This feature is dedicated to the Winners and Honorable Mentions of Chezzy-Am's A Writer's Arsenal (contest)

Poetry Winners

First Place

Emily-Byrd

Meara and the Mermaid

Jewels of the NightA ruby sunset fades away

Twilight melts into a sapphire sky

A diamond star arrives to say

Good-bye to the final thread of day
The white moonstone begins to rise

The trees in darkness shroud themselves

In silent repose, the still earth lies

A sea of jet-black shadow swells
A handful of gems, sparkling white

Are scattered along the expanse

Beaming down, they govern the night

And through the heavens they dance
Fathoms away, softly they glimmer

Unthinkable distance, unreachable height

For ages and ages o'er us they have shimmered

The dazzling jewels of the night   The Moon's LullabyEvening shadows yawn and pool
Weaving webs of darkness cool
Over the blue horizon slips
The sleepy moon, white as wool
He tells the stars "O, don't be shy"
He tells the children "Shut your eyes"
He tells the world to go to sleep
He tells my baby rock-a-bye - bye - bye
All the stars twinkle up in the sky
But none are so bright as baby's eyes
The light of the moon is lovely and soft
But softer the crib where baby lies
The moon tells the stars "O, don't be shy"
He tells the children "Shut your eyes"
He tells the world to go to sleep
He tells my baby rock-a-bye - bye - bye
He sings an age-old lullaby...   Foggy NightSnaking trails of mist
Cut my breath away;
Inhale the silent terror
Of a hundred memories;
Trees rattle with ice, unseen
Reaching in the shadowy curtain
To find me
To grip me
To hold me in this darkness
This shifting, sifting world of black.
Time stands still - 
Only the fog moves,
Creeps over my skin;
Cold seeps into my bones,
Calling to mind desolate moors,
Creatures of other worlds,
Lost children,
Ancient tales,
Tears
And loneliness.
Great, stretching, deepening, ghostly
Loneliness.    Immigrant (22/30) Waves slap the ship,
Ship pulls to harbor,
Harbor of a strange land -
Land I'll come to know.
 Know that I'm afraid,
Afraid and unsure;
Unsure in this new world -
World I'll call my home.
 "Home", the gulls cry freely;
Freely I embark,
Embark on a journey
Journey all alone.

Second Place

MagicalJoey

Greater Than the Sword

Siren SongSiren Song
3-6-15
I am the siren of the sea and waves,
Come, be mine, heed my call and marry me;
Give me yourself for the rest of your days
For I will swim through the oceans and seas
To have you by my side tonight.
I am one with the deepest, darkest depths
Of depravity; a siren in all
Ways true – come swim the heights and widths and breadths
As I swim with you – come with me, stand tall,
Tail to tail within the moonlight.
Bear my crown of shells upon your wide brow
And my belt of kelp around your waistline,
The time has come for us, the time’s come now
To swim down through the deep, leave all behind;
Blessed be love and the lovers fight.
I am the siren of the deepest dark,
Together we have conquered and shall rule
All the land and sea and sky, leave our mark
Upon the world of mankind, those so cruel
Will rue the day of mermaid’s blight.   Goodbye to ThemGoodbye to Them
2-7-15
She bowed her head to meet her chest,
Her heart was in her throat.
All her life she’d lived for ‘them’,
Bowing to their wishes and whims,
Filled to the brim with self-hatred and pain;
Their scapegoat who would die choking on their ways.
Fisthands and curledtoes restrained her, only
By the words she would not say.
She would not fight for freedom of self-expression,
She bowed and scraped in hope that they would let go of the leash
That bound her to their broken sides.
She would cower, longing for acceptance each day
But trying to buy it in ways that only put out to pay her soul.
She was not herself, had never been,
What would she do if given the chance?
Would she run, scared, straight back into the hell
Where all can tell she is a faint copy of the leader?
Would she find courage to fly to a place where she’d be the one
Giving glances and leading her own life?
She wrote a letter to her family
Telling them goodbye.
She couldn   The Weight of the WordsThe Weight of the Words
17-7-15
The tree’s wing whispers as it sashays towards the ground.
It is arid and prickly,
Weighed down by a lone roan feather
That carries the weight of the words.
Purple is the river that runs rampant within your organs.
Tributaries twist and turn towards each other,
In orgasmic flicks of life
That spread the weight of the words though you.
What words weigh down deep within your sinful soul?
What things said will cause caustic flesh and bone to thresh and groan,
As if the very rivers run rabid internally?
Those words weigh down this wing.
Those words spread through organs like hungry cancer
And cause wings to break and rivers to flood.   Another Year Has PassedAnother Year Has Passed
20-8-15
I missed your birthday this year, on purpose.
I find that if I celebrate it each year I’m thought of as weird;
Hanging on, not grieving properly, or somesuch nonsense.
But i remember deep inside the day you were supposed to be born;
Five days after my birthday and eleven after your father’s.
Happy birthday little one, happy birthday little son.
I love you dearly, always will. I loved you then and love you still.
I remember best the day you left, and how I felt, lost and bereft,
So happy birthday little boy, I hope you’re bringing heaven joy.
You were like a bulb planted roots up – no chance to properly grow a foundation in life –
And I, the stubborn soil, didn’t realise.
So each year you grow a year older in death as I grow one in life,
And I wonder still; was it my fault? Was it God’s? Was it ‘his’?
But I remember deep inside, the day you died, and the day you were meant to live.

