Poll: Which one?
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View poll results: Which one?
2 18%
3 27%
2 18%
4 36%
Voters: 11.
3 days. 2 through. go.

One for the road

Quicky, sticky,
so sweet it's sickly.
Senses reeling
numb, but still feeling.

All the moments we've shared
all the dangers we've dared
are eclipsed by our passions
and our floor-tossed fashions.

And if the bride-groom
should look in the coat-room
we'd be discovered
with our bottoms uncovered.

So darling, be still
while we have our fill
of one for the road
before you leave with that toad.

A forsaken tree sits upon
a frozen, barren field;
limbs undulating
in the wild winter wind.

The only adornment clings to a branch.
The hand-woven weave,
a patterned pink and white,
flutters like a flag,
providing a small flicker of hope,
brightening an otherwise dismal scene.

I’m in love with a voice.
Cold, collected, calm
yet effusive.
Swirling through the air
escaping within sighs,
strawberry mouth lined open,
ever so softly.

I’m in love with voices.
all of the voices of all the poets,
poets, whose hands would sigh
for their lips, those uneven lips
to busy trying to frown, lacking
time, means or motives
to do anything better.

I’m in love with your voice.
A reader’s voice!
You’ll be seeing frantic thoughts,
down erratically, all
over the
page, but
you’ll synthesise it
into sorrow and it will all
fit so perfectly.
Just like the sweet smell of sweat
curving languidly off
your cliff's neck.

I’m in love with silence,
too. Void of noise and disturbance.

I wish we’d all stop sighing.

A wall has formed above and around
With a rumbling, often thunderous sound -
Nine Irons shedded to avoid the spark;
A crackle, a crunch, means throwing them down.
Rain or sweat drops start to soak necks,
And steam rises from nothing to fog up the specs
Of goggle-eyed golfers leaving their mark.

Conversation begins as they reach the nineteenth,
Often discussing the rolls of the heath.
Shafts turn to glasses in waiting hands
As first spot or sound will encourage the wreath
To be laid upon the lifeless course.
Listen as they howl with sodden remorse!
Expectant heavens now fall on the lands.

Hopeful but steady drinking's in vain;
Mourners begin to drive through the rain,
Away from the corpse of dampening greens
And fairways so clotted, in need of a drain.
Bunkers are beaches and rivers soon seas
As the thunderstorm spreads like crippling disease
Callously culling the golfer's routine.
While I enjoyed all of these. Blue just made me laugh in a good way.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
The flow of purple is awesome. I enjoyed the others but it was a hands down decision for me.