Entries categorized 'poetry winner 908'

First Cutting

truerelic@gmail.com — Mon, 22 Nov 2010 18:00:00 +0100

I am standingin this fieldof alfalfaand the dewwell I can feel iton the backof my neck but soshe is there as wellstandingin this fieldwith mein the fieldwith me holding my handon her bellyand pointingto Orionin her flip-flops I am thinkingthis is reallycool stuffand howI'm likeinfused with dirtand the ancient practiceof maternalstar-gazing well sureshe is nestingscented bitsof rice hulland yarn flutter co-mingledmanif [...]

In Defense of Promiscuity

sharbour@bresnan.net — Sat, 16 Oct 2010 19:00:00 +0100

I have never had that craving:

white-hot desire

for a body not already

known.

Instead,

some ache of longing

presses me [...]

Acclimating

aquaholical@gmail.com — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 19:00:00 +0100

A season left without saying goodbye, because I'm sure
that seemed more convenient.

Bitterness of the earth now–giving way to a
wide detour–shifts balance to one side
and lets us know she isn't smiling,
she is showing her teeth.

It's moment to moment at once&nda [...]

sinister manipulators with delicate fingers

dbrummert@gmail.com — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 19:00:00 +0100

first there was laughter
fast summers learning to survive
deadly attacks by fake monsters
fight quick
one very good blow
under the chin
should do it
Slow winters chasing the morning snow frantic
like a herd of fleas
delirious with the need
to trudge [...]

tiptoe around the corner (revised)

sharbour@bresnan.net — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 19:00:00 +0100

Daddy says predator- I say love-
feasts on something- doesn’t it?
You write what you know you write-
what you know and you
write what you know and
the circular direction points
back towards center.

the rape and the dead child and

the way it feels to simply walk away from
this brick-laden thing called
life… I tiptoe to [...]

The Color Red

angeliqueglass@aol.com — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 19:00:00 +0100

I don't believe in painted red nails

she once said.

or rouge or matt lipstick.

It doesn't play well.

It's cheap in a way. She said.

And it hurts my image. Okay, red nail polish on my toes during winter

might work, and rouge as a contour down my neck might do --

But matt lipstick! Please!

Her lips glistened as she hesitated, biting the corner of her mouth...

All I really need is a little lip balm with honey ----

< [...]

More than one thing I wish was true (adult content)

sharbour@bresnan.net — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 19:00:00 +0100

There is no crystal clarity like that after a hard drunk

dopamine still lurking in the hallways of the brain

truth unquestioned, but presented

on a plate

John the Baptist's head-

observe and detach

although for some reason

there is also never a good fuck

like the fuck the morning after a good drunk

between two wavering, watery souls

suddenly made present- Your tongue unties only

when you&# [...]

The Brief

jeweledclaws@gmail.com — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 18:00:00 +0100

at the breve counter
where my debit card
declined
to cover my large [...]

Postcards from Eurydice (Revised)

skolodezh@gmail.com — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 18:00:00 +0100

You were supposed to marry me outside

Beneath the willow tree

I guess death seemed more romantic

But everything could have been much simpler

You always did complicate love with too many notes and words

Too proud to be selfish

Sufferi [...]

reconsideration

rapursley@netscape.net — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 18:00:00 +0100

death, palpable,
as the air thickens
and breaths quicken,
with thoughts awry

regrets multiply
as visions past
fly by,
too quick
to ascertain
what remains

hope's flower,
quickly devoured,
as needs' hour
refuses to reply

sleep's peace
eludes
and no release
[...]

Unconstitutional

jonnyrottenwhite@gmail.com — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 18:00:00 +0100

Yellow was the colour of jealousy

yet she rode on that bus every day.

She saw sandlots and broken windows become

sprinklers and Ferraris. She was diversity before

she [...]

Doing it Jack Allen style

juluca27@gmail.com — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 18:00:00 +0100

With the grip of a possessed lover
you took my hand,
leading me backwards
to the alley where we met
and broke each other.
Amid the concrete, empty soda cans
and trashy love songs from sleepy alley men,
we burned each other
with love that left our signatures
on the walls, graffiti-style,
Yet,
as the band played on and
your breath grew strong,
[...]

Hum Hallelujah (Revised)

meganxkathleen@yahoo.com — Sun, 16 May 2010 18:00:00 +0100

Ex post facto.
Remember
Reflect
Regret, he said.
Polonius is ousted from the curtain.

Embroidered infidelity; eminence and infamy
Sin by any other name would smell as sweet, still -
transgression has been painted scarlet.
Predestined disgrace flickers weakly
next to the blistering burns of internal remorse.

Offense, trial, atonement.
One body politic.
Friar [...]

Snorting Cayenne

truerelic@gmail.com — Mon, 03 May 2010 18:00:00 +0100

Her

apocolyptic

digression

simply

registered

in the

red dirt

outside Moab.

Nubs

of toes,

tanned

fanned,

pressed against

windshield

obviously.

Stark

thirst hung

cockeyed

from

the mirror

like a bone.

Thoughtful

incr [...]

Godly Foibles, In Fresco Of Silence

que2zed@yahoo.co.in — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 18:00:00 +0100

Abandoned
And befallen - gods
Trespass the moon
So black
- in a fresco of silence
Like a solo drop
Of dusk - godly foibles
As if dying
In lowly fables
- shredded
And camouflaged,
Nocturnal truth
Of infernal desires speaking
At a remove
From the earthly soil

Thus spake
The spell of oracular lies
As the gods fumbled [...]

My Fairy's Wing

cynthia_everson@bellsouth.net — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 18:00:00 +0100

You have a green light that burns all night on the end of your dock ... It had seemed as close as a star to the moon ... It couldn't be over-dreamed ... [It] was a deathless song.

&nbs [...]

Leishmaniasis

jonnyrottenwhite@gmail.com — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 18:00:00 +0100

I. Cutaneous

firing your weapon

lights the burnt brown sand.

nothing illuminates the sky.

getting your scarf up

Rubidoux Linda

truerelic@gmail.com — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 18:00:00 +0100

The leading

edge

of the

doorway

frames

your

hand-held

gin & tonic

tennis racquet

and

two-bit

smile,

a tampax

commercial

gone

the extra

mile,

refreshing.

Later,

while the

racquet wilts

in the

corner,

you scheme

passionate

once

< [...]

red

rapursley@netscape.net — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 18:00:00 +0100

looking at me,
with eyes dreamy,
yet steady
and focused:
am I the locus,
as you perch
ontheedgeofthebed;
is it me that before all else
you would rather have
instead?
indeed,
even in need,
I cannot steal
what he threw away:
I am thoughtless
and empty,
blameless,
as white gives way to
red.

'Dad

bassanio45@yahoo.com — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 18:00:00 +0100

(Adult Theme)

Bagdad/June, 2004

12 Lines

My buddy drops one then another into his mouth,

eyes twinkling like a dopehead Santa