Sat Jan 12, 2013, 6:35 PM
FIRST PLACE: LadyofGaerdon
This Strange World That No Longer Contains YouThey say I'm like you. I hope they're right. They've been saying it for a long time. My parents always wonder how they ended up with such a polite, demure, sweet, pure little thing. Though of course you and everyone else know what a hellion I can be. But I certainly didn't get any of those aforementioned positive qualities from them. I have you to thank for those. You raised the entire family and handfuls of our friends. You are Grama to the entire town. But you're my Grama, (even if you're really my great-grandmother), and I was the lucky one out of all of us who seems to have taken after you. They tell me I'm positive. I'm strong. I'm resilient. I'm not sure I see it. But they say the same about you, and I certainly saw that. They say I'm taking news of your death positively, because I'm glad that even though I was not present, my friends were, your other grandchildren, yours because they were mine. Or perhaps the other way around. I'm sure your cooking earned me more than my will recieve: LadyofGaerdon (+) 1000 points from (sent) BloodshotInk (+) 150 points from (via donation pool) (sent) LadyLincoln (+) A journal feature from TwiggyTeeluck (+) 5 critiques from NotenSMSK (+) 5 faves from NotenSMSK (+) 15 points from NotenSMSK (+) 75 points from (via donation pool) (sent) wyldhoney (+) 30 points from (via donation pool) (sent) SofiaHiggins (+) 100 points from (via donation pool) (sent) Amanda-Graham (+) 100 points from (via donation pool) (sent) trueshinken (+) 3 constructive comments/critiques from WorldWar-Tori (+) A feature from WorldWar-Tori (+) 50 points from WorldWar-Tori SECOND PLACE: glossolalias
hermanitayou said mami named you out of the grabbag, one painted green-white-red and blaring brass: pick three, we need two for the middle, mexican female protagonist with hope and beauty and something easy at the front, something gringos can say. ruffled hair, dyed black by my hands, you twisted and spat, sometimes i wanna go by esperanza; screw sandra cisneros, the tin way others say it, it's a beautiful name but you'd still call me maria, everyone would. so i told you, maybe, maybe everyone would but it's okay to be maria— as long as you don't pick bella i'll still say i'm your brother. you laughed like crackling static, raw throat and all bones: hug me and we clatter, laughing harder, all bones. whatever, jorge, at least they loved me—ambrose? saint or no, no wonder you're a maricón. and we laughed like crackling static, clattering bones. will recieve: glossolalias (+) 500 points from (sent) BloodshotInk (+) 100 points from (via donation pool) (sent) LadyLincoln (+) A journal feature from TwiggyTeeluck (+) 3 critiques from NotenSMSK (+) 3 faves from NotenSMSK (+) 10 points from NotenSMSK (+) 25 points from (via donation pool) (sent) wyldhoney (+) 15 points from (via donation pool) (sent) SofiaHiggins (+) 50 points from (via donation pool) (sent) Amanda-Graham (+) 50 points from (via donation pool) (sent) trueshinken (+) 3 constructive comments/critiques from WorldWar-Tori (+) A feature from WorldWar-Tori (+) 50 points from WorldWar-Tori THIRD PLACE: Kupo9089
DreamersShe reminds me that she's a dreamer Her right hand delicately grips a pencil as she's working equations on a TI-89 with her left She looks up at me and smiles, and there are stars, meteors, spanning across the cosmos of her expression her countenance reminds me to look up at the chalkboard that's attempting to teach me how to make verses sing from pages in a plain 8 by 11 notebook and I am only armed with a .7 pencil and a purple pen, stolen from my older sister's pencil pouch My hands are inches away from hers from the desks side by side like cars parallel parked on a side road her equations confuse me until she flips the page and shows me stories filled with metaphors of the sky reminding me that we are both here for the same thing: Writing. I needed a reason to smile She wanted a lesson in writing She reminds me that I'm a dreamer We exchange stories and poems like cigarettes except the only price we pay is a small portion of our ego when there are mistakes and flaws, and we are gra will recieve: Kupo9089 (+) 250 points from (sent) BloodshotInk (+) 50 points from (via donation pool) (sent) LadyLincoln (+) A journal feature from TwiggyTeeluck (+) 2 critiques from NotenSMSK (+) 2 faves from NotenSMSK (+) 5 points from NotenSMSK (+) 15 points from (via donation pool) (sent) SofiaHiggins (+) 25 points from (via donation pool) (sent) Amanda-Graham (+) 50 points from (via donation pool) (sent) trueshinken (+) 3 constructive comments/critiques from WorldWar-Tori (+) A feature from WorldWar-Tori (+) 50 points from WorldWar-Tori HONOURABLE MENTIONS In no particular order
Flutterings' Literature Competition #14 -Entry-Your roses were beautiful that day. But you and I knew roses were only roses, like any other rose. You painted the door to your room red because of me. Because I love red roses. Because I love red in general and out of all the doors which are white, gray, made of wood or metal, you never forget a red door. What's behind it. Covering my eyes with both your hands and walking me there just to reveal the beautiful cherry red door, was the best gift you could've given me. It's funny. Most of the red doors I see now, belong to exits. Sometimes I imagine myself walking through them and straight back into your arms. An exit out of this dream they call real life and back to that moment when we were so close that everything else seemed like a dream. I painted my door red after a while. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I did. Would it take me to where you were? Some think it's silly. Others have found it to be extremely pityful but they dare not to say it. "Smile and nod." I try no
How can you love my panda hands?You find the wizards hiding in curtains where I see nothing. You peer with clear eyes and spy damsels in combat with dragons. I talk of numbers and quotas and keys you are selfless and selfish and loving jumbled together 'til you're all I can see. You took my world of hard angles and lines And you showed me the beauty in blank space.
