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zebra Apr 2017
i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication

seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth  
glamors that excite

cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards

wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice

your supplication
love pangs

i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your  limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life  

I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death  
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous  
waiting humbly in the wings

i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules

your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops  
as it echoes through oblivion
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, and yes  i admit to my paraphilias.
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Caroline May 2017
Sunlight cresting over the wild hills,
Golden rays and green blades of grass.

Tread softly the horses' hooves and
All the hawks perched in the budding trees.

Watch the first breath of morning
Tremble the sagebrush, ripple the silent creek.

Dry the dew on the daffodils and
***** the ponies’ ears. Then,

Listen! The song of the meadowlark.
The stirring of a hymn.
King Panda Feb 2016
you went sledding
with the kids
while I filed the paperwork
and cried

I used to be your lady boy
shining in green pit-bar light
as you kissed me like
the kids were with my mother
stuck at the bottom of the
treehouse slide in a pile
in mud
laughing
when

in reality they were
just budding inside of you
fertilized with apple liquor
and the perfume smoking
from my chest as you
unbuttoned the first few
revealing the scar left by
my brother's first pocket knife

the skin of my young years
the skin I am wearing now
cut by these ******* papers as
you freeze
tearlessly
in a pom pom hat
teaching our babies how to make
the perfect snowball
jane taylor Apr 2016
in the midst of an emerald slumbering forest
laced with pungent scents of jaded wood
a burgundy blushed tail
of a chestnut hued fox
scurries as copper sunbeams part the day

a hospital lumes starkly nearby
its aura exudes hints of melancholy
commingled with faint impressions
of halcyon futures
not yet lived

at neighboring dartmouth
a student sprinting to class
drops his crimson colored backpack
the prospect of cancer
far from his budding consciousness

my beloved sits patiently
pondering pensively
his last chemo treatment
elusion of death
not far from his mind

i feign to fend off future catastrophes
watching letters scramble across my screen
earnestly writing
in a desperate attempt
to be with him forevermore

an aquamarine hummingbird drenched in tranquility
senses the inverse
its amber tipped wings stand seemingly stationary
while it steals a quick glance through the window
curious at chemical infusions meant to heal

my beloved walks out
of the austere building
with rose colored glasses i feel
that we’ll whirl on the tips of gilded stardust
dancing with another chance to fly


©2016janetaylor
Mary May 11
The most beautiful green
I’ve ever seen
is the one between
the budding of the trees
and their fully formed leaves.

The color of spring.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
I’m a none,
Escaped from myself
Just to be an anonymous

A nameless face
Harboring a soul,
Inspiring reflection,
In a finite of time
Travelling in a circle
Over crosses and lines,
Budding path of life
Sacrificing all the senses
Truth is one, perceived it in a different way
Genre: Spiritual
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
Jesse stillwater Mar 2018
Morning falls
from a budding
   cherry tree;

   the colour
of nightsong’s
waning blossom
   comes to be
       an echo
   only heard
   by the wind

Soundless remnants
   of an intimate
twilight odyssey
   tarry thickly,
drifting lightly
through the landscape
      of dawn

   The hushed echo
   wields the silent
         reverie
      of the night,
   gently rippling
   the rivers that run
   through the heart

The poignant taste
of passionfruit lingers
in the sensory traces
      of a warm
   passing breeze;

