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Rockie  Jan 2015
Raindrops
Rockie Jan 2015
Fat globs
Hit the window
Trickle down the pipe
Watery and cold
Accompanied by wind
And the night
Perishable by the hot midnoon sunshine
Raindrops;
Forgiven for their fat, wet drips
Of cloud tears
Mitchell Duran Jun 2012
The night rested in a humid Spring night as the cable cars
And taxi cabs lazily made their way around the
Soft and silent streets of the city. Stray cats and dogs
Picked away at half-eaten lunch meat and
three day old bread as the moon slowly began to rise.
The restaurants that lined the alley ways and
Side streets were filled with the Saturday evening crowd. The
Clinking echoes of wine glasses and dinner plates spilled
Out onto the sidewalk and into the street. The passerby's would
Occasionally turn their heads to look inside, some envious that they
Were not smiling and drinking and eating that night. Across the
Street and throughout the town, lonely men drank from half empty
Beer mugs, wondering where their passion had gone.

On the corner of Barry and 3rd stood a man alone with
A suitcase in his hand. He wore tattered brown dress
Shoes - two years too old - a black neck tie with a half
Button-up T-shirt and a pair of dark brown slacks he had
Bought from Goodwill for $3. His free hand hung open,
Letting the night breeze snake around his fingers. There
Were the stars above him that shone down onto the street
And the sidewalk and a few spotted puddles that had
Built up from an earlier rain. On the corner of Barry and 3rd
There was only one thing to do with one's time, and that
Was to stand around and think of where to go to next.

Up on 17th, there was a bar the man had heard of
From a woman who had tried to pick him up at the bus
Station, some kind of ******* that was really only looking
For a couple of free drinks and a packet of cigarettes. The man
Thought of this place, and weighed back and forth if it would
Be advantageous to wander up there and see if he couldn't
Find someone to shack up with for the night.
He decided it would be.

As he passed the busy restaurants, listening to the insides
Of the building and its occupants churn like silverware
In a blender, he remembered he had placed a half-loaf
Of bread inside of his suitcase.
He stopped on a rough concrete stoop of a Catholic
Church, where above him, stood a large wooden cross.
Around the cross were plaster sculptures of baby angels and
Gargoyles and a snaking vine made of black stone that made
Its way around the cross, tying itself around the center
Where the horizontal met the vertical, and continued
To spin around and around until it reached the top.
At first, the man thought it was some
Kind of snake signifying Adam and Eve, which was all
He really knew about religion, the basic kid stories, but
When looking closer, realized that it was only an innocent
Plant seeking a spot of sun.

The man placed his suitcase on the 3rd step of 8, where he
Then sat on the 4th. He leaned his weathered, bent back against
The hard stone concrete and listened to the faint cracks
Of his spine inside his body. He realized that he hadn't sat d
Down and relaxed since he had gotten off the train. He threw
His head back in a exaggerated and child-like yawn, and felt the warm tears
Of bashful exhaustion fill the sockets of his heavy eyes. The night was
Warm and he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt
To let the air blow over his sweat drenched chest.

"There are certain times to be alone in life," He mused
To himself, "And I do believe that I have
Found one of them."

In a room above him the window was wide open
And the curtains danced outside with the wind. A head
Poked out from the window sill and peered down to
Look at the man musing, but did not say anything. The man
knew nothing of the stranger's eyes above him and felt
No other presence around him, other than the passing taxi
Cabs and street walker's and - if you counted the one's inside
The church - the saints and the angel's and God that lived
In holy silence enshrined behind him.

"There are things in life that are never meant to be
Solved," he philosophized, "And maybe I am
One of those things. When I think of my life, my entire
Life here on Earth, I don't think I ever found
A straight line to follow that I was ever comfortable
With...not one straight line I could follow that would
Bring me true happiness or a sense of accomplishment.
Now, am I bad in feeling this way? Am I no good
For never feeling that the good ain't ever good enough?
I do my laundry like everybody else and I walk the
Street just the same, but, there is something else that
Smells and feels and can taste the eternity in all things
That makes me restless so I can't sleep sometimes, forces
Me to stare into black infinity with only a mind I feel
That I will never truly meet. There has got to be a word
For whatever feeling this is, but I can't seem to think of it now."

