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howard brace Jan 2013
Despite repeatedly shaking her pincer... much as a sprightly pensioner might brandish a furled umbrella at a grappling contestant, currently being boo'd at in the red corner... the baby crab stamped her foot in annoyance as she glowered at every passing wave that rolled along the shoreline.  In absolving herself of any guilt she may have felt over her prolonged excursion, she had become, even further marooned by a failure to catch a succession of tides back home, an oversight she later confessed, to observe local tide-tables in 'Old More's Almanac...' on sale in all discerning book shops and selected High Street newsagents, priced 10/6d... for unless fluent in the Russian vernacular, it was just about as articulate to the little crab as a map of the Moscow Metro during a blackout, only to have the Rouble finally drop with a throat gagging 'Gaaargh...' clunk, that you were currently standing on the down-line platform, when you should've been stood on the up... as the last train lurched unsteadily out of the station whistling a jubilant entente cordiale... 'wish me luck as you wave me dasvidaniya'.

     Still stamping her foot, only now in strict rotation with the other seven, the baby crustacean peered out from beneath the shade of the large pebble, rearing its bulk out of the rockpool like a lollypop-lady's 'STOP'!!! sign, her beady eyes twitching independently, first this way, then the other, cut withering swathes through every cardinal point of the compass that didn't duck quite fast enough, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the rock-pool in which she found herself tapping her foot in today, would be no less aquatic as any other rockpool that she may find herself still tapping a foot in tomorrow and that the best course of action was simply to stay-put and take the matter up with the local town council, then petition for additional fare-stages to be implemented... and with the cost of shoe leather at current prices... well, with eight legs to consider it would make savings that weren't to be sneezed at.  

     It wasn't everyday of the week that a young and upwardly mobile baby crustacean had occasion to move both up-market and down the beach, all in the same mouthful... and into what could only be regarded as a desirable, detached beachfront property, a rock-pool of distinction with all available mod-cons.  She felt relieved that apart from the occasional day-tripper, who invariably dropped litter wherever they went, that a baby crab of distinction such as herself, was certain to be accepted socially and hob-*** with a new and discerning circle of acquaintances... you only had to take that nice lady earlier in the week, they both seemed to have so much in common... then she would roll up her sleeves and really show the neighbourhood what knitting was all about...  

     With as much enthusiasm as that of a three year old screaming for an ice-cream in the middle of an heat-wave, Red marched up the beach and as far from his wife's waspish tongue as a lame excuse would carry him, heading back towards the growing crush of holidaymaking fathers who were only there presumably, for the sake of their own children, laying siege to the mobile vendor... only this time, having already stood in the same queue ten minutes earlier, now had a sufficiency of funds to purchase that which he'd unsuccessfully queued for the first time.

      After an unspecified time which by his wife's reckoning was grounds for divorce... Red, now laden down with the iced confectionary picked his way through the same throng of fathers who moments earlier had been happily chatting in the queue together, were now enjoying the same berating as the one Red was looking forward to as he made his way back towards the rock pool, juggling more ice-cream than two manly hands could intelligently control... while in a bid for freedom, the rapidly thawing confectionary were hatching plans of their own, ones quite independent from those intended as they embarked upon their meandering exodus, known only to iced creamy desserts on hot sunny days... and into the unknown, roaming across Red's hands and trusting their fate to a far higher authority.

     "Did I mention that I was on a diet" snapped his significant other, as she sat licking pistachios from the melting cornet... "don't you ever listen," secretly smiling to herself... "and you did remember to bring Sockeye's water this morning.. didn't you..!" she continued "someone with half as much sense would've stood it in the rockpool to keep cool, I'm sure the little crab wouldn't have objected..!"   At the mention of his name, Sockeye with ears far too free-lance to ever consider gainful employment of their own, needed no further persuasion and charged straight through the rock-pool to his mistress's side, walloping the thermos flask for a tail whopping six... bringing his personal batting average so far this holiday to a self congratulatory forty not out... and found the baby crab spluttering flat on her back and having second thoughts on any immediate savings in shoe leather were she to stay. 

     Generous to a fault, Sockeye now thought to shower everyone's ice cream with liberal helpings of the seashore as several parasitic irritations had Sockeye hard at work serving eviction notices on some of the more exotic zoology that only a patent Bob Martin's would dare to muscle up to... the local wildlife, by the look on his face were having the time of their lives bivouacked behind his left ear, throwing wild parties and disturbing the peace.  Cross-eyed, it was only while launching a double pronged assault on the latest settlement of interlopers that Sockeye finally succumbed to his injuries and surrendered to a neighbouring sandcastle... it really didn't do to mention a certain name too loudly at times like these, especially when you just happened to be on the receiving end.

     For some strange reason he was undoubtedly in the dog house... they'd shouted at him, which made him sad, all except his little master who had pushed him away... which left him bereft.  Sockeye sat down on dads beach-towel and had a long, thoughtful scratch... where had all the fuss gone? he searched for appreciation their faces... his tail gave one disheartened thump before it stopped... and all those little pieces of ice-cream dipped wafer, which up until now had always appeared as if by magic.  

     Catching sight of one such treat, undoubtedly forgotten by the rock pool, a marauding seagull pulled out of a rolling dive and swooped, at the same instant as two gaping jaws launched themselves skywards... canine jowls quivering bravely in the light sea airs... and not too dissimilar to a heat seeking missile, rose gracefully from the ground to meet it... 'well intercepted..!' as both ears applauded in mid-air... no aerial freeloader was about to skip town with Sockeye's ice cream wafer without paying... leaving one solitary wing flapping its willingness to pay up.

