# September Challenge - "Night"



## Baron

The theme for the September challenge, suggested by *Chester's Daughter*, is *"Night".

*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 *17th September 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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## TheFuhrer02

*The Fall*

There I was, the zenith of old.
Light beamed from the skies above.
I had all the happiness in me,
then in a flash, all was gone.

All of it lost, the shines of gold.
From its perch, gone was the dove.
There was only chaos to see,
damage that couldn't be undone.

How it happened - so quick, so bold;
my face bashed by a boxer's glove
with speeds that were beyond me.
I fell down; breathing, none.

And like one with his birthright sold,
for me there was no more love.
From this darkness I couldn't flee -
Then vultures came, one by one.


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## toddm

*Laudable the hours*

Laudable the hours wasted here
and valuable every squandered year 
underneath the spell of solitude
renewed by draughts of quietude.

Evening is heaven to famished eyes
nourished by feasts of starry skies
as fragrant moonflowers slowly bloom
and nightingales serenade the gloom.

Down stony paths go weary feet
rewards of sleeplessness to meet:
each winking star and trembling leaf
will assuage the heart in every grief.


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## Kyle R

*The Morning After*

I found her
sitting
beside the trail
the way to Flatrock Peak
her skin a pink mosaic
of bruises
gentle scrapes.

She was here the night before
she said.
Had watched the stars
unfasten.

She gulped water from
my canister.
Brushed fingers
against the sky. 

I looked up. 

July morning
glinted.

I headed to the summit
this girl stumbling
at my side.
Trees crackled
in the heat
the slow wind
in her hair.

Like wet paint 
she said. 
That's how the stars 
had looked.

Do you need
to call someone? 
I asked.

She shook her head
and blinked. 

Have you lived here long? 
she asked of me.

In Wingport?
All my life.

No, she said.
Touched her finger
to my chest.
Have you lived long
on this trail?

I explained
I didn't
live
on trails. 
This was something I did
for doing.

She nodded
tumbled my words
rolled edges
into curves.

You leave your life
on other trails 
to wander here
alone.

I like that
I replied.

She smiled
hair behind ear
dust kicking up
aound her.

And you?
I asked.

Birds fluttered
overhead.

I live life on this trail
she said
right here
right now
with you.

But what about 
your _real_ life?

She blinked at me
and smiled.

Did you see them? 
The stars? 
They fell
like dripping paint.

You mentioned
that
already.

She frowned.
Kicked at a rock.

Not going
to answer me? 

I did
she said.
I did.
You just
weren't listening.


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## Arcopitcairn

WARNING: Language and adult themes.

Night of the Wiccans

  Cheap tattoos of skulls and ankhs on pasty rolling zaftig blobs
  Fat girls in the graveyard dancing, straining varicose veins 
  Their piggish wiggling rutting forms, smiling pagan spittle
  Thunderous, stomping feet disturb the lonely Christian coffins

  A naked Congo-line of Goth, an undulating mass
  A choice-less healthy body image with a lack of self-awareness
  Painted by the full, regretful light that lays obscenity bare
  From an unblinking horrified moon that prays for faster orbit

  Sweat rolls down their backfat as their ‘dance’ reaches fevered pitch
  Mumbled incantations huffed through heavy breathing blackened lips
  They stop their ‘dance’ in time before their taxed hearts twitch and seize
  They drop down on their knees and wheeze and fart from the exertion

  The men who watch their women romp stand close by, also naked
  Fat as well, with ponytails and straining small erections
  They piss their beer-piss on the graves and watch their bitches writhe
  And in the back of all their minds they wished that they were fags

  Catalogue-ordered swords and ornamental daggers are produced
  The fat girls raise their blades on high and recite their Google spells
  Their stretch-marked breasts swing to and fro, hanging low on ample bellies
  And c-section scars you know are there are lost in jelly rolls

  These Wal-Mart girls, these soccer moms with I.Q.’s in the nineties
  Paragons of unearned self importance and confidence
  Glom the tombstones with their grease and flash their porcelain fangs
  And their tinted contact lenses peer into the secrets of the universe

  These collected specimens of humanity, their pagan rites belched forth
  Proceed then to inflict upon existence the world’s worst orgy
  A wet, flab-slapping nightmare of sexual horror leaks into the grass
  And any ghosts who might be present in the dark turn away and shiver

  In silence the wiccans put their clothes back on, repurposed ren-fair dresses
  And they trudge back to their mini-vans, and though they won’t admit it
  They’re ashamed of who they are and of all the things they’ve done
  And way deep down they know that they do not deserve to live


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## Bachelorette

Futility

Awake at 4 a.m.,
I attempt to dislodge from inside me
a great black boulder.
with a pen.


