"anklet" poems
pretty pearl anklet
adorning your foot
tiara crown
princess ***** cow
all dressed up in a dark red
cherry sequined
come **** me dress
black lacquered nails
body beautiful prepped
for ordeal by gang bang
and pretty girl strangle
torture blood ****
wiggle wiggle
**** pink aglow
glistening hive
your mouth piece
bilingual
fucky and baby talk
all manicured and bejeweled
glitter and tears
***** food
inch worm lover
little bludgeon
your excited
for a bed of nails
what a luxury
legs spread wide
***** drool melt
your scent
a silk **** cocktail
in thick puce
stained pink milk pom poms
****** beyond tabulation
come sweet cow
its time for slaughter
down on your haunches
you look up
thrilled
dark dreams do come true
i love you
like the bog loves bones
embalmed in spice
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
girls like you
deserve a love that
always feels
like summer,
a love that
sings like waves against the sand
feels like freckles and anklet tanlines
smells like sunscreen and
Mackinac Island Fudge
dripping down your chin—
a love that never ends
like those rays of sun that
spray over Lake Michigan
and tickle heaven.
you part your lips
to speak and
just like that
my world
becomes
lyrical—
dipping and twisting
like a kite in the sky
flowing freely like
your baby hairs coming
out of your braid,
like your laugh as it
echoes down the
quiet shoreline,
around the chambers
of my soul.
girls like you
deserve a love that
always feels
like summer—
I pray that
your summer
never ends.
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 9:35 PM UTC
That's not an anklet,
It's a ball and chain,
It might look pretty,
But it has you trapped.
The longer you wear it,
The deeper the scar,
The darker the bruise,
Just remember, in your hand,
You have the key.
It's never too late to get out.
-Jamie F. Nugent.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
Unicorn Moments
It was Maundy Thursday, an afternoon so lazy
the words of the passion could sink hardly
for my eyes were on the beading tray
the unfinished bracelet was now awry
off and on, i kept stringing
the garnet rounds and pearls kept falling
no more tiny brass rings to string in between
i had to think of other ways...something
also had to wash away the gray feeling.
Searched inside my bedroom drawers
and found silver flower spacers!
i gloried at the thought of finishing two bracelets
three, more, maybe even an anklet!
Three, four hours had passed, i was so exhausted
i had already showered
the whole bathroom was spotless,
smelling of ^Pandan leaves^ and flowers,
i was so delighted!
Outside the bathroom door, i stopped
spotted the shiny silver spacers! on the bed, i almost dropped
the silence was too loud, i couldn't stand the spacers' glare,
nothing to say, nothing to offer... just a stare...
"No! no way!
i'm fine, i'm okay!"
was that my voice that gave me away?
moment of truth could never be held at bay...
I held the cable wire to start beading
but body and mind were one...refusing
my fingers were limp...a bit trembling
tired, from too much scrubbing.
My finger traces the head of my unicorn figurine
God knows, i have loved this magical creature ever since
but, i'm not sure i even like these new visitors, these
unicorn moments,
they don't come often,
yet, they're bound to happen.
oh, well....i guess i have to be a bit bolder
accept these changes that come with growing older...
when this happens, i try to joke and laugh,
and then people say......."you're tough!"
i answer them with a smile...and a gruff!
Sally
Copyright April 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:02 AM UTC
~
*Rain drops falling into water
Creates the sounds of ripples
As when she dancing
Hearing the Sound of anklet
Words are floating in the words of many
Could make pain,
Tunes of despair
When the rain drops falling into tunes,
Randomly
Dances of waves overflowing,
Rolling on the shore of Sea
Play the melody with the words
The Soul could leap
But that is not raining in the desert
On top of hot sand
The sand storm flowing
Building sand dunes
Could hide
But can't survive
Empty thirsty mind seeking Oasis
If not yet found
Find Lives
Restless heart
Void
Word out
Seeking love
Looping to look at dreams
With the gravity of love
In another way
In any other day's
@Musfiq us shaleheen*
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
She is like flowers
Or flowers are like her ?.
