"contestant" poems
Georgiana Seymour,
Duchess of Somerset
crowned _'Queen of Beauty'_
at the 1839 Eglinton
Tournament, the first known
beauty pageant;
W
European festivals dating to the medieval era
provide the most direct lineage for beauty pageants.
For example, English May Day celebrations always
involved the selection of a May Queen.
In the United States, the May Day tradition
of selecting a woman to serve as a symbol
of bounty and community ideals continued,
as young beautiful women participated
in public celebrations; such as the beauty pageant
held during the Eglinton Tournament of 1839,
organized by Archibald Montgomerie, 13th Earl of Eglinton,
as part of a re-enactment of a medieval joust
that was held in Scotland; the pageant was won
by Georgiana Seymour, Duchess of Somerset,
wife of Edward Seymour, 12th Duke of Somerset,
and sister of Caroline Norton;
Georgiana proclaimed _"Queen of Beauty"_;
Entrepreneur Phineas Taylor Barnum staged
the first modern American pageant in 1854,
his beauty contest closed down after public protest;
However beauty contests became popular
in the 1880s; In 1888 the title of _'beauty queen'_
was awarded to an 18-year-old Creole contestant
at a pageant in Spa, Belgium. All participants
had to supply a photograph & a short description
of themselves to be eligible to enter; a final selection
of 21 judged by a formal panel.
Such events were not regarded as respectable;
But beauty contests came to be considered more
respectable with the first modern _"Miss America"_
contest held in 1921;
Still the oldest pageant in operation,
the Miss America pageant was organized
in 1921 by a local businessman as a means
to entice tourists to Atlantic City, New Jersey;
The pageant hosted the winners of local
newspaper beauty contests in the
_Inter-City Beauty Contest_ & was attended
by over one hundred thousand people;
_Sixteen-year-old Margaret Gorman of Washington, D.C.
was crowned Miss America 1921, having won both the
popularity and beauty contests, and was awarded $100_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
Here,
in the room of my life
the objects keep changing.
Ashtrays to cry into,
the suffering brother of the wood walls,
the forty-eight keys of the typewriter
each an eyeball that is never shut,
the books, each a contestant in a beauty contest,
the black chair, a dog coffin made of Naugahyde,
the sockets on the wall
waiting like a cave of bees,
the gold rug
a conversation of heels and toes,
the fireplace
a knife waiting for someone to pick it up,
the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of a *****
the phone
two flowers taking root in its crotch,
the doors
opening and closing like sea clams,
the lights
poking at me,
lighting up both the soil and the laugh.
The windows,
the starving windows
that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
Each day I feed the world out there
although birds explode
right and left.
I feed the world in here too,
offering the desk puppy biscuits.
However, nothing is just what it seems to be.
My objects dream and wear new costumes,
compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands
and the sea that bangs in my throat.
2.5k
This morning i watched Jeremy kyle!
Another father in a useless denile!
Another ***** with the width of a bar stool,
Chucks another father in with the disgusting gene pool.
Miserable forlorn Cattle going to slaughter,
Have more class than your abhorent daughter!
The pity i feel for that wretched child,
Thats bought up in a system that's been defiled.
The onlookers cheer as another ****** makes a jest.
About the poor man shes been using is clothed in some ill fitting vest.
Well done contestant three,
You have proved to us the ***** you can be!
Now please take your rapid leave,
Before we call your **** or boyfriend Steve.
That you've been sleeping with your cousin,
And no doubt have his bun in your oven!
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 5:34 PM UTC
there is an
old jewish hermit crab
spending his sunsetting years
in Boca.
after all these
years he still
finishes his beers,
but now he takes his coke
with cola.
he's gotten so old,
his heart's grown so sour,
that he believes himself
to be protestant;
remembers meeting ******
as a third-placing contestant
on Walt Disney's variety hour.
growing bored
with the Lord
he fancies the shuffleboard,
though he quickly grows tired
of being pushed over rough cement;
never invited to play--
he just came along whenever they went.
now he never thought
he'd make it this long,
he thought his heart
should have died from
being broken;
so he may not have
much longer in life,
but he'd like
to spend it wide open
so with polish for chrome
he shines up his dome
and makes haste to leave
his humble home.
he will sell his timeshare
--afer all, who cares?
and finally embrace
his freewheeling spirit;
--the West?
he'd never even been near it
well he didn't get very far at all
no, not even down passed the bar and all
when he was smashed by a car--
rims, tires, and all.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 11:49 AM UTC
.
