Subject Poetry Contest.

[qimissung]

Haunted and Sapphire, your poems are by turns beautiful, clever, moving! Thank you so much for participating.

[The Comedian]

Here's my submission!

Ode to Trash, Which Might Mean Something If We Knew the Story of How It Got There

Potent, acrid, & grimy --
the thing smelt like gasoline
and dirt

rubbed together
like a hippie worry bead
wrinkled

probably torn & soft as tissue
paper even by then
despite

his hands, which could not help
but paw the letter in his
pocket

Who knows what it said?
I sure don't. The ink was rubbed off when I
found it.

But I could still smell his workman's hands
when I brought it to my nose
and down

again to the jimson weeds that grew
by the shed where he worked
at night.

[Nick Capozzoli]

Dead Letter

We found him in the woods not far from where
Main Street became Route 7 leaving town
From the South. He wandered in about a 100 yards
Along the path that led to Miller's Creek. Before
He reached the Millhouse he had found a tree,
A chestnut, giving August shade and close
Enough for him to hear the water's minor turbulence.
The 12 guage blast must have rung
For some time, before the water could be heard
Again by anyone else in the vicinity.

When we found him it was quiet enough
To hear the nearby creek from where he sat
Back against the treetrunk, the top half
Of his head was gone, hidden by a buzzing
Gauze of flies. In the right breast pocket of his shirt
We found a note.

[qimissung]

Comedian and Nick, I am quiet, thoughtful...stunned really, with a chill still rolling up my spine. Thank you.

[Free Falcon]

It was the last breath
before he left

his soul flew
on wings of a white angel
his body was lying
on the dusty bed

something briliant in his eyes
seemed to be
stronger than the death
something ambiguous
but fascinating
exactly like his speechless smile
the last one
which has been drawn
on his dead face

a letter in his pocket
was written since many years..
a throne peace of pink paper
and lines of pale ink
told me all the secrets
of the smily eyes
through the darkness of death
enlighted by a hope
to meet his love
which he has lost oneday
May be..in an other world
in an other life

[March Hare]

A letter
Stuffed carelessly into his coat
Along with the day's other mail
A letter hoped for but not expected
In it a final chance
In it a choice revealed
Like an obscured path spied through dust and dusk
Nearly passed by
In it things unknown made known

That letter in his pocket
By twist of fate
Fell
Unread
Into the street

[qimissung]

Free Falcon and March Hare, wowzers!!!! Touching...then stunningly ironic. Thank you!

[alakungfu]

To last overnight
and over the conscience
leading back to Hermes' closet
in a predominant knot of woven plusses and rugged ruses,
trying to answer
the letter in my breast pocket
with a sufficiently glib
evil phone call dictated from a point
elucidated from somewhere deep in Pandora's trunk
in the core of Elysium's
virtual treasure map
buried in the philosophical directory listings
of pain referenced to revenge.

[qimissung]

I feel like I've been on a journey deep in the heartland of a mythical land. Thank you, alakungfu, for taking me from one end of this country to another!

[Pendragon]

Reread Letter

There's a letter in his pocket,
old and wrinkled, touched by time,
the letter from his sweetheart that he found
on the tree where they were to meet:
"I'll be there. Just wait on me. I love you so much."
Now he stands at her grave,
for she went on before him,
and the words have new meaning
and fill him with the hope
that they shall meet again...

Pendragon

[qimissung]

There is so much tender feeling invested in these few words. Thank you, Pendragon.

[Indy]

Ablation

It was easier than she'd thought;
Just one knock at the door,
And a man standing patiently there.
The letter in his pocket telling her all she could bear to hear.

Not even a word needed to be spoken,
She already knew what it was;
Just another drop of pain in the storm that had engulfed the town;
These icy letters falling hard on soft quivering hearts.

But this particular hailstone still knocked her off her feet,
She couldn't even cry,
Just softly murmur a groan.

George wasn't coming home.

[qimissung]

I had an idea, Indy, where you were going with this, but it still took my breath away.

Only one day left. The contest ends tonight at 8 p.m. I would like to thank everyone who entered, and for your fine, fine entries. It was more than I ever hoped for.

[Indy]

Thank you; it was intentional , I thought the competition could benefit from something simple but -hopefully- poignant, the inevitablity of the ending hopefully bringing closer to mind the plight of the narrator waiting nervous at every knock knowing what it would bring and finding when it did happen even with all her prior preparation it was still as painful as she thought.

P.S And I am sure I speak with the voice of all the contributors when I say a hearty thank you to you for running this competition and judging it thus giving us something to focus our efforts and sharpen our abilities against.

[qimissung]

Thank you, Indy.

Your poem is indeed poignant; I, myself, have had instances where I have had that same feeling.