Post by Master of Tacos on Jun 15, 2018 9:59:21 GMT -5
Welcome to the June Poet Laureate Contest, with the theme of flowers. Below are the poems I received, ordered randomly by RANDOM.org. Anyone may vote in this contest, and the poem with the most votes earns its author the title of Poet Laureate! Remember, still do NOT share the authorship of any entry with anyone but me until the contest is over (6:00 P.M. PST, Friday, June 22nd).
Please give the poets their due courtesy and read over all the poems before voting.
Good luck to everyone, and may the best poet win!
Entry 1
The Flower of My Youth
A forest filled with leafless trees,
Beneath a sky of lead.
Still sentinels surrounding me,
My Muse, my Love, is dead.
Their frozen fingers, rimed with ice,
Claw at, and chill, my soul,
Where once did beat a love-warmed heart,
They probe a gaping hole.
The Flower of my youth is gone,
In Winter's grip I'm held,
The songs of Joy, once everywhere,
Have had their voices quelled.
Ye offspring of the meadows, that
Of sun, and rain, are born,
Art hideous beside my bloom,
So bow your heads and mourn.
You, Gold of Kinabalu, are
Most dear, in price, to own,
And yet, a fortune meet her worth,
No man has ever known
The Udumbara, legend holds,
Three thousand years 'tween blooms,
My Muse, each day, more lovely grows,
A fairer form assumes.
O Middlemist camellia,
Quite rare, but two exist,
Yet common, thou, compared to her,
Unique in Time's deep mist.
Though trapped within an icy hell,
To Hope I firmly cling,
And pray each day that, come what may,
She'll bloom again, come Spring
A forest filled with leafless trees,
Beneath a sky of lead.
Still sentinels surrounding me,
My Muse, my Love, is dead.
Their frozen fingers, rimed with ice,
Claw at, and chill, my soul,
Where once did beat a love-warmed heart,
They probe a gaping hole.
The Flower of my youth is gone,
In Winter's grip I'm held,
The songs of Joy, once everywhere,
Have had their voices quelled.
Ye offspring of the meadows, that
Of sun, and rain, are born,
Art hideous beside my bloom,
So bow your heads and mourn.
You, Gold of Kinabalu, are
Most dear, in price, to own,
And yet, a fortune meet her worth,
No man has ever known
The Udumbara, legend holds,
Three thousand years 'tween blooms,
My Muse, each day, more lovely grows,
A fairer form assumes.
O Middlemist camellia,
Quite rare, but two exist,
Yet common, thou, compared to her,
Unique in Time's deep mist.
Though trapped within an icy hell,
To Hope I firmly cling,
And pray each day that, come what may,
She'll bloom again, come Spring
Entry 2
The Sidewalk Flower
I knew of one, and this is her story,
Be warned, not one of mirth and glory,
Yet not a tale of sorrow or pity,
Just the one account of her life, gritty.
The spring is known for love and fun,
For those who had the vision of one,
She did too, but she wasn't very known,
So her spring was just quite her own.
As romantics ran to the petal store,
And picked out the bouquet, beauty galore,
Every blossom was soon taken, stolen or whisked,
But no one could say she was sorely missed.
"But why?" you ask, and you shall know,
For where, I say, do the prize flowers grow?
In the gardens of a prim, pretty lady,
Who looks after them like her own baby.
She, my dear, grew up on the street,
On the Crossing of Maple and Creek,
In the very bosoms of the inner city,
Yet, she was no one's love deity.
The daffodil is poetic and Words-worthy,
The tulip has a soft and mellow beauty,
The rose has only a divine fragrance,
She could get them all if given the chance.
Growing on the cracks that rich ones leave,
Trampled by the busy, devious and in need,
Left alone under the shade, hidden away,
Tell me, how could she ever see the rays?
The rays of the sun, the rays of hope,
Even the water of dew out of her scope,
She is a common sidewalk flower,
When she spoke, reader, no one heard her.
But she has a dream and a vision,
And I know she lives with this mission,
For she survived the footsteps and rain,
Hidden away her frustration; her pain.
As the roots of her determination break cement,
As her anger grows, so does a fragrant scent,
Many dreams come, go, fade and erode,
But all she sees is the shop down the road.
The shop with the daffodils, tulips and rosies,
The racks of sunflowers, marigolds and posies,
She wants to stand with them one fine day,
She just wants to brighten a life, as one might say.
(As flowers are meant to, by the way)
But for now she stands on the sidewalk path,
Grounded and tall, facing the city's wrath,
She will grow to be fine, I hope, very soon,
Hopefully be in someone's honeymoon.
Till then, I ask you, dear reader,
Know her pain, but don't pity her,
Just next time when you see a sidewalk flower,
Stop and maybe smile, 'tis a blessing's shower.
She will grow, live, and soar,
I beg you, don't hurt her any more.
