Poetry competition CLOSED 26th September 2012 12:27pm
WINNER
CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
RUNNERS-UP:
MrAlptraum
and lightbaron
The bull & the ballet dancer
El Toro, mutters to himself thickly
He'll impale the bitch if she just stays still
He's the fucking el toro, charge
How dare she stay late
Wear THAT dress, the whore
and now she baila, pirouette,
all en pointe, his breath is hot
he charges forth in hell and fire
Feet barely touching ground, entrechat
twirl, bounding through night forest
soundlessly, wordlessly, grace personified
he misses his charge into a tree
shakes his head in anger,
resolute to try again
thick legs pound through underbrush
Thick lips slur helplessly
He passes into a violent fog
Losing himself in el toro, the bull
the fucking bull will make her pay
make her obey, make her sit up
pay fucking attention when he talks
he charges again; misses
She turns into cool breeze blowing
behind the serene visage of ballerina
are eyes that see too much, fraying the edge
of reality, of sanity
her full lips covering razor teeth
curved in the devil's smile
he sees this all too late
while his thick lips flap
she takes him whole
She returns to the clearing
Grand jete to grand pas
exquisite in her armor
she prepares for another victim
He'll impale the bitch if she just stays still
He's the fucking el toro, charge
How dare she stay late
Wear THAT dress, the whore
and now she baila, pirouette,
all en pointe, his breath is hot
he charges forth in hell and fire
Feet barely touching ground, entrechat
twirl, bounding through night forest
soundlessly, wordlessly, grace personified
he misses his charge into a tree
shakes his head in anger,
resolute to try again
thick legs pound through underbrush
Thick lips slur helplessly
He passes into a violent fog
Losing himself in el toro, the bull
the fucking bull will make her pay
make her obey, make her sit up
pay fucking attention when he talks
he charges again; misses
She turns into cool breeze blowing
behind the serene visage of ballerina
are eyes that see too much, fraying the edge
of reality, of sanity
her full lips covering razor teeth
curved in the devil's smile
he sees this all too late
while his thick lips flap
she takes him whole
She returns to the clearing
Grand jete to grand pas
exquisite in her armor
she prepares for another victim
Maybe one day I'll live their fantasy
Posted upon the office wall is this picture.
And each day I look at it
I wonder, why?
Each time looking for new meaning
But he just stares back
Stubbornly saying nothing
While she dances
A dance of death?
Some days I emphasize with the minotaur
Stuck in a bleak place while
Freer spirits twirl and parade around me
And some days I feel like the dancer
Joyous and light and bounding
Through a fading wreathed world of colours
Killed by chemicals
With the light far off and blocked
By blind idiots.
I often think of the minotaur and the ballerina
In everyday life.
I imagine the two shopping for food;
He mechanically hauling the basket through the shop
As she flits from fruit to fruit squeezing as she goes
So full of emotion
That she temper tantrums and rages
At the oblivious self checkout
Only to have him thump a few buttons in solution.
The over-sensitive ballerina and the stoic minotaur.
And some days I toy with the idea
of printing the picture out
as I fight with document printer options.
Maybe one day I'll live their fantasy.
Posted upon the office wall is this picture.
And each day I look at it
I wonder, why?
Each time looking for new meaning
But he just stares back
Stubbornly saying nothing
While she dances
A dance of death?
Some days I emphasize with the minotaur
Stuck in a bleak place while
Freer spirits twirl and parade around me
And some days I feel like the dancer
Joyous and light and bounding
Through a fading wreathed world of colours
Killed by chemicals
With the light far off and blocked
By blind idiots.
I often think of the minotaur and the ballerina
In everyday life.
I imagine the two shopping for food;
He mechanically hauling the basket through the shop
As she flits from fruit to fruit squeezing as she goes
So full of emotion
That she temper tantrums and rages
At the oblivious self checkout
Only to have him thump a few buttons in solution.
The over-sensitive ballerina and the stoic minotaur.
And some days I toy with the idea
of printing the picture out
as I fight with document printer options.
Maybe one day I'll live their fantasy.
The Beast,The Bard and Beauty
Much like a coin, he has two faces
one side, the beast, lacks good graces
makes love without inhibitions,
he lives without conditions
no thought for tomorrow,
all time is only borrowed.
Coarse and ferocious, governed by passions
he does not intend to control,
does not wait for or expect permission;
he desires and obtains without cajole.
The beast takes liberties that sorely challenge
even the most pious woman,awakening dormant passions.
He incites uncontrolled lust, consumes without guilt,
feels no need to justify his actions,
there is no such thing as cease and desist,merely reaction.
The other side is the bard,
his words torment the mind
and grip the heart with their charms,
even without being directed in concrete toward someone,
they leave you in pieces,your spirit undone.
The elegance of his phrases creates fantasies in the mind,
like a passionate lover, although ephemeral,
he frequents your dreams and your ardent thirst satisfies.