Third Place

Swanhyld

Collision

All The Stars In HeavenFarewell to you my lover,
farewell to you my friend.
All the stars in heaven
do mark this as the end.
Your mem'ry will be with me,
engraved upon my heart,
but forever wasn't ours –
not even from the start.
And one day when I'm old
I'll think fondly of our days...
But our story won't be told
for all your shameful ways.
There is another with your face,
the face of my dead lover.
And while you I can't erase
I cannot bear this other.
So on the eve of this farewell,
– a future without you –
My sorrow is too much to tell,
my sorrow is for you.
Farewell to you my lover,
farewell to you my friend.
All the stars in heaven
do mark this as the end.   Anonymous Confessionspoetry’s
not meant to be
‘bout you and me
they want to see
what they decree
to be
“good poetry”
and so when we,
our souls set free,
– to express
our lives’ debris –
we yet confess
anonymously.   <da:thumb id="551736716"/>   Time Like A DrumTime like a drum,
warmth with the sun,
the rhythm runs,
my heart succumbs.
So, a new year,
my summer sears,
it thrums with fear
– my heart, my dear?
June caught his sail...
My stars paled
and her gale
veiled his trail.

Honorable Mention

katamaris4ever

Comfort

First NightSix hours feel like an eternity
When they’re the only thing keeping you away
From them.
They look at you with joy in their eyes
But pain in their souls
Screaming for release that never arrives.
You can do nothing but watch
As they scramble to find refuge
From the torture they have endured.
 
This isn’t your show
But enjoy it anyways.
Pay attention and see the anguish that is going on in this place.
Fear overrides their systems as they creep into your room
And invade your heart
With bloodcurdling shouts
And cries for help.
Make sure that your mind is clear
Because this job will drive you delirious.
 
So please be careful
Of the struggles you will endure
As twilight turns to terror
Time ticks timorously
As you sit and stare
At the secrets begging to reveal themselves
And it’s all up to you.
If it’s any consolation
It’s not like you’re here forever.   This Was a Sad SongI hold my breath because it’s over
And since I’m reading this, they’re already gone.
Those memories are time that has elapsed
And I’ll forget everything I ever learned
And I’ll hate that moment.
Why do all good things come to an end?
With exuberance comes exile.
That lonely void in the place I called a heart
Longs for something else
As it looks back and aches for nostalgia
 
The pain flashes before me
And I can feel the emotion overwhelm my soul
Wanting solace from the storm
As I weep in agony
Feeling the desire of something I do not yet have
 
I can hear the aria of longing
A sweet, somber symphony of recall
Crying in the distance for another chance
As I believe in the idea that this will last forever
Only for the orchestra to become silent
 
It waits for my voice.
The one I’ve been saving up for this moment
And as I start to sing, the field flourishes with life
As the musicians play vibrantly
And urge me to continue.
 