The head above that had poked out before ******
A dark object out the window. It wavered for a moment
In the still warm air of the night, then, whooshing and
Splashing down, a full bucket of water cascaded down
on the man's head and suitcase. The man sat frozen, unsure
Whether it was from the Heaven's itself and paused before
He began to swear and curse at the tenant above him.

"You rat **** eating vanilla ice cream eating convict!" he
Screamed up towards the apartment complex, "I'm going
To come back with a gallon of gasoline, 10,000 tooth-picks, and
Find out your favorite magazine subscription and bring 1,000
Those by, and burn this place down - gifts and all!"

His voice
Echoed in the street
And down the darkened alley-way,
Where the bums of the city
Slumbered, not hearing a sound
Of the rant the man in the now wet
Two year old dress shoes rambled
On with; for bums sleep with
Absolute peace with their lack of
Care or fear of time.

"At last," he muttered underneath his dripping hair,
"I am released unto the Earth for what I truly am: A hung
Sheet - fresh out of the washer - meant only to be
Basking in the moonlight so to be dried by
Morning for the house-guests in the evening."

The man snapped his fingers,
Clicked his tongue, and looked up,
Once more trying to spot the culprit, until
Another bucket of water came crashing
Down upon him.

"QUIET DOWN THERE,"
The voice from above hollered,
"THERE AIN'T A SINGLE WORD ANYONE
IN THIS BUILDING WANTS TO HEAR
RIGHT NOW! CHILDREN ARE SLEEPING AND
THE OLD ONE'S ARE WATCHING THIER PROGRAMS!"

The man ran his hands through his dripping wet hair
And flicked the droplets of water out onto the street. His
Suitcase, which sat to the right of him, was soaked as well and
The man worried about the single baguette he had stored
In there in case he had gotten hungry. He knew it was ruined
Now, but was happy that there was only an extra pair
Of 50 cent socks and an undershirt he had found underneath
A bridge on the way into the city. He cocked his head up to the open window.

"You speak for everyone here in this building?" He
Asked the black and blotchy figure above him.

"I speak for everyone that doesn't have the nerve or
The cajones or the energy to holler down at you at
This Un-Godly hour, if that's what your asking."

"They vote you into that position?" He asked, prodding them.

"No vote. I'm a volunteer," they defended.

"Ha. Always going to be some kind of
Volunteer when there's power involved."

"Isn't power, it's responsibility."

"Responsibility," the man repeated, chewing the
Word in his mouth, seeing it spelled out in his mind.
"Responsibility is quite a subjective thing: some people
Take a liking to it and never want to stop being responsible and
In charge, and some just don't want none of it and
Would rather lay back in the sun and act
Like their in charge, while whoever believes
Their power works under'em and for'em; which one are you?"

"Neither. I'm just here trying to ward off some
Rambling *** with what looks like nothing but a
Suitcase and some old clothes and shoes."

"Well," he said, "You must have some pretty good
Eye-sight in this setting dark, because that's
All I got at the moment."

"Where you hail from?" the voice asked.

"Originally I hail from here, but where I was
Before I hailed from as well. To tell you the truth, I don't
Truly know - that's a good question."

The man tilted his chin up slightly and
Rolled over his response. The question had
Dropped an icy fire into the pit of his stomach and filled it
With hundreds of gnawing, fluttering butterflies; he
Hadn't thought about home in a long time and
Had forgotten why he had even chose to show-up in the first place.

"I'm here for reasons I can't seem to remember at the moment,"
The man admitted to the voice above and to himself.

"Can't remember?" the voice laughed, "How
You gonna' forget why you came home?"

"Don't know," he said, shaking his head," Just
Can't seem to recollect it."

"Scary thing."

"Yes, indeed."

They both paused as a taxi cab passed slowly by. It stopped
And honked its horn trying to signal the man to see
If he needed a ride. The man waved his hand to send the
Cabby off and looked down at his wet clothes and suitcase. The
Chill of the night had gotten its way into his skin and
He noticed that his teeth were chattering and his feet were
Beginning to shake. He worried about getting sick because he
Wouldn't be able to buy any medicine if he did. He looked up
To see the figure still looking down at him in silence. Suddenly,
An object fell, back and forth in the air like a feather,
Down towards the man and onto the stoop where he stood.
It was a blanket and wrapped inside was a tattered pillow.

