This originally started out as a pantoum , but I took some rather hefty liberties with the form. (But hey, I kept the basic rhyme scheme while trying some diversification with the lines.) At any rate, it's nothing special, but I thought it would be worth posting. But then, I've been wrong before. Anyway. If you read, let me know what you think. Continental Drift Now you pull away from me, hesitant and cold; are you shaken by something you see, the things I've said, or what ...

Am I pathetic or what?  I can't for the life of me give a title to this poem.  It's a sonnet, incidentally. But hey, classic forms of poetry seem dead anyway.  Most poetry you read is dreadfully constructed 'free verse' that's basically just crapping words out onto the page in whatever 'structure' you want and calling it a poem.  You're not Octavio Paz, people - don't even try. But yeah, this is an old-school Italian-style sonnet.  Eleven syllables a verse, fou...

Thanks first to Kelly for resurrecting the JUWC.  I'm so sick of what passes as political and religious 'debate' on this site that I'd much prefer writing and reading such as this.

In the OP, I posted a haiku as a joke, saying that was my submission, but then I was bitten by the haiku bug, and today I was finally able to sit down and finish my haiku story.  it's nothing special, but it doesn't suck as bad as I feared it would.

Manos morenas, dedos largos, estrechos, uñas pintadas perfectamente púrpureas, muñeca frágil, delicada, venas azules.   Hombro fuerte, lleno de energía, alfilado, cubierto por bufanda negra y gruesa, piel blanda, oscura, dulce, salada.   Cuello porcelano, mejillas rosadas con pecas, labios llenos, rojos, cálidos, plenos, ojos espléndidos, verdes, sonrisa única.   Te beso. ...

Waves of static pulsate, tides of white noise, punctuated by the fleeting beats of washed-out drums, slowly emerging from a neolithic paste of tribal dissonance, coalescing into the friendly, familiar sounds of a heavy beat. Simple piano melodies wash in with the white waves, bringing in tow the guttural guitars, fuzzed beyond recognition. Point, counterpoint, piano and guitar dance like lovers, diametrically opposed, yet ultimately complementary. The harrowing, haunting bass...

Ever since discovering the poetry form pantoum , I've been trying and trying and trying to make one work. It's a difficult style of very structured poetry, but it's got a great "incantation" sound to it. (For those who would like more info on the pantoum , check out some explanatory sites here , or a more in-depth explanation of structure, rhyme scheme, and line repitition, check this site out .) But yesterday, the fates smiled, the clouds opened, and I was able to create what I think ...

I should probably put these all in one article, but I'm having more fun posting them separately. blue - black hair, curves of hips, waist, breasts, perfection. Abbreviated again.

Darkened alleyways, Sweat, garbage, blinking street lights. Night in the city.

Another abbreviated haiku. Sugared, cold, Drifting fields of white. Frozen time. I'm just thinking of winter.

This haiku is written in shorter traditional form, eschewing the 5-7-5 scheme in favor of a 3-5-3 scheme. Carnations: Shifting pinks, blues, greens, noise erupts. (I don't expect anyone to get the reference in this except for BlueDev. And he doesn't usually do the poetry thing, so there.)

"Death" Death. Perky young girl, black clothes, gold ankh, windswept hair - Should a boy love death? (Inspired by Neil Gaiman's imagining of Death from the graphic novel series "The Sandman".)

My eyes seem trapped in the swirling, spinning vortexes - captured by the smooth curving lines, alternating dark and light, hidden messages in a visual braille - virtual Morse code - evoking images of songs unsung. The curling pictures, cutting through the dark red rosewood, begging the caress of my worn, tired hands. I feel the stiff grain of the sitka, slowly absorbing the finish, shining through in a paradoxically dull light. My hands move. The callouses cry out in agony a...

La soledad me llena - corre por mis rincones, llega hasta lo más profundo de mi corazón roto, Mi alma estalla, reventa en una angustia purpúrea, una angustia que mezcla con la soledad sofocante en un mole de dolor. Las lágrimas no sirven; estos ojos, tan vacíos y secos, jamás sentirán esta lluvia, este descanso. ¿Jamás? Jamás es miles de años, milenios inumerables, eones y épocas sin contar. Ahora, siento un «jamás» . . . pero mañana viene el sol otra vez. Sé que la so...

There’s something magical in the way your shoulder blades move, sinewy muscles pulling, tightening, loosening, moving with all the grace befitting a goddess. The metallic shine of the clumsy chain about your neck, the few freckles that dot your back, constellations of an unfulfilled desire, begging for a game of connect-the-dots. The sharp, inviting angles of your shoulders, the simple strap of your shirt breaking the beautiful monotony of your flawless skin, the deep red cutting ac...

Maravillo en la arquitectura de tu cuello; el color rojizo de tus mejillas; la linea fina de tu mandíbula. Asombro me dan tus ojos; me penetran como dardos en el torbellino, me cortan, me hacen sangrar. Te quiero aquí en mis brazos, para amarte, para mostrarte que te quiero. (aquí) (en mis brazos) Tus manos, como telarañas, me captan; tus muslos me fascinan; tus pies, aunque a veces apestan, son perfectos; dedos largos, uñas pintadas. Me ofreces todo - y todo lo tomo. Hace a...