KE - AS Poetry and Short Story Competition

Prize Giving Event at Art Sanctuary - Sept. 22 -07

2007-09-23T00:23:00.000-07:00

From left: Enniv Zarf - piano and reading the poems, Dana Vanmoer - 'Fantasy 2', Raspirit Heron and WieBenIk Beaumont - Art Sanctuary, Hypatia Voom - Winner of Best Story: ' WYSIWYG', Laila Schuman - Runner Up Best Poem: 'My Sari is Endless', Cabsav Lane - 'Should I Wake Her'

Mathoni Zuhrah, winner of Best Poem, couldn't attend the Prize Giving Event, but came to visit the following day - receiving his prizes, and giving Art Sanctuary this wonderful gift: 'Swan Love' !

Mathoni Zuhrah - winner of 'Best Poem' - and 'Dreamers' Bed'

Mathoni Zuhrah and winning poem 'DANCE OF SPRING - FAIRIES SONG'

Enniv Zarf improvising to the winning poem 'THE DANCE OF SPRING - THE FAIRIES SONG'

by Mathoni Zuhrah.

'Walk Softly', by woodnymph

'Meteor', by woodnymph

'THE DANCE OF SPRING - THE FAIRIES SONG' by Mathoni Zuhrah

'My Sari is Endless', by Laila Schuman - Runner Up Best Poem

'Fantasy 2', by Dana Vanmoer

AND THE WINNER IS.....

2007-09-23T00:21:00.000-07:00

The poem runner up ... Dana Vanmoer. for 'Fantasy2'
http://ke-aspoetryandshortstorycompet.blogspot.com/2007/09/fantasy-2.html
Congratulations! she wins 500L

The story winner is ...
Hypatia Voom
For 'WYSIWYG'

http://ke-aspoetryandshortstorycompet.blogspot.com/2007/09/wysiwyg.html

Congratulations!

The poem winner is ...
Mathoni Zuhrah
for: THE DANCE OF SPRING - THE FAIRIES SONG

http://ke-aspoetryandshortstorycompet.blogspot.com/2007/09/dance-of-spring.html

Congratulations!

Both winners win L$1500 AND
50% discount at the Krystal Epic Shopping Center AND
they can dream on in the 'Dreamers' Bed', painted by Raspirit Heron.

Read all the poems and stories here:

http://ke-aspoetryandshortstorycompet.blogspot.com/

Fantasy 2

2007-09-15T01:32:00.000-07:00

Deep under the canopy
hidden by the trees' shade
under the moons full light
you haunt the forest glade

We hear your footsteps distant
just an echo of a sound
your innocence shines upon us
your spirit all around

Apart from prying eyes
you secrete yourself away
just whispers of your beauty
leading dreamers astray

withholding all your grace
from our curious gaze
obscured by the flora
as you emerge to graze

Honouring few with strength
imbibing purity with your horn
for those who believe
in the majestic Unicorn

Submitted by Dana Vanmoer on Fri, 09/14/2007

Silly Little Ditty

2007-09-13T13:23:00.000-07:00

Ahh a little poetry for my Hun,
As I admire your cute little bum,
We kiss and dance all night,
We are together, so all is right.

Your eyes are full of fire,
And I am sure we can kindle our desire,
Distance keeps us far apart,
But not my exploding heart.

See you tonight round six,
When we know we will just clickx,
Or will it be later at seven,
When we can go visit Heaven?

You know that I love to romance,
Or should we just go for a dance?
We could play together in the sand,
Rather we do that than see a band?

Maybe there is a nice pretty nurse,
Who is able to get rid of my curse,
They call it that damn nasty Priapismic,
Can you help me, it's making me toxemic.

We don't swap many silly ditties,
But I do so love your two titties,
Guess there is a big grin now,
Them on the bus won't know how!

Submitted by CabsavLane on Thu, 09/13/2007

Should I Wake Her?

2007-09-12T23:14:00.000-07:00

Should I wake her?
No, I can't
A big night she's had
I will let her sleep.

Should I wake her?
I see her there
With four pillows
Gently ruffled hair.

Should I wake her?
A hard few days
Not in her zone
But she coped, I'll bet.

Should I wake her?
I really want to
I'll kiss her lips
See if she stirs.

