Our Member of January is:
Oscar Wilde is my deity and I live by his wise-assed wisdom. Peace <3
Congratulations on the nomination, Demosthenes!
3 of their favorite works are:
The Red-Haired.Cascading copper blood more sensual
Than the tang of unwound citrus fruit;
Not quite the sun, rather more forgiving
To the eyes- yet every bit as stunning-
And would be a harshly cold existence
Of cruel ice cutters and creaks and claws and
Melted butter stew and faded chestnut
Oaks and all that was not a mathematical
Mastery of objective beauty; of form;
So unnatural, that only nature could
Conjure Euclidean angles- into a
Freudian playground of sexuality;
With the phenomenon that is product
Of pheomelanin (commonly found
In the uncommon one percentile
Who pull practical jokes on genetics)
The lustrous and illusive 'red-haired'
WatchmanLike the sound
Of none listening,
Like the ground
Spilled noise unto dusk-
Stumbles upon husk,
Sheds his cloak-
Due respect to which
Is splattered like yolk;
Not a leap of
Rather a fall-
Sultry SongUnnaturally graceful,
Like a brothel of orgasming
Golden beaks and wings,
To the sky
When 'certain' things are lit-
Euphoric blankets of smoke;
Look no different
From the pillows of clouds,
Against that cutting,
And a nose piercing too;
Piercings in other places-
A pierce in my chest so fierce,
I'm stiff all over;
If the wind 'catches my drift',
And in on the breeze-
Of sexual tension,
You babe and a bottle-
Would bring fire,
To not just my throat.
DistanceOur hearts are heralded upon
A map; where the leagues
That part us are trivial crumbs.
Swept and scattered in a gust of
Stirred idolatries; and twirl with
Propensity of petals- the external
Infers no effect or influence to
Divine covenants between immortal
Souls (absence is but a miserly
Puddle, in the aureate garden of
Ardency- where we forever tread
Upon dreams laid as cloths by one
Another) in times of toilsome
Longing and wearied disposition;
-Know that love is a messenger
Who transverses the lands between,
When we cannot.
(She) Wears the Mask (A Parody)She wears the mask that's green and why:
(Exfoliates cheeks and avoid the eyes)
She'd pay a beautician- while
I share a beer with a mate named Kyle;
As we scratch our genitals unsubtly.
Why in the world didn't she check the price;
Doesn't her natural beauty suffice?
Nope,"I can only see you (she said in a rile)
After I've worn the mask."
I had smiled, but Jesus H. Christ; guys
Don't need to get a loan or a pay rise-
To afford to have their nails filed
(Or to have smoother thighs than a child)
-But I'll give her credit because she tries
(But I still carry a flask).
Original poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar:
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we
A Cigarette.Of wooden and stale fascinations;
That become the wick and kindle
For black grain and black paste
That wetly leaks out of throatholes,
With burning red and white cushions
That taste like fired guns;
Except when the trigger is pulled, fingers;
Fingers are reduced to short black stubs
That pulsate and squirm like
Members of the Month are officially open to nominations by anyone!
Please feel free to nominate your friends, or anyone you think deserves special recognition.
Members can only be featured once, and you cannot nominate yourself.
The final decision will be made by me, your founder. Or one of the Admins in the rare case of my absence.
So get nominating!