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ryn Jan 2015
.
\       |       /

\               •think my               /
pen's almost dry•it's get-
ting oh so hard•ideas seem to just
\   fly on by•i'm unable to deal any more   /
cards•bottom of the barrel•i seem to be
scraping•trapped in a long, dark tunnel•
coherence eluding...the words that need
inking•i need a simple little trick...•to
soothe this perpetual itch•need my
/        bulb come on really quick•hope-        \
fully as soon as I flick on
/               the...switch•               \
|   ooooooooooo   |
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••
ooo
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Dancing the billow in the sea
the cool one will show up
deep down from the deep
with the flute on the lips.

Listen to the flute!
The chorus clouds bang out
floating by the river blue,
they sing down the sky as they move.

The sun draws in
from the secret valley
ambling with the wonder light
as if it, the punter sun, in the sky
knew it, knows the flutist
rose from down the sea!

There is no stop in the solar disc.
Twirling around the inner music
every orb, every planet is a bee.

The waning and waxing Moon
in silhouette and at half-light
swings over the sea.

It all starts from the ground;
it was from our sea waterfront
Him the creative sweetheart in the midst
floated the leading light the bumblebee.
All the stars bubble in the galaxy
they know this ancient story!

Since then the brightest bulb
the sun in the solar ring  
leads the bunch’s mindful
butterfly dance on the way home.
Following the enduring haunting melody
of the pre-design command ‘qun’ be!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Conditionless
Eryri Sep 2018
Thank you for the memories,
The unexpected, sudden hits of nostalgia
Taking me back to carefree days
Of playing football after a summer rainstorm,
Of laughing in woodwork class,
Of my grandmother's awesome cakes.

Like time travel on the cheap,
You weather away the years,
And the strata of cynicism and regret,
Momentarily eroding my reality,
Revealing the manchild at my core,
Allowing him the briefest chance to once again explore.

But these are unpredictable reveries,
Three dimensional snatches of memories.
It's time they developed some kind of smell recorder,
Just like sights and sounds can be held for posterity.
But such technology would not compare to my physiological wonder;
Magically transforming scent into vivid memories.
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 elongated 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.
CK Baker Oct 2017
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in ****'s hole

Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus

Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss

Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand

Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared

Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down

Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand

Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
***** pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float

Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void

Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
Poetoftheway Aug 2018
how do you know when (a human is too broken?)



<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
Heal, Raphael! Saint on Deep Wounds repair
As the Fifth Great Angel will now allow
With Thanks as my Tray for Modesty's care
Her well-written Paper of Words everhow
And that Plus-Filled Bulb called Inspiration
Installed by the Lad diving from your Wing
Your Feather reveals such Uncondition
Like the Seven rest their Model do sing
Thorns, Horns and Unreasonable Intent,
Those Demons you Eight managed to repel
Pre or Post-Ring, one Thing I am content
That Plym's Living Daughters know how to Spell.
Especially you. The First of your Kind
Your Prince rejoices. Please bear that in Mind.
#daleysangels #xlaurenrobsonx
the down keeps me up
needing to crash but thoughts beckon
i know i must pay tomorrow
full moon tonight
what’s your excuse?
if you’re a woman don’t misconstrue
i’m not a  misogynist
true misogyny neccitates great admiration
full moon tonight
what’s your excuse?
i don’t care tonight
gonna stay awake till collapse
i dreamed Apple traded
$99.00 monday morning and i bought it
i’m not your type
not your type not your type
i read Flaubert, Zola, Nabokov
i know it’s hard to see
i imagine angels
what do you like in your cup of tea?
while taking care of neighbor’s cat Oskar
decided to replace porch standard white with green light bulb
i hope they like it
they’re burners
they’ll be gone for two weeks
If all around me the world was ending,
The here and now collapsing breath by breath
Would you be standing close to me
whispering how we met?

Would your hand be warm,
flush against my cheek?
Brushing tears from falling,
rushing like a creek.

If brimstone fire flames rose high,
Scorching all that live
Would you cast a magic spell,
a protective cage to give?

