The 7 Day Contest: Day 5

'You have come this far. Maybe you are prepared to come a little further.'

Day 5 dawns, and as promised, a less taxing challenge this time! Ever feel like you wrote such a good line, its a shame you can't use it again? Well now you can! What you need to do for this challenge is pick a line from any poem you have already posted on the site and put it into a new poem. Simples :)

Rules/Guidelines:

- Line used must be at least 3 words long. In other words you can't use a line that's only one or two words long.

- Only one line from the poem can be used. Try to make it a separate entity from the original poem, don't just rephrase the original poem. Use the line in a new way if possible.

- 4 poems to be submitted. At least 2 participating members. Poems are scored out of 25 points.

- No line limit. The poem be any format, topic or style. This one is very open, so try to show your best.

- Deadline is 1800pm PnQ time, Saturday 9th.

Best of luck!

When we send it to you, is it the same format and do we need to add what poem it came from?

Yes, send the link to the original poem please and send the usual way via pm with all the club poems in one bunch preferably :)

...I have over a thousand poems to choose from. What the hell. Hmf!

Just a question... the link to the poem will not be sent to the judges, right?

that's only for you to check that we are including the line.

^

great question

the judges would know who we are if we did

Can we see the poems for this round?

CLUB 1

#401
Chances

The journey you plan is not always
the one that you end up taking,
the road you've paved so carefully in
every detail is often the one blocked
and the destination you're gonna end up
in is not always the one that makes you happy
but it's what you do with the life you've been
given that counts...so find yourself in the
reeds of overgrown cornfields, and under the
sun drenched heaven...
lay yourself as you are,
over peering shadows that concealed
the marionette inside
and sheltered your eyes
from the wind.
Be a free bird...
with the widest wings...
and take a chance on today wherever you are.

-----------------------------------
#402
DNR

You never saved the poetess
that lived within her because
you knew your presence was
the only way she could breathe.

Your goodbyes drained the ink
of her soul until she was left there
emotionless; accompanied by merely
a dried pen and a crinkled paper.

But she tried to mend the silence
by the sounds of un-rhyming words,
still even poetry seemed to hurt.

You -Sir- signed her life to never be
resuscitated again!

---------------------------------------
#403
Satisfied Widow

Choke on your alibi, and gasp for polluted air.
Your lies, your words, are nothing but a poor
excuse to invoke my anger, which you've done-
appealingly well, marginalizing me.

Perhaps if I braced your teeth with metal
your lips would have been cut as you
attempted to mouth "I'm sorry." Bleeding
from the only part you used well-
kisses now go irrelevant.

I'll bury my suicidal thoughts amongst
the memories, and spread its ashes
throughout the pain. Then I'll find you,
turn you into a corpse and I...
I will be your satisfied widow.

----------------------------------------
#404
Tree Carvings

We have consumed,
mulled over trivial thoughts
trapped them in a jar of dragonflies,
setting them free, to let my spirit glide
in the night of melting wax, dipped in
salted rain of a long, lost gaze.

Hand prints mark emptiness,
sign language of sadness,
left in carved markings of
a tree in our woods, where
we walk as one silhouette.

The shadows bow to our sorrow
as if to say "they feel our pain"
but you and I rejoice in love,
leaving the grieving for another
day, a time we know will come
soon enough....

************************************

CLUB 2

#411
Depression

Days drifts into nights
damp room, dark shadows
light bulb flickers, set in motion
by the draft in this old house
I could eat, if I wanted to
lots of fungus for free
in dreams I remember
how life used to be
all that's changed
eloquent in my inner monologue
dried tongue behind cracked lips
eyes without sparkle in a face
grey as the clay surrounding
this abandoned ruin....
first it took my job
then it took me

yours truly,

Holland, 2013.

------------------------------------------
#412
Living a false dream...

I kept listening
what you never whispered,
and painted my thoughts
with false shades of conviction.

I kept decorating my life
with the beauty of a love-
which I felt
but it didn't touched you ever.

I always blushed at a thought
which was a myth
and didn't knew I was all alone
in the world I called 'Love'.

I kept consuming those void moments
and kept hurting my heart,
by weaving wasted dreams
of us as one.

