First place goes to:
Marilyn M. Winkley
Night Watch
I sat beside you in that pale room,
watching eyes move beneath translucent lids
fragile as a Luna moth’s wings. You,
who had been so strong, trembled under sheets,
plucked at your cathetered penis,
mewled like an infant
caught in the sweat of night terrors.
I sat by helpless, remembering
those hands, knuckles swollen
from too many fights, brushing my chestnut hair
gently, struggling to tie it back in a white satin bow.
You gave up on an exhale.
That day my hair swung free,
tangling with each rise of the swing.
The orderly said you would never wake. I
thanked him for his help, silently
wishing him to Hell. Later,
eyes dark as mine opened.
“Who took the air out of the room?” you rasped.
I had no answer as
midnight moved over and into us.
Not ready to die, you asked that I wash your hair,
clip your nails. The orderly, amazed, brought a tray.
I massaged thick liquid onto scalp, removed it
with damp cloth, towel dried your hair.
I kept the white crescents of your nail clippings.
You gave up on an exhale.
I did not cry.
Shelley Peckham
How Stella Got Her Mojo Pin Back
Tradition poisons
The death of purpose and the birth of evolution
It’s survival of the sheepish
The dream of clarity with a Das Kapital “K”
Conscience abandoned, left bleeding in the tangles of the emperor’s new clothes
Pistols at dawn, day, dusk and darkness
Wasn’t it easier when
Intelligence was ink
Death was a phone call
And you paid no attention to the man behind the curtain?
Your cause is shocked and awed into the maimed limbs of the lucky ones
My signature forged into the side of the bomber
Enola Gay Marriage Banner
Flown by those Hairy True Men
Drunk on the blood of Christ and
Choking on His flesh
Who invented new words for liar
But still, the extinguished have more to burn
And so you wave your white powder for the chemical surrender
It’s only a party after all
Purchased status of substance
Just like everything else
Get it up, slow it down and keep it together
And walk beside the new prophets
While the fifth horseman lives next door
His viscera smacking its lips
He stayed the course
He followed the tracks on my arms
Kay Kartechner
Mariposa
As the butterfly metamorphoses
within its private chamber,
to emerge and unwrap
its fragile wings of dust,
so do our souls transform…
unknown and unseen
and mysterious,
encased in ego
and earthy matter;
the grist of God’s alchemy.
Now honestly, can anyone please look back at the poems I listened, and compare them to these to either tell me I'm nuts for thinking I was robbed, or tell me that I'm right and that this is bullshit? Thank you.
4 comments:
i only read the butterfly one .. cause it was the shortest :D but yeah, nothing that great about it. obviously, the person who picked those poems doesn't knows good writing.
Who got to vote?
I totally understand your indignation. It's so frustrating when you know your stuff is up to par, if not better (in this case, definitely better), but the plebes that be, choose otherwise (some kind of favours, perhaps?)
I cringe everytime I receive a certain magazine in the mail and read the truly low-grade poetry that they publish when they didn't even give my obviously superior piece a look-see. That's the way of the world, baby! The real artists get ignored and passed over.
Kat
I'd like to see the poems you submitted, but at this stage I would concur that the winners are dire. When did poetry have to be about either pretty butterflies or death??
My poetry is lame as anything, because I'm more of a fiction writer and I just have fun jotting a few thoughts down, but I would *hope* that it's better that the three winners! And if not...ah well.
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