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 May 2014
SG Holter
The most interesting person
I have met was the one
Least focused on being just that.

Paper beats rock.
It never tries to rain.
 May 2014
SG Holter
You couldn't swing a dead cat
Between me
And the Core of All Existence.

I hide myself from External Affairs
Behind homeground
Impenetration.

All I care to explore is my own
Present outermost psychocosmos.
I could open my mouth and
Expell whole systems; solar and
Other.
In constant consumption with
Every sense employed; I know not
When to stop.

I breathe pure air on spiritual diet,
Slimming down to a complete
Absence of Self. Leaving an
Impression like a Lover of Life on
Something dead; I feel nothing
But alive.

I close my eyes and bask in the
Loaded sensation
Of every gun in the room

Being pointed at my person.

They live by me.
 May 2014
SG Holter
Her still warm
Imprint on the bed
Body and
Wings

Feathers on whole
Pillows

I wake up in Heaven
Alive.
 May 2014
SG Holter
I had a few of my poems
Published in an Australian
Student project underground
Art-paper in '97.

One of my Melbourne High School
Teachers said he felt I had
One foot in Rumi's world,
The other in Bukowski's.

-
i could either be
a drunken genious
at the track
not winning
yet certainly
drinking
my health
borderline
euthanized
and writing to sustain it.
the magic and
honor in not
being an honored
magician.
-
But the sun-warmth within her palm
Makes everything she lays it upon
Feel as if kitten's belly-
Soft and as inviting to love as the
Newest-born infant on Earth
With her touch.
All is Day.
I need her too much to find sleep.
-
****. I do love them both.
 May 2014
SG Holter
Her blood is a running force.
Her temple's hydraulics; the
Instrument of
Her will. She loves like a natural
Catastrophe
Without remorse or contemplation.
Leaving scars in her wake.
When she moves I hear the theme
Song to Raiders of the Lost Ark.
She is my Tomb Raider, my heroine.
I recieve her
Saving me
Like the plot of any
Action movie.

She has blood like a vulcano.
She has love like ashes to bury
Cities.
My Tina has the looks of Lara Croft and...well...***** of Indy Jones. But she hates spiders, not snakes. And she can only shoot straight after two ciders.
Don't ask me how I know...
 May 2014
SG Holter
With a steady stream of
Grains in miniscule multitude
Falling from my fist
I impersonate
Time.
 May 2014
SG Holter
She's having a bad day
The way only women do.
I pile all our pillows in the
Wall corner of our bed.
Carry her into it,
Cover her with both
Our duvets.
Comfort womb.
 May 2014
SG Holter
A friend of mine from Vașcău
Lovingly brings me homemade wine.
It doesn't have that touch of
Beautiful berserker my father's
Wine whispers of; it forms a warm
Woman's hand around your
Innerhead, while you draw slow
Swigs of sweet silk
Into the astral
Bloodstream of
Your soul.

It scares me.
 May 2014
SG Holter
I made myself a healthy
Dinner today.
It was not delicious.
 May 2014
SG Holter
Life is too short to waste
On insignificancies,* she says,
Waving carefree toes under socks
On my lap
-One green; one red-
When I call her my
Lantern-Lit
Vessel of
Wisdom.
 May 2014
SG Holter
Fighter jets in formation
Above Ekeberg Hill
Remind me of years
Spent on airbases
During my time in the
Royal Norwegian Air Force.

I was stationed at NATO's
Northernmost base during 9/11.
Minutes after plane #2,
I was upgraded to
NATO Top Secret
Clearance.
Given live ammo for my P80.
Witnessing the colonel's
Marlboro Light shake in his
Usually steady hand as I
Approached; MSO briefcase
Handcuffed to my wrist.
There were papers inside
I was expected to
Die for.
I was 22.

Not even the police carry
Firearms in this country.
Not even the police are expected
To give up ghost over information.

For a nation of such ******
History, we maintain a mellow
Attitude.
We choose peace over "piece".
Gun-sense over violent nonsense.
Naïve? Maybe.

There are nearly no shootings here.
We've had one lethal act of
Terrorism since WWII.

We can live with that.
Literally.
 May 2014
SG Holter
Do you speak to yourself
With respect?
Thinking back on words
Fit for retraction, do you call
Yourself idiot? "Why didn't
You just shut up? Stupid,
Stupid, stupid!"


Spitting foot flavour
On your own shadow, leaving
Bile, regret and self-loathing on
The walls and floor
Of your headroom.

"You always mess up.
Why will you never learn?"


Forgive yourself. How would
Another feel if spoken to
With such hostility?
Day after day.
Minute after minute.
We talk down to ourselves
Like invisible
Evil twins.

Be nice to yourself, even within
Your innermost of monologues.
Be nice.
Watch your mouth.
Don't talk like that
To my friend.
 May 2014
Ariana Sweeney
And finally
After time seemed
suspended,
We looked into each other’s
Longing
Lusting
Eyes and leaned in,
Tentative
Tantalizing
Taking sharp breaths.

Every time skin
skimmed skin,
a sizzling segment
was breed from
blazing bodies.

Each exhale
Was inhaled
By the other
And turned into steam

With every kiss,
Blood vessels boiled, burst
Burning a trail
Made of ice and fire

Hands shook
Fingers trembled
Bodies meshed
Heads thrown
Eyes closed

Slowly.

Softly.

Panting
Pleasing
Pleasuring
Playing

We were just toys
And we liked it that way.
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