DWT Poetry Competition: Second Semi-Final
Welcome to the second semi-final of our poetry competition. The first is going pretty well, with over 350 votes already, and two poems fighting for the second spot on the final.
The two poems with the highest number of votes from this semi-final will also be promoted to the final, which will take place next Tuesday.
Finally, remember that the voting session remains open for 48 hours, so make sure to cast a vote for your favorite entry.
1. Advized by Someone I Despized by D Dhebar
‘Why not a zee?’ said he to me.
To which I said, ‘Tis zed not zee.’
Now listen well to every word,
Which sounds like zed,
But ‘always’ uses ess instead.
I was once advised to televise,
By someone I despised,
My product which I wished to advertise.
Now to my surprise,
Good manners did he exercise,
But then I thought,
Surely a disguise.
I was right!
He devised a way to make me pay
Some invented excise,
I was vexed and threatened to chastise.
‘No!’ he said,
Why not let us compromise,
I urge you to revise,
As I do not wish to apprise.
‘For what?’ I said,
‘You are not an honest man,
Not a truthful word can you comprise
And to your forehead I should incise
Words which are not so very nice.’
So without his help I duly improvised,
And with a clipper be he circumcised
For all those brazen, cunning lies.
Well, I have not proof of this,
But do we not all surmise?
2. What Is Broken by Joe Dibuduo
Not grandpa’s heart as he sees
her little face wrinkling in mirth.
Jane’s a baby anybody will adore.
Every tiny move she makes is
happiness, bouncing on springs.
She’ll steal your heart when you’re not looking,
and you’ll be pleased she took it.
Jane’s flawless baby skin is smoother than a polished sapphire,
sparkling eyes brighter than any unblemished star,
her laughing voice brings glee to any who’ll listen
A carefree baby girl, so far untouched by evil.
But there’s a new man in her mother’s life.
A man Jane will try to love as she does all others.
One day she visits her grandpa and shows him,
her black and blue face.
His face turns a crimson hue. Anyone abusing
this little cherub creates lethal thoughts.
She slipped and fell, his son’s ex wife says.
You know I’d never hurt little Janey.
Homicidal thoughts subside on doubts.
Forgotten, the bruise fades from sight and memory.
Jane runs and plays like any three-year-old,
until one day, she can’t run anymore.
Both her legs are broken.
She smiles and crawls instead,
always dreaming of her dad,
who is fighting for her in Iraq.
Grandpa files a motion to get Jane out of there,
to have the court let her stay with him.
Only until her dad returns, but the judge says no.
Jane is sent home with her mom and stepdad.
Grandpa goes home to load his shotgun.
Jane cries for her dad, but her stepdad shuts her up
With a powerful kick to the stomach,
killing Jane at age three.
Grandpa comes through the door, his angel is laying face down on the floor.
Grandpa pulls the trigger, and stepdad loses his head.
Jane’s mom rushes into the room with a scream
that suddenly ends.
Grandpa had a round for her too.
3. Pink Lullabies by Amor Damaso
When the sun kiss the ground
where we lie
is it night?
The music tapering to quietness
and darkness engulfs the sky
I stare … blankly at the ceiling
while the movie in my mind
proceeds to play
memories of days gone by
A blur they pass fast
slivers of motion and then some
Most are green
others the color of a mellow sun
at summer’s rest.
Carefully, I choose snapshots of pink hue
and store them someplace safe
sweet, lovely memories of you I keep
to slumbering, peaceful sleep.
4. The Storm in My Black Belly by Bindu Saxena
When my lady held me – I quivered with dread; I knew of the ordeal that stretched ahead…
She took me at the corner, she took me in the street; I followed her swamped in a sense of defeat.
She took me to the market, the pavement, the stall; I tested my patience – no bicker, no brawl.
Invariably, too she would run into, “a friend.” And launched into chatter that signaled no end;
Her fingers fluttered, she waggled her head, secured in her palm – “I wished I were dead!”
And though, to her, this was joy & delight; it filled me with stark & unreasoning fright.
