WINNERS!

Duncan – Alan Moore prize pack
Fashionpolice – Stardust book on cd
Cassiopeia – Stardust & Beowulf movie paperbacks
Weeble – Ye Olde Neil prize pack
Sillypunk – Creatures of the Night
Apathy – Beowulf screenplay
Bravus – Vertigo Visions
Eldi – Signal to Noise
Maeve – Midsummer Night’s Dream
Cappy Merriweather – Wheel of Worlds

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And now, the unattributed entries. Feel free to claim yours!

ENTRY NUMBER ONE.

At lying still they are the best
At stillness they excel
They're never short of peaceful rest
No worry breaks their slumber's spell

So this from those who predeceased
Is something I'd fain learn
How all life's hurry they released
And how their quietus to earn

********************

ENTRY NUMBER TWO

I want the dead to teach me
to slowly shrink.
Adipose tissue melting
revealing hip bones,
rib cage,
and pointy chin.
So I can get back
into my youth
and out of this
aging body.
The lightness
of a skeleton
dancing like on
those annoying
Grateful Dead
bumper stickers.

***************************

ENTRY NUMBER THREE

I want the dead to teach me how to see the good in living people’s hearts. Whatever that spark is that makes us human, I want to see it as a white flame burning in each human’s heart to remind me how sacred we all are and should be to each other. Such a thing would slow me down enough to breathe and to treat everyone with patience and respect.

In a word, goodness. I think there is goodness deep down in all of us and I want to appreciate it and be able to cultivate it in myself and others.

*********************

ENTRY NUMBER FOUR

Suspended between yin and yang
The fire of knowledge burning around me
The air of curiosity expanding to the horizon
The water of life coursing through my veins
The earth of desire beneath me

Each of these elements feeds off the other

To complete my understanding
To compete with my senses
To enhance my soul
The Music flows through my mind, body, soul
And I dance to the rhythm of Purpose and Reason

And the circle is complete and neverending.

*****************************

ENTRY NUMBER FIVE

The wind at night through the tree tops howl
The rustling of the leaves for the wood creature’s prowl

The lights through the mist dance gaily ‘til dawn
And what of the piper, fiddler and fawn?

To home we will dash without making a sound
For fear of the wee folk who live on the mound

Now tucked in our beds, that night has long passed
Run away, twiddle-dee, run away fast.

*****************

ENTRY NUMBER SIX

something about learning from the dead
something fresh so's to get it in my head
jeez - to hang in Leonardo's atrium for a month, to learn how he thinks
(though hopefully not when he's dissecting cadavers, what with all the stinks)
hell - an afternoon with Picasso - no, make that a week
or Brancusi, Seurat, but that's not really practical
the arts can't be absorbed, I need something a bit more tactical
there's plenty in the current day to spark creative juices
if I could just go back a few, put time to better uses
put graduation & summer job $ aside,
instead of spendthrift buying
in fact, a few moments with future me
could save a packet of misery
(but as mad rhymin' skillz ain't where it's at in this entry,
I'm going to cut this short and focus instead on what's for dinner)

*******************

ENTRY NUMBER SEVEN

Scene opens upon the waiting room for the recently deceased, yours truly is waiting on the couch having just suffered from the freak accident of going back in time and giving his grand-father a radical vasectomy. Bored turns to the battered and stabbed person to my left and strike up a conversation:

“Hi, you know what I would have like the dead to teach me when I was alive? The patience to be able to stand waiting in line or in waiting rooms. This always drove me nuts, never was anything good to read and I always forgot to bring something interesting. Plus I am too introverted to strike up a conversation with a stranger, but now that I am dead, it’s easy; it is hard to be embarrassed when you are dead. “

There is then an interruption by the receptionist, “Will a Mr. uhh… the chronoillogical alchemist come to the window?”

I hurriedly approach, “yes?”, I inquire, she responds, “we are kicking you back, death is not allowed to idiotic paradoxes, please avoid such actions in the future, its hell on the paperwork plus it angers the butterflies”

Next I know I am back in my study, wondering why I have a piece of paper with the number “5,298,276” printed on it.

*********************

ENTRY NUMBER EIGHT

Alright, I'm here. What do you want?
I want to be dead.
I figured as much.
They say the dead feel no pain.
Who are 'they' anyway, that's what I wanna know, and what makes them so bloody allknowing?
I mean, I'm pretty much the authority on the subject, and even I don't know for
sure! How can 'they' know?
I cannot fathom that. But they say the dead feel no pain.
But then the dead would also feel no joy. Or warmth. Or love.
Neither do we, sister of mine.
Oh, please don't call me that. It's creepy.
It hurts so much. How can they stand this?
That's exactly it, yer ninny - you feel pain now, but only because you felt love before! I
can't take one without the other!
Please, sister. Help me. Take it away.
You knew the deal when you made it. You wanted to be human, to understand, to feel what
they feel...
Yes. I did. And now I know.
Now you know what?
That they are stronger.
Alright then. It's done. Get up. There, you feeling better now?
Yes.
You're still a moron, you know that.
Yes, sister of mine. And - thank you.

