Winner: Poem of the Week: Oct 3, 2004
A Butterfly's Vindication
by thief of dreams
Her fingers
Wrap delicately
Around the neck
Her fingertips
Pressing deep
Into the wire
The banshee wail
Overridden by vibration
As she hums unheard
The next to last word
Her hands making love
To the body before her
Caressing
And strumming
Moving music
From dead wires
And hollow body
Into living movement
And beating heart
Tears pulling down mascara
As the agony arrives
The song reaching deep
Pulling at emotions
Long since caged
Releasing the rage
She hammers deep
As a string breaks
Whips around
Slicing her cheek
And she continues to play
As a drop of blood
Mixes with a tear
And together forever
They fall to the floor
The final chord strummed
The energy hum
Dissipates into the darkness
As she smiles
For a certain someone
Lost in the audience
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and:
Winner: Poem of the Week: Oct 3, 2004
Talking About Tom
by the quiet man
This poem is made up of ideas from another poem I posted.
"Sod this for
A game of soldiers."
I thought as we
Ran into the doorway
Sheltering from the rain.
She stalked my face
Looking like a cat
Trying to remember where
It had buried a bird.
"Was that Tom I
Saw you talking to earlier?"
I said "Yes."
She said nothing.
(Tom is a git
Who breaks
Hearts for fun).
To lie, or not to lie?
"He asked about you."
She looked down at
Her hand painted
Red plimsolls.
(She wore them
Because they were unfashionable,
Without knowing
That that made them
Really fashionable).
"You don't have to lie.
I know what Tom is,
He'd never ask about anyone."
I looked down at
My soggy blue
Canvas shoes.
(They were just unfashionable).
"Actually", I offered
"I was trying to get back
The ten pounds he owes me."
"And?"
"No Joy."
"He owes me a tenner too."
"Really? What a tosser."
"Complete prat."
Smiles in united
Hatred of Tom.
She talked hectically
For the next fifteen minutes,
Like a stream of consciousness
Meandering from one
Thought to the next.
I stood there
Thinking of poetry.
A poem about her perhaps.
"Truth rests in her like
An ancient pearl in
A secluded oyster."
I pondered.
"...bugger off."
"What?"
"I said I told him to bugger off."
"Good for you."
I assumed she was still
Talking about Tom.
"Shall we go."
The rain had stopped.
We carried on walking
Together for a while.
Then she went her way
And I went mine.
I was musing on infatuation,
When I heard her shout
"If you see Tom again,
Don't forget my ten quid."
I laughed.
"And another thing."
"Yeah, what?"
"Tell him he's a wanker."
She walked away
Looking dark and forlorn.
"Like an ancient pearl",
I thought to myself
As I turned for home,
Blue canvas shoes squelching
Across the wet pavement.
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