Slow Cellar Door Semifinalists
- Thread starter The Poets
- Start date
Slow
by Sandspike
Disengage from yourself
see you and your lover,
cloak them like a whisper
shadows of warmth and wetness.
Orchestrate a heated waltz
capture the moment and make it last,
longer than the down stroke
wider than one position.
No longer sex but love making
moving slowly and thoughtfully
ever caring and caressing,
building up to a crescendo
only then should the fire explode.
by Sandspike
Disengage from yourself
see you and your lover,
cloak them like a whisper
shadows of warmth and wetness.
Orchestrate a heated waltz
capture the moment and make it last,
longer than the down stroke
wider than one position.
No longer sex but love making
moving slowly and thoughtfully
ever caring and caressing,
building up to a crescendo
only then should the fire explode.
Behind the cellar door
by Man Ray
I know he’s there
he whispers in the night
cajoling me, enticing me
“Come on my handsome friend, let me out?”
“I promise to be extra good this time”
From behind the cellar door
I hear him move, hear him talking
begging me, threatening me
“Pleeeeeeease let’s go out to play!”
“Come on you weak fool, let’s enjoy the dark!”
I lay awake at night
sleep no escape from his voice
praising me, ridiculing me
“You were so clever last time, catching her…”
“You wimp! You couldn’t do it could you? I had to finish it!”
I put my hands over my ears
trying to block out the voice
beguiling me, scaring me
“I’ll be quiet if you just let me out for tonight…”
“If you don’t I’ll hurt you, you know I will!”
The cellar door creaks and groans
against the strength in his voice
seducing me, thrilling me
“You know you want to, you can still taste her can’t you?”
“Remember how she felt when you touched her?”
I know he’s there
face pressed up against the cellar door
frightening me, arousing me
“If you don’t let me out you will be sorrrrrrrry!”
“All our friends are waiting for us to come out and play!”
All my will, my fortitude disappears
reaching out to embrace him
soothing me, calming me
“That’s a good boy, such a good boy!”
“You know I’ll always be with you…”
by Man Ray
I know he’s there
he whispers in the night
cajoling me, enticing me
“Come on my handsome friend, let me out?”
“I promise to be extra good this time”
From behind the cellar door
I hear him move, hear him talking
begging me, threatening me
“Pleeeeeeease let’s go out to play!”
“Come on you weak fool, let’s enjoy the dark!”
I lay awake at night
sleep no escape from his voice
praising me, ridiculing me
“You were so clever last time, catching her…”
“You wimp! You couldn’t do it could you? I had to finish it!”
I put my hands over my ears
trying to block out the voice
beguiling me, scaring me
“I’ll be quiet if you just let me out for tonight…”
“If you don’t I’ll hurt you, you know I will!”
The cellar door creaks and groans
against the strength in his voice
seducing me, thrilling me
“You know you want to, you can still taste her can’t you?”
“Remember how she felt when you touched her?”
I know he’s there
face pressed up against the cellar door
frightening me, arousing me
“If you don’t let me out you will be sorrrrrrrry!”
“All our friends are waiting for us to come out and play!”
All my will, my fortitude disappears
reaching out to embrace him
soothing me, calming me
“That’s a good boy, such a good boy!”
“You know I’ll always be with you…”
Cellar Door
by bluerains
A-se-quu-i tsi-s-qua
Eyes of grey wolf
follow the dull scraping
of a slow cellar door,
haunting a decrepit stair.
Piles of harvest leaves
from a dying orchard rustle
as silent headstones mark
time in death’s consecration.
Time bestirs its dark cranny as
a sudden quivering overtakes
his carnal native wisdom .
Faintly , he hears an elder chant;
“Waya, `ga no `lv `sga u yv tlv'.
In Harmony his spirit sings,
'This bone yard be no friend
of coyotes and old hounds,
specially old shapeshifting
drifters like us...”