"Bring it back if you want," the voice called out to him, "Don't
Even care if you sleep on the stoop, but, it's a little wet, as you know."

"There a park around here?"

"Down two blocks and a left. You'll see it."

"Thanks for your kindness," he said looking up at the window.

"Thanks for your silence," the voice said stubbornly.

The man brushed off the remaining water on his clothes
And suitcase and tried to squeeze the water out his hair.
He picked up his suitcase and wrapped the blanket around
His body and fitted the pillow underneath his arm. He walked
Two blocks up from where the figure had told him and took a
Left, illuminated by the stark orange and white street lights. He looked
Around after he took the left and spotted a small children's park
With a few benches spotted along the sidewalk that snaked through it.
He picked a bench near a water fountain, unbuckled his belt and took
Off his wet pants and laid down, wrapping the thick wool blanket
Around his body. He placed his suitcase underneath the bench and
Positioned the pillow so it fitted gently under his head. After he
Closed his eyes and rested for five minutes, he reached down to
Touch his suitcase. He felt the cool, damp leather of it, and
Quickly wrapped himself back up into the blanket,
Eagerly awaiting for dawn to rise and bring warmth back to his body.

At dawn, the sun painted the man's body with dark yellow streaks
of sunlight, heating his body up so much that when he woke, his
Clothes were close to dry again. The small patch of grass and
Weeds underneath him rustled with the wind and the sounds
Of the street a few blocks away drifted into his ear. He stirred
Inside of his blanket but did not rise. The pillow had fallen
To the ground throughout the night, but the man was too tired
To reach for it and kept his head on the hard wooden surface of the bench.
While lying there, half awake, the man thought of the figure that
Had been speaking to him from their window the night before. He
Knew he must return the blanket and pillow, but he was unsure
Whether he should bring something else. He had no money -
No money to spare at least - so he chose to bring only the
The things that were leant to him back, hoping that would suffice.

He shifted his position on the bench and saw through a crack of
The bench, that there were children already playing on the playground
Behind him, their parents leaning over their porches watching them; they
Didn't even seem to notice or care about the man sleeping on the bench.
The man felt embarrassed about this and rolled over to avoid the
Gaze of the parents and any of the children that may have spotted him. He
Laid on his back, his head atop the worn but comfortable pillow, and
Gazed up into the blue sky that was clear save a few passing milky
White clouds, that hovered above him like colossal globs of marshmallows.
He hoped in his mind that he remembered where the house the was that
Had been kind enough to give him the blanket and pillow and he wished
That he had paid more attention to the street signs and physical objects
Surrounding the building. All the man could recall were the bright neon
Orange light posts, a long line of thinly pruned circular bushes, a few
Mailboxes that stood as if attention on the sidewalk of the street, and
Numerous houses that all looked the same when he passed them in the night.
He knew he needed to find the house but was too comfortable to rise and
Too scared of the failure of ever finding the house and the thought
Of carrying around the blanket and pillow made his face flush a deep red.

The man rose cooly, as if rising from a nap spent on a couch in his
Summer cottage that rested on the bank of some far off river somewhere.
He looked over to the children and the parents up on their porches, but
Still, none of them paid him any mind. This relieved him. He was allowed
To be a shadow and embraced the idea of being anonymous rather
Than feeling the helplessness one feels when no one sees you. He folded
The blanket neatly like his mother had taught him to do ever since
He was a little boy, and instinctively fluffed the ***** pillow, even though
It was far beyond repair already. The sun was just peaking over the tops of
The ramshackle apartment buildings and he noticed that he had been
Sleeping in what looked like a very poor part of town; in the night, it
Looked like every other park corner where the elderly would to
Think about their past and the children would play with their present.

"Night and day are two different worlds," the man muttered
To himself, "Some people belong in one and some
The other; I wonder...which one am I?"

He looked up towards the sun and squinted, feeling a
Small droplet of sweat make its way down his right cheek. He
Wiped it away with his fingertip and brought it to his mouth -
He was terribly thirsty and his stomach rumbled within him. He
Had noticed the night before on the way to the park, a sign
For a bakery, but was not sure whether it was open or not because
The night was too dark to reveal any signs of it. The man had 10 dollars to
His name and knew he could buy two loaves of bread for at least 50 cents
If he haggled with whoever was running the place. They would be sure
To see his condition and help him if he showed them a little of the money he had.
There was also a childish charm to the man that he would bring out whenever
He truly was in need - he never liked abusing this gift, if one could call it that -
But in times of desperation and starvation and dehydration, he was
Forced to use it and mustered as much courage up to do so.

