Best Auctioned Poems
No one followed her as she ran away
fleeing from the altar on her wedding day
She’d been jilted by Jed her handsome groom
so locked herself away in an unused attic room
The bride’s father went after Jed with a gun
you should have seen the coward run!
The desperate search for Judy was in vain
She didn’t respond when they called her name
Folks assumed she didn’t want to hang around
Many years passed by and she was never found
The house was auctioned after her parent’s died
They were buried at the churchyard side by side
The new house owners were in for a terrible shock
When they ventured upstairs and unpicked the lock
They found Judy’s skeletal body in her dress of lace
Cobwebs hung like curtains from her once lovely face
Jed’s dust covered photo lay in her hand
Judy never got to wear her wedding band
Dust Contest
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
03~22~17
This is the last piece to go. All the others are sold.
I hate to part with it, but now that I've grown old
I need to find the right home for it before I die.
I'll explain its importance if you're wondering why.
You see, it's been a treasure since before I was born.
My father found it buried in a city that was war torn.
He marveled that among all the rubble and concrete,
no scratch marred its beauty nor was it burned by heat.
It graced our living room with the status of a Queen,
Most beautiful Brazilian Rosewood vanity ever seen.
Father had to have it to match the great beauty of his wife,
Adrianna, was fragile and giving birth to me took her life.
Father gave me the vanity, a priceless piece, an heirloom.
One rainy day I was bored and was dancing around my room.
I bumped into the vanity and from behind a drawer fell a note...
"Who ever finds this, look for the secret," my Mother wrote.
That was seventy years ago, and no secret did I ever find.
Age has taken my strength away and now that I am blind,
I can no longer search for the secret within this vanity.
I want it to belong to someone kind while I still have my sanity.
It's being auctioned by verbal bid so I can hear the voice
of the one I deem worthy of my treasure. I'll make the final choice.
Money is no longer important so the auctioneer will look to me
when that special voice I hear, I'll nod and that bid will be the fee.
I've set no starting bid and no reserve for it's time to let it go.
Come, take a look. Rub your hand across the wood grain's glow.
I hope you will find the secret my Mother hid so well inside,
perhaps a young man will take it home, as a gift for his bride.
The value to me is priceless, and I would sell it for only a cent.
If I hear something in your voice, I will know for you it's meant.
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
February 24, 2016 " The Auctioneer Contest by Mystic Rose
Seconds,
My life seems to work anti-clockwise
With every tick I seem to get less wise
By the minute counter-clock-wise
As I split-seconds closer to my demise
Look deep in to these eyes
There is no I to make this a life
So let me die
And here I lie
Clip off these wings you gave me to fly
I have no reason to visit the skies
I'm now too cold to be your sun
Still here I lie
I just hate it when you smile
It seems to kill all that poetry in your cry
Now say goodbye so you can drown your pillows with tasteful life
Because here and there I lied
Auctioned pieces of your heart for pounds of flesh I lost taste for after a couple of bites
I was greedy and they were needy- that defined exploitation
See now I believe it would take more than one crucifixion to cleanse my sins
So don't forgive me
I now belong to the Darkness
And your love is not welcome here
In this psychological warfare,
where the fate of Romeo and Juliet
has not discouraged lovers
I was warned,
"tread carefully, only move forward if you are prepared
to battle against satanic adversaries not seen before."
But I'm a veteran with an amputated heart,
as my lion nature roars at 'tug-of-war' conflicts
and she keeps pulling at my heart strings.
Welcome to the circus of darkness,
where spirits rest in a silent surrender.
In my phantom kingdom
the queen of hearts is an outcast
upon an isolated island of misery.
Her life is a concoction of paparazzi and propaganda,
where serpents manipulate her innocent dreams.
In the illusion of separation,
an internal choir sings a siren's symphony of sorrow,
echoing through oceans and mountains between us.
In this haze of hopelessness I hope to be found,
but we are cursed with different shades of love,
where tears are melodramatic melancholy,
bleeding in black rivers of perpetual pain -
but her savage beauty is my favourite kind of madness.
In the unfairness of circumstance's wicked ways,
the Grim Reaper has auctioned my soul for sale.
I search for anonymous angels among us,
but in the graveyard of blasphemous bliss,
tattoo tears create crimson cracks on broken statues.
My immortal emotions drift like butterfly breaths,
imitating a bare brokenness of rags buried in paper coffins.
Before the euthanasia of time will you return that stolen kiss?
Gift me a kinder reflection from self entitled mirrored salutes?