Upon describing the scenes of ardor he creatively contrives,
you live them in your imagination, a vision sublime.
Step by step he weaves his prose and poems
and so captures you in a world of daydreams.
How does one dispense with him,after knowing such as this
when the addiction has already been born deep within?
Stoic and quiet;
he gaze is gently voracious, expressive,
it declares what he feels at that very moment;
he venerates your body with just a look
that says volumes although unspoken.
He wants to explore the most sensitive areas,
every corner of your mind and body,
until he arrives at your soul
the prize for which he is striving.
Gypsy Red
Much like a coin, he has two faces
one side, the beast, lacks good graces
makes love without inhibitions,
he lives without conditions
no thought for tomorrow,
all time is only borrowed.
Coarse and ferocious, governed by passions
he does not intend to control,
does not wait for or expect permission;
he desires and obtains without cajole.
The beast takes liberties that sorely challenge
even the most pious woman,awakening dormant passions.
He incites uncontrolled lust, consumes without guilt,
feels no need to justify his actions,
there is no such thing as cease and desist,merely reaction.
The other side is the bard,
his words torment the mind
and grip the heart with their charms,
even without being directed in concrete toward someone,
they leave you in pieces,your spirit undone.
The elegance of his phrases creates fantasies in the mind,
like a passionate lover, although ephemeral,
he frequents your dreams and your ardent thirst satisfies.
Upon describing the scenes of ardor he creatively contrives,
you live them in your imagination, a vision sublime.
Step by step he weaves his prose and poems
and so captures you in a world of daydreams.
How does one dispense with him,after knowing such as this
when the addiction has already been born deep within?
Stoic and quiet;
he gaze is gently voracious, expressive,
it declares what he feels at that very moment;
he venerates your body with just a look
that says volumes although unspoken.
He wants to explore the most sensitive areas,
every corner of your mind and body,
until he arrives at your soul
the prize for which he is striving.
Gypsy Red
Anonymous
“No Bull, Just Roses”
http://jcsalomon.github.com/wot-chapter-icons/Bull-icon.svg
Grace spinning, twirling,
a beautiful motion,
her hands speak volumes,
her legs beyond compare,
elegance in a rocket package.
Exactly, what I feed on,
revealing real power
beyond my
wildest dreams.
I sift through memory,
genetic raging blood reflects
my personality, and
I succumb to
her frailty and strength.
After great length,
I am gone,
no bull,
just
roses.
http://jcsalomon.github.com/wot-chapter-icons/Bull-icon.svg
Grace spinning, twirling,
a beautiful motion,
her hands speak volumes,
her legs beyond compare,
elegance in a rocket package.
Exactly, what I feed on,
revealing real power
beyond my
wildest dreams.
I sift through memory,
genetic raging blood reflects
my personality, and
I succumb to
her frailty and strength.
After great length,
I am gone,
no bull,
just
roses.
Dancing away
Dance away the light of a faded moon
Dance away the calls of the dreaded owl
Beneath the waning twilight sky
Flapping her arms she wants to fly
Dance around and round again
Trapped within the magic glade
Watched by a Minotaur
With lustful eyes
She dances on forever trapped
A circle of roses
Within the frame
A world as yet untamed
By breathing whispers
Of life
Dance away the light of a faded moon
Dance away the calls of the dreaded owl
Beneath the waning twilight sky
Flapping her arms she wants to fly
Dance around and round again
Trapped within the magic glade
Watched by a Minotaur
With lustful eyes
She dances on forever trapped
A circle of roses
Within the frame
A world as yet untamed
By breathing whispers
Of life
"Ritual"
worship the demon
tempted by evil
wrapped around in rags
she thought was riches
giving her beautiful body
she lets his hand slither
he feels truly happy
until he finds another
what a passionate lover
soon he will discover
the true fire
the true burn
hell is the earn
heaven shall mourn
another soul is lost
to the black flames of death
for the flowers of birth
worship the demon
tempted by evil
wrapped around in rags
she thought was riches
giving her beautiful body
she lets his hand slither
he feels truly happy
until he finds another
what a passionate lover
soon he will discover
the true fire
the true burn
hell is the earn
heaven shall mourn
another soul is lost
to the black flames of death
for the flowers of birth
The Demon And The Dancer
He promised death
body roped in muscle
a demon inside that cried
for the closeness of her
She is graceful beauty
delicate yet far from fragile
she moves silently with the wind
His pulse quickened as he saw her
desire pounded through his veins
enchantment snared him in it's trap
She danced for him with no fear
as jasmine aroma caught his breath
he soaked up her sensual essence
The allure they both felt was powerful
unexplained as it overtook them completely
electricity sparked between them sizzling
burning into her pure soul and his damned soul
So every day he just watches her
while she dances for him silently
.
Aw damn these are all so good 
anyhow. ehem.