He walked through the path that had brought him to the park and
Made a right down the street towards the bakery and possibly the
House where he had been given the blanket and pillow. There was
No one on the street save a few alley cats and dogs and all the window
Blinds were down to block out the intense shining sun rising in the sky. There
Was a light breeze passing through the trees that cooled the man off. He
Had begun to sweat from holding the pillow and blanket so close
To his body, and wished he could have the nerve just to throw it in a
Garbage can and make his way to the neighborhood where he had been told
About the bar, but his conscious weighed him down, so he carried on.

He walked a block down the street and found the bakery on the other side
Of the street. He crossed and saw there was an old woman inside.
He checked his pockets for any spare change and opened his wallet
To make sure the 10 dollars was still there. He needed water and something
To put in his belly and he whispered a prayer before he went inside of the bakery.
When he pushed the door to enter though, it wouldn't budge - it was locked. The
Woman behind the counter turned her head and looked at the man, who
shook her head and waved him off. The man knocked gently on the glass
Door, but the old woman just kept waving and shooing him off like an animal. The
Man checked the clock inside and saw that
Jeannette Chin Nov 2011
"I have gotten from there to here"

Its a simple tautology, chant it

either/or an uncertain accomplishment.

From there to there to there until there became here.

This too is fairly obvious,
but still, it seems so strange,

how many times must you be reminded

that you are too ill-equipped 
to string the sequence.



And what about those weak suspicions

that reappear from time to time,
the ones you are
 quick to disregard
out of the fear that you may be a lunatic.



What if they were correct, what
if a moment were nothing more
than a brown package
of stimulus.

They came to you, one after the other
and you what could you do but follow
them, like crumbs in a trail that lead
you further away from home
and into this carnival.
Where people who sing lullabies out loud
carry pistols and globs of color
are merging in all
directions.

Wedged in between "there to here"
and "here to there", the laws of tenses
never made this much of a difference.



Babies know this all too well.

That's why they're the last 
ones
we turn to for wisdom. 

But should they ever decide

to permanently stop crying.   

You'll know what they mean by their silence.
Mel Holmes  Mar 2014
dogwood mail
Mel Holmes Mar 2014
driving south
to see trees in bloom
after a night of sleeping in the snow
& letting the hail beat up your face,
i can imagine is like
seeing color for the first time.

i am the new wick of a candle--
turned on by spring sun,
hot,
the light shows the beauty in strangers
like red-haired, shirtless Steven
whose eyes graced me with
the radiance of sunlit olive,
a shade i have never dreamed before:
gold & green globs twist in circles
in his irises, like magic

no wonder warm blood of new loves
is harvested in this season.

at the pink rock on the parkway,
i saw a collared corgi get lost,
enamored with strangers.
cannabis clouds coagulate
the air to power young hikers.
i spy front seat fever
in the car next to mine,
heads disappear
into the laps of their lovers.

for me, it is these woods,
the nurturing ways of the willows,
the numbing wind of unspoiled silence
by the glasshouse over the lake.

the bloom of new cycles
in the ancient--
what was always there,
like lovers that are always within,
part of you.
dogwoods crack open
to let us come together in a forested space
where all trails lead to treehouses.

this is my spring love,
this is bliss.
Disaster Child Dec 2013
My dear, my sweet, my little glob of glue
Princess, warrior, and Firefly too
I love you
Third Eye Candy Mar 2013
your George Klooney appeals to your filter.
you brunch with Tungsten and straight up toxic marriages.
the mob rules the Jupiter, so therefore and ever after
you mop Hell's kitchen while you slideshow
you thumb through the wreckage
of your tender aggressions in the marsh
where the hard sky lobs acid and false globs
of character... we blur the chi chi's and wiz bang
the last dirge
we incur the wrath of our blissful innocence
and sweeten the Lama
with our Lambda,  " all back of the bus, and ****  "
we betwixt the twain.

