The House Of Mirrors : Poems round 1.

Okay my beautiful people.
round 1 is now over with..to those of you who had the balls to participate and not act like it was the end of the world having to write about vanity.

Thank you so much. you are what make everything worth it. and tho the participation wasn't really that high. I still believe we can have a lot fun throughout this contest.

here are the poems for round 1.

we give it a good two to three days of rest for me to finish collecting my comments and rate from the judges. and I will post them soon.

I won't cut people this round. I had coffee. I feel sweet. (not that I'm not sweet but.. lol..okay)

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Writing myself

I can hear a tapping in my head...
among the metaphors and
similies hidden under my chestnut hair
laced with the extract of love.
and if it was my own footsteps
they'd tread on
memories of youth.
but all truth is scattered by ourselsves
and mine swims on my porcelain face...

and I grace pavements with londons
footsteps and hold flowing rivers in my palms,
I'll bow to anyone who snatches
the rose from my smile because they've
allowed me to rebloom

and i'll kiss what rain falls onto my skin
for it allows my hearts beauty
to reflect in the eyes of passers by.
because my tiny frame holds all i am,
a woman of England and a writer of life.

--

Me

I see a natural me
within mirrors of three,
captivated by stars in the eyes
enchanting my heartbroken sighs.

When I look inside
clean all the dirt I hide
the beauty begins to shine,
I transform into a denim shrine.

Five foot eight, and full of curves,
tilting the mirrors as I swerve,
wine of sweet transforms my thoughts,
I start to see things that I have forgot.

Perky lips invite a tasty, harmonious song,
hazel eyes dazzle as I tease ebony hair of long,
Doctor Hook serenades me as I walk with grace,
"Baby's got Her Blue Jeans on"; smile on my face.

This body of forty two years has a lifetime guarantee,
it's a unique, crafted design of art, and I title it, "Me"....

-----

The Tall Lady of Barcelona

I feel like I have risen up
from the circus that my family
claimed I was accountable for...
how times have changed, my lips
now darkened like freed cherries
that perched atop man's pity,
the same man who begged
for a sip of my love without
realizing he had to give it, too.

I have all the power
to take another drink,
and taste the world through it.
My smile is being chased,
tugging along the symmetry of the sun,
spoken by others
to have its origin written down.
But they can't copy me-
ink won't be able to spell
the beauty.
However, I'm not here
because others want what
their neighbors hold-
my joy is what restores
the broken breaths of my heart...
and others ask, what do you have?
I tell them, an understanding for life
that only I can carry the way I do
on the caresses of my cheekbones,
and the photographic tattoos
all over my thighs.

For once, my father doesn't deny me
at my fervid sight-
and there's no reason why I shouldn't
tell my story and other's....
because with this right hand
and the muse beneath left center,
I'll be able to show the world
there's no room for heartbreak
when you've got a look for
rhythm.

I'll pass by rain, and it will
groan and long to be stroking
my side, instead of drowning
under its silent words.
Haven't I advised the world
that silence is just choked fear?
But they still custom make
their own reasons why
they can't be brighter.

Dear, I used to dress like the storms,
not grey, but heavy burdened
with scarfs marked in metal shops.

How I've grown
into color, into air itself,
the language of my name.
Don't doubt that I will be
visited upon early tonight's-
for countries and cultures
are bringing me their flag....
that I might draw a kiss
upon it's middle,
melodize the secrets of
such simple people
and show them how to
paint their faces across
blooming skies.

And it's now, that I rise again
from my disguise of ashes,
from something small
to a voice destined to reach
everything I was born to become

----

The Mirror in my Pocket

I've never thought of 'myself' and 'beauty'
sitting nicely in one sentence; if they ever
collide, it would be anything but positive.

What no one knows is the mirror in my
pocket - a corroded silver thing, with a
lightning-shaped crack at the tip and a
moldered knob as a pathetic excuse for
a handle. Not one single being knows
of its existence. A smile slowly creeps its
way upon my cracked lips as I pull it out
of my pocket whenever I'm with Solitude.
Exquisite eyes stare back at me, shaming
the greenest rose in our garden. I relish
that moment, trying to see past these eyes
to a soul I have forgotten; entrapped,
yet fighting to break free. Only I see her
struggle; only I see her conviction, still
I never lift a finger to give succor to this
untamed creature whose grotesque beauty
could only be appreciated by a free spirit.
Perhaps that is my contemptible reason
why I never allow her to step out of her
mirror; not that I'm afraid of other people's
judgment, but rather, I fear you'll love
her more than you'll ever love me. So for now, I'll content myself with a glimpse of her silky hair, and porcelain skin that needs no make up, everytime I'm with Solitude,
shaming the pale moon's glow at night.

