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madison Dec 2018
beg
i told you no
i said i didn't want to
you took control
MeanAileen Mar 2017
I'm in love with a man I know not to love
his heart will never be free.
I waste my days
a ***** to his ways-
knowing he will never love me.

He is the secret I can never reveal
the best lover I ever have known.
I've nothing to give
but my body.....it's his-
fresh dirt for him to bury his bone.

Hopelessly hooked on him like a drug
wanting him day and night.
I play his ***** game.....
I have no shame-
taking it all, knuckles white.

Dead is the conscience I knew so well
and morals.....they ran far away.
Clarity now blurry
in a love-drunk slurry-
the 'good me' has gone astray.

To lay with him is playing with fire,
and the flames, they burn me alive.
Leaving me marred,
hurting and scarred-
the pain on which I thrive.

A fool for punishment, I beg for more
even if all I am worthy of is ****.
Loving him breaks me.....
it overtakes me-
but I'm not willing to quit.

I die a little more each passing day
until again, I get lost in those eyes....
All doubt goes away,
so for now I'll stay
living this life of lies.
You can't always help who you fall in love with...
Evelyn Genao Mar 2018
The ones who walk away
Are the ones who don’t care,
They can’t be bothered to do so.

The ones who walk away
Understand pain and suffering,
They can’t see it happen again.

The ones who walk away
Are filled with regret and hate,
For they to have been thrown away.

The ones who walk away,
With tears down their face,
Leaving everything they love behind.

The ones who walk away
Found a purpose to move on,
They can’t let it slip away.

The ones who walk away
Are strong with their head held high,
As they don’t need to beg for love.

The ones who walk away
Have given up trying,
No longer able to tolerate it anymore.

The ones who walk away
Realized what others didn’t,
And set themselves free.

The ones who walk away
Fast and quick,
Never planned on staying.

I am one who walks away,
You are one who walks away,
We are the ones who walk away.

They are the ones that stay behind,
Watching us as we leave,
For they forgot that to make us stay
They need to chase after us.
The ideas for this poem came to me when I was in English class. We were reading "the ones who walk away from omelas" and it just came to me. I hope you love it and be sure to comment what you think!
OpenWorldView Sep 2018
Every day and night
my thoughts are on your lips.
That crimson temptation
and source of my life.

They smile in gentle red
and speak with unique truth.
There’s only one single wish.
I beg you, do not refuse.

Please quench my heart’s fire
with sweet tender kisses
and revive my wilted soul
with dew from cupid’s bow.
Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

**** and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to ******* your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful bone china face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay ***** to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
******* after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly ***** glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
Big Virge Aug 2016
Well ........
It seems it's ... OPEN SEASON ...
  
for ... MURDEROUS ... Policing ... !?!
  
NO MORE ...
will blacks take ... Beatings ... !!!
  
Police will leave us ... Bleeding ... !!!
while they ... KEEP ON ... receiving ...
PROTECTION ... for yes ... leaving ...
  
Blacks with ...
  
NO PULSE or ... FEELING ... !!!
In Fact ... NO LONGER ... Breathing.
  
and then .....
comes ... " Court Proceedings " ...
that leave black people ... " SEETHING " ... !!!!!!
  
Well fine it's ... OPEN SEASON ...
for poetry ... now ... Seeking .............................................................
  
Some TRUTH ...  
and less ... Deceiving ... !!!
  
See ....
I'm Incredibly ... not shocked ...
at how ... poor ... " Walter Scott " ...
  
got shot by ...
some ... white cop ...  
  
when Walter ... tried to run ...
from this ... Policeman ... **** ... !!!!!
  
But ......
before I ... move along ...
  
He may well have done wrong ... ?!?
but ... " Officer Slager " ...
Let Off ... EIGHT SHOTS ...
in ... Walters' BACK ... !?!!!? ...
  
Let me just .... " back track " .....
  
He shot ... " EIGHT TIMES " ...
Taking ... " HIS LIFE " ... !!!!! ...
  
Because .............
said ... SLAGER ...  
  
" He feared for his safety
because Mr. Scott, tried to
grab his Taser ! "
  
So ...  
That means ... WHAT ... ?!?
  
