Best Entrants Poems
( Repost )
Somehow, her eyes expand with the disobedient sky
and there, she senses urchins filling water on the lake
her feet and thighs slide up changing hues,
with receding incarnations of the moon.
She bends down gazing at images on the lake
as limbs turn into seaweeds, a mermaid in pain
changing hues in the crystal white of sky…
and the moon with slices of split mirrors burn
on wiggles of unscented tresses in water.
She dips her hands to catch the sleek tail in a plunge
knowing not a word to describe the reflection on the lake,
and witness the need to flow randomly in its
entrance through the expanse of one silver sky…
trying to recover glimpses reflected in the water.
Without point of reference to unknown images,
she vaguely remembers how transparently liquid
the changing hues of the moon become watery
like a hint of coagulated blood on a mermaid’s lake...
and the laughter of the sky drips into imaginings.
.......................................
* Written for a fantasy contest that was discontinued;
its theme required entrants to describe one's mirrored
image of the self. Few comments ranged from " Nice, but I
didn't get it" to " You seemed to have overused the word
"water?" In hindsight, I asked myself," what
were you thinking? This is sloppy!"
Jerry T Curtis' This Poem S***s Contest
Today it’s Pancake Day and there’s to be a pancake race
Entrants are on the starting line with a smile upon their face
Old Ted ‘s ready with his frying pan, he is a fat old josser
but when it comes to pancakes, Ted’s an expert tosser
The gun goes BANG and off they go, Ted’s busy tossing away
busty Bertha's in the lead, if she wins there’ll be hell to pay!
Ted’s won the race the last five years, he tosses night and day
the trophy’s been on his top shelf, he hopes that’s where it’ll stay
Bertha stumbles, her pancake drops and she begins to cry
Ted sneakily stamps on her pancake; he’s such a crafty guy
The finishing line is in sight, there’s about fifty yards to go
Ted frantically tosses his pancake; his wrist goes fast not slow
Bill makes a sterling effort and comes at Ted from behind
they toss their pans in unison; Bill's got winning on his in mind
Ted lunges at the white tape, but the result’s declared a draw
Bill suggests they have a ‘toss off’ - there’s not been a draw before
Both men take a breather, awaiting a fresh pancake to toss
if either of them drops their pancake it will be a great loss
Both men stand on the finish line and flip and toss like mad
neither of them will concede, whoever loses will be quite sad
A crowd gathers, all eager to know who’ll be crowned the winner
suddenly a seagull swoops and grabs Ted’s pancake for its dinner
Ted starts to shout and stamps his feet when it’s announced Bill's won
he takes it all too seriously, but Bill declared the toss off was such fun!
Poem edited - originally posted in 2017
02/16/21
Sam took to the stage, limping with a leg brace
And more than a mere trace of fear on his face
The humorous speech competition was on
He’d made it to finals, prior contests he’d won
Sam’s lifelong bout with muscular dystrophy
Generated sadness and much empathy
He shook and stammered as he started to speak
Competitors thought his composure he’d breach
“Stage fright is shared by many,” the boy explained
And as he began, his eye contact seemed strained
We wanted to rush to his side, offer aid
Little did we know Sam’s point was being made
He’d soon have us laughing at the “crutches” WE use
To gain courage when stage fright ensues
“I’m picturing you all naked,” he laughed, smiled
Soon his sharp wit had us rolling in the aisle
His strength and confidence built fast as he spoke
Sam finished up with a memorable poke:
“You thought I would fail; I read it in your eyes
Seeing only my handicap, I realize.
Those who can’t see beyond disabilities
Are mired in self fear; YOU have MY sympathy.”
Out of four thousand entrants, Sam took first place
Impressing us all with his wisdom and grace
Today Sam coaches a college debate team
Having mastered the art of building esteem
*September 8, 2020
For Chantelle’s “Courage” Poetry Contest
A keyboard was on a typewriter or piano
Spankings were approved of, rarely condemned
Clothing was 'gay' --- brightly colored
They rolled up the sidewalks at 10 p.m.
We said 'heck' for 'hell' and 'darn' for 'damn'
Teachers were respected, never disparaged
Left-handed kids were forced to be righties
Death, not divorce, dissolved most marriages
A click usually meant a torn meniscus
Folks shopped in windows and stores
Cash was king; credit, irresponsible
TV dinners, unanimously deplored
Marathons had fewer than 100 entrants
Devices were mechanical, not electronic
Nobody I knew took showers, just baths
'Human' meant 100% being, not bionic
Everything written above is true
I swear that it is, doggone it!
