Shawn

The challenge is to write a poem addressing the topic of "regrets." Submissions will close on the 13th of May. Judging will begin then. If you have any interest in being a judge for this round, PM me and I'll try to figure something out.

Important Dates
April 29th - Submissions Open
May 13th - Submissions Close/Judging Begins
May 20th - Scores Due/Winner Declared
May 20-26th - Break Week
May 27th - Next Contest Begins

Remember that all entries are judged on five points:

Thematic Resonance
Technical Excellence
Composition
Message
Originality

Resources that may be beneficial to your entry:
A Handbook of Rhetorical Devices
Rhythm and Meter in English Poetry
Poetry, Poesy, Lyricism...and other such matters

Note: Submissions will be extended yet another week due to hardships finding judges. Submissions due, now on the 27th.

__________________
I have had a spider-tea free morning, thank you very much.

MisterJack

.


Her Shoes Once Danced





she held stones
__her fingers ached for reprieve
as knees collapsed to whitewash

Windows opened without oil
as she laid her mention in boxes,
saved days in cups of rice
so her children could grow
among trees and fields of ashes
where wind would force old laundry
inside her broken skin.

depraved of linen
__her pores wept
as a tissue soaked in blood

His hand gripped ice and torment;
knuckles burned and blistered
as fifteen years drew closer
through photographs of sullen;
his heart dissolved sandcastles
that she had build with glass.

The haunt that knifes to flashback
guided eyes and sickness;
a burn where stomach melted
discharged the birth of new,
replaced with cold fish suppers
stew, and wilted dumplings.

Now blood taints the bed sheets
in a room that’s filled with ants;
wrapped in barbed wire blankets,
she waits for someone’s sunshine
to smash her bricks with iron,
then take away his Atlas
and bring back fifteen years.














.

__________________
If it claims to be God, eat it.

--------------

Matthatter

Hurting Loved Ones


My heart has inflated, celebrated
The smiles of those minds fate has sewn me to.

Iron muscles, rusted and so weakened
Released, ballooned into honeycomb youth.

Those eyes that filmed me with pre-natal care,
Wet starry smilies with my pain’s demise,

As the insect—twin to the one in me—
Flew out of their wound, to peacefully die.

But the sandstorm anger—tippling feet
Turned them into demons out to get me

For it covered my eyes to white-out mess,
To spit at them intoxicant medlys.

Snapping them down off of their pedestals,
Though I set their golden thrones myself,

Not omniscient and always ignorant,
I've stabbed angels for deeds they could not help.

Baron

_____Eyes
reflected in the mirror,
_____reflect –
the eyes that lied;
still - the sound
of seductive words
resounding - mesmerised.

Catherine wheels whirled
_____when eyes
_____met eyes –
with lust ignited -
spinning selfish thought
_____far distant
from that place
_____where we delighted.

Looking at me –
I see just you;
regrets are only for the wise;
_____I gaze
_____and gaze
at my own face,
still drowning
__________in your eyes.

Those sapphire lights enslaved
my willing soul
and put to death the need
_____to question,
if I’m left alone
_____to feel regret
_____in moments
__________of reflection.

Rich man clutches at life –
cannot comprehend
_____the ease
with which the poor man enters
_____sleep;
as those who grasp
_____for love
will never know
the intensity of this dream
__________I cannot keep.

__________________

vangoghsear

regrets spawned in
prodigal children
immersed in the
squalor of distraction,

niggling termite larva
squirm ink dipped
across clean crisp
cotton sheets
to gorge on
festering lethargy
and burrow deep
in the psyche

to lurk in soulless crevices.

shunned despised,
return undaunted
uncleansed reprise
continually haunted

grasping apparitions,
garbed in the gauze
of misspent moments,
want for waste
a recompense

promises unkept,
beauty undisclosed,
life undervalued
time misunderstood
an accounting
a restitution.

find only
remorse.

__________________
If writing is wrong, I don't want to be right.

TheRaven12

What I Should Have Said

________-Pages turning
my thoughts converging
__________-Like photos
____From this sad show.
_______We were young,
_____jus' begun to grow
______________Leaving,
____-Mistakes behind us.