The minutes & hours plodded painfully by; her endless chatters & my battery, continued to dry!
Left, Right and Centre my face got pinched –until my lady’s ‘DATE’ was clinched!
She flew me skies, where I rested for a while; Network out, what a relief to my pout!
Here came Diwali. The fireworks, the celebrations , the lightings & thunder ..
For a friend anew, and Lo! Was I surrendered..
Back to Air Tel, from where had I come. Lay I appeased.
Quietly told myself & ceased …
5. Perfection…? by Carlos Eduardo
The drawings on the chapel are of a perfection such
Works of an artist to a future generation as much
And even that lady who’s armless and still
Holds everyone by the beauty she reveals
Where does it live
In Rome or in Greece?
The mythology tells us of a lady that’s perfect
Eminence among gods, a touch in the heart
And within pictures that a few pay attention
He enchants everyone with those unique creations
Ross when drew Aphrodite in his mythology
Had he created the perfect syncrony?
The beauty was so much, he got paralysed
Threw himself into the lake, drowned deep inside
But the symphony was so rare and magestic
Even the deafest one could creat music
Beethoven’s tail or Narcism’s lake
How does it look like?
An ornamented chapel or an incomplete statue
Where would I, an average person, find you?
At the depths of a lake or the pictures of an artist
Where would I meet the one I have searched?
Then He told me I’d never find
Whilst I didn’t look at me inside.
6. Life by Rachna Rohatgi
Life is a paradox,
It is a pandora’s box,
It sometimes gives us shocks,
With its beautiful surprises,
And at other times leaves us perplexed,
Thinking how wonderfully we are blessed.
Life makes us dance to its tune,
From no moon to full moon,
It makes us admire the power of destiny,
And bow our heads to its supremacy,
It lets us feel emotions we shouldn’t,
Yet at the same time teaches us control and self-restraint.
Life is indeed a paradox,
Which generally keeps us foxed,
By its devious ways and means,
Which sometimes act like Satan and sometimes like angels and fairies,
Life is a bag full of mixed emotions,
Which we all feel at some stages of our devotions,
The one thing that never changes about life,
It gives us beautiful surprises in spite of all the struggles and strife.
7. Unforgettable by Sarah Mathews
While you were holding my hand,
As we were walking on the sand,
I started to wonder why,
What made my breath so high,
There were too many times when I felt this way,
Each time I decided I could not say,
I did not know that you could read my mind,
And just exactly find,
As you guessed my fear,
That I was afraid. . . if you were not near,
You gave me comfort when i was broken,
Which I have still kept as a token. . .
8. Sin’s Requiem by David Gonzalez
Don’t shed a tear for the seven of us.
As we rot justly in a grimy, black cell, waiting for our true dwelling in hell.
Luxuria is now a shadow of an evil beauty that had once begotten men and women alike to fornicate, in a twisted form of love. Lust is the first to depart. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.
Gula it’s never ending appetite now sated, has stopped its endless indulgence. Beckoning the end of famines, droughts, and vile addictions everywhere. Gluttony is the second to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.
Individa filled with a deep hatred for those that hold what it cannot have. Is now appeased by what it wields. Envy is the third to follow. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.
Avaritia now finished with its campaign for its selfish wealth and luxury. Its hoarded belongings now shared with all. Greed is the fourth in line to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.
Acedia without a care of the world or itself, has now found meaning in its existence. Sloth is the fifth in line to go.
At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.
Ira its eternal anger now doused. It’s downfall heralding the end of violence and hatred. Wrath is the second to last to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.
Superbia a never ending journey for fame, now cast aside by time forever to be forgotten. Pride proud of all the foul deeds it has committed, shouts before the gallows, with no hint of remorse.
“At twilight we all shall be dancing a jig in hell. But do not bid the seven of us adieu, and shed tears of joy at our departure. For before dawn we shall rejoin you all.” With a wicked smirk Pride is the last to go.
The word it has spoken resounding in our thoughts, filling them with angst, strife and fear…
Fear the hidden origin for all our sins.
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