and that's the grease
in the varmint. the tuft of luscious.
you gob-smack the kiwi and chip away at the porcine thunder
of our pagan banquet.
the lungs you drum with; are even now
less equipped to sermon the mount
where your meek inherits
lengua tacos.

and your life means nothing, really....
Sarita Crandall Jan 2013
It was at the cottage, by the marsh,
Where the husband slipped through the threshold.
The Bass boots left marks of silt and clay on the worn wooden floor.
He dropped the shovel on the floor as well.
And globs of mud, sawgrass and marsh water seeped in the cracks, forever to stay there,
As a silent reminder.
He sat down at the dinner table, a table for two,
With only one chair.
The coo-coo clock chimed above his head,
It was dinner time, where was dinner?
His thick gruff hands made fists and smashed the table top,
Breaking the maple top in two, which now made it a table for one.
He just needs sleep, his temper was getting to him.
As the husband climb up the stairs to the spacious bed,
And laid his head upon the pillow, he fell asleep.
But if you follow the muddy tracks down the stairs, through the kitchen, out the door, into the rain,
to the marsh, you will see a pile of mud that looks misplaced.
The sludge will begin to shift and slide away to reveal a hauntingly beautiful women.
She will rise, and walk through the marsh, in the rain, to the door, through the kitchen and up the stairs to see her husband in a fitful sleep.
And as any good wife would do,
She'll kiss him and lay next to him to ease whatever could be on his mind at this hour.
Catie Staff Dec 2012
I don’t have* any pressure to go sledding
Because I’m still afraid of falling on the ice
And you loved the snow

I don’t have to risk my life on icy back roads every day
On the pretense of returning your things
Just so I don’t have to wait 24 hours to see you

I don’t have an extra pair of your shoes under my bed
From when you accidentally left them there
You were always leaving your things around

I don’t have a second home to spend the day at
With open fields full of snow banks for fort-building
The house is gone and so are you

I don’t have a reason to build a snow-fort this year
No one cares to sleep in it, it’s too cold
You were that kind of crazy

I don’t have someone to bake cardamom cookies with
We both had sticky dough on our hands
And we washed them in the same sink at the same time

I don’t have a friend at the Christmas parties
Who can back up my wild stories about the week
And argue with me about the rules for card games

I don’t have a cuddle-buddy for watching movies
We never really got the chance to do that
We were always running off to get some alone time

I don’t have to hide when I’m changing out of my wet snowy clothes
Because you’re never going to walk in from the cold
And start changing your clothes too

I don’t have a fire in my hearth
But I’m sure there’s one in yours
I used to enjoy watching you make them with your dad

I don’t have any wet, *****, sandy puddles to clean up
Because you’ll never walk across my kitchen
And forget to take off your boots

I don’t have to walk around barefoot
Even if it means getting my socks wet
Because you’re not there to remind me with your calloused toes

I don’t have twice as many presents under the tree
Not because we ever exchanged gifts, we were too poor
But every present you received and loved made me happy too

I don’t have snow down my neck from the snowballs you threw
I don’t have wet globs of melting ice in my hair because you tackled me
I don’t have anyone to make tea for, because I don’t even like tea
I don’t have your countless little siblings to share my snacks with
I don’t have to make cooking mistakes because I can’t bring you baked oatmeal
I don’t have a built in heater to share the backseat with
I don’t have a hoodie I can pass back and forth between us
I don’t have a companion to go on long walks with
I don’t have a curious mind to share kissing ideas with
I don’t have a hand to hold when I’m about to fall down on the ice

I don’t have you

This is the time of year that makes me miss you
I start to notice the empty spaces in my life
And there are little things everywhere to remind me of you.
NeroameeAlucard Oct 2014
I was once simply a tool
A device used only for death
Years and years of this
Caused rage to fill in my breast.

I lashed out at my tormentors
Slayed them, one by one
I finally had taken my revenge
until I hunted the last one.

A security drone, I had left alone
had fallen into the main reactor,
On the floor above there
I was feeling the effects after.

Another experiment warped me
back into the still undamaged past.
I woke up in 1932,
in a giant field of grass.

Born to be more
than what life made me.
Forced to be a entertainer,
longing to be free.

Singing and dancing
for the rich shogun.
Yet my spirit still intact
tho they thought they had won.

