Gather: contestants index

[HarryHill]

Y

..... ADVANCED

Getting the message Acros..tic
.
Although the evenings lighten
Nothing speaks of Springtime more, than
Youth displaying acres of
Thighs, cleavages galore. These
Hidden under sweaters, long
Into Winter's gloom,
Now flash each unsuspecting
Guy with scantiness costume. He
Blesses whatever entity
Uncovered sunshine's rays, and
Takes to often loitering, to
Satisfy his gaze, but often
Pouring rain brings an end to
Rising passions, for who could
Idealise whatever lies within. when
Nobbled by the weather's spew, and
Giggling, bedraggled long fled prey?

 

[HarryHill]

Z

.....
Anything goes, so says the premise
But mind the rules you see
Spring to mind visions of debauchery
Delving into creativity by three

Anything is the option of the poem
But realize a limit of 20 lines long
Spring into action with your pen
And stop humming that ditty of a song

Anything can be spun and woven,
But remember the challenge true
Spring back my dears and take a breath
For now you’ve got to cut times two

Anything can be drawn forth from the darkness
But also from the erotic recesses of your mind
Spring forth visions of pure pleasure
And in the end you simply find

Anything can be written on paper
But putting in order the words properly
Spring from the images you envision
Can really make you feel as if you’re up a tree

 

[HarryHill]

Aa

..... FINALIST

Odd Objects to Ballerinas

A lucky coin, a feather, X-Men #95,
all of this I would leave gathered
under some kind of tree as
if I'd be so lucky to win you
away from your sorrow. Not
that I think I can, but perseverance
is next to godliness, etc.

I don't want to date you. I just
want to recover that fine happiness
that lays just beneath the soil

of your over-churned life. I want
you to fly again, frail chrysalis,
despite the pain in your limbs.

Balance. En pointe. The agony
of toe shoes brings focus, or should,
to your bereavement. Nothing,
of course, I can say will matter,
and if this were anything but Spring,
or Dance—plié, jeté—I wouldn't even try.

Now, please, just grasp the barre.​

 

[HarryHill]

Bb

..... ADVANCED

She needs me to want her, to desire
the strands of hair as they fall
flowing from the tussled mane of sweat soaked skin
to look on her as my survival
to worship at the ground she ripens with each pass,
she is anything but spring
winters wet and summers burn
yearn for the cold fires embrace

to taste of artesian springs and sup on hunted feasts
gather berries ripe with juice
and lay beneath dream spun skies
count the stars as we make them ours
before dawns damned light
unfurls its unspun voodoo
casting those lasting curses on delicate retinas
the scent of her lingers on me
and every breath brings tears
reach exceeded by beaded breath in the chill of autumns wake

 

[HarryHill]

Cc

.... FINALIST


Bloom

This stolid cherry,
Unmoved by anything, but
Spring coaxes her wild
Blush from her bared and spread limbs
With the idle lap of sun.

 

[HarryHill]

Dd

..... FINALIST


Paperwhites and Pomegranate Seeds


Fist full of daffodils,

little narcissus
tepals blowing up like Marilyn's white dress
corona bright enough to draw moth-winged Icarus

water flowers, your favorite,

pulled from the reflecting pool,
green as your eyes, that threw back my genuflection when I called your white dress perfect, called us one,
replanted in grave dirt, shaded by stone
ruin of our ambitions fertilizing the roots
I shouted "forever" in Odysseus's brave tenor too near Poseidon's ear
the horse lord sent a Mustang GT to teach me humility and floristry

they smell like-

wedding cake smashed an inch deep around my nose
menstrual blood in the bathroom trash
Chanel No. 5 and taco seasoning on Tuesday nights

aluminum, antifreeze, high octane, hospital disinfectant,
pancake makeup on a stranger wearing your best dress,
winter dust stirring in the AC vents above rooms still full you

They smell like anything but spring.

 

[HarryHill]

Ee

..... ADVANCED 10TH PLACE TIE

Awakening the Goddess

The fat, red moon slips down the sky as the sun rises

I glide, barefoot, slither between
the few remaining patches of melting snow
keeping to the sunny rocks
that pulse me warm under chill skin
brushing by the few green shoots
reaching bravely skyward
like fingers extended in a long morning stretch
that cracks the spine and pops the jaw
with it’s interminable yawn
hands pressing hard to push back from the immeasurable chasm of cold
that divides autumn from April

the cool, moist Earth believes in anything but Spring
she fights the sun's heat
bone-deep chill seeping
from flesh too long cold
needing a more constant baking
there are no burning valleys under the thick blanket of snow
for the Crone has less slumberous warmth in the long night than the febrile Maiden.
The adder has less still.

 

[HarryHill]

Ff

..... ADVANCED 10TH PLACE TIE


my dreams are filled with your hands
tracing love spells on my skin
and when you climb in bed
I cuddle close, driving winter away
my breath is yours
my warmth
my every future song
I will give you anything
anything but spring

my spring is steeped in blood and pain
wounds echoed in two hearts
I drove love away
but he holds title
I could not take it back

so take my summer
share my heat
take harvest’s life and winter’s fire
take everything I have become
take everything but spring

you can’t afford my spring

 

[HarryHill]

Gg

..... ADVANCED 10TH PLACE TIE


The Bird’s Nest

I wonder if she watched when we tore the thin stems
to lay our golden paths beneath those green-swathed limbs
or felt them tremble when we climbed high toward her
knowing the ruin our curious hands could soon sow:
twigs, grass, mud and bits of blue broken far below.

You cried. We tried to put it together again
though the alchemy failed neither of us knew then
what had faded between us on that bright spring morn
or how long it would take to comprehend how time
couldn’t heal the damage done during that doomed climb.

