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blue
3 33%
red
6 67%
Voters: 9.
#1
Cunningism

To step on and slay the broken hermit,
to hinder and exhale the high seasons.
I saw the barren-doves, the mustard seed,
gather beneath the reap of Babylon.
We are prepared: we tile the white hollows;
a mesh concealed within a speck of fear.
The mild fevers fade as grey spirits stroll
towards the presence of my brother’s tares.
And as if all hope was lost among men,
and the bones of the women they slept with
were defiled on broken jars of Islam;
come quick, my friends, I have shattered your sins.

As if all the words I have ever meant
has been put to halt between this Sonnet



Pheromone

A sigh left in slumber
tucked in and under the crevice
of a tongue, rung out
and bed-ridden, the
purest intention that
never should have
been shaped into sound.

Fingertips
laced with a
caddish charisma,
parting to cover
the lips of lithe lover.
Movement as mechanical
as a jewellery
box dancer,
pir
ou
ette
after
pir
ou
ette...
Slight pause
until the music starts over.

She spreads the flood,
a solitary sidewinder
she slithers
alone.
Last edited by bassbeat77 at Sep 28, 2008,
#3
both excellent.

how many points?
Meadows
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