Treasure Island

Poetry Contests


Post a message
  • Sophia Engel (5/13/2013 12:13:00 AM) Post reply

    The Black Stallion
    By Sophia Engel

    Aloft the wind
    I ride the night sky
    I see the world through a much different eye
    Rural, black and Deadly I am

    Power, beauty
    Strength and grace
    I feel the spirits of ancestral space
    I speak the unspoken word
    of mother natures brutal world
    Rushing winds
    And tearing storms
    Threatening yet not achieving
    To bring me down

    Pride of herd
    The leader
    The stallion
    Sisters and brothers
    I live ever-watchful standing by others
    Watching, listening
    For threat and danger

    We run and gallop
    Through wind and rain
    Never stopping
    Never resting
    A kaleidoscope of colors
    Flying through the forest pride
    Through nettles, thorn and deadly tide
    The short, the tall, the long of mane
    No two ever the same

    I know the chance
    I know the fear
    I know the forest ways
    I live on the edge
    For death crouches near
    I feel its breath on my neck

    On my back I carry a load
    Through storm and calm
    Ever vigilant and bold
    Strength and bravery rage inside me
    Natures will always guide me
    Through wind and rain
    To high and low
    Over cliffs and Mountain tops

    I have died in battle twice already
    Killed by man
    Hunted by predator as I roamed the land

    Yet I survive
    I take each step with pride
    I am ever loyal to those who seek
    The free life, the wild life
    For I am feral and wild
    For I am the Black stallion
    The King of the wild

  • Savannah Oakes (5/12/2013 3:13:00 PM) Post reply

    Daydreaming

    I took it all to heart,
    each hasty smile and modest gesture,
    each syllable of dispassionate word,
    to a stage where even I was persuaded,
    the rays veiling your face
    in perfect symmetry,
    were by your own hand.

    I coveted you so,
    for what were you incapable?
    See, you were the rays,
    as you were the smile, the gesture,
    and the word.
    Everything created, then destroyed
    by unadulterated hand,
    but all only in my sight.

    Now I mistrust.
    There are words I thought were spoken
    and actions I thought displayed—
    In fact, illusions and trickery.
    But now I see,
    how you were a dream,
    borne of a skeptic in dangerous reverie.

    This guise I had burdened on you,
    I all the time unawares,
    For it had seemed,
    that when I said move
    —you moved.
    And when I said speak
    —you spoke.

    How does something appearing
    so concrete, so essential
    be confused with truth?
    —to savor another's words
    and have them be your own—
    Eyes blind and still
    having dreams of distant realms—
    but forget it.
    Happiness has gained on me,
    now knowing the best of truth.

    Now there is only whisperings
    of lost voices.
    No more apparitions of smiles,
    gestures, or words—
    such trivial necessities,
    conceived by a fool
    in want of an actor.

  • Savannah Oakes (5/12/2013 3:12:00 PM) Post reply

    If I Had Ten More Minutes

    If I had ten more minutes
    and my voice was not faint
    nor my face so devoid
    or my mind so blank,
    I would profess—

    But I'm afraid of words
    which might betray lips,
    For what is kept
    is of my eyes—
    that impulsive organ
    I've attempted to stray;
    hooded, hazed.

    Construing a montage
    ever playing:
    concerns, worries
    fears, and doubts,
    Come to life
    in bursting light
    whilst straining in the dark.

    And if such creations
    could speak—
    or better
    could be heard—
    through the mist of passion
    And masks of pride,

    I would profess
    All in my heart;
    Every quaint murmur
    Forsaken night and night.

  • Cherryl Ann Ilustre (5/12/2013 11:52:00 AM) Post reply

    Little Forest

    In a solitude standing beside the window,
    The memory of childhood in my mind pass through,
    As I close my eyes and let the past flow,
    Half of a sweet smile in my face and pinch of pain draw.

