Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Prosecco cocktails, être pour la danse,
cassis pour moi avec limoncello,
madame, passion fruit, and blood oranges

très grownup, breakfast at Tiffany's,
she is all sunglasses and Audreyfied,
me and George P., struggling writers,
checking if i got enough cash
or have to exit smooth, just in case,
maybe we leave our
coats behind, as ransom?

lincoln center plaza cross-dressers,
past the opera,
the sun, a balmy thirty five degrees,
laughing at us teasingly,
cause tonight and tomorrow,
******* all the day,
winter kisses
in case we forgot,
early March
first belongs to the Ides of Winter

Afternoon of a Faun,
another ballet, origin,
a Mallarmé poem.
(you begin to comprehend)
yes quite so,
a perfect synopsis of the day,
Acheron imported from Scarlett Liam
who lives in the U.K.,
but comes to choreograph here,
for gloria Americana

sundown, soul cold back,
"lest we forget,"
but the dancers bid us adieu
with a rousing waltz, frenchified,
La Valse, une poème chorégraphique,
by Ravel, bien sûr!
aroused and heart gladdened,
return home for

for veal chop love

two hours of *** banging,
kitchen banishment, (Yay!)
chanterelles steeped in red wine,
coverlet for a non-vegan tasting,
English peas, red and purple potatoes,
and for desert,
a diet dream of verbal exchanged of detailed
I love you's

He: I love you,
She (happy), replies: I love you more.
(this repartee ballet, has been rehearsal danced before)
He: Why?
She: Because you are kind and generous, to street beggars, my single friends, good and smart, love art,
and never let me down, and love my cooking, leave space for others when you park, go thru life making waiters and ticket takers smile and laugh, sleep for hours your head on my hip, write me crazy love poems about veal chops
He: What's for desert tonight?
She: A ****
Just an afternoon in the city...whatever
Wonder what’s imagination?
Where are the seeds of imagination?
That sprouts in our mind
Sometimes dying as a sapling
Or if nurtured, can grow strong as oak
But who plants the seed in our mind
Is it imagination within an imagination?
How can one cocoon the other?
The foundation of creativity is imagination
Somewhere our mind does travel for inspiration
Does imagination inhabit any other universe?
Visiting us with its momentary flash
Providing enough light to germinate the seed
Have we deciphered the brain?
Sometimes it feels as if it is planted in our body
To control the whole nervous system
Isn't it that we are in a way powered by our imagination?
Or, am I imagining too much about the concept of imagination
For now let’s imagine we are living in the only inhabitable planet
For we have achieved so much by virtue of imagination
All that we see around us were once a figment of our imagination
Why don’t we imagine that we can accept everyone?
For what they are, and not imagine that we are superior or inferior
Maybe this imagination will really come true
For, if we can imagine, we can surely make it a reality

© Amitav (Radiance)
Maybe its the way you walk
or the way your eyes make me think.
How you say my name,
or maybe how you make me shake.
I'm not sure how you do it,
but you're on my mind a lot
making me forget my own name,
making me lose my train of thought.

Your lips,
I favor over all the rest
but what I love most of all
is laying on your chest.
Maybe it's the way you make me feel
when all you want is a kiss.

Your kisses devour me and I lose what control I have,
giving myself to you is what my body needs.
And so I plead, and plead, and plead for you to take me,
to make me feel alive again,
to pump life into me over and over
until I am overwhelmed with the serenity of this moment.

Maybe it's when I'm walking there beside you.
Your hand grazing mine,
making sure to bump into you from time to time.
You bump right back and shoot me a grin,
wrap me up in your arms in a hug that never seems to end.
You kiss me over and over on my neck, lips, and chin
until you whisper in my ear
"I don't want this to end."

Maybe it was the way I walked, Or the way I said your name..
Questions forever remaining
Lingering, though in the past
The answers have gone on unspoken
For questions you no longer ask
Doubts and uncertainties growing
Feeding from veins long since cold
These questions forever unanswered
The truth here will never be told
As I stand here looking down on you
Feeling the lesser by far
You should be the one standing here
And I should be where you are
This stone should be whispering my name
Not screaming yours into my mind
In failing to answer, I've lost you
In loss, I'm now losing my mind
I scream over and over I love you
As tears soak the ground where you lie
But my cries go on unanswered
For your love, unanswered, has died
This is an old poem, written in honor of my first love. Not a week before her passing, we finally told each other how we truly felt for one another  as more than just best friends.
Before we could share the love we felt in life together, and live the dreams we had been unknowingly sharing, she was taken from this world.
 Apr 2014 amanda martinez
A knife to the heart
would surely cause you to fall
the pain would last for seconds
followed by deaths shallow call

Love manages to keep you alive
for days,  months,  years
the pain doesn't ever fade
the scars like unwanted souvenirs

A gunshot to the stomach
and you would surely bleed to death
it wouldn't take that long
for you to take your last breath

Love manages to store the pain
deep within your gut
there's no escape from it
it won't release you when you've had enough

A sip of poison
although painfully slow
your body can't fight it
so see the light and let go

Loves deadly kiss upon tender lips
a toxic running through me
held permanently within a lovers grip
now I beg for death to set me free
It's a bit dark but I was inspired by Paloma Faiths new song 'Only Love Can Hurt Like This'
My words are a playground
of thought, I skip through a
sentence and then as I write
faster so do I go, till I trip
a mistake is then known.

I run around chasing words
till a sentence I have formed,
then I rest, so not to mistake
to many words that I have formed.

I play some times in the dark
corners, where my words are
corrupted by  the darkness that
surrounds, wrote with emotion
that is wrote from the cold parts
of my soul.

I chase around a word, then its
hits me in the face so powerful are
these words, that they stun the paper
and then I write some more.

I play in this playground of
words, so much to do, so many
games to play in this world of
rhyme and sentences, so much
more writing to do..
It’s presence we can feel
Our eyes can’t seem to catch a glimpse
Only possible through the gentle sway of leaves
And a whiff touching your hair
Or while brushing against your body
It can carry the fresh perfumes from afar
Winds are also a messenger, for things to come
Always making us aware of its presence
The wind slithers through the deepest forests
If it faces obstruction, it changes its path
Swiftly travelling to a new destination
Wind disregards the manmade boundaries
As wind is nature’s messenger
It can also bring a wind of change
It may be bright or sometimes sinister
The wind has neither creator nor destroyer
The wind is the master of its own journey
Traversing and circumventing any obstacles
The wind is the inspiration to so many poets
With the help of the wind the sailor finds the way
The wind is mystical and is also intriguing
Sometimes it also brings destruction
The wind also sweeps away the dirt
Bringing with it a change or transformation
It’s here, there and everywhere- omnipresent
Winds of change will sweep away over us

© Amitav (Radiance)
Next page