Literotica Poetry Contest Semi-Final Poll #2

[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 #08
Thoughts On A Winter's Morn

Today, my world is gray.
Not that it matters.
Gray matter, I think
therefore I am,
or do I just happen
to look out the window
and see a vision of a world
gone foggy as a brain,
on too few hours of sleep?

The atmosphere is thick --
frozen water thick.
It hangs suspended
like the exhaust
from a million gas furnaces
trying to keep up
with the chill.

Colder now, since water
hangs, gelled, in the air,
than last week, when ice
blossoms grew on everything.

 

[The Poets]

poem #09
Stone Cold

"I've been looking out this window
for now on ... Nine years."
the minute draws nearer
entranced by thoughts and flurries
rocking chair ride, staring outside

"The blizzard blurs my vision
but I can still make out its form."
sideways sleet, pelting frozen rain
snow clusters then mounds
smothering everything

"A chill run down my spine
as the Grandfather clock chimed,"
rocking, sitting and dwelling
on the web of would have been
and the memories and grins

"My image reflected in the window's pane
like a tear falling, on this side of the glass."
condensation and watery eyes
"Nine years ago ... you were still alive."
the rocking subsides

"The arctic chill that blows out-doors
ain't got nothin' on this cold cold heart inside,"
the chest of a man looking out the window
at a winter storm and a frozen
snow covered tombstone

"In the spring the flowers will come,
and then the bright summer sun,"
encouraging words to a missed loved one
gazing out a window,
Stone Cold

 

[The Poets]

poem #10
walk the path

winter bites my ass with
icicle point canines
-- a rabid beast that knocks me down
asphalt burned, gravity bruised

numb palms shy away from the thaw
that will bring throb and sting
along with the melted neurons
rapid fire requests for spring.

concrete torn gloves quick brush
powder from blood soaked knees
as I walk the down the icy path
towards more sensible shoes.

 

[The Poets]

poem #11
Premiere

January passed
without postcard scenery.

No rosy cheeks on children
rolling growing orbs
down white hills
sparkling in northern wind's
clarity sunshine.

Only runny noses
and rainy gutters,
an eternal damp clinging
almost but only almost frozen
to ankles and ambitions.

Not tearing like
the sub Celsius bite
draws tears with every gust,
but sinking stealthily inside,
sucking mere will out of marrow.

But now,
tiny chandeliers fall
thousandfold, tumbling
through sodium arcs
penetrating the night.

They drift, dance,

stick to my window,
surrender their beauty
to the warmth of glass
in vertical puddles,
distorting the view
of still soaring brothers
outside.

Soon they will
roll in descent
or freeze solid.
Which it will be
is neither my choice,
nor theirs.

But one for the winter,
finally here,
to decide.

 

[The Poets]

poem #12
Poem for a winter contest

Winter is old
and cold
to the bone

That ancient word hoar frost cackled
as his old man's fire crackled
snapped alone
on a farm of a wintry night

White in black is swirls and wind cry
black ice and wreck T fry
red through the window
icicles flicker from the abyss
of winter's dark Abbess

If you are lucky enough
a popsicle is still possible

 

[The Poets]

poem #13
Seasoned Strategy

Winter’s sharp claws
screech across the window,
squeeze between double panes
placed in it’s path

crystalline fingers spread
delicately across glass
belie slithering chill
which winds inward

seeps with shivering delight
through what I thought to be
sealed cracks

rises from the floorboards biting
at cotton clothed toes
in an impudent manner as if
how dare I try to resist the inevitable

creeps closer and closer
backs me against a wall
of white grey river rock
my sanctuary against this piercing menace

the black iron womb
set in this wall
emanates an ancient guardian
whose blazing tongues flick out
fueled to blue hot fierceness

scourge the bitter nemesis
into hot retreat, defeated
a whimpering penitent
the victim of it’s own poor planning

 

[The Poets]

poem #14
At the window

walking from car to house
and back again
has left a solemn trail
through the whiteness
that once was a green-brown
lawn,
I sit just inside the door,
thick wooden barrier
to the crisp chill that lurks
outside,
rattling shutter and glass alike,
buried beneath blankets and
watching through the crystal-coated pane
as across the glistening stream
and its automotive banks,
small armies wrapped in nylon-encased
down,
heads and hands bound in wool,
both homemade and store bought,
wage war with wintry weapons
until their numbed limbs
demand
cocoa.

 

[The Poets]

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