    I used to have my own kingdom and sanctuary,
    Where my bare feet stepping the carpet of a green grass,
    The touch of the cloud curtain dazzling calmly,
    And the ceiling of a blue sky keeps the scenery perfectly.

    There, I have a special bench made by branch of a tree,
    And a wall of a huge and tall plants protecting me,
    The breeze of my friend wind always kissing me,
    While I'm overlooking the real nature of beauty.

    I treasured that kingdom where I am the princess,
    When I'm coming I heard the clapping of the leaves,
    And the trumpet began humming by crackling of branches,
    All vowed and dance saying " Welcome Your Highness" .


    Lying In that soft bed of dry leaves is my favorite,
    With a pillows of hard and rough roots of the trees,
    A comfortable blanket that invisibly made,
    Give me a warm feeling to have a deep sleep.

    But there's one thing I really adore in that place,
    If I sang a song i heard the second voice of the birds,
    I can hum, shout and follow the beat of music,
    And nobody will say.. " Go away and stop it."

    Now...how i missed that little forest.

  • Zeki Madjid (5/11/2013 6:18:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    ?? ????? / Oh Syria!

    Reality is lost and I fear…
    That someday.. somewhere so near…
    I will fall amongst the people so dear…
    I fear…that I’ll just be another one
    Another one lost…

    I wonder what the cost of my life is
    Not to get too political…
    But i want to know what the cost of my life is
    Is it money…is it land
    I do not own any of them…I’m just a simple man

    I remember..when I ran across your land…
    I remember when I kissed my grandmother’s hands..
    But you ripped my away from her..from my home
    You ripped my away from my heart…you ripped me away from my soul

    I feel helpless..I feel low…
    It’s hard to play along when I know…I have no role
    I have become a slave.
    After all the love i gave.

    When I look at my country…people I want to save
    When I look around me…people I need to change
    It seems like a hard thing to do…
    when the range of people is way bigger than you

    Freedom…oh how much I've heard that word
    Freedom…oh how this idea has become absurd
    When God gave us life…
    He warned us only he can take our lives…

    Oh Syria…my home
    Oh Syria…my all
    Oh Syria…what did they hurt you for?
    Oh Syria…I’m here…I won’t let them hurt you anymore…
    I am Proud to be your son…

    Replies for this message:
    • Abdu Musa (5/13/2013 7:30:00 PM) Post reply

      I really loved it. Especially, the these lines: 'That someday.. somewhere so near... I will fall amongst the people so dear...' ... and it is interesting to 'wonder what the cost of your life ... more

  • Javin Taylor (5/10/2013 10:42:00 PM) Post reply

    Separation

    Who am I?What can I say?The sting of thorns dripping with poison brands my heart as life slips from those eyes that I thought I knew so well. In my state, I have become the doll that mourns in silence. The strings cut that gave me life and allowed me to bring that smile to your face. Who has lost the most?You have passed, the world of life has gone, and now you enter that land of mists.

    I, however, have lost you. The one who took a fragile beating heart and patched the holes that were growing greater by the moment.

    In the end I, the doll frozen in time, beg for the clock to stop, for it to settle. But it does not. In this final hour, I hold you dearest to me against all words, and meanings this last breath you give takes away the light I had.

    As the warmth you had dissipates, I refuse to close my eyes as you have. I desire one last look at your comforting smile. My angel, my rose I wish for you to pass without pain and tears. Do not cry, as I will. I am silent and stilled. Your heart stops, and the world we had crumbles.

    My love,

    This is the final separation.

  • Rachael Aislynn Musgrove (5/10/2013 10:26:00 AM) Post reply

    MAYBE I'M WRONG

    I thought I could find a different line of work.
    Thought insanity was something I could quit.
    With Cryptic little riddles,
    You play your little fiddles.
    But I'll be content with this.

    Maybe I'm wrong.