I don't know if or when I will ever unleash
her, thence, I will slip this mirror back in
my pocket, where it belongs - for now.

----

Perfect

"Mirror, mirror answer me,
Who is the most handsome
guy you have ever seen?

It is simple,
cause it has to be me,
With my straight dark hair
and my shiny black eyes.
In my maroon shirt
and dark brown skinny jeans,
My classic hair style
just make my look complete,
This perfum I use
make people notice me
before they even see me
and my charming basic style
make people like me
and I can't help it
even I feel in love with me.
I am not arrogant
but I know nobody is as good as me.
So
Mirror,mirror tell me that
none can be as perfect as me"

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With Gratitude

When the mirror was upon me
to explain my vanity
it was realized imperfections
suited me perfectly

Stretch marks worn as medals
like a soldier in battle fought
eyes are a little baggy
not one surgery has been bought

Widened feet below
on firm foundations keep
sagging breast are pillows
to rock little ones to sleep

With waistline that's not shallow
nor my personality
there's gratitude for how
the way things appear on me

Blowing kisses in the mirror
from my little thin lined lips
stretching over t-shirts to
cover spreading hips

Every freckle, every mole
content with what's been given
there's no time to complain
when I'm too busy living

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Metamorphosis

In artifical light
you rip, advisedly
and as tactless
as you are,
and bunk the moths,
the dreamers wings.

Self-disclosure, you are cruel.

Tonight I will morph
and my pale, yet smooth skin
will radiate moonbeams,
that will embosom your heart.

Avoid my eyes if I happen
to curl my auburn hair
around fingertips.

Though nothing will seduce
you like my lips, beware
unless you want to taste
temptation just like
Adam and Eve;

the punishtment: a leap in the dark.

Thank the night for painting
my silhouette on the horizon,
now you know what to aim for.

Meanwhile I will try these wings,
diversity lets me be my own art.

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Erato

My body is not made for magazine ads.

It's not made to dance onstage, not made
to wear string bikinis, to promote movies,
to fight crime.

My body is made for afternoons
in bed, for
long hours spent and long sighs and
quick gazes.

My body is made for poets to write about,
for musicians to play wordless songs to,
for artists to paint while I wear twilit air
and they mingle titanium with the smallest
hint of vermillion.

My arms aren't meant to sell bracelets,
but when they are held above my head
they are the white shores of any man's homeland.

My hands aren't made to model
rings,
but they will close around your wrist, they
will hold you forever and you will kiss each knuckle.

My lips are poised always
to form the word "no," but there
is a smile hidden in the left corner
that you will spend years
trying to find.

I'm no singer, but my voice
will speak in your dreams, my name will
tumble in your mouth, my
pulse will be your last and favorite
rhythm, and someday when you
die you'll be waiting
only for
the next beat.

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Vanity, my other half.

Sired by my reflections even
from silverware or still water,
was I, - my 2 year old version-
the one who was curious
to see the persona who
was mocking her existence.

Ever since that moment,
'vanity' and I became one.
and just like me, every day
'she' needed to be feed.

But with time,
her hunger kept growing stronger
I had no other way around
but force myself to put a stop
to the feeding of that desire
that kept asking for more.

I should have known
that at some point,
at risk would be my pride
or that soon a diet,
I would have to exercise.

But I was too late

within a lapse, puberty came
to teach me the hard way
to not be the feeder of my vainglory,

For vanity transforms into a mirror of deceit
that grows and grows stronger with each look
as if every reflection nourished one's ego.

To later find outside that mirror
an outbreak of shattered emotions,
that tell us that each
or some of our reflections
were nothing but a fake illusion.

However, today

after learning my long ago lesson,
I'm falling to temptation.

and I ask myself
How can I keep suppressing
my other me?

how can I?
when I'm surrounded
by her favorite aperitif.

How can..?
when I'm in the middle
of the house of mirrors,

How ..?
when I'm in her own home.
and I . . . I,
I have become her guest.

It was a conspiracy, a scheme, a trap.
the jeans, the hair done, and even the glass of wine
everything was planned.

The lights, the mirrors, the reflections
and her need to rise again
everything was planned

but tonight, I cannot resist.
I'm in love, in love.
I love the new me.
My jeans, my hair, my look.

I can't help, but feel like no other day
I feel pretty, no, I feel beautiful
as the lights and the mirrors
introduce me once again
to my other self.

