Getting Your Words Out: Winning Free Poetry Contests

There are two types of poets in the world. The first are those that will take the time to develop their poems, submit them to different areas, and work on every word. Then, there are poets who will write a poem, stick it in their dresser, only to find it five years later and reminisce about the reasoning behind writing the poem.

In one way or another, everyone is like both poets. However, it is up to you to decide, which poet are you going to be?

If you are going to be the kind that believes in your Poetry and knows that there is a place out there for your words to be heard, you have to begin to find the proper places for your Poe try. One of the easiest places to go in order to let others read your enlightened words is through Poetry contests. There are a variety of free Poetry contests you can join in order to let others see what you have to say.

Many poets will cringe at the idea of entering a free Poetry contest in order to let others read their Poetry. However, most poets who become successful know that this is one of the places to start at. It leads to more commitment to your work, better submissions, and a continuous pattern of producing and publishing your Poetry.

If you dont know where to start with free Poetry contests, it is as simple as sitting down for thirty minutes one day and searching for free Poetry contests. You can find them in magazines, Internet porta ls, and even through other poets.

One thing that you might want to keep in mind with the free Poetry contests is where you decide to submit them. Often times, poets will concentrate on the popular and well known Poetry contests. A favourite of every poet is entering a Poetry contest for free that offers cash in return. Beyond this; however, you want to find something that is going to reflect your poem properly. Even though it is a contest, it still is your name on the top.

One way to approach Poetry contests is to find ones that are a particular genre, style or even are limited to age groups. Most who run contests know that poets are everywhere, and are always competing to get published. Because this is a factor, they have limited contests to age groups, styles and even poem genres. For instance, if you have a piece that is inspiration based, dont waste your time sending it to a nature magazine. Find a free Christian Poetry contest instead.

If you are a poet that likes the push of the envelope, you can go even further. Why not join contests that you know you can win? It is impor tant to find contests that are off the beaten path and that arent as popular. You will have a better chance of building your acceptance portfolio for contests.

It is up to you to get the poems out of your dresser and to get your word heard. Beginning with free Poetry contests is an easy way to succeed. If you ever feel hesitation, just stop and ask yourself; what kind of poet am I?

By Bob Burnham Owner of BurnMac Services and Author of 'How To Make A Million Dollars in Your Home Service Business'.

For more information Click: Free Poetry Contest

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Author:: Bob Burnham
Keywords:: free Poetry contest, how to publish a book, cook book publishing, self publishing book, publishing c
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HideyHole

Away...

From the glow of the city
that lights the belly of the night.
Where the lost ones, and the cars,
and the voices of youth fight.
Where smog and exhaust mingle
with autumn dampened air.
Away from the concrete, steel, and plastic
that the city wears.

When day's light is fading
and the waters of the river slow.
When the air begins to chill
there is a place where you can go.

This place is thickly wooded,
and off the beaten track.
Take the trail into the thicket and
there is no going back...
to what you knew or felt or believed,
for even in denial they are there
in the soil, amid the leaves,
hovering around you in the air....

For herein lies enchantment....
And your footsteps fall so silent
upon the damp, dark earth.
There...do you feel them watching...
waiting...judging your worth?

In the shadows within shadows,
they are whispering, and
their words are like the sigh
of the dusk wind drawing
the blanket
of twilight nigh.

If you do feel their presence....
If you sense their eyes unseen,
then you've gone deeper into the woods
to the world that lies 'tween....
Where mist and grass
and the horizon become one.
When the dead of fall hangs glowing
with the setting of the sun
from the trees, the bushes' pastel foliage,
and glints off the roosting wings
of wild turkeys, crows and hawks
and other flying things.
And there, a sparkle of fire
from an opalescent wing...
of the fey?
Or a glint from the scales
of a darker, darker being?

If you can, and you do...
hear us...can you see?
We are walking beside you, behind you,
perched on the limb
of that old oak tree.
Will you fit into our world?....
Our sanctum sanctorum of myth and lore?
If you will but linger, we will share with you our home.
For this is no memory, the bespelled woods of yore.
They are asking themselves...and asking you....
Care to cavort with faeries, elves, gnomes,
and trolls, or the occasional loup garou?
Did you not know? This private place...our hidey-hole
is your world, too.