Curved lips of her
Or the rose petals.
Waving hair beneath her ear
Or the butterfly trying to settle.
Shining eyes of her
Or the waterdrop that scatters.
Sparking Earings
Or Sun's fragment that glitters.
She is like flowers
Or Flowers are like her ?.
My dreams break
As the Sun rises up from ground
I Meet to her
Or her thoughts, that surround.
Are they morning birds
Or her anklet that sounds
Has the spring arrived
Or she is somewhere around.
She is like flowers
Or flowers are like her?
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
I am a silent scream. My soul
Spits at broken glass hanging from the wilting sun
And the moon colors it a glowing red.
A red like the ruby of my lips as I dream they would be;
White dress, ruby lips, black silk lining the inside of my coffin.
Pages of photos litter the ground and
People kick them. Step on them. Those were my memories,
The visions I had, and the world I wanted to live in.
The dust and grime erase the ink and leave
Blackened footprints over the things I once remembered.
The memories were erased, like a sentence in a diary.
Verses written on the page and similes
Raining among the mind of the writer.
And the inspiration is gone.
A blank page replaces the one with images dancing across the ink.
A chill spirals in from the open window and the moon shining
Across the expanse of city lights and fire.
A melancholy sound radiates from the belly of a cat
Perched on the roof of an abandoned house.
The girl is there with her star charm anklet, bolts
And screws still loose in her joints.
Her doctor never came to fix her. She is still as broken as a glass slipper.
Her new hideout devoid of mold and charcoal, but filled with
Tears and memories of the pain lived there.
She reads it.
She find similes in the haunted parts,
Sees the tears as currents in a river
And views the poetry written like leaves in the wind.
Yet everything is dead.
And everything was a dream.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
.
Silver charms on an anklet ******
as her foot stamps down once,
crossed dainty in front of the other,
and her hands start a slow ascent.
From hips up into the air
in the nonchalant action of the flame,
arcing a half circle about her waist
she turns to face the assembled crowd.
A tabla starts a sleepy beat
and the sitar player awakens,
or returns from a meditation,
readying himself for his introduction,
to blend a melody of the Moon
with the woven movements of dance.
The beat increases and four taps
signal a change in the rhythm.
The following note is punctuated
by the tinkling of the charms
and the first strum of the sitar,
sending music to the starry sky.
And her hips sway in gentle waves
as her hands mimic the lotus flower
in cups of dreams above her head,
and the anklets jangle a soothing sound.
The wrists twist and move graceful,
delightfully twinned with the neck of a swan,
and her body sways like a leaf in the wind
to the melody from ages past.
The tabla starts a frantic beat
as the sitar player lets fly,
his new unrestrained chords
dilute the night with ecstasy.
And she dances in her trance,
skin shining with the dew of reflected joy,
her lithe body telling the story
that began before the dawn of time.
A crescendo summons the dance to end
and silence fills the void,
but far into the deep dark night
silver charms on an anklet ******
© Pagan Paul (01/09/17)
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 7:04 AM UTC
The Moon searches out the night
During the day sits in the background
Probably knitting a scarf of clouds
Pick one drop one, Cirrus follow by Cumulus
Allowing the Sun it’s all day brilliance
At night trumping all that coloured time
With a soft monochrome thrill
Wrapped in its unravelling grey black scarf
Bit of a night owl our Moon
Throws quite a few shapes
During it’s month
Revealing a little Edwardian anklet
And then to tantalise
Following with its full scandalous magnificence
A bit of a flirt our lovely Moon.
Our Moon has many beautiful scarfs
Holding hands and touch shoulders scarf
Or soft hand on the cheek while lips meet scarf
Hide under here together and pretend we are alone scarf
Let’s do something mad and feed the ducks at night scarf
And that warm promise don’t break my heart scarf
Bit of a romantic our lunatic moon.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
It was when the anklet started fraying,
When I knew you’d never come back.
