web analytics

Virtual Writers' WorldVirtual Writers World

Virtual Writers Inc.

Competitive Dash – March 2012

Published on Wednesday, March 28, 2012 by

The Competitive Dash, an adjunct to the Daily Writers’ Dash, uses anonymous peer review through an online poll to find the most outstanding poem, flash piece or short story. The winning piece is then displayed in the Winners Wall of Fame.

The competition is open to all ages and nationalities, although entries must be written in English.

The winner will receive L$5,000 (Second Life® currency) or a $20 Amazon gift voucher and publication on the website on our Winners Wall of Fame.

Deadline for submissions is midnight (PST) on the 1st of March, June, September and December. We accept only 4 entries per person.

Public vote begins midnight (PST) on the 4th and ends midnight of the 30th. Winners will be notified by the 3rd of the following month.

Writer retains copyright, however, we reserve the right to republish winning work, whole or in part, in future electronic and/or print editions or anthologies.

Send your submissions to andrea@virtualwritersinc.com.

Please read our general submission guidelines here.

To vote read the poems below and scroll down to the vote box at the end of this post.

The Competitive and Daily Dashes are set predominantly in Second Life®, however, anyone can participate. Look out for our Daily Dash prompts on Twitter and Facebook.

THE POEMS

BIRD

It flew into my mind this little thought
like a tiny bird onto an open window frame
and brought, along gossamer fluttering wings
a cooling breath and parchment of a peace
as write it did in pattering foot forks trail
of Natures nurture if we did but find
the time for LIFE within our stumbling day
to lean on Natures succoring sights and sounds
lap of Her soft sweetness in the green
leave our own hard surfaces at bay unseen
become our selves as tiny fluttering birds
and write in forked footfalls a secret trail
of the parchment of our un-cluttering lives
in flight out from our open window frames
and high unto Natures wide adoring skies

©2012 Queen Bluestar

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

The Wave Competitive Dash Fish (stock.xchng)

Creel
and sheet
awash
upon a drift
of wood
remembrance
of where
the fisher stood
firm on his deck
and filled to full below
about to turn
and set the bow
to home
when
over cast
The Wave
full hundred feet
above
came broad
along to
crack
the deck
in twain
and swallow
hope
to set both
fish and fisher
wide adrift
and down
but send
to shore
this solitary
note
in wood and
broken line
of where
the cast
and silvery
catch
had once
been
twined
to
sail

©2012 Queen Bluestar

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

WINNER! Awakening

Hushed in silence like the dew
stillness rests within and through,
each sweet breath damp-infused.
Nectar of grasses now suffused
to the vase of welcoming lungs.
A curtain lays across the sun,
diaphanous beads so lovingly hung,
transformed by Nature’s nimble glove;
to whisper stirrings in each one
whose baring chances by.
In this place, set deep in grass,
paces slow and seem to ask
if time has slowed as well.
So low the timber creeks therein
and ebbing waters seep so thin,
groves round about them lay.
Steps sink low in dampened ground,
voices transmit softest sound
in gratitude of Nature –
all that’s found within her peaks
and shallows where some seem to seek
the transient claim of vestige.
Her patrons, noble in nature, come;
She silently awaits them all,
offering them pleasant dreams.
Once the handbreadth of the Sun
rises upward, rays far-flung,
speaking in golden hues,
the tenor in his voice subdues,
bending to their beauty.
Warmth now to tilts the bank of sky,
moving cloud banks on the rise
to prosper in daylight’s gaze.
So near, the sky resembles fields
With grazing Sun and brightened yields,
Nature’s wakening has begun.
In the sky a heavenly glow
Transmits warmth to all below
And the farmyard wakes as well.
Colts whinny to welcome the Sun –
they nicker soft that he has come
to prance with them, as they have become
warm in the morning’s soft light.
The light plays tricks, darting now
through wooden slats and on the ground,
timing its momentum upon them
to the rhymes of insects and birds;
out of distraction, it bounds across pools,
Wherein mirror horses’ hooves
between light’s tidy rays.
And just as brilliantly, drying and ripening,
light swaths the fullness of fields,
taking up a harvest of scent.
So taken in by scent and breeze
whispering wings have shaken their ease,
and to the world unnoticed, climbed.
Quietly above, in great open air,
birds have found more sunlight there,
between pile upon pile of clouds.