     At least it kept her husband in useful employment Tina decided... and mercifully out from under her feet, as she brushed a fragment of affectionate pistachio from her bikini top... she'd have to  make sure he went for the ices in future... and without the means to pay for them... a mischievous smile turned the corners of her mouth as she leant towards the beach-bag and invested herself with several more juicy grapes... that everyone who fell within her sphere of influence had been warned well away from... under threat of dire consequence... and it would take a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one... she gave her husband who was sitting well within arms reach a caustic glance... and Tina's particular variety of justice had a very long arm indeed.

                                                        ­           ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1297
howard brace Aug 2013
"A leisurely breakfast" their mother would admonish, "aids digestion and builds strong bones..." so what with the imposed inactivity every morning, boredom broken only by Sockeye the family Spaniel, whose want of table manners coincided very conveniently with mealtimes... as he paced restlessly under the table, slobbering indiscriminately in his daily scramble to devour every dangling morsel before supply and demand shut up shop for the night and went home, far tastier... he gobbled down the latest offering of egg white, than the remnants of his own dietary allowance, they just had to get the timing right that was all, or risk loosing a finger, or gaining one depending upon who was doing the dangling, or who was doing the gobbling... he gave an indignant sneeze, not so much a hint but more of a... 'what's with the pepper malarky...'  So that it was only with a good deal of snappy hand coordination, lengthy digestion and sturdy bone building that Rocky was finally able to extricate himself from the table and make the most of what little time remained until lunchtime, meagre time indeed for the Rocky's of this world to hang around with their dogs, leaving their little sisters to help mums do, whatever it was that girls usually did when they should have scooted out of the kitchen faster, when it would have been all so much simpler just to grab a handful of biscuits instead...  Meanwhile, laying in wait in the room above, flat out upon the bedroom counterpane, having recently had their insides stuffed to bursting with a full English breakfast's worth of beach and holiday apparal... and that was just the luggage.    

     The contents of which, up until a week last washday had been snoozing fitfully behind 'Do Not Disturb' signs, cautiously peeping out from the gloomier, more remote recesses of the bedroom dresser, or carefully concealed in cupboards and closets... and being in every other respect by no means readily accessible to public scrutiny of any kind... had been left to their own devices some twelve months earlier with a clear understanding to skip bath nights from that moment on and henceforth immerse themselves in the heady, camphorated pungency of mothball, vowing once and for all never to darken portmanteau lids again... but now, after many hours of arduous laundering and de-fumigation... were now being squeezed and unceremoniously shoe-horned into what had recently become nothing short of an overcrowded sanctuary for the dispossessed.  
              
     Meanwhile, all the luggage asked from life other than be detained under section four of the Mental Health Act, 1983 and be found cosy padded accommodation elsewhere... was to have their interiors vacated, their tranquility reinstated... and with a questionable wink from a dodgy Customs official, have their travel permits invalidated... irrevocably, for despite throwing a double six for a spot of well earned convalescence back on top of the wardrobe some twelve months ago, basking in the shade of a warm Summer Sun, striking up the occasional conversation with the floral decor, third bloom from the left currently answering to the name of Petunia, the still over extended luggage, seemingly with little hope of R & R this side of the letter Q, faced the perennial disquiet of vacational therapy, of being knelt on, sat and bounced upon and be specifically manhandled in ways that matching sets of co-ordinated luggage should not...
                                        
     Tina could be heard quite distinctly in the next street concerning her husbands lack of competence, whilst Red it appeared had become just as outspoken as his wife in that particular direction... as the local self appointed busybody, who lived well within earshot of the address in question would bear witness to as she put feverish pen to paper, writing to what had become a regular... and some would say hot bed of intrigue in the local tabloid concerning how vociferous the once tranquil neighbourhood had become of recent and how certain undesirable elements within the community were to be heard carrying on alarmingly at all hours, day and night... and as she diligently weighed her civic duty against simple household economics as to whether to send this latest block busting eye opener by first or second class post, their parents could now be heard broadcasting, if anything to a wider listening audience than the previous newsflash, some of the more sensational episodes of the previous twenty-four hours as to who was pulling whose suitcase zipper now... although in which direction it should be pulled, they both agreed, wasn't for public disclosure at that time... vowing to draw blood well before the day was out, as three lacerated fingers would later testify and that it was only because of the children that they were going at all... but God willing, they would be setting off very shortly with rosy smiles on their faces for the sole benefit of the neighbours, even if it killed them. 

     Spurred to fever pitch  by this latest 'stop-the-press' newsflash, the same public spirited busybody now threw herself wholeheartedly into further award winning journalism and for the second time that morning took to pen and paper, only now directed to the gossip column in the local Parish Gazette, followed by grievous lamentations of impending bloodshed to the incumbent Chief Constable as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds ere long before nightfall.

     By devouring his water bowl, thereby dispensing with the need for it to be washed and by its abrupt and mysterious absence, disposing of all further incriminating evidence as to where the abundant supply of liquid, now surging copiously across the kitchen floor had sprung from... the flash-flood was hastily making its own getaway beneath the kitchen units, leaving Sockeye to his own devices to carry the can on his own, ankle deep in what up until earlier that morning had been sloshing around quite contentedly in Eccup reservoir.

