Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dear kid you are the picture
of heart on well worn sleeve.
You oiled every wave of
raw emotion
and etched it on your own face.

Each time you draw a tear
the cascades fill your sorry eyes.
Far cry from masterpiece,
or symphony
but your truest portrait caught in time.
 Jan 2017 Marian Kutra
Ola Radka
We all paint our lives.
The mountains of challenges,
The rivers of tears,
The waterfalls of joy.

We mix the colours of sorrow and laughter
And add the colours of experience and the years that passed.
The souls we will always remember
And the moments we will never forget.
We are talking about years,
Endeavors, dreams, moments.
A day has enough problems on its own,
     And you are stronger than
          You will ever think you are.

These scars, these ceremonial
Scars you bear, imprints
Eternally embedded,
     Proudly present to you
          The true challenge of the heart.

2017, in the cold, calm winter, Germany,
January, prematurely, you will open
What you fought so hard for just to close
     In hope of letting some healing in
          And fiercely love again.

You will make space, bridges,
Towers, arrange your stars,
Set your cardboard, pick wild flowers,
Eat one cup of rice instead of two,
Do some sit-ups, and let yourself wait
     And wait and wait
          For her to get here.

Here, in the middle,
In the very scar you reopen.
     There.

Happy New Year.*

© 2017 J.S.P.
Revised.
Here I lie wide awake,
thoughts pouring through my mind.
How sweet the touch your body,
when craving after mine.

Playful eyes and dancing toes,
wrestling to shed our clothes.
You bite my neck and I taste yours,
we slowly kiss, our tongues explore.


I toss and turn, try to ignore,
these visions now vibrate my core,
the chance I'd take if you were near,
to breathe you in as though you're here.

Lips running down your heartfelt chest,
caressing them along your breast,
excitfull moans begin to flow,
the further down I go below.


With grace I trace, my love expands,
this sanctioned sin, no reprimands.
You feel me now, passions run deep,
quietly your sounds they speak,
and as they do,
I follow through,
through the depths of reaching you.


As inner thighs,
quiver and quake,
salty sweet your taste I take,
your fingers running through my hair,
you pace my face,
and steady,
there!
You groan in ecstasy,
your love receives the best of me.
I slowly give my all to you,
with rhythm we begin to move,
clasping our hands, you sway your hips,
you raise them up, as we eclipse.


It echos through these deep elations,
driving in intense sensations.

Entangled we begin to dance,
form beads of tropical romance.
You rain on me, and I on you,
our bodies moist like sultry dew.


Tell me now, where have I gone,
this feels like some celestial bond.
I'm but alone, in my own bed,
yet here you are inside my head.

Joining rapid beating hearts,
pulsating through our tender parts.
Increasingly your warm breath's felt,
together we begin to melt...


I must expel this lustrous notion,
to sinfully vow my devotion.
How can it be, to have not met,
yet yarn for you, without regret.
Perhaps one day I'll feel once more,
reality vibrate my core.

<3
Grizzly bear lay on the library floor.
Just his skin, really.
The bratty kids spilling red fruit punch on him.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to the taxidermy shop with its formaldehyde odor
And jars of glass eyes.
A fat man with a dull knife
Ripping his flesh from his bones.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to when he was heaped onto the cold metal pickup bed
Piled crossways on top of two dead deer
His large head flopped on a cooler of smelly fish,
Exposed to the wind and snow
For hours.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to the moment when bullet hit bone,
When his crystal clear vision darkened.
When his mighty roar was silenced
Forever.

He didn't like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and he dreamed back.

Back to the crisp fall mornings
Standing in the river
Feasting on salmon
Tall and proud
The master of his domain.

He liked being this way.
He dreamed hard to try to stay there.
 Dec 2016 Marian Kutra
Ken
The laughter of leaves
whisper testament
over cool caverns,
ancient moss
the absurdity of clocks
dashed upon rocks
while they dance,
backlit with sunglow,
at the true speed
of life
daring us to defy
the timeless tapestry
in which all are woven
Do stones large and small
not rustle
like leaves
in the eye of the mountain?
and is the leaf not as solid
as stone, to the aphid?
And what lives between
two lover-friends?
It is no brief candle
measured with ticks
on numbered dials
It moves not with the flash
of a single spark
Nor with the slow glow
of dawn
In gentle illumination
it is a soft gentle kiss
drifting on mist,
and it moves
at the speed of love,
with the rhythm of life

Copyright © 2016 K. Rush
I lived my life held down by chains
whips
and sour wails.
Then came prince one day
and saved me from myself.
He took me to a place
of glass
it must've been the stars
and it must've been the
sky.
But, it was only glass
it seems.
Not even fragile to my surprise.
I began to train.
to fight for freedom
for none one but me.
I let my demons
push on my chest.
reminding me of who I used to be.
friends, lovers, and enemies  
passed right through my hands
as I figured out my fate to follow
there in Adarlan.
Throne of Glass is my favorite book series ever and I just decided to write a short-ish poem about the first book. Sarah J. Maas is amazing.
 Dec 2016 Marian Kutra
Lyra
I could feel your absence as much as your presence.
2. You were the sun and now you are gone.
3. All is without life.
 Dec 2016 Marian Kutra
Jay
Something about this winter seems colder than ever.
Late.
Sudden.
All at once.
It's the type of cold I haven't felt in a long time. Lingering.
Something you can't get rid of.
A breath of fog in the air.
Old memories.
Air that replenishes you. Making things new.
Air you don't mind suffering for.
Chilled to the bone.
Fingers numb. Toes nonexistent.
But sometimes still, I stand on my porch, cold, dreaming of blankets, and cocoa, and you.
Snow falls on my skin. Chilling. A reminder of how cold it really is, and I have to pretend that you didn't cross my mind.
It's freezing.
Next page