He ... Deserved to be shot ...
EIGHT TIMES ... in his ... BACK ... !?!!!?!
  
Maaaaannnnn ....
  
ENOUGH ... of this **** ... !!!!!
  
What kind of Policing ... ?!?
gives Policeman teachings ...
of ... SHOOT TO DEATH ... !!!!
  
Rather than ... " A Leg " ...
  
Shoot ... BOTH ...  
... if ya like ... !!!!!
  
But .....
ENOUGH ... of these vibes ...
where Black People ... DIE ... !!!!!!
  
Husbands and Wives ...
whose Fam' ... are told ... LIES ... !!!!!
about ... Cop ... HOMICIDES ... !!!!!!
  
So let me ...
  
Season and OPEN ........................................
how people are .... Bro Ken ...
and Blacks are just ... " Tokens "...
for them to be ... " Quoting " ...
all kinds of ... DUMB THINGS ... !!!!!!
  
About ...
  
... Po' Po' ...  
... Shootings ....
  
An ... Asian dude ...
who went to ... my school
posted ... one day ...
  
on my ...  
Facebook Page ...
  
"Blacks need to be wise
when police are in sight,
and not antagonise,
cos that's how they'll die !"
  
Yeah THIS ... Indian Guy ...
felt he had ... The Right ...
to tell me ... " Why " ...
Police TAKE ... Black Lives ... ?!!!?
  
cos' we ....
  
" DON'T ACT RIGHT !!! "
  
Well YEAH ... sometimes ....
but being ... SHOT TO DEATH ...
goes BEYOND .... NONSENSE ... !!!!!
  
but ......
Asians like ... HIM ...
Prove that being ... "submissive" ...
is how ... Most Choose ... to live ...
and how ... Most Seem ... to think ... !?!
  
How many ... Asian girls ...
and I ... DON'T MEAN ... Orientals ... !!!
  
have been ... " Experimental " ... ???
  
when it comes to ... Black Men ...
being in their worlds ...
as the ... FATHERS OF ...
  
..... Their Children ..... ?!?
  
It's CLEAR ....
from their ... " Caste System " ...
that ... Inter-Racial Teams ...
are .... Rarely EVER ... seen ... !!!
  
Unless their partner's ...
..... " White " ..... ?!?
  
Most Asians ....
Don't Trust ... blacks ...
and that is simply ... FACT ...
  
In Fact ...
Some do believe ...
that blacks are just ... MONKEYS ... ??!??
  
Check through their ... "History " ...
Such words ... AREN'T FALLACY ... !!!!!!!!!!
  
When we now ... " Greet Police " ...
  
Should blacks ... IMMEDIATELY ... ?
get down upon our knees ...
  
and BEG ... like ...
  
... " Slavery Scenes " ...
  
"Please *****', don't shoot me !"
  
which leads me to ...
... These Blacks ...
  
Whose uniform's now ...
.... " Packed " ....
  
to join these ...
... Police Klans ... !!!!!!!
  
What have they ... " Changed " ...
in ... Policing ways ... ?!!!? ...
  
" Not A Lot " ... !!!!!! ...
  
Ask ... " Walter Scott " ... ???
  
Well sadly now ...
  
You ... CAN'T DO THAT ... !!!!!!
  
because what is ... FOUL ...
is ... THIS HERE FACT ... !!!!!
  
while Walter died
and lied ... FACE FLAT ...
  
A cop who was ... BLACK ... !!!
seemed to search Mr. Scott ...
as if ... He'd ... STILL ATTACK ... ?!!!?
  
and then ...  
let this ... white cop ..
treat him ... LIKE HIS DOG .... !???!
  
I'm ...  
SICK ... of the ... **** ... !!!!!!
now coming from ... Blacks ... !!!!!!!
  
Will they wanna ... Shoot ME ... ?!?
for this ... REAL POETRY ... !?!
  
See it's been ...
  
