V
vampiredust
Guest
Here's a new challenge to enjoy. I'll put up a title and all you have to do is write a poem about it.
Here comes the first:
Her quicksand skin
Here comes the first:
Her quicksand skin
V
vampiredust
Guest
Here's my effort:
Her quicksand skin
is never shed in winter,
only in Spring. Boys run
down the beach chasing
dunes until they reach
her and slip, slip all
the way down.
She spits out their bones
in Autumn, keeping
only their hearts for display.
Nobody mourns for them
or their footprints.
Her quicksand skin
is never shed in winter,
only in Spring. Boys run
down the beach chasing
dunes until they reach
her and slip, slip all
the way down.
She spits out their bones
in Autumn, keeping
only their hearts for display.
Nobody mourns for them
or their footprints.
MinorMonster
Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 7, 2006
- Posts
- 40
Her quicksand skin
because bruises fade,
mayfly red stings stay
for less than seconds
and when in doubt,
there's always foundation
control is skin deep,
and with time, even cuts
forget to be
white paths trampled
across quicksand
where reminders
sink within
because bruises fade,
and a dermic barricade
remain
until all we see
is skin
because bruises fade,
mayfly red stings stay
for less than seconds
and when in doubt,
there's always foundation
control is skin deep,
and with time, even cuts
forget to be
white paths trampled
across quicksand
where reminders
sink within
because bruises fade,
and a dermic barricade
remain
until all we see
is skin
Remec
Master Glomper
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2003
- Posts
- 8,468
Her Quicksand Skin
She never glows.
There is no luminousity,
no radiance, inherent
within the depth of
her flesh to call
to me or my hand;
yet, I find that a
desire to touch that
rough, tanned, befreckled
surface pulls me all
the same; until my
fingers drag me to
her, doing their best
to brush themselves
against her cheeks or
dally around her shoulders until
drawn along her spine
to nestle at the small
of her back and
suck the rest of me
in too deeply,
once
more.
She never glows.
There is no luminousity,
no radiance, inherent
within the depth of
her flesh to call
to me or my hand;
yet, I find that a
desire to touch that
rough, tanned, befreckled
surface pulls me all
the same; until my
fingers drag me to
her, doing their best
to brush themselves
against her cheeks or
dally around her shoulders until
drawn along her spine
to nestle at the small
of her back and
suck the rest of me
in too deeply,
once
more.
Last edited:
bluerains
528 inception
- Joined
- Mar 29, 2004
- Posts
- 2,777
I had this in the works
and voila..quicksand skin brought it together..
ty..for inspiring the memory fade....
Perhaps colors of quicksand skin
wrinkles dark shadows in seaswept winds,
covering wild tethered prey.
Rain may loosen
subterranean secrets
spilling on flesh wings,
as wind whistles
and love strays,
fluttering inside another albatross day,
but, I stiffen in shadows, loving your
ghost
this way.
and voila..quicksand skin brought it together..
ty..for inspiring the memory fade....
Perhaps colors of quicksand skin
wrinkles dark shadows in seaswept winds,
covering wild tethered prey.
Rain may loosen
subterranean secrets
spilling on flesh wings,
as wind whistles
and love strays,
fluttering inside another albatross day,
but, I stiffen in shadows, loving your
ghost
this way.
V
vampiredust
Guest
Excellent stuff, I enjoyed reading the poems.
The next one is:
Rain Skull
-------
Have a go with that title and see what you come up with!
The next one is:
Rain Skull
-------
Have a go with that title and see what you come up with!
V
vampiredust
Guest
Rain Skull
He was God's first mistake, an accident
created in Heaven's chemical lab. Satan
was busy purifying the essence of morality
when he stumbled across an element
needed to flavour earth's weather. There
were no lawyers then, so he couldn't
patent his discovery. Instead, he buried
it in a creation: a golem made out of cloud
wind and sunlight. Its skull was made out
of rain, always drying up when God flicked
the switch for summer. It would always
collapse, crashing inside the Devil's skull,
opening up everything he had pretended
to forget.
He was God's first mistake, an accident
created in Heaven's chemical lab. Satan
was busy purifying the essence of morality
when he stumbled across an element
needed to flavour earth's weather. There
were no lawyers then, so he couldn't
patent his discovery. Instead, he buried
it in a creation: a golem made out of cloud
wind and sunlight. Its skull was made out
of rain, always drying up when God flicked
the switch for summer. It would always
collapse, crashing inside the Devil's skull,
opening up everything he had pretended
to forget.
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
RainSkull!!! Crazy!
oh my. I will live with this one for a day or two see if something comes up
I keep thinking of Jerry Garcia's box of rain
on the end of a skeleton's neck hanging
on Jen and Amy's dorm room
next to a rose with glycerine raindrops
almost ready to fall
we take turns calling to Mr. Bong Water
hello? hello? stuck down in a well
like Mike wonder if he ever got out.