It all started with a poem rebuilding a sanctuary.
in my poetic secret garden of confessions.
When my metaphors stole the moon for you,
fate had my heart held hostage to your infatuation.
Not everyone can see with open eyes,
but in the empathy of distant entanglement,
love untangled the tips of your tangled heartstrings,
then burnt them in ashes of enkindled embers.
Now that I've overcome your obscured boundaries of sanity,
placing lanterns upon midnight trails you follow,
I've defeated every malignant spirit.
Before words become tired and meaningless,
will you comprehend the innocence of my insanity -
forever love me where it hurts?
Such a weight, these boulders of depression.
Carrying them has become a useless, sad obsession...
A way to define the core of self, the Inner Being
Only talk of lightening the load, no thought of ever freeing...
A soul's place is through the void, to be preserved forever in ice,
Ice of Blue hues and Nothings - so nothing to avoid.
Grey grit mixes with the mist of time expired. Dirty memories.
Several generations based on the same pattern.
Reproduced but not rewired.
Currents lost in cul de sacs and weeping men in doorways,
Bottled laughter auctioned off then vapourised by sun's rays.
Tell me this, TELL me the story -
is man aglow, or does he bask in God's Glory?
The wonderings and whisperings of those who need to blend.
No-one can figure out who is foe and who is friend.
Hearts breaking with audible cracks while demon's chew on pain,
keeping anger as their snacks.
Leaching colour from the world around.
Searching till every weakness is found - preying on insecurities and lust
till the last bones are but powder and dust.
Endless Grey is all I see.
Even my shadow has departed from me;
But I stand straight and hold myselt tall -
never moving in case I should fall.
Don't look left, and don't look right lest fear attacks your need for flight.
Loose the soul, cut silver threads for Divinity swings low.
Don't end the game before it's begun, take care to walk it slow...
Walk it slow for those who lag behind and fast for those who run.
Every searching till you find...
The Meaning of The One.
Form:
You are a thief
You have stolen the shine from her hair and the light from her smile
You auctioned off every unmarked joy you took
You put smiles into storage units, and laughs under lock and key
You took her away from us, you locked her in her room
She is curled up in bed protesting your presence
Yet you have weaselled you way into her life again
Where you loom over her like the clouds that block the sun
Where you infect her mind , seeping in like the rags we’ve used to sop up the blood
The blood you drew and made us believe she did it
I know it was you
You are a thief
You have taken my friend
You have taken a mother
You have taken a sister
You have taken a daughter
You left behind a shell
You are a thief
You try to take her life away from her
You try to convince her it is worth nothing
But I believe in her like I believe the ocean meets the sand
And I know she is stronger than you
I know you will continue to turn off the lights and try to leave her in the dark,
But she is stronger than the struggle.
She struggles not to shine.
She is the light that bleeds into darkness.
She is the sunrise, sending off the stars.
And you are a thief.
I saw you take her smile. I saw you take her will.
I saw you take her hope. Now I don't see her anymore.
I just see you.
You are a thief.
You are depression.
You steal away smiles and lives, friends and family.
You feed on misery.
You stole my friend.
I will remind her of what she has lost until we bury you.
I will tell her to stand for joy,
And to stand against you.
We will not let you in anymore.
You are not robin hood.
You are not invincible.
You are not her,
And you are not welcome.
I can see through you.
I know what you are.
You are a thief.
Written: October 18, 2023, For Ink Empress Dodoitsu Contest
________________________________
soul auctioned out to mirage
hostile and harmful hardship
cunning, for the devil, grins
In pursuit of fame
You are captivated hundred years ago
Auctioned your innocent beauty
Tasted various blood that kissed on the land
Marked the scars of exploitations
Trampled your dignity!
Barrowed the freedom declared by other
Fake declarations put our forefathers in trouble
Glared them by figurative beliefs
Praising the teach of others lives
You can’t live without balanced looking
Knowing your men’s race abused them without mercy
The wrong acts of our descendants
Earning the weak new generation
Once again you are plead
For the other lands deceiving you
All your men are slave
Still bring the curse of yesterday
You are pulling as an example
As the gate of hell of many aspects
Admitted the poverty is the hub of history
They are ignorant! We have filled of dreams!
Cannot stop their dirty spit
For the poor land but behind rich
Controlled you for being small
Wake up our brave spirit once more!
I know the brilliant minds know the weapon
For the intruders with the same us status before
They boast their powerful stuff’s war
Defying your patience to become ash
I know you are not like before
You can beat them and obtain the praise
The gnashing teeth thirst for respect
Of the strange eyes observing your work
Your men are not cowards
Waiting for the signs from HEAVEN
Give us strength and wisdom
To defend our crying tired land!
