Simon Says!

[WickedEve]

gosh you and Simon really do not want me to do this?!

Simon may really want it.
The only thing I really want is ____
Anyone want to fill in the blank? Make it something that'll land me in Hell in about 40 years.

 

[Liar]

Simon may really want it.
The only thing I really want is ____
Anyone want to fill in the blank? Make it something that'll land me in Hell in about 40 years.

40 more years alive?

*ducks*

 

[WickedEve]

40 more years alive?

*ducks*

Okay, recently, I've been hoping to make it to 60. 80 may really be pushing it. lol

 

[Liar]

Okay, recently, I've been hoping to make it to 60. 80 may really be pushing it. lol

Oh, don't say that. I figure we're all bound for the Warm Resort anyway, so if you can stall that for an extra decade or two, more power to ya.

 

[WickedEve]

Oh, don't say that. I figure we're all bound for the Warm Resort anyway, so if you can stall that for an extra decade or two, more power to ya.

warm resort? that makes sounds too fuzzy and comfy. Hey, Satan! Get me a daiquiri!

 

[poeticidolhost]

of coarse not..that was great advice...

I post the remaining poems with this name...ty...

gosh you and Simon really do not want me to do this?! I AM into Idol. Worshipping Idols has gotten me a pre-paid ticket to hell. I have a golden calf in my backyard. sheesh. I am just obsessed with Jack Bauer is all.

Eve, are you not Simon? Maybe you can be like Janet Jackson, didn't she do the Idol thing? Or is it um, that other choreography chick? Damn, I am culturally illiterate. I did see an episode of Skating with the Stars.

Blue- I hope you did not take my suggestions as criticism, you are doing awesome, this is the most fun challenge we have had in a while! I just have a tendency to bud in It is easier than writing a poem. fuck.

 

[bluerains]

wrong name...

 

[poeticidolhost]

Contestant # 4

Left Behind

Daughters from no grande dame,
sisters with death a wish,
watching from a seamless world,
started a fire from whirling winds
to burn their museum of wall hangings,
stitched from adoption and abandon.

Broken links of
vanilla words would
ever paint such hours of darkness.
A muse chars the matriarch.
Crowds gather the painted prisms
seeping into poetic halls.
Wall of wailing words hardens;
Agony and ecstasy splice
each seam.

 

[poeticidolhost]

Contestant # 5

My Dearest Charles,
It is with great remorse that I write this letter.

Since your departure I hang from pins
like a dust wing butterfly under glass.

Do you still collect jawbones of forrest creatures
and those of the ocean smoothed by sand?

My love has not been crumbled, but polished
by the weather of your absence.

Shelter comes in many forms my darling
and I have curled under many.

The solitude of trellised gardens,
the trance of falling water fountains.

To my heavy skirts I have added layers,
crisp cloth-- opaque, ungiving.

My knees chaffed, my breath short
I wait for your word, mast, harness.

It was not the drink that peeled
the skirts from my waist,

although my lips of wine have not
remained dry for your chalice.

My Dearest Charles, I can no longer
call into my imagination your face.

My brush is suspended over the canvass
as the long grasses of the dunes dance

like fingers against my legs,
but memory betrays me. I paint the sea.

His hands cradle the sky, hold the wind.
I curl in his shade, still longing for you.

I pray this letter finds you well,
finds your forgiveness.
Elizabeth

 

[poeticidolhost]

Just thought I should add

The poets name not accepted as the final 5 will not be listed unless the poet whats to do so!

 

[poeticidolhost]

Contestant # 6

But A Day

If we have but a day,
than such a glorious day it shall be.
If we have but an hour,
that hour shall be love's inspiration.
Life's moments slip away,
as the sun dries the glistening dew;
disappearing vapor,
the times of our life never to return.
To hold you in my arms,
hearts touching, no man-made impediments,
to join in our own bliss,
rapture plies its heavenly connection.
If we have but a day,
than such a glorious day it shall be.
If we have but an hour,
that hour shall be love's inspiration.

 

[JudgeSimon]

Left Behind

Daughters from no grande dame;
sisters with death wishes
started a fire from whirling winds
to burn a museum of wall hangings
stitched from adoption and abandon.
No colorful words would
ever paint their hours of darkness.
A muse chars their matriarch.

I will admit that this is interesting. It is a bit of a starched collar, though. I'd like to see it softer and flowing. Perhaps if the poet added a few gentle words it would be less stone, stone, and more stone, stone, tuft of grass, stone. Or maybe I'm just stoned.

 

[JudgeSimon]

My Dearest Charles,
It is with great remorse that I write this letter.

Since your departure I hang from pins
like a dust wing butterfly under glass.

Do you still collect jawbones of forrest creatures
and those of the ocean smoothed by sand?