(Sippy cups are for toddlers, designed to let them sip but a little sip at a time, and when it falls, the disaster is lessened.)
totally by accident is this dedicated to TL Sipple, whose introspection offers comfort to more than many.
~~~~~~~~~
*who among us has not begun the
journey's poetic, by first examining the
mirror that reflects organs internal,
flipping the reversible glass over,
for all you exposed,
it's the curse, the birthing natural,*
of the first poem
*all your life, streams bustling, streams drying, drought dying,
leaves windy flying up, but final poisoned by gravity,
come to rest and crunched under your footfalls,
but of this did you write, scrivened or scribed?
no
our first child is of our ***** where real borning does occur.
the rest too, but now, and soon thereafter,
put aside the me, and write of he and she,
the first love, always the second child,
for this the nature of the soul and ermine robe,
you elected, when you first self-selected*
I am a poet, therefore I hit send,
*and the diecast, is the first of many hot rods
piercing, invading, calling out to you,
poet,
"set me free, set me free"
then when walking in September,
the leaves un-glistening, cracking and *****
like an old person who cannot care for them self
then you lift your pen, point to the sky or to the earth,
no matter which, for both are loco parents in loco,
and the truest hardest journey begins,
looking outside in, with eyes colored by
global truths
then and only then the real journey begins,
a differing agony to be learned,
to see as others see,
to write as others have before you and me,
and in doing so, this testing travail,
will earn you, could earn you, a time grade of
pass/fail
you are the only judge in this show,
the only contestant,
what grade will you assign yourself,
what standards will you set,
until you ask,
who are the poets time idolizes?*
american idol, throw away your sippy cup, and drink from the river, from the sea, drink deep, until sated,
then begin your foolishness
readied, all over again
poet to please invisible gods,
that all can see
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
I find everyday is either a challenge or a test with little too no time for rest
No time to reflect so I digress
No one there when I confess, only after a sneeze am I blessed
Mocked and laughed at for simply making a mess that my life reflects
Heart trying to beat out of my chest as I push through this bogus quest
Win or lose, I can always count on another hardship coming up next
Perplexed 'cause I can't tell if it's god or the devil trying to flex
Guess they'd have to prove their existence first and not only at the exits
But the names not Job, I will surrender to this hex, it's a guarantee, I've placed my Betts
I will say this, I tried my best but don't think I should've ever been allowed to enter this contest
Will go down as the perfect example of a bad contestant
I didn't ask for this complex nonsense
I'd be hard pressed to find any arguments to the contrary to try and digest
But to fit into the mold that best reflects the rest, I speak of the witnessed hardships of my life in jest
©2024
Jan 20, 2024
Jan 20, 2024 at 5:35 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
This day,
what day?
Monday
that day!
On my way,
the pilgrimage to
work,
It is a sacrifice
which I make
five days a week
and two days shall I rest
one more than God,
quite odd
considering we think
that he knew best
or am I mistaken?
If the proof is in the pudding
'let them eat cake'
we need no validation
for this is
occupation
an occupation,
the formulation of a man.
I wear my armour like
a decongestant,
am I not a contestant
sitting out the race?
spitting in the face of
evolution.
and who cares who wins
anyway?
(Wrote this on the way to work and promptly forgot I had) Doh.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
as i looked at the mirror
i asked who are you?
nothing replied
it’s just me
too different
i can’t remember
the times where i recognize myself
i put on too much
mask for everyone
i kept listening to the same old music
i opened a door in my mind
cameras are flashing
on my eyes
i didn’t find someone
i just found myself
alone in darkness
where i could feel
everyone is watching
expecting me to create fire
when i only breathe ice
i thought if i pretended
that i was not a fool
and get up to
their expectations
i would be happy
but i didn’t i just caused
the real me to be lost
in paradise of hell
where the crowd is the judge
and you’re a contestant,
but they didn’t know
fools eventually
change the
world
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
I was wondering if my pictures clear
in heaven I see stairs
visions impaired, living in fear
Dark halls cancels light.
