Poll: ;adma;
Poll Options
View poll results: ;adma;
red
1 20%
blue
4 80%
green
0 0%
Voters: 5.
#1
---A Connection---
by: Cous Cous =>
The coffee smells burnt this morning,
self-conscious and black,
it doesn't have the same bite
that it used to.
Your hand shakes as you
pour,
stir,
and sip,
all before I even touch mine.

In the background
I can hear a steady solemn drip
coming from the kitchen sink
like a metronome for the comatose.

The cold ceramic tile
beneath our bare feet
combats the heightened tension
and anticipation.

I can't tell your thoughts from your eyes,
but notice a slight rise
at the corners of your lips,
and that's all I need to see.

After trying for months
I know we've created a miracle.



August
by: LacesOutDanny

Your throne is a crumbling curb in the cul-de-sac,
between the stationary people carriers,
above the discarded remains of a kebab,
and below the tarnished verandas of the estate.
The inhabitants of which,
stare down,
attention distracted from their plasma televisions,
the ones you say they cant afford.

You switch attention to the squirrel,
whose unceremonious death
has drawn the´chav kids` from down the street.
Shiny BMX´s,
Snow white trainers,
Pristine football shirts.

When they lose interest you shuffle over.
Post Mortem: Roadkill
You dub the squirrel Sally,
ask her if she comes here often.
She returns a mangled cold shoulder.

Pay-day is two weeks away.
Bed-time is six hours away.
She is one thousand miles away;
growing ever further.
You wonder if it is acceptable to weep on the street,
when one´s life it stalled in the doldrums,
or rather a self imposed trough.
You despised pretention, and yet it swallowed you whole.

A sigh, a slouch and you slope off,
to fritter your savings on sacks of strawberry laces.

Sally sizzles with the buzzing of flies.



Nowhere and Nothing
by bassbeat

She's a pretty face
perched on a pedestal
with wire-rimmed frames
on her brimming face.

She makes me wonder
which skies are
starless right now,
blocked by clouds
or towering elms
with nowhere else to grow
but
up,
up,
up,
and they won't stop.

Someday we could
encircle the globe
with photographs of summer
held in plastic suspension
and pilfered peanuts
lining our inside pockets.
And we'd match them in size
at the end of day,
when there is nothing else to watch
but movies of each other,
running for as long
as we can remember.