*********************

ENTRY NUMBER NINE

Gem of patience


The tendrils of mist that seep through the ground touch them on their hearts;
they have slept, our beloved, for years or for months and some only for days, a red hot knot of pain in the back of our minds;
they sleep in darkness, unmoving, waiting for what is beyond even them;
i wake in daylight, i struggle and i roam orphaned but for thee;
i begrudge them neither their darkness, nor the stillness of their limbs;
i envy them their patience;
wind and rain will wear down the mountains,
the dragon will feast on the sun and still they’ll wait;
i would but borrow from this dark gem, a shard, a sliver,
to while away the time until you come to me;
come in the evening of a festive day, all weary and dusty from the road, back to me

********************

ENTRY NUMBER TEN

I have a selfish, personal request of the dead: I would like them to teach me a sense a perspective. The ability to see the bigger picture. Not necessarily how I fit into the bigger picture, but how this moment fits into *my* bigger picture. This moment, this month, this year, is just a step on the path, a mile on the journey.
With this skill, I will be a better person. I won't sweat the small stuff, as the horrid saying goes. I will be able to give things their proper priority, and not stress about the tiny, insignificant things that don't really matter in the long run. This will enable me to be nicer to people when I want to snap at them. Have more patience. Be a more productive citizen and do more lasting good.


*****************

ENTRY NUMBER ELEVEN

What skill I would like the dead to teach me and what I would do with my new skill

If the dead can contact us, I would like them to teach me how to hear them properly so it’s not just a one-way communication that keeps being misunderstood or simply ignored. Then I would teach my friends and loved ones how to converse with the dead. For one thing, the dead might be able to tell me a thing or two that may come in handy. But mainly, this would make sure I can stay in touch with those I love once I’m dead.

If the dead cannot contact us, I would like them to show me how to focus on the important stuff, and not to worry about the rest. And while they’re at it, maybe they can teach me not to always get so dead serious when I talk about death as maybe they can point out that some fun can be had even when being dead, and that being dead isn’t quite as boring and sad as I imagine it.

To be honest, though, it shouldn’t be the dead teaching me but angels – they alone would have the patience to bear with me…

*********************

ENTRY NUMBER TWELVE

Entry: Three Questions

If I was given a change to talk to the dead
(given that I would not in terror, have fled)
I would ask them three important questions
And see what they'd have for suggestions
One, how to happy be, and remain so there
No matter what background, or grey of hair
For no matter, long life, or sadly very short
Happiness, is the first thing one should sort
Two, how to deal with sadness, as its hard
Greying all days and smiles become marred
For its easy to deal with the ups but not downs
I'd rather have fine lines from smiles than frowns
Three, and the most important of the thrall
How to avoid dying, in any case, at all!
For living forever, is how I'd like to be
And spread the secret to those close to me

********************

ENTRY NUMBER THIRTEEN

I ask the dead to teach me to tell the truth. But they say that they cannot.
Deep in the sepulchric depths of their Temple, as I shiver in a cold that dead flesh and bone can no longer feel, they tell me that they cannot tell me the truth because all things already know it.
They tell me that the truth is an ugly thing: naked, hard, and cold. In its purest form it is sterile at best, and inevitable to its highest degree -- like a dull pendulum blade or a lump of unrefined ore embedded within a living heart.
No, they tell me that they cannot tell me what I already know. But, they say that they can teach me how to tell the truth.
And I realize that this is what I wanted all along: to clothe that stark objectivity in all the raiments that a philologist's treasury can offer.
But mostly, I want the knowledge -- to know what I have to say to those I love, and to know what to say to myself in the nights long after.
Because, in the end they, the dead … they tell the most excellent of stories.

***********************

ENTRY NUMBER FOURTEEN

Possession


If I could choose any skill
That I could learn from the dead
I would learn to possess another
Make another go where they are led

Too many people in the world
control the lives of those around
Making them do whatever they are told
Even kiss where they walk on the ground

I would like to make them do the same
Take away control of their forms
Show them how it feels to be used
Make them feel they are less than a worm.