If all the lights were smothered out
and darkness sank across the ground
would you stand tall against the black?
Your heart, my light bulb, forever bound?
Jesse Buenavides Oct 2017
as I lie awake staring at the ceiling
I see the fluorescent light bulb flickering
for how long it will remain bright is uncertain
the cold breeze pans my vision to the curtain
now I see the moon brightly shining
looking back at the tiny fluorescent light, I kept comparing
why can't I see the moon when there is rain
but when skies cry this light bulb is here to remain
then a quick flash kept my ears ringing
I've answered my questions without even knowing
the moon leaves me everyday
but even if I **** it, the tiny fluorescent lightbulb will stay
For the feelings I've left in the past
Cress Rosario Jun 2014
I thought of many pictures in my head
And in every book that I have read
I looked at the horizon
To look for an inspiration

I closed my eyes slowly
I skimmed images thoroughly
Then one light suddenly flickered
Like a giant glint of a light bulb

As I opened my eyes,
I saw a wooden table of mess
Mess made by used paints
Clutter from paintbrushes

Finishing a work of art
Is like fulfilling a life's half part
This is a story of my life
A story of an artist's life
Purcy Flaherty Oct 2018
I was treated like the VIP,
A cat and a big fish,
A hook and a big Six,
whilst visiting Little bo-peeps
rotisserie of *****,
she was no shrinking violet,
Wearing open silk
working 9 to 5am.

Hot funk never satisfies,
but she had the way with all
to feign, delight; even interest,
before negotiating the price,
She was classy,
kind of slick,
she tickled my ears
for nothing more than kindness,
a small token in exchange for a smile.

She poped on a tune,
as she took off her dress.
The petting started
Two hands tugging with the zipper of my jeans.
A woman's touch... Ha HA,
the sultry kiss of *****,
tight and tasty;
***** like a ripe tomato,
Sugar fried and drunk,
She opened her legs.

Her hair smelled like shampoo,
She was on her belly,
knees tucked up
as I took in the fruit,
deep holes filled **** and shabby fingers,
hollow spit and angry poison,
head spinning with the groove,
loud and high,
The bed squeaked
and a single bulb dangles
like a loose tooth,

Both crooning love songs,
Sick and spent,
I got dressed to leave,
I said with a poke,
I couldn't get laid,
Not even in a ***** house.
And i'm back in the cold again,
only dirtier!
Another old poem
The inspiration from William and Don G
King Panda Sep 2017
I pluck you a crocus
and all life becomes
a legend of the body

a torch-whipped storm
pastel in its fire
buries me in you

when I hand you the stem
a shake
and the yellow stamen

loses its dust

lady lady
forgets its bug
when I place the flower

in your vase

spots wiped black-less
insect no more
lady lady

the inspection of autumn
bulb-less growth
and a string of red

***** and betting its stripes

a tiny mound of dirt
obscured by rotting leaves

the last of you reaching for my hand
patty m Jul 2015
Cupped hand on chin watching
people having a good time on Lennox avenue.
Have you ever read a Cummings poem then read it again
and watch the content change from innocent to perverse?

In the clubs conversation swirls much like that,
flat intonation minus punctuation, do they flirt or flip you off?

In my room backlit by a bare bulb
the numbness in my arms and mind escalates;
poetry is sometimes a gift filled with healing power,
at other times its abandonment feels like a curse.  
Vague face in the mist, my sometimes talent
turns on me leaving me forsaken..  
Chasing words is like trying to catch the tail of a comet,
the symbols manifest in strange tattoos
while the alignment looks totally alien.
The hour is late and my eyes burn with exhaustion
yet I won't submit to the shadowy being
who snidely smiles and sprinkles sand.
Bison Mar 2017
Your eyes pour white smoke from the fire that burns your throat.
I'll swallow my tongue singing the songs that you wrote. Cover my mouth. Watch me choke.
Employ cause and effect once we've perfected the affect and pause.

Take it back to the twisted root
The silver spilled by the traitor's truth
Swing now and silence the doubt
There's fire in my eyes that will never burn out.

I can't become just another dead bulb, flickering fast to that final "pop" of my life.
I need to be a steady star, burn forever, forever and always be someone's wishing light.

