"bareness" poems
As night falls, the air thickens
her pulse races and his pulse quickens
the depths of their thoughts rise to the surface
her body language speaking tongues
their eyes contact and the translation is done
his soul listens
heart beating fast
flesh burning like a furnace
flame lasting longer than they last
lust coursing through her body's viens
like lava melting a porous surface
her window panes with purpose
as their bodies join like cursive
bulging with awareness
his presence is her nearness
their bareness
flipping her world
altering her state of mind
impulse triggerin pulse
a his embrace
tightens
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 4:10 PM UTC
Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
intolerable shame
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
lidless eye
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
song
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong
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To touch her nakedness with my own
was to take our most human moment
and suspend it higher than the stars
where human beings had no right to be.
To kiss her while we met in bareness
was to transcend our humanity
and in our most ****** pleasure
feel totally unconfined freedom.
To make love with nothing between us
was to make humans’ humanity
and have the two come alive as one
where life itself is understatement.
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC
Your stars glimmers
Belching, wrenching
Exposing my ethnic aura
A tape of heavenly bliss
The acoustic rhythm
Essentially subliminal
Satiably insatiable
Tracked traces covered
Your tree branching out
Railing through my bark
My bosoms blossoming
Tip-toe to my bareness
Your entirely arousing
A summation of beauty
A firefly to enlighten
Encased within to liven
A body I hold twinkles
Whistle magnetic presence
Sprinkle my mind to entwine
Assign your soul peacefully
A might, a light at sight
A whole in me,a one in you
Pluck, nip,smash,trap,stash
In dreamscapes and reality
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
a railway station with just
three people in it
and you just
walked by
through
one
alone
in bed
with nobody
but you, why
is your breathing
so quiet? please.
and if you want to
then stand up to
walk out and
leave and
return
seeing slow
and pardoning
the bareness of
a new and very red
sunrise
sometimes
I watch it &
I wish you were
dead. but then it
comes up all the
way and I know
that I'm the one
I wish was dead.
and washed back down
to those dead ones
to sit and wait
and whittle my
patience down
so far as
here
Sep 16, 2010
Sep 16, 2010 at 8:09 PM UTC
I want you in your purest form
celebrate your freedom, Goddess
because
what's the perfect gift, if its never been unwrapped?
maintaining my composure
only to align my truths with your contour
see, I prefer you **** and clothed at the same time
Bare it all to me
without removing a single article of clothing
reveal to me
those beautiful scars
that you got centuries ago
although
they never fully healed at all
Guide me to those beauty marks in the most unseen places
until now
I Imagine myself
carefully kissing careless bruises
left by shameless past lovers
Be real **** for me
no where to hide secrets when you're completely naked
There is a canvas between your thighs
it brings out the artist in me
and the art of your naked soul attracts me
to want to know more
Sentiments of what you've learn to conceal
from others
you show to me
transparency in your bareness
as you impose
fearlessly
carelessly
freely
fluently
in your 'NUDITY'
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
Please O' Lord
Don't let this consume me
This burning urge to do injustices
To violate her sheets
To desecrate her temple
God Almighty
What a beautiful temple you've made
Carved to perfection, it entices me
How can I resist this temptation?
She is my every craving
Tell me Dear Lord
Is it wrong for me to admire your art?
To gaze upon the bareness of her walls
Feel the thickness in her stature
And if So...
forgive me Father
For I can no longer restrain my hands
My tongue can't stay in its cage
My body can not be with out hers
She must be consumed by me
By My lust
~Corona Harris~
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
While having a heart to heart one night,
My friend informs me that as a straight person, I will never understand what it's like to be closeted.
That there is a reason people understand the term "gay suicide" without context,
That love looked like moth wings that would flutter away or wither at touch,
That the secrets and shame are like locks on the door from the outside and you realize that there is no one out there with a key.
That same friend once asked me if I've ever thought about joining a nudist colony.
She said that the comfort I find in my own skin and my ability to separate naked bodies from beds was admirable.
I told her, there was a reason I never read her my poetry.
