October Challenge: "Dark Places"

Results 1 to 10 of 10
  1. #1

    October Challenge: "Dark Places"

    AS PREVIOUSLY ANNOUNCED, IF YOU ENTER THE CHALLENGE, YOU MUST CAST AT LEAST ONE VOTE IN THE POLL. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN YOUR ENTRY BEING DISQUALIFIED.

    The prompt for this month's challenge, as chosen by Firemajic is: Dark Places

    You are free to interpret the prompt in any way you wish, though of course, site rules apply. If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board. Please note that all entries are eligible to receive critique in the voting thread.

    The inclusion of explanatory text or links of any kind within an entrant's challenge entry is prohibited and will be immediately removed upon discovery. As always, only one entry per member is permitted.

    As previously announced, anonymous entries have been abolished, therefore, entrants must post their own entries in this thread, or if you desire to protect first rights, please post your entry in the secure thread, and then post a link to it here in the public thread. Failure to do so runs the risk of your entry being disqualified, so if you require assistance with the task, please PM me, and I will gladly help you.

    If your entry contains strong language or mature content, please include a disclaimer in your title.

    Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you submit. You have a TEN MINUTE GRACE PERIOD to edit your piece, but anything edited after that will likely see your entry excluded from the challenge.

    Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussion related to the challenge can take place in the Bards' Bistro.

    Everyone may now use the "Like" function whenever they so choose.



    This challenge will close on the 15th of October at 7pm EST.










  2. #2

    I Confess (Language)

    I reside in the bleakest recesses
    of someone elseís insanity
    where nonsense is the norm

    and manifests in infinite forms.
    My Judas flesh
    is bested by hostile terrain
    that offers only stress
    disguised as rain
    and rust it does -
    both body and brain.
    My protests, once wails
    but now mere whispers,
    echo impossibly in a land

    with no walls
    where darkness never falls

    because it never leaves.

    I crawl out to come here,
    slap some saccharine
    on reluctant fingertips

    and steer clear
    of shooting
    from the hip
    to hide who Iíve become,
    or rather,
    how much of me is gone.

    I read my text before I click
    keen eyes seeking
    any possible lick
    that thereís cracks in veneer
    thatís way worn down
    and all too sheer
    but my words are dutiful soldiers
    obedient letters belying
    the haggard landscape
    from which they spawn.
    How much longer
    will they remain
    pliant little pawns -

    alphabetic Russian roulette, anyone?

    Ebony primordial ooze,
    thick and sticky as molasses
    sadly denied the benefit
    of ever becoming booze,
    is my womb of gloom and doom
    and never fully shed
    during the infant creep from bed
    back into the light.
    It may stain the keyboard,
    but my strokes still come out right.

    It gives me hope

    that although Iím held hostage
    in a cesspool of ďnotĒ
    gratis of those
    who will never stop
    dubious behaviors
    that proclaim me
    their personal cop

    part of me still exists
    despite being submerged
    in other folksí
    heinous shit
    and being cursed
    by bloody eyes
    that baptize
    all Iíve writ.

    So out Iíll crawl
    just to get here
    and pretend Iím me
    but have no fear

    eventually

    I will be.


  3. #3
    There is no life I know
    To compare with pure imagination.
    Living there youíll be free
    If you truly wish to be.~ Willy Wonka

  4. #4

    A Journey by Night

    Darkness looms like gothic spires
    lit by silver candle-fires;
    the wind sings low like ghostly choirs
    in the cathedral of the night.

    My footsteps hasten away from Thwaite;
    my errand there has made me late.
    The day has met its nightly fate
    and perished out of sight.

    On this road, this misty strand
    piercing through this forest-land
    of twisted trees, I understand
    the terrors of the night.

    Such gnarled arms and demon-faces
    emerge from deep and dire places
    to chase away all holy graces
    and impede me if they might.

    The shapes press inward, I rush along;
    my frame is weary, the wind is strong.
    I try to sing a hopeful song
    in the cathedral of the night.

    The song soon dies; I fight despair.
    But what is that light glinting there
    beyond the trees? A radiance fair -
    my home is at last in sight!

    The door is opened, I hear my name,
    the hearth brims with a golden flame
    and merry faces all exclaim:
    Come in now from the night!