~ my vanity

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Okay, If I messed anything up, or chopped anything during my copy pasting, or you know you sent in your poem but don't see it on here..

Message me people! 'Cause Yaki isn't perfect..noo, oooh, nooo oooh... oooooh...

Quality stuff here!

Wow. I'm digging this. Look at all you shyproud beauties with your porcelain skin.

But if the goal here was to sound as vain as possible (i.e. shallow, aloof and inflated), here is what I would have liked to see more of:

Four women on the tram
a young mother
a girl with a violin
a lipsticked lady
and we easily, silently agree
that I'm the prettiest.

It doesn't get much more real than that. Be honest. Thanks for inspiring me, guyz.

Ooohhh abby....

Erato is nice. Sibs, I think you wrote it.

I have an idea who wrote several of them, but let's keep it a mystery

Ya'll can't deny ya'll poets...tho the prompt was vanity some still managed to push in some depth here and there through all the superficiality...

bahahahhaha

Okay my loves.

I have to wait for my third Judge but she's been busy. I have all 3 comments for only some poems.
and for the others I only have 2. so I am posting the two I have. and I will post the other 1 comment and rate. as soon as I get them in. to be fair. my apologies for taking so long. Its kinda hypocritical of my part how I said I wouldn't wait for anyone but had ya'll waiting a little. but Okay. I take that. I apologize.

I hope no one is mad at me.

now.. I had the judges give a rate between 5 and 10 and they could even do halve's if they liked. I chose this because its how we grade school work here. everything above a 5.5 is good and everything below a 5.5 is bad.

so if in the end you end with a 5.5 ... it automatically converts your grade into a 6. a 6.5 into a 7. etc etc and if you have like a 5.4 then it simply stays a 5. and so it goes.
[ BUT AT THE FINALS. NOT NOW]

here are your comments. and you're all still in.. so remember its your chance to step up your game to make it to the top 5.

Thank you for your love. babygurls. bebiboys. baby whatever gender you decide you feel like. xoxo

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these are in the order they were send to me..not the rating.. but no one is going out anyways..however for the rounds that come up. I will put them in order..thus those with the highest score come up...

here you go. Remember there is one comment and one rate missing. I will get them to you soon.

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Writing myself

-The first time I read this poem, I didn't want to rate it too high because I thought the first stanza had too many metaphors and kind of took away my love for it . The second time I read it I fell in love with the ending stanza, very beautiful, and realized the metaphors were necessary because you were describing YOU, and we are all writers...that ending really captivated me .

For that I give you a rate of 7.5

Writing myself (7.5)
Like Boswell, this lady makes London her own town, incorporating the Thames and ever present rain to make the poem flow (pun intended). Numerous spelling and capitalization errors detract from the work, however. Had more care been taken it would be a most excellent poem.

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(2) Me (9.5)
Both scintillating and tasty. The rhyme scheme lends a lighthearted swing to the piece (eyes . . . sighs; curves . . . swerves) that matches the swagger of the speaker. I like the internal consistency between the profession of self-confidence (lifetime guarantee on the body) and maturity to accept life experiences (her heartbreak is enchanting)

Loooveeddd the humor in this piece. I felt the author took this challenge and nailed it. As much as I don't like rhyming pieces because I often find the rhymes so unoriginal , but because of the creativity I most definitely loved this poem. I thought you nailed the last two lines!
Rate: 8.5

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(3) The Tall Lady of Barcelona (8.5)
Very involved, hard to follow sometimes. After a second reading, connections appear that are satisfying in their multiple-layers. Intriguing phrases factor into these layers, such as her smile connected somehow to "the symmetry of the sun" and dressing like the storm. This poet addresses her development as her fundamental feature: rising from the ashes, growing into color and the air itself. Most telling is the allusion to past troubles, such as parental rejection and domestic oppression. This "tall lady" knows her appeal and is proud of who she has become.

Holy...shat!....this poem was amazing...first of all, absolutely loved how the author was not ashamed of themselves...that was so clear in this piece. I felt a touch of sadness, but outweighing the sadness was this pride of who they were. Written so beautifully, I was really blown away. Truthfully my first thought was " dang I need to read this again". My second time reading I was like "this is so inspiring!"....there were so many lines and metaphors that stuck out to me that I think needs major crediting.

"Others ask, what do you have?
I tell them, an understanding of life"

"Haven't I advised the world
that silence is just choked fear"
"Dear, I used to dress like storms
not grey, but heavy burdened
With scarves marked in metal shops " 9.