Footsteps I wonder what might happened if they'll aproach me.
Silently moving swiftly through avenues of depression.
Maybe it wasn't heaven in disguise,
it was all lies, let me sleep so these dark hours can pass by.
As I sleep it follows me into a trans
seeing nocturnal images,
aggressively ******* my life away.
Resiting things,
not even of tongues but of possession
my opression is my basic fear
a player and contestant.
Gravity Falls,
Gravity Falls
Paintings of disasters
Maid Dolls, following eyes, Creepiness,
Gravity Falls.
A war within myself is like mental intoxication
I can't think right can someone fly apon me,
So I can even contest with such a spiritual fight
but let me not say things because insight
another demon might just take away what I think is righteous,
Gravity Falls.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
I want to be a father, that is strange coming from a 19 year old college student.
No not just to get laid or get the girl.
I want to teach my son the world.
I want to teach him that Laughter is the best medicine
I want him to prescribe a large dosage to all of the people who are down in the dumps,
I want him to call all of the girls pretty
Because it doesn't matter how much war paint they paint on their face.
No matter how many guys told her she is ugly,
She is still that princess that is sitting on that ivory tower and
She needs that prince charming to sweep her off her feet.
And when he finds the love of his life I want him to say,
”come on down you are the only contestant in my price is right.”
I want to teach him that Chivalry isn't dead
I want to teach him that politeness isn’t dead like Elvis
dead like retro disco and that one guy from Clue
I want him to know that nice guys don’t finish last
I want him to open all of the doors and always say please and thank you because politeness is the bandage over our gaping emotional wounds left by the people who lost their insecurities in their own dusty attics.
I want to teach him that imagination is the best tool
No no wait it is the ONLY tool
I want him to know that Calvin and Hobbes does exist
I want him to know that when he is not around,
His toys become alive and have a thriving hidden city underneath his bed.
I want him to fight the monsters in his closet while reciting Beowulf .
I want him to know that its okay to be scared
I want him to explore the dark caves in the basement and to defeat that evil dragon that rest there.
Many of you call it a furnace, but is a dragon alright?
I want to read him bedtime stories so we can fly off to our imagination fighting epic thunder storms trying to find that perfect catch.
I want to teach him the good stuff,not math or science
but ethics, politics, history, and literature
I want him to know that its okay to be fearful of the unknown
and that Ignorance is the poison to our minds
I want to make recite Hamlet or Twelfth Night, so when people are all talking trash he can say “don't make me go Shakespeare on your *** and for those people who stand in his way.
I must warn them that his bruises will fade and his cuts will heal but he tells you next will never leave your heart and will haunt you for the rest of his life. So go ahead call him names, see what happens.
I want to teach him to be passionate
I want to teach him that if anyone comes up to him and tells him that he can't do what he wants. I want him to bite his thumb and say listen buddy just wait before you know it I'll be the one who will be writing my name on the wall of glory.
Now I know I am far from perfect, and I know he will be too, but I want to teach him that this world can be perfect, if you open up your mind and heart.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
I usually write a poem before the title.
Like a book full of stories before they named it “The Bible”.
Phase 1:
I wrote my name and didn’t consider it as a gamble.
One out of many as my identity scrambles.
It’s a possibility that we met just on different channels.
All game shows are the same just different panels
Phase 2:
Let’s meet and greet, then after enjoy my defeat.
I’ll laugh on the inside trying to keep it discreet.
Then again, I could be the loser.
I tend to always jinx my own future.
No smile on my face, I don’t see the humor.
Lost in the game and laughed by the viewers
No money in my pockets, just more for the producers.
Good Game I guess!
Phase 3:
Am I a living contestant gambling with my life?
Out to find a better version of me trying to survive.
Money spent with confidence and carrying my pride.
I play to win, aware of consequence, yet I’m still staying alive.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 11:07 PM UTC
I had forgotten all the bonus feelings that came with true hope
Giddy like a teenage girl going on her first date
Happy like a kid catching the ice cream truck
Excited like a toddler at Disneyland for the first time
I had tried to forget all the downfalls that came with true hope
Fear like a child trying to sleep in the dark
Anticipation like a pageant contestant waiting to hear the
judge's decision
Anxiety like a politician on election night
I've had hope where the results far exceeded my
wildest imagination so that the words to describe it
didn't exist
Hope that was smashed like a bored little boy jumping
on an empty can
Hope that shriveled up and blew away like a
tumbleweed in the desert
And hope came and went again
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
The light is not a threat
it's a dare,
and every second you're behind the yellow line
the more there is at stake.