Mike. The one who taught us about how ass fucking
is not for from behind only how he liked to stretch his legs out
up over shoulders like in the movies, like his ass was
pussy and then he laid out neatly folded towels
under the cans, holes punctured in the dented center
sucking it all down. Rain rolling from our skulls
breathless hysteria.
well okay maybe not a poem more of a bit of a trip down memory lane, I cant believe I have become the crazy middle aged broad looking ridiculous remembering college days, wearing flowing blouses, big sunglasses
oh my. I will live with this one for a day or two see if something comes up
I keep thinking of Jerry Garcia's box of rain
on the end of a skeleton's neck hanging
on Jen and Amy's dorm room
next to a rose with glycerine raindrops
almost ready to fall
we take turns calling to Mr. Bong Water
hello? hello? stuck down in a well
like Mike wonder if he ever got out.
Mike. The one who taught us about how ass fucking
is not for from behind only how he liked to stretch his legs out
up over shoulders like in the movies, like his ass was
pussy and then he laid out neatly folded towels
under the cans, holes punctured in the dented center
sucking it all down. Rain rolling from our skulls
breathless hysteria.
well okay maybe not a poem more of a bit of a trip down memory lane, I cant believe I have become the crazy middle aged broad looking ridiculous remembering college days, wearing flowing blouses, big sunglasses
Last edited:
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
Rain Skull
Seriously now, it's slamming down November,
trickling down the meter to Celsuis neutrality
and dunkin heavy into muddy pools.
I can no longer distinguish outside from inside,
grey matter from grey skies, thoughts
from mud flood and runnels down lightposts,
and thunder that doesn't give a flying fuck,
but just rumbles out of habit,
from passion on feedback loop.
So hand me a god damn umbrella and
stick out your tongue, to taste the overdue
downpour drudge, lick it off your lips and
offer me a moderated sample.
Because that's all I can swallow
before drowning, and don't suck too hard
on my tongue or something will burst,
and pour out all over you
as well.
Seriously now, it's slamming down November,
trickling down the meter to Celsuis neutrality
and dunkin heavy into muddy pools.
I can no longer distinguish outside from inside,
grey matter from grey skies, thoughts
from mud flood and runnels down lightposts,
and thunder that doesn't give a flying fuck,
but just rumbles out of habit,
from passion on feedback loop.
So hand me a god damn umbrella and
stick out your tongue, to taste the overdue
downpour drudge, lick it off your lips and
offer me a moderated sample.
Because that's all I can swallow
before drowning, and don't suck too hard
on my tongue or something will burst,
and pour out all over you
as well.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,765
Rain. Skull.
Hamlet stands, self-conscious, artful, poised in the narrow grave.
He's holding Yorick's skull, his long hair drenched with rain.
He talks and talks and talks. The dead girl's brother balks
at the prince's mouthy tongue. They fight, seed tragedy, and stalk
death for both and all. This is where Denmark's fate is sealed
to Norway, and its king Fortinbras, to whom all Danes must kneel.
Hamlet stands, self-conscious, artful, poised in the narrow grave.
He's holding Yorick's skull, his long hair drenched with rain.
He talks and talks and talks. The dead girl's brother balks
at the prince's mouthy tongue. They fight, seed tragedy, and stalk
death for both and all. This is where Denmark's fate is sealed
to Norway, and its king Fortinbras, to whom all Danes must kneel.
The_Fool
smiling for the camera
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2003
- Posts
- 17,755
Rain Skull
When I think of her,
why is my memory of her crying?
Short hair plastered against her skull.
Tears mixing with the rain as I walked away.
Walked away from her pain,
uncertain with my own feelings.
Unwilling to care enough
to share in her pain.
Looking back I wonder which drops were the tears
and which were the rain.
When I think of her,
why is my memory of her crying?
Short hair plastered against her skull.
Tears mixing with the rain as I walked away.
Walked away from her pain,
uncertain with my own feelings.
Unwilling to care enough
to share in her pain.
Looking back I wonder which drops were the tears
and which were the rain.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2002
- Posts
- 7,671
And the lil missus had a mighty big set of tatas too. The children built extraordinary bra forts, much like the ones in middleclass households the world over, except theirs were in lingerie not sofas...flyguy69 said:
.
.
.
oh that's a weirding stream of conciousness ...
I'll just shut up now.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2002
- Posts
- 7,671
Let's play Wolfe and Montcalm! You can storm my citadelTzara said:Bra forts. Bra forts?!
Oh, dear. Now I'll be dreaming about storming the ramparts: O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly steamy?
Explains the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, I guess.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2002
- Posts
- 7,671
muahahahahaha... first you have to climb the mountain.Tzara said:Let's see. A siege would not be right, strategically. I think I want to storm your walls!
Ahem.
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