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god gloats upon Her stunning flesh. Upon
the rechings of Her green body among
unseen things, things obscene (Whose fingers young

the caving ages curiously con)

—but the lunge of Her hunger softly flung
over the gasping shores
                          leaves his smile wan,
and his blood stopped hears in the frail anon

the shovings and the lovings of Her tongue.

god Is The Sea.  All terrors of his being
quake before this its hideous Work most old
Whose battening gesture prophecies a freeing

of ghostly chaos
                    in this dangerous night
through moaned space god worships God—
                                                (behold!
where chaste stars writhe captured in brightening fright)
betterdays Apr 2015
words fall
like hapless fledglings
tossed from a cliff edged nest

with much screeching, squawking,
countless feathers lost

and then an awful thump
or hopeful, glorious flight

first love is tachycardiac love
all adrenaline, sweating palms
and stutter-stumbling sqeakings,
ungainly gropings,
when not with you, mopings
unrealistic hopings
for happy ever after endings,
breakings, bendings,
awkward mendings,
repeated leavings,
repented lovings.
heartfelt givings,
of broken hearted rendings.
lendings,
of time stolen from life
tearing, teasing,
tantalising teamings
crying, begging,
pleading strife
and then,
the metaphorical knife
cutting, slashing,
wordblow bashing,
screaming, reaming,
end to loves life.

til eventually, words fall,
like old birds leavings
to settle, unremarked upon
at the base of the tree of life.

first love's loss, is slow dying.
arrhythmia to flatline
in a multitude of laboured breaths
and long lingering sighs.
a loss of warmth,
from breast and thighs
and water copious,
falling from red rimed eyes.
sobbing, murmuring,
don't know whys?
from lips turned
toward,
bleakset skies.
as one settles firmly,
into black dog muck
no longer able to give a f▼ck.
tucked in tight to sadness,
lost all sight of former gladness,
caught up and shackled tight,
to the badness
around and around,
the carousel goes.

then,
at last,
the blessed silence,
as you die
one of many of....
                    life's little deaths
prompt: write an anti-love poem...
not sure whether I met or muffed the brief....... but it is the first piece I have written in a fair while that had an easy rhythmic flow for me...so I am considering it as a crack in the big white wall that is the creative block that I am battling with.
Poetoftheway Aug 2017
"the ever shifting light of ourselves"
(a poem such as this)

For Jamadhi V.

<•>
8/28/17

at 11:09am,
the phrase arrests itself, then assertive,
ungently demanding fulfillment,
implanted, it cares not my whereabouts,
it is a child~phrase, inexact, mysterious,
wanting its breast milk feeding immediate
no matter where my presence visible

but to me, it stinks of familiarity,
for my shifts, my redrawn shapes,
exhausting, giving me cause to grieve,
write poems such as this,
which I regret both
before~after conception~completion,
written in a fevered misery of fervor,
hoping,
no one ever likes it and its witnessing

as light ever shifts,
it consumes, extinguishes, reignites,
poorly lit, revealing dregs and dustbins

better then to sit in the darkness
the one you call,
getting it over with...

6:00pm
<•>

~~~~~~~~

*the swelling and the spume


for Lucy:

who gave me the title, three poems, a compliment, and the X Factor {inspiration}
~~~
the spume, the sea foam concentrate,
a greener white
by the the salt and the souls of the
million dead organisms,
that are are the compost of its formation,
it, watches the poet, who watches the spume,
come ashore for its final act of
immolation by evaporation

which is why the random act of
an unseen ministering force,
fills my ears with humbling glory of
Samuel Barber's Agnus Dei,^
my fresh reminder that this swelling chest
in this temporary abode of mine,
by the sea, passage is prepaid for my
expiration by evaporation too,
all lambs march to the sea,
returning to spume
~
Lyrics to Agnus Dei:
^ Alleluia Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns
Alleluia Alleluia
For our Load God Almighty reigns
Alleluia
Holy Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy
Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
Amen

~~~~~~

"may all my lost lovers haunt me"

for Vinnie Brown

even your kindergarten crushes?

what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings rhymes with duality

Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications and the
valises of drama,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street

was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for busted grownup hearts
that had normal  EKG's

and that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with an ingrown danger
of never forgetting

did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?

I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address

and still do

and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?

Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems

this my new found poet
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
another man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it

~~~~~~*

reading love poetry and listening to
Joni M.,
at 3:09AM
never wise,
but always full of hindsight
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
viewing naked body in mirror
as if, its not my own; at my
age I sometimes wonder, am
I still desirable in his eyes?

breast are firm, buttocks
tight, shapely legs; thigh
to ankle toned to wrap
around his sinewy waist.

belly flat, waist trim, he
sneaks up behind; warm lips
to nape, his subtle bait to
taste me, it's never to late.

tongue between breast, I
know now as I gaze into
those baby browns, I've
found my answer.

