Poetry Contest
English Poetry Contest Winners 2009
Poetry Contest Winner
DIVINE MELANCHOLIA
by Candice Morris
"SOVEGNA VOS A TEMPS DE MA DOLOR."
POI S’ASCOSE NEL FOCO CHE GLI AFFINA.
Upon the homely shores of the good city
Lies the first circle of cobwebbèd furnace
Where resides most ignoble sincerity.
Cast away souls that forsake absolution
Eternal are they now or evermore warped,
The affable limbo is their soft prison.
I venture now to earthly mire, motels of
Begriming abode that haven tempest’ous
Ardour tossed and eddied in verboten love.
Chided and damned by implacable Minos
They whirl through riotous gales of perdition
Secrets turned to cavernous tombs of void ghosts.
Past these dreary creatures, gluttonous umbrage
Wages on a bleak torrent of dreary sleet
That o’erflood their bosoms with heartsick rage.
And where am I? A jilted raft floating down
The quiet wayward currents of my life defeat,
Torpid, quiescent I wander hellward bound.
Spendthrifts, hoarders, the wrathful and heretics:
Rolling rocks, raging and biting, flaming palls.
But ’tis a petty fate I will not face next.
I am adjudged a murderer for having
Taken my own life for granted. My feet are
Taking root into the coarse ground, mutating
In the form of a weeping willow, from my
Soul my immobile body is deprived, bled
White to the marrow, my bones try to reach the sky,
But my arms sway in agony as they brush
The seething waters of the Styx, moaning woes
That recoil like writhing prayers in a plush
River of sin. Vain pleas unheeded that flail
And dissolve upward into the pit that leads
To purgatory, where abandoned souls wail
Always in search for refuge and salvation.
Harpies of vile nature adorn my stinging
Crown as they tear and eat my leaves. Of freedom
They rob me, of pain they yield, producing an
Outlet for the further laments of the soul.
At the Last Judgement, my body will not be
Retrieved but will instead be hanged on my own
Inconsolable boughs, on one of my limbs.
My branches, my despondent arms, will be torn
Off by large birds that fly through the Forest of
Suicides. "Pier della Vigna" they will screech,
"Shame, infamy! you have a debt to pay off,
Your sin has disgraced, now undying be your
Torment." And they will cackle and scream until
My ag’ny mingles with their dusty pleasure.
And amidst this wretched and mutilated place,
Vague, elusive, a grin curls upon my face.
Honorable Mentions
DEVIL,
I AM THY LAST VICTIM
by Camille Roux
Hear me well the lot of you,
For thou shalt hear what I shall do.
I speak to one who under all dwells,
Yet in trickery and depiction to all excels.
Vicious demons and thy master the Devil,
With thee I decide to level up and start a quarrel.
For the greater good I shall commit a crime;
I shall steal more than just a dime,
Or take the life of one who to God shall go,
So that sin may send me Oh! So low,
To meet thee face to face for the final blow.
With no needless talking will we delay the flow
Of brutal strikes to which one shall fall.
Gasp people, if ye wish, but your minds, it shouldn’t appall.
Pray for me to The Almighty
To help me come rejoice ye with victory.
Brothers and sisters, once my task was accomplished,
Our fear of death shall be forever tarnished.
Life will go on eternally,
All together; with the angels, living in harmony.
The sinful will be forgiven,
And all souls shall meet in Heaven.
Devil, I am they last victim.
THE TRAVELER
by Zacharie Ter-Minassian
Inky thorns rising and falling rivet the flagrant snow,
Infecting my mind with conspicuous silvery sparks,
That dance, wither within preposterous, but now, I know
The Ancients survived, slew Time’s and Aging’s ferocious sharks.
Burning, releasing the seeds of my fate,
The keys to accede the last lucid state,
The buds blossom first, bleak and trembling but
Blast broodingly through my past defenses,
Feast on the stranded, and close my eyes shut.
Allied are mind and substance, live now no false pretences.
Embarking illusionèd soul in the galleon of truth,
Sacrificing body to favor of blasphemous brain,
I will most probably pay the price of terrible pain...
However now knowing what’s weeping ahead of my youth
The fangs of Fortune will rip my failing flesh tenderly,
And as corpse, will make but one with the conscious Elderly.
During my journey I will not admire,
Dishes of silver, of gold and of myrrh,
Nor view the fall of a strong empire,
Nor go round the earth, but being a blur...
The clean air and light of a snowbound peak,
The luminous blues of divine lagoon,
Are too futile to complete what I seek.
Not dazzled, dreamy after this journey,
But gey and weary, weak but immune
To impetuous, continuous inoculation
Minds suffer, and absorb, and never see
And then parade, as their own private patent possession...
My flesh has not and could not be displaced,
My mind has not and could not be embraced.
Throughout your years, now a "frequent flyer"?
Without moving, I travel much further.
Dernière modification le 10-08-09 par
