Anonymous February Challenge: “Bond(s)”

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Thread: Anonymous February Challenge: “Bond(s)”

  1. #1

    Anonymous February Challenge: “Bond(s)”

    IMPORTANT NOTICE: We've a new update to the rules. Henceforth, kindly refrain from using the "like" function, or offering critique on any of the entries, UNTIL OUR WINNER IS ANNOUNCED. We are implementing this policy in an effort to protect anonymity as well as to spare our entrants the agony of being unable to respond to any critique they may receive for what could conceivably seem like eons. Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

    As previously announced by Gumby, we've updated the challenge rules. Henceforth, all submissions will be anonymous.

    Please remember that in submitting an entry you are obligated to cast at least one vote in the poll. Failure to do so will result in your entry being disqualified.

    The prompt for this month's challenge as chosen by Phil Istine is: Bond(s)

    Your entry must be submitted anonymously and therefore should be PMed to me, Chester's Daughter, so that I may post it for you. Please be sure to indicate in your PM on which board you prefer your work posted, PUBLIC or SECURE. I am responsible for linking all entries posted on the secure board to public board.

    ***VERY IMPORTANT*** Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you PM it to me as you will be unable to edit your work once I have posted it. If your work requires a disclaimer, please inform me in your submission PM.


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

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

  2. #2

    Cutting the Chord

    Late night hosts and news anchors:
    the pied pipers of our day
    Six dead,
    --but doesn't fit the narrative,
    ----so unreported: there's no tragedy
    The truth remains unheard

    Tears mean nothing on TV,
    at least to me and mine
    The lies
    --we're told to manipulate:
    ----tricks used one too many times
    The truth remains unsaid

    I'm not sorry for your loss
    if it gives you power over me
    --decrying fear and hate,
    ----unless disguised as empathy
    The truth remains unknown

    Echoes enforce homogeneity;
    formed parasocial communities
    I bond
    --not with strangers on a screen
    ----but people I can hold and see
    The truth remains unscathed

  3. #3

  4. #4


    Evil looks
    poisonous words
    vile twists
    vengeful turns
    eyes on me
    hatred says
    fault with Other
    surely lays
    quantum things
    puppet strings
    fixate, pin
    your life to mine
    your faults
    are all
    that fill

  5. #5

    I’ve Stolen Your Used Shoes

    I become you.

    Every day.

    I slip on
    unsightly sandals
    and shuffle along
    filthy floors
    while I watch my socks go gray.

    I piss in aluminum
    as one eye migrates
    to the back of my head.
    Communal cleansing
    has schooled
    orbs gone old and cold
    to do fancy new tricks.
    Hyper vigilance
    is better than dead.

    I steer clear of uniforms

    whether they're weighted
    down by batons
    and detector wands
    or are contraband
    fashion statements
    of red or blue
    wrapped around wrists
    itching for a coup.

    I scoop up slop
    off plastic trays
    with plastic sporks.
    servings are so scant
    my gag reflex
    hasn't the time to kick in
    even though I'm sure
    most of it's been
    fished from the bin.

    I trade ramen for salt
    to lessen taste bud assault
    and simply refuse to sample
    the gray sausage
    dubbed “sick donkey dicks”

    even when pressed
    by the block bully
    looking for kicks,
    who, I'm sure in time,
    will deliver me licks.

    On "A" visiting days
    I pray no one will show.

    An hour enduring cacophony
    and bookended
    by strip searches
    makes kin and friends
    seem almost like foes.

    The caged clock mocks me
    and slows its flow
    when it knows I'm zipped
    to my lips
    in ill-fitting coveralls
    the color
    of hurricane clouds
    and peppered with rips
    with legs that abort
    three inches
    too short.

    I nap
    but never sleep
    and terror
    has taught me well
    you die if you weep.

    Four months
    undeservedly spent in hell
    thanks to a lie
    some bastard saw fit to tell.

    You’ve been free
    for near five years

    yet still I become you.

    Each and every day.

    Just how you survived
    I really can't say.

    I beg you to forget
    haunted shoes,
    such loss is no lack,
    to my feet they’re now affixed
    gratis of a super glue’s kiss

    and God as my witness,
    I won’t ever
    give them back.

  6. #6

  7. #7


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