songless tune, the wind needing refinement and education for such a moody instrument so difficult to master in retrospect. Trophies no longer matter. The house is down. The dreams alight and settle on phone wires looking for a home. Water courses down a parking lot vein refreshing hidden cracks we'll never know until next season's dandelion rears its yellow mane and dons its powdered coat. Though the ribbons flutter, the angel never can tell where nor when the motion begins. Confused by the noise that surrounds he trudges homeward, the mud only slowing slightly to allow passage. Molasses is swamplike, he reminds himself. It is dark like chocolate, but it is a falsehood. A syrupy muck that makes way as if it were a moving tide in slow motion. Devious even. Sly. What was it they all got into? The door ajar, the porch light blown, the dog asleep under the rocker. Newspapers scratch the breeze, grabbing for purchase, seeking flight. The print holds down, holds back, never gives of itself, never fades. The stories hidden in between like secrets to be told in a second grade ear. The storm's passage only serves to ruffle and upset their timidity. They share their tragedy in silence, knowing that the rains can only wash away so much and that the city slumbering silent below the eastern horizon will have much to answer for. Transparent is the love, a wisp of steam, a tendril of fog... never touching for long, the fingers grasping yet weak. It basks in the accomplishments of summer and the burnt asphalt that is man's answer to the trailbreak. Sacrifice has never come so easy. There are only so many words to read in the aftermath of a storm, the books yet to be comfortable holding so many lives in the one binding philosophy of reach and affect and dreamreachhurtlovedestroy... what affectations must be reached to catch the rain? What emotive? This page turner is far beyond the skill of even the best of us to dissuade from its purpose- time has more enemies than any other- though it carries forward in gentle manner. It no longer treads with strength upon the graves of others, instead weaving its way amongst the headstones with bated breath as if superstition had finally bitten deep enough to withdraw. The grass bends only somewhat under the force of running footsteps and raising up afterward as if to witness the fleeting figure in the mist and darkness of the early hours. The docks beckon. The water calls. The gulls cry and circle their morning ritual, a life begun anew. The water has cleansed enough and their song has changed from the melancholy of well traveled and overflighted birds, to the joy shared by a chick in its first day of winged bliss. Once the sun rises reminiscence itself is but a memory, superstition a faded myth. No markings left of the barking lightning and love is once again allowed corporeal form, to whisper and wind and grace and to eyelash... the town shutters spring open as it gathers its first breath of the morning air, the dawn an oxygenated treat. And as the first of the townspeople, those who understand the day and its callings, make their way onto the cobblestone streets, a glint in the distant suggests that eternity has just winked at its own private jest; one in which, all in all, life and death are much the same. The blooming petal, the falling autumn, the daily balance... time is nothing but the measurement of what we remember. The ocean understands such laughter, the pelicans cry as fast is broken, and the new day has arrived.
sleep tight
dont go to sleep
till i hold you tight
dont close your eyes
watch the fire flies
kiss me once
ah kiss me twice
dont back away
I want you to stay
here all night
as i hold you tight
in my arms
like a charm
as we lay down
for the night
we close our eyes
and say goodnight
I'll love you today and more tomorrow.
I'll love you when in pain and in sorrow.
I'll love you when your warm and when your cold.
I'll love you like we are young even when we are old.
I'll love you in the sun or even in the rain,
I'll love you when your completely nuts or temporarily sane.
I'll love you when your sick and not feeling up to par,
I'll love you so I can make you soup, and show you your my shinny star.
I'll love you when you are gone, or we are far apart,
I'll love you all the time, like it was from the start.
I'll love you in the winter and in the fall.
I'll love you if your bad and spend all my money at he mall.
I'll love you in the summer and in the spring.
I'll love you because you make me happy and sometimes sing.
I'll love you if you yell or even if we fight.
I'll love you in the dark or even in the light.
I'll love you because your you and that's all I see.
I'll love you because your so perfect to me.
I'll love you forever and that's all Ill do.
I'll love you with all my heart, you'll keep it like new.
I'll love you because your you and you'll always stay true.
I'll love you and like no one else, my heart only beats for you.
8/29/00 8/30/00 Boston 1, 2, 3 '03 Boston 1, 2 '04
Montreal '05 Ottawa '05 Albany '06 Hartford '06
Boston 1, 2 '06 Columbia, SC '08 Virginia Beach '08 Camden 1, 2 '08 Washington D.C. '08 Hartford '08
Boston 1, 2 '08
and too stoned
and too alone
so give me a break
and stop selling out
and stop being cliche
and OVER THE TOP
which way is up
i wonder?
am i here
can you hear
"hear me singing through these tears"
i wonder?
to win this poetry contest
but i dont care
im still gonna try
hey thanks loveandrew-wood
for sayin my poem wasnt perfect
who do you think you are
well its alright
another try
one more try
one more try
maybe next time
i wont be your dog
maybe next week
you can settle down
and we can talk
but i know what hurts most
when i let go of yesterday
and you breathe on me
without certs
sometimes your so ignorant
to how i die
when you shoot that load of
venom
in my mind
AD D5 from Rot
a plastic nation gets second
that real long one gets third
and the winner is
keven 33
this is genious keven ,is that really how you spell it thats odd, anyway it sucked in the beginning when you refer to me like im approachable then you kind of settle down and flow with the high point of this thread being the metaphor on breathe
so do you want a prize just pm me?
kevin nash is without a doubt the best wrestler in the history of fake fighting
you need to turn on private message
thanks byt the way i thought i was an err