      Having inadvertently released the handbrake in a boyish gesture of bravado, thereby placing himself in sole charge of a runaway vehicle, Sockeye it appeared was not the only member of the Salmon family to have dropped himself right in it that day as Rocky, having unwittingly placed the following ten years pocket money well out of reach and back into the pockets of his parents dwindling resources, had to a far greater extent nominated himself for the same Earth moving experience as the one his mum would shortly be giving Sockeye...

      Having just been granted licence to do whatsoever it pleased, the vehicle began its leisurely rearwards perambulation down the long garden driveway and by way of small thanks for its new found independence took Rocky along for the ride where due to a certain lack of stature on Rocky's part, at no point had he ever been in the slightest position to influence the Holiday threatening train of events which now engulfed him, never thinking to reapply the handbrake... that would be too easy, he perched on the edge of the seat clutching the steering wheel and stretched out his sturdy little legs in an heroic, but futile attempt to reach the pedals as the family car, which up until any second now had been his fathers pride and joy, pitched backwards at what seemed to Rocky, breakneck speed and directly into a very severe and unforgiving brick wall.

     Almost missing this latest round of entertainment above that of her parents most recent exchange, River accompanied by Sockeye scampered outdoors and slap into what could only be described as the most fun she'd had all year as an unsuspecting "what was that noise" muscled its way through the open bedroom window and fell flat on its face in the garden below and which, if that morning to date was anything to go by, then the neighbourhood would soon be tuning in to the latest Salmon family's 'hot-off-the-press' breaking news bulletin.

     Opening her mouth River hesitated as she fine-tuned the speech centres of her young and delicate synapse into full vocal alignment, then adjusting shutter speed from f8 to automatic she closed her mouth... then opened it once again and informed her brother that if the tip of dads size 9 was an Olympic gold, then Rocky would be sure to take first in the 110 metre hurdling event with 'team GB...' and could she have his autograph... with those words of solid encouragement rattling around his ears like the last biscuit in an otherwise empty tin box, River went skipping back into the house to announce the latest newsflash of her parents next financial happening... which she felt certain would prompt further rounds of thought provoking front page journalism.

     A steady two hours drive away, over on the east coast, the inhabitants of a sleepy fishing community were gainfully employed, pretty much as any other, going about their daily business, one such denizen... a baby crustacean, currently marooned by the tide had taken up temporary accommodation in a beachfront rock-pool property of certain distinction, was as yet unaware of a completely different and obscure set of circumstances that would shortly be rearing his slobbering jowls and bring all four paws, the size of dinner plates, crashing down upon the unsuspecting seashore fauna... was determined while she waited to catch the next high tide home, that until such time that the right wave rolled along, would potter about in the little rock-pool, perhaps indulge herself in a leisurely bathe... and catch up on a spot of therapeutic knitting.

     So, placing the days events since breakfast into perspective...  [i]  the vehicle indemnity provider, henceforth to be named 'the party of the first part', who currently weren't cognisant of an impending claim to date, would shortly be laying eggs attempting to squirm out of all liability, due to  [ii]  the automobile, driven by a minor, fortunately for Salmon senior on private land and henceforth, the aforementioned to be called 'the third party, to the party of the second part...' which urgently needed rigorous cosmetic attention to the rear tail light cluster and surrounding bodywork so as to maintain a favourable resale mark-up price.  [iii]  Having been dragged kicking and screaming from the top of the wardrobe, the luggage had rapidly developed cold feet and cried sudden illness in the family, but were being taken to the Wake anyway.  [iv]  Wrapped around the hot water cylinder since the previous Summer, the various sundry items of holiday apparel stood united, resolute as a Union Picket line not be seen dead looking as though they'd never so much as seen the bottom of a flat-iron.  [v]  Both Red and his wife, Tina, despite wearing the same anaemic smile as the one show to the neighbours as they departed, travelling counter clockwise along the crescent so as not to unduly advertise their recent misadventure with the garage wall, were only going for the sake of the children, whilst  [vi]  River and her errant brother didn't want to go anyway dismayed at leaving the television set behind, were already missing their favourite programs, which only really left  [vii]  'mans-best-friend' who, when he wasn't actually hanging over the front seat giving dad big sloppy licks as though... 'are we nearly there yet' or perhaps... 'I need to stop and spend a penny... or you'll all know about it if you don't,' was more than content to be taking up the majority of the rear seating arrangements and with a delinquent wag of his tail, was deliriously happy to be wherever his family were.**

                                                        ­                             ...   ...   ...

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1862
K Balachandran Feb 2014
His eyes rivet on the extravagant evening sun,
in frenzied creation, profusely mixing colors,
applying on the canvas of the horizon,
painting her, his lover with astonishing precision,
--portrait of a girl in love
unmindful of what the world thinks about her
and in  total dedication to her man.
Love makes larger than life heroes out of weak mortals,
and creates echoes on the far horizons that keep on reverberating!

