Seven By Seven Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
1/24/2026
Night Sea Masquerade
the moon takes on a new form
on water closing her mouth
their imposing other tides
she's a belle over the sea
her shadow bulges in waves
at night you never can tell
wringing audience, ringing
*edited the title after contest
"she" is not me for this subject matter
Time is vertical here,
it travels red-eyed in elevators,
it is an out of sequence conversation
you have with an ice bucket
it drops hair and lint into air-ducts,
then spins them into dreams.
In the morning,
perched on a sagging bed,
one sock in hand,
drinking sour wine from a plastic cup,
you close a suitcase
that bulges from two-days' worth
of motel-time.
You wonder how to leave
this wrinkled room,
with the same face you arrived with,
shrug,
move on out of one box
onto another.
“I fall behind the age I am, to keep as youthful as I can.”
I'm age advanced, but who could tell
I believe I hide my age well
Face makeup covers the truth
When one's lost the glow of youth
And dressing in up-date gear
That hide bulges that appear
I'm age advanced, but who could tell
I believe I hide my age well.
It bulges forwards
straining to break its own skin
shatters at its peak
Somewhere out there there is an old man
Who gossips like an old woman
His mouth is babbling everyday
Without even a holiday
Like an old goat out of reason
Who passed out of season
He speaks daily in vain
For, in his life he got lots of complain
His stomach bulges like a toad
Like a bag full of load
But he hides under his wife's skirt
For he's jobless since birth
August 30, 2023
I let it slip away, oh dear
I’m blushing, I’m truly ashamed
But I farted in the staff room
Guess, my diet must be blamed!
My new healthy plant based diet
Of brassica, pulses and beans
Means my bloated tummy bulges -
Clothes are straining at the seams!
I’ve tried eating charcoal biscuits
And I never eat refried bean curry
But my gurgling gut now warns me
I’ll have to exit the room in a hurry!
I’m adamant I won’t eat meat -
I’d never touch chicken or pork
But with all the veggies I consume
Maybe my bottom requires a cork!
I LET IT SLIP AWAY Poetry Contest
Sponsored By John Lawless
05/02/23
*Image of Renascence Album by SPOT.
Renascence
Dilapidated bulges bore in vain,
Counterproductive methods confirmed risk,
Drawing boards experienced once again,
Twilight oils burn onward past midnight's brisk.
The regeneration of the dormant,
The sedentary rejuvenated,
Characters clash excellent performant,
Old guards revised and emancipated.
The abandoned surrender willingly,
Causation of being its impetus,
The change serves its purpose meaningfully,
Portal outbreaks fictions of stimulus.
Energies perform on high Pegasus,
Directives laid down eyes regenesis.
2022 November 08
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 14
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 November 11
Spindly stretching brambles rebel from main form
Amused bending stems eject spikes of rhino horn
Thorns barely a repellent for birds resourceful
Tweezer glowing twilight globe, a bitter morsel
Fresh field alien green cone births berry's infant
Chantilly lace pale pink petticoat wraps nymphet
Confetti celebratory moult bulges her fertility
Eighty protruding bulbs shiver in vulnerability
Stern season carousel chastens scanty branches
Snow swallow, boggy terrain new tepid attaches
Saw edge foliage unfold, twitching fox ears
Clusters encombour limbs, absinthe adheres
Florid flocks tossle, augment midnight family babble
Morning dew melt sapor stains fingers which dabble
Outcast tongue teaser, lumpy rubber cleaved
Mauve motivate jaunty juice, mouth received
9th August 2022
Written for Contest:
Thoughts on Blackberries
Sponsor:
Matt Caliri
While on The Guy battled
Concerned watchers rattled:
Thrice out of race hustled
And around he’d bustled…
Now, financial muscle
He’s got for the tussle:
One that bulges parcel
And could build him castle…
Quest for lands are still hot
Like new mothers eye cot
And chefs or cooks a pot;
“It’s Ten Million or not:
You don’t have it just rot”
A less amount, no slot
And he’s saved quite a lot
To ably buy a plot
People see and they trot…
Prove he shall what he’s got
To with Greats discuss “What:
7:00 am on the dot.
There's the mirror we look at
to pick at spots,
The mirror we dress by,
to see the lot,
The one to cream and
shade the eyes,
The one to try out
feigned surprise,
The one that travels
and shows fatigue,
(Your eyes have circles,
your teeth are green.)
But the truest vision
of ups and downs,
Of sideways bulges
and hairdo clowns
Is the one that hits you
with dismay,
The shop front window
on a sunny day!
Nothing can't be caught
within the tiny bars,
Wind stuck chambers
Bulges with the tiny wars.
Scars without pain
Scarce visit the town;
Million channels work
But none against the pain.
Building blocks stood
As a slanting towers;
Bombing heard as thunders
Ashes are mere powders.
Stained bloods highlighted
On the brightest sources,
Sympathy shown widely
Upon the mere noises.
Pains of millions
Stood powerless;
Beaten out of blue
The world is merciless.
Tuning voices of the poor
For the visual sympathy,
The world is helpless
To wake the sleeping humanity.
A New Life
When a baby is born, it's like a fresh spring day
Being a healthy one is what all parents pray
The pain and struggle a mother indulges
With bigger breast and stomach that bulges
Cute as a button when they arrive
The kicking, the moving, the feeling inside
Men are clueless of all the pain, I'm sure
They have no clue what women endure
Seeing the little hands and the little people feet
The very first look is a mother's best treat
Cuddle the little one against her chest
Feeding with milk from mothers breast
Men take notice of your beautiful wife
Who just created a beautiful life
Hold them and hug them but not too tight
Close to you, the feeling is right
Hold the tiny hands rub their little feet
Promise your love your promise to keep
Mother and child a beautiful sight
Not looking forward to the restless nights
A child being born is a feeling of spring
To create a new life is a lovely thing.
Lpickard
Copyright © William Pickard
Keep your marshmallow bulges
those wisps of forgotten sheers
distorted aerials of gossamer
but those grey pinks
laden with promises
of the foreboding
speak with a ethereal heaviness
i am here
The night ended in smoke.
Sleepwalking fumes
rolled over the park,
perambulated in groggy circles,
then got stuck in the tree branches
where they hung as thick
as melting duck fat.
Around eleven in the morning
the sky began to baste itself;
you could smell it simmering
on the edge of a backburning brink
as it grilled a too torpid air.
It was sweet in the mouth at first
then it fire-licked wet ears
and slippery toes.
Skeletal strings unwound.
Mind-sweat began to pour,
drowning-out hope of any ease,
thoughts flopped to the earth
stewing amid overheated bubbles,
Microbes leached through
oily eyebrows.
Ohio just can’t get its weather right;
some nights merely pre-heat the day,
daylight pants through aphid snouts
and brown stems,
or bulges lungs with its ballooning fevers.
if the next passer-by
gleefully remarks:
‘what a lovely day’
they will be cursed politely
with a gorgon stare,
then a thin, and crispy leer.
My friends took me down to Broadway
To watch a newfangled ballet
T'was called the Buttcracker
And not the Nutcracker
The title was apt I can say
Some dancers were dressed in tutus
Bulges in their tights gave us clues
All the dancers were male
My friends face turned quite pale
Next time we should read the reviews!
02/08/21
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