So dark eyes drift toward the
stars blessing stellar emanations
and red loam of mortality
soars upon winds of eagles..
by bluerains
A-se-quu-i tsi-s-qua
Eyes of grey wolf
follow the dull scraping
of a slow cellar door,
haunting a decrepit stair.
Piles of harvest leaves
from a dying orchard rustle
as silent headstones mark
time in death’s consecration.
Time bestirs its dark cranny as
a sudden quivering overtakes
his carnal native wisdom .
Faintly , he hears an elder chant;
“Waya, `ga no `lv `sga u yv tlv'.
In Harmony his spirit sings,
'This bone yard be no friend
of coyotes and old hounds,
specially old shapeshifting
drifters like us...”
So dark eyes drift toward the
stars blessing stellar emanations
and red loam of mortality
soars upon winds of eagles..
Cellar Door
by Miss Oatlash
Behind that door
And down those stairs
I crept when I was young
And there I hid
From evil’s touch
He would not find me there
Too young to know
There is no place
The devil cannot find
I left my dreams
My innocence
Behind the cellar door
~
by Miss Oatlash
Behind that door
And down those stairs
I crept when I was young
And there I hid
From evil’s touch
He would not find me there
Too young to know
There is no place
The devil cannot find
I left my dreams
My innocence
Behind the cellar door
~
Cellar Door
by Wildsweetone
Past shadows torment
and time twists in the dank darkness
of pelting winter rains.
Footsteps ascend stone stairs
and a yellowed candle glows stark
against wet slimy walls.
A stifled sob echoes
as irregular drips dangle
then splatter to the floor
and the candle flame flickers to fade
as with an eerie wail the cellar door closes.
Blackness envelops and sour musty scents
are swallowed as sobs intensify.
Cobwebs shudder in moonlight’s shadowed ray
while winter’s wind whistles
through the half broken grate
high in the west wall. Broken nails
scratch her sallow skin.
In a final attempt to escape the prison
she slips and tumbles
down the green stone stairs.
He came to her again that night
eagerness in every certain footstep.
When he saw her crumpled body
on the floor his heart lurched.
“No!” the roar reverberated.
He carried her up the stairs
out into the moonlight
her grey face lifted to the moon
and a last sigh settled in misted shadows
Anger exploded
and he raged as revenge
glittered in his steel eyes.
A rampaging ravaged wake
left barren his soul
dedicating all that might have been,
and all that never would be,
to his love.
The love he smothered, shut away
beauty, hidden
behind a dreary stone cellar door
hidden from other men’s eyes.
by Wildsweetone
Past shadows torment
and time twists in the dank darkness
of pelting winter rains.
Footsteps ascend stone stairs
and a yellowed candle glows stark
against wet slimy walls.
A stifled sob echoes
as irregular drips dangle
then splatter to the floor
and the candle flame flickers to fade
as with an eerie wail the cellar door closes.
Blackness envelops and sour musty scents
are swallowed as sobs intensify.
Cobwebs shudder in moonlight’s shadowed ray
while winter’s wind whistles
through the half broken grate
high in the west wall. Broken nails
scratch her sallow skin.
In a final attempt to escape the prison
she slips and tumbles
down the green stone stairs.
He came to her again that night
eagerness in every certain footstep.
When he saw her crumpled body
on the floor his heart lurched.
“No!” the roar reverberated.
He carried her up the stairs
out into the moonlight
her grey face lifted to the moon
and a last sigh settled in misted shadows
Anger exploded
and he raged as revenge
glittered in his steel eyes.
A rampaging ravaged wake
left barren his soul
dedicating all that might have been,
and all that never would be,
to his love.
The love he smothered, shut away
beauty, hidden
behind a dreary stone cellar door
hidden from other men’s eyes.
Cellar Door
by Angeline
I wouldn’t close that if I were you,
look up and pull that string
by the cobweb, light one bulb
to barely shine past eleven
rickety stairs. That next to last
one creaks something awful.
There’s no one down here,
perhaps a mouse or two.
The mice could be imaginary
like the rest of this place,
but I’ve been here
and so have you.