--------------------------------------------
#413
In her eyes I am a hero

Every single moment of every single day
I convince my mind to carry on.
To begin is to try,
to try is to begin,
I live without crying,
crying attempts to control me.

My bed is a sanctuary,
in it I am free.
My dreams chase nightmares away,
I can be somebody.

The weight of my world is a cross I cannot carry,
dragging my hopes through fresh snow,
yet leaving no trace.
I have walked this path in my mind many times,
yet I see no way home.

A shovel is an object I yearn for....
metaphorically.
For I can dig a hole deep enough
to throw all my memories in,
then a little deeper,
to bury my dreams and desires.

Do I prefer this life as a walking carcass?
Will I ever wake from this head shafting demon?

But then.........

she finds me,
expectant, love filled eyes, a smile unforced.
In her eyes I am already a champion,
in her hall of fame,
a tear escapes me, it feels ashamed.
I look at my hands, my fingers.
With these I cup my child's face and kiss her forehead.

She has shown me the way, out of my minds jungle.

-------------------------------------------
#414
In Mothers Garden

We all grew in a dark secret place
beneath echoing waves of heartbeats
we share with our chosen angel
and he who crafted us.

We swim in sacred oceans which hold
our very existence,
in the depths of their being.

Some of us will be plucked like roses
before we can bloom,
or,
cut like limbs from family trees-
severing the branches within us too.

One by one we fall.

We are those countless hes and shes
who slept and are now sleeping,
beneath the ribcages of mothers,
but not for long enough.
Never will we be seen or touched by them in life,
but seen by the eyes of the whole world in death.

We are those awoken too soon.
For we shall have no birthdays
and no names.

Our pictures will hang upon the hearts of millions,
but be tattooed upon the very souls of our mothers
forever.

Oh, if only they had known the beauty their gardens once held.

*************************************

CLUB 3

#421
Another One Of Those Things

There's a tweak in the air,
each time slumber
knocks me down,

must've been my broken ribcage,
my nicotine and tar-filled lungs,
that is giving up on me.

Yet, it's a wonder, I still know
how to breathe.

For, there are moments,
ought to be remembered,
and minutes to be pursued.

Have you felt it, too?

That there was once,
something memorable;
something that only
our hearts could see

right there;
beneath

the balding glabrous
spreading tree.

---

Springtime came,
summertime, and
winter, too,

everyday, I would wake up
from the same dream
where I was awake, and
dreaming.

---------------------------------------------
#422
If

If life didn't threaten me with selfishness
I'd be travelling around the world, my skin
melting into the landscapes of each country,
each wave of their oceans, labyrinth
of canals, city lights like laser shows
imprinting mosaics in my mind ...

I'd give up caring for the sake
of caring, stop pretending to be a med student
performing heart surgery on every broken mess
as if the anatomy of sadness were mine to map
and neurons were mine to steer.

If life had been kinder to me,
I'd stop trying to mutilate my poetic DNA,
pretty words tongue-tied in the presence
of my pride, would bare themselves
like an orgy of virgins, wondrous
and distasteful, their anorexic love
fed by calloused palms of my own.

I'd live a different colour each day, my hair
a chameleon, my skin uncalled for,
I'd die my momentary death happily
and believe that the space between night and day
was the only place of reality.

But then again, at the end of the day
these ifs remain ifs, and I am just
sitting here, in a place that's only just a dream.

-------------------------------------------
#423
Poet a la Pretense

When I claimed to see streets of cotton candy
at the fun fair, we'd run around
with toilet paper on sticks,
acupuncture the air, boasting about
bandaging rooftops as we name-tagged it
something french and poetic.

But what's a raised fist
when all we're holding
is make-belief,
nothing,
torchlight licking
the wounds we call clouds;
a blow-up syringe
injecting a brighter hue of blue;
or another trail of sugar-coated wool
wavering on shoulder blades
like a second-hand cape?

My head's crowned in dandruff, and
I could never really write, not even now.
Maybe I'm stoned

by pride, longing to grasp anything
but a throat-full
of poetic nonsense, the kind
that's stuffed in jars
like mummified cookies,
and now I'm only gnawing because I'm hungry,
not because my tongue expects
to taste a chocolate fountain
smudged in elbow-crushed
strawberries.

