Poll: who is jesus
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View poll results: who is jesus
sienna
3 50%
black
3 50%
Voters: 6.
#1
Had previous ideas, but all written ots. it is two poems vs. one prose.

the day before the flood - tasting salt
I stood there for a while. The offerings placed there during her funeral were still there. I had assumed that nobody attended, but there were actually quite a few cadeaux, as she would say. The stone was stained by the color of rose blood, as if a rose had been crucified on it in the manner of Christ himself. There was no white robe, and certainly no tears. This deficiency was truly terrifying. My own sister, the one I had visited every other day for a year, until her death.

She had been diagnosed with congenital heart disease. She was going to die standing; there was no doubt. However, she chose to mark her death with a different label and time. Her heart would beat unevenly, they said. No treatment possible. My eyes are dry, but not dry enough for them to tear when I keep my eyes open too long. It is a cloudy day; there is no sun to help with the deed.

There was a boy nearby, standing at one of the graves, about a year away from us. He was attempting to correct a gravestone. How silly of him. The engraver follows the directions of the dead, there is nothing to be corrected. Regardless, the event is intriguing. I watched him for a while, as it provided a diversion from the task at hand. After a period of time I can't recall, he grew frustrated and disappeared into the shadow behind a grave in the row ahead of us. He must have made a mistake, wrong grave maybe?

I had almost given up. Just as a victory story goes, at the last second, it happened. My sister crouching on my three by three plot, watering me. My indifference to the gardening goddess who graced me. Lack of appreciation, actually.

The clouds finally released their burdens onto their shadows, and I was drenched. I stuck out my tongue to catch the newly released water, only to taste the tears of Romans. There is no such thing as new water; the water now is the same as that of millions of years ago. I licked my upper lip, and finally received the purity I wanted.

No, she doesn't work here. They just make her stand around. I unearthed my gravestone, placed it onto my shoulders and attempted to outrun the lone raincloud; as it waned, waxed and waned, waxed and waned, waned and waned, and waxed upon my upper lip with its last breath.



"Twister"

a tornado
came;
houses
were strewn
throughout
the street.
thirteen people
died;
we had a moment
of silence
at school.

I told my Father;
He told me
to shut the
****
up.

the wind
persisted.
everyone
feared more
deaths.
my Father
hit me.

a lightning
bolt
struck a power
pole
and we lost
electricity.
my Father
hit me.

but suddenly
it all stopped:
the sun came out,
the children
went outside;
I could hear
them laughing
as
my Father
hit me.

"Marshmallow eat marshmallow world"

a Cadillac sped by,
it stuck out
like a cloud
with nitrous oxide
and a gat.

I hit the soft pavement;
translucent lights sped by
making the bleached walls
gleam.

I smiled at a blonde nurse
and a brunette doctor wearing
matching spotless scrubs.
I'm sure if I would've seen their
teeth, they'd have matched too.

I looked back up.
if I could reach the cord, I'd unplug it
I'm a better fit in the ditch back home
filled with skeletons
covered with mud.
#2
You serious? OTS?

I'm not gonna vote its a pointless match up. Teg yours is great prose, Corey yours is a great poem. I refuse to differentiate between them.

Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
#4
Sorry guys I appear to have ****ed your thread.

That or they agree...

I can hear Corey insulting me from here.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.