..... OPEN SEASON .....
for ... QUITE SOME TIME ... !!!!! ...
  
cos' ....
Black folks be ... " submissive " ...
as if they'll face ... " A Lynching " ... !!!

for .. BREATHING ...
and NOT ... " Flinch-ing " ... !!!!!
  
when ... Po Po lights ...
Start .... Blinking .... !!!!!!!
  
which right now ...
gets me thinking ...
  
that ... " William Lynch " ...
is looking down and saying ...
  
"Look at these Black Clowns !"
  
Folks ....
This here ... AIN'T ...
  
" 12 Years A ***** " ...
  
This shooing happened ...
.... " YESTERDAY " .... !!!!!!!!
  
In ....  
South Carolina ....
where that PIG ...
has been ... Fired ... !!!
  
But ....
Without ... " The Footage " ...
would he still be out ... SHOOTING ... !!! ? !!!
  
See i'm ...  
a man of ... " Reason " ...
  
but right now ...
I'M SEETHING ... !!!!!
  
because ....
when it comes to ....
  
... KILLING BLACKS ...  
  
It's  .....
  
... STILL ...
..... CLEARLY .....
  
.... " Open Season " ....

Listen Here :

https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/07-open-season
Certain poems speak for themselves, due to events that are as REAl, as they come .... I use the BLM moniker below, but, Do Black Lives REALLY Matter ... ??? beyond police actions .... ??? I prefer this tag #VerseThatMatters
Cné Sep 2017
Let me mold my body along your curves; trickle yourself into my entire being

Vulnerable, ****, my heart exposed, palpably we connect across the starry sky; you ... within me

I want your intimacy to linger along the edges of my lips hours after you've gone

I ache to be consumed by your eyes, intense with emotions, long after the dawn

Take me to your intimate chambers where hearts race; the rhythm of our silhouettes melded on satin sheets

Leisurely feel your way; a slow descend along the avenue of my rhythmic swell; forgive me of my quivering wanton needs

Allow me to graze at the gates of your femininity, drinking the honey from your pink walls; to feel your crowning point between my lips

How can I resist those wandering lips that stirs the curtains of my garden alcove; perfectly painted in honey dew, I throb for the touch of your kiss

Drape your thighs upon my shoulders; let the waves of satisfaction cascade up your spine

I beg to be released, dear God, of this intoxicating spell; I submit myself, heart laid bare; oceans of emotions no longer can I hide.

Find your eyes locking with mine; my torso parallels yours, my body pressed to you; equal in ferocity and tenderness

Mesmerize by your burning eyes in our melting flesh, so strong your hold; yet so tender your caress

Utter our names in fiery moans both whispered and screamed in heated breaths on our solitary night

Vile obscenities float out on heated breath, as cool air kiss our molded skin on the evening our time takes flight

Take me to your heart & cast away the flesh; allow our souls to weave in the throes of passion as our bodies mix into one; slow-motion ecstasy

A longing deep inside, the locked chambers of my soul to exotic places beyond our imaginationsyou sneak into my heart to fulfill my every fantasy 

Feed me the lullabies you paint on your canvas; orgiastic symphony we conduct in cascading tides; trembles throughout our bodies when our fluids mix

Let me paint upon your heart a ballet of our duet; the crescendo palette of my tide drown you in the spirit of our lyrics

Your ripe fruit quivers tenderly while our union completes; take my hands and let me be yours

Hold my sated body that tremors from the wake; *a union of our souls ensnare a bond secure
A Collaboration with Jack Jenkins.
https://hellopoetry.com/jack-jenkins/
Cné Apr 2017
the club is not the place to be
so the bar is where you'll find me
with my girlfriend doing shots
scanning the room and catching nods

your eyes hang in the smoky air
come on over, if you dare
trust me, I'll give you a chance
surely you see that, in my glance

my friend and I are laughing like girls do
my magnetic eyes push and pull at you
starring, you haven't looked away
I can see the interest, you convey

another shot the bartender places
confused, he gestures and your glass raises
I smile as my girlfriend whispers, he's cute
toasting you, we lift our shots and shoot

