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frankie Dec 2013
weight turns to support
treble is an acquaintance,
a different friend

smooth-as-silk rhythms
stir the liquid air
with deep, **** hums

steel vibrates
like hips sway
and lips play

and heads nod
and cool tongues
taste the brain

licking to find
acknowledgement in
the black ice

big gentle brooms,
sweeping the atmosphere
with pulsing bristles

wagging its finger,
it seduces you
with a mellow, calculating stare
Named after a song by a blues/jazz/R&B; artist named G. Love & Special Sauce. Being a bass player, I felt it necessary to wrote a poem about bass rhythms.
frankie Nov 2013
We are here to preach the dream,
to share the good word
of passionate fantasy
and the desire for happiness.

We are messengers,
disciples,
proteges,
of the things that help us
reach the moon and back.

We are slaves to art,
and the emotions that inspire it.

We live to create
and destroy that
which hinders us.

We are here to preach the dream.
The dream to be
who we want to be;
the lust for satisfaction
with ourselves.

We breathe to make others
laugh,
feel,
want,
love,
be.

We are the apostles of innovation,
rising from dust
where light once shown
to shine light forth
into obsidian hearts and ashen souls.

We are bandages for the bleeding,
braille for the blind,
and cotton blankets
for the faint of heart.

We are for those who need us,
and for those who don't know
what they need.

We are poets,
drawers,
painters,
sculptors,
musicians,
lovers.

And with our pencils and pens,
brushes and hands,
guitars and hearts,

we will call to arms
all of those who
have ever felt something
move like we have.

We are a romantic tragedy,
an exuberant atrophy.
We are anonymously outspoken.

Hear us,
silent.
An ode to artists everywhere.
frankie Oct 2013
I finally understand what she was to me!
After all these months,
Searching,
Pleading for the right words,
I finally have the answers I've been looking for!

She wasn't the sun.
She was the brightest thing in the sky at the time,
But I could stare at her for hours
and feel everything but pain.

She wasn't the stars,
For although she was just as beautiful,
All the stars in the sky combined
Couldn't produce the light she did.

After asking for sympathy from the midnight sky,
I finally know what she was.

She was the Moon.

In the midst of the lonely autumn night,
She lit up the entire world.

Gray clouds rolled along,
But none of them could block her shine.

And I stared in melodious epiphany,
I came to understand that in that time,
You and I were the only things alive,
Ever.

My heart beat in time with the Moon,
I understood its phases,
Felt its craters,
And committed to it, my own.

The pale white light cast on
The weak wooden porch has helped
Me recognize the one solid truth
That has yet to escape my heart,
And my throat will groan if I don't scream it now,

That I have fallen in love with the Moon!

Her perfect ***** blonde hair,
Framing her beautiful pale face
And its illuminating smile.

And without the Moon,
The seas would rise and flood the Earth,
As if Poseidon himself were angry it left.

The Moon was with me all this time,
And i never knew,
Even when it was the only thing on my mind.

I love the Moon,
But now the New Moon has plagued the sky.
She's there,
But I cannot see her.

And that's ok.
I understand now.
frankie Oct 2013
If the eyes are windows to the soul

                   then irises are just                
                                       colourful curtains,

                                               fooling the hopeful with

pretty pastels.

— The End —