Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Eleni Aug 2017
Pulses and waves
Have their joys across my body.

Son of Aphrodite, he that smites ******* with an unknown Promethean heat.

The delectable wound on my chest marked from his piercing arrow.

Animating force, who's origin is only mumbled in gentle whispers
across my neck.

Shall we build our haven upon him,
Before the Father of The Sea washes us away?

Eros will save our love from the gallows
And forever gleam those beacons in his eyes: The idol of arrows.
This poem is revolved around the Greek mythological god, Eros. The Roman equivalent is Cupid. In this short and lustful monologue the speaker recognises that their relationship is purely built on lust. Yet the speaker holds hope that the affair will last before the Promethean Heat vanishes. Do they need another word for "love"?
Katy Miles Mar 2017
zeus and eros conspire
but they cannot light love's fire
in the hollows of her heart
enclosed by a work of art
a carefully crafted shroud
that wards off every cloud

noah's eyes glimmer green
at the sight of her machine
rain shies from withering skin
that her sorry soul is hiding in
she watches it relay to the floor
"will i feel if it falls more?"

she's only left alone in thought
as it grants life to all she's not
all the world will change and grow
and unless earth forbids it so
she'll spend eternity in her cover
just watching - no one to love her
Thank you for Matching
the Tinder Call Center.
My name is Nick and I will be helping you with your order today.
And your name is?

Hello, Port Veritas

I'm so glad you called
because you do qualify
as one of the first 100 people
I find attractive!

So Where are you from?
Oh Wow, I've never been there,
you ever Been here to Bull Feeney's?

No? Well look at that,
I guess we've never been
too each others places before.
Hah!

Looks like we have something
in common.

What was it on my profile that got you interested in swiping right?
Oh I see, you like love poems,
you like new ****,
you just wanna make everyone cry.

How long have you been interested in that?
Wow that's a long time.

What else have you tried
to hear love poems,
see new ****
and make people cry?

Wow that's...

that's kinda ****** up Port Veritas.

That's really ****** up.

What's the worst part about dealing with that?
I see, well I'm glad you called.

Tell me a bit
why it's important
to do something about this now;
it's a little different for everyone.

I see, it's Valentine's day. There's a valentines open mic and LOVE SLAM Tonight!

I'm just gonna ask a couple quick questions to see if you qualify,

Will you all answer them for me?

Do You want **** poetry?

**** poetry IS the best sticky note to receive in your eighth grade lunch box

Do you want Radical Self Love?

me too, let's keep looking

Do you want love Poetry?

You just want so many things from me that i can give you.

Do You want people to need a towel by the time you leave the stage!?

You're right, they shouldn't call it dry *******

You know, Port Veritas. I can't wait for you to watch this amazing show we have for you tonight.

As my profile states,
we're gonna give strangers this microphone for four minutes.
Where they are gonna say whatever the hell they want about terrible dates, passionate love, terribly passionate ***.
And that sounds great doesn't it?

Just imagine how wonderful it will feel when
you get up here
picture all these lovlies in their underwear
feel cold and alone
with nothing but your words
and a microphone
Then drop the god ****** heat on us.

Imagine a chorus of ****
and Mmmm and snaps

THAT'S really why you swiped right today, isn't it Port Veritas?

Excellent! Let's get you started!

As you heard, we've put together a Special Package, with this Valentines open mic. A LOVE SLAM.
And an extra free second date when you try this First One for just your body.
Plus, since you're one of the first 100 people I find attractive,
I'm gonna throw in a Third date. so you get three, for the price of one!
And remember that swiping right on a Poetry slam is risk-free because it's backed by our 30-day Text you back guarentee.
So put your name on the sign up sheet.
next to your $3- $5 dollar suggested donation
bus your tables at the end of the night,
Tip your bartender Leah well for putting up with us every week.
use whatever bathroom you ******* want

and one last order of business
to wrap things up
like a good boy practicing
safe ***, who is totally not trying
To get you all pregnant.
when he asks how you like
Your eggs in the morning.

