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Clindballe Jun 2014
The prey is surrounded by hunters waiting to make their next move. To make the light leave the preys glancing eyes and the blood pour out from it's veins leaving it dead for them to rip apart. It's only appreciated when it's gone down their throats, into their stomach and as the hunger starts again the poor creature is already forgotten and the hunt for a new prey has begun.
Written: June 25. - 2014
Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Artemis ran through the woods tonight Calling her dogs to her side,
For the hunt is on, in the Moon's light,
And will watch her claim a prize.

Her bow at the ready with arrow nocked,
String drawn to her listening ear,
She scanned the wood for a sign of deer,
Before she let fly a sure shot.

The stag she bagged was great and mighty;
Her dogs helped her carry the load.
Thus this treaty she gave to sweet Aphrodite,
But in vain--she went home alone.
Martin Narrod May 2014
Gold crown of Olympus, hair crown and
Skin gown. First we throw our bodies at
One another. Heaping piles of human soup.
Bold maneuvers, hands and mouths and
Boy meets girl lying down, on top, intertwined.
Skittish moves on a tryst. Wet fingers of freshly
Tendered infinite decibel pleasure screams.
Streamers above a long rooting movement.

Overture of Aphrodite. Sparkling, glitter woman,
Legs pressed tightly to the chest,
Loose appendages intertwined. Intersticed dactyls
In rapture, soothing. Bodies build to one heart's beat.
Two muses fused together. If I wasn't afraid I'd wake you up
I'd slip on my shoes and make a tropical fruit fondue.

Stage two:

Ice cream lover's delight. Opus to brown sugar.
To swimming again, a pursed lurking of lips
In the academy of the pastoral commonwealth.
We eat at our stations of the sublime. Today which was
A day of discord- you nursed me back to the land of the living.

Stage three:

***.

Stage four.

***.

Stage five:

As we earn our pageantry to take
Stride on this Earth, and string a
Great bow of eager success among all of us,
You, me, them. While I continue to
Gaze at you. If not dinner, perhaps a
Cup of tea instead.
Reagan Kulka May 2014
We let the dancers dance,
The singers sing,
And The prayers pray.
We let the dreamers dream,
The hunters hunt,
And the fighters fight.
We let the sinners sin,
The painters paint,
And the players play.
So why don't we let the lovers love?
WHOOSH* she goes
On the low seas, carried by the high winds.
Where
Ankles anchor, Knees tack, Back yaws, Wrists lock, and Thumb sagg.
Holding on to a harpoon in
my dingy, flopping against
Glinting, Honed, Double-Edged waves.

"Light, **!
It's the Eye of the Storm.

Fatigue steers me into its heart
My anchor prodding me,
To continue or to
*rest.
Inspired to use some nautical terms.

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Manuel Lanavez Apr 2014
Stalking wild pray,
Creeping quiet as the wind,
Yes, it is I, Cole.

— The End —