I told her, I don't wear make up at Wal-Mart.
That I turn off the lights but still let him love me.
I read to estranged ears.
That bareness was something I would never grow into.
"Darling!" I told her, "there are some things you just aren't meant to see."
I have been truth-or-dared to strip naked, and its not as easy as you might believe.
There is a little something that sits at the back of my mind I like to call "modesty."
Modesty can be defined as the quality or state of being unassuming or limited in the estimation of one's abilities.
"Darling," I wanted to tell her, "You have no idea what these hands are capable of."
There was a time I was proud of that.
They were small and feeble, but holding a blade firm they became strong.
They became what I needed.
My skin became less of a barrier and more of a costume. When I slipped it on, I became original.
I became identified, if only to myself.
The scabs were a serial number the First World girl who was a little too white,
a little too straight,
and a little too doubtful could call her own.
But I was a little too weak,
and a little too lonely
and had a little too much time on my hands to wrap around the knife.
They became my drug. I became a liar.
My skin became an apology for everything I thought you should blame me for.
There was a time I would have done anything to show you, but I have always been a performer.
No one ever asked to see the curtains close.
My friend told me that I would never understand what it's like to be closeted.
That secrets and shame are like locks on the door from the outside and you realize that there is no one out there with a key.
The tally of every moment I'm locked in is a timeline of my mistakes, visible on my own skin.
There are some things you just aren't meant to see.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
kiss me -
the bareness of my neck
the fragility of my collars
trace me -
the curl of my ear
the geometry of my spine
choose me -
over &
over
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Bare feet scuttle around on marbled floors
Painting muddy footprints on the white canvas.
Onlookers walk by in disgust, their noses in
The air as they click their heels in an effort
To avoid the unbecoming scene before them.
The feet are callused and shred, imprints of
Pebbles forever etched into the raw flesh
Of their nakedness. Was it worth it?
Yes. It should be.
It will be.
The gritty pavement is as hot as the
Sun, a burning star, a supernova lifetimes
Away. Their yellowed teeth are clenched tightly;
They are determined to stand despite the furious
Pain slowly eating its way into the
Soles of their feet.
Many scars and scratches from roads they have
Traveled are scattered across the bareness;
They are proud, for it is their art,
That is the measurement
Of their life.
At last, the final goodbye from the scorching day
Kisses their heads in a bittersweet farewell
And You see them smiling in the dark,
Blue eyes glowing with a brilliance You have
Never seen before. They are eager to
Run with their bare, misshapen feet
And jump with all their strength into the
Watery depths below.
You look around.
They are splashing in the waves,
The cool ocean soothing the pains
Of the day.
The corner of Your lip upturns with
A hint of a smile.
This is how they live.
And this is who they are.
Who then are you going to be?
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Long ago,
I remember,
we paid the lone-guard
twenty pesos apiece
to camp on
top of the temple,
to experience
something cosmic.
And after he left,
we stripped down
to our bareness
& kissed under
the milky-stars
with howlers squealing
a backdrop melody.
I lost myself that night.
Tracing your lips with my tongue,
I felt the cool jungle air
swirling around us,
you did not fight me
as I melted inside you.
I swear the jaguars
rejoiced that night,
as we had rekindled
the acts of the sacred gods.
It was more than cosmic,
more than stellar,
I felt the poles shift
our hearts.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
There were not many at that lonely place,
Where two scourged hills met in a little plain.
The wind cried loud in gusts, then low again.
Three pines strained darkly, runners in a race
Unseen by any. Toward the further woods
A dim harsh noise of voices rose and ceased.
--We were most silent in those solitudes--
Then, sudden as a flame, the black-robed priest,
The clotted earth piled roughly up about
The hacked red oblong of the new-made thing,
Short words in swordlike Latin--and a rout
Of dreams most impotent, unwearying.
Then, like a blind door shut on a carouse,
The terrible bareness of the soul's last house.