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(4) The Mirror in my Pocket (8.0)
I don't believe this young lady. I do not believe that she sees herself attractive only in secret and I do not believe she is as comfortable with that assessment as she would have the reader accept. This poem signals mixed messages throughout. She compares her eyes to the greenest rose, which ignores the most important aspect of the flower by focusing on the foliage. She describes this magic mirror in terms pathetic, yet imbues it with the image of a lightning shaped crack. She attests her soul has been forgotten, entrapped, yet it is from the soul she speaks, for the physical being hides the essence she describes. The poem is full of inherent contradiction which is certainly its finest feature.

I really love the idea behind this piece. For a difficult challenge of wriitng about yourself, the author made their poem pretty unique....personally, I wish there could of been rewording in the parts where you kept saying pocket ( 3 times) ...I also wish this would have been a little more "happy", this contest was supposed to be written about vanity, and lifting yourself up and I read it more as a sad piece. Someone who lacks confidence....however, it seems like when describing the girl in the mirror others love her and find her beautiful, if only the author could see that of themselves :(....again I did love the creativity. Rate: 7

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(5) Perfect (6.0)

Not a lot of work went into this piece. It could have been made deeper in many areas, but comes across about as complex as the Fonz going "Ayyy!"

This poem made me chuckle!..I thought the flow and wording was kind of choppy, but this poem was totally positive, doing exactly as yaki says , which is make it about how awesome you are! And clearly this author did that!. I only wish for more details and the use of less "I's". Rate: 6.5

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(6) With Gratitude (9.0)
Wonderful stuff here. Reminds me of the Pene painting of the elephant inscribed with the phrase: "Je me content de ma peau" (I am content with my [own] skin.) As she says, each of these 'beauty marks' indicate a battle fought well and victory enjoyed.

High freaking five to the author of this poem. So far, my absolute favorite. Now here is a poet who took this challenge and didn't sugar coat how they look, but are in fact proud of it....the metaphors were amazing. Loved the second stanza! This is what I think this challenge should have done for all of you. Look at your stretch marks, your hips, your flaws and be proud, because your living life. You're doing what you're supposed to do and that is what makes you beautiful. Bravo on this piece. I loved it. Rate: 10

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(7) Metamorphosis (7.0)
I'm slightly at a loss with this piece. It seems like it should hold together, and certainly the theme of being a seductress does, but the thoughts are jumbled and there are tangents strung out like frizzed hair ends. The minor spelling errors do not help either.
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Oh wow! Very unique poem for this challenge!!..love the mystery about the person that this piece portrays.

"Thank the night for painting
my silhouette on the horizon
now you know what to aim for"

that was an aweesoomee stanza!
Made me really love this even more!
Rate: 8.

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(8) Erato (10.0)
Amazing! This muse of poetry becomes the very embodiment of a seductress' bold confidence. It is Katy Perry, Mae West and Marilyn Monroe as one woman, draped in silk, being painted as Le Grande Odalisque. The contrast is exquisite between public display (not made for magazine ads) and private pleasure (arms that "are the white shores of any man's homeland"). There is no apology or false demur, only enticing stanza building upon sizzling line. Within the promises phrases intrigue as well: "long sighs and quick gazes" and she is painted wearing nothing but "twilit air" as the artist grinds a brilliant white hue reminiscent of Titian's Salome (certainly not Toulouse-Lautrec's bawdy dance halls.) Reading this poem makes a man want to leave his wife, his children, his job and begin a quest to find her.

Erato

I am overly in love with this poem!! What I love about the opening of this piece is how strong and bold you start off...I love how you proclaim what you are NOT before you state what you are. I felt like it kind of hinted that you were no celebrity, just a normal person....but no...the description here describing who you are, made you more beautiful, more POWERFUL than anyone on a magazine ad....seriously the details were incredibly strong and amazing...this is a winner :) rate: 10

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(9) Vanity, my other half. (8.0)
I did not expect to find a dark poem focused on the positive aspects of a poet. Well done for what it is, certainly it approaches a life-lesson against the falsehood of vanity. The transition is simply not credible. I feel that no real admiration occurs at the end, simply a plea for help as she falls into the vortex of her "other self."

Vanity, my other half

I like the cleverness behind this piece :) loved that the vanity was personifed and became a she. ..I know its hard writing a poem about lifting yourself up, so protraying that doing so was another side of you was very unique. I also liked that you included a touch of yaki's hosting speech..kind of showed that you actually did what she asked you to do and for one night you will choose to be vein...lovely poem :) rate 8.5