________________________I,
____________can hardly bear
______my thoughts your care.
___________________Neither
___________bring me comfort.
__________When on that day,
_________________-the path,
_____________-it went astray,
From what your hands provided.

_____Sadly seated
____now defeated,
_________Longing,
_-For that one day.
__-I wanted to say,
just wanted to say.
____________This,
_-"I truly love you."

__________________
Take my advice, I don't use it anyway... Mihir Chhangani

Garden of Kadesh

Retrograde

Dark downward spiral
pulling me back into the past
Viral memories
infecting possibilities
of the present
New days sucked into the whirlpool
of regression
Barbs in my weary, crying flesh
pulling back
Backward to singularity
To the womb
Corrosive acid of mistakes
Burning
Peeling away all healed skin
Failure
To resist, to learn, to transgress
Hell
Choking on the brine of my youth
Help

__________________
"Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them."

- Catch 22

Mermaid on the breakwater

The sun had fallen behind the folds of the western hills,
early stars filling a dome sky -
the kind of perplexing roof that made you feel upside down
loomed closer now than it had then.

Memories drifting on the wind.
A summer breeze was still welcome to the skin;
lifting layers of sweat under your shirt,
embracing, holding you up when it all hurt…
............too much,
I wanted to turn my back on the scene,
flee, forget everything that might have been
as I watched the trains leave the station.

From the hill, the lights were a trap,
guiding, grabbing the attention
of my wandering memories,
pointing in one direction:

The night the stars and sky formed the same dome,
I could only watch you go -
my friend and my love
boarding the last train to leave the station.

__________________
Ambiance Artists Anthology: http://www.lulu.com/content/2293077

Amber Leaf

__________________
'Jonny's laying in his sperm coffin and the angel looks down at him and says:
"Oh, pretty boy, can't you show me nothing but surrender?' - Patti Smith

Punk is dead - get over it.

Acid culture, techno culture, underground culture, rebel culture!

Mirror

He gave them each a name
after mother's drafts:
Violet, Bernice and so forth.

He kept his women thin,
collectively starving pudenda
and branding them with bands
which held fibrous green lungs.
The metal wept from the steam.

Had their bones baked to pottery.
Ebony was oiled and the grass flailed.
Some died, but I don’t know
the causes; screams
do not articulate predicament.

The mood stirred the horses upstairs.
He kept his women thin,
used ribs as backward steps for wax,
taking violent whimsy,
coy snatches into brandished folds.

The nights were thrice when slept.
He, the king of biscuit footprints,
kept to the floors;
the women were fairies, then ravenous
things as the king stopped his breath.

He would touch the shuddering anatomy:
its beak, the enervated pushbutton apocalypse
and later, when asleep, he would dream
the horror of setting them free.

He kept all his women thin,
but when a flower petal dropped its bud,
or a narcissus stag unveiled sane proportions,
the women gorged and stained the floors.

No wonder the king was oppressive-
his will, pubescent with gifts,
and such toward their hunger:

On my left, genius, a literate stack
that, burned, would flaunt the ashes,
horror, those dry-flesh requiems.
The tattoos haunt and loathe me;
blood whose black persona
advised through my risings, my falls;
madness, beloved compulsion leeches
my heart, a perpetual yeast.

And on my right, my flattered shank
eight lovers (a note to any vociferate
onlookers: not one has ever uttered love
except in plea; they love me so),
faces I lavished spittle and lapis upon.
If I spilled my blood, the floors
would sway so drunk even the marble
would begin a slave march.

He ordered the brides be fed.

__________________
Selected poetry by Ariana Rink and John Williamson:

http://www.lulu.com/content/2956099

CMM_Kaleido

Blue: Entendimiento Triste

Carnelian tyrants march
up miniature dunes;
six smooth tines row
across glass water drops, oblivious--
___intent on life-leached boards
___staunchly standing; but I
see the blue strand, treasure
nestled in warm sand pressed

into the back seat--
we saw the Alamo today;
I am squished beside thick-rimmed
glasses, clean-cotton folds,
raisined skin, and adobe smile
___full of tumbleweeds
___and armadillos in-
comprehensible stream

of azul rolls free; broken
links pour
from tiny leather pouch dripping
countenance. I sweep
cherished grains into a curve
and wait: blue
___beads blink
___an empty smile.