My Poem What I Am Basing On That Picture There
Or "Focus"
.......
point your bloody toes dear
and be angel breath
hold yourself
in
a falling frozen
and arch those feet
that back
let the poisons lie
for now
let the nightmare branches
curve to your flawless
beauty
let the dried roses
perfume you
let the masculine
hornéd beast
just stand there
strong arms,
strong arms child
look vulnerable
be unbreakable
anyhow. ehem.
My Poem What I Am Basing On That Picture There
Or "Focus"
.......
point your bloody toes dear
and be angel breath
hold yourself
in
a falling frozen
and arch those feet
that back
let the poisons lie
for now
let the nightmare branches
curve to your flawless
beauty
let the dried roses
perfume you
let the masculine
hornéd beast
just stand there
strong arms,
strong arms child
look vulnerable
be unbreakable
Let the tainted taint.
Funnily enough I've got at least twenty
tiny Chinese acrobats of the female pursuasion,
not quite milky white,
but the Russians will be back
before the year is out.
Take away the vices of a man like me,
and what more could there be
than a skirt, already lifted.
I have no patience anymore.
That image is as ghastly
as I'm getting;
the idea of this seething bull
carrying something so beautiful and delicate
to his own mess.
Darkened, she'd limp out
with a new kind of smile,
the one that worries the parents
and the friends.
Anyhow, it's but a fantasy
and I should have worn
heavier trousers.
Funnily enough I've got at least twenty
tiny Chinese acrobats of the female pursuasion,
not quite milky white,
but the Russians will be back
before the year is out.
Take away the vices of a man like me,
and what more could there be
than a skirt, already lifted.
I have no patience anymore.
That image is as ghastly
as I'm getting;
the idea of this seething bull
carrying something so beautiful and delicate
to his own mess.
Darkened, she'd limp out
with a new kind of smile,
the one that worries the parents
and the friends.
Anyhow, it's but a fantasy
and I should have worn
heavier trousers.
good fun
her spiritually slummin it
and all
she'll get
a ruined pair of panties
out of it
and
a story to tell her girlfriends
when they drink themselves a breath
outside of their "real" world sterility
but
as soon as the flowers wear off
and the levitation breaks
she's gone
couldn't find no way
to explain me to dad
anyhow
fair enough
her daughter
will be old enough
to fill the ballet shoes
of marginal rebellion
soon
and
before she succumbs to reason
we too
shall dance
her spiritually slummin it
and all
she'll get
a ruined pair of panties
out of it
and
a story to tell her girlfriends
when they drink themselves a breath
outside of their "real" world sterility
but
as soon as the flowers wear off
and the levitation breaks
she's gone
couldn't find no way
to explain me to dad
anyhow
fair enough
her daughter
will be old enough
to fill the ballet shoes
of marginal rebellion
soon
and
before she succumbs to reason
we too
shall dance
"Self-snapped"
He wouldn't of took her if she couldn't bend
effortlessly back, bowing to where the foliage runs.
To watch something, someone remarkable;
to watch it thrive in a pheromone fortress
then tear it as an only rose in a field of weeds
by root and unblemished flesh.
Unbridled death is horned again, absorbing
all its chore can offer.
Deliniate life for its narrow-laned reckoning
because we're all just coal, ash and oil
flung throughout the cosmos
snug beneath a temporary atmosphere
breeding death and doing everything to avoid it.
He wouldn't of took her if she couldn't bend
effortlessly back, bowing to where the foliage runs.
To watch something, someone remarkable;
to watch it thrive in a pheromone fortress
then tear it as an only rose in a field of weeds
by root and unblemished flesh.
Unbridled death is horned again, absorbing
all its chore can offer.
Deliniate life for its narrow-laned reckoning
because we're all just coal, ash and oil
flung throughout the cosmos
snug beneath a temporary atmosphere
breeding death and doing everything to avoid it.
Anonymous
So much talent here! Wow these are blowing me away, keep 'em coming guys.
This is going to be really hard :/
This is going to be really hard :/
I, your tormenter
(in English & Spanish)
In dreams we meet
And dance princess
For at my feet
Rests your rose,
I circle you with my power
You circle me with grace
I, your tormenter
You, my unseen ghost
En los sueños nos encontramos
Y la danza princesa
Porque en mis pies
Descansa tu rosa,
Te vueltas con mi poder
Usted me vueltas con gracia
Yo, su verdugo
Tú, mi fantasma invisible
(in English & Spanish)
In dreams we meet
And dance princess
For at my feet
Rests your rose,
I circle you with my power
You circle me with grace
I, your tormenter
You, my unseen ghost
En los sueños nos encontramos
Y la danza princesa
Porque en mis pies
Descansa tu rosa,
Te vueltas con mi poder
Usted me vueltas con gracia
Yo, su verdugo
Tú, mi fantasma invisible