As a child you might have even traveled here....
Perhaps you had just forgotten that you could...
until you found this offbeat trail
and stepped into the woods.

***

Copyright 2002 by Kathy Pippig Harris

Kathy lives in Central California's San Joaquin Valley with her husband and furry family. She is a weekly columnist for the publication Frank Talk and a published author of five novels. She states, Were it not for her need, desire, and love of writing -- she would surely go mad!

Author:: Kathy Pippig Harris
Keywords:: Ancil Hoffman Park,American River,Magical,Mystical,Nature,Animals,
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Various Poems Inspiration Nature and More

Snowfall
Looking out on the field of purest white
That our peaceful neighborhood has become,
I feel wind and snowflakes so very light
Gently touching my face in the night's cold glum.

Coming back in to warm my cold hands
In front of the old fireplace,
I look out at the winter wonderland
Painted with a sparkling layer of icy lace.

Carried on a steady eastern breeze,
This is a snowstorm like no other;
It lays a white blanket on the bare ground and trees,
And makes for beautiful weather.

Needing neither rhyme nor reason,
Children will wake to see the white glow,
Don coat and glove, and enjoy the season,
Throwing snowballs and making angels in the snow!

A robe of white has covered all that is ugly,
Like the robes we'll wear in God's Paradise,
When we join Him for a resplendent Eternity,
Rejoicing on the unending day of our new live s!

Of Dreams and Ambitions
From the day a soul
Is pulled from the Guff
To inhabit its 70-year hull,
Are its Dreams and Innocence not enough
To succeed,
And to heed
Gods plan
For man?

Yet, do not the cares of the world
Eventually depress the soul
With their harsh conditions?
Into the void our innocence is hurled,
So our dreams we must hold on to,
And begin to form into ambitions.

In using our new-found experience,
Do we not realize our ambitions,
Formed from innocent dreams,
And once again realize innocence?

Lucid
I. Stomping ground.
Traversing the rural fringes
Of urban reality,
Haunting the spirits
With lamps and curious minds.

II. Marble city.
I know when you were born and died,
But I want to see beyond the moss
On your gravestone.
Who were you in life?
III. Cathedral.
I go back in time as I brush webs of dust
From the stained glass window,
Wondering what secrets this
Old church buried with its dead.

IV. Esoteric.
As stained as memory,
This old window yet reflects light
Like the sermons once held
In the holy hall.

The author lives in Lake City, South Carolina, where he also teaches at his Wado ryu Karate school. For more online Poetry, and other publications, please visit Johnston Arts - Online Books and Art or the Johnston Karate Online Community.

Author:: Owen Johnston
Keywords:: wado ryu,karate school,martial arts,Poetry,Poems,Ebook,online books,lake city,south carolina
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Looking Out the Rear Window

The funeral rite concluded
With the pastor shaking hands,
Offering words of comfort
I didn't quite understand.

The undertakers came forth
And summoned Pallbearers' four.
They marched beside the coffin
Carrying it steady toward the door.

I didn't cry or whimper
As I followed right behind.
But deep within I screamed
Don't leave O Mother of mine.

Please don't go to the Grave;
Let's chat just one more time.
Let's talk about the 'good old days'
Don't leave, O Mother of mine.

But onward moved the Casket
Down the stairs to the limousine;
With Mother laying incognizant
Of my agonizing scream.

As we rode toward the ossuary
Thoughts were swimming in my head;
Why didn't the whole world stop?
Didn't it know my Mother was dead?

But the world kept 'bout its business
And within I felt so sad,
'Cause my Mother didn't get the honor
I thought she should have had.

As we drove into the Cemetery
I knew it wouldn't be long,
Before I had to sing at last
My final farewell song.

I stood at the Gravesite
Grief festering in my breast:
Scriptures read, prayers prayed,
Mother committed to eternal rest.

Looking out the car's rear Window
As we mutely drove away;
I saw a heavenly Angel fly
To where my Mother lay.

Then I knew that all was well,
That Mother was just fine.
That I would live and grow and serve
Until, alas, my time.

Thank you Lord for reassuring me
That the Grave is not the end.
That Mother is patiently waiting for me
Just around life's toilsome bend.

But now there's work I must perform
That no one else can do;
Some hurting, aching souls to soothe,
Broken dream s to help renew.

And in the process of reaching out
To brighten someone's day;
I sense way deep within myself,
That I too will be okay.

Saundra L. Washington is the author of two coffee table books: Negative Disturbances, Homilies that Teach, and the book from which this poem is taken, Room Beneath the Snow, Poems that Preach. Looking out the Rear Window was written shortly following her Mother's Death. She can be contacted at: http://www.clergyservices4u.org

Author:: Saundra L. Washington
Keywords:: Grief,Mother,Death,Cemetery,Grave,Casket,Mother,Angel,Window,Pallbearers,
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Lucky...

You make me Smile like I've seldom done before You give me a reason to want more and more...

Of you - of us any time - any where It doesn't matter as long as you're there...

In your heart and in your soul as much as in mine We have a connection that escapes time...

And probably logic as some people would say But it does not matter if we cannot be us today...

Or tomorrow for everyone to see because what we share is between you and me...

We cannot turn back time to another place when our lives were different and we didn't face...

The challenges of being together today... Our obstacles only lead us to find new ways...

To share a special moment or steal a little kiss... Something so special that many people miss -

Out on for their entire lives Not Lucky enough to find That one person who satisfies their body and their mind...

We are truly special because we found each other no matter how hard it is to be together...

< p>Right now atleast - We will find a way to see each other almost every day...

Until the time comes when we are free from our past decisions we will still be...

One incredible pair of people who share a special Love and friendship too..

Unlike anything most people dream of achieving just once in this life it seems...

Resource Box - Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote Lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - Love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art8364.asp

Author:: Danielle Hollister
Keywords:: Lucky,Smile,Love,once in a lifetime,Poetry,Love Poems,Poem,Loving,Boyfriend,Romance,Luck,Poets
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Poems from Afar

Poems out of Istanbul, Cairo, Tanger, North Korea, & America

Song for Cairo

They swallow their vices like vultures,
Akin to vultures, I say
(I seen it all in 1998):
All smiles, like dead camels,
At the dusty market
Outside of Cairo!

Dedicated to those guarding the Mohammad Ali Mosque, in Cairo; #1541 10/27/2006

Song in Tanger

Oh, I know William Burroughs
And his mate, Ginsberg, too,
Met in Tanger, many years ago
(Here lies a sea of fools);
Glad I went in 92.

Dedicated to the gay community, and W.B, and his mate.
#1542, 10/28/2006

Hail Pyongyang

(Sometimes you get what you ask for):

Doom and desire,
Pentacles unseen
Dare the dire
America!..

Dedicated to North Korea, and their king, Kim Jong II and his tender ego #1543

Epitaph for a US Presidency
[Dedicated to: G.W. Bush

Out of the attic comes the fool
No abysmal smell, just suffering from dism al;
Erratic he became, seeker of dreams;
Pluck the poor fellow
Out of the White House.

Note: It is sad at best, to see the downfall of what could have been the greatest Presidency of the 21st century drop down such a deep abyss. #1544 10/29/2006

Song of Istanbul

I saw a belly dancer shake her breasts,
Holding tight onto the hilltop
And a friend from New Zealand
Had her sit upon my lap, back
In 1996: I wasnt sure what was
His quest? The Turkish woman
Had beautiful saber teeth, and all
The restand I just prayed the sultan
Wouldnt come in!

Dedicated to: the Belly Dancers in Turkey #1540 10/28/2006

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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Poem: UN Incarceration

Advance: The author has had one political thorn in his side and this is it, the corruption of at all three branches of the United Nations; worldwide. As he has stated: The UN is screwing the whole world royal with US Dollars for it mattress, and waiting or the US Taxpayer to bend over for more.

Dennis has done much more for the public in providing a view of the corruption than any newspaper, or magazine, or book out in the publics eye today; he has provided over 60-articles (most all in the past three years) on its behavior, much coming to him right from the United Nations employees themselves. He has been invited to the United Nations in Vienna, should he decide to ever travel there as a guest. He recently published an article of the harassment of a woman at the UN, before the even the media had the results, or intent, he had it, and those reading his articles had it. This new poem of Dennis (originally written, on napkins at the Roseville, Har Mar Mall, in Minne sota, at the BN-Caf, 2/28/2006; copied from the napkins onto the computer) kind of outlines his distress over their decades long corruption. Advance by: Rosa Pealoza.