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Flick of the wrist
Let your life
Sneak from your
Veins
Streaming into
Night
Dreams are dying
Everyone's lying
About the end
When eyelids flutter
And
Lungs collapse
With a gentle swoosh
All you have
Are starry skies
In the tranquility of red
In the bareness of white
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
1. Take care of your teeth and gums
Brush & floss, everyday (Seriously)
Keep your teeth, if at all possible.
They are your very own precious Ivory.
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2. a. Eat well. Do not deny your body
nourishment. Gals, you will want a nice
set of ***** Trust me...eat.
b, Try to not put on too much extra weight.
(no judgement here) Just that it is very
hard on your body. Ridiculously
difficult to lose when you're older.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
3. Love the skin you live within. Try not to
bake your bareness too long in the sun,
or burn your precious epidermis.
Cleanse, exfoliate. Most of all, drink plenty of water and moisturize, moisturize, moisturize
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
4. Hang on to all of your bones.
You will miss them when they are gone
Take care of your hands, neck, hips and knees.
Once your joints wear out, it's a total ******
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
5. Keep movin' and groovin'.
If you stay still too long, you will get stuck
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
6. Find the humor in everything. It is there!
All of life's lessons placed before you.
When all else fails, you can laugh about it.
(Trust Me. Your going to need this one)
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
~Christi Michaels~May 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
Is passion a virtue?
A passion that ingests my inside
The bareness exposed emotions
The slow graphic censorship
A depiction of Zion on earth
A deception ranting with wars
Is dedication a virtue?
A definition of a hard felt path
Preserved with heartfelt zeal
An ember that ceases and glows
Triggered touch of perseverance
Till death does you part in parts
Self restraint for one another
Dedicated to fulfil a purpose
Quests of alternative borders
Armoured in armed negations
Negotiations negative dominion
Should we control sensuality?
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December’s bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer’s time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widowed wombs after their lords’ decease:
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit,
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute.
Or, if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.
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At the first rumble of the thunder
You threw me to the grass
Kissing me deeply,
You knew you did not even have to ask
At the second dribble of rain
Your strong hands ripped my shirt
Stroking me softly,
I clawed at the cold, hydrated dirt
At the third strike of bright lightning
You smiled at my body
Thanking me sweetly,
Our bareness was anything but gaudy
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting Time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there,
Sap checked with frost and ***** leaves quite gone,
Beauty o’ersnowed and bareness everywhere.
Then, were not summer’s distillation left
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.
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You and I…
We could amuse ourselves
With a pocket-sized butane flicker,
A tall, jagged promontory,
A slip of favorite this-or-that,
Or a jubilant burst of notes.
Equipped with the bareness of life
- Hands, tongues, breath, stars-
We could still have everything.
You just don’t know it yet.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
She raised you, and gave you all she had
You did not listen
She was not overbearing
But she needed your bareness
The awareness
You lost long ago
She let you go into the wild, to make your own choices
Even if those choices mean her death
Knife in your hand with garlic breath
Joyous in the ****
Veiled violent negligence
Oblivious malevolence
Your innocent eyes
Red tinted, devilish yet despondent
Pontificate of poison
A laughing fat hedon
Crying now for pardon
But you will never **** her. She is bigger than you
Mother doesn't care
She will break you without blinking
She is Pandora and soon you will know
How hot the soil scorches, and how hard the wind may blow
Nov 21, 2021
Nov 21, 2021 at 8:03 PM UTC
In bareness life sheds
Melting our essences
To fear our termination
In caskets it all ends
In excess life mends
A regeneration read
Generations transpired
For eons we existed
In neutral life tends
Unscripted to rest
Reassessed to subsist
Repressed to matter
Thou shan't fear death
Embraceth thine destiny
Immortalised in shrines
Till the universe climaxes
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
I, stand before him
poised in bareness;
his bristles, he dips
upon his palette to
color me, in passion
upon canvas
in artistic eyes;
his smile beckons
and unravels my
composure, eliciting
his brush to paint
hidden sensuality
in demureness
his brush tantalizes;
a flick of his wrist
dabs upon canvas
