Winner's Showcase - Page 8


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Thread: Winner's Showcase

  1. #71
    April 2019 - "Silence" Challenge Winner

    Beneath the Sacristy Carpet (Mature Content) by Chester's Daughter

    Crumbs of evidence
    were silently swept
    beneath the sacristy carpet.

    No need for parishioners
    to be aware
    their Sunday sermons
    slithered past the guilty lips
    of a sly serpent.

    For thirty odd years -
    from as many
    different pulpits -
    Father misled his flock,
    the diocese never seeking
    to defrock
    a purveyor of pure evil.

    Hundreds of times
    his busy hands
    abandoned benediction
    to grope inside vestments
    tailored for children.

    Scarring souls,
    marring minds,
    leaving countless crumbs behind,
    as half-hearted spare prayers
    were offered up
    by tight-lipped brethren
    choked by stiff collars.

    Until little Greg McGee,
    now a strapping lad
    of twenty-three,
    tracked Father down
    and cornered him
    in his latest rectory.

    With a chalice of gold,
    from which Savior's blood
    was served to the fold,
    Father's skull was crushed.
    Bits of bone
    silently scattered
    amongst countless crumbs
    beneath the sacristy carpet.

    The church defiled
    hallowed ground
    with Father's burial,
    as Greg McGee, finally free,
    watched on in ecstasy,
    both his hands and soul
    unshackled

    for Pastor convinced police
    feeble Father had two left feet
    and was the cause
    of his demise.
    A little white lie
    set to rest beside
    serious sins

    all silently swept
    beneath the sacristy carpet.


  2. #72
    May 2019 - “Mom” Challenge Winner

    Mom’s Crop by Chester’s Daughter

    I found Mom out back,
    resplendent in a battered lawn chair,
    admiring her crop
    of eight yellow inhalers,
    (good God, she's hoarding empties)
    lovingly planted
    in freshly turned soil
    as dark as my dread.
    Orange caps
    resembled warped blooms.

    Dirt-encrusted
    inhaler number nine
    was loosely held
    in her muck-covered hand,
    her mouth smeared
    with loam lipstick.
    Seemed exertion encouraged
    enough lucidity
    for her to realize
    she needed a puff.

    Sunlight glinted off
    thick glasses
    sadly magnifying clueless eyes
    of brilliant blue
    which had been
    as sharp as a hawk's
    when we’d planted actual vegetables
    two decades before.

    Within three hours,
    a new regime came into power
    lorded over by illustrious
    Dr. Everything Gonnabealright.
    Wearing a smile of cubic zirconia,
    he deftly scribbled a scrip
    with a dainty hand
    as pasty as fresh plaster.
    One tablet b.i.d.,
    with a full glass of water
    if you please.
    Hearty claps upon our backs
    ushered us out the door.

    She never knew
    what the pills were for -
    clarity could not be coaxed
    from vocal chords encased
    in the concrete born of love -

    "Just vitamins.", we told her.

    Her paralyzing dismay
    at a three syllable word
    found on page
    twenty-six
    of her dog-eared paperback Webster's
    tethered the truth
    well within a corral of empathy,
    its swinging sign proclaiming
    "Leaky lips need not apply
    nor are welcome."

    Four years later,
    like her mind, her lungs abandoned her;
    I approached the subsurface abode
    which was hers to share with Dad,
    an almost empty vial clutched
    (practically crushed)
    in a clammy claw.

    With my free hand,
    I tossed a perfect pink rose,

    its petals still warm with
    the breath of my final farewell,
    onto ebony soil,
    the sight and scent of which
    brought forth a recollection
    of the plastic garden
    that had heralded
    the beginning of the end.
    My sister wrestled the bottle
    out of my death grip
    whispering
    "She doesn't need them anymore."

    Most of her traits were buried
    long before her body.
    She passed never remembering
    she had ever forgotten
    and without the stigma
    of a capital “a”
    emblazoned into what remained
    of her brain.

    Our silence had ensured her peace
    and protected what little was left
    of struggling cerebral cells.


    I've never once regretted it.


  3. #73
    June 2019 - “Apologies” Challenge Winner

    Kindly click to view:

    NEW AGE TODDLER by PiP


  4. #74
    July 2019 - “Drowning in Plastic” Challenge Winner

    Kindly click to view:

    Black Crow by Gumby




  5. #75
    August 2019 - “The Difference Between Rock and Stone” Challenge Winner

    Kindly click to view:

    Apache Tear Drops
    by Gumby


  6. #76
    September 2019 - “The First Time I Died” Challenge Winner

    Kindly click to view:

    No Tears
    by Mish


  7. #77
    October 2019 - “Affection Is a Resource” Challenge Winner

    Kindly click to view:

    Obtuse Conditions
    by Mish


  8. #78
    November 2019 - “Fading Humanity” Challenge Winner

    Kindly click to view:

    Then The Devil Stole My Soul
    by Andrew Clunn


  9. #79
    December 2019 - “Sorry Not Sorry” Challenge Winner

    Memento by Jen the Pen

    He was autistic before it was even a thing.

    Some laughed and called him an idiot -
    not unkindly but thoughtless enough to sting.
    He was not unintelligent but often curled
    inside a world of his own.
    A woodland creature that eschewed the light
    and preferred to live alone.


    He could be aggressive,
    a sudden nastiness that hurt like claws,
    a last resort of a mind that is caught
    in a trap of cold isolation.
    A lifetime at odds with life’s expectation,
    unresolved during seventy-six years

    until death stepped in like a friend.


    All those years, now lost,
    frost upon the melting windowpane.
    Remembered moments like butterflies

    that passed before my youthful eyes.

    Guilt and sadness come with disclaimers,
    my thoughts the same as theirs,
    sorry? not sorry? – ignorance carries no blame.


  10. #80
    January 2020 - “Quiet Places” Challenge Winners

    Kindly click to view:

    Escape Quilt
    by Phil Istine



    Hunkered Down in Down
    by Chester’s Daughter

    One eye struggles open
    to gauge the weather.
    What will today bring,
    tsunami or cyclone
    downpour or drought
    blazing bolts or blizzard?

    Sans crystal ball or wizard
    probability predicts
    the sky won't be bright
    and my crop of hope
    will be dying of blight.

    Second eye follows suit,
    gaze slides from side to side
    squinting at the scenery.
    What accessories will be necessary:
    boots or boats
    scuba gear or canteens
    straps to secure me to a basement beam?
    Perhaps I'll grab, then drag,
    the entire array downstairs
    and cower in a corner
    of the cellar.

    Steady Heddy, ready for all:
    accoutrements to combat
    every squall.
    Initial hailstone hits haggard pane
    to herald a horrific onslaught.
    Orbs squeeze tight;
    I'm not up for the fight.

    Being buried beneath
    a blizzard's bulk
    won't be so bad
    nor would letting the house
    fly or float away.
    Not too terrible to be trapped
    anticipating
    dehydration and starvation
    will ravage me to the point of decay.

    Today,
    I'll stay in bed come what may,
    I'm just too damned tired
    for defensive plays.
    Sometimes it's best
    to let a comforter's caress
    have its wanton way.
    Last edited by Chesters Daughter; February 26th, 2020 at 01:53 AM.


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