Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
In this dark of times
shadows drape like drop cloths
I know the pull of pure desire
My days and nights scorch like fire
The walls sweat with my profanity
I see a torn moon and
Fill with chill of sun at noon
Death of soul I don't repel
My dark desire flames the fire
To lust for flesh against my own
I traveled looking returned alone
I am spent from evil winds
Torn asunder with life's thunder
I throw myself into unnatural light
In hope of sleep I pay a price
Waiting for lust to burn to ash...
Rain...all it does is rain
The sky is sad...sadder than you know

Rain,,,rain beats down my window pane
I sit and cry with the rain

Rain makes me sad and refreshes my soul
Sadness is not the worst of all things

Sadness can make you feel and think
Rain can do the same

The elephants hide under banana trees
Elephants blink long lashes into the rain

There is a raindrop on your nose
I kiss it away and you laugh

Let's play in the rain
Let's be children again
I think I love rain...
The air is orange...
smoke snakes down the Sierras.

He and the dog went up there.

A wind pours hot by my rough cheeks.
The sheep are running wild.

The sky turns a pale grey:
a soldiers color.

I will evaporate waiting here.

I hear the dog's faint bark
in crackling timber.

Promises no longer matter!

A rush of raging heat.
The dog drags to my feet.

Too late.

The faint cruel whimper
of impending death.

Eyes burn and tears
are dry.

Aurelia!
I hear him call my name.

Aurelia!
Even fireman die.

The Sierras burn on faster...
Some lonely night I will go and gather his bones.

Then, I will take him home.
I know what it's like to lose a fireman
The honeyed scents of a summer’s eve

float towards a dying sun.

The dancing violet shadows on the canyon wall;

oft terrify our dog.

We sit  together on the  tiled patio

cold beneath our bare feet.

We listen to the ocean roar.

Soon fog and mist drive us closer

together inside our door.

We’ve done this on many summer’s eves;

just you and I and the old dog.

Sometimes we all nod off and

dream of  summers gone.
For all of us who have many luscious summers to remember...
Darl Dudley was a pud with a swelling in his nipper.
Shaving, he forgot to zip his zipper.
The morning was great, he was cheerful and able.
He decided to set the breakfast table.
Seeing the adelaide boots he became unstable.
Yanking at his crotch, before he was aware,
Yiks, he had caught a lot of hair.
Then he broke the zipper off and ashamed, began to swear.
His love entered the breakfast room
saw his bent over form and thought it was a dare.
Darl stood up and held his crotch, his pants slipped down
a notch; red faced he howled a prayer.
"My darlin," she exclaimed. "You seem to be in pain.
Let me help you get your trousers off."
Darl let out a heart felt sigh. Just wanted to cry.
His dinger, hot and swollen with a badly bruised side.
She bent down for a moment to see about his fly and
and ended up with a sharp poke in her eye.
written in amoment of idiotic madness K
The battle field was smothered with blood.

My friend had lost his head.

I got up and walked between the bodies.

My sobs were dearly meant.

The artillery smoke hung like a haze;

how many men would go to graves?

I was lucky, I was still alive.

No more battle for me to ride.

I saw her then from in the smoke.

Lovely, she took my hand but never spoke.

She led me past a field away;

full of flowers and birds this day.

I leaned back in the tall sweet grass.

She stroked my head like no other lass.

Her beauty went beyond any words.

Her body like a goddess , she broke my fears.

Something so lovely to come out of death.

Her lips like wine, sweet was her breath.

She pulled me up and nodded away;

a place to go where we might stay.

She lead me past the battle field;

down a hill and into wall of hay,

beyond was a graveyard and an open grave.

She kissed me sadly, tears in her eyes.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci had let me die.



Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/lady-of-death/#ixzz0tUzsE8rK
tribute to John Keats
In a heady perfumed night…

Spanish guitars strung out a snare,

Soldiers crowed the border town

to see the Gypsy fair

Gypsy wagons, colorful and garish

circled the camp fires near the barracks.

Gypsies wandered freely their mongrel dogs did howl.

Gypsy’s drinking ***, stealing and making dog stew.

Some claimed they put in magic herbs to

boil a man’s skin raw.

Others said the opposite, it came out as a draw.

The violet dusky sky seemed to fall into the sea.

Bonfires burned and ravished the evening gaiety.

Sweat was running just waiting to see her.

She’d leave them broke and *** soaked;

but they cared not in their desire.

Just before the clock struck ten a wagon

door swung free.

A garter ed stocking leg emerged and men forgot

to ***.

The guitars began and then the drums until

the lady was among the wild eyed bunch.

Her colorful skirts, taffeta swished. bracelets graced

her slender arms, luscious breast heaved into sight;

men thought they would go blind.

And from her ears hung gold earrings dangling seven sparkling

moons. Her black eyes glistened as she made her snake like moves.

Her feet were bare and a golden scarf wound round her raven hair.

Slowly, She began her dance. to the ,melody of stars. The faster her body moved

her hips swung loose gyrating like in grooves.

Out of the shadows a dark figure appeared. No one noticed; her body was their

cheer. No one saw him pull out a knife and walk towards the girl.

Her torso grew more snake like with every ***** move.

His suit was black with silver studs.His boots were to the knee. A cigar hung out the side

of his mouth.  His meanness was plain to see. At last the girl saw him. She whirled away towards

her wagon; a ****** threw himself before the stranger. To late, He kicked the little man and

then began his wager. His voice was like a fog horn, smoked poured from out his nose.

Rosanna .grabbed the wagon door. He reached and pulled her close. A golden object dropped

in the dirt, no one picked it up. He twisted the girl till her breast were glued to his chest.

“next time you rob me. you gypsy *****, be sure what you take.” he tore the other earring off

and flesh came along as well. He shoved her to the ground and kicked her in the belly.

“Try to pass off a dead brat now, to hell with you and many.” He threw the other earring down on

her blood soaked blouse. He strode passed the dazed men and leaped upon his horse.

The girl  lay very still. No one moved till he was gone. Then they rushed to Rosanna

and saw her final blush. When he had been holding her he stuck his knife in her breast. She was dead

in the red dirt  and *** soaked breaths.

A legend grew from this incident, Rosanna of the seven moons. Folks said she was with child. They said

she was a ruse. After the terror filled moment her body disappeared. All that was left was a golden earring

that turned out to be fools gold. The strangest thing that had happened ,all the men had been robbed, Their

love for Rosanna blotted out the loss. No one cared about the money. All they wanted was to see Rosanna

dance before their lust was lost.

Many years later, a stranger passing through, said he’d found a golden earring with seven large moons.



Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/rosanna-and-the-seven-moons/#ixzz0tUwFn8hz
I heard this tale years ago from my mother who considered herself Queen of the Gypsies...
Next page