She sits quietly holding his hands as if it is all she needs
never thinking, it is obvious, whether this is a fallacy or ultimate truth,
that holds good for all the changing seasons.
With her long chiseled fingers she draws
something beautiful, a motif that emerged in her mind,
in front of them, the seascape, was a lively cyclorama
framed by bright ultramarine.
Like eels just out of water,  their bodies gleaming,
bikini clad glam girls, beach soldiers spearheading
an undeclared beauty attack,
on the look out for hidden challenges
while walking past the love pair,
each one stands awhile, scrutinizing her thoroughly
measuring with a scale, hidden in those eyes,
as if she was a **** on parade, even women couldn't help covet.
Though inappropriately dressed, for the beachfront appearance,
she invites more attention,  she is amused.
But after a tumultuous love, and eventful elopement
she is in bliss,  in her love-land with her prince
she is just ecstatic, no thought could  make her shake off her composure.
katewinslet Nov 2015
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Fah May 2014
I’m an apricot , ripe on the tree - ready for picking
I am a cherry , offering to be popped
3 tequila shots or the equivalent of a blurred memory inside me
my heart is bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through
i am bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through

i bleed for 4 days , 5 days.
i am amazed that he pulled out. i find that incredible -
as if a man is wild in the act of mergence and unable to control himself ,

ideas of male/female roles imprinted on me
from parents , **** and public school  - where girls are made into women
at 13 ,
we discuss when we will “lose our virginity” i say 15 if i’m ready (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

i should expect him to *** inside me , because i am the subservient woman and he should do as he pleases
i think it magical his heightened awareness -
i see his majestic beauty on his well formed muscles
and the hotel room his family owns , or the kick *** motorbike he drives and the supply of beachfront joints.


and still it is now 1 year later that i am in pain.


a fire on my heart and a sick feeling in my stomach
i am sick because i swallowed the lies and hated myself , i truly believed i was worth that level of respect. the fire burns swiftly in my heart because i am enraged and sorrowful at my ignorance. I am partly ashamed at my lack of empathy
for myself and partly in awe at my magnificence.


We look at virginity as pure , unsoiled.

Pure. Unsoiled.
****. Subconsciously telling our mothers , sisters , aunties and grandma’s that they are ***** for exercising their basic ****** function. Shaming us for feeling pleasure.....the connotations are different for brothers , fathers , uncles and grandpas. A pat of well done on the back , you are now a “man”.............well .. i’ll be ******..... it amazes me how these sly , low blows are hidden right in plain sight.

well fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk that !

I know i love myself now
with the respect i would rain down upon any other fellow being .

i wish : for them and me to be able to love without fear, disgust and shame.
i wish to allow my energy from that moment to feed others who need help along their path of self-love.

Now my cosmic womb is treated with respect and reverence
enjoying myself freely.

Oh but , i will say thank you , and a sensi bow , for the lesson learnt.

Never again will i put others on a pedestal they have not earnt.
Especially if it has anything to do with my *****.
If you are a ******* you are a lucky one -

a mother is where you came from , my dear chaps
change the meaning yourself , question your  beliefs
find the fallacy
re-invent it.
We are not bound unless we say so.
Name Redacted Aug 2015
I never met a storm I didn't like
I wish I could say the same for people
Though sometimes I think
They have as little control
Of what they destroy
As storms

I think I could love anyone,
that shared a mountain coast with me.
Those rocks and rivers and beachfront caves?
I feel like a pirate.

And I believe not caring what others think,
Is a coward's way to self-esteem.
You can't make everyone happy
That doesn't mean you shouldn't try.

I can seem cold
But what you're hearing
Is precision
It makes sense when you love words
And hate being misunderstood.

I hate when people argue to be right
Instead of understand
It's self-indulgent
And dehumanizing
And so very me.

I'm such a nerd I'd need another poem
to convey how much
But I think it will suffice to say
If you like
Will McAvoy
The Dragonborn
Charles Spurgeon
Vault Dwellers
or the Crystal Gems
We'll probably get along.

And lastly
I only wrote this poem
Because I hate not having an answer
To "tell me about yourself."
Sarah Spang May 2015
Your eyes burned and danced between
First blue then green, then blue
The driftwood fires, beachfront pyres,
Your essence clashing too.

Cracking, burning, twisting with
The knowledge close at hand
The truth within the salted seas
That lap and brush the sand.

I had placed you there and you
Like sun-bleached ocean wood
Went willing trapped up in my grip
Although you understood...

The mark those waters left upon
Your brittle, scorched treebones
Your twisted fingers skyward
With your back against the stone.

And somehow I, though conflicted, danced
Around you both between
Consuming and devouring
Both fallow earth and sea.
John Smith Oct 2013
Yo, VIP, Let's kick it!

Polar Polar Baby, Polar Baby
All right stop, Collaborate and listen
Polar is back with my brand new invention
Something grabs a hold of me tightly
Flow like a harpoon daily and nightly
Will it ever stop? Yo – I don't know
Turn off the lights and I'll glow
To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal
Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle.