It is not a wish to hurt those around me
That makes me choose this talent
It is the desire to help others grow
To have them do better than they meant.

But would that make me any better
than those I am trying to make see.
If I used this ability to force another
Maybe someone should possess me.

*******************

ENTRY NUMBER FIFTEEN

I sit alone and muse upon my life
Although I gaze upon that ground so plain
And dreary, choked and stuffed, morbidly rife
With old grey stones that mark the loss of pain.

It's strange to think that such a feckless place
Allows my dreams to drift beyond the skies.
I pause to wonder if my hopes have grace
To be reality, or only lies.

But still I find in death no value: None.
These lives are lost; their tales forgot. Can you
Explain to me the worth of corpses, gone
To rot? Yes, stay a while, and I'll die, too,

Just like this man encased in dirt to cry
And laugh and sing and love and hate no more.
It doesn't really matter much what I
Achieve, for all my strength will cross death's door.

Look—was this woman's life worthwhile, or did
She die alone? To die without a friend
In life is worse than death itself. Amid
The fear and doubt, a friend may ease the end.

And, after all, to die with friends nearby
Can equal life beyond decay. For, if
Just one remaining soul remembers why
He gave his heart in friendship during my life,

Then nothing was in vain. My mark is left
Upon another's life, in turn to be
Passed down to other friends and foes. Bereft
Of life itself, I leave a legacy.

*******************

ENTRY NUMBER SIXTEEN

I want to learn to hear every heartbeat
Feel every nerve impulse as it jumps a synapse
I want to taste the flavors of the world hanging on every cell
See the contours and shadows and colors of everything
I want to appreciate every sense I take for granted
Revel in the simultaneous impermanence and solidity of my existence
I want to treasure the moments I have been given on this earth
As though I have already lost them
I want to see the true value of life
Through the eyes of a ghost
So that I may live with the resilience, intensity and brief, fierce joy
Of a candle flame

********************

ENTRY NUMBER SEVENTEEN

To My Dead Relatives

Your genetic code burns itself through my cells. Large eyes, flat nose, plump lips ressurect themselves generation after generation. The sepia tones of Ellis Island photography foreshadow the technicolor digital shots zapped to one another at the speed of light. I was born with your dry sense of humor, your love of language, of letters, of trivia. I was born with your sense of retribution and hysterical need for approval. Your tasebuds craving saltiness, your belly fat, your identical toes.

I think, if you have anything to teach me, it is the skill of friendship and family. You maintained families over generations, and friends known by your children as "uncle" and "aunt". Help me to keep my friends close and my relatives appreciated. Help me learn how to remember birthdays and create scrapbooks and little notes just because. Help me learn how to balance the whirlwind of day-to-day with the fundamentals of relationships. This is the way to live forever-- to maintain connnections and not lose touch and not be forgotten.

Much love (and more life!)

*********************

ENTRY NUMBER EIGHTEEN

Ms. Emily Brighton
Plot 37
Resurrection Cemetery

Dear Ms. Brighton,

I found your letter and recipe two weeks ago while cleaning out my grandmother's pantry. It took me over a week to sleuth you out. The - peculiarities - of your letter suggested I do so before trying your cookies; not to mention I had to find some of the more - unique - ingredients. Suffice to say when I discovered who you were, your family, I wasted no time in the kitchen.

The reason for my letter is to let you know that your recipe worked exactly as you described in your letter. I have already spent the better part of 3 days at Village Square Pond talking with a nice gentleman, Edmond Pierce, him telling me about the birds he used to catalog near the Pond when he was a boy, 115 years ago. When I mentioned your name, he said his older brother courted your younger sister, Sophie. Small World.

Thank you for leaving the recipe, and I do hope we can visit sometime soon. Perhaps with Edmond at the Pond, or my front porch. It would be a delight to visit with you – in person.


Yours in Spirit,


Mr. J-

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ENTRY NUMBER NINETEEN

I would most like the dead to teach me how to not be bored. I once had to act in Our Town and I thought to myself that the dead must get bored, even more bored than I ever was while in that english class, but with all their practice at it I figure they must have found a way beyond that. Right? I get bored often, I have an imagination but sometimes it just limps along and I stare at the wall with nothing to do. Also, sometimes at work I get pretty bored and sometimes, not always but sometimes, I even get bored on the internet. Like now.

