Page name: death poetry competition [Logged in view] [RSS]
2012-05-30 19:20:07
Last author: Galax'Or
Owner: kians mummy
# of watchers: 26
D20: 6
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Competition open
Old death poetry submissions
Congrats to [Paul Doyle] to winning this competition in august.


Death poetry competition

strictly just for fun, not official



1. all poems must be own work, others will be removed

this is about death, not death what you wish to happen to someone or death threats, you will be removed and possibly reported to the guards if I feel the need to

If you want us to put effort into reading the poem, put effort into writing it. Poems with exceptionally bad spelling and/or grammar will be disqualified. If your limerick isn't going to make the cut, we'll put a comment underneath the entry saying so.

Old works are allowed in this contest, If your work has been submitted in an unofficial contest, then you are still free to enter it here, though work that is entered on here once, will not be entered on here again.

It does not matter, as long as it is good

No sexually explicit content.



Poem Format:

1. <b>Poem Title</b>

You write
Your poem
Like this

Created by [kians mummy]



1. by [Nocturnaliss]

Once upon a love
I used to love the life within your eyes
I the one you loved to mesmerize
So far away now, dreams we shared
It feels as though you are still there.

I miss the scent of your hair
I miss those days, when all was clear
When you were happy, I as well
When we could smile, when you were there.

Life has a way, some people say
To teach you lessons when you are deaf
There always is a price to pay
And in the end, there's nothing left.

No matter what, I'll keep my faith
I will believe you watch in death
I'll keep you always in my heart
'til again we meet, so never to part.

2. Shattered wings- by [American Revolutionary]

i dreampt i was flying over germany
the wings of my plane glittering in
the setting sun, the sound of the
engine buzzing in my ears, a lovely tune
then without warning, my right wing began
to come apart, flack, the thick black
clouds of anti-aircraft fire tearing at me
then my engine caught fire, as i hurtled to
the ground, i laid in a smoldering heap of
twisted metal and memories long past, i have
been forgotten and still occupy that spot where
i moved on from this life.

3. The Gravedigger's Son - by [Madame Black]

The sun would set on a lonely hill
On a lot outside of town
Where trees were few, only grass there grew
And from birds there came no sound.
Not a soul would stay by the lonely graves
Save mourners here and there
But the Gravedigger's Son, alone as one
Who would cherish the sight and stare.
Then came a day when a new-dug grave
Would take a young man to hold
His death was sad, a new wife he had
For so the stories told.
Though before were none save the Gravedigger's Son
Now the New Widow came to stare
While no life she sought, white lilies she brought
That his grave might not be bare.
Every day she came, every day the same
White lilies on the tomb
She was deaf and dumb to the Gravedigger's Son
Who had loved her all too soon.
From his lonely perch, he then emerged
Like a phantom among the dead
He desired her such, was compelled to touch
The dark locks on her head
As she turned afright, he knew that night
He must have her then and there
But she turned to flee, and glanced back at he
Left alone only to stare
The world turned 'round, and he heard no sound
As her image pierced his mind
Bellows to his fire, one of desire
His thoughts then turned malign
By wiles and ways he had found her place
By the hollows of midnight
He observed her there, and her raven hair
Shown radiant in the light.
Many a night he came to sight
The new widow without a thought
That there were eyes outside, past the window light
How greedily she was sought.
If not in life he could have as wife
Then a corpse bride he would make
So he crept inside, and cherished her cries
And the life he was to take
On swipe of his spade, now makeshift blade
And the her blood began to pour
Crimson red on brown, 'round her like a crown
Spewed out upon the floor

And all was done, for the Gravedigger's Son
But to dig the New Widow's grave

4. Morning Air - by [Worst Case Ontario]

Morning air
Cloaked in mist
Fill my lungs
The air I've missed

My hear withheld
Of all it needs
Reap the fruit
Of planted seeds

Seeds I've sewn
So long ago
Certain things
I dare not know

From dark I crawled
Blind by mud
From grace I fall
All that's good

It took my death
To see the light
Eternal day
To drown out night

Now I breathe
The morning air
After all
What's fair is fair

5. Out of Time - by [Gastogh]

Let's not dream now, you and I,
of a life laid bare on pristine pages;
of a tale to tell, uniform and whole,
easy to recount and easy to understand;
that nought of worth be left unsaid,
that nought of none slip unnoted in.

As lengthening nights and shortened sleep
settle in and settle deep,
and the body, piece by piece,
rings my aging's tolls and fees
like a wind harp whipped by ceaseless gales,
pulled and blown by the times this way and that―
when the hours are numbered few enough
to be fathomed in earnest―
it is then that some perspective comes.
There's a use for this pointless traffic by my rest,
this roundabout of rote procedure,
even if the use be just this one.

Proverbs of deathbeds and rosy lips,
thoughts no deeper than the briefest quips,
what say those of all the things I missed,
the nurtured ires, the loved ones kissed?
What of weariness and witherings and tarnishings,
of embalmment, pyres and coffin varnishings?
I denounce all these, loud and clear;
rather, give me time! Give me infinite time!
No Faustus, I, to sign pacts in blood and then plead free,
to beg the sun stand still for all the world
so that midnight may not come for me.
Not an angel, no paragon of virtue, I,
yet – one hopes – no demon either, to deserve to die.

Oh, that I could go on―
or, barring that
and everything else,
at least go back.

