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You say You want to breed _

me

You want to put Your seed _

in me

You want to get me face down _

naked

just don't need another Mr. _

Fake it



my brown skin spoiled for Your _

tongue

my heart beats a rhythm to Your _

drum

my essence is in sync with Your _

sensations

my love GPS is linked to Your _

vibrations


You can read my body's _

mysteries

You produce the scenes in my _

fantasies

You command my loyalty and _

attention

You wish i'd obey Your _

direction


the only gift You want is to _

control

i am the award You want to _

own

my belly burns for Your blue _

fire

my skin tied in Your knotted _

desire


Winter 2016
John F McCullagh May 2012
to contemplate your beauty
is this poets' guilty pleasure,
but, as we're taking separate trains,
this joy won't last forever.
The play of light upon your face
as you read some Lovers' twit
gives you an aspect of Kabuki
in the station's dark abyss.
Your perfect, doll-like, features
painted porcelain by the light
An oasis of sheer beauty
amidst the station's urban blight.
Too quick, the moment passes.
I board and you remain.
For, you see, I'm headed Westbound
aboard the downtown train.
You reminded me of one I loved
in another place and time.
The girl who is forever young
and never far from mind.
This is a composite of images encountered yesterday. In the course of my travels I encountered a stunning beauty waiting on a train platform, An Asian girl with an I phone who  was rendered pale white like a kabuki mask and a girl with perfect skin and impossibly perfect doll like features.   Here they are made one.
Ben  Dec 2011
kabuki theatre
Ben Dec 2011
white
                red
                            black
graceful contortionist
             hidden
               faces


samurai?
demon?
princess?
zebra  Jul 2018
Spooky Poets
zebra Jul 2018
come sit on my words
dear reader
like outdoor furniture
for thin hips

while spooky poets peer up under gaudy umbrellas
nervous about making a good impression

all of your hosts
snuffed candles burning-out
for metaphors and alliterations

begging
one poem at a time
for a light
that we will never see

go ahead
antagonize me
you, who live in an idealized passed
fear the future
and ignore the present
while i hide like a little girl  
behind the bare legs of poetry

that will show you!

my head a hanging web
that feels words like cosmic storms
tumbling stone heads
onto boulders of terracotta shards

my ink smells like stinky saliva
a dragging wet tongue of ambiguity
a kabuki fight to the death
unwinding paper machete viscera
and plucking out make-believe hearts
while gobbling fortune cookies containing  
jokes, platitudes, and fortunes
that never come true
in a dreamland of *******'s

i'm trying to break something in you!
Mike Essig May 2016
Today is made real
by changing yesterday.
Time is not a line,
but a field within which
we particles dance,
and dancing, alter all,
making the past future,
creating active history,
performing our lives
behind living masks.
Austin Heath Feb 2016
Trading in our hearts,
unemotionally here.
Turning to the sun;

We don’t find answers,
we don’t even find solace.
We dance like they do,

like impressionists.
Our art still has clear borders/
Performances end.

We take our masks off.
Pointing out our own flaws, yet…
hmm… Something like this.

Talking at myself
again and learning nothing
new of importance.

So, dance flower dance,
tear your roots and die trying
to amaze us all.
Austin Heath Nov 2016
Dance flower dance and
When it rains you might drown but
“freedom” has shades now.

To the mower you’re
just taller now. Just taller.
I had dreams last night,

took ill by morning,
I was on a bus headed
somewhere new to me.

I didn’t know where,
I just knew I was scared and
wanted to go home.

I hate this so much,
and I can’t even give up.
I haven’t earned it.

So dance flower dance,
tear your roots out, die trying
to impress us all.
bulletcookie  Jul 2018
Drumlins
bulletcookie Jul 2018
digging in dirt and finding stones
so round they pretend a marble
a perfect gift for one that had none

what then ten thousand years this human drama
compared to fluted knocks of Kabuki glaciers
grinding on this whetstone of earth

a millennial movement of giants
hoed out valleys, rivers and sound
long before our first step dance

these same kanji, mound their costume dress
having played an early performance
leaving a staged terrain over tectonic duress

we come barrelling into history's Geo
rat-a-tat tapping our ratamacues
after all, knee bent, as a pea seed of Clio

-cec
Francie Lynch Oct 2019
You don't wear black face.
You'd never do such.
You don't wear white face;
Do you Kabuki?
Mime, non? Mime, oui?
But every March,
Millions of others,
Attired in green,
Some painted like Celtic warriors,
Affect terrible brogues,
And get sotted, some must disgracefully.
That's what the Irish do, think they?
I won't wear a yarmulke on Yom Kippur,
Not a burka on Eid al-Adha,
Or lead the parade
Up Fifth Avenue.
Slainte
Don't know why the world thinks the Irish are drunkards. I go to Ireland every year, and the only drunks I see are North Americans, whites and blacks, gays, straights and all others not mentioned.  Even the phrase "Paddy Wagon" is an ethnic slur.
Jake Spacey  Sep 2015
kabuki
Jake Spacey Sep 2015
cant shake a feeling, im reeling
like straw slurping and ice cream brain freezes
sweet and lovely but unrelieving
that face on you, unpleased and making me queasy
ill take that spark, light my cigarette and try to forget
with whats left, it wont be easy

my stomach coils, will this ever be ending?
smoggy chemicals and glue between us peeling
pulling back my skin from bone
so will you be home? im mailing you my pieces but signatures needed

and sure enough, i got it back- i drank it way too fast
like two puzzles, exactly the same but painted differently
cardboards not to last, the best things are made of glass
shattered by high frequency, shards cut losses
for now its just a rash, this too will pass

— The End —