I rewrite   Commission: Night at the Park                “What are you doing here miss?”
                I jump, a little scared. The park ranger’s eyes look bloodshot.
                “I… um… well, my husband and I wanted to go somewhere near for our honeymoon. And he loves this park, and…”
                “Isn’t this a bit too… earthy for a honeymoon?” The park ranger doesn’t believe my story.
                “Well, he’s a geologist, and he loves to see some of the sediment that builds up in the lake at night,” I reply.
               Minions Review(Contains spoilers from Despicable Me and Despicable Me 2)
                When a franchise becomes super popular, you can feel it; there’s merchandise by the truckloads, commercials out the wazoo, and countless spinoff films to last a lifetime. These things are present to satisfy their target audience, though kids seem to be the object of affection that animated films are focused on.  Likewise, the quality of these movies are varied, and they can range anywhere from award-winning to incredibly mediocre. In the case of Dreamworks’ Minions, the prequel story of the lovably annoying Despicable Me sidekicks, it’s decidedly average children’s fare that has a mix of stunning animation, uninteresting characters, and adorable yet trite humor.
                Anyone who has turned on a tele

Prose Winners

First Place

World-Inside-Me

For she is...

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Second Place

monni18

Tomorrow Never Meant More

This Broken HeartThe thing about this heart of mine, it's never really been whole. Someone dear to me decided that for the rest of my life, I would have to walk around with some pieces missing. This wouldn't have been that bad if people later on hadn't decided to keep it shattered. It was as if there was a concerted effort to slowly destroy me. Despite this, I somehow managed to preserve a good majority of my heart through the years. That was until He came. He took this heart and shielded it from everything wrong in life. He gave me a chance to repair the damage done years prior, helping me with the healing process. He was my knight in shining armor. He even went so far as to use His own heart in place of mine when things got extremely rough. It was like I had my own personal superman that was just as human as me with His own pain and heartache but was always willing to take a hit for me. That was until He showed me who He really was. He wasn't the angel I thought but rather an actor playing a part usi   DangerousI’ve stood by the cliff
Afraid to jump
I’ve held the knife
Afraid to cut
I’ve grasped the gun
Afraid to pull
Nothing compares to loving you
It was the suicide that rebirthed me
Made me who I am now
The broken, destroyed girl in the corner
So now
I would jump
I would cut
I would pull
Because although scary at first
You don’t feel the pain after   ...hear meThe unfallen tears give me away and make it so obvious that I'm hurting, but it's not like anyone sees them. No, because they don't even see the frown that I've turned upside down.
Why?
Because it's not like anyone has the time to care.  I mean, I don't even want people to have the time for my unspoken pleas for help.
I just want someone to…at least, hear me. Hear the voice that I've locked away in the cage in my heart, the voice that's been put to sleep for all these years. I want someone to hear the pain that I've laced each of my words with but coated with happiness to keep the “What's wrong?” questions at bay. I want someone to hear the quieted whimpers that escape during the latest hours of the night, the ones that I let out when no one else is awake.
I guess, from that it seems like I don't actually want to be heard. But I do because I think I'm past the point of asking for someone to help me with my hushed screams of distress. I don't even want someone to   You.You. Do you know what you do to me? Like honestly, are you aware of what's happening in my head? Not too many people can make things like that happen. In fact, no one has that power. You focus my thoughts. You make me have a reason to just daydream. You make me actually remember my dreams. That doesn't happen to me. My mind is always in a mess. It never has a single thought but you caused me to actually have a reason to just stop and think about you. I start to think about how you look at me and simply smile after I've done something weird or different. Or I think about how my heart stops functioning the minute you hug me. I didn't know it was physically possible to not breathe for longer than a minute but you force me to stop. I think about how you smell so delicious that it's addicting. Your smell seeps into my brain causing me to lose the ability to focus on anything but you. School becomes pointless, homework becomes a distant memory and life just stops. I often think about how you