    I tried to straighten up.
    Couldn't fill my tip cup.
    Couldn't make a living with my beaten old guitar.
    Shouldn't have listened to my mother, when she said " You're gonna go far."

    But Maybe i'm still wrong.

  • Allian Bern Fuentes (5/9/2013 1:26:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    WHAT I HAVE BECOME

    Questions are running in my mind
    Should I look behind
    Sinking slowly from my tears
    Facing alone my fear

    It's too late to turn back now
    It's so hard to let go somehow
    It's too late to wash what you've done
    You don't even know what I've become

    You promise me a thousand lies
    That you'll never say goodbye
    But you left me without much reason
    So in this empty room I'm alone

    Tell me what's left when the edge reaches the end
    I'm feeling like dead but in front I pretend
    I have a few bullets left for a second to breath
    Should I aim this to you or pass this to my head
    Cause your name is poisoning the thoughts of my brain
    All I hope right now is to forget everything
    I won't take any step to erase your mistakes
    I hate you more than me and I got nothing left to say

    Replies for this message:
    • Gogo Amin (5/11/2013 4:25:00 PM) Post reply

      some how some where you will find yourself ask for a wish from your deep heart in your pray to get out of darkness but to turn to white heart is your own question... revenge is the weakest part inside ... more

    • John Paul Cosato (5/9/2013 2:24:00 PM) Post reply

      Allian - I really like your DARK poem. I either like poems that are really dark or uplifting. I do not care to much for anything in between. Keep up the good work. If you want to read a dark poem of m ... more

  • Corrine Shoemaker (5/8/2013 3:50:00 PM) Post reply

    I Don’t Know Jack

    You think I’m a waist of space,
    Attention seeker and disgusting.
    However, did you ever think I just could afford my place?
    I didn’t choose this life.
    I would prefer a bed other than the streets,
    My bones ache from the solid concrete.
    I wake up with hate and lingering questions,
    How am I going to eat?
    Bet you didn’t know I had another mouth to feed.
    My daughter, just a little toddler
    Growing little beauty that doesn’t deserve this horror.
    You think this life is fake; but trust me it isn’t,
    Two people can’t make a living by eating the scrapes off of dirty dishes.
    But it is ok, you helped me,
    Just by tossing those coins at me.
    My daughter got a sandwich and I just couldn’t manage watching her savoring each piece to make it everlasting.
    It is dawn,
    Time to rock her asleep and her fall into her dreams deep.
    It breaks my heart to realize I’m a failure as a father.
    The moist tears roll from my eyes,
    But tomorrow is a new day,
    Do something productive.
    Maybe they will finally hire me into a job and stop giving me a ruckus.
    The breeze is getting hard,
    Your body got a chill,
    As you quarreled into my arms I rocked you until you become still.
    Here is my jacket; I’ll wrap you up tight,
    Hopefully it will be warmer by daylight.
    Guessing I should sleep too.
    Maybe we will wake up and have a stable life like we dream too.
    Just before I go everyone put yourself in my shoes;
    You know how your day is going to be from front to back,
    But me; I don’t know jack.

  • Thomas Yarborough (5/8/2013 11:28:00 AM) Post reply

    Hidden Box

    I found a dusty box today
    Feelings stirred that were hidden away
    Down behind some unread book
    I picked it up, my fingers shook

    Dread hid in the crevice of my mind
    Not knowing what, inside, I'd find
    Inside this tiny, unknown crate
    That I had suddenly learned to hate

    Perhaps a smile would cross my lips
    As I held her scarf 'tween my fingertips
    Perhaps a note signed I love you
    And I'd say honey, I love you, too

    But more likely, as is oft the case
    Trinkets will greet my visual embrace
    And the response will likely be forlorn
    A tearing of my heart, in a small place not yet torn

    I release the lid and move away
    Perhaps tomorrow'd be a better day
    I wipe my eyes as I depart
    I need more time to heal this wounded heart

[Hata Bildir]