Yo, this morning in the post I recieved a letter from the National Poetry Anthology 2006... I entered 2 poems for the national competition a while ago and one of mine made it through to the finals, didn't win mind you, but it said in the letter it was "recognized as one of the best entries this year", which I was pleased at, especially considering that they were the two first 'proper' poems I'd ever wrote. Anyway, the one which got through is getting published in the book - Body And Soul, which will be in shops early next year or some shit like that. Anyway, here's the poem that made it through, all feedback is appreciated:
Outcast
I believe when the sun shines, when the dog walkers pass,
When the moon lights you up, you're labelled an outcast,
Victim of the modern day, still living in the past,
It is then that my pen leaks as I'm labelled an outcast.
I believe when it's raining, when the lighter clouds pass,
When the sky opens up, you're labelled an outcast,
Victim of this modern hate, still haunted by the past,
It is then that my pen leaks as I'm labelled an outcast.
I believe when you're dieing, when the blood trickles past,
When your brain opens up, you're labelled an outcast,
Victim of this modern plague, still sickened from the past,
It is then that my pen leaks as I'm labelled an outcast.
I believe at your headstone, when the leaves blow past,
When your world is closed up, you're labelled an outcast,
Victim of this modern world, still living in the past,
It is then that my pen leaks as I'm labelled an outcast.
...and here is my latest, didn't take me too long, I wrote it today after being inspired by my recent achievement:
Partial
I'm partial to the minor things in life, holding a knife,
Cutting deep into the arm to alarm similiar trife,
Scarred visions then occuring in my mind, visual trife,
Locked down by the crack down which frowns upon trouble and strife.
I'm partial to the essence, artistry, a part of me,
Which takes the pen, writes disarmingly for the art of 'the',
Bars must be potent, unconspiring yet alarming 'the',
Illustrating goals from lost souls who find it hard to 'be'.
I'm partial to the hate and scum, with the beat of the drum,
Through which sample I will smash and decide how I hard I come,
Keep the rhyming quite precise, analyze the time I come,
Every pound that's infront of me, I'll give it a run.
I'm partial to the finer things in hell, live to rebel,
That hate and scum and how I come is real, not how I sell,
Without a deal and no exposure, who cares if you sell,
Partial to selling art for free, and yes, I do it well.
Like I said... all feedback appreciated. It's all good. ONE
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