I’ll show you where
coal poured into the bin.
If you stand right there,
you can see the coalman
up on the other side of glass.
He’s filthy and you’re not
supposed to speak to him
though he always smiles
and says hello, honey.
You can wave and listen
for the tumble of coal, see the black avalanche
of stones, the dust that rises from them. Stand
here by the worktable, look at the baby food jars
of oily nails or face the washer, look up
at the yard, but don’t close the door
because it’s dark here, I don’t always like
coming here alone.
by Angeline
I wouldn’t close that if I were you,
look up and pull that string
by the cobweb, light one bulb
to barely shine past eleven
rickety stairs. That next to last
one creaks something awful.
There’s no one down here,
perhaps a mouse or two.
The mice could be imaginary
like the rest of this place,
but I’ve been here
and so have you.
I’ll show you where
coal poured into the bin.
If you stand right there,
you can see the coalman
up on the other side of glass.
He’s filthy and you’re not
supposed to speak to him
though he always smiles
and says hello, honey.
You can wave and listen
for the tumble of coal, see the black avalanche
of stones, the dust that rises from them. Stand
here by the worktable, look at the baby food jars
of oily nails or face the washer, look up
at the yard, but don’t close the door
because it’s dark here, I don’t always like
coming here alone.
Sloe Seller Dor
by Remec
I see her in
my mind as
easily as I saw
her at the
fair last fall.
Green and brown
dress, leather apron
bedecked with the
same purple-black as
her fingers.
She is standing
among the tables and
makeshift shelving that
fills most of the
space in the brightly
coloured pavilion serving
as her shop.
She has bottles
everywhere. Some are
empty, but most are filled to
some degree by
berries and gin
or by berry-tinged
gin waiting to be
strained pure.
And the tinkle of
dangling silver forks in
the late-autumn breeze
mixes with the soft
music of her voice
as she offers up
her wares.
by Remec
I see her in
my mind as
easily as I saw
her at the
fair last fall.
Green and brown
dress, leather apron
bedecked with the
same purple-black as
her fingers.
She is standing
among the tables and
makeshift shelving that
fills most of the
space in the brightly
coloured pavilion serving
as her shop.
She has bottles
everywhere. Some are
empty, but most are filled to
some degree by
berries and gin
or by berry-tinged
gin waiting to be
strained pure.
And the tinkle of
dangling silver forks in
the late-autumn breeze
mixes with the soft
music of her voice
as she offers up
her wares.
Cellar Door
by darkmaas
Cellar door swing heavy
the whitened bones
of ancient necromancy
buried ‘neath the floor
pennies cover sightless eyes
The rooms above
may roil with love
and lust
from room to room
the many threads of charm
weave tapestries
of trust
among the players
knotted webs of hope
“Ooooh but love is grand
Another dance my dear?”
“I’m out of breath
so take me
take me
somewhere quiet
just for a moment”
“It’s quiet in the cellar
we could uncork
a private bottle
just you and I”
Tipple
down the stairs
it’s lip to lip
One candle
guttering
in cool stale air
bottles chained with cobwebs
waiting in their crypt
for the screw
to slowly
turn their corks
Cellar door
swing slow
then close
so heavy
darkness as
pennies cover
vacant eyes
by darkmaas
Cellar door swing heavy
the whitened bones
of ancient necromancy
buried ‘neath the floor
pennies cover sightless eyes
The rooms above
may roil with love
and lust
from room to room
the many threads of charm
weave tapestries
of trust
among the players
knotted webs of hope
“Ooooh but love is grand
Another dance my dear?”
“I’m out of breath
so take me
take me
somewhere quiet
just for a moment”
“It’s quiet in the cellar
we could uncork
a private bottle
just you and I”
Tipple
down the stairs
it’s lip to lip
One candle
guttering
in cool stale air
bottles chained with cobwebs
waiting in their crypt
for the screw
to slowly
turn their corks
Cellar door
swing slow
then close
so heavy
darkness as
pennies cover
vacant eyes
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