*** appeal is still renown,
it shows in his eyes; as I
sigh from his touch, ummm!!
his lovings never too much.

******* taut from his touch,
tongue upon belly and navel;
laying on the table, flickers
my jewel; making me mewl.

purring like a kitten, lapping
up my milk; tongue feels like
silk, in and out licking; love
how he keeps me ticking...yes!!!

parting lips; warmly I dip, lightly
I sip upon blooming mushroom;
pulsating in reddened abloom,
spillage slowly from his plume...sweet

finger tracing veins poppin',
allowing throb to easily drop in;
nice and slow watching manhood
grow like a framed Van Gogh...he flows

****** self-confidence I'm convinced
watching him grow long and dense;
taking in every inch, winching in
delicious pleasure; his desired
measure...sexually self-confident

soaped and lathered in wetness
Yenson  Aug 2018
How I See .....
Yenson Aug 2018
When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings


My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings


My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring



Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
~for Vinnie Brown~


even your kindergarten crushes?

what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain
is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings, rhymes with duality

Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams,
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so awesome bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street

was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for
months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for
busted grownup hearts
with normal EKG's

that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with
an ingrown danger
of never forgetting

did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?

I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address

and still do

and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?

Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems

this my new found poet,
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return
and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
anothe man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it

~~~

reading Vinne Brown's poetry
https://hellopoetry.com/vinnie-brown/

and listening to Joni M.
at 3:09AM;
never wise,
but full of hindsight
wave Dec 2014
'Twas the way she said,
...be sure to call me, don't forget...
then turned off her phone,
3 days net

I cast her a line
will she bite or let free?
readily lost from mind
the bait was me!

Oh mused from her loving
her plaything, her joy.
I spat out love poemz
Less haste did annoy

Lifted kindred spirit,
no more wobe-gone for me
was but a lie from a Strom
too blinded to sea

"You and I are going to have
a great love affair."
Should have been warning
Foundeld on note in sunlight morning

I asked the project wood
It for-told me, "Why Bother?"
Alone in my room, to ration or despair
Ignore nature's warning,
'tis up to me, I declare.

Sealed my fate...
I'm strong, been here before,
I'm ready for this...this...this time winning!
FOOL
Her's unslaved, mine unscathed
night,
was just the begining!

Oh the joys,
Such sweetness up to the edge,
but not quite *****
As promised her lore
THE everything abash
Irie romming back,
gonna get IT,
this time?
Maybe mohr

The musing doest stop,
genuine dost frey,
Lovings subside
Betrayl dost pay

"It will melt your mind"
Were the last words I herd
all in due time
her torture, my absurd

Communicate?  
Communicate she says?
Why were not those words
so heards
Whence whining and pining decays?

Hypocrispy so blatant
it must be ignored,
and the melt of the mind
gets restored

For it was up to me
All along on this journey
The most painful part
Is I always did see

This dance with the devil
The game of fairie,
My loves lorn lost
To the leanhaun shee
There are but a few "good" fairies.  Should you find yourself under their spell, look up keats  "la belle dame sans merci" 1819 and artwork by sir frank dicksee 1902 of the same name, and others.  Failure to act is choosing an unprotected fate.
Eliza Jane Jan 2014
“Closure”, he said.
She watched a door close, happy to be on the right side of a shut off room, leaving the room full of babbling thoughts & sun-spots.

Together, they watched their own rooms be hidden from sight; his, a grand oaken double door, covered in intricate carvings and inscriptions - ready to fling open at just the right moment to shower a chosen woman in love.

Hers, a small, worn, yet loved door; sky blue with chipped paint and a nine-pane window, the glass clear as a mirrors surface & similar in its ability to give all who enter a view of themselves and their desires. This door would creak open again too, and slowly release seemingly infinite amounts of love, steadily trickling from her heart.

Both doors would one day open again, maybe together, maybe by each other, but for now, they were closed. Hopeful lovings not yet open for viewing. A promise still growing in the ever-lightening hidden rooms.
semi-fictitious?

— The End —