In summer signs whispered you were going away,
we talked of anything but spring on our last day.
Years passed. I’m not sure who sent the final letter
or what I said if we ever talked on the phone
but I watched yesterday as they tore down your home.

Beneath autumn’s golden leaves I see where it fell
while memory’s body fades like broken blue shells.
Sometimes late at night I imagine our children
meeting underneath our tree and I wonder then
if they could put the bird’s nest together again.

 

[HarryHill]

Hh

.....

I DON’T THINK SO

Comparing notes with past identities,
laugh madly, not sure if justifiably,
deeds seemingly wrong had reasons,
but not sufficient excuses outside them.

Things in themselves!
Are there any?
If so, Spring was one of them,
but I don’t think so.

Mixing guilt with justification,
anyone can be happy again,
(well, as happy as possible, that is),
more proof that happiness also,
is not a thing in itself.

If spring was all we had,
then anything but Spring,
was all we had,
but again,
I don’t think so.​

 

[HarryHill]

Ii

.....
So anything but Spring Venus
Was in search of a Fall penis
But the men ran cold and hot
Overrating what they've got
Unfulfilling our cocksure seasonist

 

[HarryHill]

Jj

.....

GRATIFICATION

Across the room, crossing her legs,
Naughty but nice, or so I think,
Yearning for love, smiling she begs,
Teach me how love feels like in spring,
Hold me with care, I feel fragile,
Inject me softly as we swing,
Nodding agreement, back I smile,
Granting her anything but spring.

But to be true, how else could I,
Urged by such exploding vents,
This gentle wish to gratify?

Spring is included in this act,
Plus all the seasons, plus their scents,
Raptures confirming every fact,
Inward and outward swinging pars,
Night on our nakedness descents,
Grooving in motion with the stars.[/QUOTE]

 

[HarryHill]

Kk

..... ADVANCED

It's anything but spring like
Here in the attic
Of my dusty mind
Where the cobwebs
Are all that's holding me together
As I sift through the remnants
Of memories
Wondering what I'll miss most later
When it's gone
Which bits
Make me
Me
And hoping
I won't know the difference

 

[HarryHill]

Ll

.....
Remember Me
Will you miss me in the Winter
or when the dead leaf flies?
Anything but Spring, the new life tinter.
Will you miss me in the Winter,
or Summer's rivulet swept away to splinter
those tears no longer gathered in my eyes?
Will you miss me in the Winter
or never when my dead leaf flies?

 

[HarryHill]

Mm

..... ADVANCED

Rising

Could there be anything
but Spring
that brings the light back this way?

Soft creeping fingers slipping past
sentinel draperies that are wispy-fog-light,
dancing in the flimsiest of breezes,
caressing the mounded terrain slumbering
under the thinnest cover
to keep off the remembered chill of winter

Bounding lightly over hillock, delving slightly into dale,
thawing with gentle, steady warmth,
you pluck these rosebuds,
(It's almost May),
celebrating the rise of sap
in this more temperate season.

Soon there will be no night
and we will dance
equinox-fevered and sky-clad
in the glare of midsummer

For now, could this be anything but Spring?

 

[HarryHill]

Nn

.....
Favorite time of Year

“Anything but spring”, is what she would say
when asked what season she wanted to play
in. I just laughed and pushed for a reason.
”Why would you slight that specific season?”
She’d brush it off, “We haven’t got all day.”

Again the battle would start, an emotional fray
that I didn’t want to evolve into melee,
it just seemed like she was teasin’
“Anything but spring”

Ticking off the benefits made no headway,
indeed, it was almost like she wanted to stay
in the middle of Winter, even though freezin’,
or skip straight to Summer, feeling the rays on
oiled skin when outback by the pool she’d lay,
“Anything but spring”

 

[HarryHill]

Oo

.....
Meditation on a Yard Sale Painting

There among the trilliums
are robins red and brown
bobbing up and down
in the glorious sunshine,
springtime's flock of metronomes
that make me want to sing
"Oh, what a beautiful morning!
Oh, what a beautiful day...."

But a bird in the hand
from the palette of
I wannabe Claude Monet
has hanging from its beak
a still life, so to speak,
that hadn't any knowledge of
the sudden dark cloud over it
nor why a robin's gizzard is
anything but spring.

 

[HarryHill]

Pp

..... FINALIST


Exhibition: A Still Life

When you left me, we took our bed out to the curb

We left it like an artifact, ex marks the spot
To be discovered by the homeless man in the fedora
The Indiana Jones of Tennessee Avenue
It belonged in his Warhol museum
of broken televisions and cordless stereos

White noise coils holding anything but spring

It became the main attraction
the pièce de résistance is futile

Sheets splattered with action like a Pollock
Frame crooked as Duchamp's staircase nude
Of Prouvén worth, steel-reinforced, four post anchored, and still not enough to hold us

We left that mattress containing everyday dust, mites and could’ves, unwashed by Picasso's weighted words, dead skin cells still rubbing up against each other, like Guernica, the last to see

Bacteria art yet breeding the culture of you and I

Like Monet's Rouen, the day has passed our shrine leaving it empty save the echoes of “Oh my God!”

 

[Ballot_Box]

ballot for 1st elimination round

VOTE FOR 21 OF 42 ENTRIES by pm to this user no later than 5/3/2015
.. ADVANCE

 

[Ballot_Box]

Ballot for semi final round

Select 10 of the 23 poems with ADVANCED posted above and post to this user ballot deadline 5/10/2015 on or about midnight CDT
..
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10

 

[HarryHill]

Okay, final round, 10TH PLACE TIE poems were dropped from the final in the hopeless task of choosing one over the others. Angeline will have a poll set up shortly to select the winner of the contest, vote for 1