Remember NovemberYour name is scrawled on this headstone Somewhere underneath rest your bones But for all I know You’re off dancing somewhere in Italy Tossing fistfuls of petunias in the air Spreading dandelion seeds in the wind For all I know You’re dangling your legs from a swing Mouth open in silent mirth Toes touching the point of the nearest star For all I know You’re running past the tall grass Through the sun-baked sand to the ocean’s edge Racing the water While I’ll hit this dusty road Set foot on a path I never knew I would have to forge Sometimes dandelion seeds scatter across the asphalt From the yellow flowers growing on the sides I can almost hear snatches of your voice in the wind I still see you at midnight sitting on chimney tops Blowing steam into the cold Raising your hand to point at the stars When I smell seawater I think of you standing feet planted on an outcrop of rock Palms out to feel the spray of the ocean All the while I don’t know how many
learning to hear the unspokeni hear your pencil drag atop the paper and subtle breaths drawn. i wonder, as i let my mind wander down winding paths and through lonely fields. trees are barren. the frost nips at your heels when you walk too slow. every release from my heavy lungs looks like smoke. i hesitate to speak, afraid the words will waft away never reaching the crook of your neck where i want them to nest. "i love you," is all i can muster - never feeling it weighs enough. i imagine a tongue unwoven, unbound; i pretend that my heart is full of profound words - unheard by angel, by beast. my head is wrapped in thick fog; though, i fancy it with feathers in flight through a bright, moonlit summer's eve. it's clear amongst cloudless skies. here we travel freely, unafraid, unabashed - our souls speak. no words will ever be enough.
resplendentyou sit beside me, it is morning; we are dream-sunk and tangled in your sheets honey warm, and slow-breathing, lips purple in the bluish glow of dawn, barely cracked: you sit beside me; it is morning and the bluebells wake in fields we can’t see from your backyard, and the dawn lends its relucent glow to my skin-- and soon we are both scantily dressed in a coat of sun. we croon in discussion about your parents, about bad teenage poetry, about the earth that bloomed while we were not paying attention. it is morning, and you are limpid before my eyes. you sit beside me; and there is a comfortable silence ringing in our ears, entertained simply by each others' presence and the spring grass splayed out beneath us like a canvas waiting to be filled with watercolors of our bodies- roiling the earth, and pale yellow and crimson, and mauve hang on your lips after you have spoken such jovial divinities that a color can be placed to each syllable. and i tell you, your words last long after The honourable mentions will recieve: ( + ) 50 pointfrom (sent) BloodshotInk ( + ) A critique and a favourite from NotenSMSK ( + ) 5 points from (sent) Amanda-Graham ALL OTHER ENTRIES Check these out because everyone who entered presented something unique and wonderful in a variety of different ways:
The most important questionOh love, You are a summer's breeze (playful, soothing) smoothing the lines from my time-worn face. You are the sheltering shade (peaceful, calming) stilling the roiling eddies of this broiling life. Each night, laconic, draconic, I curl up around you (my love, my priceless treasure), but I'm all smoke, no flame. The heavy silence is banished by your steady breath, and the shadows are no match for the light behind your eyes. Even my thoughts still, unable to flutter, caught in the amber of your assurance, of such rightness as to take my breath away. That I could let our silence be my symphony - That I could wear these nights like a ward - oh love, please forgive your poor greedy fool. A question stalks my consciousness. (incessant, insistent) Growling, growing when you aren't there. Circling, demanding to be heard, it pushes at my lips like a burst dam, promising an exquisite release. Oh love.
