Festival Kiss
Ecstasy ecstatic
I twirled right into you
whirling dervish who
turned so calm
as your slow sweet smile
& your lips lit mine
we kissed
to the tribal trance and the man who rhymed
flame-edged
tracing word-patterns
we flew like shamans with their drums
base pounding melody singing metamorphosis of
fast driven wildness
beautifully undone
as our bodyminds conversed.
Comments
Very lyrical! I LOVE lyrical words!
LOVE AND PEACE, jen
mentalistic. can almost feel the heat of the artificially engorged lips.
those lips, that kiss… gave me glandular fever. uhuh. :-) got better.
& hmm cheers – but y think? i reckon it kinda clunk stumbles at t end – for what it’s worth :-)
just thought it’d be nice t post some words in t music section.
– fleur14
Doof doof, yah?
Das ist gud, yah?
Psy-psy!!
yeah, ‘as our bodyminds conversed’ is a bit of a cop out after ‘I twirled right into you/
whirling dervish who…’
this was clearly a cleverly-masked historical reference, possibly to my uncle fallahlabad.
getting back to literary matters, on the exclusive patented ‘rabbitollahometer™’ you only scored 2 out of 60 (word count = 60, and you only used 2 long words- ‘conversed’ and ‘metamorphosis’), which quite frankly, for redbubble, is fucking pathetic. normally at ‘the international institute of international rabbitollahism’ we’re finding a ratio of 10:4:1 in most work. (normal words: long words: words requiring a dictionary).
obviously, the more long words and ‘words requiring a dictionary’ a poem has, the more poemy it is. infact, it says in the world famous trusty oxford-brookes universtiy dictionary that ‘a poem is only really a poem if at least one of the words is slightly obscure, and thus ’profound’, possibly beyond the understanding of the author, who has just copy-pasted the word from microsoft word’s handy thesauraus tool’.
merci beaucoup pour le nob de hoff n also for t help.
the ratios were especially edifying.
to improve my score, hoff-willing, i vow to gaze navelly upon my innersaurous wtout cease till fully wallowed wt obscurity n insipid in t quintessence of poemy.
should i reach the level of ‘master of ambiguity’, my hopes are for a little collection currently under the unemployed title of ‘maliprop haiku’. or vice versa, depending.
chearse again for t constructive critque, off to use my hoff-nob.
– fleur14