DD Challenge Voting :)

Well done to everyone who submitted poems for this, they are awesome.
Please read the following poems, and PM me with your vote. I will announce the winner tomorrow night.(Sunday)

Anyone can vote on this, so please do.

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#1
Dry December

I met you between a pile of snow
and a man shoveling frozen feelings
onto a desolated road.

You were grey grass. The type
that made man wonder about life,
but I watched you Tumble off
into a deep hole where skeletons
resurrected fear in your broken bones.

Then you asked,
Where have my greens gone?

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#2
December's Dove

Your love is a glove
that catches me when I fall.
I feel secure. I feel like an ugly duck
who transforms into dove
whenever your touch
makes me fly in love.

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#3
Drunk December

We roasted memories
inside of a log cabin,
unaware that the world
was flirting with tradition.

We were here first,
you whisper from your
meek nest under the
earth's foundation.

I reassure you, nothing
can change that.

Sunlight filters through
and snowflakes pat the
windows though we are alone.
No one visits or tries to
understands what a
humble life means...

Yet, nothing can depress us.
Not even this weather or
those who are more
intoxicated by a
modern winter scene.

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#4
Damselflies And December

Memories of
those Damselflies
cannot be
written in a
beige sand.

I spent a
December afternoon
lost in
the reminiscences
of those Damselflies.

Every December,
I wait
to watch
those Damselflies dance
to the
echoes of
your laughter
while you
tell me
how the
first snow
falls over
where you are.

Amihan carries
a story--
a Tagalog folklore
that makes me
envision the
shapes of
the things
to come.

No matter
how much
Mnemosyne
personifies memories,
she will
not be
able to
create tragedies
that can
make Damselflies
hibernate in
the caves
of your
long lost
December reveries.

The colors
of those Damselflies
are stunningly vivid.
(No one
would have
ever thought
they have undergone
incomplete metamorphosis)

In order
to understand
how dreams
are created
to be distant.
I will
continue chasing
those Damselflies
and wait for
the day
you whisper
in my ears
how the
sun sets
everytime
December ends.

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#5
Darkened December ( Poetry-Prose, Part 1)

"Rise up and Touch the Sun," my mother told me as she slid brown bangs-curtain like, out of my face, but I was blanketed with lukewarm thoughts in front a window of nostalgia to even noticed a cup of hots hugs waiting for me in the living room.

"Hurry up," my siblings shouted
from across the corridor as my sister whispered beside my mattress, "mom, a book tucks people into bed," but I told my mother while flipping my hair pass below my forehead, "depression does the same without creating fake fantasies in our heads. So perhaps tomorrow, when the sun is out - I'll open that window with optimistic hands, I'll extend my fingers to touch the snow beside the windowsill, and I'll finally feel the ice inside my heart, melt slowly on my skin.

Until then, if you don't mind, I'll just sleep. "

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#6
December in Damascus

Perhaps I had become
immune to inclement
weather. After all,
I've lived most of my life
dodging blizzards of bullets,
taking shelter as shrapnel
plummeted streets,
streets where fear flooded gutters
and blood froze drains.

I vaguely remember
that hail is a small lump of ice
that stings the skin
when it hits.
Hail has long taken on
another meaning for me.

So, when snow falls
on the streets of Damascus
it is eyed with suspicion.

This white powder that
spreads so silently...is it
a form of white torture?

And, I hold my breath
and wait...

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#7
December Dalliance

and...

there you were,
ice-skates at angles
I didn't think possible,
arms flailing as you
headed straight towards me

then...

CRASH! THUD!

as a tangle of arms
and legs came together
in an unsophisticated ball
of human limbs

then...

as you stuttered your
apology and tried to
regain your composure,
while offering me an
unsteady hand you said

"Please...let me buy you
a drink to heat you up".

An afternoon of hot chocolate
and cake followed as we
chatted, flirted and
grazed hands
more times than one

but...

as the long shadows
of bleak afternoon sun
crept behind rooftops
and evening's chill appeared
we both knew it was
time to part

and...

as gloves and scarves
were pulled into place
and you helped me
on with my coat
your hand brushed
my cheek as you said...

"Well, we certainly broke the ice in more ways than one"

and...

as our eyes locked for the
last time I thought

"I don't even know your name"...

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#8
Drunk in December

I'm not a vagabond, from far away
you would die to be my home,
hold me in your arms,
yet I express myself in rags;
I still see my clothesline when I
breathe against the window,
and its lack of wavering fabric
wasn't made for Christmas lights.

I know my love for you is sober,
and I know I need wine for fuel,
to ask you if I'm pretty,
eyes dazzled by possibiility.

I would grasp onto you
as if begging for coins
just to lose them in a well.
I would latch all of my sorrows
onto your lips, if only
to silence my cries.

But December has sent me
too many invitations, and
I don't want you to be
another tourniquet.

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#9
December Determinant

End of year retrospective
but expect no bargains
for this purchase costs
greater now than before:
what have you become
In the past twelve months?

Have you invested your values
or squandered the year
running with the red queen?
Given lip service to world
grief while stashing goodies
to snack on during movies?

No one ever died a death
more inglorious than sitting
before a television choking
in their lazy boy recliner;
no one missed more than
the kid who helped out.

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#10
Derelict December

Partly because I couldn't be drawn to care,
and partly because my bed is warm
I didn't go to class today.
Forgive me.
I awoke to warm sweat between my toes,
a languid sweetness of body that conjured rest,
that forbade the stark intensity of sky, and wind, and winter.
The frozen grass by my doorstep was impenetrable,
the squirrels and birds, those malignant
demons of sound, couldn't rouse me from my nest.
Forgive me.
I am comfortably timid and bent in silent reverie,
I am weak and easily swayed
by the will of blankets.

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#11
Dead by December

Beneath my ribs, an intrinsic understanding of
warm muscle, steady breath...
an elegant shifting of life
that draws me ever forward and down,
cradling and insistent.
But what I wouldn't give to be still
as the cracked ice on dead grass,
to expand and grow like crystalline frost
on a window, to fall fearless and
cold, like snowflakes to a drift,
lifeless and glittering
under distant stars.

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GOOD LUCK ALL xxx

Excited to start reading these, great work everyone!

These are great poems well done everyone

A really hard choice to pick my favorite! All are truly awesome, great job! :)