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David Champion
79/M/Melbourne, Australia    I am an Australian and live in Melbourne. I am an Art Therapist and Psychotherapist. I love reading and writing, especially poetry, but I also …
Gregory Champion
24/M/USA    Exploring the wonders of the universe, trying not to take each day for granted, and realizing I'm not in control.
Champion Maske

Poems

There's just one goal I want to meet
But what I always see is defeat
In order to be a champion
We must have cooperation and determination
All I ever hear is neglect and regret
but I must put on a big bet
Got to endure the risks
and hope for the best
To you, I shall leave the rest
jide oyediran  Feb 2013
CHAMPION!
jide oyediran Feb 2013
Champion are champion
Have the mentality of champions
Always wanting to be champion
People depend on them to be champion
But can they always be champion?
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. *****.