Maybe you’re body will return,
But you are lost,
And I am broken.
We weren’t always.
You were a psychology major,
And I worked at a deli.
We filled our daily mochas
With ignorance,
But of course,
It was topped with whipped bliss that was creamy and sweet and rolled down my throat like lava drooping down its volcanic fortress.
I rather be sick of you
Than missing you.
I can’t forget the turnover I felt
When the illuminating dancing flower maids in the streets of Boston turned gray.
You’re news stomped out,
They slapped me hard,
They grabbed you by your luscious mane
And dragged you away.
I know as time gets older it grows people out of shells,
Forcing their old skin to remain behind,
For it no longer has a purpose,
But I never thought your fresh soul
Would shed off your anklet too.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
She who is the agent of chaos
Knows not why she does dance
Shyly she poised on her tiptoes, bare
When I saw her just by chance
She, my Shiva dances atop the highest of the Himalayas
Humming and hoping I watch alone from below
And I wonder - how does the dust feel betwixt her toes?
How does this earth resist from swallowing her whole?
***** a compass, she traces to encompass
A circumference within which she does reside
There, she spins, twirls, pirouettes a vortex
And the dust obscures her from my salacious sight
But I can still hear her
Blinded by the grit and deafened by the gale
I hopelessly follow the sounds of her anklet bells
But to scale these peaks with my bare hands, I slip, I fail
And fall forever into her infinite fractal spells
A feather, I drift towards her fictional siren calls
Travelling through echoes of silence and spectre
She punctuates her poses in the shape of question marks
Interrogating me, when she knows I cannot help but surrender
Who are you I ask, my agent of chaos?
Mute and vengeful she turns to strike like a cobra
With one blow she breaks her own spell
And refracts her remnants from fractal to mirror
She who is the agent of chaos
Danced a waltz upon my throat
Speechless and breathless I was rendered lame
But he knew it’s really all the same
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
i bow
to the dark one,
hued like the rain bearing cloud,
who adorns this universe as his anklet.
that deep hum,
in the cosmic backdrop
his outgoing breath
dulcet tunes
from his golden flute,
the gravitational field
binding our Milky Way.
salutations to the unborn one,
who’s also the eternally playful one.
karma keeper of the cosmos,
bearer of the mountain of human pain!
© 2022
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 10:22 AM UTC
We love this wide open grass lands,
the prankster brook running through the middle,
clanging its anklet bells,
jack trees, bearing fruits, happy
spreading sweet smell in the air,
silver bellied fish, jumping up from water,
just to show how mirthful water life is,
swirling wind that hums a tune
and changes the coconut grove,
to a group of lissome girls dancing as if possessed.
I love your gentle eyes , probing my soul deep,
talking eloquently without words
finding a new language only we can claim our own,
the setting sun's good bye to the hillside,
sudden appearance of a million stars, a symphony of light,
all over the eastern sky,
your long, garrulous fingers speaking with my eager fingers,
**your full luscious lips, giving me lingering, therapeutic kiss,
the way we walked side by side, inebriated by the seasoned wine of love,
and how we decided that night we'd cross all the limits. and find the treasure.**
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
i heard you treasure your anklet,
to lose it you won't let,
in that case, I wanna be that bracelet,
that you'll never forget
you say you love this band,
though I do not really understand.
but if you demand,
I'll let myself be ******
and you tell you like your coffee
with a little side of berry,
if so let me be your cherry
if only you just let me.
true enough I liked you first,
these feelings perhaps are cursed.
