007 Challenge

The Problem of Poets Living in Small Towns

If Annie writes a roundelay,
I would participate, I think,
To see what poets could portray
What Annie writes as roundelay,
Where poets carefully will say
While rhyming, Esther makes me drink.
So, Annie writes that, roundelay?
It would precipitate a stink.

I've only just seen this! A Roundelay eh? We'll see!
 
1

She bends at the waist
to unclip sheer silk stockings
revealing a glimpse
of a red lacy thong.
Sinks with a soft sigh
onto the fireside recliner
and wiggles her toes at the fire,
wondering who the night will bring
to assuage this burning need
to be bent, shaped and filled
to a Master's desires.
 
2

Those stocking used as ties to bind
placed upon her knees,
her nails clutching upholstery.
The time is now for that last
virginity to fall, and as he enters
she cries out in pain
yet supplication,
She has given him her all.
 
I gave you a silvered moon,
but you just muddied
it's reflection in a puddle.
I shot a star across the sky.
and you squandered my love
like a tawdry trinket.
A rainbow followed my tears
as I turned and walked away.
 
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6

Annie had a little Pearl
she found it on her chin,
it should have been around her neck
but he aimed it at her grin.
 
1..

The bodies moving in tandem
we can conquer or destroy
stretch out this taffy moment
before something comes out.
I remember hyperventilating,
it startled a laugh out of me
and I wonder if maybe the holes are
nearly always malformed.
.
A Cento all poems by Trixareforkids
1. About sex
2. Animal instincts
3. Candy everyone wants
4. Gas smells awful
5. Failure, the great and glorious
6 Girl talk.
7. Holes
8. Imaginary people.
 
2..

Have you seen Contrary Mary?
You'll know her if you've met,
the one who's always awkward
she's the mouthy one I bet!
When there's another option
which no-one else can see,
I have an awful feeling
Contrary's really me!!
 
3..

This cloud lost it's silver lining
to hang out with the rain.
Showed marked reluctance, pining
this cloud lost it's silver lining,
that last remnant no longer shining
when the sun's hidden in disdain.
This cloud lost it's silver lining
to hang out with the rain.
 
This cloud lost it's silver lining
to hang out with the rain.
Showed marked reluctance, pining
this cloud lost it's silver lining,
that last remnant no longer shining
when the sun's hidden in disdain.
This cloud lost it's silver lining
to hang out with the rain.
We'll finish our respective challenges together, Annie! How about that? BTW Loving the triolet.
 
We'll finish our respective challenges together, Annie! How about that? BTW Loving the triolet.

Thank you very much. I was afraid there were too many 'ings' but I'd already started to write it as something else and then decided to change it into a Triolet :)
 
4 ........ Double Acrostic

Coming together briefly for the first time
Only makes her wonder if this can be real.
Until she can be sure she will not leap,
Plunge into what may only be in lieu
Loves waiting room, can this be who
Envelops her forever, or just platonic?
 
5..

Why do we hurry from out childhood?
I'm twelve and three quarters, I'd say,
couldn't wait to be a teen
that milestone of maturity.
The dizzy heights of no longer being a child.
Putting away of dolls and teddy bears
rushing headlong towards stockings and boyfriends.
So now I'm old and going grey,
the dolls and teddy bears
are treasured possessions,
as are the memories before they too fade
beyond the reach of re-patched and re-sewn.
 
one

scars catch as we touch
thicker than skin
they scratch, we bleed
never whole again

when we met
I thought our scars matched
fitting perfectly into the gouges
left carelessly behind
we were strong
the dark banished
from our eyes

darkened windows turn to mirrors
when I only see me in your eyes
I fear

who are you, anymore?
my eyes dim
with the memory of scars
 
6.. Reincarnation

Existing in the place of my birth
but still I seem so far from home.
A distant memory taunts of a far off place
where I belong, with others of my kind.
Like an exiled bird in a nest of cuckoos,
they do not have my voice nor sing my song.
This body weakens now and soon very soon,
I will slip away back to my own reality.
 
two

everything I touch bleeds.
dull rust smears
on our bedclothes,
glistening fingerprints on the
frame. I wear my
fingers raw. know that

blood changes
color, waxing bright and hot
when near the heart.
when we touched, when I
traced my fingers
on your skin, we
burned. know that

now the world
is red-black and
oozing. I want
the memory of us
to warm the air,
to soothe the distance
between. you left, tired
of wounds. I remain,
tired of cataloging
shades of iron.
 
three

why I want to be a crocodile

you are too clumsy
when you touch me
I fall into shreds of nothing.
I want to learn toughness,
and alligators are the wrong
shade of green
to bury behind my eyes

I want to hide
my pebbled skin
submerge myself
in ancient bones
and lurk (you've taught me
how to lurk)
waiting for you
to break your neck
between my clamped jaws.

I want to take you
into myself
dissolve your flesh
against stomach walls
let birds clean your carcass
from my shining teeth

and when I stand
as first mourner
I’ll shed reptilian tears,
pulling the shreds
you left of me
over my eyes.
 
7..

I am estranged from my sister
can't say I miss her a lot,
but one thing she took are the memories
she stole and she still has now got
the book with each pasted photo
black and white of my childhood days,
when we were still young and living at home
before we went our separate ways.
I don't even know where her house is
or if she is living or dead
and the man that she lives with won't tell us
but destroy precious pictures instead.
Those flaxen haired children mean nothing
to him, nor the long ago family
but I feel when she took the album
she stole a large part of me.
 
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four

what this poet needs

time to think and
not think and
desperately avoid thinking

space to bend that time within,
big enough to hold the universe
inside one small laptop
and her fingertips

a floor to pace
and food to munch
to impel her fingers
into movement

noise to shut away
so that the quiet found
is on the page
and quiet
to fill the page with noise

and a mirror to face
who she is
how she sees
and who others see
and a window
to add in everything else

distractions to remind her that
writing is important
enough to ignore things
and solitude so she aches
for anything but writing

and a mind that accepts
no contradictions
in what she needs
 
five

why I left

you called me sugar
and I remembered
you make the air
sweet and dangerous
and so thick that as I breath
I feel my veins hardening
into sugar crystals
you turn me into syrup
dissolving me in you
until I forget how strong I am

when I could tell you:
"you are my world"
know I was telling you
it was time to leave

blood needs smooth lines
clear and tough
no sweet obstructions
damming the world
turning it into a lonely place
made up of only you
 
six

we were knit together, once
two strands held together
and tied in so complex
a knot, it formed some
new, smooth thing.

but we came unraveled
picking, pulling
until we were nothing
but a tangle
which you carefully unpicked
until we both were free

but I am still touched by you
lurking in my yarn
are echoes of your color
and I’m worn around the edges
weaker for your loss
uncertain if I will
ever find a new pattern
and gain my strength again
 
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