Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
acacia Aug 16
let this view be for him
how it must
the echo draws the lingering soul out of me
but it stays for it whirls and it makes me cry
but the hour of the day to impress you sings the joy
of the one
he stops and
i come towards the rain, and an impressionable glow of horn creeps into
the sauna, and it lowers my body, giving me the immeasurable chills:
but still these are words,
god is in here
yes, god is in here god is way inside the violins and the dreams of these cords he hits these notes and these horns play as if they are on a tuesday night
and my aching god my body falls in to line with his movements on the roll
my neck moves my hips sway my waist penetrates the other day into the next morning for  i am eternal : the little windows of babes that twirl in these sounds in this rhymes in sight of his horns
filled with city nights
they sound like city nights like lurking blackness over trees and buildings lit up with windows of orange-yellow-opaque and she dances in the background
this trumpet she dances, she does a spin she is trying to get her spin
she is trying to get her tap she is trying to get in the door
she is stuck in the door
the key she is fumbling with her key
little flails
a higher flail
she flails she heightens
she is close to opening the door
she sticks the key jamming it in there
she turns she turns she twists she twists
the keys
she takes a breath
she turns
she twists
she turns
she twists
she walks away from the door the key stuck in there
she staggers trying to learn how to walk again
drunken she blares out
she blares out in the city coughing and her saxophone belting
she squeaks she slurs she blares
she slurs she blares she sings she screeches whistles through the day and the night
for trees breeze by her, black skirt flow and taxis pass by her
lame sounds into the wind she keeps going. lame sounds into the world
she turns she twists she falls slightly she skips and steps and she turns the key
she inhales
ankle twist her arm trips her wrist squeezes into her pocket, clad all black
the stars join her and she sings lamely into the night, her voice reverberating throughout the leaves
a car yells as she repeats the night
she sings out lamely, blares and twists and turns and she walks to the door
crickets pray
the car yells
she rests her head against the door
cars yell and honk, driving through her door
the door is open
the walls talk to her
the stars all watch her
she limps through the halls, the trumpet
the saxophone limps
the doors watch underneath: peering into the skirt of the trumpet: the hosiery adorned legs cramped and relaxed: tension jarred and stirred, wiggling free: peeking at the shiny bronze in between the bridge
the way the air flexes around her
it changes shape towards her daily repeat nightly motion of monitoring the trapeze
the sky gives atmosphere and volume into her hair the realm
of being stuck she is stuck and repeats she is stuck and repeats
the lame song and blares into the ceiling the empty missing ceiling
she blares and croaks and lamely walks to the steps of the day
it is night
her eyes follow the trail up their Stare and as she goes up each stair she feels despair pouring out of her porous eyes pores that are open, and eyes closed to the velvet touching her uvula-*****. . . she drowns on these stairs and stains . .  .
cannot make it up -- lame song -- cannot -- blaring -- despair
exhale ... inhale ... exhale ...
inhale .. prana ... lame .. . prana ... prana ... sati ... samadhi... liberate citta ... drop the poor chord lame lame song . . .
she limps up the stairs, each foot hitting each stair twice
up down down down down up up up stagnant stagnate up down down stagnate -- up down stagnate stagnare -- blaring blare - loud: cranky she drunkenly sings, sways up the handrail, pours out her drink down the roof, and watches it fall:
the doors open, all simultaneously, whilst she looks down the stairwell pouring her drink down there for all to have "Share joy, turn the key! Share, it is stuck! Get it out of the door! Open the door..." She shouts she blares, she levels out. She yells.
Lame song, limping . . . drunkenly dressed. Sloppy.
utterance, muttering, low voice, trembling, yet now repeat the motion of the night.
realistic night days of the sophened mind, she blares she cuts she blares, she lowers accelerationist accrucianado -- "dressing me out : the worst way to die  go figure ,! The constellation shows you!" Lame song,
blare, drift, loud lame limp. She walks further up the steps
the same song repeat, quivering now, more gusto, more braggadocio: "drawers long. Inhale. Prana. Paroksha. Indirectly." She opened.
quiver, blare, blossom: the stars shine now, and she sings while they fall around her. . she refrains, they fall,  glidely, she refrains. she refrains. they fall, glidely, she refrains. she refrains. they fall, glidely, they drop, lively. swiftly. sprightly, brightly.
she drinks in her own drinks of drown, she goes down the octave. down. there, the sky changes waving around:
now over the highway, she blares loud, floating in the sky,
floating above cars, and the traffic below her . . . she blares out croaks,
she croons to them the same truth of the heavens they couldn’t see
and she refrains loudly, glidely:
whizzling up there
her drool drizzles down there
inside and outside
pumping in, the throbbing joy:
thrusting divine
thrusting angels
hayorically she moves dizzily over cities
oceans above her
traffic below her
she cramps up
the stars guide her
her more sing move
she waves more
to the passerby
the clouds drift by
for love
no love
she drinks more love
to the god where
she blares
she croaks
she wheels out there, into the world cries of a never harmed One:
of a One never divided into Many: and she and the ones in a 50 foot radius are hit with atomic blasts the size of an everything: bruised and battered flesh, heart is black and body is blue, but the spirit is incorruptible and the spirit remains when the body burns when the sun dies
lamely flying, limply stars guiding
drool stuttering from each pore on her, she drives away in her no more vehicle: this is the last body, and she knows this: and she accepts this is her last body, as she flies over new york city,
drifting with the race cars, absorbing each and every person and being:
crossing roads that never existed
city noir -
Jana Pelzom May 20
There it stood,
To ruin the mood;
All bright and red,
The Russian roulette.
The gunshot had rang,
Then a head started to hang;
The Lady had left;
Death not there to jest,
In this wilting hour.
There chilled to the bone,
The bullet lodged alone;
Jack froze what was left of the breath.
There left the only life,
The gun in its warmth,
But maybe not for I hear a cry
And someone nearby
Has seen what night could not hide.
Felt first hand what was noir;
It was chance played;
Not with Luck at hand,
But Death as the croupier.
Noir leave it to Chance ©️ 2020 Jana Pelzom
Jonathan Moya Nov 2019
In the rear view mirror
he can see the specters..
her upside down reflection
scatter when a foot
hits the puddle…