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Goree Island
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: February/2014
I see the blood
of my ancestors
that swell
in the Atlantic ocean
on
Goree Island -
The unmerciful ill winds
that fell
over my people,
in Senegal,
on that
horrific night,
brought the European's,
across the Atlantic,
to our Village -
Everything
in the world
changed forever,
and
will never be forgotten,
when the "unthinkable"
cruel acts
of slavery,
cloaked my people
like
darkness in the night -
White men
dressed in British
formal attire,
brought with them,
bullwhip's, chains, machetes,
and rifles,
to capture us.....
to ENSLAVE us!
We were brutally beaten,
and
taken to
the House of Slaves,
on Goree Island -
The malice intent
of
the British,
intensified our
suffering
at the slave house,
as they
cuffed us to
the walls,
in neck, waist,
and
ankle chains -
Days would pass,
some of us died
from
diseases,
and
starvation,
while waiting
for
the slave ship
to come
from the Americas -
The hideous inhumane
acts
by the British,
sold us
as property,
as we were
auctioned off as
commodity,
to the Americas,
during
the Atlantic Slave Trade
The mournful ness
in our helpless eyes,
spoke of horrendous fear,
as a feeling of distraught,
distress,
and despair,
clothed us
like
death -
We are innocent people
that will never
see our families again
Our homeland again -
It's unfathomable,
to see black souls in chains,
taking those final usurious
steps towards the "Door Of No
Return,"
in the House Of Slaves,
which left its ugly mark,
on the whole global earth -
Once through
the Door Of No Return,
we were sold to the Americas,
and
faced a future of
severe beatings, burnings,
hangings, lynchings,
and
rape -
To this day,
ancient spirits
of
black people,
still scream in rage
on
Goree Island,
where an untold number
of us were
slaughtered,
and
branded
before walking
through the slave door,
of
an uncertain future -
The ominous clouds
of slavery,
will
forever cast
a dark shadow,
over the
House Of Slaves,
the Door Of No Return,
and the world -
Goree Island,
in the Atlantic Ocean,
will forever
cry tears of blood,
from the souls of
black people -
An unsophisticated feller attending an auction could find himself in a pickle!
The nuances, subtleties and gestures used in bidding could cost him a pretty nickel!
A city feller decided to attend a farm auction to see what it was all about.
Alas, he accumulated a heap of needless stuff before he could figure it out!
He was fascinated by the tractor, manure spreader, horses, hogs and cows,
And the chickens, goats, manure forks and hay to be auctioned in the mows!
The auctioneer began his alien spiel and the feller couldn't understand a word,
But farmers in overalls and John Deere caps knew exactly what they heard!
Bidding began on an old steel-wheeled 1925 Model D over-used John Deere.
The feller watched others offer their bids as he reached to scratch his ear.
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the man scratchin' his ear over by the fence!"
He was the stunned owner of a tractor - it happened so fast he didn't have a chance!
Next up for bid were a fancy chamber pot, two horse collars and fifty feet of hose.
The feller in all innocence swatted at a pesky fly that had landed on his nose!
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the guy who swatted his nose for fifty dollars!
Son, you got a steal! That's an antique thunder mug and so is them there collars!"
The auctioneer opened bidding for twenty bales of newly cut alfalfa hay.
The feller was distracted for a moment and waved at a pal across the way.
"SOLD" said the auctioneer, "Please write a check for this stuff to my able aide!"
