# October Challenge: "Lost and Found"



## Chesters Daughter (Oct 1, 2015)

The prompt for this month's challenge, as chosen by Boofy is: *Lost and Found*

You are free to interpret the prompt in any 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.

We are continuing to allow optional anonymity this month. You may post your entries yourself, or, if you'd like to remain anonymous, you may PM your entry to me, *Chester's Daughter.* If you are posting anonymously, please indicate in your PM which board, public or workshop, you desire your entry posted on.

Kindly make sure your entry is properly formatted and error free before you submit. You have a *ten minute grace period* to edit your piece, but anything edited after that will likely see your entry excluded from the challenge. 

As usual, if you'd wish to protect your first rights, post your entry in the *workshop thread,* *and post a link to it in this thread. Failure to do so runs the risk of your entry being disqualified.

The inclusion of links of any kind within an entrant's Challenge post is prohibited and shall be promptly removed by staff.

Do not post comments in this thread. Any discussion related to the challenge can take place in the Bards' Bistro.

Now that the 'like" function is again blessing us with its presence, we respectfully request that you refrain from using it until this thread has been closed and the poll has been opened.

This challenge will close on the 15th of October at 7pm EST.*


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## Chesters Daughter (Oct 1, 2015)

*Anonymous submission:


Desperate

*_Wind_
_Cold rain_
_In despair_
_In growing pain_
_Bloody and sore feet _
_Lungs begging for air_
_Rain changing to sharp sleet_
_I can't possibly endure_
_and my mouth is so very dry_
_I've been lost for so many hours _
_Trying to find the place that I call home_


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## shedpog329 (Oct 3, 2015)

*I Used To See Indians*

I never took the time to mention what was real to me.
It took me far beyond my own perception of self.

Recently I had tended to tavern the loss of everything that I had known.
The comfort of silence; the renegade of messengers 
the simple day that tends to whatever it learns to grow.

I never took the time to find that beneath the realism of growth;
was it simple enough to loose itself in even the slightest disarrangement.

If not simple here, than maybe it could be just enough
somewhere. I was constant to repent and repeat. Like Sunday morning I was lost.
Missing in action. 

No time to mention where I would rather be-
I took the rare path of Frost. I was too little in a world by Wordsworth. 
And I drowned myself in the canoes of Sylvia.

I never took the time to mention what was real to me
And with it I forgot where I sought to go.

If so be it in a Higher Power as I understood was to be;
the disarrangement of everything, than that was where I would go.

And than I would say to myself; “Here its right here I found God." Until God was gone again.

Its never enough to say to yourself what could have been
but enough to say, that someday what was, and would be enough to remember-
it was in Its will to be turned over to some greater being. 

That it was long lost and returned to itself. Or that it was what was taken
somewhere and than rightfully found. 

Punishable by the virtue of remembrance,
it was in the perception of everything I found that this is only me.


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## Nellie (Oct 3, 2015)

*Dad (Haiku)*

​Our dad lost few things
from hospital's narrow beds-
found eternal peace.​


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## rcallaci (Oct 8, 2015)

*Food for Thought   (grisly subject matter-not suitable for the gentle-hearted)*

Food for Thought 
(an Australian Vacation)

don’t pet the dingo 
look the other way
poor cutesy juicy Lucy
has nothing to say

the babies done for 
her babies gone
baby scooby boo boys
cribs empty and skewed
toys ripped eaten and chewed- 

she suffers from delusions
her mind wanders in convoluted  confusions- 
as she mistook baby scooby boo for a dingo pup
and ate him all  up---  she said he was quite delicious~

there’s nobody to prove it
that the dingo’s didn’t do it- 
but we know who ate her baby scooby boo
poor cutesy juicy  Lucy--- that’s who-

she suffers postpartum depression
and chronic indigestion 
if that’s not a clue--- what the hell is?!?
we need some good old desert justice- 
for all that’s left of baby scooby boo--- 
is gristle bone and a poorly made tombstone~ 

her minds lost 
never again to be found-
not a sound she makes~
as she pounds her head into the ground
while she holds her waste in her hands
and cradles it in her arms…

lets  hang her high up on a tree
with a crown of thorns wrapped around her neck-
moaning and writhing forever in the wind~
or set her in the desert to wander free 
and let the dingo’s do with her what they will…


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## Chesters Daughter (Oct 9, 2015)

*reWired*

young man lost

beneath an avalanche
of two milligram bars

needing to be extricated
from countless crashed cars
nursing beatings from cretins
that left roadmap scars
falling out windows
to see daytime stars
reality relocated
to the far side of Mars

until the bars turned to steel
and he forgot how to feel
even as he seized
from addiction unappeased

grey jumpsuit left behind
to heal his tortured mind
Group six times
his daily bind
wisely devised
to help him find

Himself

waiting for the State
to deem him unbound
he learned to keep soles
kissing the ground
and to self-love enough
to keep flesh and mind sound

a rebirth to rival
his premiere crown
so from every rooftop
may this notice resound:

Mature Man Found

welcome home
to a place you've never been
your accommodation is secured
but reserved only for men

not to worry, my Son,
you'll fit right in.


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## aj47 (Oct 9, 2015)

Lost and Found


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## Phil Istine (Oct 11, 2015)

Survivor Guilt
http://www.writingforums.com/thread...d-Found-quot?p=1919728&viewfull=1#post1919728


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## Gumby (Oct 14, 2015)

*Five-Fingered Faith*

The act of letting go
  isn’t  easy
  and fearless leaps of faith
  are often aided 
  by a well placed finger stomp.


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## Chesters Daughter (Oct 15, 2015)

*Anonymous submission:*

*-conven(i)e.nt, a post i sea-*


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## Darkkin (Oct 15, 2015)

Where Turtle Dwells

He found it, there at the base of a maple clad in scarlet, music box of the Glass Degas.
Closed, silent-Her deity sleeping, a dancer no longer leaping, song of the Glass Degas.

Its paint, patina accrued, was rich in colour, memories...Secrets of a clockwork dancer.
Her name, a date, painstakingly done in ornate copperplate for the little Glass Degas.

He knew he shouldn't look, but his flawed human nature, his resolve, it trembled, shook.
Lifting the lid, he waited-his breath bated...It slept on, the tin deity of the Glass Degas.

It came away, heavy in his hands, flowing though his fingers like sifting sand, it fell-
It landed topside down, a curious, cryptic inscription caught his eye-the Glass Degas.

The words, in the same swirling script read:  _Where Turtle Dwells_...Where Turtle dwells?
What an odd thing to say-What of the connection between Turtle and the Glass Degas?

Then he saw it, there, half hidden beneath a tangle of ribbon and a stray milkweed seed-
It was a turtle carved from a shimmery dark stone, clearly old, Turtle of the Glass Degas.

This turtle was lost, as was its pond along with  the eyes of a slumbering tin god, Turtle lost-
Sheila, 1983-He had her name, meaning blind, he knew where she dwelt- this Glass Degas.


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## Chesters Daughter (Oct 15, 2015)

This challenge is now closed.


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