      penetrating
   the lonely chill
   of a naked night's
      work of art

                ~


           Jesse
.
     14 March 2018
passionfruit:  any edible fruit of a passionflower
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And so the Pu'erh and Jasmine Lily
pearls are covered, my attention on
the Phoenix Eye pearls, and I peel back
the foil of a small handful. Ainhana had
carefully remove the infuser and I pour
in the pearls, listening as they gently
hit the glass.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As soon as Ainhana places the infuser
back in the tea ***, I turn the sand-dial
and watch the cream sands run, and the
pearls steep. I dare not let it run for the
full five minutes - I find the perfect brew is
made in three. The pearls now unfurl, the
green leaves now floating. The clear water
turns into the colour of the finest champagne.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After three minutes, Ainhara pours me a cup,
the aroma itself puts me more at ease.
'Do not waste it,' I tell her, holding the
handle and saucer. 'Such fine pearls can
be steeped twice, and I will make sure that
I treasure every single cup.'
'Yes, My Lady,' She says with a curtsy.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With my eyes closed, I blow away some
steam and proceed to sip short and brief.
It is a pleasure that is most welcome, indeed!
Teeming with the fires of the Phoenix itself
and caressing my tongue with floral sweetness.
A delicious moan escapes me as I relax in
my Summer Throne.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
My breathing is calmed as I look at
the horizon with redolent eyes.
The choirs sing as I drink such fine
ambrosia! By a cup of Pearls, mine
own eyes feel inspired, as I think of
the lovely vision that is the Phoenix
that is born of the lotus.
Adieu, stresses of Court!
Adieu, plagues of doubt and anger!
Thy Queen is now jocund dove.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Truly the finest Jasmine Pearls I've
had in years!' I beam. 'Be sure to share
this with my fellow Kings and Queens.
Especially Queen Kim. In such a golden
hour, we shall become Dream Children,
to be lost in gardens of distant China.'
'Yes, My Queen.' Ainhara waves her hand,
Semui and Ilazi now resume play.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
As I sip once again, the summer
showers come. Lo! My gazebo
glistens! Cleansed by the light,
and life for my fields of my
fair gardens.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
This blend cleanses the fire of my heart.
This blend casts out sorrows for me to
drink beauty.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
A  liquor the shade of champagne with
the flames of life budding from a
delicate flavour.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The Phoenix merges with me, for I
am the star of the morn that graces
my Aurelinaea!

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Such a blend of elegance in my tongue,
a heavenly euphony. How I'm forever in
awe of the power of
my Jasmine Pearls.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Final part of my Jasmine Pearls free verse!
Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it! ^-^
Lyn ***
patty m Jan 2018
Beautiful poet, your lines pristine as new fallen snow,
drift now in hazy sky.  Posture not but sleep and dream
What was isn't, what is will change in future days. Scurry not rat-like forsaken; sip sweet nectar and breathe in the silken breeze. 
 Often told, thy enemy is self.  Plagued deep in sentiment, one can drown in the swill of depression.  Fear not, for the sun will shine again, Spring thaw releasing the land from Winter's hoary hand.  Dream on to budding flowers and the greenery that surrounds you along with bird sounds and the song of the babbling brook.  Leap high as golden carp chasing red umbrellas, deep down a smile is waiting to kiss your lips.  Spread your arms to all you see, embrace the glorious.  Be a child again chasing  sunbeams as horsetail clouds race across the sky.  Enjoy the magic of metamorphosis, that fuzzy caterpillar friend you talked to on a leaf, is someone else entirely, ethereal as it wings by.   We too change, learning from exposure the lessons of life.  How to overcome, and battle on, and when to rest, heaven blest.  We're not Gods, though made in the image of one, yet how much we accomplish.  One could lay down and die, thrash and cry, and what would that accomplish?  When wearied and beaten down I often wondered what I would miss if I were to give up.   Night is always the harbinger of fear, that looks less horrible in morning light.
What might you miss?  
I can't answer for you my friend, only for me.  I would have missed years and hours and minutes with my precious loved ones, three now gone, but never forgotten.  I'd have missed so much time with my beautiful daughter and I would never have learned that I could raise myself upon life's ladder.  Most of all I would  have missed the joy of my precious granddaughter Abby, now 23 months old, who is the hope of all my tomorrows.  None of this would have come to pass if I had given in when I felt forsaken.  
Each day is a beautiful gift, not to be taken for granted. 
Open the strings, experience the surprise.
Pauper of Prose Aug 2018
Stories browsed by the bedside of budding of children
Told of all the adventure that awaited us
So I ran amok with my compatriots
Every one of us wreathed in youth
Burning with the boundless fuel
Of curiosity
From the streets spilled opportunities
Of Fame, Of Wealth, Of Love
Then eventually the Sun rays Bent
Before bleeding upon the stone
So that we traversed on bricks of yellow
Until sore legs led us
To an enchanted emerald mirror
And as we stared we began to wheeze
Seeing a frail old wizard or witch
Wondering “why” with a whimper
As curtains cradling clocks, crash upon us
An Ode to Oz an Ode to Youth
Sam Hawkins Apr 2013
Saturate and brimming of my hometown Boston,
of its sunshine Marathon peoples and bomb images,
my heart fracture rend.

On the third day—resurrection of all my sadness
came to me, feeling fresh and born to fruition,
so this grew.

It grew and through my tears coming,
I stood to witness two loving sparrows
on a window branch.

My sadness at some abeyance, studying and curious
I was of her--all akimbo shivers and rock-in-roll, of him--
flying feathered stone, rolling from branch to branch
and coming home, repeatedly.