I won't beg you to on come over
but it's only wasting time until you come closer
the possibilities, I foresee
I'm already in love with your body

in confidence, over you saunder
in my mind the question, I ponder
obviously I see, you're in to me
but what about my friend... are you into three?
Just thinking out loud. Lol
onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ 8:00pm,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule
90 minuets a-priori and the medley music
(adele+amy+alicia+ pink bach for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer Greek heralding of
Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on,
(always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer,
indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college Admissions Dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

aside:
helloooooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out,
hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup mirrored desk,
clad in only her underneath garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
betraying
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

lips,
like a Greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up,
simultaneously stimulating,
slide down each of the thin black brasserie strap invitations,
upon each, a writ,
upon her flesh colored shoulders,
stating
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart
bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are milling and  otherwise
pre-theater and post, occupado

some hours later, watching TV and eating delivered Chinese,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I

1) messed up her makeup,
2) best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!

after I laugh and giggle upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of
onlylovepoetry

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
olp
Just as you Sing to the Pop-Diva's Tune
The Robins will cower and chirp for more
I speak for some News I brought this Noon
Though I believe you have heard this before:
The Pilgrim comes out of the Pool. And begs
Your Seasoned Pucker as you make-decide
His trunks are no-offense. In Truth his legs,
Thick as moss beg your humble dear Confide
I guess you were advised after your Shift
He requested for your charmed Experiment
Second Ghosts appeared; They in turn bereft
And granted his Fantasy's sentiment.
I should go now. Since more time to pursue
Before he stabs me with a Knife-in-Due.
#cherylcole
Within these Rumours I have read past-date
Are Cheeky Darlings I will not observe
Why? Will adding Pepper improve the Taste
And lower the Pressure our Brains deserve?
The Stanford Machine was the Heretic
Condemning my Peace to un-needed curse
This Drama - a Theatre's immature Tick
Delivered my Intellect to your Hearse
Then, this Scene: Mercy bleeds on your Sweet Head
That Moment my Entire View did change
Prayer drowned my Tears as I knelt on your Bed
Asking the Father to heal you Today.
Yet, in Solemn's Fine, I beg you to see
Those Kneeling Hands over yours wasn't me.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
If Eight Fanned Angels admit to his Name
And beg the Sullen Scroll to recompense
These Fortitude's Maidens learned to maintain
An Hour to decide which Fashion made sense
Loyalty alone may not win his Heart
Consider the Hours he has to consume
Now celebrate each other; Though apart
To golden yourselves and Pride you subsume
All of you - Beauty's Inner Chorus - Taste!
Taste and realise Other Flavours grow
The Bowl you feed in has more than one space
As other Jolly Princes dive for show.
Your Plum Prince still smiles. But go and decide
Which Heart to follow and which Heart to hide.
#daleysangels
Kellin Jun 2018
I need something to fill this
void,
So I will beg for your
figure
And I will take to try and fill this empty
insatiable
inquietude
But still I am still greeted with empty hands
and
dejection
sara Jul 2018
Since it was me who started it,
I must then beg your pardon; it
made sense to let my heartstrings
play the tune of your sweet laughter.

But use my heart as your ink-***
and I'll cry tears blue like ink blots,
asking "why?", I'd ask you "why?"
each time you say that we should stop.

Words run wet right down the page;
'til ***** and *** taste the same;
'til black and blue blend just one shade.
I thought love was something that lived just next-door-but-one to hate.
exploring the theme of disrespect within a romantic context

Edited: not personal not personal not personal **
Daisy Marrow Sep 2013
I am not superman.
I carry around guns for protection.
I have killed many
And never was sorry.
I have stolen from men
who have stolen from others.
Do not look at me as a savior,
Not even as a big brother,
because I am nothing of a role model.
My wings have broken
and I don't even have a place to call home.
Pain is written on my skin with the smirk of a devil
leaving cracks all over for sorrow to sneak its way in and bury itself deep into my bones.
So give me hope because I'm not man enough to create my own.
I keep putting other's lives before mine hoping that counts as love
but wind up realizing that doesn't count as anything
Trust me, I'm no superman.
I can't even save myself.
I've burned my cape in the fires of **** because I've been there enough
to know I can't wear it anymore.
I have flaws enough to fill the ocean and I'm sick of drowning
and I'm tired of counting dead bodies
and I’m tired of swimming through waves I'm not big enough for.
So hear the violin and piano play my symphony
of the fallen man.
I never said I could fly.
I never said I could save your life.
I never gave up though.
So hold me tight and let me finally break and fall into the arms of someone I can trust and someone I know that'll keep my heart safe buried next to theirs.
I've played wicked games and lost too many times and now I just want to sleep.
I'm tired of turning up black and blue
But I'll do anything to protect you.
If you were never here then I would have ended this a long time ago.
I would have welcomed the salt water into my lungs
Or fall asleep in a tree and meet death in the morning as I hang in silence.
But now I beg for hope because I'm torn apart.
But I know am seen as your superman so I’m going to hang on with all my might,
And live this life with you
as a hero
as your superman.
Dean Winchester
Supernatural
False Poets Feb 2018
there is no value in a poem that reads
_____
_____
____­
M M l i f e s u c k s x x x n o p o e m i g o t