Dance, Go rush the speaker that booms
I'm killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom
Deadly, when I play a dope melody
Anything less than the best is a felony
Love it or leave it, You better gain way
You better hit bull's eye, The kid don't play
If there was a problem, Yo, I'll solve it
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it

Polar Polar Baby Vanilla, Polar Polar Baby Vanilla
Polar Polar Baby Vanilla, Polar Polar Baby Vanilla

Now that the party is jumping
With the bass kicked in, and the Vegas are pumpin'
Quick to the point, to the point, no faking
Cooking MCs like a pound of bacon
Burning them they ain't quick and nimble
I go crazy when I hear a cymbal
And a hi hat with a souped up tempo
I'm on a roll and it's time to go solo
Rollin' in my 5.0
With my ragtop down so my hair can blow
The girlies on standby, Waving just to say, "Hi!"
Did you stop? No – I just drove by
Kept on pursuing to the next stop
I busted a left and I'm heading to the next block
That block was dead

Yo – so I continued to A1A Beachfront Ave.
Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis
Rockman lovers driving Lamborghinis
Jealous 'cause I'm out getting mine
Shay with a gauge and Vanilla with a nine
Ready for the chumps on the wall
The chumps acting ill because they're so full of "Eight Ball"
Gunshots ranged out like a bell
I grabbed my nine – All I heard were shells
Falling on the concrete real fast
Jumped in my car, slammed on the gas
Bumper to bumper, the avenue's packed
I'm trying to get away before the jackers jack
Police on the scene, You know what I mean
They passed me up, confronted all the dope fiends
If there was a problem, Yo, I'll solve it
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it

Polar Polar Baby Vanilla, Polar Polar Baby Vanilla
Polar Polar Baby Vanilla, Polar Polar Baby Vanilla

Take heed, 'cause I'm a lyrical poet
Miami's on the scene just in case you didn't know it
My town, that created all the bass sound
Enough to shake and kick holes in the ground
'Cause my style's like a chemical spill
Feasible rhymes that you can vision and feel
Conducted and formed, This is a hell of a concept
We make it hype and you want to step with this
Shay plays on the fade, slice like a ninja
Cut like a razor blade so fast, Other DJs say, "****"
If my rhyme was a drug, I'd sell it by the gram
Keep my composure when it's time to get loose
Magnetized by the mic while I kick my juice
If there was a problem, Yo – I'll solve it!
Check out the hook while DJ revolves it.

Polar Polar Baby Vanilla, Polar Polar Baby Vanilla
Polar PolarBaby Vanilla, Polar Polar Baby Vanilla

Yo, man, let's get out of here! Word to your mother!

Polar Polar Baby Too Polar, Polar Polar Baby Too Polar Too Polar
Polar Polar Baby Too Polar Too Polar, Ice Ice Baby Too Polar Too Polar
Gladys P Apr 2014
There's no place else I'd rather be,
Then wrapped in silence, near the sea,
Upon the serenities, of the oceans  aquamarine waters,
With waves gently dancing, as I sit and wander.

Gazing on the sandy oceanfront,
Beneath the moonlight, with you on the beachfront,
As you place your hands, upon my face,
And kiss my lips, until the night fades.

While the stars, sparkle in the sky,
Until the rose pink light of dawn, comes by,
With echoes of a tender breeze,
And you and I, are heavenly at peace.
Fowl floating and flapping across an ocean canopy.

Lightly squawking and ascending in a calm summer sky.

Waves shine and melt into the beachfront in a dull roar slowly thundering in diagonal collapsing sectors.

The top of the ocean. The point of a sphere. Its water that falls slowly to the bottom of..... Here!

Ripples and puddles and drinks full of life, the clearest the murky and bluest in light.
Mountains and palisades can be rocks that reach skyward. God on a gravel road walking through.
The golden purple cattails glow in the sunlight like strawberry fields that fizzle on my hands in the wind that can dance. The vinyl green stem leafs sit stagnantly silently awaiting the moon.

Hoppers crescendo in a frozen moment singing in stillness that refuses to relent.
The trees around them bask in the energetic massage from the moving sections of recently called air vapors.

The Hi- C haircuts that nature reminds me it inspired bobble from the vectors.  

This climate ecology scenery breeds the moments religions were made for me.
missing a florida vacation. went in my heart though.
CC Dec 2020
Sleepless nights because of magical awakenings
I like the stars and watching them
Why can't we sleep with them inside our eyes?
If we couldn't dream,  give me more stars in exchange
Dylan Apr 2023
In the tranquil ocean mirror,
you see you where the ripples clear.
A cool ribbon of breeze
slips across the sand
dancing with your hair
like a bead of flaxen flame.

In your eyes of winter mist,
a field aloft in clouded bliss.
Rainbow's end cascades upon
a grove of swaying palms
as the crackle of waves
whirls over the marigold plain.
Dylan Halvorsen May 2016
Coastal seizures. So sand fills a sun-kissed cheek.
Boasted features, hands lull movement in hips so meek.
Thumbs peel lids to stretch the Sun into clefts that reflexes forget
******* press against throats and ears to breaths.
Palms press ditches in chests to remind hearts of blood to teach.
Lungs keep secrets that tongueless kisses were made to reach.
Salt water rinses cheeks of death and cold stares
Paroxysms exhume life in the form of humid air.
Grief slowed as tides fell.
Teeth locked as cheeks swell.
Water took softly what it had let go
More than shook fondly but it had let grow.
JJ Hutton Jun 2011
Cindy Used-to-be-Wilks-Now-Prine-Again
pulled a hammer from the intersection
of *** crack and belt line,
and proceeded to air out
the passenger-side window
of her in-laws Suburban.

She dropped the parcel in the
captain chair and ran back up the
driveway to the soundtrack of a
whiny car alarm.

By the time the master bedroom's light lit,
she was turning the car's ignition.

She made a beeline for the Children's Funhouse,
just under the skirt of Oklahoma City.
Blanketed by a dense tree line, the red and yellow
chipped, wooden building was thought
by most interstate nomads as an ancient eyesore.