however even in your worst,
i'd still wanna be yours.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
~
Sounds are making an impact on metaphors
dropping slight rain on the flowing river,
very winds are playing with water,
Sometimes reminiscent echoes
Lost days
Restless Night's Story
Mystic Songs,
Again returning the portrait of thy face
Hear the echoes of the enigma
melodies of anklet
The sounds of the doors of an old house,
The glory stormy night, surrounded by mystery
Alone
repeatedly thundering
Follow thy footprints,
Searching silently
between the times colliding
pushed each other,
Tunes
Shakes
bit to bit dilation
whispering the words within the flows
wind of banner murmuring
through the memories
dark playing with light
Continuous the wind blowing
Clouds moving
You have hidden in the shadows
Black and white mingling,
In the changing light
Colors tinting
Your forms amazing
Clouds rafting
See with steadfast gaze
Have grown tired in the dreams
But can't catch up thy
~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
O black beauty !
o wayfarer, unaware of destiny !
anguish,how long ?
like an ancient river challenging the stars?
come, come with me
will collect the shells of dreams
quench our quest of melancholy
going to loose nothing, come!
at all , will rest in the ocean of time
will copulate with harmony
when the thoughts of beloved are sown in my body
the wisdom of passion spreads like moonlight,
when the grim reaper smiles
glittering memories and tears are left on shore,
when the fallen leaf sounds like her anklet
the belief of spring and faith of life are restored
come, come along with me....
o black beauty !
under this moon only
siddharth became buddha
in the lap of this moon only
omar khayyam tasted the nectar
the same moon
i am walking holding you under the same moon !
o black beauty !
the ancient wayfarer !
come, come with me.....
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
A dead body I met, she was someone who everyone did forget,
Whenever she complained, the only thing she did later was regret .
Her eyes had grown tired of being wet, thus decided not to weep,
A day for her was hard to realize, that sun did set, without eye's wept.
Horrified with being happy, that night she couldn't sleep,
Her past was dangerous, was mysterious , exactly like her, every layer deep.
She was helpless, she was hopeless, she was direction-less
She even was lifeless,i saw and turned depress and she in my mind did creep..
There were so many cuts on her body, yet it seemed section- less..
She knew what was right and what was wrong, yet she was action -less .
She had been stuck with some disgrace, was visible on her face,
Her simplicity in a complex world, seemed aimless,
It wasn't painless, but because she didn't want to part of a race,
She wore an anklet, made up of needles and lace,
With the caption "77", as her dead body's grace..
I wanted to console her, but before that she was gone,
**** these winters, I had turned this idiotic hot shower on ..
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
~~
The period that peaked
The blanket has become cold
Night has grown bigger,
Eclipsed the Sun,
Elusive moon
In the fog
Obsessed near by men
Dew drops,
As the deep feelings
On the roof
Of the Tin
Imagination draws
The images of Springtime
As if as a smile of mother's
As the bright day,
Peacock unrolls feather
Rain dancing on the horizon
Desire words of
The poetry
Drops as the raindrops
Sound of anklet breaks
The Silence
On the outskirts of the
Bird's chirp
The swing rhythm
In the first song of the morning
Poet arouses
In search of the New Poetry
~~
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
Many days,
Poetry will not coax me out of my stupor
with the zest of a child
on the first day of summer.
Many days,
she will not make a sound
as she runs through a house
made of my words - no anklet tinkling against silvery feet,
no soft swishes of her dupatta across the sofa.
Many days,
Poetry would like to leave me alone
- in my home of rust and rubble,
in the middle of technicolour trouble,
me surrounded by blunt edges
of half-chipped words,
half-baked rhythm (never rhyme), half-sighed syllables onto blank paper.
Many days,
Poetry sees me accept complete defeat,
with art gathering dust
in the pages of notebooks that will never need filling,
with pens that will never be picked up, with ideas that will never be strung into a poem.
And yet here I am.
Picking up frayed string ends,
trying to tie them into a verse,
to leave it on the first shelf for her
to hopefully pick up.