Should I wake her?
All gorgeous to me
Dreaming of places
So near and far.

Should I wake her?
I know what she is thinking
Of dragons and tigers
Fairies and elves.

Should I wake her?
Is she thinking of work
Colleagues and mates
Typing and notes.

Should I wake her?
Reliving nibbles
Wines and giggles
Head in a spin.

Should I wake her?
Thinking of dirt
Of pots and knives
All from the past.

Should I wake her?
Maybe she is flying
To places unseen
Meeting people, but not me.

Should I wake her?
Oh, how I want to
But no, I really care
I will be here, ready.

Should I wake her?
Perhaps she thinks of me
Then I don't need to
We are together already

Submitted by CabsavLane on Thu, 09/13/2007

Muse in the Dark

2007-09-12T09:48:00.000-07:00

can there be another
the artist
desires
as she desires
the Muse?

the artist knows
she has a
Muse
in the dark

a cryptic Muse
she cannot find
by searching

a Muse
she must
await

she encircles
the darkness
attentive
to the stirrings there
she would enter
to find him

she wears
no veils
he knows
her secrets
why does
he hide

he watches
from the void

she inhales his scent...
an odor
of wet leaves
in autumn,
a musk
with sweet smoke
behind it

the sound
of his words
invades her ear
moves her
heart
this way
then that

she reaches
blindly
into the black
and with
braille-ripe
fingers
would caress
his mien

he withdraws

seeing clearly
what happens

no mask
conceals her

He
decides
the
time

3-21-02
Laila Schuman

Submitted by Laila Schuman, 12. september 2007

The Poet Sleeps

2007-09-12T09:46:00.000-07:00

The curtain closed.

So begins

the night

of separation.

The poet sleeps

and waits

in stillness.

His lamp is out.

Emerging from

my corner,

trembling in

the purple dark,

I near

the poet’s head

and release

the tiny lights—

the fireflies

caged

‘neath my veil.

Gently,

they candle his

soft face.

His dreaming body

does not stir

beneath the

fluttering sparks,

but some

warm

nether self

does rise,

devoted

to memory.

We shared

what we had needed

many times

but still

it was

just not enough.

An illusion now,

to suffice

‘til morning:

I dance with

this ghost

in the shadows.

in memory of James Weigel, poet

Laila Schuman

1-21-2002

Submitted by Laila Schuman, 12. september 2007

Talking in His Sleep

2007-09-12T09:44:00.000-07:00

he lingers behind the screen

the ghost with no legs

all night I wait

not really sleeping

he murmurs to me

in endearing tones

his cadenced language

laying on my skin like heat

this is the dialect of searching

the vernacular of the dance

the tongue of the I AM

I remember dream states

and longings

to have stars for hands

like the constellations that parade above

the see-through veils of aurora

O ghost

(with no legs)

whose diction soothes...

all night you wait

not really waking

have we met here

by chance...

here...

in-between?

was this rehearsed?

rhetorical blushing

over the dumb-ed tongue

who is I AM?

how is it we are dancing

when we have no legs?

in memory of James Weigel, poet

Laila Schuman

1-6-03

Submitted by Laila Schuman,12. september 2007

Dancing Naked

2007-09-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

Perched over the abyss,
time washes across our profiles.
Feet dangling into the looming oblivion,
we waken, shuddering to a tremor
that resonates in the drumbeat of the Universe.

A steady roll of pulses accompanies caution
as we peel and drop,
one by one,
our weapons,
our armor,
our panther skins,
into the great starless void.

No desire for victory.
No fear of loss.

Palm to palm we linger,
eyes locked in sweetest awe.
Mute&without language a cadence begins:
immodest,
patient,
defenseless
forgiving.
We trust the Nameless.

Shadows race through shadows,
energy shifts endlessly.
Rainbow colors flicker in lucid tones
saturated with dreams.

Embracing cheek to cheek,
rites take a delicate turn.
Opened eyes hold you gently,
erase the identities that separate us,
memorize the mystery of being One,
then let you go.

We stir like dreamy musicians
murmuring harmony in our sleep.
In the glimmering half light we release
grateful,
pensive,
breaths
as prayers--
as prayers.

