# March Poetry Challenge - "Possessed"



## Baron (Mar 18, 2012)

The theme for the March challenge, suggested by Gumby, is *"Possessed".

*Remember that you may approach the subject in whatever way you wish, though of course site rules apply. If you are unsure of the challenge rules please read the 'stickies' at the top of the board, it is disheartening to disqualify people for things like a trivial edit, but the rules will be applied.

This challenge will close on the *3rd April 2012. 

**Please make sure that your work is properly formatted before pressing the submit button. Work edited after posting may be excluded from the challenge. Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussions should be posted in the Bards' Bistro.*


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## MD Grace (Mar 20, 2012)

*"Possessed"
*Slender hands move on the keyboard
and words began to fall,
one after the other
in a voice, in a tone, in a most improper way
until the page is filled with flesh and sweat
and unearthly sounds.
Anyone happening upon this blue confession
would wonder what devil
had moved beneath her skin 

and made her write 
such bawdy things.
Surely, she has been possessed and a priest
is needed here to bring her back
from the edge of theworld. 
Perhaps, after they’ve read it just a few moretimes,
they’d be duty bound to turn her in.
Maybe.


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## JDegg (Mar 23, 2012)

Bottle full of puppet strings,
dancing lines,
plucking and pulling my arm,
against their will
towards temptation.

Solid bitter drink of beer,
frosted glass,
barmaid with a brassiere,
no hope,
just another drink.

It’s amber liquid quivers,
bulging center,
red fingernails deliver,
faint and putrid
Smell of gin.

“Thanks,” I groan.
My puppet strings
pull my hand forward,
Touches hers
pull the drink back
For an intimate moment.


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## saintenitouche (Mar 24, 2012)

TIME


There is a piece
of complicated innovation
hanging on my wall;


Each gear uncoiling
moments I will not
recall-


though I dissect
every moment left
to me


and forget to live,
indeed, to hark the 
mumbling_ “Mommy”s._


Continuing to 
fish for the horizon
in my head,


I’ll make my 
catch, then grieve
at nature in a net.


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## toddm (Mar 26, 2012)

*The Dreamer*

_What follows now, gentlemen, is a detailed account of what I observed in the study of Mr. Jonathan Milton on the evening of June 18th, 1897, while I was a guest at his home in Bexleyheath:

_There were detailed maps of the Moon in various phases,
meticulously inked onto crisp parchments,
along with a small deceased _Falco peregrinus_
stretched out and pinned to a framed canvas.
An elegant bronze goblet half-filled with rosemary water
stood beside a bowl of rotting pears and pomegranates.
A sputtering white candle, melted down to a mere nub,
had spilled its wax in hardening mounds out upon the desk.
The grey-bearded gentleman was seated there,
with his head resting serenely on the parchments,
and he held a dry feather-quill in his gaunt hand.
White moths with their powdered wings
fluttered like snow against the windowpane,
again and again, out in the slumbering darkness.
The man then stirred and spoke out in his sleep:
_O Luna! Luna! Ego veni te hodie nox!_


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## Wilson Edward Burroughs (Mar 29, 2012)

Your anger is a terrible thing, full of hatred, malice. Oh yes, full of malice.
We are delving under my fortified, cybernetic palace.
The catacombs are a dark dank place.
Drops of water drip off my mind's cold, stone face.

These catacombs double as my tomb.
They shield me from my imminent doom.
Drip, drop, the water falls.
Drip, drop, the voices in the catacombs call.

Calling out. 
In my head a child's voice is calling out.
"Mommy, there isn't a reason to shout!"
She replied, "Stop screaming 'Mommy'. There is no reason to pout."

"Don't pout. There is no reason to pout! No reason at all!"
a slow man said. "Peninsula! Bay! Gulf! Atoll! Atoll!"
He laughed a sinister laugh, chilling my nerve endings with unprejudiced disdain,
paying no heed to the cost, or the amount of my pain.

"I will never waver.
So much do I hate her.
I see those eyes, you pregnant bitch! You're a dog, a mangy cur
with a dirty fog hanging over your-"

Get out of my head. You snakes, get out of my head!
A new, authoritative voice said, "Get rid of us boy, we'll kill you dead."
"I ain't got no brains or nothing," chuckled the voice.
"You ain't dead yet, rejoice.

This is our land, this is our region.
Take our hand, for we are not Legion,
but we are many.
We outnumber ya, Little Jimmy."

I asked, "How many of you are there?"
He said, "The amount is fair.
There is Simpleton, Mommy, and her little bastard. I am-"
"Our lord and master."

The talking ceases, but I know what they say.
The talking increases, each and every day.
They are in my skull. They are in my brain.
They show the future is dull after the oceans drain.

I know of their power,
beautiful, deadly, like a poisonous flower.
They say they can show me the sun's paralyzing pain.
They say they can see me through the ignorance that I feign.

"We can give you a kingdom where you will forever reign.
We can control the winds and the rain.*
All we ask is to inhabit your body, to live in your flesh.
We five beings shall forever mesh."


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## Chesters Daughter (Apr 1, 2012)

*Exorcising My Demon*

Satan's son
slumbers upon my sofa,
his tail comfortably cushioned,
indented in tweed.
Dreams of destruction
coax his horn to attention
and between snorted snores,
the names of souls
he bleeds to feed
hiss while they slither
past lying lips that easily lure
unsuspecting puppets.

My two syllables 
have long been bane
as nothing nutritious remains,
and are forever absent
from the noxious cloud
that collects about 
his snaggletoothed maw.

The mark of his birthright
lies hidden in silvered ebony thatch,
not upon his devious head,
but rather surrounding his second,
with which he thinks.
It switches shades
dependent on the gloss flavor
his current meal favors.

I cover the couch in crucifixes
being mindful not to rouse him.
An open bible is placed
over the remotes,
and the soda in his Mets plagued glass
is substituted 
with holy water.
I expect the exorcist at three.

Should our efforts fail,
my back-up plan trembles
in the kitchen:
a ten page
declaration of freedom
in the shaky hand
of a hired server.

Either way,
come hell or high water,
his feeding frenzy
will finally be over.


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## lcg (Apr 2, 2012)

*Possessed

*I worked so hard and missed so much.
Possessed, by the hope to win it all,
I forgot to enjoy the winter and fall.
Now, when I gaze around from the apex,
The landscape seems so barren and scarred.
I wonder, why did I work so hard?

I moved so fast and overlooked so much.
Possessed, by the zeal to attain success,
I forgot to appreciate, love and confess.
Now, when I am hearing the trumpet of victory,
There is no one left to share my gasp.
I wonder, why did I move so fast?


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## candid petunia (Apr 3, 2012)

*Masks*

peel away from the brute
thinly-veiled jealousy,
destructive anger,
haughty pride;
until only
a pure
child


​


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## Baron (Apr 3, 2012)

This challenge is now closed


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