She parked at McGowan's Store, bought a 30-pack of 'Stones and
a pack of red 100s.
Cindy ran across the lulling interstate to the Children's Funhouse.

Walked in the backdoor beaming,
"Hello ladies! Anybody want a drink?" she said to the room
full of workers.

The women of Children's Funhouse sported an image
that anyone could guess, as long as they knew
the place to be a middle-classy truck stop brothel.

After a chorus of I-do, I-do's, Cindy began tossing beers
to freckled ladies, decked in frilly skirts, saddle shoes, bobby socks,
and more often than not--pigtails.

Chung-Ae Phun, the madame, walked up behind Cindy,
tapped her on the shoulder and the two embraced warmly.
"Hey Mama," Cindy said.

"Oh, Cindy Lilly, it's so good to see you!
You picked a wonderful night to make your
prodigal return. Looks like a lot of business tonight."

"I could certainly use the money."

"Is four okay?"

"I'll take as many as you can send my way."

"That's the spirit darling. I want you to take
the Candy Corn Suite."

"I'd be honored, Mama."

Chung-Ae Phun established a fine business.
On Mondays she treated the local law enforcement,
on Sundays the district judge, and every other day
weary truckers came in to find solace.
Only special guests were treated to "special" girls
in the Candy Corn Suite.
The orange and white checkered carpet, the yellow walls,
radiated an eerie invitation.

"Let me get your outfit ready,
if you'd like you can wait in the room" Phun said.

Cindy Prine moved the stuffed bunnies and bears,
and planted on the bed.
Freedom rang like the Liberty Bell in her small skull.
Few of God's creatures ever held as much original
joy in their bones as Cindy Prine.
She could turn tundra to beachfront with a smile.

Chung-Ae Phun knocked on the door and entered,
setting a white and pink polka dot dress on the edge of
the bed.

"Your first client is a friend of a friend. Terrible gut,
smells like an ocean of whiskey, but seems nice enough."

"What's his name," Cindy asked.

"Hank."

"Send him in."

Cindy slid into the dress,
quickly pounded a beer,
heard a rapid, eager knock on the door.

"C'mon" Cindy chimed.

"Well, gawd ****, baby girl. Looks like you've been real bad."

Cindy rolled her eyes.

"I sure have. I can't find my ******* anywhere.
Will you help me look, Hank?"
© 2011 by J.J. Hutton
Eddie Matikiti Feb 2016
In the middle of obscurity there was a town
Made of steel, land and sea
It seemed all familiar yet totally new
At the world's end,  far from the noisy crowd

The air smelled just like Durban without the curry
Less humid and weather well behaved
The landmass much smaller
The people were friendly yet indifferent

The sea water as cold as in Cape Town
The beachfront just as windy but less scenic
A place perfect for great walks
Ideal for obscurity

I expected more from this place
My days felt like months
Time slows down in obscurity
The food doesn't taste as nice

Yet there is a whole civilisation here
Generation upon generation settled here
Going about their days
Content with obscurity,  no care for what's yonder
Olivia Kent Nov 2013
Orb of light rose in the east.
Jade blue sea sparkled.
Glistening at dawn.
Atmospheric scent of the sea.

Laid on the shoreline in relaxation.
A maiden.
Glimmering hair of gold.
Splayed as fan across the rocks.
Hair stroking the rock pools.
As she found her rest.
Where dwell her marine friends.

Relishing dawn's tranquility.
Magical moments.
Self-assured in their silence.

He staggered, bladdered.
Night on town complete.
Where beautiful lady he did meet.
Stumbled across her.
In drunken totter.

She felt his presence.
Was not required.
Breach of peace and quiet.
The powers that be then set her free.

He looked up again she was gone.
The beachfront carved with marks peculiar.
As the sea did give the maiden lure.
Seduced the mermaid, oh so pure.







By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Haven't even shed Crocodile tears
Calloused feet and scaled back,
the tear and wear.

Biting wildly and deeply into what feeds me
That desperation is the toll it has me in a death roll
This whirlwind of drip grit and flames; while spinning in the mud I can have no shame.

My pride deluded me to think of myself as an ancient king of lakes and streams.
Watering holes or beachfront property
On a sunny day, my kind knows harmony
We only know war At the movement of opportunity.
A Petty precarious peace treaty:
Survival of the fitness; closed mouths don't get fed
Survival instinct; if you don't eat you'll be the one who loses an arm and a leg

How can I even shed Crocodile tears
When I've become the dread
Adapting or remembering. Was it the blood in my veins or the blood that's washed These eyes.
Lyzi Diamond Sep 2013
I want all the songs that give you goosebumps
to live on one single piece of wax, a low rumble
that spans acres, that stretches for miles in each
direction, that raises the skin of all who can see
and feel its grooves and pushes each of us to swim
in sound.

I want you to find all of the noises that pull you
and hold them in your heart as tightly as you gripped
the note I passed you in class complaining about
our professor's tenuous grasp of English grammar, the
ink sweating through the notebook paper and staining
your fingertips. Hold these noises in your heart and allow
the tones to imprint themselves inside your chest, next to
all your other organs.

I want you to sprawl yourself inside of all of this
calamitous cacophony such that you don't know
where your breath begins or if it's part of the melody
or the harmony or another part entirely that you've
never experienced or thought possible, like alto clef or
diminuendo or a vibration in your stomach that
snaps you back to exactly where you are, exactly
where you are.

