The headline reads: "This contest is the last;
no longer enter poems to be judged.”
How disappointed we'd all be to close
a special door that leads to writing skills.
Each contest offers reasons to create-
and learn from other poems entered too.
To have a purpose to express our thoughts
by prompts for subjects, words, and styles too.
Critique is offered through the comments sent
tween interested poets who all share
the love of poetry to read and write;
so much this would be missed by one and all.
Disbanding contests- surely is akin
to closing schools- where knowledge is no more.
No purpose left to grow, participate;
No pluses left to write new thoughts- create.
Climate Change
David J Walker
I
A teacher we know
died suddenly
or so
it seemed
and
It seemed
as if it were
a dream
unfulfilled
The climate in schools
Is changing
II
Forecasters gathered
in convocations
and manifestations
to explain away
a rainy day
that never came
predictions changed
the next day
anyway
the climate of clouds
is changing
III
I remember the promises
made
at the rallies and
and debates
by candidates
who can’t wait
to give back
give or take
factor X
the climate of politics
is changing
IV
We are expanding
said the astronomer
but people disbanding
listened to
their astrologer
because they say they preferred
the mystic word from
those who
would tell them
what they wanted
to hear
for a hundred dollars
a session
the climate of the universe
is changing
Some find relief in solitary confinement
And others cherish the thought of being alone
I am but a weary soul craving for cessation and realignment
Waiting for greater powers to break this vestigial bone
Some are inclined to love and prosper
Relinquished control begets their duty to forget
I am built to loathe and falter
Borrowed time yields unreason; forever in sorrow’s debt
Some seek higher meaning in reason’s domain
Pity is the holder of divine understanding
I am a blemish that marks a desolate plane
Debasement is my steadfast tool for disbanding
Solace rests in a certainty embraced by one and all
To the place from which we came and from which we must depart
Eternal silence take stead and imbue my place of fall
Reprieve me of my ambling spirit and wandering heart
The momentum of the large-headed human ego....
has finally put mankind over the brink.
There's no coming back.
The clock says 1 second 'til midnight.
The earthworms have shed their glass slippers.
Soon they'll be sliding underground...
Their prince will not follow.
They've been tunneling and stockpiling for decades.
Food- ammunition-water.
The {numerators} elite and their loved ones
have their inner mountain retreat...
On a smaller scale, the (denominators) have followed their lead.
The remainders/the remains/: the poor who couldn't afford to stockpile
and those that could afford to but were too stubborn to listen.
Will be left scrambling above
banding and disbanding
willy-nilly
whatever the moment dictates
frantic
scrounging for rat meat
and toilet paper
during a nuclear winter
666 miles of social distancing,
Fondly remembering when it was only 6 feet
putting balm to nuclear skin
covering open wounds with papyrus.
They'll forge an eleventh commandment
then just as quickly break it.
With mankind's flesh between their teeth
they'll be begging to a God
who finally got sick of it all
and stopped listening-
Kinship, I need you
Friendship, I seek you
Suspend common feeling
Portend a wish come true
Hand grenade carnged torsos
Standing alone I'm unafraid, but I weep
Disbanding the grotesgue and the gore
Withstanding strange thoughts in my sleep
Encahnting you are even in my dreams
Supplanting ghouls with a purple haze
Chanting lullabies for two week until
Panting murmurs of evil fade
In my dreams I see a cloak of stars
Thinly square about your shoulders broad
Winning smile, knowing eyes
Grinning fool, you are no fraud
You are what I longed for
Few have ever chased my demons away
Blue is brighter, dark is lighter
Together I pray we shall stay
Traveling through the jaded discourse
With bartered pen and little remorse
Brandishing sharpened scalpel; tour de force
Unabashedly seeking all texts from lexicon to divorce
Developing underlying themes to alter the broader context
Freely abridging each verse to establish the pretext
Isolating each stanza to create a subtext
Inferring connotations to establish a hypertext
Disassociating words to broker more inflection
Delinking phrases building new bridges for reflection
Deconstructing patterns to sculpt out a new direction
Decoding mores and values to foster introspection
Voiding punctuation; compressing verses to scuttle metric time
Extrapolating dominant motifs to devalue the inculcating paradigm
Decoupling dissonant accents to deflower the sublime
Erasing phonetic schemes; disbanding symetrical order; decelerating rhyme
It has been standing here forlorn:
Now a burning house on fire;
None’s here to rush or shout for help:
There’s None for it a crier…
A gloomy place this has been
For past a year and score;
I’ve known this place since kidship days:
It never felt so sore.
What else can I but do,
Than watch and not respond—
I feel the attachment weighing me down
Now while I slouch in despond…
(Quick! Fetch some water—do someone—
I shall be its Crier—
But it burns with much vigor—
Flames are rising up higher)
It’s always stood separate from all,
In a state of mortal plight;
I never, ever before, saw it
Glowing thus, so bright..
…So, here I see a picture of
How my thoughts could Clash,
And witness in silence now,
It’s disbanding to Ash…
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.