 Join the Stephen King Poetry Award competition. Submit your poems to David Rawsthorne for inclusion on this page, and the best poem each month will receive an award from this page (Sorry it's just a graphic, as I can not afford any real prizes!).
The rules are simple: poems will be included only if they are submitted by the original poet, and related to Stephen King or his books or movies. You can also have a link placed back to your home page should you wish. Tasteless, poems will NOT be included in the page.
David Rawsthorne will be making the decision on the best poem of the month, and his decision is final.
For other poetry, please visit the ABSK Haiku Page and Green Mile Contest Winner
Due to space considerations, I have decided to place all the poems
and winners in the one file per year.
1998 Competition Poems and Winners
1999 Competition Poems and Winners
2000 Competition Poems and Winners
2001 Competition Poems and Winners
2004 Competition Poems and Winners
2005 Competition Poems and Winners
Survival
Ben Mears Rejoices
The destruction is total.
Vampires survive
The King
Kurt Barlow the king
The one who begins it all
He dies like the rest.
The Lot
Jerusalems Lot
Beautiful on the surface
Evil does live there.
Carrie-all
The bookstore bag folds
upon itself - Stephen King
drawn by Picasso.
Poor Carrie
Miss Carrie White was little known,
Until on her, Pigs Blood was thrown.
This quiet girl, but one of a kind,
Took revenge on them all with her powerful mind.
Flames engulfed the small school hall,
And those who laughed, began to fall.
Carrie, a girl who was never even kissed,
Began to kill those whom at first she missed.
When no one alive was left around,
Poor Carrie fell alone, to the ground.
Was it Carrie's fault, or just the Others?
I believe the fault was mostly her Mothers.
Hidden away from much of Life's Truth,
Spending time praying, not enjoying her youth.
Maybe she knew, in her own minds eye,
Maybe she knew she was destined to die.
A man?
There was a man called Stephen King,
Writing horror was his thing,
He likes to scare kids in their beds,
He likes to rip off people's heads
From his PC he will write
The newest thing to scare kids at night,
From the pit of hell they will crawl,
Randall Flag and many more.
The type of characters he comes up with,
Makes you wounder who he grew up with.
The type of stories that he can write,
Gives everyone chills all through the night.
From cars that kill, to dogs that bite,
You never know, what will give you a fright,
So when you're alone, and nothing to do
So just remember he might get you
God?
She drove along the narrow trail, The engine screaming hot,
Mrs Todd enjoyed her racing visit, her passengers did not,
The air around was green and full, but apt to bring her strife,
So one day, as we all thought, the shortcut took her life.
Life was what John Henshaw took, he didn't feel a thing
Until small soldiers shot at him, and he felt the bullets sting
His mind did reel as these tiny men did come into his view,
The bomb went off, explosion roared, and nothing more he knew.
Nothing, well almost nothing, Leland Gaunt did take,
For the warm and happy feelings the gifts of his did make,
To get the item of desire, a promise shall be made,
Once bought, all things had a price, and the devil must be paid.
The devil takes on many forms, Randall Flagg was one,
No mother, father, siblings, from nowhere did he come
To rid the world of pure thoughts may be his main aim
But thanks to Trashman Donald, the bomb did end his reign.
It showers, it pours, it buckets down, and it rains like cats and dogs,
But never will it rain down here, ugly sharp toothed frogs.
In Willow, Maine, it does just that, every seven years
The locals know, they understand, but still they shed their tears.
Tears for fears, they were a band, many years ago.
But you won't find them playing where Clark and Mary go
The crowd here are all quite dead, sitting in the stands
But as you may guess, you know they got, a hell of a band!
A band around an arm, balloons, It's Pennywise the Clown!
Just seeing Pennywise would make most normal people frown.
Richie, Bev, Eddie and Stan, and Ben was there as well.
With Mike's help the Loosers drove It straight back into Hell.
Roland's been to hell and back along with his Ka-Tet.
Along the beam, across strange worlds, their course more felt than set.
Is the Tower close, or is it far, and what is this strange thing?
Tis my belief they'll find no God, but only Stephen King.
A Ka-tet of Four
Roland Walked alone, along the white sands
Onward he trudged, guns close to his hands.
Thinking of the Tower, and of the past
He'd killed his friend Jake, would he be the last?
Something off in the distance, what was it he saw?
As he drew closer it became a strange door.