***********************

ENTRY NUMBER TWENTY

/I was there, dead... or so I was near to be cause I can't feel anything or smell anything. He first came as a little boy, was he my son ? he looked so much like him. His first words was : mom, you can't love me anymore./

/I was afraid. I wanted to love ... so much, my heart was full of love, yet broken, but still a bunch of pieces of love./

/He grabbed my hand, squizzed it in his, and then started to whisper little words of peace and wisdom. My heart calmed down... my head started to get empty, pieces by pieces, memories after memories, feelings after feelings, nothing painless, though... it was calm and I get numbed./

/And then, his little hand slipped away from mine, but I didn't really realized it was./

/I stood by his coffin, he was so in rest, so calm and peaceful. My heart was not in pieces anymore. I felt the calm and silence around me. Yet he was dead, but I knew then that I was still his mom, still happy, in some other way. Cause death can steal your son but she won't ever steal love./

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ENTRY NUMBER TWENTY-ONE

(Even though he gave her a dog)

In the warm rain we wheeled...
I am holding your signal,
I've been holding it since Summer
When we danced I felt so light
We were dizzy from laughter.
Now I sit here and listen.

For you I sit and listen
I sit quiet on this wheel
Remembering your Laughter
between us, like a signal
Laughing in the light
the noise lifting up last summer

That bright joyous Summer
Quietly you'd listen
As I talked and I made light
of our lives and the things that we'll
do in the future. Missing a Signal
when you didn't join my laughter.

I was happy, and my laughter
Echoed through that Summer
I didn't catch your signal
I didn't know to listen
to words not said - caught on your Wheel
I was dazzled by your Light

You lifted me and I was light
Filled with Helium of laughter
But now the wheel
has turned and Summer
is long over, gone the time when you listened.
Brother, I'm holding your Signal

I'm looking at your Signal
I'm lifting it to light
For you, I wait and listen
Without you, I have no Laughter
My chest feels hollow this Summer.
Hollow like a Wheel

Please Listen, Brother, I hold your Signal
I sit in this Wheel, I'm facing the Light
Bring back laughter, Bring back Summer.

************************

ENTRY NUMBER TWENTY-TWO

I would like the dead to teach me how to live and with the wisdom I’m given I will travel the world, telling stories to describe the way we can all live in peace and harmony.

No, not really. I’d ask them how to creep out the living when you’re dead. I would make sure I completed everything you have to do in this mortal coil to enable me to annoy as many people as I can when I’m dead.

Then I’ll find out how to rattle chains, walk through walls and freak out perfectly normal mediums and annoying TV personalities. I’d also ask them how to grow my nails and hair to extraordinary lengths.

Finally, I would thank them for their kindness, have a really big party and put them all back to bed.

****************************

Thank you, everyone!

And me? What would I like to the dead to teach me?

Almost. Not quite.

I'd like to teach the dead to sing in perfect harmony! (Dang song's been stuck in my head since this contest started.}

The leetle hands and the big hands.

And why, you ask, is my hair so messy? Well, whose hat d'you think we used?

How awesome :-D

heee! little person with the destruction!

(i was number 12!)

yours made me smile. I was 19.

I was number 6. I tried to follow the requirements to the letter.

I was number 8.
I'm rather proud that I made it exactly 200 words.

But I didn't win anything. Again. *pouts*

I was number 2 - and am very excited about winning. Thanks!

*applauds all the entries*

congratulations to all the winners.

yay! to little hands and even littler destructive hands.

and what could the dead teach me?

I've seen the thriller video! They could teach me how to dance *strikes a pose*

What could the dead teach me?

I'm the Honeyman family's official archivist. I have the journals, diaries and letters of family members long dead, some of whom I've never met. They've taught me a lot.

Number 8 makes me giggle

Hey that was great! And so lovely to see winners being picked! Thank you.

(From someone who thought they would not be entered - but was afterall - thank you!
I'm the last one - a lazy entry)

well I know which one is graffalke's..

I really enjoyed reading those entries - each talked to me on a different level. Number 8 I found very Sandman, 18 surprised me, & 20 nearly made me cry. And I loved the picking of the winners (& now I finally know how to pronounce my own name ), although I'm almost a bit embarrassed about winning again... Thanks for organising this! I always love reading the contributions.

*goes off with aitapata's world-singing-in-harmony-song firmly nestled in her brain for the next 2 weeks*

oh... that is really great for all winners... just to be sure ... looks like some people didn't really stand by 200 words... lol

I won't ... say which was mine...

Péné

Hurrah!
They are all awesome, and thanks to the mods for organising this

quote:

Ye Olde Neil prize pack

Yay! I won a prize! Wheee!

*wobbles and spins*

edit to add:

quote:

Originally posted by Dweller in Darkness:
The leetle hands and the big hands.

Awwwwwwww...

I won something! whee! (I was number four - it should have the title with it, which was what I said I would like the dead to teach me - The Contemplation of Solace)