Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Feb 2017
David Noonan
As morning breaks, naked on a bed of a foreign hotel room,
Outside the hustle of city life rumbles and roars to its daily grind
A lone bird of paradise soars then swoops bringing her mystical song
The language of love, the rhythm of passion, a hypnosis of the mind

Transforming from melody, the minds most beautiful vision appears
Radiant in splendor, a goddess of beauty and of all celestial desire
Filling the room, her presence, her grace, awakens the truth of my colour
Exposed and set free, lifting my soul eternal, above, beyond, still higher

Yet such need of the body, of her flesh that I so desperately crave
The press of her thighs, the swell and majesty that calls her rising breast
Lover come to me now, be my sense, my dream, my perfect oblivion
Lay your form upon me, so soft to my skin yet hands so hard to my chest

For i am a bird now, soaring and joining in my lovers glorious song
Above these skies, beyond these ages, a place we can but call somewhere
Where two birds of paradise now roam, free save this eternal embrace
As morning breaks, a foreign hotel room and my love she takes me there
 Feb 2017
David Noonan
Someone's taken a serrated blade to
the core of this night
It's moon, shrouded in a widows veil
forms the dimmest of halflight
As the stars all seem to weep its
passing where they fall
And I,
I don't want to sleep with you,
I just want to stay up and talk
As the sounds of the street resound then
fade through this tiny boxroom
The silence filled with comfort as the blue nile
soothe on late night radio

Our view, 
a city landscape towered by the now
idled dockland cranes
Do they dream to escape
to the endless deep blue
like you and I
Or do they cower in the darkness,
longing for morning and
a purpose once more
That dawn jolts as its light reflects
sharply to my eyes from
your stainless blade
But I wake alone, with you lost
to the thoughts and dreams that you are
As the cranes begin to clank
to a meaning they crave,
I cower alone and
accept my fate
 Feb 2017
Emily Dickinson
288

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you—Nobody—Too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you know!

How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one’s name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
 Feb 2017
Gidgette
When we were young,
Before broken by age
We danced our grand pas de deux,
Upon life's stage
Our plie's were graceful
Many grand pas, we danced
And I, never knowing,
A solo I chanced
I thought I'd always,
Be your danseus
I'd hoped for no other ballerina,
You'd have a use
You did glissade
Into my heart
But I see I've danced solo,
From the start
Pas de waltz en tournant, alone
My dance now
Since your grand jete, from my side
This ballerina, will take her bow
And for the final time,
The curtain closes
But for this ballerina,
There are
No roses
 Feb 2017
Solaces
The beating heart in darkness took shape..
It was her..
The one we were looking for..
Her eyes were the color of everything..
They were the color of me...
She then swam through darkness out of the green lit pond..
As I sank and sank in its deep waters..

Her heart was like a falling star.. Only this star was not falling, it was slowly rising.. I was sinking to the bottom of this strange like darkness in a world of light.  Strange to say but everything was getting darker and darker in this abyss of darkness.  Right before I lost consciousness I saw a pale white light above..  I could hear my heartbeat..  It was getting slower and slower..  Just the thought of her being free made me smile one last time..  One last time for good hope..  I somehow knew it was the right thing to free darkness.  I felt myself drifting away..  The last thing I remember was my little brother and I making shadow puppets on the wall.. We stayed up past midnight laughing at our shadow puppets..
Its past midnight, time for bed...
 Feb 2017
Tyler Lynn Pulliam
She only needed three fingers;
one for demands, one for insults, one to show love.
Her pinky made her feel too prim,
and her thumb made her feel like too much of an ape.
She had no need to hold on to anything,
and no reason to open any doors,
she just wanted a little silence from the thunder
and to see the cracks in the ground on a hot day.
One set of clothes for the doctor,
one set of clothes for the preacher,
and one set of clothes for the home.
She still has a forest green rotary phone with the ringer cut out
just incase the stove gets angry or the roof caves in.
She hated the Beatles and probably hates us,
but that's okay, we're not all that special, are we?
tlp
 Feb 2017
Tyler Lynn Pulliam
here we spin the synchronic dance of the fluids
that dribble down in aesthetic perfection;
free-flowing from the gullet of creation
into the palms of the frenzied flock.
the grim etchings left by her in the signet
reflect the proper terms for glossolalia,
but the honeyed tones are lost to primitive organs
and a piteous gurgle is all that emerges.

here we were, eaters of shale, chewers of dirt,
warmed beneath the blanket of her shadow,
paled by the protection of her casting murk
that hid us from the vile stars.

pollen, pollen, pollen, pollen,
showering, soaking, deep down in the gut.
Bezoar of my bezoar, heart within my sleeve,
I am waiting for my emotions to return to me.
Next page