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Informal Contest Poem: Crack the Code to Win by Simons, Brendan J.

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Too Much Time Alone

If you come to find me 
Look no further than you must
For I will be burning effigies
A conspiracy is afoot
Some might say I spend too much time alone
Too much time in the attic of my brain
I have fake conversations with myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone
I think they don’t understand me well enough to know
So call me a mad man. 

The axe is buried deep and falls again and again
Wood chips fly as I hew the tree of death
I am working on commission
That’s right the agents are paying me
A coup d’état
To overthrow loneliness
I burn effigies of myself
Some might say I spend too much time alone 

Ask me if I care.
Ask me if I can find my way home.
Ask me if the sewage is raw in my veins.
Ask me if I can crack the code of loneliness.
I dare you to ask me.

Some might say I spend too much time alone.
I can never have enough time alone.
It spares me the spirit of life with society.
I burn effigies.
Let the flags and cannonballs fly.
A war upon my soul will not stop me.
I'll ride a pack of dogs into the teeth of the storm
And rain down pain upon your shores
A coup d’état
A coup d’état  

Will you finally come and spare me?
I doubt it.
I am not an anomaly 
I am free to ramble in loneliness
It burns my flesh, flesh that is hard as gasoline
Underneath the muscle is sinuous and built for pain
Come save me if you must
I am not an anomaly
I just spend too much time alone…


Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2015


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Stokey 2014

Stokey 2014

I am working the door

At an all night bar

Sometimes I think I have spent too much time alone.  These long nights remind me of flowers and effigies. I drink too much.  There’s a telephone by the bar.  I watch people talk and see their lips move.  I imagine what they are saying.  Talking to lovers or parents.  Making excuses, about their tenuous lives.  They reciprocate and lie to each other.  But what do I know I am only the doorman.

It’s two in the morning…I light a cigarette and let the smoke billow out my nostrils.  Like a bull I stand silently.  Dressed in black I live and die in my own dark dreams.
Nomenclature.  A sign on the door washes me away.  It’s not important except to the owner.  “Open all night”.  We never close.  I am only here at nights.

Christmas 2014.  I am not a robot not a ghost.  My shoes are muddy and my suit soiled.  A number of patrons have tested me this evening.  They always try to crack the code on holidays.  I in turn crack their simple heads.  Call it a dance.

The morning light is starting to break.  I hear the birds in the distance.  I run a number through the floors.  It comes back a flat zero.  Tentative dogs bark in the morning fog.  I can picture their breath on the wind.  Frozen in time.  Crumbling in the light of day.  I walk away.

Rufus always comes in at the end of my shift.  He works nights; his happy hour begins at 7:00 AM.  Iggy has been here all night.  I walk him home.  We don’t normally speak.  At least not for the last three years.  Not since his wife died.  He’s a natural.  He collapsed on a knee before she died and recited Shakespeare till dawn.  I like Iggy.

West of Phoenix…   Crumbling beauty, desert cacti.  I see the tracers at night.  They blow across the sky like sunbeams on Mars.  There is no place I would rather be.  Heliograph reflections of 66 Cadillac’s streaming onto the mesa and then into the high sierras past the mountains and down into the fertile valleys of the seamless Californian landscape.  I have never been happier.

I sip the morning light as I walk home with Iggy.  He is by my side.  Loyal and distant.  I talk about my childhood and cry.  He nods and keeps on walking.  Never missing a beat.  There is nothing about salvia that I like.  It smells like cat piss and old ladies.  Iggy doesn't seem to mind.  He is oblivious.  I wish I were more like him.  Once we get to his casa I say goodbye.  He blinks and turns.  Purple walls and watermelon trim.  He is home today.

I turn and walk east down 57th Street.  I light up a Cuban cigar.  The smoke billows around my head and blows it back west towards the desert where it belongs.  I am burning their fields. A stokey on this Christmas the year of our Lord 2014.


Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2014


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the pharoas birthday

the fool of the tarot is the pharoa
four royal families go into hiding to pull off winning a war versus torture for his birthday
its an under rug swept fool proof process that is hinted at in the zodiac and the bible

the bible is a guide of realising torture victoms and a reminder on how to heal them
it seems the bible stories are reminders of historical events that caaused the end of a war

satan was the pharoas name, jesus was hired to abolish slavery
mary was the nurse
the holy ghost was the black market that proceeded government

the zodiac is a weather channel of catastrophic events that took place while previous generations were alive
their mythological stories point to places on the earth where these tragedies occured, speculated by confused philosophers we call prophets

some hieroglyphs and numerology are similar its a simple language of numbers, crack the code of hieroglyphs into numbers
translate the numbers into meaning

almost everything we read or study and speculate points to how a past battle was won

figuring past lives are a math
the occupation you have now
and how those skills you use everyday would have helped you survive hardships of a previous period

ie toy store candy shop would be alive during saints
ie. casino goldrush or dirty thirties
ie. prison guards trojan war
ie. pornographers cleopatra
ie. teachers jesus
ie. fitness experts philosophical age

etcetera, the skills you use everyday would be useful in a previous time of hardship.