Singing the songs
of long dead men.
Hoping for a light,
a true sort of friend.

Lost in another time,
far from what was mine.
I stood up sharpened my weapon
s and decided to go for mine.

I walked to the nearest village
and asked what was going on.
The locals said they were having
a party for a rich shogun.

Interested, I walked inside to
see decorations so gaudy.
I looked around and saw a woman
with a wonderland of a body.

Minding my own business, j
ust sat singing a song.
About how hard life is
and all things that went wrong.

Geisha I was,
a slave to the rich.
Doing what I was told,
no better than a *****.

Sold I was at the of twelve,
to feed a family I once loved.
Well that turned to hatred,
and here I was shoved.

Sat in a corner,
doing my time.
Servitude ,
without committing a crime.

I couldn't hold it in,
I walked up to the stage
Picked up a guitar and played along,
she looked quite amazed.

I smiled at her,
and she smiled back
Then all of a sudden screams were heard, two geishas coming downstairs followed by a guy who was very fat.

Standing and bowing,
just playing my part.
As absolute terrier
struck deep in my heart.

" Master,
is there aught I can do.
Come and listen
I shall sing just for you."

Come to me he did,
his face flaming red.
Slapping me hard,
with nothing being said.

I took up my sword
and said leave the lady alone,
She walked out incensed,
I followed her up the road.

Fires burning bright,
like flames deep in hell.
I wanted to be free,
my soul I would even sell.

I could not not do this,
no not anymore.
Turning I said
" what the ******* following me for."

Shamed for my actions,
but too shy to say.
I turned beet red
and just walked away.

I said I've never met a woman
with that much backbone.
And quite frankly my dear,
you shouldn't be alone

They've sent men to **** you,
they should be here rather fast
I ducked rather quickly
to evade a Sharp axe.

Throwing a knife,
my aim good and true.
Right in the throat,
flying straight through.

Throwing another,
this one just as good.
Killing him dead ,
right where he stood.

" attack me will you,
you cowardly swine.
I will spit down your throat
and rip out your spine"

Kicking him once
I turned back around.
My feet hitting hard
on the dirt packed ground.

Kusarigama unleashed
several seconds later.
I cut several down
to the size of second graders.

I look back at you
and say I think that's all of these fools
****** knives handed back
i ask how'd you learn that at school?

"My real father was a ninja,
he taught me some stuff.
Being a girl,
you had to grow up tough."

When he died,
breaking my heart.
I was sold to this,
now playing my part.

But no one touches me,
unless I want them too.
Yet I am done with all this,
finished, I am through.

I will just survive,
living of the land.
No more to be owned
by any foul man."

I don't intend to own you
In fact I'm not from this time
I Am though not native here,
so I do require a guide.

Confused I must look,
when him I did face.
"So you're not from this time
or from this place?"

I started to laugh,
it's all I could do.
Did he expect me to
accept that as true?

I just kept walking,
My mind on every sound.
I guess it's alright,
I can lead him around.

"Fine I will help you,
Where you need to go?"
I can lead you East,
down to Tokyo."

What if I could prove
that I'm from a different time.
I took out a disc and showed her what will happen
to her life over the years and mine.

I said, we still have company, I take my sword out, Nevan was her name,
duck in about 5 seconds
if you don't want to meet a blade.

Duck I did,
as the blade went on by,
Snapping my wrist,
letting a knife fly.

" What the hell?
Could this night get any worst.
Am I to be forever hounded
and endlessly cured?"

Sitting on the ground,
counting up the dead.
Touching my cheek,
my hand turning red.

The blade must of nicked me,
I just watched the blood drip.
My life was unravelling,
I was losing my grip.

I grabbed the dear woman
and threw my shuriken at the attempted killer.
I knocked him off a cliff,
his body becoming chiller.

I took her to a cave and patched her lovely cheek,
I Sat beside her and started a fire.
I sat down with a drink
and contained my desire.

Shaken to the core,
by kindness so fair.
All I could do was sit
and just stare.

This strange man,
who was not even of my time.
Had me hoping and wishing,
I could claim him as mine.

But hope and wishes are
for the happy and the weak.
I am sure he would love
someone feminine and meek.

Shaking my foggy head,
I start to cook dinner.
Wishing still I was tall
and so much thinner.