6. Blood Running Cold - by [Rat Hacker]
You win in life
You lose in life
However it’s not equal
Things live
Things die
That’s all it is in life
It sucks beyond belief
It hurts more then grief
I can’t seem to convince myself
That the world would be better
Not could be better
If I existed or not

No one would care
If my wrists spill blood
No one would care
If my heart became broke
No one would care
If I never was here
No one would ever miss me

I want my blood to run cold
I want a lake across the floor
I don’t care what it comes to in the end
I just want to see all the numbness descend
No one can defend me
From what is going to be
Don’t try to stop me
I want to be free

Free from this pain that you call life
Free from the fight between myself
Life sucks
My blood runs cold

7. Prowl

In such a night, when every louder wind
Is to its distant cavern safe confined;
And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings,
And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings;
Or from some tree, famed for the owl's delight,
She, hollowing clear, directs the wand'rer right:
In such a night, when passing clouds give place,
Or thinly veil the heav'ns' mysterious face;
When in some river, overhung with green,
The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen;
When freshened grass now bears itself upright,
And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite,
Whence springs the woodbind, and the bramble-rose,
And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows;
Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes,
Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakes
When scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine,
Shew trivial beauties watch their hour to shine;
Whilst Salisb'ry stands the test of every light,
In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright:
When odors, which declined repelling day,
Through temp'rate air uninterrupted stray;
When darkened groves their softest shadows wear,
And falling waters we distinctly hear;
When through the gloom more venerable shows
Some ancient fabric, awful in repose,
While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal,
And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale:
When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads,
Comes slowly grazing through th' adjoining meads,
Whose stealing pace, and lengthened shade we fear,
Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear:
When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food,
And unmolested kine rechew the cud;
When curlews cry beneath the village walls,
And to her straggling brood the partridge calls;
Their shortlived jubilee the creatures keep,
Which but endures, whilst tyrant man does sleep;
When a sedate content the spirit feels,
And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals;
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something, too high for syllables to speak;
Till the free soul to a composedness charmed,
Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
O'er all below a solemn quiet grown,
Joys in th' inferior world, and thinks it like her own:
In such a night let me abroad remain,
Till morning breaks, and all's confused again;
Our cares, our toils, our clamors are renewed,
Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.

Created by [Galax'Or]



Deadline: 8 entries

Reminder: Number your entries, and separate them with the <hr> tag.

The badges: <img0*200:stuff/aj/190782/1333102761.jpg><img0*200:stuff/aj/190782/1333103912.png><img0*200:stuff/aj/190782/1333103920.png>

Username (or number or email):


2011-08-03 [JellyBellyBaby]: oh right. because No one acknowledged me. that was my first post and as no one said, ok thanks, or your poems rubbish/good/whatever I just though I had done it wrong. Also everyone elses seem to be really dark and gothic and full of soul mine was just me, telling a story. I thought I had probably just got the wrong end of the stick.

2011-08-03 [kians mummy]: No you hadn't, we appreciate all the poetry on this wiki, I am very busy in myself, that's why I changed the date to 20 submissions, I never meant wrong and I apologize to you.

2011-08-04 [Mortified Penguin]: 20 submissions?! Even for 2004, that would have been pushing it. But nowadays? This contest will never be over. Even limiting it to 10 submissions might be a little much.

2011-08-04 [kians mummy]: oh well, thats the hole point, so it will be lengthy.

2011-08-04 [Mortified Penguin]: The point of a competition is to have people compete for a chance to win. A competition without an end isn't a competition, but more of an exhibit. Having an ending is an essential part of any competition.

2011-08-04 [kians mummy]: Which it does after 20 entry's. :)

2011-08-04 [Mortified Penguin]: But 20 entries is impossible, so it doesn't. Like an asymptote, it'll only get closer and closer, but it'll never reach that 20 mark and be over.

2011-08-04 [kians mummy]: So what do you suggest mort :)

2011-08-04 [Mortified Penguin]: Reducing the number of entries to maybe 10? Maybe even 7.

2011-08-04 [Mortified Penguin]: And also putting this wiki on MC.

2011-08-05 [kians mummy]: Thanks for the help mort, I have done what you said

2011-08-05 [kians mummy]: I like that, short and death lol :)

2011-08-14 [Nioniel]: Kinda crappy, but there you have it anyway. :)

2011-08-14 [Stephen]: Yours is better than mine. xP

2011-08-14 [Nioniel]: :O But I really like yours!

2011-08-14 [Stephen]: Lies! :-(

2011-08-14 [Nioniel]: Nuu.

2011-08-14 [Paul Doyle]: Old poem, written in 2003 while writing the final draft of Novel One. I'm not much of a poet, and this could be improved upon, but sometimes it's an awesome diversion from the usual novel-related tasks. Of all my poems that I wish to show in public, this is among my favorites though again it could be improved upon. Source . . . (besides my brain, of course) . . . I haven't updated my Elfwood in so long it's not funny anymore.

2011-08-14 [Paul Doyle]: And yep, I've ended my longstanding boycott on ET contests (whether official or unofficial), if anybody cares to know. It's up to each and every one of us to ensure the evolution of Elftown into a bigger, better site. Bygones need to be acknowledged; amends and reconciliation ought to be happening. Anyway, I'm done with my speech now.

2011-08-14 [kians mummy]: congrats to [Paul Doyle] to winning this competition. :)

2011-08-15 [Paul Doyle]: Thanks :3

Number of comments: 88
Older comments: (Last 200) 4 3 2 .1. 0

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