I want you inside of all of the waves, inside all
of the resonating structures, like unreinforced
masonry and rebar after a larger earthquake
than any of us anticipated, like a tuning fork
standing tall in the middle of the city, like a
memory you can't get out of your head, like a
cold beachfront property sitting high atop
eroding ground.

I want you to reach over to the stereo and
pause before lowering the volume, thinking of
my face listening and falling in love with the
crashing of instruments and electronic tones
and I want you to know that when I was with
you I was inside of all of it, feeling the rough
edges and all the parts of it and dulling the pain
from your sharp angles jutting out in my direction
and I want you to put yourself in my head and think
what it would be like to have to avoid eye daggers and
unspoken thoughts.

I want you to fall inside of the music and allow
yourself to be pierced by its high treble and
shoved by its low bass and I want you to think of me
and how all the sounds are mine and how you will
never catch me sharing my records with you again
and how the needle pokes your fingertips when you
try to drop it and how that feels, bleeding on the
vinyl, alone.
NuurSeraph May 2014
Roadwork...PoThOlEs
Riverside...TORnadOs
Beachfront...HuRRiCaNEs
­Stringspools...SPUN!!!!!!!
Damage Control
Robin Carretti Dec 2016
Were praying hand’s never giving up.
Getting frustrated & fed up.
Universal World speed of lightning mystery game.
My own known existence up in flame's?

Past not so perfect what’s in every body’s treasure.
Unknown chair darken's my pleasure.
Rumor has it to the very end of the game Scramble.

It what we all experience,no helping hands to connect too

Move be quick show your assets.
Be the leader in charge.
All the bets in the world could change.
It could B something special or just plain nothing,
That unknown chair could take you everywhere?

Journey leads  you in the middle of nowhere
All we are saying is give  peace a chance.
Thing's are looking better in the Riviera
of France..

All these unknown signs violating ones.
People are strange
the door  bell tone's You wanting to be alone
Sitting in your chair, feeling like a misfit.
His Power mind of his suit madly
Taking his hand gladly.

Putting the one piece, right, comfort spot.
what’s in your alphabet, Soupy Sale's, hot

of letters S secluded.
Journey spiritual, awakening, overrated, lady with  
simplest word, turned into wrong word. Marriage
you got separated.

S for smile loving your journey picking out the artifacts
biblical treasures don’t fit religiously.

to your chair or intellectual full of adventure, exotic world.

Charka healing feels the vibrations through another person

Connection you feel desirable in your seat
You planned it well, on your mission.

You know what to expect people bud in to interject.
Being right or wrong you go left his grin he smiled
uniquely you drift.

Somewhere under the rainbow, bad dealt hand Alfred Hitchcock journey demon suspense?Flying Raven Unknown  bird's needing
Spiritual cleansing rinse.

Electric Darth chair danger  force is not with you.
Watch out chair

Home got demolished  it went underground.You needed
2 buy new chair more polished.

Mysterious hit man wants a ransom, that chair heirloom.
Wanting to sit out beachfront, exotic flower's bloom.

Leads you to undesirable world, unknown love seat.

Or someone else sitting in the chair it look like a accident lady killer chair.

Priceless lesson, what vengeance, people have something sounds tempting but beware?

The chair with expectation looking straight in your future
Are you losing time new player, wanting to serve your best blend,
of Coffee he loves to talk  He's a free loader He turn's on  you with a gun he's a mobster.

Torture smile comes back to you devilish grin she tricks you The chair was her weapon, she threw it back at you.
Third Eye Candy Jan 2016
the wind was swinging from the trees
and mute gulls overhead, slipped in the blue above
swarming the beachfront... gulping salt and silver glints
flapping in their gullets with black eyes
and no dreams.
i walked the causeway and the off road
juggling the change in my pocket with an absent mind.
i turned corners that were never there
and came to a halt as the sun bleached the horizon.
I thought that Beauty was a thing.
and simply forgot to move,

and the world forgave me.
Argentum May 2016
in circles trying to figure out centaur spines. thinking about bleeding in the cold green sea as waves crash and collapse against each other like lovers hungrily falling into each other's embrace. listening to old songs I've heard many times before. reading old books I've read many more times before. waiting for summer. not suntan-watermelon-bikini-beachfront summer. mountain-heatwaves-at-home-forest summer. I want to pretend it lasts for ever and then ends. I'm bored, so kiss me goodbye before I leave.
Breeze-Mist Mar 2017
Sitting in a large hotel room
Thinking of the competition coming soon
One person in my left has a binder out
The kids across the hall are trying not to shout
Fixing up the gadgets at the last minute
While some play board games in the mindset to win it
It's 11:30 at night, I'm eating cold Chinese
Win or lose, fail or fly, I do as I please
We all cheer when the fourth comes back with ice
This moment is my paradise

Sitting on a mountain the temperature of snow
I eye the massive valley below
The farms and forests make a patchwork quilt
The streets and towns are embroidery of silk
The sun rises, setting the treetops on fire
My campmates wake up slow with some ire
Out here, I'm awed by mother earth's ways
As my friends and I decide how to navigate our days
I don hiking clothes under the day's new light
This moment is my paradise

Summer in full swing, the crickets cry
As twilight yeilds stars in the sky
We wander the camp, the ocean roars in the distance
Masters of our fate, we don't need assistance
Whether at the beachfront, ziplining, or boardwalks
We run like a fox pack, not caring who gawks
As we think of the adventures of the world ahead
There's nowhere I'd like to be instead
As our flip flops crack on the ground the camp comprised
This right here is my paradise

