WELCOME TO THE PUB-VERSE

We are thrilled to announce the
Poets Pub October 2021 Contest
Haunted Mansion

********** Winners **********

1st Place – NehpetsEnal

2nd Place – @KainGodchilds

3rd Place – @Sohinigoswami

*********** Honorable Mentions **********

@NotInOurStars

@lilgalaxyclikkie

Please join us in CONGRATULATING OUR WINNERS!!!

We would also like to extend a HUGE THANK YOU to all that participated!!

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A Message from Myna

Well, we have come around again, this week marks my 5th Anniversary of becoming your Mystres of Chatter.  The world around us has changed so drastically in the last five years, but here at the Pub it has remained the safe-haven I found it to be when I first discovered it.  It has been such an honor and sincere pleasure to serve you all, here behind the scenes.  As you all know the Pub's activities have been slowly dwindling and we may be looking at the end of our time here at the Pub.  I am reminded of the old song by The Byrds, Turn, Turn, Turn:

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

The lyrics are based upon some Bible verses, Ecclesiastes 3:4-14, where it is explained that there is a time for everything.  It is true that the Pub's time may be coming to an end, however that does not discount what we have accomplished here.  We should all be proud and take comfort in the fact that not only have we placed into the universe a library of magnificent words but more importantly we have built friendships that will last a lifetime.  The Pub has allowed us to build an international family and I am deeply grateful to be a part of this community.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all the love and kindness you have shown me.  We may not know what lies ahead for the Pub, but I do know that my life has been blessed beyond measure by all of you.

Cheers, Myna

Leisure
By William H Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

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Random Poetry Prompt
Write a poem about the first snow of the season.
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POET OF THE YEAR CONTEST:

Our poet of the year contest is open for submissions, and will run for the next TWO (2) WEEKS.

This contest is a bit different so please read the rules carefully. 

This year we have opened up the Poet of the Year contest to ALL PUBBERS!!

POEM A WEEK CHALLENGE:

The purpose of this challenge is to simply encourage writing, taking the time, at least once a week, to get a poem from your brain on to paper.  If you would like to participate, the "how to" is below.

2021 Poem-a-Week Participants

A Paintbucket of Words by nubivagant_words

Genteel Reveries of an Outrié Poetess by MystresMyna

Petals of a Rose by Alkymarz

A New Leaf by most_bay

Five Drops of Ink by je2suisChris

Woven Threads by enchanting_figments

My One Last Gasp by BillTemple1957

Even As We Speak by MichaelTyger

Love Wings by PriscillaYiadom4

Please stop by and check out their books, show them some Poets Pub love!

IF I MISSED ANYONE, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AND I WILL ADD YOUR NAME TO THE LIST!

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Poem-a-Week Prompt
Week Forty-Five Prompt
Write a poem that take place in 3 different time periods.
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storytellers-saloon

Busted Gulch Vol. 15 Update:

To be updated soon!! If you haven't checked out our Busted Gulch series please come on by, the Saloon is always open!!

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Random Poetry Prompt
Write a poem about autumn leaves.
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What Is Our Life
Sir Walter Raleigh

WHAT is our life? The play of passion.
Our mirth? The music of division:
Our mothers' wombs the tiring-houses be,
Where we are dressed for life's short comedy.
The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is,
Who sits and views whosoe'er doth act amiss.
The graves which hide us from the scorching sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus playing post we to our latest rest,
And then we die in earnest, not in jest.

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A Clock stopped –
Emily Dickinson

A Clock stopped -
Not the Mantel's -
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still -

An awe came on the Trinket!
The Figures hunched  -with pain -
Then quivered out of Decimals -
Into Degreeless noon -

It will not stir for Doctors -
This Pendulum of snow -
The Shopman importunes it -
While cool - concernless No

Nods from the Gilded pointers -
Nods from Seconds slim -
Decades of Arrogance between
The Dial life -
And Him.

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Days
By Philip Larkin

What are days for?
Days are where we live.  
They come, they wake us  
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:  
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor  
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

We have come to the end of another Chatter, and if you will allow me one small boast, I have not missed posting a weekly Chatter in the past 5 years.  You all have been so supportive, and kind and it has been an overwhelming joy to bring you the Chatter each week!!  Thank you!!! I hope everyone has a super-duper fantastic week!!

Remember to... keep those pens and keyboards flying!!

Cheers from you Mystres of Chatter
MystresMyna