I said what's your name fair maiden,
how'd you end up here
You look much too beautiful
To working as hard as you do my dear.

My name is Xero,
I'm from another time
And while I'm here I must change the future
Because right now I'm stuck in this time.

"My name is Aura,
a name my father did give.
I become a geisha
so my family could live.

Sold for money,
and trained to preform.
So the rich can mock
and look on with scorn.

To own one is grand,
to be one: living hell.
That is my story,
really not much to tell."

Ashamed of my past,
tho pure I still be.
Yet I had my doubts,
he would even believe me.

Your words are soft spoken,
and have a ring of truth
I was poked and prodded,
like an animal in a zoo.

I'm nothing more than
a human science project.
At least that's what I was told
before I broke their worthless necks.

Anyway it seems we both have pasts
we aren't proud of.
But to me you're beautiful,
like I'm a falcon and you're a small white dove.

Blushing so red,
I took him by the hand.
" You are more than what they made u,
ur a kind honest man.

Stand tall,
be proud of who you became.
And I swear to you,
I will try and do the same.

Life had beaten us,
trying to teach us to fear.
But to hell with all that,
we survived and still here."

I smiled for the first time
in several years
I said but **** it, I'll probably never get over all of these ****** Tears.

I look back at her and said Aura,
such a simple supple name.
I sighed longingly
and whispered the same.

I look into his eyes,
as my name whispered past his lips.
A electrical current
tingled at my finger tips.

Wanting to touch him,
but knowing I can't.
I started to hum
a lovely sad chant.

Looking in the fire,
watching the flames burn.
Just like inside me,
it did dance and churn.

I looked into those deep blue eyes
and saw all the pain.
I saw nothing but tears
flowing Down like rain.

I hugged her tightly and said
You'll never cry again
I know your future, you'll do wonderful I'm serious you'll be free but I'm here for you until then.

Free: it felt strange on my tongue,
could it truly be.
Was I actually allowed
to finally be me.

Did I want to be free?
a question inside my head.
Perhaps I wanted to be owned
by this man instead.

I felt connected to him,
deep in my soul.
A sense of belonging,
my heart all aglow.

I look at you and say
Aura why do you stare at me so longingly
I told you your future
You won't belong to anyone ever again and your wounds both physical and mental will be sutured.

"It is nothing really,
just shock is my guess.
We should probably eat,
and get some much needed rest."

Cooking a rabbit,
turning it to stew.
A longing for more,
but it could never come true.

Now standing by the fire,
my arms wrapped around my waist.
Longing for his lips
and just one simple taste.

My senses heightened,
I set myself behind her
My human side desperately
wanting to be inside her.

I kissed her neck lovingly
and massaged her shoulders
It would be weird,
making love beside boulders.

I leaned into his body,
loving how he did feel.
Turning around,
a loving kiss I did steal.

Wrapping my arms around his neck,
playing with the hair at his nape.
My body and lips silently begging,
for him me to take.

Biting his lip,
I shivered in delight.
This just felt to perfect
and so deliciously right.


touching and caressing her body
felt like a natural instinct.
I held her like a little girl holding her favorite dolly
firm, but gentle and sweet.

I kissed down her neck and nibbled at her flesh
I wanted her scent all over me.

Wrapping my arms around him,
I clung to him for life.
My life was a hard one,
but he ends all my strife.

Feelings I thought long dead,
begin to whisper in my ear.
Holding close this gorgeous man,
the man I hold so dear.

I lick and nibble his neck,
His flavor on my tongue.
He is the beautiful note,
that my lips has always sung.

She had the body of a goddess
i was simply a lonely priest
i whispered my intentions
to her with some degree of ease.

i slid her dress down
to reveal her supple *******
i gently held them softly
then proceeded to ****** and caress

I licked on her lips
i put my hands on her hips
i whispered may i pleasure you fair maiden
because your body is a wonderland,
and i intend to make several trips.

My soul sang with delight,
as his lips made their rounds.
Panting out my pleasure,
from my mouth wanton sounds.

The passion fire burns bright,
As I rocked up my hips.
Feeling every loving touch,
from his sweet finger tips.

His tongue drove me wild,
as he tasted from my flesh.
My heart melted from his love,
oh I was so truly blessed.