  5. #5
    Skeletons in Dusty Cupboards

    She carried her secret
    in plain sight.
    Although she never spoke of it,
    the family did.

    Remember when
    you dropped the baby?
    On her head?
    On the scullery floor?
    they said, and laughed,
    chaffed her for her carelessness.
    Reckless child!
    They said.

    My head. My pain.
    What if I was never the same?
    I said,
    and they laughed
    fit to choke.
    A joke.
    Or maybe knocked some sense in
    instead?
    They said.

    I didn’t hold it against her,
    always loved her,
    my elder sister.
    Even tried to be closer
    but she was remote.
    I don’t like girls,
    she said,
    I will have two boys instead.
    And she did.

    I heard about the puppies
    after she died...
    I was afraid of her,
    my other sister sighed.
    She killed three puppies
    when she was six.
    Dropped them on their heads.
    On the scullery floor.

    What for?
    My voice was dry.
    How do you know?

    She made me to watch.
    I was afraid to say
    anything about that day.
    Now she’s gone
    and it’s been sixty years.
    I still have fears,
    she said,
    that she might hear.

    Mind reeling.
    Coldness creeping.
    But why?
    I whispered,
    afraid to know.
    Why would she?
    How could she?

    The answer came with a frown...
    Told me
    she didn’t like brown pups,
    that she wanted instead
    to keep the two black ones,
    she said.
    And we did.

    Just starting out on the adventure of poetry? Why not join us on
    Poetry Hill where you will receive one-to-one advice and suggestions for ways to work with your poem.





    My Poems




  6. #6
    Darkness Calling

    winter
    ||||||||night
    sky, black
    with clouds, silence
    cries,
    ||||||||compels
    me down the lightless road,
    a moon half-
    hidden.
    calling.
    calling me.

    frozen
    ||||||||sun
    sleeping, fast
    beneath this side of the city
    breath
    ||||||||freezing
    branches
    ||||||||reaching
    and I
    breathless, surrounded
    by ghosts,

    the moon
    ||||||||flashes
    flickers like a strobe,
    no
    ||||||||return.
    death
    has called me
    I have walked into its
    shadow
    ||||||||and I am afraid
    of the dark.

    the dark.

    should the sun wake up
    merely for me?
    a jester
    ||||||||arrayed in a foolís hope
    burning like purgationís fire
    on my skinó
    ||||||||but a human, at least
    is not an angel
    not a devil. a human
    can die.
    can die well.

    there are songs,
    always
    ||||||||songs
    songs that teach you how to die
    songs that paint the snow
    with blood,
    ||||||||and so
    turn it to gold

    songs that bear
    light
    ||||||||words
    (not my own)
    shaped on my lips, creating
    light, separating
    it from the darkness
    in
    the
    ||||||||beginning

    there is a story, carved
    in darkness
    that can only be carved
    in darkness
    and let us carve it
    in the darkness
    me
    ||||||||and You

    (and let death call me again someday
    that we may carve it again.)

    "So long is the way to the unknown, long is the way we have come. . ." ~ Turisas, Five Hundred and One

    "[An artist is] an idiot babbling through town. . .crying, 'Dreams, dreams for sale! Two for a kopek, two for a song; if you won't buy them, just take them for free!'" ~ Michael O' Brien,
    Sophia House

    Christ is risen from the dead,
    trampling on Death by death,
    And on those in the tombs,
    lavishing light.



  7. #7

    Brain Damage

    .
    Half a click beyond the silver dome,
    a place we call our home.

    Half an hour beyond the straw sundown
    where Earthrise never comes around,

    with an aluminium spade, I toil
    refilling a pit with the greyish soil

    under a stellarific night
    illuminated by helmet-light,

    my lover at peace, the eye of my storm
    as I steadily cover her pale-white form

    while humming a rather haunting tune
    from Darkside of the Moon.

  8. #8

  9. #9
    I find that my lack of knowledge can sometimes be an asset in that I'm forced to try new things because I don't have any other options.

  10. #10

Bookmarks

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •  
This website uses cookies
We use cookies to store session information to facilitate remembering your login information, to allow you to save website preferences, to personalise content and ads, to provide social media features and to analyse our traffic. We also share information about your use of our site with our social media, advertising and analytics partners.