Up in the starsI remember those nights... Those beautiful summer nights. By your side. I remember those kisses... Those extraordinary kisses of yours. With you. I remember those hugs... Those comfortable hugs of yours. You were warm. Now... All those moments Are up there, darling. Up in the stars. The best days of my life Are up there... Up in the stars. I wish that one day... Our souls can meet up again... Up there. Up in the stars. Oh dear, you were the best. The best that could've happen to me. But now... Those memories Are up there... Up in the stars. I hope you're happy. As I was with you. But now, my happiness Is up there... Up in the stars. I wish I can be happy again... Until that day I must stay here Watching time fade away. But when it fades, it goes up... Up to the stars.
The Man that StayedYou are to me the man that stayed. The one that still lives in my heart. Not like that drafty man of my past I admired so wildly. He was gone before weeks end. Because I called and told him I had the feeling something was not all right about our relationship. He just decided that maybe the whole relationship was not all right then. Or maybe that something about me was not all right, as I got difficult. No, you stayed through my complaints, my insecurities about my feelings. Through my ranting about most likely just anything. My me being difficult. You stayed and listened to my complaints and my broken-hearted feelings, though you didn't understand them - and I did neither. You stayed despite me being lazy, just like a sloth. Not really the perfect housewife that could cook like your grandma. Not that funny party fellow that likes to go out every other night. No, I prefer to sit at home and brood hours about things you do not understand becau
Soaring, FallingTired love songs sing That one falls in love. But in truth, together, we soared. We flew in joy Above the white clouds. We laughed freely together As we looked down. But slowly, your hand slipped. I knew the truth, but I did not speak. Then you let go with the words "I don't love you anymore" And I fell, slowly drifting down. I was but snowy ash, A mere remnant of a flame. And slowly, oh so slowly, I still. Fall.
Non-Judgemental and Non-Prejudiced Non-Judgemental and Non-Prejudiced 5-1-13 You’re an angel with broken wings, Yet you still try to help me fly And shelter me when storms flash And flood. You’re an angel with problems of your own, Yet you still try to sort out mine Filing them properly and giving suggestions of hope In a hopeless place. You’re an angel who’s dying to die, Yet you sat over Christmas Telling me to consider family and friends Who would miss me; Non-judgemental and non-prejudiced. Listening to my tirade of woes, You put aside your own To lend a listening ear And a hug. And I know that in the future, Should I ever need those wings for shelter, Should I ever need my mind re-filed, Should I ever need a listening ear, You will be there; Non-judgemental and non-prejudiced.
Intergenerationali. I scribbled unicorns for my mother and colored in mandala patterns for my father, but rarely got an extra glance for my artistic endeavors. I put them on my bedroom walls instead of our blank white refrigerator, where I could be proud of myself (since no one would be so for me). ii. He’s late on the first day of class, and I’m not sure what I’m getting into. It’s the only class that takes the full hour and a half and doesn’t even touch the syllabus. The room is too large for us; he swings an arm and invites us all closer before diving right into the first book of the semester. I still don’t know what I’m getting into, but I know I’m going to have fun. iii. Invisible is my middle name. But he always says hello when I’m in the department, and I wonder when I started becoming so noticeable. iv. Sometimes he calls me “kiddo,” and I’m always startled. I’m not used to being nicknamed though I suppose I am a kid
amor vincit omnia - read descriptionIn nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti My dear heart, Forlorn have I found myself drifting between Scylla and Charybdis, ne'er a comforting pasture on which I may reside myself and my lonely wearisome soul, set adrift onward to the path of no return... I ache inside, so blistered is my plight, dearest, that I am unable to describe this gnawing thorn edging its way through my already ruptured spine - Alas, I am unable to fight it no longer. Suffice to say my love, you would have out grown me, for I was always in your eyes a cynical old Bard, constantly badgering you with praise o'er your finesse and elegance; alas, my heart, my dear heart, I am unable to change - once the withered leaves of autumn have become senescent, they cannot become their former selves. Such am I, a fallen leaf of autumn, waiting by the forest shunned by the moonlit sky. Verily, oh dearest bird of paradise, how you would love these serene constellations that decorate the night-time, much as you would like to
Recipe for Two People in Love Ingredients: 1 overly attached friend 1 teaspoon of trust issues A handful of exes 2 cups full of tears 2 cups of disappointment Rage and sorrow to taste 1 jar of true love Directions: Start with the exes. Add them one at a time to the pan. Slowly poor in the cups of disappointment. Sift it all together. When it looks incredibly painful and about to fall apart, add the tears and vigorously combine it all together. Check for taste; it should be incredibly sour. Add an overly attached friend and a teaspoon of trust issues. Bring it to a boil. When it's about to explode, add the jar full of true love. Let it rest. Serve with a side dish of respect and friendship. All entries will receive an in-depth comment from me. All future literature competitions I run will be posted at . LitLoveCommunity