Poll: Who goes through?
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View poll results: Who goes through?
0 0%
1 17%
1 17%
4 67%
Voters: 6.
Top three pieces go through to the semi finals

The Attic Above the Stars

In my father's study there is another land
Where my lust to find another land began,
Behind a mottled and moth-eaten curtain
With seams stitched in a dandelion golden
There lies my father's life, and mine to come -
Diaries of life upon the stars above the sun
That left me shovelling snow in the early mornings
And made my feet dance for the sake of their dancing
Through sacred texts and history books
All stained by time and encrusted with dust.
The smell of oldness against my nose
From a future of prayer books and prophetic prose
Invaded my mind as I turned over the pages
Making it so that, for a time,
Only myself and the words existed -
And philosophies were clear
And Knowledge was Known.
My father sat with me sometimes
And would in nooks and crannies find
Some odd element of his life
To present to me. A tribal spear, a ritual knife,
A Sikh dagger,
Or some book or picture
To relate to me the truth about the land
That I would come to understand was my home:
This house, this ground, this earth, these roads,
Though I've come to understand
That always closest to my heart
Is my attic above the stars.

on the faceless coast
with a park full of banyans
and pre-teens smoking weed
cops coming up and saying
"what's that you got there?"
and them saying
"nothing at all"
and Mr. Cop taking a hit
and seagulls face fucking
beachgoers' picnics
while depressedly murky seawater
laps at the docks acidic, full of
beer bottles(broken) and
boater piss,
bums infesting the sidewalks,
twice a week a lucky one's beaten by those
it barely makes the local evening news,
nobody really cares,
lots of horns are honked
and nobody knows anybody but all think they do,
and yacht clubs are on parallel streets with
crack houses,

is this place where I come from and
love. I would
ever go back.

my bed is filled with the voices of many people
a place that I once called sanctuary now tainted with crowds
familiar faces, familiar conversations,
familiar feelings of connection wired through a telephone
sunrises spied through the window of another night alone
clutching on to whoever can relate, but...

my town is filled with the cries of many people
cloistered all in little houses, faces lit in television glow
like flickering hungry angels with nothing to eat
there is no fruit here, in the bowling alleys and subdivisions
they need violence and laughter and love
but there is only emptiness
there is only shelter and no place to be alone

my head is filled with the sighs of many people
as they sit in their cars and stare at the traffic light above
wondering what they will say to their old boring friend
when they sit and meet in the cafe,
speak of all the other people,
sip on coffee, eat a danish,
hope and pray that they are entertaining enough to feel like
a goddamn piece of something or other in
this great big shit pile of somethings.

and the deer and the deer and the deer
dig up holes to hide from the sun
and the cranes and the tractors and
the great big lawnmowers of death
and most of all, the sad people
that have so graciously taken their homes.

portrait as cranberry township pennsylvania
I play games that will eventually decode the future

Hair mizzled with dirt that fell to it
from the ceiling of your hole,
you recede with tickles that linger
from the roots and the worms
and flocks of birds that nest over your head,
darkened hands and knees that last all day.
Hopefully your mother doesn't come home tonight,
and we can wash the mud away in your neighbor's pool,
then run as fast as we can back over the fence
and the bridge where they filmed night of the living dead
to Mr. Grady's front porch swing, dripping and waiting
for the time to inhale goodbyes and resign to saying nothing at all
in the breezy pulse before sunrise
your cheek against my chest while my eyes follow the azimuth line.

This way's yours and that one's mine.
Green won it for me. Really wish I had noticed this comp in time to enter it. Can't believe noone did a song like Homeward bound by Simon and Garfunkel or Over The Hill by John Martyn, not that I'm criticizing the efforts of the entrants.

Think I might give a go at my own version of a home song.
If you're gonna beat me up beat me up proper. Votes please.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!