Lights now off,
Yet the room stays bright—
With a lamp
Still aglow,
Chasing the dancing harlots
From pillar to post.
Contest: Spin a shardoma Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
Date: June 2nd, 2025
Placement: Second
Categories:
harlots, dance, imagery, light, metaphor,
Form: Shadorma
A long armed Groot at the root of this fruit/
The strong alarmed the wrong loot and followed through against the coup/
Flipped script is ridiculous as I re-jiggle this penned mess/
Stripped it’s ludicrous how crude I kiss and caress this sent injustice/
Picked up this food for our crust to protrude and fizz it does just this/
Slicked pup as my hood busts who’s suave and sends scoffs sideways/
Songs sung to scarlets of Joe’s hands spun off Scarlett Johansson/
Strung out lawns by harlots with no land sum/
A lung tout to spawn a poet’s lot for ransom/
That air brung stout gruel to sew it’s spot and some
Along through I tote a lance to hum and be hung/
Strong brute while hope’s a branch slung/
A long armed groot flips style and gropes leafs to inch along/
The linguistic sower to sword through heaps and hues of sorrow/
The wing’s wish stick is sore from the word brews arrow/
Cut that stings wick as it's more phlegm for the fruits aglow.
Categories:
harlots, adventure, analogy, art, celebrity,
Form: Rhyme
Young harlot is the most honest of all
a fist of coins for a dollop of flesh
more honest than the soil and rain
that turn opera into palettes of cackle
blood blossoms sprouting from grayness.
Some Johns offer flowers or budget cigarettes.
A bouquet of mirrors and cancer-she thinks.
While she nibbles the stems off their souls
The tongue - her pungent weapon of brevity.
Old harlot is the least honest of all.
Masking a puffy face with budget smiles.
Holding flesh together with time's disintegration.
flecks of waning star dust minced by gravity
a ball of yellowing yarn-beneath whirling paws.
Categories:
harlots, remembrance day,
Form: Shape
Ignored like morning stars
slinking-full in the belly
on the cusp of broken yards
Our yellow eyes woven together
(but not for very long).
Her litter will soon arrive
(balls o' furry fire),
playing golden harps
in the pine brush pile...
Raggedy-damp
bouncing hand to crumpled hand,
like winter harlots
and bar money...
disappearing
one
by
one-
Categories:
harlots,
Form: Free verse
The harlot maples crimson tipped nails
tap, drum, strum, and plunk;
at Aprils blasted blue sky.
Raking a wind born trail
across skeletal palms
and forearmed branches,
in a come-hither dance;
reawakening the cerulean stratus
above the dense sugar maple forest.
Sap taps a tune into tin buckets;
and, so, Spring is sprung.
Categories:
harlots, love
Form: Personification