davinci hints at women being named after tornados
and other things women have been named after
the mona lisa may then be cleopatra


Copyright © Troy Jeremy Nelson | Year Posted 2012


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Informal Contest Poem: Crack the Code to Win

Within this rhyme there hides a key I have encrypted,
Find it if you can crack the code that must be first decrypted,

Look upon a poem called "Caesar's Cipher", which I wrote,
And within it you'll find a key to unlock the following nonsensical notes:

BMEAIRN AFFXYE ZSEHVNO LRH GHM LFWRNKP SJ YIOSX 
PWEA ELI AUIXGI BF QBPYFIWX

As I hint for you, the final B's plaintext is a little clue,
For the final word is spelled wrong with a displaced Q.

Find my key and create a vertical vigenere tableau, 
And along the Roman alphabet, align what lies below. 

If anyone can crack this encrypted code, 
Write your answer in the comments section,
And if it's right I will write you a poem, a personal ode,
Or one on any proclivity of yours that suits your predilection.


Copyright © Brendan J. Simons | Year Posted 2017


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The little things

I am glad to have the chance 
To try and crack the code 
Cause you're so complicated 
And there is so much to get to know 
Thankfully we are just starting 
For time has only shown
A glimpse of who you are
And where we're gonna go
The mountain tops are waiting 
While the sea's abyss withholds
Mysteries among the depths
Just as mountains hide their snow
So let's lovely the little things 
Like the stars and their glow 
Cause I know you are complicated
But you're simple enough to love


Copyright © Timothy Mullins | Year Posted 2015


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LOVELORN

A livid moon had started 
a body count for undoing a book.
The base thinks it has arrived.

The death zones were unconnected 
by quality of crime waves. People
have started sitting under green trees.

A social outcast silently reaches
the script. It was imperative that 
two-edged sowrd should become sectarian.

The dew, the baked blood and the blades,
wait for the lifting of sorrow.
The fire would crack the code of death.

Do not bribe the stained linen 
and dyed hair. The permafrost will
swallow the petrified feet.


Satish Verma


Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2012


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Bones on the Grindstone

I will live forever, but not in this life
Our time will be severed and then re-aligned
I’m not here to belittle you
But to only reveal a clue
-- The rest is up to you
When dealing with this issue
It’s up to every individual to see what we can do
If we’re forsaken or are capable
We have the potential to be unstoppable
-- Now how is this possible? –

Faith, belief, divinity
The path has been in front of you
But you cannot see
Must be through eyes of near purity
(Through eyes of near purity)
Only one man was perfect
But the way was laid out for the rest of us
With a good heart and a good mind
A path you will then find
-- Never in wickedness –

Not a task impossible
Just extremely difficult
Our lives have been perpetual
Within a mask exceptional
The “Great Mystery” to our salvation
Is really quite simple
Or you still don’t know
What the hell I’m talking about, you see
I had the key, but never tried the lock
Stubbornness and stupidity
Are the two main things
That holds back the world a lot

More than you realize
It’s the doom to our own demise
A wicked, fatal disguise
(Can anyone crack the code?)

-Boz-


Copyright © Jackie Bosworth | Year Posted 2009


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Poetry I Give Sonnet No 2

To whom should read my words could then explain,
How much is fact or mystery they've caused,
That overhears with insight, fraught or plain
And fact remains between the words you've paused, 
Shall crack the code with detail, as you will;
Enable much to understand what's read-
Words, whose pieced together have until
You've found the key to something that I've said;
This strength in words are yours to solely keep
So treasure them as if they were your own
Until a time when you shall find in sleep-
The curse to many fears your dreams have sown.
With meaning you evolve as someone who
Makes something out of nothing, all come true.


Copyright © Titus Llewellyn | Year Posted 2007


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heiroglyphics

what beautiful images and symbols
but what do they mean?
so curious to crack the code
but once its secret is revealed
much of the beauty has vanished
is it the mystery
that captures me?
the old golden world
I wish to know
is trapped
in these symbols


Copyright © Arielle Williams | Year Posted 2016


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BROKEN GLASS


As I fold up my hands I see scars of life
A loop hole between fine and wrong
A mirror of tales of life
Written in plain sight engraved and embroiled
Stitch for a stitch life was given
And so with time hope was stolen
Just to surface my thoughts to you am no angel
i am just another broken man 
A dreamer a man with no home
For no matter how much I tried to embrace life
My heart has always felt out of place
I dwell in confusion and mystery trying to crack the code of life


Copyright © otlaadisa motswasele | Year Posted 2018