PK Wakefield
PK Wakefield
Apr 22, 2010

you are a:
you
her
she
a
an
i
it

but, w
i
shi
ng
;

i hope
(someday)
you might be a

mine

brooke
brooke
Oct 22, 2012      Oct 23, 2012

I want you to make me feel naked everywhere

saying things that make necks hot, face hot

don't have to be so sexual, don't have to touch

Want to? Do so, though, don't be so mechanical

swim on, flow on, spill on, no pushing

the things said should tear open, pop seams

wonder what's inside,  beating

running, ebbing, draining, no inspecting, no prodding

a thorough investigation with  eyes, words

make the most difference, words dig the farthest

fill the fastest, reach to ends that previously had

no end

the end

(c) Brooke Otto
DieingEmbers
Mar 1, 2013

Copulation of the minds...

as word play
leads innuendos to fornicate
upon the poets tongue...

unrestrained
his fingers give voice to wanton
carnal desires

laying the reader bare
to writhe
helplessly beneath his hands

with ink stained kisses
he forces
words into their mouths

a breathless sigh
resonating his ache to be heard

as he stands naked before them
offering himself
to their voyeuristic gaze

before taking them upon the sheets
in punctuated passionate
embraces

leading them toward the climax

they so

cried out for...




Jesus I'm Good.


~<3~

Just teasing
linda
linda
Sep 12, 2013

Angel torches
filter sunlight          
                 across a vast                                  
                          horizon of sea foam                                    
              petticoats. Where                         
 topaz  touches         
                    glittering                  
              cyan         
                             &                    
                             spirals                 
                            downwards             
                          through the              
             deepest dark      
                  blues - no body            
             can exist within            
      jewelled sapidity.    

Not an 'I' in sight :)
Gauntlet challenge completed, Mr Lipstadt ...

She once told me
she was terribly afraid of
the 889 blades of grass
in the park down her street,
of the 889 worn books
in her local library
of the 889 gum-covered steps
to her bus stops
of the 889 looks
she must make over her shoulder
of the 1 778 pairs of greedy eyes
stealing looks away from me.

I missed her when she sent me pictures
because I couldn't bear to look
at empty frames of empty eyes
(red dows no match red
unless it is the scarlet of blood on broken glass
after a year and two months of tranparency)
and also because the things that slipped into my phone
could only remind me of moments that could never be
and dreams
that would never come true.

I don't know what to say to her
without breaking her
(like the broken glass)
(the image still hasn't left my head)
but she inspires me toward metaphors
and the adromeda galaxy
isn't so far away anymore.

How can I stay by her side
when she triggers me to want to fall
but how can I ignore her call
when she is the only person I feel safe with
to coincide

I am afraid to tell her
(or myself)
how I feel
because in a cliche
I don't know how I feel myeslf
but dear, together, we are formidable
and apart --
I don't know about you,
but I catch myself on the dry spells --
we are fort minable

this song has been stuck in my hear
since it reminded me of you
and this could be another metaphor for something heartfelt
and not altogether original

But I want us to be
the figures in the painting
you said you saw us in
I want to be
that feminist duet
(even if I can't sing and you voice is that of the devil's)
I want to be
the cats in the picture
with the intertwined tails
or the flowers tangled up
on a vine
(I was going to send you that on
but I thought against it
because you were too beautiful to be compared
to a simple petrichor-scented bougainvillea)

So I will be
the 889 poetry books
you dog-ear and highlight
and secretly slightly plagiarize
and I will be
the 889 plants growing
in your backyard,
sparkling for you like replacement diamonds
after the rain
(and better yet I will be the forest
of 889 trees
looming not frighteningly but protectively
over you)
and I will be
the 889 strides
of golden brick road
to follow to your favorite coffee shop every day
and I will be
the 889 innocent peaks
at a delicate pinkie finger or a nose
(because a delicate rose such as you
cannot be seen all at once and truly appreciated)
and I will even be
the 1 778 pairs of eyes
stealing my own looks,
and hopefully you will not be afraid anymore.

I will split myself
into
6 228 parts
to make you feel comfortable
and if this is not a love poem
then it is an apology
and gratitude
and anger/resentment/not really/how could I resent you/you are everything

what I'm trying to say is,
we could go so many different ways,
and what's one more expression of love to you
after all you've been through.

keyrah
keyrah
Aug 12      Aug 12

It looked like it had the weight and guilt
of a white man's history book,
and it hawked and scratched
at my soul like a raven.

It wept honey, sliding slipping around,
and bled sweet raspberry jam -
Chanting: "This is what I am,
O my girl, this is what I am."

It banged its chest
like a worker man's best bet
on a stallion for gold
as it just won't grow old.

"The sunsets are divine aren't they?
Do you think of me when you look up?
I think of you when I look down.
I'm always looking down."

It ended up with more,
more puncture wounds than Christ.
Marked raw white, purple and red.
All those pretty stars and boring scars.

They scatter the top of it's thigh,
healing them in vain in the sky,
stained dirty by the very essence of you
and the memory of your touch.

It kept jumping of the cliff
pretending the ground didn't exist.

I'm confused with it as well
Jami Lee Arias
Jami Lee Arias
Oct 13, 2012

Words swathe me in calm,
Sentences, paragraphs that soothe.

Viridian verbs burst through the grey,
Taunting me into action-
Seducing me into a delicious dance-
Gypsy girl, swing your sentences my way!

Turquoise adjectives wrap around my wounds,
Embracing my flaws and perfections.
Rough olive skin; somber caesious eyes-
Gypsy girl, with amaranthine scars.

I drape myself over sienna nouns,
Steadfast, supporting me proper, improper, always.
Paper, songs, tree, sky, love, Jami Lee-
Gypsy girl, use your words correctly!

Each turn of a page lures me deeper-
Each spoken rhyme embraces me close-

Jami Lee, sweet little girl, get your head out of the clouds,
And your nose out of a book!

#verbs   #nouns   #noun   #adverb   #verb   #adjectives   #adverbs   #adjective   #pronoun   #pronouns  
Darrell Wade Elverum
Darrell Wade Elverum
Sep 12, 2013      Sep 13, 2013

Seasonal construction
Path of destruction and rebuild,
Traffic crazy, in the car ahead,
Face yelling at a speaker phone,
Zig-zag path like the road owner,
3:05 late so a five o'clock date,
And a seagull sits right on the line,
Patient Mockery so sublime,
The seagull "walks the line"
Waiting can be a hating game,
That would be a vacation shame,
shame,
Shame.
So now the seagull is not alone on the line.


©DWE092013

So did   do right?  No personal pronouns?
You're a pronoun,
Perig3e
Perig3e
Jan 17, 2011

You're a pronoun,
I'm a pronoun.
Let's say we grab a verb
and conjugalate ;-)

All rights reserved by the author.
Was a proper pronoun
Timothy Mooney
Jun 13, 2011

You always insisted
That
"You"
Was a proper pronoun
But
That
"We"
was not

This clears up
Much of the
Mis-identification
I had
Mistakenly
Believed
About
Love

 
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