Submitted by Laila Schuman, 12. september 2007

My Sari is Endless

2007-09-12T09:40:00.000-07:00

my sari is endless
it measures
from Gaya
to Rajasthan

I have stood over
the incense
that rises from
the burning bowl...
it's redolence has
permeated the silks
of my sari
and my hips
are sodden in
it's fragrant smoke

Krishna has seized the hem
of my sari
he has plucked it from its
mooring...

but he shall not
arrive at his intent
for my sari reaches
as the rainbow
from horizon to horizon

the folds fall loose to him
and hidden
lotus petals
tumble from their
secret places
onto my feet

but my sari is long

he draws it to him
it masses
in a heap
beside him

the silks
flow from
my hips
like the
Ganges
in a flood

and more
silk comes
and more

my breasts
slip
tumble
unrestrained
but the sari
does not end

it enfolds
my waist
and legs
as a bud
encompasses
it's center

and Krishna
will not
reach the
inclination
of his
purpose

for my
sari
is endless

Laila Schuman
12-27-01

Submitted by Laila Schuman, 12. september 2007

WYSIWYG

2007-09-12T09:35:00.000-07:00

The insistent buzzing woke her up. ‘nnnghhh’ she grumbled and reached for the alarm clock, but there was no alarm, in fact, she realised, there was no bed. Yet again she had fallen asleep over her keyboard, her computer pinging insistently that had disturbed her.

‘I have got to get a life’ she grumbled and her still searching hand found a coffee cup, one blessedly still part full and even cold caffeine was better than no caffeine.
She slurped coffee and licked her lips – oh so attractive, with mussed hair, key imprints on her cheek, and oh god yes, dribble on the wrist rest. But calling up her last saved file the program looked fine, undamaged by multiple keystrokes made by her slumbering face.

She grinned - ahhh yes, saving her work every 5 minutes paid off.

Re-reading the last paragraph struck a new chord and she typed frantically for a moment – recording another thread to be followed in the dissertation, finally sitting back and stretching.

Then her Gtalk pinged again and a chat window opened.

‘I love you’ blinked at her followed by a little love heart.

She felt her mouth spread in a side grin and leaned forward to type, grinning.
‘luv you to mmmXXXmmm’

The text flashed back – obviously typing his next question as she was responding ‘what are you wearing?’ was quickly followed by ‘???’

One of those days huh – she checked the clock on the taskbar; yep 6am for her was 9pm for her very friendly correspondent. A quick review of her knowledge of him, voice and text, mails and links, what he shared of himself – all she knew came through a wire or wireless….

And then the Gtalk rang.

‘bugger’ she said and typed ‘phone, BRB’

And she scrabbled for the headset and as it settled she said breathlessly, ‘hullo’ and waited for the caller to speak. God how she hated these unsolicited calls. She continued to read the text ‘*** is typing’ while she awaited the callers opening words and briefly wondered if saying ‘bugger off’ would work.

Words appeared as the voice spoke. ‘hullo Princess time to make you smile!’ and a voice in her ear repeated the words. Speechless, she could actually hear both breathing and keystrokes in her ear.

‘Thought it was time we got better acquainted – after 3 months’ and the words echoed in her ears again. Aware of a jaw dropping surprise, a heart stopping, gut wrenching physical reaction…. Suddenly, unsurprisingly playing was the last thing on her mind…. Her mouth was grungy from the night, and cold coffee hardly counted as mouthwash; she was aware that in her mind she could make out she was attired in any sexy outfit, or not, her brain could fathom; but in reality she was dressed in warm sweatpants, vest and a huge fleece. And that didn’t include the two pairs of socks that kept her feel nice and warm in the cool British summer that failed to bloom outside.

All she could do was stutter ‘who’ in to the headset – in every ping they had ever exchanged he was Tray and she was Charlotte; but calling someone Tray to their face, well ear at least seemed somehow rude. She felt her skin heat as a blush rose – rude indeed – she’d been describing her body and Tray’s in very vivid keystrokes for, as he’d said, 3 months and now she was embarrassed. To bloody English – that was her problem. She laughed nervously.

‘em, hi – hello there’ her voice sounded rough, dry and she rolled her tongue trying to moisten her mouth.

‘ohhh you sound like you type’ the voice came back ‘all English and sexy’ and continued to the sound of squeaking castors.