Circles flying within moving circles!

Did something happen
with the last jiggle of her branch?

Did you see that? Science says
what they were doing—they had finished.

(But what to believe of Science?
It calls their loving--mating rather).

Now to tell you—the sequencing was this:
when I was full knocked down
on account of my grief,
and I hardly had strength to go on,
a Beatles song flew in and gently pierced my heart,
singing to my ear: Why don't we do it in the road...
no one will be watching us...why, why don't we do it


O, Spring Life of Sparrow surprises!
Open road, that budding tree,
any new notion is something grand!

How do I say now? That you two
were most helpful, your innocence
forever abiding?

Fly off Sparrows, forever prayer!
I speak this with all my love.
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2013
Can there possibly be,
any more affable and
devoted friend than big old dog?

Dogs; the only animal in the world,
bred, and raised that have within
them one driving passion and desire,
to live along side and please their
human companions.

Should we find reason to scold,
or forcibly correct them for some
transgression of unwanted behavior,
They merely love us with their eyes
of shinning acceptance and affection,
Ready to forgive and forget.

A dog is not petty, they hold no grudges.
They seldom nag, never talk too much,
In short they are the perfect friend.

Other than a hopeful encouraging gaze,
Two times a day, like clock work,
Beseeching us as they do, for food,
They seldom require anything of us.
Except to be protected, loved
And treated fair.

Oh sure they also let us know when,
they need to go outside to do their Duty.
Now that is so completely preferable,
to that other odious option.
How **** smart is that?
Sometimes I don't even know,
when I got to go to the bathroom,
And I'm an intelligent human.

At least once a day, they
conspicuously stand at the
door, leash in their mouth
looking to go outside,
for a little exercise.
And gentle reminder to us,
that a brisk walk would,
do us more good, than them.

I can sometimes be a little down,
When along comes my canine clown,
And charms and delights all that,
Right out of me. Such is their nature.

Even merely going out to the garage,
for less than five minutes,
Upon my return, I'm excitedly,
lovingly greeted as if,
I'd been gone forever.

Five minutes or five days,
To a dog, it does not matter.
Unconditional love has
no built in time meter.

If you could hook up,
their gyrating, manic tails,
to your house current,
no utilities' bills need be paid.

Sometimes I swear,
that old dog of mine,
is actually smiling.

Long tailed dogs can be a bit of a menace,
What with their "Excitement Whip" appendage,
slapping seated kids on the floor, in the face,
And sweeping all the little bric-er-brac,
keep sakes, right off your coffee table.
A small price to pay for all their affection,  

I like people just fine,
but I must honestly admit,
to the company of noble dogs,
I can be completely content.

Sure occasionally I seek the
reassuring comradeship,
of some good humans
As long as my dog,
can come along,
and attend the party too.

When I was a child,
we moved a lot,
Human Friends
were not in abundance.
It was an old loving dog.
that pulled me through,
all those dark hours and,
I have never forgotten.

It was about then,
that I truly understood,
that dogs are people too.
Much smarter than,
we give them credit.

The only real sad part
to this compatible pairing,
this marriage of the heart,
is that we must always,
it seems, out live our buddies.

Love is love and
gone is gone
and nothing
can ever change that.

That loss has come
to me, more times
than I care to remember.
I weep and morn and
Swear to never ever,
Suffer that pain again.
That my last dear friend,
was beyond replacement.

Yet a sweet new
little puppy can
do wonders to heal
a sad broken heart.

Once more you begin,
to open your soul
and embrace that
young pup forever.
And what was old,
is new again.

And just starting over,
that fresh beginning,
That new budding
friendship,
Is what's important.

For no man is an Island
as long as he has a
good dog beside him.
A little surgery, sure. Over stated, maybe too
sentimental, could be. But if you ever had a
great dog in your life I think you'll get it.
To those of you that hate this write, go buy
or rescue a dog and a year or so later talk
to me. Or better yet write some verse.
I bet it will contain some of this same
sentimental dribble will drip from your
chin too.
Nicole Moran Feb 11
Budding, glowing bulbs. They
are shedding their stemmed leaves,
blown away and bound by nothing.
They are eating themselves alive
from the outside in. They are missing
the train by mere minutes.

Then October came along with its
spindle-like skin, weaving wool and
silk through the fibers of her
fragile life, being. She is nylon,
polyester, a poorly written trope.
She is not bound, not made by the
earth.
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