Hello soupers..' I have voided a contest due to the fact I had a glitch in not
being able to keep poems that were not compatible with the theme of the
contest out of the second round I am most put out at this state of affairs,
I was very pleased with the entries that did address the subject I have re-
started the contest with a September end date as I considered that entrants
will have poems saved on file, if this is too soon for anyone I would like you
to message me or leave a reply, thank you all..'
In sponsoring a contest, one should know
the basics of the poetry that he
is judging! If the form has got a flow
such as iambic, that’s what we should see!
Of course, there’s more to poetry than that.
Free verse we know is different from rhyme!
One ought to judge the forms that he’s good AT,
and with each entry that he gets, take time
to analyze those elements which should
be mentioned as what he is looking for
so entrants know what he considers “good:”
the message? Imagery? Succinctness? More?
If judging, I’d be clear with rules, and I’d
be nice to poets I could tell had tried!
May 18, 2021
for the Judge Not Lest Ye Be Poetry Contest of John Lawless
There's an excercycle race on
Down at the local gymn
One guy's clearly out in front
But others closing in
All are pedalling frantically
They like to win these races
Each one with a determined look
As sweat pours down their faces
There's an exercycle race on
Down at the local Gym
This one's for ladies only
It's part of keeping trim
Each one of them has extra fat
A reservoir in case
Additional energy's required
To make the finals race
There's an exercycle race on
Down at the local gym
Vast calories are burning off
A race for life and limb
The mirrors on the wall will show
A worthy use of time
As most entrants likely should admit
They're more than past their prime
In the exercycle races
Down at the local gymn
At least one person's thinking on
What it is that's asked of him
All this time and money spent
Just maybe could be making power
To put on to the national grid
Then charged out by the hour
If we could store this energy
For use in something good
Like the greening of the planet
Then we probabubbly should
In some big battery somewhere
Or tank or holding pond
And draw on it when lakes are dry
Next summer and beyond
Humming a tune
Stuck inside my head
What's the name of the song?
My Questionku contest is almost half full. Now is the time to enter.
Well done to all the entrants so far! You are making the judging process
very difficult. It is so nice to see the Questionku is catching on.
Some entrants think I am overly officious, even mean
That’s all right with me, I know I can be rather picky,
So, here are some guidelines when submitting to me
If you follow them carefully, you’ll find me less prickly.
I am inclined to nix your entry to my poetry contest
If you have obviously not proofread your submission,
Finding repeated words, misspellings are my first test
Then complex words and phrases will try my disposition.
I do not think I am wrong to expect proper grammar
For poet/writers should be the experts in this field,
Good contest entries should be your finest endeavors
Appealing to strong principles I am unlikely to yield.
Subject verb agreement and not changing your tense
In the middle of your poem, carefully choosing a word
Most of all, make certain your poem makes good sense
I’m not inclined to appreciate the poetry of the absurd.
Be not dismayed, however; I have a feeling for effort
I understand the limitations of language, especially ESL
And, I appreciate a good poem that might not comport
Sooner or later your poems will receive notice, as well.
Remember, some exceptional poets will be submitting
So, you can expect their names to appear at the top
Since I have little patience with errors you’re permitting
I suppose I am setting myself up as a kind of poetry cop!
Written June 12, 2022
Paradise of beautiful thoughts via heart
Ornamented with pure and serene art
Enlightening postings on varied themes
Teaching various paradigms supreme!
Intellectual writers love to spend days
Creations of delight coined in selfless ways
Sharing of common passion gets rear
Offers new chance to entrants in its sphere
Umbrella for world wide authors in one group
Long live the heaven with name Poetry Soup!
A Different Kind of Courage
Sam took to the stage, limping with a leg brace
And more than a mere trace of fear on his face
The humorous speech competition was on
He’d made it to finals, prior contests he’d won
Sam’s lifelong bout with muscular dystrophy
Generated sadness and much empathy
He shook and stammered as he started to speak
Competitors thought his composure he’d breach
“Stage fright is shared by many,” the boy explained
And as he began, his eye contact seemed strained
We wanted to rush to his side, offer aid
Little did we know Sam’s point was being made
He’d soon have us laughing at the “crutches” WE use
To gain courage when stage fright ensues
“I’m picturing you all naked,” he laughed, smiled
Soon his sharp wit had us rolling in the aisle
His strength and confidence built fast as he spoke
Sam finished up with a memorable poke:
“You thought I would fail; I read it in your eyes
Seeing only my handicap, I realize.