It might be time for Poetry
to take 29 slowstumblingstuttering steps towards me,
this is me taking the first.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
Across the sea
safe in a case
was brought to me
a trinket.
a silver thread
enwrought with
starlets
of pretty pink and silver
it liked my tan
and formed a decorative band
around my ankle
a suitable occasion
and my anklet embraced
its moment of recognition.
we abandoned our plans
and headed for the polluted shores
our feet in first
then our knees
the sea water lapped and lapped
at once i felt
a significant snap!
i picked it up
and hid it in my blackening bag.
that night i celebrated without my anklet
my chain was loose
my foot was free
I crossed boundaries into deeper sands
sands that sank
conveniently forgetting
my glimmering chain
shut up in my blackening bag
my free foot sank and sank
the harder i climbed the deeper it bore
until i was completely engulfed
suffocating
the air is clear now
no grains of sand to grind my skin
i found my anklet
my broken anklet
and latched it on
with a safety pin.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
dance of the onions
peeling layers one by one
amid sighs, whispers
enchanting melodies of
a 3000 year old song
finger cymbals chime
anklet's bells jingle their tale
incense and perfume
pastel colored veils swirling
hips gyrating and thrusting
her face is unseen
hidden in a mist of clouds
in a moonless sky
stars twinkling in her navel
as she moves to the music
longing beyond lust
she is dancing on my heart
but just out of reach
as if it were all a dream
inspired by night jasmine
Del Maximo
© August 24, 2009
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 4:28 PM UTC
4/26/21
Dear Mike,
Do you still love me? Because when you said you wouldn't have enough time for a relationship, and that it was unfair to me, I believed you. It was difficult as first, but I started to move on, and get better. I was happy and felt as if I could handle a relationship. But then I found out that you had a new girlfriend. And it broke me. I was upset, confused, and sad. I didn't understand how you could make time for her but not for me. I thought to myself, "Why am I not good enough? How and why is she better than me?" And then I found out that she wrote a book, and that hurt even more, because you know that I write.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize that the breakup was one-sided. You broke up with me, and I convinced myself that it was mutual. So now I'm sitting here thinkng, was she one of the reasons we broke up? Did you not want to be with me anymore? And Mike, did you ever try to reach out to me? Because I don't think you did. At least, it doesn't feel like you did. And what hurts even more is that I still love you. And if you asked me to be your girlfriend, I would say yes without any hesitation. I didn't get any closure, and so far, all it's done is hurt me. I still keep the polaroids in a box under my bed, along with everthing else that I wrote for/about you, and the matching anklet. Do you still wear yours? Or did you throw it away when you started dating her? Do you still keep out the painting that I made for you? Do you wish deep down that you still had a picture of us together?
Or do you regret dating me? Do you regret loving me? When did you move on? Was it easy? Or did you cry yourself to sleep most nights? Is she a rebound, or do you really love her? Did you talk about your future together like you did with me? What about the wedding, or baby names, or where you two would live? Did you talk about college with her, and how you would stick together through it all? Because I know that we talked about all of those things. I remember all of those conversations. I remember when I got a panic attack and we went on a walk in the middle of the night and played with lego figurines and ate goldfish and slept on your trampoline. I remember when I would start crying and you would just hold me. I remember how deeply in love we were. Do you?
I'm thinking about publishing my poetry, by the way.
Love, Em
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 4:16 PM UTC
Tiny explosions along a diamond anklet
That wraps a tender, tan leg like water
Princess of beach religion
Slow motion dazzling beauty
Tossing sand-confetti
Her girlfriends run towards the sprinkling cascade
With satin action
Acting like satin
Tribe of water-brides
Oceanic fan club of sparkling lust
Discreet danger possible only in slow jewel worship
Prince of glamorous indifference
Reclines in the branches of a shiny glass tree
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
princess
you look so innocent
so sweet
wearing your dress
bare feet
painted nails
an anklet
clean
fresh
fertile
an angel
a nymph
let daddy touch
kiss your kitten
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 9:07 PM UTC