Welcome to the 2004 entries for the Stephen King Poetry Competition.
August
My Teacher/My Magician (August Winner)
The Earth holds the quivering ocean and leisurely destroys our lives.
Our rare and obvious curse struggled to put us back in danger.
Imagine the soft and gentle praise coming from the black- hooded magician.
Soft moonlight passionately shone on the bleary-eyed old man denying the fact that we were still learning.
He made the deep sea roar with a cruel storm.
His mystical trap for us raged on, and we were alone this time.
He was delirious under the dark mask of his hood, and he wanted us to produce an uncommon fruit.
When we tried, there was an aroma of a feast and he roared about an unknown herb.
Then, as the genle dawn approached, his rage became a quiet war with us.
Troubling Success
Want to be a writer and get a little bit more respect
If you get too much publicity, then tell me how you're
going to continue to protect
Your family and yourself
From fans who desire to eat and drink nothing but you,
even constantly obsess about the contents of your
book, on their shelf
Additionally, another person's envy comes with many
types of success
Right along with the money flow enough to buy a
designer dress
Fiction should be entertaining, not cause a fight
But it could get ugly if taken too seriously, so be
careful what you write
It could bring out the worst in a stranger
and put close family and friends in danger
Yep, having a bestseller might be a dream come true
But could even become a curse, the movie Misery should
be a warning to you!
ASSUMPTION
Its brilliance blinds me
But only for an instant......
I recover my sight only to see nothing
Was my mind playing tricks?
Was I seeing something that wasn't really there?
I stand for a moment shaken and confused
I gather myself together
And Walk Away
Untitled
The Crimson King, named Stephen,
Feeds his Apple a slice of thick Horrors,
Crunching the words in the puter, and
Tearing verse, the foul Book of Sorrows.
Monsters and ghouls are not, as you fain
Drops of King’s magic black pen.
But, dark ink splatter on paperless scroll
Spreading life into evil dark men.
Vile, knotty and writhing in pain,
IT and KA are real to his call,
Curling round the heart of the King,
Free when the Tower beams fall.
You do not exist as you read these harsh words;
All will perish if the Beam fails to light,
Time will bend and cease to flow true,
Silky black hole to squeeze out the night.
I, Roland from Junction of Kansas
Where all darkest power doth dwell,
Wait for the King’s pen to finish
And continue my quest to yon hell.
Journey to face the Ka King to be found
In the Dark Blooded Beam of the Tower,
Reality hangs in the Truth of my Gun
And rests on the Fate of the Flower
The Book of the Tin Rose
Rouland
Gunslinger
Desert wind is blowing into his face
Blue eyes of old man look for some place
To good rest, to take a long break
He need to stop now or better... come back!
But he can not stop in this long trek
He goes ahead through the misty and shadows
It's timeless walk to the his life-end
Farther and farther to the border of all lands
The last with tradition, from old family
He saw much more, than people today
How old is he? Nobody tells me
Nobady has got anything to say
Fast hands and light thoughts are always near
Jake, Eddie, Susanah from happy New York
Every day, three friends go with him
Three people who lost their families, their homes
Roland- last gunslinger, beautiful mind
Valour and wisdom are his domain
He searches for Dark Tower, by silent night
He loved some women, who had to die
Bloody tears of fate signify his way
One gun, six bullets are his art
If you ask him "where?", he'll answere some day
But now, the Tower is a sacred of his heart
September
Empty Streets, Empty Sky
The wind blows my hair, the cool air blows in my face, and chills my tear streaked cheeks.
Death all
around, the air smells of smoke, and something that is worse.
Death haunts the houses and the yards.
But worse is the empty streets.
They seem to echoe of the lifes that once was but no are lost.
Only a
month ago the streets were busy with traffic but now they are empty as most people stayed in their homes
in their last moments.
Oh how I wish for those days again, neighborhood children playing, cars honking
their horns, and the air was fresh.
I look up into the night sky cloudless and stars gleam bright.
The
sky was dead like the streets.
All signs of life are gone, now only silence and evil roams the streets.
My breath stops as I am on my porch thinking of what was not so long ago.
There at the end of the street,
a sole figure moves down the street, walking at a fast pace.
His heels click on the pavement.
My heart
stops, I hide behind a pillar of my porch.
He stops in front of my house, looks in my direction, his
hair is going in the wind, and then I see him grin.
His grin sends fear through my nerves.
How long will
he be there, looking into me, into my soul?
With sweet relief he continues on his way, his boot heels
clicking of the ground as he goes.
I then sit down on the porch, nothing left but the empty streets ahead
of me and the empty sky above me.
I take out my road map and start planning my trip to Nebraska.
King Disorder
While searching through the library I found an unknown author,
After much consideration I gave IT a
look.