After all, we only raise our fists when we're
tiptoeing in the mud, always believing
the world to be within our belly button's reach.

We never thought ourselves to be children
hiding behind a pink cloud,
never thought that sugar
could dissolve within our spit.

-----------------------------------------
#424
Spectral Pirouettes

The memories- they dance,
always at a distance.
No longer bound
by corporeal obligations.
Free-
to elicit joy,
and evoke sorrow.
Accountable only to themselves.

More perfect in reminiscence
than when first born;
ever more agonizing
as time washes them away.
Ghosts-
of their former glory;
all that remains.

One day too,
their spectors-
will fade to nothing.
Lost;
to Father Time's
collection plate.
Where ever after,
the memories dance.

Forever ghosts;
just out of reach.

*************************************

CLUB 4

#431
Change of Pilots

If I were you there are so many things
that would be done in different ways
but I am not and so you suffer still
in the absence of my greater skill.

There you sit in ignorance benign
no clue that your life is poorly done;
how good a friend I cannot tell
to ease you from this mortal shell.

Steal into your mind - take full control;
show the world how it should be;
they'd say "he's changed" and then
remark, "but happy in his own skin."

---------------------------------------------------------
#432
Opportunity

Opportunity may be a road full of rocks.
We may stumble, and even fall hard to the ground,
but the key to success that opens many locks,
is to accept grace from the Spirit to rebound.

With determination, gifts, and perspiration,
who on earth can guess what miracles can be done.
The most important mover is inspiration
for a difficult competition to be won.

Is there something more disappointing than defeat?
How many times do we wish we could turn back clocks,
In hindsight many mistakes we need not repeat,
if we are ready when you know what knocks.

------------------------------------------------------------
#423
Ruthless Cure

Machines surround her bed keeping her
from wandering around without comfort,
as though she could draw any there,
these cold metal and plastic bullies
push down her spirit through tubes
with pressure greater than her blood.

If she were just dying they'd set her free
to some hospice where only sheets
and bedframes mark the boundary
between love and death, life and solitude
and no one notices that she cries alone:
no bell tolls for me nor soul to ring it.

Yet here she lies because of cruel hope:
her disease has a cure - it just does not seem
to be working on her, even a smidgen;
yet all the king's doctors know how to do
is continue the treatment that works
even if it only works on others.

-----------------------------------------------------------
#434
Naivete

I remember when nostalgia crawled up to me at dusk,
and the ice-cold memories wafted into my body.
He was what I lived and breathed for.
Without him - I'm missing my oxygen.

Replaying his words in my head
still makes me shiver in a panic.
His heartless, stabbing phrases
are tattooed on my arm, as a reminder.

I loathe him even though I still love him.
How can I feel two conflicting emotions
at the exact same time?
He didn't deserve my love.

I was young and naive,
and let him take everything,
my heart, my life, my innocence.
I punch myself daily for it.

Though my heart is currently on pause,
I pray that one day it will beat again.

**************************************

CLUB 5

#441
Alone

Hesitant and uncertain she walks alone,
never quite knowing which
path she should take.

Her heart barely beats, whilst her
eyes convey untold anguish to those
who take time to look her way.
For she never truly understood
grief and heartbreak;
not really.

Every single second is painted
red, weeping for the loss she
suffered, pleading with God to
allow her to understand
why He felt the need to
punish her this way.

For, she lost her one true
love, the joy of her heart
the reason for the smiles
and laughter, only now she
no longer laughs.

Broken. One big ball of
cliche is what she's
become, succumbing to
her grief, never moving
forward and she knows now,
that only one thing is
certain, without a doubt
and that's that destiny
is uncertain and tomorrow
may never come.

She'd give anything to
see one more smile, hear one
last innocent giggle
and those cherished words
of I love you.

She'd give away material
belongings, live forever alone
willingly suffocate in despair
if it meant she could hold
him within her arms
and close to her heart
one last time.

To hear "I love you, mummy."
She'd give absolutely anything.

---------------------------------
#442
Embers

Blazing embers are past, dwindling;
leaving only ashes in its wake
cooling, dying, yet not before

it burned.