We're running around another big city
So much to see, and I have my group with me
We just got out of our musical clinic
Now it's time to explore the town, see the magic in it
We'll meet up at five, for a dinner at seven
We'll go on a boat and get back at eleven
Right here, right now, we can make our own way
Free from routine, we get to have a say
We're a bit confused, a little underdressed
We still need chaperones, and we're way underslept
Even with all of that, this will more than suffice
This right here is my paradise
Some of my favorite memories.
Eccentric Enigma Jul 2014
Soft as calling the breeze through springtime trees
Sunshines warmth cascades through early morning trees
Beachfront waves lap quietly to their last reprieve
Sometimes places in in memories such as these
Of times so long in ages distant past
Thoughts gathered in the nets our imagination casts
Of dragons and the middle age mountain dwelling folk
Twist round the fireplace our thought we stoke
And as in embers stirred n ow to the night sky
Beyond the beliefs of those we one did try
Then finding grass touched by the rain so green
True light spills from dawns first sunrise echoes as a dream
By and large the clouds across the vaulted sky
To enhance the thoughts that gave us hope to try
Ignoring now the voices of those that said we could not try

(GE2014 (C) Reserved
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
It’s a dull woollen grey sweater day
Where the birds too have withdrawn their song
and tucked their wings in for winters chill fingers
that will reach out and capture their whistling tunes.
Dropping pleasantries on the big city boulevards
Hidden from prying eyes, windows shut tight
like mouths with no words left.

Winter comes suddenly.
With no pamphlets announcing a matinee
show of ballet beauties or bronzed horsemen
riding in the sultry sun on careless beachfront.
That shuffle sand and people into shady nooks
and under trees.
Winter does the opposite.

Each evening from now winter will keep the refrigerator door
open for chilled soups  to warm up to toasted breads
to bring a summer inside ourselves with its comfort.

Of course the weathermen will wander of course
talking up storms and snowfalls, ice and wind sleet
and temperature drops to keep the moods down
locked and lifeless, now waiting for summer to come around.

The garden will go limp with excuses
shedding its autumn floral displays
and standing bare and naked before
the mirror of winters reflection.

As each day passes, the mood will dampen down
and slink into caves of warm pockets.
We go from room to room
aimlessly looking out the snowy mountains
Wearing their white  skull caps like chinese market gardeners
waiting to harvest
the last fading greenery around.
Soon the snow will
capture the mountain ranges
and spread its feathery fishnet sheets
all the way down to the valleys.

This is it. The conquest of windchill against a blazing summer
Is complete. Down at the door level of temperatures
it feels unique to be so isolated and lonely.

The sun does come out but it acts s subdued and
lukewarm- not basking, not bright,
just staying for a short while each
day and leaving even before dusk comes rapidly,
never overstaying the welcome.
Author Notes

The seasons now change in New Zealand. Only yesterday it was summer filled with so many pleasant activities. Autumn has its own language of colours, but winter rolls in and rocks, drawing us into ourselves and planning for next summer. It is a warm winter now.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
All the rays of a summer sunset cascade into the atmosphere in flowing locks, falling onto the shoulders of a sandy beachfront: blinding in its’ fair complexion. Ocean eyes pierce the landscape with their tantalizing aqua gaze. Freckles and marks of sea shells and silky smooth pebbles dot the surface of the porcelain skin shore, bringing a thousand stories of each one’s journey to the surface of the water. A warm breeze glides over the waves, creating a sing-song lullaby that lilts into a bold melody. As it rolls across sea and shore, it comes to the edge of the forest, where it meets the ears of the woodland creatures. Jade green leafy eyes gaze with brazen admiration upon this sunshine goddess, who focuses her gaze, in turn, on the woods. The forest’s dark, luscious locks wrap around the trees and sway in the wind. The cool, shaded, earthy skin teams with freckled flowers and scars of fallen trees. Her breezy laugh rustles with the leaves and calls back to the sea.
I am the forest, deep and dark and full of life.
She is my ocean, bright and warm and teaming with beauty.
She drinks me in with those watery eyes, shining deeper than the stars. Her glowing tresses blind me with their splendor as I bask in their rays. I stretch out a branch and caress her silky skin as she whispers into my soul. A wave of love laps into my thirsty soil, and I shower her with petals and their perfumes. We strain upward, reach out, and entwine. We are dancing. It is a reckless, desperate dance of crashing waves, falling trees, roaring winds and screeching songbirds. Our laughing voices shake the ground into a whirlwind of passionate adventure. Shadows and light beams meld into a tapestry as we glide above the surface of the water, through the treetops and into the stardust... forever hand in hand with my darling, my love, my sunset, my beach.
Adam Latham Jul 2018
There is a place I long to be
Set in a tranquil turquoise sea,
Where frothing waves lap on a shore
Of pure white sand and shells galore.

A villa steeped in old world charm
Peeks out behind a lush green palm
And invites all to come and view
A beachfront joy of endless blue.

And basking in clear cloudless skies
You claim a bliss filled, sun kissed prize
Of golden skin and drinks on ice,
The calling card of paradise.
Evelyn Rose Oct 2019
Yesterday when I was walking along the beachfront and the sun was painting the sky pink with candyfloss clouds as it set, I missed you and I wished you were holding my hand.

— The End —