Then I found another one with a SHINING cover,
This inspired me to keep looking on.
Thanks to this author I now have INSOMNIA,
Reading this at school next day I got into a fight.
After much fighting they walked away with great MISERY.
While taking THE LONG WALK home one day I got
such a fright,
As I was almost hit by a car with only ONE HEADLIGHT .
It turned out the car was avoiding some ROADWORK,
While speeding to the PET SEMATARY.
When I got home my dad made a STAND,
So I said in DESPERATION these books are NEEDFUL THINGS.
My sister CHRISTINE then said,
Things come to an end ‘cause remember, “EVERYTHING”S EVENTUAL”.
Timeless wander (Held over from last month)
There is one way, which you must go
Day by day. Where? I don't know
The Tower has waited for you for years
It's only your dreams my gunslinger
Where is your home? Why must you wander?
You aren't a God who can throw tunder
What will you do? What want you change?
Maybe, you should stop or maybe hang?!
Please, don't forget about world, which is our
But if you'll come where do you want
If only you'll see among misty dark tower
Please, cry my name at the top of the world
October
Lost
Sitting in a room
Far away from home
Longing for the moon
By which I may roam.
Locked inside and drowning
Drowning slow and dieing
Without a shout of mourning
I loose my footing , slipping
Trapped without my mind
Trapped beyond the bar
Trapped within the war
Trapped about a bind
Lost forever when I fell
Lost in winter and in hell
Lost in light, lost in black
Lost, in all I can’t go back.
SSDD (Held over from last month)
SSDD, it's not the name of an illness,
It's something that you witness.
Everyday there is new experience coming,
There are things approaching and going.
But try catching it somehow from above,
Stand in your own mind's alcove.
And what do you see? Take time to think,
It all looks the same and it's not coloured in pink.
No matter what you do, it doesn't vary,
It's somehow getting kind of scary.
All your habits and activities per day,
All in all turn out to be the same.
You don't notice and don't feel bored?
Really? A joke? Still you can afford?
I'm not kidding, just take time to think,
Does it change when you wink?
I guess not, so what is it about,
You must be really in it, not to figure out.
That thing, taking people, is greedy,
Double "S" and double "D".
It is
Same Shit, Different Day,
there's nothing more to say.
Every second is passing by,
but you're caught in this gray time.
Boredom, no new stuff to sense,
Lack of humour and confidence.
How to run and hide from that?
Not to allow to be as hopeless as it can get.
I regret saying this my friend, I do,
It is just our live as it gets through.
You would need a miracle to escape,
Or thunder and lightning would make.
But since it isn't so often to happen, and pity,
You are trapped in your own hazy, blurred reality.
I know it's negative to say,
That it works out this way,
But hey!
I am, I really do,
It is just our live as it gets through.
November
Nightmare within a dream
Beautiful creations,
infiltrate the skies.
Dreams of cloudy weather,
Terrorize their lives.
A nightmare within a dream,
stirrs beyond her wrath.
The son that shines from all creation,
is enough to show the path.
lost in paradise,
seems of being and be.
Together they are less too shy,
to come and walk with me.
An unGodly world,
switched to beautiful eyes
Of sins,but love,
The heavens reply in a different rise.
Untitled
The flames dance behinde her
Following in her trail
Taking the lives of anyone who taunted her, destroying her inner most soul
For today is judgement day and all shall pay with their lives to make up for all her pain she suffered
in her own hell on earth
Untitled
Sitting in my chair, waiting for the end
Looking out the window, accross the isolated woods
Writer's Block has set me in the corner as my captor kept me inclosed with no escape
Annie holds me in her rough hands ready to kill me like a bee in a young childs clutches
How did this happen to me?
How did I just come from the heaven's snow and fallen in the deep pits of my own isolated hell?
All my cares have disolved
My hope has left my soul
My dream life has took a rough halt, leaving me in the heart of depression and sorrow
This is my pain, sorrow, and agony and I blame it all on that young woman to attracted all this attention
to me...
Misery
The Library POOLETHMAN
The misty moon
The fears did flow
poor small children
did they even know
The house of books
Whats held inside?
Tears of fear
Our children cried
The monster grows
it feeds on fear
To crush the smiles
We once held dear
Return you books
She would always
Or the library policemen
Will come your way.
December
A Perfect Writer
Every great now and then
A perfect writer comes along
It matters not what he may have been
It only matters that he writes his song
Stephen King is such a man
His stories are totally insane
No one writes like Stephen can
Even if they were smart as Blaine
So all ye writers far and wide
Place your fingers on the keys
Type until your computer's fried
And you can see as sai King sees
Mark my words, read my prose
We all must seek our tower
And if per chance you find a rose
Let ka reveal it's power
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