My hands ran up his back,
my nails raked back down.
Til I was holding his ***,
so nice and juicy round.

i slid my hand in between her thighs
and rubbed her soft sweet ****
i felt myself rise with excitement
and she was so wet she began to slip,

i slid her dress all the way off
naked she was in front of me completely bare
i was so shocked at her beauty
i could do naught but drunkenly stare.

i regained my composure, and began to kiss her body again.
i set  myself between her luscious thighs
so i could eat her womanly den.

she tasted like a well aged wine
her juices so warm and sweet
i knew another woman I’d never have to find
because this girl just couldn't be beat.

His fingers dipped inside,
stroking my melting heat.
slipping in so far,
it was so overwhelming sweet.

I ****** up my hips,
to greet his thirsty hand.
Howling to the world,
My love for this great man.

Rolling him over,
I sat upon his ****.
Sinking him even deeper,
As i began to rock.

I placed his hands upon my breast,
Ohhh how he made me shiver.
My core began to melt
and my legs, they did quiver.

i held her close to my body
her sweet ******* so tasty in my mouth
I told her she was being ever so naughty
her core was wet as a freshwater trout,

i bent her over
the campfire now slowly dying
i slid back inside her
now taking her from behind

He had my heart jumping,
my breathing began to hitch.
"oh come on baby **** me,
I been a naughty *****."

I looked over my shoulder,
as into to me he did pound.
He slapped my *** once,
than grabbed my globs so round.

Moaning into the star filled sky,
I tightened around his shaft.
He had me losing my mind,
He was master of this craft.

A *** god reborn,
my soul mate supreme.
Knowing just where to touch,
that makes me wanna scream.

I reach between my legs,
and grab his perfect *****.
As we both let out into the night,
our lustful mating calls.


I made sure to please my woman,
then laid down with her on top
her arching back against the moonlight
my god i felt myself about to pop.

I spread her legs wider
and looked her dead in the eyes.
I finally released inside her
I  fell down dazed and high from our burning desire

I laid back down tired as all ****
I literally just met this girl last night
and we’re making love like this?
i dont know whether its lust.

Or some form of quick
acting love .
all i know is i must make her mine
before i'm sent up above.

I felt him erupt inside,
his cream flowing in deep.
I came in a flood,
and the feeling was so sweet.

Rocking my hips against him,
as I milked his **** dry.
I lowered myself to his warm body,
my head upon his chest did lie.

How this love came about,
I could never hope to explain.
He is embedded deep in my heart,
and I will never ever be the same.

Drifting off to sleep,
with a smile upon my lips.
I nestled close as I could get,
with his shaft still between my hips.
Thank you to the lovely Natasha M L for being so awesome to work with! This is gonna be great!
Anjuman Deodhar Oct 2013
I gave her a book of poems
for her birthday.

And an eraser.

Not that the graphite words
were exceptionally poignant
but I felt that a gift
with a little something
scribbled on it
would be a bit more personal
than one that’s unblemished.

Even though the letters were destined
to be as fleeting
as those on sand,
even though the waves were the gentle
graceful strokes of her fingers,
even though it was a sanitisation
that could have easily been avoided
had she chosen me
over him,
I wrote them.

Because I knew that like scars
the tiny indentations would stay
and her beautiful fingertips
would feel them
if she ever chose
to run them over the page
while thinking of me.

If she’s ever thinking of me.

So I wrote with a pencil
and didn’t flinch
when my affection was reduced to
little grey globs of synthetic rubber.

“For my dearest       , Love Anjuman”
was all that I’d written, anyway.
Waverly Mar 2012
I stopped as I went
past RDU International.

I killed the engine
next to a sky plastered
to a lake.

With a thousand wilting
banana trees
in the back,
and a needle jumping
in the red,
I came to a stop.

Planes scoured the sky with their screeching,
soured the lake
with their contrails,
the geese watching from the middle of the lake
in flotillas
idling in the heat
because it was too hot to move.

If I didn't get these bananas back to the nursery,
they'd die.

Taking out a gallon jug,
I walked to the shoreline
and reached in between reeds,
and cattails and contrails
and cirrus in globs of clay
to lift the water to the radiator.

As I poured the water
into the radiator,
I knew that humanity
is neither the geese, the truck,
or the airplane,
humanity is the needle.

— The End —