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LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

007 Challenge

5

All poets have good days and bad.
On the bad ones, words flop about
like asphyxiating fish lifted
violently from their native water,
like a luckless poet's dimwit hope
that he could breathe quite as well on land
if only there was an empty page
instead of one more anoxic puddle in which to land.

Well, say I, land, then. Land someplace scaly, thin, and silver
and oh-so-quite way alien,
rather than life falsify, again,

again, again, again.
 
6

wound like a bicycle
set in some rack
to spin, spin, spin
my sludgy heart

back to life, back to life
from the sweet caramel of convention, like

Please note the first word of this poem sounds as woond
 
7

little bits of paper, bent and strewn
on a surface of still water
will float forever
or seem to

because their wood pulp does not wick
up fluid, either due to its shy chemicals, or
how the sheet was finished
in the factory or,
well, mystery

not that it matters,
anyway. What matters is the float
 
week 1

4

small betrayal

Why does my muse insist
on taking Saturdays off?
It's not as if she's overworked
and underpaid, we share wine
and secrets most nights.
I thought she was a friend........
 
:won:


damnit

damnit

damnit to hell!

you've posed
and prosed
and teased it of me;

that twisting
seething sentient
urge,

no.

that need.
that unquenchable need.

you've won:

i submit

in a glory
that breeds
in the wonder
of what
just in me
can't be true?

is it true?

must
be true;
for it is.

come see....

come see.
my dearest, come see your way clear...

come clean to me here
through the morass of noise...

yes,

this noise
that we both must obey.

pas de deux
most sublime
in the fury of time

i shan't tell
of it darling,
shall you?
 
: too :

i've read all the things
that
you left for me, too

though the two
into four
can't be two.
 
: three :

you're my friend
and to see you with she on your arm

come to dinner
my friend

mine is ours
 
: (f) :
: our :
​

they were shitting on your car

but it was spring
and warm
and the music they made to wake us
found tempo
to the coupling.

our breath then
didn't register...

as you were wet and ready and distracted
and mine, through rasps,
took no note
of your raspy like-need.

none of the five was connected;
all subservient to the sixth's tendril touch.

we were off planet;
where we should have been.
 
Wonderful to see you writing in this thread, Drown. I like "come clean to me here" and the passion of your narrative. Tristesse2, I have SO felt that little betrayal myself. Love the muse but she's fickle. :)
 
: fi've :


if i've gone there
it's not but for

the message
left in bottle
on the sands.

the caravan driver
could read the shifting highway
and sleep at night as well.

by firelight,
they'd wonder,
as his snores somehow upheld
a canopy of stars.

if i've gone there
it's not but for

the chance to
be discovered
in your hands.

at dawn, he's awoken
to lead them down the byway
then sleep quite well, at night.

as afterglow,
they'd wonder
as his snores somehow foretold
a legacy
not ours.

if i've gone there
it's not but for

happenstance

influenced by
typographs.

the sands pose a riddle
that best, are left unread...
for sleep, at night, bodes well.

broken now,
they'd cower
in his snore's protective shell;
a legacy

not ours.


if i've gone there
it's but for you...

messengers
contravene
all caravans.
 
1

Anniversary Card for Molly

I would paint a little distress
on your wedding picture, some tiny sign
that you finally realized the mistake
of a welder with a steady job
instead of a drunk,
his restless pen,
and too much lack of ambition
to even mow our weedy lawn
when it really needed it.

But bitter is not a taste; it is convention
or law or maybe myth,
so Happy 35th, in any case.
 
: six :

the i
so squat square
in the middle.

six hurt the most.

but you,
were numb by then.

a hollow laugh;
twice now...

once in the four...
and now
just now
again.

to swirl that laugh
around my tongue
and swallow it...

you'd earned six.

: six :

the six

most difficult

for you were then numbed
and i was quite raw

there'd been four
and of course two and one.

it was never spoken.

: six :

never spoken again
but remembered…

the evening
long gone

the early
a blurr

the day that followed
a weary comfortable

that became seven
as a natural covenant
off the road near napa…

: six :

the half-breath
hollow laugh…

somewhere entirely else

that both frightened
and embraced…

and promised a stroll into the air

with the one
as a one

pried from two.

: six :

the i
so squat square
in the middle.

so easily lost
in
the six.
 
PandoraGlitters said:
Brilliant Six, Drown! Particularly love the last two strophes.
Click to expand...

thank you...

six was difficult.
don't know quite what resonated of it...
but it hung with me several days.

know it's tardy...

but some of it i'm going to steal.

thanks.
 
1.

6.

Hexad

Six, six,
sickly six
resembling a swallowed sigh,
a secret solicitation for shrouded sex.
Saved from six
only to surrender to seven.
Deep-six six, sepulture at sea,
a suitable shrine for VI.
 
Tristesse2 said:
007.

Shaken, please,
not stirred in the mundane manner.

I watch his lean, tanned hands
as they create
the perfect martini.
I like the precise way
he swirls and tips, pours and smiles,
the finger and thumb-drop plop
of olives, two, and his eyes on mine
as he brings the stem to me
and the rim to my lips.
Click to expand...
Well, reading that, I'm stirred, anyway. :cool:

Excellent finish, Tess.
 
1

Tristesse2 said:
Thank you very much. Your turn.......I doesn't hurt - much. :)
Click to expand...
OK, but it's your fault. ;)


Shaken, Stirred

If you were gin, I would shake
your liquid body over ice, strain
you over some salty, defenseless olive.
Then would I drink you,
and that would be very, very nice.

You are not gin,
alas. Hurrah. No glass
need confine your so intoxicating presence
in my presence

and I can still drive while drunk on you.


.
 
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