just

nerve; **** bs, a denial of craft

seek the intelligent intelligible,
kiss the sensational thrill that
emotion harvests with resonating tenses
that beg our brains to differ, sense

this claims,
there is no value in no words is
a hoax cloaked as art by the weak,
make thy metaphors metastasize,
my every cell, a preposition,
preposterous and precious and
comforting in their
privations and provocations

speak to us in alpha and
line our eyes wide,
with pictures at an exhibition
of a faun immobile and beauteous

let me hang on every word of yours and
let it be the raft that sees me happily
unsafe home

take your bs line poem  
shove it down your silent voice

this is not avant garde; this is insulting

p.s.  write me a smile and all will be_____
.
Sophie Oct 2017
Be gentle with me, I beg
My skin burns with adoration
Your touch feeds these flames
Pause and breathe
Lungs of hopeful dreaming
I feel safest in the dark
Where I can see
And you get lost in shadows
Fingers search for souls
I am on fire, do you not see
You are cold like ice
Wade Redfearn Jul 2018
It isn't like that.
It isn't a left turn too early,
a lark awake at night,
thick brown light in an open field;
unpredictable: a bad or counter-miracle.
It is only wanton.

You know how it is
Suddenly, something trapped between your toes:
the world has a strangled voice, it is
unroofed. You want the comfort of normal walls,
normal light, normal noise; in your hand
is a hot brand you'd halfway use
to smith it back together
and halfway swallow.
I had different plans for this vacation
than destruction.

I had plans. You had plans. The earth
planned its axial tilt; the weather planned
its burning; we put aside too little water.
A few plants were familiar -
the ruined piñon pine I remembered from the placard.
One lonesuch tree that made a little niche
at a defiant angle into the air
and outlived all except its orphaning.
How we thought we could fare better, I cannot say.

Ten feet up by one hundred feet over:
one liter water per mile climbed:
fatigue. Fatigue.
The quiet supremacy of all these rules for living like
transit and occultation
refraction and dimness
exertion
hunger
peristalsis pulling down
huge loads of sunlight
into the ***** gully
like bread and meat.

You will not see the bottom
no matter how hard you look.

If blood I am, then what kind of blood?
Unsettled and unsettling. The circulatory system
has an apt name: sometimes I can feel yesterday's blood
in the same neurons, saying the same thing.
I have no choice but to repeat it.
Time sheds its significance.
I have no continuity:
I have rhythms.

The new day, on fire and sitting in the trickle
you held a golden fish in your palm
as if you had made it by will
and cupped, it circled in the valley of your fingers
and I ate from the vision of care.

Erosion: isn't that what made these furrows?
I beg it to unmake me
flat like a seabed and many fathoms green
where the sun will never reach me.

In the penumbra of your anger
I do not fear dying,
only dying unclean.
Heights are all the same.
They would all break me and none would enough.
The grasshoppers and gecko hatchlings
all die in their way, rubbed in the hot dry dust.
Parched, I gnash my stone teeth
and tongue of chaparral -
I am making a song to say
die with me
but smile at me.

Then I see it through flashes of temper,
frame by frame, like a fingertip behind a pinwheel:
a dream of something distant that is also true.
Dreams of freedom alongside dreams of dying.
Nobody Sep 2018
Two twisted hearts were miles apart,
not like anyone you’ve ever known.
You called me your lantern in the dark,
my light made you feel less alone.