Those who can’t see beyond disabilities
Are mired in self fear; YOU have MY sympathy.”
Out of four thousand entrants, Sam took first place
Impressing us all with his wisdom and grace
Today Sam coaches a college debate team
Having mastered the art of building esteem
September 8, 2020
I chose this poem because I wrote a poem “Courage” on January 10, 2020, one of the poems in my published book “That Thing Called Life”. I penned the six kinds of courage in my poem; physical, social, spiritual, intellectual, moral, and emotional. I had described and gave examples on each of them.
Carolyn titled her poem “A Different Kind of Courage” that Sam displayed. I agree with Carolyn that Sam showed a different kind of courage. He also displayed four kinds of courage: social, spiritual, moral and emotional. He showed he could face criticisms, rejections, oppositions (social); let go (spiritual); showed his own values (moral) and he discerned and told the truth (emotional).
Carolyn ended her poem “Having mastered the art of building esteem” and I ended my poem “It (Courage) gives us power and inner strength”.
8/22/21 Celebrating Carolyn's Poetry:
An Uncontested Poetry
Andrea Dietrich
THE ETERNAL TRIANGLE
In the arena of love
The crowd await
As they see
The lifting
Of the players gate.
And in they come
Two entrants unknown
And as they meet
Chemicals fly
The betting is born.
The crowd begin
A bet here, a bet there,
Are they stayers, or not
Will they eventually pair?
And then the gate
Opens once more
And the third slowly,
Enters, Sly through the door.
The stakes are raised,
Watchers eyes shine
Lips are licked
Gossips gobble and dine
In the Arena
The crowd await
As they see the closing
Of the players gate.
The doors stance, do I question
At my request, did it open
Though at will, did it shut tight
As its entrants, did it welcome
But he who turns his back
Has only that which his mind can hold
A world, did I leave behind
A better day, did I see ahead
Optimism, was no challenge to maintain
Though it is they, who poison my mind
With their words of reminisce
That brings out the regret in me
My decision, I can accept
Consequence was my own bounding
For my motives, I thought well
A being of excellence, was my sight to be
A dream did I seek to life
Though a shell of my former self, has my sight become
Remorse, do I ask of none
For their well wishes, I heard loud
Though to my ignorance, had I only listened
As to stay, their pleas never stopped
Though acknowledgement, I saw no need
My heart to them, I did not know belonged
Horrible smash of broken bottles,
Blood gush from young touts' bodies,
Nauseating odour of marijuana, grass,
Spoiled that Monday evening.
I witnessed it,
A deadly fracas erupted,
Between two rival teenage cultists,
At Asarailu's son naming ceremony.
Asarailu cult group had launched,
A mayhem, killed, maimed, butchered,
And escaped during the last encounter,
But this reprisal is more brutally bloody.
Imam's sermon bottled it till sunset,
Final prayer was made, riot unleashed
Boys brought out their lebe, cutlasses
Empty bottles were maximally utilized
Asarailu (angel of death) and his family,
Of eleven siblings, wives and a mother,
Occupied a newly completed building,
Invited terror to our peaceful street.
I witnessed it with my neighbours,
We peeped through a square hole,
Designed to open the gate by the entrants
That's our own CCTV.
Young urchins are more skillful
Than the old ones in using machete
Area boys massacred, stabbed rivals to coma,
I witnessed it
Police came like gentle civilians
In a rickety korope, flashing torch lights
After the storm had turned to a millpond
Arrested Asarailu's mother-in-law and a chum.
At last, fearful peace emerged
Residents resurfaced from asylum
Shared various versions of gory stories
Fears had banished smiles from all faces
Such is a rarity, it pains me
Since I've been residing here
Asarailu had murdered that aged peace
This is the first ever kerfuffle note I enwrite
O Fingernail Moon
pointing down at the ocean
what goddess clipped you?
O clipped fingernail
without your acute reply
can I scratch mind’s itch?
Scratch may be:
the swipe to light the match
the breech that summons blood
the spouse of pad
the early exit before the race
the gelt to stay and play
the flaw on the record’s face
the mindless cry of the itch
How do I scratch mind’s itch?
Pray to the word to guide you:
O Scratch, light the way
of mind’s blood
into my poems.
One possibility:
If you can swipe the match to light the mind
and from the slice follow the summoned blood
until ripe words spill upon the sorting plane
and weak entrants leave before the race
while hope sticks to build on the opening ante
you may at last scratch out a piece of verse
that justifies this frenzied motion back and forth.
O Fingernail Moon
does the goddess know or guess
what she has released?