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## cullmeyer

*Lunar Spear*

_[I do not typically write poetry, so I apologize in advance for the poor attempt.] =)_

In the gleamless black I stood
Never wanting, never would
Beseech my heart until it dies
Always daunting, always lies

Of all the things I could not see
My love was one, but none of these
Come about and want to plea
On my hands, on my knees

Begging, lofting, in the grey
Peers the moon, pierce my play
I was left to tremble, fear
In the light, this lunar spear


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## lcg

*All that night has to deliver*

I have glimpsed all that night has to deliver,
both the end and the beginning of gloom.
The inky darkness that makes one shiver,
the unparalleled beauty of stars and moon.

Sometimes it gives an embrace of passion,
precious rest in the arms of one so adored.
At others, it gives the kiss of shattering illusion,
the gift of acute loneliness so abhorred.

It rings with the party-noise splitting the air,
Dancing to forget the never-ending agony.
But it also carries the screams of despair
of the homeless, trying to fight the black enemy.

The shining lights and those shadowed litters,
I have glimpsed all that night has to deliver.


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## Dunluchyn

*THE TROPICAL NIGHT

*

  I drift, dreaming in the pools warm embrace
  Gazing upwards to Diana’s light
  Her, ringed by cloud
  Framed by palm leaves
  Serenaded by chuckling geckos

  The soft breeze blows inland from the coast
  Bringing thoughts from across the Waters

  I stretch out in the water
  Cocooned in Her embrace
  Listening to the whispers of The Old Ones
  Ishtar, Danu, Persephone, Brighid
  See their shapes lilting through the trees

  Shared tales from the moulding Women
  Of  their shaping of my world


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## Cran

_Moontime_

Be the night, and harrowed flesh 
entreat Apollo, in stolen flame, return. 
Embrace golden light in charred stone, 
where heart and hand seek the mercy of Helios, 
and mark the scores on tallow stems, sacrificed 
to tiny smoking stars, in caves of wood 
and glowing eyes, draped against the darkness.

Beyond, Hecate's moistened breath as milk 
to kiss the trees and gentle flowing water, 
where hooded robes behind bared arms 
chant praise to the face of autumn's queen.  
Bright Selene, smile favour on Diana's child;
huntress, goddess, demand of worship
blood and song, each as dark as the soul

lost w'in the beast on the mountain's flank, 
doomed to ascend once more the barren height,  
as do creatures of the ebon depths,
adorn flashes blue and rainbow's fire,
rise to swell and strain the fishers' net,
and spill their lights upon the moon-pale deck.
The cursed ones in dark agony, blessed in her sight, 

find coloured glist beyond any mortal 'magining; 
the gleam of flesh, bright with fear and outrage, 
offer at once sweet temptation, dire warning; 
bloodened gold and silvered blue, the hunter's guide. 
From longest night to longest night, thirteen times
will pledge a troth, bind to she who rules
the stellar host above, the shadowed host below.

Be the night, and harrowed flesh 
entreat Apollo, pray the dawn be swift, 
or swifter still, the fearful end once met
in the eye of Luna's champion ...


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## Chesters Daughter

*Sadistic Goings-on in the Dead of Night*

The sandman 
can’t be coaxed by desire
nor does he care a whit 
you’re in need of grains.
The thrifty miser, 
cheap with his wares,
is unaffected 
by the ceaseless flip
of neon green numbers
graciously provided 
by the folks at Sony
to remind you 
time’s a wastin’.
One, two, three, four,
perhaps your back 
would prefer the floor.

Pillows and blanket 
slide across sheets adorned 
with napping puppies
and are arranged 
into a less than comfy nest
on an old oriental,
its pattern seeming 
a series of Zs
to blurry sight 
seeking somnolent solace.
Curled in a ball, 
pleas to the dream weaver
go unheeded
as he leans against the jamb
grinning,
dribbling sand 
from hand to hand,
as Mr. Mouse 
haughtily squeaks at you
with quivering whiskers
defying the detour 
of your body 
in his byway.
Five, six, seven, eight,
sweet sleep 
is dodging another date.