The hapless guy was wondering how he'd explain to his spouse the purchases he'd made!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Barred and chained human cargo
Cheap labor and debt of the motherland
Rotting flesh and thought
Silenced and defeated spirit
Cheap labor and debt of the motherland
Freedom and dignity --- denied
Silenced and defeated spirit
Feces, vomit, disease-bathed
Freedom and dignity --- denied
Auctioned, lashed, lynched, and drowned
Feces vomit, disease-bathed
Song lost in the midst
Auctioned, lashed, lynched, and drowned
Rotting flesh and thought
Song lost in the midst
Barred and chained human cargo
Marckincia
A Pantoum
3/07/15
The Viking gallery slipped quietly through the night
the oars just barely skimming the gentle swell
sails were fur-lowed tight to help hide it from sight
the warriors ready for the signal sounded by the bell
Silently they landed, ferocious was their appearance
wielding their great battle axes wearing winged helmets
they crept up on the sleeping village in timeless trance
plundering and pillaging killing some helpless pets
Taking captive the fairest of the maids enslaving burly men
to work the gallery's oars, filling the hold with stolen treasure
drinking wine from carved horns and spit roasting a tasty hen
soon well into their cups they ravished most maids keeping one pure
She of flaxen hair and hour glass figure and tender years was spared
a most fitting present for their king, the rest would be auctioned for profit
the coin added to the treasury. Now under full sail the waves they dared
knowing a welcome most raucous awaited they now their torches lit
Their king was most pleased with his gift and vowed they would be wed
a great feast was prepared and the mead flowed thick and sweetly
the Viking cheered as their king took the maid first as wife then to bed
weeping as she was ravished, he rode her like a bull until she bled badly
Back to the feast he downed some horns then lay down to sleep
the maid waited until all was silent and then into his heart she struck deep
she took back her shame as he lay dying knowing her own death she did reap
turning the dagger on herself her life no value she slipped into eternal sleep
written 05/01/2014
contest Any Poem Any Subject
They packed us in ships and boats.
Sardines have more space in their cans as compared to us,
Low ventilation, no water, little food,
Out of our land of abundance, land of riches, land of gold,
We sailed off to the land unknown,
‘Door of No Return’, that was the last door I saw in my homeland.
With shackles on our necks, ankles and wrists, we were led sheepishly to the ship,
When we complained, they lashed us, when we rebelled, they killed us,
And the weak amongst us; they were maltreated.
My sister was force raped yesterday; it’s my fiancée’s turn today,
We were supposed to get married last Sunday,
“I’ve been shot in one knee”, an Old Norse slang,
I’m married; I was going to tell my friends,
But the sun sure didn’t smile on me on Sunday,
Now in a new land, new soil, we’re auctioned like some merchandise,
I thought they only wanted our gold, or was it not enough; the additional cocoa,
Now we work on their plantations, from dawn until dusk,
We’re forced to speak the Whiteman’s language,
We’re forced to eat their food and dress like them,
And the very thing that make us Africans; our pride, It’s been taken from us,
So I wonder the kind of future that lies ahead for our unborn generations,
I wonder if our rich values, our norms, our traditions,
I wonder if they would be passed down to them,
Africa, my story.
And now I've lost my papers,
My passport and my wife,
The very essence of
My identity and life.
My bank account is empty,
My cloths and garments sold,
My skin and bones are ashes,
Spread thin on the open road.
My old car's broken down,
No wheels to touch the floor,
The motor been dismantled,
Stripped clean down to the core.
The bailiffs and the policemen,
Have emptied my abode,
The promises I made you,
Have been auctioned out and sold.
The love I hold within me,
Is all that I now have left,
The rest is bleak illusion,
The bind man and the deaf.
The imaginary people ,
I thought were my friends,
Have left the scene forever,
As the road of life does bend.
And now I stand alone,
Upon this lonely hill,
I gaze upon the meanings,
The years have silently killed.
In the roaring storms of thunder,
In the lightning in the night,
In the whispering of the children,
In the white doves lonely flight.
In the dust of many ages,
That has settled on my soul,
In the ashes of my humanity,
That has filled my begging bowl.
The ancient breeze is blowing,
Calling me to my knees,
To behold the light within me,
In the prison of the keys.
more at http://labyrinthoflies.com
My drapes are drawn tight,
in the morning of our afternoon,
after the fall – beyond the light
of a silent evening spent.
Dusk spits a new shine
upon the facets of my mood ring
and sunrise alarms me again.
Fish hooks evenly lure my smile
into place - when bated breaths
are baited by an anticipated gentry -
and the inverted frown I wear
stretches undetected
when performing
index-fingered handstands
for the empty allured.
Such a celebration am I.
A firecracker when we kiss.
"The sun sets in his eyes...
succulent, cabbage-red and resplendent…”
Clichéd stammering; dulled
as you turn your softly curved frame
into a prisoner's unresolved sensitivities.
Nonetheless...the innocent know -
His touch is real. Feathered, soft -
even when the entranced cripple is sobbing.
Roman candles sparkle
within a distant vagabond’s eyes.
Starch him!
Savor the moment!
He'll voluntarily burst forth -
and everything you'd want from
a strayed waif's aorta will be
auctioned back...
and eventually sold.
Like ruby-hued vegetables.
Like drawn drapes.
Like morning…
when biting your pillow case
neatly grinds waking into the laughable...
…and a forgotten sunrise
toasts the unremembered misfit
as an invisible champagne cork - pops!