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Marieta Maglas Jun 2012
This poem is composed by: a Nonet, a Kyrielle Sonnet, a Free verse part, a Terzanelle and another Free verse part:
In a juerga there’s nothing around
But  voices,  flamenco guitars ,
Dancing bodies in moonlight,
Vibrant  gypsy  dresses,
Passion, obsessions,
Bullfighter’s blades,
Silk shawls,
Dancers,
Capes.
Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Flamenco women  to attract,
Like  barks of olive trees in night.
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.

Girls have boot heels  and  huge  roses,
Men clench their  teeth ,  step  opposes,
Hands clap  and shout in a dance fight,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.

Guitars  are beaten at high speeds,
Castanets scratch  the music’s seeds,
Rhythmic fingers  snap air to bite,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.

Old men have faces scorched and cracked,
Shirts dazzle white in the moonlight.

Hands  becoming  wings
In their shadows  on the wall,
Red  becoming black and
Black becoming white,
Motion vibrating the guitar's string,

Cubic movements  of colors,
In their dance ,
Shadowy  wings becoming  scarfs,
Flamenco woman arching her body,
Showing  her passion…

From the  soul to dissolve
The dancing sounds detach
From the soul to dissolve

When the movement they catch,
They may change all around,
The dancing sounds detach.

Drums and tambourines’ sound,
Exotic  wrists  and swirls,
They may change all around.

The weightless grace  makes  girls
Steal treasures from the air,
Exotic  wrists  and swirls.

With beautiful  black hair,
Rise like birds , fall like leaves.
Steal treasures from the air,

Having tricks up their sleeves,
From the  soul to dissolve,
Rise like birds ,fall like leaves
From the  soul to dissolve.

Spicy slippery steps
Waiting for a clue,
Picking up  portions of pink
Of hyper-femininity ,
Overflowing  screwy sounds
In heavy  red  chromesthesia,
Morphing  themselves into glamorous ,
Red  feminine movements,
Men looking  like marble statues being alive,
Seemingly  cracking.
Slowly diminishing their dancing rhythm,
Steps  sickling  sweet  sounds
To hear the horn of  some lost happiness.
parched tongue
please
mister
cola
carmex
these cracked lips
it's time
to hydrate
this carbo
bi-
sickling
through vacant streets
for a cure
my tummy
is like this town
a desiccant cactus
it's 12 a.m.
in stockton
12 amens
spew
from dry desert gums
i sea
liquor store
icee
soda
this is
no mirage
i found
atlantis
at the bottom
of a coke bottle

peddling back home
         peddling
                 peddling
stop
I dropped


My holy grail
He stops
Is he thirsty?
He pulls knife
Like a sleeved playing card
“give me your ****”
Poor minus poor
0-0
=0
Or X0
After he cheapshots me
Fist meet face
Face meet fist
obliged
Profit
10 cents
Gym membership
Fuzzy lint *****
But not my soda
Or my sweat
Or my tears
Or my blood
It’s time
To hydrate
WiltingMoon Dec 2015
Depression blue
When I think of you
Depression blue
Is what I think of you

Scarlett red
Shall take me to bed
Scarlett red
Shall make me dead

Dying gray
You did like to play
Dying gray
Making me pray

Hopeless green
Setting the seen
Hopeless green
Backing to my scream

Sickling yellow
You once made me mellow
Sickling yellow
Now your some strange fellow

But depression blue
That...
Is how I'll remember you
Selena Jance Apr 2013
Hardly any little
darlings come over to us. Of
having seemed to be hurt or maybe they are
dreaming of times so past

that they sound like tiny lullabies.

Have you thought of keeping
me in tight holding arms or lying right beside me
in the pain? But something that

you couldn’t come to relate. Never you’ve
been like that, how I feel that reality comes
into parts. Soft little face, huge brown eyes

uncover the surprise that eyebrows comprise.
Longing to be held so soft but never there. Beating
hand on your heart and the

Affliction of Love to us.

Sickling in the things that tie me in so many
miles closer to you. Open up your wides, pupils
dilating to take in the very first, who came this close to

melt your loving heart.


© 2006
Gigi Tiji Nov 2014
I turned on the light to the next door
and it came running in
photons splashing gore!

Straight through the streetlight
like stamps on a ***** and a tricycle
cyc-sickling atop of the poor.

Violence, begotten
the marsh has in store
and the sad watch like
rats watch gold watches and
stop

Grandfather
tells a long time.

Listen to the click!

You may learn a tock
or two in the bush.

zoom swish by

An arrow pierces the heart of time
along the same line as the pools filling with blood.

Tell me, stranger, why don't you look at me?

I see you growing beneath the surface, there...
You're blossoming up like a welt,
a cyst ready to pop!

, but I keep running as
I'm folding life in on itself

Hamburger or hotdog,
either way - I won't let you
see what I wrote inside.

I take it down the hallway and into my bedroom.
I collapse inward, a book's pages eating its own binding,
chewing on hollow spines, and synthetic adhesives.

Tell me, stranger.
I take it to my bedroom...
WiltingMoon Jan 2016
Blood.
Its stains the ground.
With a devils sign.
It has no need for a specified shape.
For the evil to be seen.
Just the splatter,
The pool,
The staining drop.
Of its sickling Scarlett hue.
It paints an un-washable picture.
On all colors that shine bright.
That is why the chilling color of black.
Is what I chose.
No evil can be seen,
When contrasted together.
Black is an invincible shade.
To to the devils touch.
For seen as blood.
book mania Aug 2015
His hands were like snakes

slivering up my back

his voice was like ice

as  cold as it could get

his breath was like a bottle of whiskey

a sickling smell to the air

his eyes pierced into me

like i was his belonging

like i was a library book

like i was his pencil

like i was his girlfriend

i was never his to keep

i was his little puppet


i was his secret,a secret that died with him
Take a Picture

Take a picture, take a picture
Take a picture of what it was
Before this scary tiny sucker arrived from asia
'nd took the globe his captive
living millions of homes empty

Take a picture, take a picture
Take a picture of young nd old
Take, for those fragile ones as they taste better
He shredded even the strong
and made fool of our science

Take a picture, take a picture
Take a picture of those around now,
Do all promising vaccines refuse to work?
Or why are deads lying on the street
And mum can't hug sickling kid

Take a picture, take a picture
Take a picture of yourselves and the love ones
Of when washing hands, masked and socially distanced
Take it to remind you how lucky you are
when the  captor has gone and the world is free
BLD Feb 3
Cherry tomatoes
ripened and red
sprouting from
a store-bought ***;
sweetened soil
with water and sun
and leaves as green
as the growing grass.

Routine enacts certainty
when maintained concrete.

I forgot
to keep with it;
the scarlet skin
wilted dull and brown
and the leaves wrinkled
under a midwestern freeze,
a jar of life
left to die.

Two cherry tomatoes
survived the exodus
and remain alive
in the wasteland of death;
striving against the odds
to pull each nutrient
sickling through the soil,
sinking beneath the surface.

The most difficult lives,
the ones worth living.

— The End —