Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Xella Sep 25
As I reach for the bits that still linger
I pray that I can piece together the puzzle
that splintered in the cold winter last year.

Now the chills sweep and my bones begin to shudder
I yearn for a fire, to wake this buzzing brain
to pull apart the pieces, and form a working heart.
mae Aug 25
undress my mind
lay my thoughts
bare-naked,
open and exposed
for you to
consume
and make love with
February 16, 2016 – 6:41PM
Keys speak letters but not words
And sentences don’t make paragraphs but full stops end.
Stanzas stall and commas halt, but
Sometimes there’s just nothing to say.
But sometimes nothing blurts everything
And everything sometimes says nothing at all
Because that ampersand always sits there
But never leads to a paragraph
Or a verse
Or anything
Because every time. There’s just nothing to say.
T Inkpoem May 25
This is my poetry persona
I don't own her
She's law unto herself
Nat Lipstadt May 12
”And everyone has a heart and it’s calling for something
And we are all so sick and tired of seeing things as they are
Horses are just horses and their manes aren’t full of fire
And the fields are just fields and there ain’t no Lord
And everyone is hidden and everyone is cruel”

“BRIGHT HORSES,” NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS 2019


<>
some of us got a heart, that tries with us to reason,
some of us got a mind, that doubles as a hearse,
taking away, e-thots that were dead on arrival,
electrified by their unacceptable eclectic nature

some of us got word games to pass the day, doublespeak,
some of us illustrate, words that try to litter the literate,
seed the atmosphere, make it rain, confuse our ****** tear railroad tracks,  
those without final terminus, mixing them in, as a subterfuge

reality *****, even bites, of that the philosophers have no doubt,
some say they died for us, never having asked permission,
some say they saved us from ourselves, claiming cursed credit
that historians will purposely ignore, non-truths worthless

what is, is what I got to write down, to remember, to make
my Case for saving grace, is my only purpose, to make
my Case that a woman needs loving, giving her & man the
only Trip-Tik road to living, & children, nothing words, liquor can do

May 12th, eyes opened of their own accord, made a treaty with
them thoughts and prayers hanging round, needy for a go to place,
cause they well aware, their welcome ain’t, so instead wrote these
words purposed to give me reasons to rise and try to make sense,

a Case, that conversations tween my five senses that can be enCased,
that anything I got saying may be worth hearing to one or two, hell,
may get lucky and reach ten, socially distant max, forgetting fools,
now acquainted with my Case, your Case, calling for something

that makes real OK, seeing things as they are, ****, even passable^






9:39AM
nyc
Tue May 12
jes making my Case
^ or  ...making even, this ****, passable.
This city is lost in the wilderness
Our Trappist souls to discover
Our billowing needs stripped down to less
A chance inwardly to recover.

Let us not lay waste this time to reflect
Let the sigh of the wind lift our thoughts
Let snippets of kindness expand and collect
Let us love, for our time here is short.
Angel M Apr 11
I pose on all fours
Waiting for you to mount me
My Love starts pulsing as
I watch you move towards me
You stroke yourself in your hands
My eyes are begging you
to use your rigid tool on me
To Feel you plunge deep
into the depths of my soul
As I close around you
My wetness envelops your manhood

My pulse is racing as you enter
And pound against my soft pliant vessel
My breath rushes out rapidly
I try to hold on as long as I can
To savor every moment.
Every feeling.
Each powerful ******.

I can’t stand it any longer!

I tense as
I allow my body to receive
All that it needs
From you
I release all my tension
As my ****** washes over me.
Wave after wave crashing against my body

I cry out in ecstasy
My muscles convulse
But you don’t stop there
You keep your tempo going
Harder. Faster.
Trying draw every drop of nectar out of me.
Then you feel your own finish approaching
You take what you need as well
From me
I moan as you spill your essence into me.

I long have you lead me to that place.
That ends with you
Lying on top of me
Satisfied.
Happy.
And replete.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 10
making a living (writing poetry) in the time of Pandemic

listening to priest Leonard, while locked in my library-cell,
isolating my body to spare all the rest my very worst,
not forgetting that the heart that needs guarding,^
comes along to make sure I stay within in-sane lane

this poems allegorical title arrives like a hit pop song,
one you firm believing, of course, you know all the words,
no way, you don’t, like make a living writing poetry,
nah, you just make living, writing poetry

every lover found and lost, recorded, every turning point turned
into a lyric stylized, every incident memorized, timed ‘n rhymed,
so total recall even in a disorderly meter still unvarnished survives,
and that’s how my living became such well paid poetry

playing my own life backwards, praying for all life forward,
don’t intubate me if it comes to that, cause I’ll be needing vocals,
them chords vital to record my fellow Jerusalem-bound pilgrims who
appoint a poet-in-residence as recording secretary of the Covid ward,
to make their living, not their dying, poetry, in the time of Pandemic




April 10, Twenty-Twenty
10:53am
Good Friday
Passover, 2nd day, 5780
^ ~ “Above everything else, guard your heart; for it is the source of life's consequences. **Proverbs 4:23)**~
Luna Maria Mar 20
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
closer closer closer closer
please?
Next page