Dedicated to: Paul Saey (and the CTBTO, in Vienna) and to Ed Sanders (Old Poet)

The Poem

I

Falling falling murderous horde they are,

prophets

of doom

and was

and shall be United Nations

Stomping

all over the halls; and

over the world United Nations fucked for half a century the oil gods; also, with contortions they received the prick: from China Russia the Palestinians

(each time gratified).

They leap lusting for the sun, disinter clot with thoughts falling, falling.

Tense beyond belief wandering in everyones shorts things, things looking for the thing

(and what it will bring) balling: everyday everybody everyway looking for the theory; into the mud they lay hand choking everything masturbating wi th American dollars and deadly moistened hands Bend over America, they howl!...

(Once again.)

II

Run to the warehouse or in a closest or bar somewhere not too far

(Budapest: it will do, to get your fix).

Their eyes and brains puke into the worlds drainage system sucking the legs

out from under

the US; into

Oceanus. O America O Japan O Israel

they want trembling lambs move onward

Put on thick sandals enter the cave they have made of darkness, between bellies she wants to be your truly, gloomy lover, Mistress just pay the ticket!

You shall enter, at 20-billion a piece with no lights directions simply listen (they have the answers).

III

From Geneva to Vienna to NYC still farting around as if the world waits on them

with clasped

hands behind their backs, as if if they were the policemen (with America backing).

Lovers (Annan) shedding the foreskin confronting each other in nakedness as if to discover a mutual understanding.

No, they have not stopped hate. (nor care to; its

too late) yes, it is true, death is not shameless to them, they anticipate it, masturbate around it, as long as it isnt them!

They do their Poetry on the toilet write it on tissue; close the door ejaculate their ideas after washing their hands of the Americans cashing their checks first they tell them: how much they love them.

IV

When shall you

you? blame

in your journey

thru the cosmos blame yourself? we all have endured you your ass-paper thoughts.

Let us place blame where it was nurtured the enormous cowardice you!

The UN O Tiamat, Zeus give them a heart (not a goose) that they walk without their continuous tremble by the sleazy -pool.

UN: open up the darkness to your underworld where then flowers may grow; for now

you, you! its all about you, the sleazy-pool of the world.

Falling, falling may I build your tomb, then Id die triumphal then, O Tiamat, Zeus, gods of chaos leave us be...

Still the puke-lips of the pukers are wandering in this endless pit spitting out desecrate goods! anti-love endless toilet paper at the UN flypapers belly lovers.

O Lord of Lords am I howling at them again, I think wed be better off without them.

For out of brightness came cunning and: blackness the beast milking the world, America in particular, dry (and Japan, nearby) wants her on her hands and knees to lick the disarray off the vastness of her mistakes feed the beast; their quest, is not in the interest of peace; kill more in Africa (Annan) or wherever there are feet.

And let Americas mind be shredded is how they think.

VI

The clock is ticking away,

there, the flaming teeth of doomsday waits (by the clock; waiting for it to stop ticking) we have built a (demise) devise to destroy earth all now connected to our sensory input: computers, minds it is as if a dozen nuclear bombs will be triggered in no time all under the rugs of the UN.

Chew up all you can, you will soon be cinders, says the UN.

The sexual appetite of the UN is perfecting its biggest orgasm; and we will pay the bill for all at the UN even their millionaires club.

You are a death machine.

VII

I saw the Horse of Death ride out of the Abyss.

Freakish black beams of light chased after it, followed it like a racing shadow: bloody shadow bloody thoughts

intertwined in the shadow were bloody hands

all coming out of the Abyss of the United Nations.

I want to fly to the next galaxy (live in a dream); but the road is too twisted and life too short.

Poems so I write poems that is what I do: made of stone, laughter drama and gloom;

poems that is what I do, as I water the world and watch it falling, falling to its doom; squirm in it out of it endure it; glare at it

sweat in it!

VIII

The bedpan is waiting for the oozing mind the eruption about to start downward upward stomped into granite tears eyes balling every ass that walks by at the UN (join us or else).

The UN, sucking in the brain valves of everyone.

Floodlights go off the sun is dim darkness survived light sucked into a vortex and into an amulet to show the reservoir is open now.

Stomp the Americans the Japanese and Jew, grab them by the crotch and dont let go (UN: philosophy)

(after they pay the bill)

#1252 2/28/2005

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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