Paint it black like the empty space
Above the clouds, behind what waits
Pointillism in still water reflected low
What heaven we have yet to know

Oh, we're all burning. Burn me up inside.
I will be the sun crashing through the dawn, I'll burn out bright.
End this endless life, bring on forever night.
Özcan Sh Jul 2018
She was like a maze
I tried many ways
Sometimes the gates
Locked my way
I still wanted  to solve the maze
Because her love
Brought my broken bulb
To shine again.
One
Deplorable and horrible;  Despicable, abhorable;
It reiterates, evaluates, desiccates, and exacerbates.
It never fails to fall too short, but always fails as a support
In an attempt to be freed, it misleads to bad deeds
And creates a hunger -- vacuous, yet impossible to feed.
It chases the light away and it longs to be alone.
So I am so ashamed to say, that in my skull it found its home.

So I will fight and fight against it, but I will always lose the battle.
I have found that even as I trudge ahead, that somehow I still straggle.
It is the artist, I am the instrument. Like a light bulb to its filament.
Every day I am at the bottom, forced to climb back up the hill again.
But I think the day has come... when I have finally stopped walking.
I have reached a door that can’t be opened, and have decided to stop knocking.
It is me and who I have become; it is my actions and what I have done.
And as much as I despise it, it seems my brain and I are one.

I will tuck myself away, lock the door and here I will stay.
I am right where I belong, hidden by darkness and dismay.
I will mingle with the dark, and the beasts that vanish come the day,
Because I seem to fit right in where the rest of the monsters play.
guy scutellaro Mar 2016
through an open window
when a bulb burns out
a sliver of moonlight turns
tiny eyes red
and on little feet
the dimmest of dreams
from a corner
comes crawling.

when the night comes
through eyes closed
the room turns inside out.
the heart pounds away the seconds.
the edge moves closer
and the clock smiles.


when the night comes...

on the corner below my window
shadows whispering gather.
broken clouds
rolling dice that will never fall...

and on my knees
praying into the void
the toilet don't flush,
the toaster won't pop...
i grab the smoking toaster
and throw it out the window
the corner boys look up
the corner boys
are rushing up the stairs,
me and the rat
waiting for the cops to come,
me and the rat
when the night won't leave
at 3 a.m.
eating donuts.
n-khrennikov Oct 2018
Death and love dancing together,
In her youthful and strong body.
Her hand is like paper,
soft velvet
you meet in the wild flower petals,
Her lips sad and chapped
with poetry wheel she wrote
How much in the darkness?, it is heart bulb
as the stars share unforgettable joy!

Death and love
kiss her lips
let go of desire for life,
Because two people can not distinguish,
in the dance blew all three.
n-khrennikov ©

Memorialize:  Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963).
alskawlfe Jul 2018
This is me
In the darken room, in a void hiding from your hands
Don’t touch me
Stop saving me
Let my blood flow
Let these wounds rip
I’m okay
I will be okay.

I’m putting my foot down.
I’ll cut this hair so you’ll stop climbing this tower,
I’ll cover my face for I don’t want to be awake to a true love kiss,
I will let the spindle of the spinning wheel ***** me and surrender to the curse

I’m packing these baggage
The one that’s marked trust issues,
The one with dreams written all over it
I’m bringing it back home
Back home to this ribcage
So please. Let the darkness of this place shine
Allow this sorrow in its heaven
My demons can take it from here

For I am sorry for the way your arms are covered in bruises
Your body became a map of the places you rescued me from
Your eyes dry from trying to stay awake on the nights my demon demand to be accompanied
That you become selfless just because I was selfish

So darling
Let the bulb stay burned
Leave me in my new home
And let your bruises heal

This is my fighting ring
The one I’ve made you bleed for all these years
I will face this nightmare I will let it conquer me
I will fall and fight
And Ill keep fighting
And I will save you from saving me.
Val Vik Feb 2018
Our planets~ like the droplets of rain
resting on the surface of the car's windshield.
The way tear drops~ imitating a falling star
vanishing in the blink of an eye.
The way suns are portrayed
by the wavering beam of the bulb...

Shine through the nightfall
which tears into my waking hour!
Universal love- just is- soo comforting
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