It's like wearing a seat belt
and closing your eyes
allowing tire to connect to yellow line
that leads to the sky,
if you're lucky.
Taking a cat nap in a coffin,
unconcerned yellow eyes of your past life
opening to the sight of
your own exorcism.
Changing stop lights
manipulate the colors
behind your stained glass pseudo christ,
highlighting the features every yellow-belly loves best.
Girls standing on street corners
******* themselves out for their yellow haired congressmen,
only to satisfy their oral fixation
on the more handsome opponent.
Passing the **** to the next contestant,
sadistically watching
as they choke,
mimicking the yellow glow of the sun.
The manila folder
that stores your secrets.
Yellow nails dig into skin
knowing you will never be forgiven.
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 3:27 PM UTC
Venus Ramey Murphy,
(September 26, 1924 – June 17, 2017)
American beauty pageant contestant &
activist; Venus won the Miss America
competition in Atlantic City,
New Jersey | | | |
on September 9, 1944;
Born in Ashland, Kentucky,
Venus left Kentucky to work
for the war effort in
Washington, DC, & there won
the Miss District of Columbia pageant,
& then onto Miss America in 1944;
Venus Ramey
was the first Miss America
to be photographed in color
& the first red-haired to win the title
I started listening to AM Christian
radio b/c it's funny; but on one side
of the dial is Rush Limbaugh & on
the other is Pravda in Russian; a
little further up the dial, I can hear
the latest on the record number of
undocumented transgenders running
for public office; I never thought I'd
miss dumb blondes & ****** but
happily married gay couples are the
reason a bloviating ignoramus like
Limbaugh is on the radio in the first
place;
|
[I'm not
the sort to gawk at penises, but even
that would be a marked improvement
over watching Rush Limbaugh] | [I
don't watch Christian TV b/c it's too
calculatedly stupid, as if anyone still
believed in backwoods hucksterism]
or the visible, risible conundrum of
an over-the-hill beauty queen; what
does one do after being crowned one
of the most beautiful women on earth;
Jesus, **** or homosexuality [ ]
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
No blinding light only the wariness
of the daily fracture
Croydon how I wish it was goodbye
you lost your voice a long time ago.
I remember how our played out rendezvous
stripped away the pretense
I have often thought of candle light as a masquerade
flickering like a contestant
and the only cure is the drifting Coombe Woods
where I can hide under those autumnal leaves,
finally letting it go.
.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
good-luck with marriage!
well, i won't be the one,
a conformist,
can't be bothered,
well no, i can't be bothered,
m.t.v. turned into
16 year old pregnancies,
**** **** a closer inspection
of queen,
that won't happen...
there's no utopia here,
but what comes from being unloved -
'good-luck with marriage!'
i asked i got a reply with arsenic...
well, if a diet is a diet,
we might as well be hopeful...
jealous lovers and the incomprehensibility
of certain people not ever having
engaged in a life that might provide them...
tonne of **** with a touché!
as a vet a rubber gloved hand up to the elbow
to check a bull's prostate via his **** hole...
i'd quote feminism, but i might as well
quote Ezra's lunatic judgement correct
against Churchill in defence of Mussolini...
western democracy's narcissism hit me too...
the constant need to export and never import...
the constant need for traitors to upkeep
a contestant populace rather than a populace
of worthy voters... it was always there...
so many sacrifices attached to a political
movement were never worth it,
the least sacrificial politics always produced
the most successful endeavours with china
and india... just those economic gluttons
and continual iconoclasm with dyslexia as proof...
how hope of heaven was never encoded in
images of sounds and kept therein -
i stead dyslexia, laziness of the communicative
angle, to keep heaven forlorn with stressed
images as a laziness to forget the aesthetic of spelling
a wording... oh well...
good luck with marriage!
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
Number one
Smelled of Marc Jacob's cologne from Kohls
And he tasted like the cigarettes he never smoked.