You needed to be loved,
so you let me love you.
You were like a little defeated bird,
And I swooped in to take care of you.

That time is still special in my mind,
even though now, I know it wasn’t true.
I still keep you there in that dark place,
I know it’s unfair of me to.

I’m sorry it's time for me to go,
please don’t beg me not to leave.
I linger to make sure you’re ok,
you don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.

You implied you didn’t want me around,
then held me an arm’s length away.
Now your soul calls out for me to stay,
but I’m done trying to win your charade.
Robert Cayne Jul 2017
I am currently a remote neural monitoring victim (or related tech: CIA or NSA) from Boston, MA

It feels like a silent voice in my head that makes it vibrate. I have conversations with it, it's different from the voices I hear. However Wikipedia lists Remote Monitoring as a conspiracy theory.
I beg to differ...

Painter, poet and pianist. that's me...

email: [email protected]

Reminiscent of a dream:
    (The mirror, the ghostly figure,
    The long, loving grass.)

    The infinity mirror, for all its fury
    To Smooth over the untamed roughess
    Of Humanity's core,
    Draws blood with shaving blades,
    And generosity in masquerades.

    And still the pallor of blush,
    And the discoloration of adoration,
    Are but servile to anticipation.
 
    The reflector of infinity
    The eery promise
    Reaching towards divinity
    Or a torturous, blind ****-bent path

    The blind mirror promises
    Infinity, duality
    The shattered, puerile ghost caught between
    The Ubiquitous, sterile host of magisterial illusion

    The fragmented stone beneath him
    Like a altar on a monestary
    Grounding him to the magestic illusion
    Of groundless deceit, Of Boston's conceit

    Reverse that curse! Oh arrow-bent skies
    Of intrepid, oblique, malleable time
    That bends about paths through human hearts
    To human marrows, to decay, to remorse

    The skin, like a cage like a gibbet upholding the body
    Knows not the force of infinity's grasp
    Until it overtakes him in a moment of intrepid deceit.

    In these hallowed halls ghostly particles dance,
    Ghostly bodies collide and recombine into once visible
    Charades of macabre cavemen.

    Once, always visible in the mirror, unknowable is the heart.
    In this illusory rebirth, is the ghost in the machine,
    In deed through imprints the duality of despair's duplicity
    Onto a parched heart's never-fingerprint

    Identity is unknown to the mirror (clearly)
    Vanity is unknown to the self
    How transparent the mirror makes
    Blood-meat of a man!

    Gushing listlessly, he retraces the mirror's arrows
    Onto the lines on the page.
    He retraces the chalk on the lines.
    He becomes just the vane words on the page.

    Words, and the mirror of language
    The potency lost to fragmented duplication.
    The mosaic is born,
    Unseen, to vague, blurred visions of a fragmented nation.

    But language outcasts him,
    Him tangled deeply within its moat,
    Its dubbed deeply embedded within him,
    Ah, again the duality!


    His mirror-image, the words
    Against the page, untold sillhoutes
    Of a dark, flickering, menacing display
    Of brash omens.

    The words, his craft of silence's
    Burrow, of despair's unlaundry,
    Of an empty room without
    Any charge at all.

    The words, against the words.
    But that he sees not.
    The words against the self.
    He sees not.

    Blinded by narcissism, by that mirror.
In this poem the mirror is personified as an artist. As a reader, the quest is to evaluate him/her/it (the mirror) and discover your relationship with her.
So, after reading this Programme with her
And felt the Blood up-river past your brain
She was Smiling. And thus I beg-confirm
How to abdicate this Throneful Pain
Do Tears from your Fans ever sensate you
Even when their Pillars support your Fare
Bitter Notes will tweet; And Pretty Souls too
Just how you Falter these Dictions beware
She was Brave enough to post the Same Event
At Risk to debit their Frustrated Fears
Brother and Sister: Most live Excuse meant
A Funny Welcome to whom they Revere.
Please. This isn't the first Turtle Reflex
Of Four-Digits-Two minus Year-of-Six.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
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