My love has not been crumbled, but polished
by the weather of your absence.

Shelter comes in many forms my darling
and I have curled under many.

The solitude of trellised gardens,
the trance of falling water fountains.

To my heavy skirts I have added layers,
crisp cloth-- opaque, ungiving.

My knees chaffed, my breath short
I wait for your word, mast, harness.

It was not the drink that peeled
the skirts from my waist,

although my lips of wine have not
remained dry for your chalice.

My Dearest Charles, I can no longer
call into my imagination your face.

My brush is suspended over the canvass
as the long grasses of the dunes dance

like fingers against my legs,
but memory betrays me. I paint the sea.

His hands cradle the sky, hold the wind.
I curl in his shade, still longing for you.

I pray this letter finds you well,
finds your forgiveness.
Elizabeth

Brilliant! Great potential! This is Poetic Idol material.

 

[JudgeSimon]

But A Day

If we have but a day,
than such a glorious day it shall be.
If we have but an hour,
that hour shall be love's inspiration.
Life's moments slip away,
as the sun dries the glistening dew;
disappearing vapor,
the times of our life never to return.
To hold you in my arms,
hearts touching, no man-made impediments,
to join in our own bliss,
rapture plies its heavenly connection.
If we have but a day,
than such a glorious day it shall be.
If we have but an hour,
that hour shall be love's inspiration.

This better than what I read on the bathroom wall.

 

[bluerains]

Contestant # 7

Java Hut

Narcotic eyes
tracing a teacup sky.
masses of mindless
thoughts ripple
the surface of
tasteful color
until walls of mind
collapse in morning’s
new day.
Sorry, breathes a sigh in
all too soon
motions of
a life breaking the
spell of her comatose
cafe.

 

[poeticidolhost]

Reminder~

times drawing close ...not enough poems for a good match..Simon is not shy...whats up with the best of best...?

 

[poeticidolhost]

Contestant # 8

Reflections on a shaved ham sandwich

Small package
flimsily wrapped in transparency
carefully
he opens
and gently reveals
pink folds,
succulent and moist
lie waiting
making him salivate.

Tenderly
with two fingers
he separates the folds
tasting the saltiness.

Gently pulling, dividing,
he arranges the pink flesh
as he wants.
Licking his fingers
lowering his mouth to bite.

Spicy sea-taste
moistened sheen
creamy filled furrows
the act complete

he stoops to devour this
his lunch.

It's an old one - does that matter?
__________________

 

[poeticidolhost]

contestant # 9

For Posterity

Two lovers face, the first time,
furiously curious,
falling blissfully,
endlessly into amnesia,
prior histories erased
though only for a moment,
no thoughts but the delights
brightening the room
with radiant light.

Passion effects a coup d’etat
On hard-learned reason;
what started as butterfly wings
builds to a late day thunderstorm
spawning a vortex that sweeps away
everything before and to come,
other than the moment,
. . . for the moment
. . . for only a moment
Before memory is restored
And the ghosts of all the other lovers
who came before appear,
and there the nearly imperceptible
restraint lies, caution stirs,
warning signals flash.
But not in the moment.

Hands and mouths and limbs
embark on wary sojourns
on the others' unmapped flesh.
The lovers become cartographers of each
other's pleasure troves, but even detailed
maps cannot capture the scent of
tea tree and lavender,
a certain man and certain woman,
future archaeologists would miss
trying to grasp just what went down
in that archipelago, two tips of mountains
pushed up from a troubled sea,
conceiving water differently;
two lovers adrift.
That's the problem with
science: it cannot capture the essence;
thus rational thought
explains nothing in this
island country.

Comes the calm after,
Different from anticipation,
because now
sense memories press down;
a first kiss
on next meeting instantly
ignites the smoldering desire,
a drift of scent -- and two
susceptible souls abide blindly
to irrational thought, to abandon,
but for established
boundaries laid out
tempering, restraining.
One still recovering from
broken trust built over decades
cannot surrender completely
with ghosts in attendance,
in the absence of love.
Confusing and wonderful
all in the same breath,
this thing more than lust,
not quite love,
with no name.

 

[poeticidolhost]

contestant # 10

Tumult

It would have been sweet to be in your hands,
As you brought me through,
The tumultuous lands,
Of my feeling.

To know precisely what it is that shakes,
My world, my dogma, thoughts,
My Earth torn up by quakes,
As I quiver.

I feel the hard tug of erotic tide,
As along your swift thoughts,
Turning, spinning, wild ride,
I am taken.
__________

 

[poeticidolhost]

Update...

Simon has suggested that all poems should be admitted to vote ...and Simon will comment..we have 10 contestants...only the winner will be uncovered as the idol.....time is climbing... A lit Simon .. rules..