You climb back up 
to nestle with pups,
praying you’ll learn a new trick.
Grain giver giggles and gyrates 
to your disgruntled grunts
diligent not to drop 
a drop of drowsy
as you toss and turn
and your eyelids burn
while Mr. Mouse mocks you 
zooming to and fro
gnawing on woodwork
when not on the go
and the moments march by 
in that ghastly green glow

until all grow weary 
of their nightly game
and the man with sand 
delivers a dainty dusting
into bloodshot eyes.

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve
minutes of slumber in which you eagerly delve.
Then the dreaded predestined flip 
incites a scream from Sony
and dawn attacks to begin the battle
of another daylong shuffle by a zonked out zombie
in the land of sleep deprived dead.


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## Isis

*Drinking on the porch at midnight*

The glow from the bar 
turns the girls dressed in white
outside an inside-out green

the way moths seem to sizzle
in the sick dark of my single light
on the grass. Their powder

turns my fingers into moon tips
after I cup their orbit 
around the paper lamp

and slingshot them around the beacon
blinking Coors across the street.
How like magic to them, like tumbling

into a Buick’s trunk to emerge
on a pier with only the moon
glancing off water and steel

for guidance, or stepping from 
the dark rush of the bar
into a gaggle of powdered reaching

 creatures. One leans far over
a concrete barricade that holds
the lake out of the lot and retches,

twisting her hair in one hand
like it was holding her up, a blue black tether.
She sheds pink powder

like the moth dragging a broken wing
across the porch, trying to shake
something broken free into the arms

of the lake. I want to take her
translucent self into mine
and wipe the glimmer off with my thumb.


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## portraitofthepoet

Teeth tremble,
seasons change in millwheel minutes.

An ember speaks across the sky,
Speaks families with drooling mouths,
Speaks phoenix in the clouds.
In one turn it appears,
eating the horizon and 
coating gullets with gone-off wheat
coaxing simple minds to sleep-
But the sleeping giant rises,
and coyote sings his song,
and the sweet, resounding cadence
bears a nascent, cleansing dawn.


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## Moosebite

(This is my first attempt in submitting a piece on this forum. I am very new in the world of creative writing. So I apologise if it's a bit rusty, literal, or not very poetic. I'm trying to keep myself from trying too hard, if that makes sense - to be as natural and genuine as possible)


*
The Dead of Night*


Beams piercing mist, our torches do little
To assuage the breath of night
He rounds the alley before me, stops
Turns his torch to my eyes
Small wonder the fog protests


“Another to add to the tally” Through gritted teeth
As though I am already seasoned
Or ought to be
“A bum. Won't be missed”
A cold man, this sergeant
As if he sees my thoughts, he lights a cigarette
To warm his lungs


I look once at the corpse
An older man, bearded
Lifeless, now, as this town


The night floods with a dance of red and blue
As the teams roll in to do their tests
With sideways glances at me
They feed their findings to the sergeant only


He thanks them all, wanders over
“Patrol's up, son. Let's head back”
My naivety compels me; I protest
I ask at least for a cause of death
“None,” he replies
I wait, he sighs:
“The night”


Back to the station
Civilian clothing
He looks to go, turns
“Come, lad. You'll be needing a drink”
He's not wrong


We walk to The Arms
Over cobbled stones
Beaten by ruthless feet and weather
Through broken windows
The dying lights cast shadows
Even they seek shelter
In this town


'Til late we sit, drink
Me beer, him whisky
His eyes unchanging
Every glass, every sip
A surrender


I rise to leave
Still in dark
The sun will slumber, still, for many hours
But as I turn to say...Farewell, thank you?
I see them all outside


Figures, pale, in their hundreds,
Still as trees in snow's embrace
They stare, lifeless as the bum, the town
Down the empty street,they stare
Unseeing
Into oblivion


And there he is, that bum
Still bearded
Transparent as them all,hollow
I look away, my eyes wide
Lips trembling, I cannot ask the question


The sergeant sips once more
Then abandons his glass forever
Slowly his eyes meet mine
They too are pale, hollow
“They are the dead”
Gravelly
Resigned
“They are the dead of Night”​


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## aj47

*Summer Night*

Nightfall.
Soothing shadow
easing sun-parched spirits.
Gently damping day's heat and glow
Calming.
​


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## Fats Velvet

Juke (language)

Wringing feeling from a rag,
canon smuggled in a duffle bag.
9-5 time hustled shuffle,
mutts saving for a Cadillac.