Floundering, on the rocks whereas
it once was filled with passion
creating a whirlwind of
tangible emotion leaving them
breathless.

Pouring lighter fuel on the
already destructive blaze
watching it burn, consume
until

there was nothing left.

Now,
aloofness circled the room
preying on weakened hearts
like vultures ready to
fight over and peck
at the remaining nibbles

animal magnetism that originally
worked well together now hungers
and bites, feeding from the
chaos created, delirious from
poison willingly consumed

flower blooming, tenderly
searching for the sunlight and
a way to quench its thirst only
to find a heatwave in full force

all the while, fire burned and
consumed, until

there was nothing left.

----------------------------------------
#443
Fill Her Sorrows (Tritina)

Her compass lost, the meridian fill
an estranged soul with bearings from her
belligerent, bountiful sorrows.

No name to put upon her sorrows,
she draws from sweet wine to quench her fill.
A silent steed escorts a liquored her.

Under drunk heart, a storm brews her
sovereignty with odious might. Sorrows-
Let them be, to take their aphotic fill.

She marks her duty with grief over-fill,
peasants pledging sentiment to her.
Alas, here she comes; reigning queen of sorrows.

-------------------------------------
#444
Revolution

Has anyone seen the legible clues,
read between the hands of time that our world
is anything but naturally understandable?
Our breathing-- monitored, our hearts-- checked
for alien signs, our thoughts-- emptied;
Weeks ago, I found an anthology of all your
reminiscences from when you were only a child.
You are barely a woman now but even I cannot
piece you back together, for you are shattered
and often evade me.

They tranquilized your courage.

No one here knows about violence, thinking
war could never be a pronounced solution and
weapons would be impossible to kill with.
Nonetheless, I will massacre this silence
with my love for times when humanity didn't always
choose stoicism due to their fear of living
without reservations, boundaries, secure hearts.
No one's winning and that is why
I just can't look away.

Someone needs to break gravity.

So I move on, no longer letting go and entombing
my soul in harvested fields.
I will walk through the remains of an all too forgiving city,
trying my best to live so I may defy.

***************************************

CLUB 6

#451
Champagne in Plastic Cups

I'm drunk enough to deal with this.
It is half past too long I've been waiting
And the truth behind my tongue is begging to be told.

Darling, my heart is still yours,
I never took it back nor plan to.
I just can't seem to compose these thoughts,
Turn them into actions.

My mind speaks in riddles.
Telling me to love what I cannot have
And to take who I cannot love.
Because then the world will see two happy people.
But how can I love him?

He has never held a brush.
His eyes are dull and lifeless,
Glass half empty,
Hand too shaky
He paints his life in gray.

But you-
You are full of life,
Your glass is always half full, mostly with confidence.
Every dream I dream is coloured by your love.
You paint the stars on dark nights,
The sun on cloudy days.
You are light.

Please,
I know I may be drunk,
But I've never seen things clearer,
Be my light.

----------------------------------------------------
#452
Atop of the sea: The Hill

Remember that roof at the top of the hill
where the breeze of the sea serenaded our sleep

where the touch of your skin enervated my will
as the sun in your eyes made my heart leap.

Remember that hill at the top of the sea
where the grass in the sand scented your skin

where the fervor would rise with the fall of the night
as a flickering of a candle light.

Remember that roof 'neath the starry skies
where the crystalline seas reflected the beautiful stars

where the sound of the rain on your spine
incited my ears to dive in the melody of an aquatic chant.

Remember that hill in the midst of a trip
where our bodies swam with the waves of the sea

where the moon illuminated our lips
as the mornings got near, with a sun rise, a kiss.

Remember, my dear, that roof at the top of the hill
where we dived our love into the abyss of that sea.

Remember, my love, remember, at least our kiss.

------------------------------------------------
#453
In The Heart of the Ocean, Sank.

I despite and I hate that I loved when that ice berg
sank my ship, for a kiss so warmth and sweet
could bring alive the most endearing of the lips,
and I, my thoughts, deep deep in the Atlantic ocean
were bound to freeze, never to find a diamond ring,
never to seek a yearning pearl. I, my heart, was meant
to sleep in an eternal dream, to sink in the heart
of the ocean instead of a sea, for a soul like mine

was born. . .

only to reverie, never for a love to meant to be.