Third Place

Aerode

WorldFall

we who are wearywe who were afraid of those dim evenings,
homesick for the soft rains which were
never ours,
are uncertain again of
the waning stroke of the moon.
we who embrace the wicked
leave the seasons to maneuver themselves
and wind into each other,
sure of their graceful oblivion.
we who are weary descend,
following our fingers as they are rising,
rising
following
escaping
the thick air before it can kill,
we who were once war personified,
worn down,
worn
warn them of our great coming.
and we shall not run,
but walk.   sometimes we do not say goodbyebecause we like to keep things simple,
young.
but we're still mostly just fools,
drowning our days away in a warm pillow sea.   HandsHands were the subject of many discussions in our household. My mother used to trace the head and heart lines on my left hand and say, "Don't get too violent. You could kill someone." If those two lines connected, she warned, a person would be branded as aggressive, short-tempered, or mentally slow. It was spoken of by Thai ancestors, but I dismissed the story as pure folklore.
This was never an issue for me. My palm lines snake past each other, with only a trickle connecting them. It was, though, for my brother. His palm lines collided and diverged angrily across his palm. Whether it be a coincidence or not, my brother grew older with a fierce temper and smoldering grudges. I grew feebly, contracting illness constantly and succumbing under a weak will. Years later, however, our roles switched and I was an angry, explosive preteen with no filter on my mouth. I still constantly have fits of rage, but I've begun to learn how to stifle them temporarily.
As I grew, so did my hands. Others'   bleeding pulsesi can unlock the sky with your
winter bones.
  i'll run away with your shadow,
  beneath your footsteps,
  because sometimes, i am
  nostalgic for things i've never known.
  and sometimes, i am too bloodshy
  to ignite.
  i can only hope to find a cloudflood
  that carries two.
after unearthing the atmosphere,
i still cannot find you.

Honorable Mention

MagicalJoey

My Life With Depression

Never ForgottenNever Forgotten
16-6-13
I was used many times over, but never so much as that summer. One might even say that I was abused, but I was never harmed. But that summer, oh I remember it well.
It was the summer of spectacular sunrises and sunsets that were even more stunning. Every day the sky was streaked with more colours than any artist’s pallet could ever hold. Interwoven like the finest Persian carpet, the colours stood out on their own yet complimented each other to form a complete picture. Golden-edged clouds, like balls of cotton, made me think that perhaps this summer there would be more than a ‘silver lining’ to look forward to.
The first time I saw her, it was in the shade of the trees. She had set up an easel and was sketching what I can only assume were the ducks in the river. Concentration wrinkled her brow, and the light breeze sent wisps of vibrant chestnut across her face to tickle her cheeks. Absorbed in what she was doing, she never noticed   At the Office: Two-sentence horror storyWith a creak and a slam the door opened and shut.
I was alone in the office in the middle of the night.   NotM - Mission Event: The Trickster's PrideIrish hovered several kilometres above the ship, observing the current captain and crew through her binoculars as they went about their duties. Captain Maggie had assigned her the task of observing the ship from the air, and as long as she remained still she looked like a large seagull to those below.
She could only assume that down there, maybe in a fishing boat or on the docks posing as a fisherman, another member of the crew watched the ship from the land. But time for pondering such things would come later, when she reported in. As of now she was airborne watching The Trickster’s Pride as it bobbed in the bay.
Looking through the binoculars again, she noticed that the crew had gathered on the port side of the ship as a group of dolphins sailed into the bay. “Now’s my chance,” she thought and located the leader of the group via her telekinetic connection with animals. Immediately, through the animal’s mind and sense of hearing she could hear what the cr   Casimiro finds port in Sao Jorge da MinaPortuguese captain Casimiro Dimas came from his audience with King Joao II full of fervour and determination: he would sail to establish a trade route with India and he would do it for his king. His ship, Graça de Antȏnio, was stocked and ready to sail and the crew were eager to reach São Jorge da Mina and begin trading with the Africans they knew. As to finding out what lay beyond, well, that was up to fate and God and, perhaps, a little grace from St Antȏnio. They could use his grace, as the saint was the patron saint of finding things and a sea trade route to the east needed finding more than ever, as it would be a quicker route by far than the land trade already established.
“Captain, how did the meeting go?” Horacio, his first mate, questioned him when he reached the ship.
“As well as can be expected. The king has granted us leave to travel to São Jorge da Mina, and then from there south and east.”
“South and east? You mean

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