Please vote for one of the following five entries.
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Project for a Heard of Poets
Tug each others skirts where both are not practical.
Do we need projects for which we are not ready?
I see across her message in an ear
If you are the beginning of your jaw, its nose
will consist of our most best ground flowers.
Love is risk
There is no TV
Moon is God
Cross me too
Behind full load of your ordeal
pastel will practice on the setting sun.
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Beware of Widow’s Pique
stars --
I would write an old man who is only me
not stars and not now
Dreams that interweave
bright dew are pitiful
It was only eye of us
Wag it sucks
Do some time over my birth
not death
Which when done releases
me
I hold for later Elda
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Triangle
We shared a lifetime one year,
three amigos through
2rivers sound and sea,
Jack Frost winds Rod Steiger nights.
Each wave an obstacle
met head-on or overtaken.
Every gust shaken off,
as I righted their world.
She cradled my tiller soft as a zephyr,
feeling the power letting me run.
As he eased then ground my sheets,
I reached exposing my belly.
A voyage of tenderness and intensity,
I was their aphrodisiac.
Sunset would find a cove,
I was washed stem to stern.
Below they would love one another,
as I tacked at anchor
holding them through the night.
Inspired by no wake
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Through His Glass
____________“certain type of unusual”
___________________2rivers from
___________________misanthrope
It’s more than echoes, distant voices,
street sounds or just the wind passing
a paint chipped sash, smeared lights,
it’s the counter weight – perfectly balanced,
the knifed caulk, carefully cut, the points,
tiny tringulars, pinching the glass, etching
the surface tension, ever so slowly
piercing the liquid like a whisper.
Would this window respond like so many:
a rattle in a breeze, the creaking movement,
tight, forced moans as leaded layers tear
or even the sudden slam of release?
The only noise in silence – the faint hush
of precisely tended wood sliding on wood
and the firm metallic click of the latch
locking the cold and darkness outside.
Inspired by misanthrope
****************************************************
beside the red barn door
The boot print
you left in the snow
grows outward as it melts.
Someone like me might believe
a giant walked this endless field
over the spring-snow grass
that leaks its green
into the landscape.
****************************************************
Project for a Heard of Poets
Tug each others skirts where both are not practical.
Do we need projects for which we are not ready?
I see across her message in an ear
If you are the beginning of your jaw, its nose
will consist of our most best ground flowers.
Love is risk
There is no TV
Moon is God
Cross me too
Behind full load of your ordeal
pastel will practice on the setting sun.
****************************************************
Beware of Widow’s Pique
stars --
I would write an old man who is only me
not stars and not now
Dreams that interweave
bright dew are pitiful
It was only eye of us
Wag it sucks
Do some time over my birth
not death
Which when done releases
me
I hold for later Elda
****************************************************
Triangle
We shared a lifetime one year,
three amigos through
2rivers sound and sea,
Jack Frost winds Rod Steiger nights.
Each wave an obstacle
met head-on or overtaken.
Every gust shaken off,
as I righted their world.
She cradled my tiller soft as a zephyr,
feeling the power letting me run.
As he eased then ground my sheets,
I reached exposing my belly.
A voyage of tenderness and intensity,
I was their aphrodisiac.
Sunset would find a cove,
I was washed stem to stern.
Below they would love one another,
as I tacked at anchor
holding them through the night.
Inspired by no wake
****************************************************
Through His Glass
____________“certain type of unusual”
___________________2rivers from
___________________misanthrope
It’s more than echoes, distant voices,
street sounds or just the wind passing
a paint chipped sash, smeared lights,
it’s the counter weight – perfectly balanced,
the knifed caulk, carefully cut, the points,
tiny tringulars, pinching the glass, etching
the surface tension, ever so slowly
piercing the liquid like a whisper.
Would this window respond like so many:
a rattle in a breeze, the creaking movement,
tight, forced moans as leaded layers tear
or even the sudden slam of release?
The only noise in silence – the faint hush
of precisely tended wood sliding on wood
and the firm metallic click of the latch
locking the cold and darkness outside.
Inspired by misanthrope
****************************************************
beside the red barn door
The boot print
you left in the snow
grows outward as it melts.
Someone like me might believe
a giant walked this endless field
over the spring-snow grass
that leaks its green
into the landscape.
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