©2012 Ginger Jorgental

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

Fisher of men

Lay down your spool and sit in the sun
for I am a fisherman of yore.
I have become old in the span of a day,
That day since last we met in the glory of our youth.
Do not forget me, then.
Now it is your turn to take my place
And I sit with all wisdom here,
Take my memories, bind them up
in the net that should catch fish
Or better the minds of men.
My mind once taught men love
and now I sit alone.
Sit here with me, then
In this place where the sun catches us,
“Love all, peace be upon your houses.”
The hook is what you catch one with
A word or phrase that parlays sense
and is distinctive in intent.
The reel is what draws them in,
Your preaching now speaks to absolve them –
I teach love and forgiveness of sin.
The net is to carry them home with you
So that they may witness all that you do.
“I count you among my friends,
See here I sit and nightly pray.
This is my bread and I break it this way
And this is my humblest of houses.”

©2012 Ginger Jorgental

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

Train of Good Hopes 1090943_train_station (stock.xchng free image)

Life was laid out neatly,
a full spread of food
served on hot plates,
with deep dishes of laughter.

People joined in the feast,
like there was something
more interesting
they were getting into.

She knew the ropes,
climbed up on hopes high enough
to sense in the atmosphere
the impenetrable smell of fear..

life was fast, it was sound
really in the round…
Until the toss of a match
Showed her the underground…

In the second a flame is tossed
It flies immaculate,
A lifetime flutters to bear the loss
then lays dying on pavement.

the ashes of the times
scooped up in papers
as the nectar of opiate became
an immutable suggestion…

Won’t you help her, then?
She’s doing cocaine again.

Life was a huge TV display
living in full color
while the neon rays
clamored at all eyes

The polychromatic shades
Gave an edge to her day
But those colors soon morphed
from their variant shades

into the destitution of gray
where in the space of a day
she altered course resolutely
and she found herself naked

bound for an avenue
where she had no place being,
no name and no advice
on how to get back –

running on a one-way track.
the daily rag told all
a filter with no more remorse
than someone with lots to say –

It hurt her, then,
to find the air unwelcoming
reeling in the toss at fame,
a knot in her throat  day after day

Won’t you help her, then
since she sacrificed her name?
On that train of good hopes,
Sidetracked by forbidden hopes.

It devoured her –
Her flesh and her soul.
A voyeur lit a candle in remorse
And shone it like a floodlight.

Don’t hold Judy to the phone
To ask, “How are you, darling?”
She’s supped her last,
left her home.

And a million miles away
They found an article of faith
Blown to smithereens by terror
But that’s not enough for her.

She’s on heroine again.

©2012 Ginger Jorgental

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

The Migrants

Dropped overboard in the crush of embarkation
a child’s flag bobs on the ebbing tide
thwarting the intended greeting for a new life –
twelve gold stars circling on the swirling waves
Hope and hunger had filled the simple sail
and bloated loans lined the pilot’s pockets
They’d heard of schools and jobs and opportunity
They’d seek asylum in a new prosperity
They had no word for trafficking or cockle-picking
gangmasters; only dust, disease and poverty
They’d set their course by normal expectations –
their tomorrows, our yesterdays
And now a thin sun peeks at what will never be
and dark clouds hug the empty sea

©2012 Martina Meinster

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

Untitled

She lies in her bed
Crumpled now by her
Many sleepless hours.

The light from the street
Throws many shadows
But her eyes do not see.

If she slept for a second
Her hands search in vain
For human warmth.

Her many years of “other woman”
Runs like a movie before her
When her eyes remain open

Not the first abandonment
But was the most painful one
In the life she had chosen.

She longs for a break
She wishes she could turn back time
Start her story anew.

She had been trained to please men
Her beauty led to arrogance
A barrier when learning new skills

As despair darkens her tired eyes
She takes a knife
Makes a clean cut across her wrist.

Holds it away from the bed –
She hated dirty, soiled sheets –
And … waits for her oblivion

©2012 Moonlight Summerwind

3 Responses
    • Please accept my vote for “awakening”. I really enjoyed reading all of these poems. Thank you so much for the opportunity, andrea.

    • I’m voting for Bird. I liked what it said about Nature.

      Question: What the heck does it mean “You can use these tags.” ?

    • I liked “Bird”. What was said about Nature was lovely.

Have Your Say
Your Name ↓
Your Email ↓
Your Website ↓
Tell us what you think of this story ↓
You can use these tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

Follow Us!
Twitter icon Facebook icon Google+ icon
Welcome to Virtual Writers’ World
Welcome to Virtual Writers, first established in 2007. Here we learn to experiment with digital and virtual world platforms to push the creative envelope and develop a strong, unique voice.
Subscribe
Subscribe to our RSS feed and get site updates delivered immediately.
500 Word Snatch Challenge
Featured Authors
Torn Fields – war poets 1914-1918
Hypatia Pickens at The Blue Angel
Twitter

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

Virtual Inspiration
Disclosure
Virtual Writers is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com.