Un-fertilized.

If someone gets up here and says
something during their four minutes
That makes you feel unsafe
you can do one of three things
1. Silently get up, leave the room and come back when you're comfortable
2. Get Nate or myself and tell us to provide floor for a calm discussion.
3. Go home write a ******* poem about it. and bring it back here next week!

Now
WHO'S READY FOR A VALENTINE'S OPEN MIC?!

UP ON DECK
WE HAVE:
Derby Dec 2016
Never he was an honest man
Who prides himself
On wanton expeditions

In a field of truth
He lies, entangled in conceit
To win that which he desires –
It is only but a game.

Mind not his mental means, nor manner –
Be he sane or psychopath –
But the strategy by which he plays:
Cheat, deceive, manipulate,
Overcome, and conquer your carnal estate.

Twisted tales, spun with golden thread
Crafted by careful practice and confidence
The master of charisma in his own head
Is no Eros, in any sense – Erosive, yes –
He is only what you want but for a brief moment
Be suspicious and expect this ever-real Narcissus.

A lecher he is
A Greek God in wish –
Nay, he only lives in the fantastic,
Though he roams about us
In a surreal bubble,
Where love comes to pass,
He is ever-so subtle

He markets himself as a Rembrandt,
Although more a moke* than baroque,
Something which he could never see
Staring into his reflection so blindly.
At a cost, worth more than his fee,
This cheap knockoff of Sal Dali,
Would sell you his love
For a buck forty-three.

Beware the lecher.
*Moke is a British/Australian slang term for donkey or *******; a fool, representing the folly of man.
ji Oct 2016
read my body like a bible,
let your tongue be the bookmark
that browses my pages,
and embeds between my spine
right where it shouldn't;
say my name like a prayer,
and i'll worship the shrine
under your stomach
like a god— my god!
let me lick the statuette
A lascivious flavor now in season of moon
together, dot the beach
with this underlying nonchalance
only has belief in destiny
that our harmony such enrapture
now endeavor then enamor
emancipated lure in a gaze redeeming light.
Color
Sam Hain Mar 2016
Awakens not my wolf-man to the moon
For that it shines a silver discus full,
For he may rise when clouds the thickest dull
The round moon’s lustre, or when the clock strikes noon.
One sorceress alone doth have the pow’r
T’arouse the beast, and he doth her obey;
And from her side the beast doth never stray,—
So loveth him the witch and the witching hour.
Yet, by my troth, the wolf-man hath no love
For her and hers which greater is than mine:
By daylight, blackest night, or moony shine,
My love doth neither wax nor wane nor rove.
However, unlike the love the beast doth keep,
My love can’t wake, for it doth never sleep.
Tafuta Atarashī Feb 2016
Ever so smoothly,
we dance to the music
of passion.
Ever so softly
we fall like feathers
from the wings
of Eros and Phileo.
Ever ardent
we bring each other warmth
and affection transcendent.
Ever do we love.
I think I've been caught up in the valentines day vibe.
Wanted figs sweet seeds fringes
cluster of oh mmm charmin little freckles,
Myrrh & chessnut eyes teasing
chocolate  taste licking
me f a b u lo u s-ly
Skilled as a swift leopards paw
your ticklish personae forest.    forces
me to kneal as a sandalwood essence
mingles and trepidates
opiatic.     cocoa with lush vanilla
God on dew drops evaporating from
our skins.      covering high firenheits
lasting sensual excitement
superstars collidin and exploding
like supernovaes ....soooo good!!!
It's hot in here. . .
Imagines by Impeccable
Space Poetic love some
Chante Hinsey Dec 2015
She and he were inseparable
But not the always together type
It was on a much deeper level
Their hearts were in sync
But the thought of him leaving
Made her cry until she sank
The day finally came
When he left on the plane
She grew tired of trying
And so sick of crying
The hope became lost
And a last their love was doomed
I think this poem just came from personal feelings and how I feel my relationship might end up.
Next page