In the middle of nowhere, and right on the beach,
Would the door open? To the handle he did reach.
"The Prisoner" it exclaimed, but what did that mean?
Through the door stepped Roland and was shocked by the scene.
Eddie was loaded with drugs, in more ways than one.
In his mind he heard voices, from where had that come?
Roland took over and saved Eddie's life,
but the Lobstrosities had bit him and he was in strife.
Eddie helped Roland with drugs from his place,
His decision to stay, not an easy one to face.
"The Lady of Shadows" was tormented inside.
Much like Eddie, with dark secrets to hide.
She screamed, she evolved, filled with hatred and scorn,
But the two became one and Susannah was born.
The last was "The Pusher", Jack Mort was his name,
That he pushed Jake and Odetta was his claim to fame.
In the end he was pushed from inside his mind
And the world was better, with one less of his kind.
But there should be three, Roland had drawn only two.
The ka-tet unfinished, what was Roland to do?
But Jake was back, saved by their power
Now four on the journey in search of the Tower.
The Test
Close to the body the four of them stand.
The body of Ray, with a closed crooked hand.
Away from their home, in no-mans land.
From the train tracks he did fall.
Now across his face the ants do crawl.
Was he injured with no one to call?
Kids will laugh, joke, tease, and jest.
But this circle of friends were to face a test.
Unprepared for a fight, they showed their best.
The others knew of the body too.
Put in that situation I know what I'd do.
But that's just me, what about you?
The Prisoner
The prisoner sits alone in his cell
Because under Nona's charm he fell
Near places we know, and have been before
Did he kill the officer to even some score?
Little of his past is known
Near Castle Rock he had grown
On the 14'th February he met Nona
2 peas in a pod - she too was a loner
Maybe he was bad, and maybe good
But he felt that Nona understood
Now Nona's free - as free as a dove
And him in his cell thinking, "Do you love?"
The last dream.
I wake up screaming - was it really a dream?
Its essence is fading, but why did it seem
More that real - heart still racing, coldly sweating
My Adrenalin flows as I lay there regretting
That I even woke up, Could I have helped?
Wet blood up the wall - in the distance it yelped.
The eyes of a madman, rimmed red with blood
Hair matted and dirty, all splattered with crud.
It circled around me, but it can't - I'm awake!
A dream, yes a dream. How much more can I take?
What was that? Yes it was! A guttural growl
The last thing I hear is Cujo's pitiful howl.
Quick-n-nasty
Little Brett had a dog
It killed his father dead.
When rabies finally killed old Cuje
The vet cut off his head!
King's Alphabet world
All alone sits Stephen King, creating words with life
Because of this I write this poem, to ease my inner strife
Children, Clowns, people galore, and places near and far
Dogs which kill, and vampires too, even a possessed car!
Earths galore exist for him, but for me there's only one
For why would I live somewhere else, around another sun?
Good gracious me, there's but one King, and he is here to stay
How long to wait for his next book? It's kind of hard to say.
I hope it's not too long because I've read the others twice
Just because it's not here now, I could go read them thrice.
Kindly stow that smirk of yours, cause I'm his number one fan.
Let you in on a secret though - he writes because he can!
Makes us believe that we are in his latest work of art
Never mind the price you pay - grab the book and make a start.
Others tend to leave you alone when reading one of his books
People who read lots of King, can kill others just with looks!
Queer! You say, but jest, I don't - Go try it on your boss!
Remember friend, Kill him NOW, his death is no great loss
Sadly though, life's not a book (we cant all be that thick)
To think it's all that easy to live life so clean and quick
Unlikely as though it may be, do you think that King just may
Very kindly include me in his book, well who can say?
Why would he? Well because I wrote this nifty little rhyme
Xylophones may fly! You say, but he does it all the time!
You know I'm right! Agree? Why thank you very much
Zee you later, bye for now, and please do keep in touch.
Stark Dreams
I sit at home alone at night
Reading Stephen King
But somewhere in the distance
I hear the Sparrows Sing.
"George is Back". I think out loud
Nerves ringing like a bell.
This time we must defeat him
And drive him back to hell.
"Hi toned S.O.B." it said
On the bumper of his car.
Murder and mayhem followed him
To people near and far.
My friends have long since left
This tiny one-horse town
(The same friends that helped defeat
That pesky little clown)
Hang on a tick, Sparrows-n-clowns?
Not all is as it seems
I now know why I think he's back
It's another of those dreams!
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