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Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
~
taking sides
picking flowers
dead and buried
on the surface line

counting hostages
trading stamps
extended infinitely
at right angles

cozy spaces
married couples
perpendicular
legs and mingled stria
one over the other

It's all conjugated
hyperbola
a tourist trap
with zero interest
for a year

~
She was the fire
I was the yellow fog lining the skies

Crusting on the window of those ruby eyes
But, my heart never saw the light

Instead, I smoked away her lip-stained cigarettes
Making small banter about our ***

We could pillow talk through the night
Instead, we went ahead and brought up a child

She lit a fire in my soul
We made love, as I poked the coal
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2020

Rest on golden shores
Taste of salt in pleasure's waves
Seagulls soar and cry


Forgot to post this yesterday, I was more exhausted then I thought.
Still following the trend of Pleiades,  the Seven Sisters.
This haiku is for Alcyone (or Halcyone).
There isn't much about her (and I had to ensure I am writing about the right woman as there are many who share this name and of course, many myths of other Halcyones as well, haha!)
With this lovely lady, she is know to be seduced by Poseidon and bore him many children so yes, this haiku is very much a euphemism!
You know me, I just love playing around with the portrayal of myths!
Anyway, thank you all for growing followers, I'm forever humbled and grateful for the support 🙏🌹💜
Here's the link for the growing collection:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132853/the-women-of-myth/
Be back tomorrow with another one!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
ms reluctance Apr 2020
i am tired
not allowed to sleep yet
i must wait
and breathe
heavier every second
empty still
nothing to give
so much to steal
i will wait
unseeing eyes fixed
on the frozen hourglass
i will speak
of birds and sunrise
the relentless vice
of waking
i will wait
until i cannot anymore
NaPoWriMo Day 19
Poetry form: Gothic
We Are Stories Oct 2019
-I can taste the sensation in my brain
a drug moment defined by you-

a little slip to a lip, to a touch, to much-
such interactions leave my heart in a ****
roll around the cloth in a lump-sum of love
holding onto firm feelings of the swelling of our tongues
back to the white as we dance with our smiles
forth, moving forward in a motion (we won’t turn)-

split the gates wide open
let the honey flow from your wells
face deep in life’s sweet sensations
drinking deep of your sweet nectars-
I will hold firmly to the tiny words cradled in your chest
leaving me breathing until we’re both out of breath-

spread apart, open like a rose in bloom,
our hearts awaken as I hear birds swoon-
a loud and beautiful chirping, given to the space above-
dams held back from bursting forth, no room to keep it held up.
Intertwined, upside down, neck deep in our song,
Flittering and Clittering reversed first in our souls.
a shudder, a touch, and the life of our sound.
Àŧùl Jun 2019
On every terrorist incident,
Leave they not a stone unturned,
And scream it without fail.

Why do they think of 7th heaven,
Heaven after killing so many,
Of the innocent people?

Undertakers of Ola they are,
******* commit dastardly acts,
Ever will they be able to gaze,
Right into their own eyes in a mirror?
Ola Who Uber is their warcry

Secondary acrostic.

My HP Poem #1747
©Atul Kaushal
Robert Zheng Jul 2017
a plum, a peach, a pause
youth and vigor's jaws
gradient morals
homage to William Carlos Williams' "This Is Just To Say" and my old teacher, mr. v, who taught me a plum doesn't always have to be a plum
Àŧùl Feb 2017
Her feminism is more of self-discovery,
Although I am not intending to insult it,
Than it is about empowering females,
Even I am a feminist essentially...

Sometimes she fails to find sense,
Horribly so and ever non repeated,
Even she herself might laugh inside..

Maybe she is adamant right now,
E**arn I will her love someday surely.
My HP Poem #1454
©Atul Kaushal
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
She’s the same old
Country girl
When she settles back in
With plentiful rice in mouth;
Dry and yet fulfilling with
Words echoing
In between chopsticks,
A sentence upon,
And within,
Every other mouthful.

She has a way with
Talking while drinking tea
Wherein her hands,
Once left to grains of Mao,
Speak nearly as much as the
Sound of
Slurping mountainsides,
Leaves telling stories
And roots shaking rock –
A little something so very
Ancient, so very practiced
And so much so,
That the burden of “old”
Overwhelms her “new”
And 25-year old back.

She rattles and he’s a way,
Away, a way away,
With tinkered thoughts of
Mirages buried silk screens,
The gentle sweep of
Fingernails upon back,
Shooting stars,
Dodging cars
And failure.
He’s the man on the run,
On the road, wherein –
He never ate,
He only watched her
And he never drank,
He only watched her;

He’d watch
Until the faint dreams of a
Sunrise’d give birth,
The new day’d be promised sleep,
And twilight’d be labeled,
“Escapade” or “escape.”
When came the closed eye,
He be the same ol’ boy,
The “other” she’d never known.
"Love is a dog from hell" - Charles Bukowski; and more often than not, I'm entirely compelled to agree.
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