Literotica Poetry Contest Semi-Final Poll #1

[The Poets]

Vote on your favourite poem from this thread.

When the poll closes in 5 days, the two most voted entries from each semi-final will transit to a final poll, which will then decide the winner of the 1st Monthly Literotica Poetry Contest!

Please do not post here. Discussion can continue on the original Contest Thread.

 

[The Poets]

poem #01
Old Girl Winter

It’s here too late again, the bride’s
lace veil. Gowned in milky roses, she
spreads her train of diamond doves
and primps. Unthinking,
busy being white.

Tonight she just appeared.
Curtain wide, we caught her cold
in her dressing room. Dusk
always finds a matron waiting
to be touched and taken, but

they only script sad ceremony
on chilly April nights. When
morning comes the boot-heeled
rain of everyman leaves her pure
dress in disarray, her maids’ tiaras
crying in the trees, so little left
of what was her.

Far from autumn’s altar, no one
but the sun willing to kiss her
in daylight, her name the same.

Young spring seduces
her groom green.

 

[The Poets]

poem #02
A Squirrel Died

A squirrel died
I saw it through the picture window
Running, leaping, full of life
Making exquisite footprints in the snow
Oblivious to the cold and wind

Then, suddenly
Something went terribly wrong
A misstep perhaps?
Streak of gray dropping to the ground
Limp form among the falling snow

I saw it twitch
It wasn't dead
Squirrels don't trip and fall
How silly of me
I went back to my mundane business

Washing dishes
Vacuuming floors
Dusting shelves
Hardening my arteries
But I had to look

It was getting dark
My new friend was still moving
as the snow buried
the exquisite form
Only the head and tail remained

But in that half lit glimpse
A sudden burst of wind fed snow
enveloped the creature in white
and then...oh my!
took it away in the night forever

I am very old now
and my eyes are dim
But when I looked through the window one last time
I saw the squirrel, and myself
Safe in the hands of God

 

[The Poets]

poem #03
January Framed

Snowflakes melt
with an imperceptible hiss,
making my reflection cry
phantom tears.

Streetlights top
swarming pyramids of white,
while cars styrofoam squeak low,
humming like lunatics,
dark muffled passings.

In the morning
there will be traces of
nocturnal life,
and I imagine I've woken up
on the moon.

 

[The Poets]

poem #04
The Color of Absence

The white of a newborn snow’s an illusion;
winter’s true color’s the dead gray of smoke,
in ominous plumes over black ice on highways,
of cigarette nights spent in longing’s cold bed.

The pale white of winter’s the color of absence;
a bone white square on an empty gray wall,
a diary’s page on her desk by my window,
the white of her lips where red kisses once played.

The year’s longest night heralds winter’s arrival;
the sun flees in tears from her frost-covered grave,
the moon veils its sorrow in clouds thick as woodsmoke,
as red embers fade to the still gray of ashes

and snow palls the earth in a shroud of white linen
and turns hearts to marble, cold-blooded as thieves.

 

[The Poets]

poem #05
Sting of Equality

Bare branches of a blackjack oak,
twigs seeming to mutter among themselves, reach
into the cold dead air as though for some arborescent
epiphany, some hint of promise, some reason to draw
more life from deep and warmer soil.

Nodes of readiness adorn filaments of hope,
thin wisps of tree, almost indistinguishable
from the amorphous gray of the sky, which
mills about restlessly in altostratus clumps.

Glass, I have read, is a slow liquid:
over decades, the bottoms of windows will grow thicker.
I go to the window and touch the single pane,
which accepts my finger with just
a tiny sting of frigid surprise and a small, quick halo
of fog.

We all want something
we cannot have right now: sky, tree,
air, window and I. And now a cardinal
is suddenly swaying unremarkably
on a thin branch. She faces me
with resplendent dullness.

I am fraught with formless desires.
I starve, hungry for faith and growth.
I grow weary.

In our winters, we are equal.

 

[The Poets]

poem #06
drifting

captivatingly cruel
she draws my eye
frigid yet frail

sun-drenched distraction
oblivious to her
blinding beauty

perilously pristine
peppermint pane-cicles
drip drop from frozen lips

crystal blood
from an icy heart
on ivory eaves

so like my hope
melting in the winter
of passion's promise

 

[The Poets]

poem #07
Why I'm Never Warm

long leaving footprints,
she left by choice
love wrenches stepping out
at three foot intervals,
size sevens crushing snow
freezing me in time

never heard a horn
draperies left open...no note,
just twelve footprints
vanishing at tire tracks,
she never looked back
I can only look out

frozen to this window
eternity is now,
etched in my mind
framed in double pane,
long leaving footprints...
at three foot intervals

 

[The Poets]

Don't forget to vote on all three semi-final polls, if you haven't already.