Loewen S Graves Jun 2012
nights take passion forth
into an abyss
of hundreds of arms
swirling under the weight of
bodies yearning
to connect

your destruction came
in moments, you fell beneath them
and growled, you were
the rabid beast
hiding in my closet
or behind my bathroom door
waiting to spring,

and you and i,
we fell for each other
like children, we fumble in the dark
like teenagers, we talk through every movement
like we've known this dance for years, years, years;

my hands, they're too small
to spread over your heart
like i want them to.
your hands, far too big
to cradle my face between them
like you meant them to.

we make it work
in the darkest of ways,
the black hole in the floor
of our bedroom
opening up
to swallow us
whole.
paper cuts and trails aside
make a wish and hold it tight,
this time we'll try our hardest
not to try --

(sleeping at last)
Eleanor Rigby Jan 2015
When I met you the soil was wet
Underneath cloudy skies
And so were your eyes.

Now it's the summer,
everything is dry
You must say goodbye.


F.Z.**N
Ormond Aug 2012
I remember that day on Mount Tamalpais.
We picnicked under the loving sky
On Bolinas ridge, atop Wicklow hill,
The maiden’s breast.  We found those apple trees,
Who’d gone wild and fell into their world.
A blossom on the way.

I took your picture and you developed into
A sea-horse, or was it a mermaid?  The ridge
Was foaming about you and birds were swimming
Like fish underneath.  We found a tree, an umbrella
Left at the beach.  The coral-grass became our bed
And wine turned into water.

A spiral dance in arms of anemone, it was
All embrace!  That reef was spawning heaven.
At the treasure chest under the sea maiden,
Like children on highland pap, we played
At the beach that day in a castle above the clouds,
Beneath the wave.
*The name Tamalpais was first recorded in 1845. The meaning of the name is not well-established and there are several versions of the etymology of the name. One version holds that the name comes from ostensibly Coast Miwok words for "coast mountain" (tamal pais). Another holds that it comes from the Spanish Tamal pais, meaning "Tamal country," Tamal being the name that the Spanish missionaries gave to the Coast Miwok peoples. Yet another version holds that the name is the Coast Miwok word for "sleeping maiden" and is taken from a "Legend of the Sleeping Maiden."[13][14][15] However, this legend actually has no basis in Coast Miwok myth and is instead a piece of Victorian-era apocrypha.*
MJ Aug 2017
there is
a           mess
about her,

fluttering
towards  open

    space.


writhing

below pale
skin,

refusing to sit

so structurally,
so secured

in flesh.


wildly
           bending
and      swelling,


becoming

the
           savage


she so calmly
swears

isn’t there.











*-MJS
Darren Apr 2015
Do you remember
when we named each other love
beneath the willow?

We taught each other
to believe in forever
and even longer.

We knew this would never end,
we could elude noble time.
Beneath the willow

Under the summer
sun, we shared tales from time long
since faded away.

You asked what I believe in,
I told you my creation myth,
beneath the willow.

We found answers to
all of our greatest question
in each other arms.

Called it our own
happily ever after,
beneath the willow

Then the summer sun
begun to set and the leaves
of the willow faded.
Motivated from my previous haiku under the same name.
Blazing sphere
There you were
Firmaments beneath the earth
Kisses changing into seasons
Melodic
Rhythms of light
Folding all around
Her body
Holding her tight
Contracts of life
Singing Halleluiah
Great souls fill
Her vision
Simply with love

Beneath these clouds
Of happiness
With loving so adorned
Tears of loneliness
Since he went away
Longing for love with him
Beneath these clouds so grey
Her beauty
Doesn’t shine
Like it once had done
Her wings sown the sky
Of blue

On this day of days
Flying to find
Him in the heavens adorned
Beneath the clouds so new!

Debbie Brooks 2014
Darlingerode Jul 2014
As the skyline alters its guise
From the lively azure
To an idle whitish hue
Which ended into
A mournful shade of gray
Like the shade in films of retros.

A frightening sound,
A roar from an angry beast echoed
After every glowing zigzagged lines
Which I thought he drew.

Louder it went
Like drum rolls
Of an ill-staged concerto,
But uglier it turned into.

Haunted, I cupped my hands on both ears
Crept under the covers
And wished it all away.
Rusty dusty pick up trucks
Old Fords and busted Chevys
Trucks that tear the road apart
And some stuck down the levy

Showing off at the truck show
All polished up and nice
When an old man in a beat up Ford
Looked us over once or twice

It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood

I smiled and I watched the gent
Walk and laugh and smile some
He'd mumble something to the girls
And they'd follow to where he'd come

His truck, was old and battered
Wasn't tricked out like the rest
But, when it came to having girls around
This old man was the best

It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood

A truck may last a long long time
But you've got to use it right
You've got to check the engine
And try to run it every night

I remember what the old man said
It's about what's there beneath the hood
The girls don't want it pretty
The girls, they want it good.....

It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood
Drew Hinty Nov 2011
I am a Brobdingnagian octopus.
Blue is my hue.
Floating taciturnly in the abyss.
Within my tentacles I embrace Volkswagen busses.
Dot Jan 2015
I look down at the arcs of white;
at the tattered bows which skirt my fingernails.
They signal the very edge of my extremities.
Each one with unique imperfections
owed to the muck and dirt lodged underneath.
They're hideous; soiled and grotesque from
digging deeper into my love affair with mortality -
my lust for the knowledge of what happens
when we are 6 feet below sun-lights' reach.
Beneath starry skies
she sleeps, dreaming
of the ocean pearls
so deep.
As silver droplets of
the moon fall in
her golden hair
r Oct 2014
canyon wren
sings her sweet song
perched upon
the piñon-

for my love
who lies beneath-
the cottonwood
twee twee twee
tsheeeeee.

:)

r ~ 10/3/14
\¥/\
  |.     song of the canyon wren
/ \
The sea beneath
the sea within
the hollow feelings
from there to then

As the thought breaks
parts the clouds
As the light comes
within allowed

I touch your lips
you gentle thing
you touch my heart
oh hear it sing

The sun beneath
as far as be
the sea within
sets sails on wing

There go no
red day dawnings
there are no
red flag warnings

Only reflections on the iris
of the eye
only purest warmth
over oceans glide
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