hear the notes
of a trumpet solo
popping thru the
open red door
of a jazz club…

remembers when they
whacked his partner…

and left their
footprints on his ribs..  

left his mouth
out of joint…

in love with that
woman in the blue dress
holding him in her arms…

asking her if there
is anything else
he should know..

because she is
a major part
of the mystery…
SamanthaX Oct 2019

I’m walking through a
This lonely dirt road
Reminding me of
a old familiar place
In a time
before time
became a
long time ago

Where your
white bones
were carved
to become my own

In the stories of
past and present

Of how we all fall down
The Values of
the Dead Wildflowers
All fall down

Hush now
Listen to the
Of petals decay
Let them fall down
Rotting away

Cold fingers lifting
away lullaby lingerie
Corporate corpses
refilling graves
Hush now
As you fall down


Again with the
death threat lies
Give me a breath
of life when I die
So I can break
So I can fall
Hush now
Gun to my head
Hush now
Don’t make a sound

Breaking free
I found your
broken body
I know you
I see you keep your
Demons close

I do too

The tale of stars
and their
troubled hearts
trailblazing down
together in
tangled sheets

In the arms
of God
falling asleep
Starry Aug 2019
As I try to fall
I see the ultraviolet glow
Of the neon signs from out side side
Making this seem
A French noir
ms reluctance Mar 2019
I shall let you go now –
you were but a lucid dream;
a plume of fantasies
I exhaled in a lurch of longing.

Let me say goodbye
before I forget… to miss you.
Darling, you were the knife
I used to cut through
this long nursed ache that is life.
Deb Jones Dec 2018
She sat at her desk
Silhouetted in black and white
Sipping from a highball glass
A cigarette in a long
Jade holder, stained dark
Crimson from her
Perfectly painted lips
Burning to ash
That is tapped
Toward the ashtray
But without fail falls to the floor
She scratches out words
Seldom taking a break
She is so full of emotions
She doesn’t have to even think
The intense hurt
The hot feeling of shame
The ice that is even now
Starting to encase her heart
And so much more
Poured out onto
Rich white cotton paper
Using a feathered nib
With a short squat bottle of ink
She writes so fast the pages
Fill with her fiery pain.
And the writing helps
Cool her hurt
Even as the tears trickle down
Her beautiful face
In these moments of pain
Her face is laid bare
But that doesn’t detract
From her beauty
Her seemingly poreless face.
She finally sets the pen
In its inkwell.
Her cigarette in the ashtray
As she sits back
In her brocaded seat
Her silhouette now
Is diminished
As if her words carried weight
That is now
Transferred to paper
She rests for a moment.
Before going to bed
She really does feel lighter
After everything is said.
Such is our poets of old
Defined by words
I never take any poetry
For granted
I too want to obtain absolution
In my words.
From my words
OV Dec 2018
She screams and begs for mercy
Bleeding on the floor
The world stops, now she moves on
reverse haiku. Think of this in a Noir movie vibe. Not many words exchanged. Just sweet amd to the point.
noir Dec 2018
Black raindrops
Dyeing everything they touch
In a delicious shade of sadness
Even the roses
Drawing life from everything they touch
Recollections of the days we have lost
They’ve all left us
We too shall drown
Drown in our raindrops and roses
That’s all we’re given
And it’s all we have
The clouds
As we stand
Bullet in hand
Will I become the rose
Or will you?
part one of three in a series i´m yet to name
any ideas?
M Solav Sep 2018
La porte qui claque
A creusé un trou
Plus noir que noir
Dans le silence
De ta mémoire.

Le silence qui frappe -
Qui luit partout -
Quand vient le soir,
Il plaie les panses
Et te rend fou.

Les plaies ouvertes
Se taisent et pleurent;
Le vacarme discret
Te couvre de secousses
Et disparaît.

Enveloppé dans tes draps,
La lumière devenue ligne,
Une porte entre-ouverte -
Tu voudrais qu'elle t’explique
Cet état d'alerte.

Le temps fait violence
Mais s'apaise comme le vent.
Très vite tu t'endors,
Et les mots se font tendre
Arrivé à bon port.

La veille se couvre d'un voile
Enroulé sur tes nuits.
Toujours l'éclat de noirceur
Qui alors t'attaqua
Luira sur ta vie.
Écrit en janvier 2018.

— Droits d'auteur © M. Solav —
Cette oeuvre ne peut être utilisée ni en partie ni dans son intégrité sans l'accord préalable de l'auteur. Veuillez s'il vous plaît contacter pour toute requête d'usage. Merci beaucoup.
Next page