Number two
Smelled of alcohol,
Tasted like alcohol.
**** Everything and Run.
Number three
Smelled like home
And tasted like fleeing dreams.
I'll take
Contestant number three.
**** Everything
And Run with me.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
it's always on me
waiting for my neck to snap
my blood to poison
all the cells to die
the white lighter is always in my pocket
to light my fix
fuel my flame
am i worthy enough to be the next contestant on the 27 list?
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
I am fat and I know I will die soon but I also know that I will come back to life in Adelaide or the USA in an expensive apartment over looking the sea
You see I would like to play footy or appear in the Movies
Or go onto the Disney channel
To be a really cool kid
I could be a nickelodeon kid
That wouldn't be bad at all
Because I was an adult trying to be a kid
I want to go to acting school
To learn how to popular
I would like to play for Norwood or Glenelg and I would keep fit every day
All that I care is that I reincarnate into someone I would like to be
Not a fat man not a disabled man not a poor man
I suffered too much like that
Mind you I would like to help the poor but not as a poor man
I would like to be famous and help the poor by donating to charities around the world by being a contestant on a celebrity version of a game show
I don't want to be a man who is ready for a fight
I don't **** people off for that
I just want to live my life and come back to life as someone more famous than I am
So I can afford to go to the dentist and I can afford to go around the world on a cruise ship performing music to keep the people on the ship entertained
You see I would like to perform in a musical where I can have a lot of fun
You see I can't get rid of my flabby gut
So I can do all that in my next life and I will get a next life
I just know it
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC
He made an expression he did not feel
And pretended he had no gashes to heal
For one of the three had to be sane
And pretend to not feel pain
He displayed emotions he did not know
He did not subject and went with the wind’s blow
He had plentiful to say
But he kept his judgments gray
The slyest are the most broken
The silent are the well spoken
He recognized it all too well
And so, his ego could not swell
The sun had set long ago
And the melancholy moon was the only glow
The only nimble of hope
The only entity keeping them on a durable rope
He was the only contestant left in fate’s game
And was the set aim
He had his cards lay out
Though even the wisest had their doubts
Would he live?
Would he thrive?
Or would he drive himself mad?
And give up faking to be not glad
They say you cannot change the past
Though he knew he would not last
If he were to dwell in his secrets long
He just needed to hear a song
The lullaby of a songbird would bring
The justice of a king
And the game of fate
Would soon be set straight
For it is the story we have all heard but never learnt
The one where friendly rivalry burnt
Two pits of gold
One bad, one bold
A path lit leads the way
Choose wrong and your loved ones shall pay
So choose your fate’s date
Tick tock, it’s getting late
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
Dansent les papillons
Tourbillonnant,
Virevoltant en trombes,
Valsant dans le vent.
Battent leur battements d'ailes
En frivoles palpitations;
Contestant le calme du ciel
Chahutant leurs dérisions.
Tombent ces feuilles vivaces
Sans le moindre abandon,
Aussi malhabilement
Que sans grande confusion.
Valsent les tourbillons
Imaginaires, papillonants;
Vortex de leurs ombres,
Caricatures d'ouragans.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 11:14 PM UTC
Darker than six combined winter mid nights
The uneducated minds
For they know not when and how to use their knowledge
Knowledge without character
Is tea without sugar
The superior complex do
As the inferior complex do other wise
Life has the wise and the other wise
Those that stand things before understanding
Undemocratic knowledge
Retaliate democratic knowledge
Global democrats
Are likened to a boxing ring
‘Jab, hook and uppercut!’
Opponents hit each other hard
And destroy not each other.
Gracious, after a tough contestant
Embrace each other with unity of purpose
It’s indeed a game and gambling of knowledge
Confidence building knowledge
Vision-less vision knowledge
Knowledge engulfed by the hocus-pocus
Vampire of' ‘Anointed' knowledge
Illogical malicious transmitters of words
Utter knowledge with utter amazement
Indeed,
Knowledge is power
Power to do evil...or power to do good.
No thief, however skilful, can rob one of knowledge, and that is why knowledge is the best and safest treasure to acquire
L. Frank Baum accurately observed
“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not illiteracy ,
It's how we illusion knowledge
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:13 PM UTC