Sour apple brandy and tobacco breath,
jugged wine, gold teeth, boogie sex,
a quiver, pulse, and the honey depths
of gutter myth cum character sketch,
striking electric chords in a brownstone shack.

The bluesman pisses on the neighbor's greener patch.
Cops called foul.  The city retched.


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## Baron

*Shadowfolk*​


Only haunted shadows of reality
occupy these lamp-lit city streets.
Beggars of lies and thieves 
of comfort line a twisted path 
where hope retreats 
within this screeching 5D fantasy.
There is no way for me to turn -
I look at I - grimace and burn
while mouthing silence back to me.

Each door slams shut as I pass through, 
to find a tireless queue 
of barbed wire friends
press sharpened spikes 
into a plastic mind, no more my own; 
where harpy thoughts pretend comfort 
through familiarity.

Dim memory, that someone came
to set the captive free,
dampened by this mist where venom
drips from a betrayer’s kiss,
to fall among the crumbs 
which had been thrown to me.

Kaleidoscope, of swirling sky 
through whirlpool hope,
throws tangled hues 
into this circumstance devoid...

Stark colours crush upon me 
as I stoop to grope
among abandoned relics 
of deliverance.


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## Kryptex

*Supernova*


Look yonder, do you see that marvel?
Bestowing its beauty through the mist that is the atmosphere.
A multitude of colours, a mixture of paint.
You lie beside me, transfixed in space.
Exquisite yet secluded, a patrol in blackness.
Elegant & impeccable, you shine ever bright.
Explosive & decalescent you remain.


Substantially distant, you certainly are,
Deceiving to the iris, portrayal of imminence.
Far, far into the past you transpired,
Only to come so late into existance.
Coaxing is your flame, we mere moths.
Dilated pupils, ever longing to envisage your fiery core.

Don't judge me if it's bad  I started and finished this poem at 4:20-4:50am this morning.

I'm now off to bed. Cheerio!

Edit: Posted wrong time & a typo. I'm so tired!


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## Gumby

*Midnight at the Opera *


Canine conspiracies drum in the night,
sub-woofers and tweeters
beat aural delight;
strings swell with fervent
feline yowls–
a kitty-porn soundtrack
of tortured vowels,
from deeds done in darkness, most foul.
(pleasure is optional)

Now cue the brass
from the track miles away,
it seems 'oonly loonely'
is all he can play.

Just one thing missing;
the star who will sing–
I brace for the impact it brings,
and the Operatic depth
with which it rings,

as the one beside me
(no fat lady, he)
begins to climb the scales
with notes
no human ear should have to hear,
when sleep is held so dear
(insert tempurpedic earplugs here)
and pray the curtain falls.


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## Jeko

*Gary goes to sleep
*
Sleep tight
You're only
A monster
Only a human
Without
A heart

Close up
The blinds
Around your eyes
And bleed
Some life
Through those bones

See them
Children
Outside you house
Breaking
Beer bottles 
And licking the blood

Hear them
Policemen
Chase them away
We know
It's good
But not enough

Wake up

Wake up and scream

Hear the screams
And jump through
The window pane
Seen again

Two flashes
A shout
Staining the street
The night
Black and red
Under your feet

Two banshee howls
A curse
A holy man's cry
They try
To fight you
Out of the sky

They try
To fight you
With sticks and stones
They try
To run
Right out of their bones

But you suck them
And they fall
And away you start
Sleep tight
You're only
A human
Without
A heart


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## Deleted member 49710

*let me*

black your sky trace the pretty 
throatline in the ghostlight angle 
your eye cross the starline let me 
enclose all cold nightblind tangle 
your hands hair and grass rising let 
go now pull the dream off wet


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## Potty

Things that go bump in the night.


Darkness all around,
The sky is starlit,
What's that sound?!
Now I've gone and...


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## Baron

This challenge is now closed.


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