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Stealth


Your cold and wet and shiver

As you crawl through the bush

Hungry and confused as you try not to rush

Creep past the gate, don’t set off the light

You’d seal your fate with one mistake and ruin your whole damn night

You’ve worked so hard to cross the yard and now you’re at the door

Reaching for the handle, nerves twitch for sweat to pour

You’ve come so far, at the door, time to take your chance

Slip inside and try to hide from footsteps that advance

With a stumble on the rug, you fall upon your face

With no-one here to help you, you’re flat out like a snake

Feeling like a fool, you give your nose a rub,

You’ve been caught red-handed, sneaking from the pub!

By Dan Fry

9th competition

I Miss Her – Promote Yourself

bodyxxxxx

A melancholic feeling draped the room.
Sad people in every direction.
Standing still, teary eyed, in mourning.
Tissues drowned in a flood of tears.
It was so depressing.
The room seemed colorless.
Everyone wore nothing but black.
Light refused to shine through stain glass windows.
Beckoning the reaper to bring her home.
The crow flew up above the building.
The wooden man hung on the cross began to cry.
Women’s black veils hid their sad expressions.
But, I knew the tears were there.
I knew how miserable they felt.
It was dispiriting.
The church choir sung dreary hymns.
Disheartened voices echoed through the room.
In my ears the music seemed like crying.
The slow songs made things worse.
I wanted it to end more than anything.
Dismal minutes became cheerless hours.
I wanted to go home. so badly
All the sadness overwhelmed me.
I didn’t know what to do.
I couldn’t even distract myself.
Happy thought were forbidden.
The room was filled with,
empty feelings and people pleading with god.
The sadness was infectious.
As people looked at the body,
I watched hearts break one by one.
The mother cried so much she couldn’t speak.
The father couldn’t bring himself to look.
I slowly felt myself becoming despondent.
I could fight the sad, empty feeling.
A tear rolled down my face.
I miss her.

Dyllan Brown- Bramble
dwbb96@gmail.com

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night- Famous Poets – What’s your favourite poem?

 

Image depicting Dylan Thomas smoking a cigar

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

SENT IN BY ninjacaity

Dylan Thomas poet
Dylan Marlais Thomas was a Welsh poet and writer who wrote exclusively in English. In addition to poetry, he wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, which he often performed himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his sonorous voice with a subtle Welsh lilt became almost as famous as his works. His best-known works include the “play for voices” Under Milk Wood and the celebrated villanelle for his dying father, “Do not go gentle into that good night”. Appreciative critics have also noted the craftsmanship and compression of poems such as “In my Craft or Sullen Art”, and the rhapsodic lyricism in “And death shall have no dominion” and “Fern Hill”.

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