‘surprised, shocked, need a medic?’ flashed up on her screen – she wiped at sleep sandy eyes, sighing audibly, realising her caller would hear.

‘gonna tell me what you are wearing’ the voice repeated, accent irrepressible, and finally her brain kicked in and she couldn’t hold in her giggles – ‘you really don’t want to know’

‘oh that sounds good – leather trousers? Lace? Bondage gear? Tell me it’s the latex?’ his voice held humour. ‘its early morning for you – still in your nightgown?’

‘yer right, and nightcap too – you can be so old fashioned’ she replied without thinking – just the sort of answer she would have typed. And she listened to him breathing.

The words ‘I want to stroke my hands down your spine’ appeared on her screen. And there was a huff of laughter on the phone. “your naked spine” the voice reiterated “ is that old-fashioned”.

And she experienced one of those flashback moments the movies are so keen on:
Working from home, studying – spending all day at a PC it was fun to explore a virtual world – it offered an escape to places she could not visit and a social gathering she chose to disparage in RL as it cost to much in cash and time….. and virtual shopping was cheap and often free. But in a world of pixels; well it was strange the way you related, IM sparing, led to friendships with a wide range of nationalities and sexes. The fairy princess turned out to be a Californian male Stanford grad, and the hulking soldier was a Manchester based female programmer.

But this guy – well he had been unusual; asking her to dance, taking her to places she never would have found, he demanded her time but in the gentlest way; and they 'talked' and 'argued' and upset each other and he hung on until finally they had got a little ‘private time’. And the relationship changed, she depended on him.

And now – his voice caressed her ear as his words had done – and that one last barrier remained…. ‘I don’t care you know – not really love’ and she smiled and relaxed in her chair.

‘Me neither’ she replied.

Submitted by Hypatia on Wed, 09/12/2007

Wrapped in Pixels

2007-09-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

About my first "kiss" in Second life...a magic, fairy world if ever there was one...

Wrapped in pixels she
Walks into a life of flesh
Her kiss fills a world

Two people meet and
this kiss explodes their rules
hearts are rebels here

Kissing Isobel
Silent, I stare and wonder
I lose my words to her

In light and shadow
so real to me I see
her wrapped in pixels

the kiss changes it
Makes people out of puppets
Wraps life around light

But life is real
And pixels fade even here
Rare for them to last

Her life was real
Her friendship was real, too
Still she wanted more

Than me,
wrapped in pixels

Submitted by tristanP on Tue, 09/11/2007

THE DANCE OF SPRING - THE FAIRIES SONG

2007-09-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

Flaxen hair o'er smooth soft shoulders
Eyes wide open to the summer skies
Slender body of a ballerina
Painted toes in your crimson shoes
Dance the dance of the happy hearted
The world's full of trust and love for you.

The clouds on high they're gently parted
Your arms stretched out like a bird in flight
Valley's below in all their splendour
Awoke to the day when you danced anew.

Ballerina Oh Ballerina
Dance the dance of the happy hearted
Throughout the spring until it's parted
Come fill the heavens with your beauty
Your rays are found in the drops of dew.
You are nature's Ballerina
You're new life after winter cruel
You are the petals on a flower
The pirouette of sun and moon.

Come dance the dance of the happy hearted
Throughout the spring until it's parted
Come share yourself with everyone
For lovers love because of you

Mathoni Zuhrah

Submitted by Mathoni on Tue, 09/11/2007

Art Sanctuary

2007-09-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

Raspirit Heron's Art Sanctuary is a place of rebirth;
it is a place for dreaming and repose;
a place of wonderment,
and a place to refresh the soul

Submitted by woodnymph on Tue, 09/10/2007

We write from the heart

2007-09-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

We write from the heart
to give peace to our soul
quiet in our minds
our only goal
lifes pain and experience
expressed in rhyme
sometimes extinguishing
the passage of time
shaking hands write
pain from the past
hoping the act will
suppress at last
that which has hurt
and burned deep inside
blurring all emotion
those things that we hide
so we let it all out
put it on show
somehow hoping
we can let it all go
rhyme and poetry
keeping us sane
so here is my poem
my expression of pain

written roughly 5 years ago

Submitted by Dana Vanmoer on Tue, 09/04/2007