--------------------------------------------
#454
Untitled

Whisky has never been a confidant until recently,
As I reflect on life with this glassy figure
That doesn't pass judgment.

Some nights are unbearable,
Almost as terrible as slipping through
An iced pond into the numbing waters below, but worse.
Those numbing waters may have waken me from
This tenebrific nightmare.

Loneliness has crept into my home
Seizing my happiness. Vibrant skies
Shared with our radiant sun now seem
Dull and lackluster leaving tenebrous visuals
That weaken ones soul.

My spirit devitalized, emptiness fills this room.
A block of ice crystallized over a heart
Once dominated by the warmth of love.

As I ruminate on what memories will live on..
Does it matter anyway?
All I've got left is the comfort this bottle possesses.

**************************************

CLUB 7

#461
Cacophony.

In February,
there is tenderness in the air.
I walk through shrubs and kiosks,
escorted by nobody, feeling nothing
more than the frost clinging to my feet.

Between us, there were nights
where no light was seen but the shimmer
traveling across the mountains from afar,
where our hearts morphed into sad poetry,
where poetry morphed into something
more ephemeral, into moments, into
painting our names with smoke,
into mornings pressed with daffodills.

Against a midnight page, I saw
you once scratching the moon, writing a name.
I saw you rummaging the wind
for more fragrance, biting a daisy, rolling
in scents, evaporating impatiently
before my eyes.

In February,
you're still there
sitting calmly between
dreams and poetry.
There is a bird losing himself in a twilight,
did you silently rinse me off your soul?

------------------------------------------
#462
Title: Waiting

We were baking and swapping
stories about the army's last solution, about the
boys in the news crowing to shatter idols,
about the sun crucified amidst
our hearts.
War.
That word has a different echo
in our hearts now.

As rain chewed the pavements
and wind smothered the branches, a tiny
streak of light rested within your eyes.
I traced it with mine, it perished
midway your cheek.

The curtains were gasping for air
in that afternoon. We just laid in bed
watching, waiting.

--------------------------------------------
#463
Sleep, sleep my love

Winifred with heart pounding leans against the kitchen sink
Gasping for breath, exhausted, she struggled to lift her head
Both puggy hands held wide apart, planted on the bench top
Supporting her
A few more minutes and she would be fine
Only three floors up but it seemed an eternity
See Winifred wasn't just fat, she was morbidly obese
The doctors had tried everything,
But her genetics and liver exacerbated her condition
Hormonal imbalance played havoc
Told surgery was no option
Her voluntary work gave her reason to live
A reason to get out of bed
God forbid that was hard enough
Yet derision followed her every step, everyday
Curious onlookers would stop and stare, point
Children would poke fun, yell and run around her
Like she was some quivering mountain
To taunt and throw things at
She bore it best she could
But inside her head was turmoil
Working in the infirmary kitchen her only escape
Working with the insane kept her sane, for now
How long must she endure
Was this living, it was more like hell
Every night she looked at the pills beside her bed
Sleep, eternal sleep
There was comfort in that

-------------------------------------------
#464
Outback

A sea of dust mate
That's what Aussie is like
Those were the first words I heard
The small plane had just touched down
Alice Springs, the middle of the out back
The middle of Australia
And one bloody big desert
Dry barren in every direction
The ground shimmered as it meet the sky
Tuffs of grass
Lone trees stood tortured
Bent and crooked
As if searching for an elusive drop of rain

The dryness sucked at your lungs
As did the pesky flies
That would try and run up your nose
Or in your ears for some scrap of moisture
I soon learnt the Aussie wave

But out here was breath taking
The enormity of the scenery was spellbinding
Like nowhere else on earth
The oldest continent on the planet
And you could feel it through your bones
It kinda worked its way up through your boots
To stop and tingle in your spine

No, there were no awe inspiring mountains
Rivers or streams, no rainforests
Majestic valleys, glaciers or such
No, this place was more ethereal
Ageless, timeless
Its beauty all around you
All you need do is open your mind and look

I'm not sure which one I like the most but 422 has something that draws my attention and 434 too.