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sex in your wordsI trip over
the sex in your words
it dancebeats each syllable
into the rhythm of submission
to your desire
of thrusting or being thrusted
plain letters draped
in shades of sultry black
only visible to the connoisseur
of linguistic lust
while virgin eyes remain blind
to their deflowering
the twist of your subconscious power
to exude your curves
in the guise of thoughtful
three's a crowd.i was married to the thought of separation
long before i flirted, & became caught,
with ideas of right & wrong
& afore i danced to my own song,
down the line of who i am
& who i wanted to be.
what's normality but routine,
& who's to judge what they've not seen
inside the home constructed
from the labour
of tremoring muscles of morality,
atrophying at the mere suggestion
of surgery, & resembling
a cheated presentation
i protected your secrets
from the cancerous spread of shame,
yet i allowed it to consume me &
that i couldn't keep myself
from the grasps of your toxicity.
if children are a map of their parents,
then i am, in essence,
the child of the devil,
hoping for a miracle
so she can say the word
i so desperately crave
& i know that
actions speak louder than words
but love is blind & hate may be deaf,
but at least it's clear to see reason.
maybe silence isn't quite so golden
& maybe my actions could be spoken
as i pray her days cease feeling
like her ni
Cloud in a Bottle 1Cloud in a Bottle 1
How is it your voice is a canyon which cuts
where you did not even speak, opening the rivers
of my lungs so they could cataract, could rage with breath
you breathed? That the rock swells of your ribs, washed
round and floating, met then barred the way with mine
so that my heart, turned to tides, could not slip by,
and beat against the walls, unanswered, ‘til it drowned?
And that I still don’t hate you, even now?
There’s all this nonsense of lips and bubbles, that’s fine;
still refuse drifts in one direction all the same, refusing—
shored up maybe by some reassuring echoes still unsung—
to sink, so like an opened blouse colored by brine, my hope
finds refuge at the highest point, and lays itself unlocked
on barren sand to fade, suffuse with light, the way all things
in the desert turn finally, achingly white.
the theatreit is a Tuesday afternoon
and I observe
the proscenium arch
of your spine.
I am separated from you
by several degrees,
a world and a half,
the ornate, sweeping divide
between watcher and watched
(and you've never cared
to break the fourth wall)
Tea BrownIt was all about finding those edges where the shore met
took a trip at first, a little dip to test the water, tea-brown and murky
but swimming was easy and keeping one hand on land
was like trying to climb a mountain of sand
and the tide, a rip, took us out to sea
It was all about keeping your head above the water
because you'd never see the monsters underneath in that lightless place
but they could only get you when you got tired or
when it got too hard to escape that place
deep-space diving got dangerous
It was all about coming up for air to fill your lungs
and trying to keep the hair out of your eyes even though you couldn't see
it felt safer, like running at night, faster and silent
but the only way was down and deep
with all the added weight
It was about remembering what floating was like back when you could always
put your feet down and walk out when you were done swimming
or when the water got too cold or when you just needed
to get someplace dry but now every direction is
Free Verse judging completed! Your winners are..Before I announce the winners, I would like so send a sincere thank you to everyone who participated, either by judging, competing, or donating. Being the first contest I’ve ever hosted on Deviantart, I did not expect the giant response it got and I owe all of my adulation to you. I want to sincerely apologize for taking so long to judge. Next time, the process will be much more streamlined and be much quicker.
For those of you who did not place, please do not be discouraged. As you can see, there were some incredible poems submitted and choosing the winners for this contest took a tremendous amount of time and energy. Just because you did not place this time doesn’t mean you won’t next time. Several poems that didn’t place would win other literature contests I’ve seen. Remember that.
So, without further ado, here are your winners:
Feature by WorldWar-Tori, RoseScarlet
Critique by MattVoscinar, TheGl
Snow, in winter.
This morning the sun.
Last night, rain.
The flowers again in spring.
Soon the birds.
The dog, a bone.
The ducks about in the water.
The box, upstairs.
Napoleon by Wellington.
The children in the fields.
Sticks for mother.
In the middle of the street, an old man.
(The sparrows their morning bath.)
He, his coat and out into the darkness.
The enemy across the narrow stream, the boy.
Day, as we home the wounded soldier.
Through the flames, the gallant fireman and the frightened horses.
Distinctly the horn of the hunter.
The moon over the still waters of the lake.
I, the postman.
Me, a letter.
We, the garden and the fence.
To the boy's assistance, you, your lessons.
Cabbages in the garden.
The withered leaves blown about by the wind.
The sun through the window when.
Near the bank where John went into the river.
About your proposal.
Hungry StarsAll the children were eaten by stars
The televisions don't work anymore
I saw you dancing in the ruins last night
Barefoot on the sharp stones, laughing
But your laughter rang hollow
And echoed through the caverns
Old blood is never satisfied with new blood
Ring the midnight bell and come home
Your efforts are all in vain, useless now
Like the fly trying to make its way out
Crawling, dying, towards the light
There is no light for the likes of us
Only hungry stars and the glimmer through
The cracks in the boards of the floor
Down there below where the masked ones
Hold their ancient ceremonies and incantations
Let me tend to your feet, love
And we'll seek shelter elsewhere
We're not grown-ups,
And we're not supposed to know how
This all works.
I'm okay with
making an idiot of myself in your arms.
After all, we're strangers,
We're not supposed to know
How to do each other's math.
You love me as much as
I like you.
It works because
in every other way
You have the upper hand.
Can you tell I've never done this before?
Just add water, sleepy arms,
And sharp-edged eyeglasses.
no one gives a shit about
How we met.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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