stroking curve after
curve, as if, caressing
my frame, the look in
his eyes reveals;
charcoal etchings
of his cupidity,
coveting lust
pantomiming
intentions upon his
canvas; his thoughts
flow from fingers to
brush, brush to palette,
palette to canvas; in
his mind's eye hunger
unfolds, as I, in turn
invite him to partake
of his artistic craving
to taste his own art
with each brush stroke
savoring my essence
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC
While standing in the line to get inside,
the rain makes a surprise appearance
this may be one of the few time I don't mind it
I remember the first tuesday spent here
when my Chicago soul ended up on a Los Angeles street at the recommendation of a new friend and then
somehow ended up on stage
I don't recall details like I should but
the eager racing of my heart every time I walk through the door speaks volumes, says I know why you feel the way you do
that moment of hearing myself speak for the first time is still new
on the nights like this where I don't read
I still feel an energy that reminds me of a certain comfort
my hands still shake through the excitement of just existing
my stomach, a drain of stories, was used to swallowing whole without chewing
this is where I learned how to digest my past
I trade smiles with strangers who are just realizing their ability to do the same
if you were to ask anyone who has ever sat on this stage, in these seats, why they choose to join this cluttered convention of hearts in such a small space,
they would probably pause,
smile and answer something along the crooked lines of,
"you just have to be there to understand"
and you do
there is a magic in the air that you can't bottle
instead you hold your breath through a busy week to
make it to the next
in order to experience it again
there is no language that could describe this place where
we each speak our own yet somehow
still understand each other
this is the place I cannot put an adjective to,
there is no metaphor for what experience can offer
this is the place where my cheeks turn fire in the best way possible
the rhythm of my chest is faster than it is in fear, unexplainable
this is where my tuesday night becomes weekend
this is where my empty becomes whole
this is where Yesika forms full moons with her words and the softness of her voice echoes against the hollow of the theatre lights
this is where the power of black stories remind my whiteness how necessary vocality is
this is where I found myself bare under a spotlight for the first time over a year ago and
this is where I discovered that bareness doesn't have to be a bad thing
I know how it sounds
sitting on a stage in a dim room with strangers
listening for an hour and a half to a story that isn't yours but
the best way to find yourself is in the words of another
this is where I find myself
again and again
this is where I come whenever I am lost
If you were to ask me why
I could only say
you just have to be there
to understand.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
i'll always love you like you were the fullest sunlight laid gently on the dark bruises of december. my crystalline hands are bound to start wildfires in your name. and finally when the world burns down, i'll mark your spine with these lips made of sunburnt flowers. in the ruins of it all, you still have all my misguided kisses — all my unbidden words. i'll always love you, until azaleas grow on the softest spots, in the mundane collision of our bodies. i'll always love you, until my ribs fall apart to your autumn eyes, like a babylonian temple that has seen the miracles of god. i'll always love you — in state of both madness and kalopsia. in the explosion and rebirth of the stars. i'll always love you — this is my bareness in the most prosaical state. this is my constant, darling — this is my truth.
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 3:29 AM UTC
With all my heart I wish I could think with just my brain.
I wish emotions were easily controlled,
Like the wind
sometimes.
Harness its raw power and turn it into a type of energy that's pure,
Cleansing to the world.
But I guess there are tornadoes,
Who funnel into one destructive force,
Tearing down everything that was supposed to be permanent and leaving behind nothing
except a trail of desolate bareness littered with broken everything.
And then there's the hurricane.
The power and area it covers is immense, effectively covering everything in a dark shadow
and flooding the area.
In the center is the ebony hearth of the storm, the monster swirling around indefinitely,
whispering promises of catastrophe.
And no one is there to stop it,
Because everyone's already evacuated to somewhere more convenient.
Everyone's already moved on,
before the waters could flow and the hurricane could fully develop...
I hate when my heart starts
sk ip pi ng
At the prospects of idealism, for dreams
Are sometimes not the logical choice but what is life without interest?
Disappointment is something I'm used to
In society,
In everyone's expectations,
in myself.
Why is the heart so painful?
Why is something that is so essential to life so easily ripped apart?
Why is mine always leading me in the direction my brain knows is wrong?
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC