"busting" poems
Brothers till the end,
So close like two Friends.
We Might be a few years apart,
but brother you'll always be in my heart.
you've always Been My back up,
even during fights..yup.
saved me countless times,
so Ill be busting out my rhymes,
rhyming this rhyme for you,
because brother I love you too.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
I have bruises like amethyst
But the truth is I’m the catalyst
When I see colours of bismuth
I know you mean business
Bruises like amethyst
But you say you’re a pacifist
An analyst an activist
But you held my mind so it contorts, distorts
And aborts so it can’t resonate or fabricate
Or rationalise a world inside
That doesn't exist and insists
That I can’t be kissed and won’t be missed
I've got a black heart like tourmaline
But I'm the alkaline to your acid time
Trust me I am fine, I'm a pale blue
Crystalline Structural perfection
Don’t need your affection or your ways
Of objections did my bra strap give you an
Erection?
You could say I'm a feminist
But I'm more of a scientist
Busting body myths like biologist
You say ‘but **** are ****** organs’
Listen you morons, all ******* are a erogenous zone
Regardless of gender , boys nips literally have no purpose
Except when they get nervous for getting a little lip service
Trust me I'm fine, I'm a pale white crystalline
Structural perfection I don’t need your objection
Not a gem stone for your collar bone I don’t give a **** about
Your muscle tone, I'm a cyclone all alone I could spend a
1,000 years on my own.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
no weapons, no drugs.
he had the eyeballs of an aztlan prince.
touches water.
touches hot-grill to meat /repeat/
/replete with cerveza.
to roil in love of sun said lights, all things lovely.
to return by city driven lights, lake to shore to shoulder.
[to sleep.]
[to dream.]
dad is on the grill, cookin’ up something scorched.
swill is on the lake, skiin’ up something else.
sweat &
stretching lungs, the sun busting gut.
unseen, bikini pink
& green sauce.
pass the tortillas.
winterous: awake.
ice-fish and stoke the pipes of flash and holy hash.
ice-fish our favorite frozen mass.
we all grow beards,
untrusting of men who wobble blades to their faces on the daily.
spring sprung and spigot. we
return to blushing shores of wet rocks
& girlfriends.
girl bands exploding amps from atop houseboats
in styles of the highly drunk and tameless.
plucked in memory
of the ******* to come before them.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
Off the train I hit the streets
and start laughing. This is ridiculous,
incomprehensible. How can innumerable bipeds
have individual inner lives. Why are they doing
what they’re doing? I have no answer
New York City but to also go about my business
in this case prepare for surgery, survival.
But why survive with so many exact replicas
to replace me? A swarm of ants or hive of bees,
social organisms they’re called, climbing
over each other, avoiding bumping and amazingly
making way, anticipating the sudden turns
and straight paths of others, strangers but brothers,
sisters incubating, the cells of a small
***** nodes of a single semi-conscious organism.
The concept of a higher power that cares
for me is also risible yet how else
can I explain the surgeon and his team,
robots and magnetic resonance imaging machines,
all primed and trained to save my life.
They are not particularly interested in what
I do with my time. I am immediately
in love with the Irish brogue of the head nurse,
the Indian skin of the physician’s assistant.
The long extraordinarily thin
fingers of the famous surgeon. All
mine to savor (and the other cancer patients).
Despair, lose all hope
that’s what the sign says at the gates of hell
and at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center the sign says
Be kind to our customers who are waiting and suffering.
Yesterday’s suicidal thoughts: the mind
is a clever servant, insufferable master. Therefore,
meditate on this: absolute need, dependence on the Other.
I still like Hombre, The Shootist and Ulzana’s Raid
but realize those dead heroes
were subordinate to society: the gun manufacturers who armed them.
Thus, I go for cancer tests, accepting, not predicting results.
Hero accepting help.
A torrential rain following five days of flooding,
tornadoes out west busting up wooden towns
all because too many of us are hoarding plastic, herding electrons.
None of us know how it will end, what the outcome will be
(of our surgery). The best that can be said
is Don’t forget to breathe. And you might
as well believe in that higher power.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:00 AM UTC
Just reached the summit
The adrenaline building up for the plummet
Strap in to start the cruise
Headphones in, listening to my tunes
Now scanning the powdery terrain
I’m flying like a jet engine plane
Take off on the jump
My knees take the big thump,
Up ahead, there’s the rail
The momentum gives me the power to sail
Almost busting I gain my stability
Now I got my mobility
Carving back and forth
Now at dusk I see my guide north
My ride ending to a near
I get excited for that frosty beer
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
My smooth vermin, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you infest,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the wicked rest.
Let me compare you to a contender?
You are more ugly and more disgusting.
Hot frost nips the robins of December,
And wintertime has the shocking busting.
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your intriguing infestations.
Thinking of your many legs fills my days.
My hate for you is the implications.
Now I must away with a loathsome heart,
Remember my fast words whilst we're apart.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 1:12 AM UTC
Redemption
The longer that you are with someone the more memories you collect.
Blowing the mind kills the membrane by making them explode.
Bursting through the wall making my memories.
I have been running all over.
Just bounce.
Time is running out I am about to explode.
Dumbstruck walking through the door making our memories.
Restrictions will be by passed.
Your door to your heart will be broken and blown away.
All I can do is get ready to explode.
All my memories will be gone, but tell me you won't forget me in your memories.
Old friends became my new friends.
Busting through the door trying to run around in circles.
I always thought I was to bold to save you.
All I want to do is chill out, but the flames to hell are burning me.
I want a ride to civilization, but the only ride I get is a ride to death.
I try and catch myself, but it is always too late.
My memories will be gone and so will you.
My memories our memories.
A pool of blood will separate us.
I don't want to be left alone in the dark.
I won't back down from my memories.
I'll be confessing on the sins of my life when you leave me.
I am the background when you have no one.
I won't get in the way.
I won't surrender until you leave me.
I will never leave my memories until I am dead.
When I need to know my fears I look in the mirror.
The qualifications you gave to me to keep you I will keep until I die I said, but you left me dead.
Nothing exist without the power of love and hatred.
I put all my growing pains aside to see my memories again.
My strange growing pains have killed the people I loved and the things I loved.
We all have the growing pains but God brings growth through are pain.
Revenge I heard of you.
I used to hold a grudge against you.
I use to trip over it.
I used to be young asking all them questions.
I am sorry for putting the blame on you.
It was my fault.
Trying to find myself it was so hard.
I can’t explain the pain that I felt, and I can't imagine what kind of fear and pain all this stuff put you through I am sorry.
The new man is supported by the memories of you being there for me.
The memories I hold are mine and your forever.
You are looking at someone who just died and came back to life.
If it wasn't for you I would be dead still.
All my mercy forgive me.
For if you still leave me I will be here confessing on the sins of my life.
For the memories of you are forever with me now.
The identity that I had wasn't me, I don't know who that was.
I am not you, but I really am sorry for dying and almost losing all my memories of you.
Until then I will be confessing on all my sins in life.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.
the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.
recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:
do not self-chain,
let the words take you
where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.
I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.
<•>
People stop rhyming...
When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a
Rooting tooting writing of a
**** good poem
or a barrel of
crackles
If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine
And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A
In your Teacher's pet grade book
My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me
And I hope
Someone kicks his or her ***
That Ain't No Poem Neither...
And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue
extremely indiscreetly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings
intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself
You think you can write?
Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout
**Hallelujah *******
Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?
Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)
G' nite!
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
Oh, MythBusters!
I will be sad to see you go;
Your explosive awesomeness
and gut-busting science
has kept me laughing since my twelfth year
Fourteen seasons
of exploding pigs
and Adam screaming "Ouch!"
and theorizing
"Is Jamie a robot?"
Oh, MythBusters!
You will always remain in my heart
as one of my favorite shows
and I hope and pray
that the re-runs keep rolling
'till the end of my days.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
Lingering in the dark side,
She just blew my mind,
My brain waves all fried,
Sanity lost, too far to find.
I dream of busting chains,
Throwing my life down the cliffs, to the ocean rocks.
My soul now in your reigns,
Bound,Buried & Chained in a box.
My visions wild,
Fantasising a life away,
Heartbreak not so mild,
I end up all alone and stray.
In my Mind, my Initials chained around her neck,
Tighter than the grasp of love and dread,
Blinded in a hedge maze, reality unchecked,
We’ve already done it in my head.
Fiction and reality merge,
I keep recalling you in vivid dreams,
A messy little kiss it’s all that I urge,
Lust flows in wicked streams.
The river of lust,
Sourced from fatal fantasies,
As I drown deep in you,
Giving into all the fancies.
Bedsheets all ablaze,
Screaming, hiding my face,
Rising up like waves,
Crashing over, leaving no trace.
At last, a wishful yearn,
Giving way to laboured breath,
Will the tables turn,
Our fate all set.
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 10:31 AM UTC
Every time I touch a controller
I set a new highscore
I said a new highscore.
Look out behind you, mother ******
I capped that ***
You should've watched your back.
Now I got an L-shaped block
Watch as I drop it in that L-shaped slot.
Haters gotta throw the blue turtle shell,
Because they can't keep their kart on Rainbow Road.
Donkey's going to throw some barrels at me;
Don't worry princess, watch me jump.
I promise I won't get hit, not even once.
Hey there champ look right here;
I just stuck a plas grenade
On you right ear.
Lucky shot? So you say.
Still watching me tea-bag you
From the grave.
Pilot Wings, Punch-Out, Mario
Madden, Sonic or GTA
It doesn't really matter
The number of pixels we play.
D-Pad or joystick,
Night or day,
It doesn't really matter how you play,
Put me on tron I'll blow you away.
Turtles in Time:
You take that next slice.
Even blindfolded your no match
For my SuperScope.
Tony Hawk, what a joke!
In Pacman or Galaga in space
Even with the Kunami Code
You've got no hope.
So the next time you hear
Scorpion yell "Get over here!"
Have no fear
A Sonic Boom will soon be there.
Busting out Atari's Pong?
Noob, I'll pwn you
One-thousand to none.
Hell, not even Parapa the Rappa
Can touch my rhymes.
Read those initials
That score is mine.
I said read those initials;
That score is mine.
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 1:38 AM UTC
Life could be easy - Oh, no please me
I got it good
We **** around - I **** her down
She takes my wood like she should
Wild, yeah - Styled, yeah
Loud while she wears my crown and
I ain't coming down again
Till the ******* *** blends
Make her bend - I know no end
Notice noted we ascend
I know she know we more than friends
I ride her like a ******* benz
******* find it all the while
I ain't stopping till the bed breaks
I smash the whole cake
Legs shake on my dinner plate
-
We hit it so hard - never going to stop
All in the cards - never going to drop it
She's in the cockpit - locked it, popped it
Launched my rocket - oh my goddess
I'll be back in couple of days
Riding that wave - we give and we take it
All of this time she's slaying my ****
Hard as brick - I'm all the way the way in it
Living in sin one hand on her neck
We ******* she bucking I'm ******* her next
She want it so bad she tear up my back
I handle that *** I'm on the attack
Bust in a magnum busting my cap
Busting from ******* call it a wrap
I'm up in lab we doing the bad
Yeah, I'm finishing last
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
Ample time to wither,
But these crystal eyes see through,
Winding halls of glitter,
And colors run together, for you.
When I was taken aback By that gaze
I fell onto myself, you see
Landing back in old days, In old eyes,
With old ways, not so gray,
Eyes not yet placed away.
Thicker air that waved with arms
And sweeter words from busting hearts.
That I could so here dwell,
And skip by merrily,
I wouldn't feel my torn flesh,
And would be more unselfish,
Crushing plants under foot, (or hoof)
Oh the thanks that i say.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
Black blueberries buttoned by *****
Black blueberries buttoned by *****
This wasn't yours to loose
Nothing was yours to loose
Black blueberries backed by bench men
Bench men that sit on side lines
Thinking
When will the golden moment be
To break through; proving themselves
Worthy of the benched boxes they be in
Everyday
Because
They believe in benevolence
Black blueberries busting through my *****
Black blueberries busting through my *****
Better than bullets
Better than bullets
Better than bombs and turrets
Better than ballistic knifes and skillets
And arsenals of ignorance bettered with bills
Bills I pay to ensure my life is ready to die
Is it a matter of our collective thoughts?
Those black blueberries are buried
And not because I am becoming a black blueberry I say this
But because life begins with black blueberries
Who all turn into nothing but pale *****
All conformed
Not to natural laws
But to the cognitive bacterial infection
Called education
Turning us to blue blueberries
Blue blueberries
And grand building bannered with ********
Black blueberries are bored
Black blueberries are right
Black blueberries are always right…
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
the trouble with poetry
(and this poetry site) is its
facilitation
awoke in a strange bed, my own,
in a different city, with my old eyes
renewed with, by loving amazement
at the beauty of so many souls experimenting
with edged, loving, dangerous compo-notions,
that make me older than King David, who loved the
love of life and this world, for here I am, falling too
for the life & love potions
of words of my fellow humans across
vast oceans
and I stoke their and stroke their
heated words, pretending that
the cool warmth of my tablet
is both their gorgeous skin and
alluring verbal twists that arouse
my innermost, and break my already
broken heart, and heals it at the very
same time...
all too, so easily
this communication is at levels that
descend, transcend,
grips me with passion and consternation
at my own desires, my open body & mind
stirred, chilled, shaken, stirred and soothed
by the busting out contradictions of us, me,
so well hidden, so well revealed in the marvy
ability of so many to share their essences,
their own scents, just by words upon a page,
and here I pause...
to consider the duality of the word
f a c i l e
for poetry shared facilitates this burning,
" " " " " tumult,
and yet comes to me so facile, that I worry,
that the words themselves are facile, cheap
& easy, but then I am reassured by the very
real drops of my body's fluids upon my cheeks,
that confirm, that poetry is too so real, so living,
and I guess you know me by my real name,
my real face, and my realized words here,
and wonder if I need cease to wonder why
wonderful is...
a thing
my poetry is written by silent night, or early morn,
so very differing, and laugh out loud at myself,
for I am a differing man, at differing times,
of a potpourri of contagious contradictory
conceptions, that I traverse so easy, this facility
is my blessing, and poetry my well worn skill
at...facilitating this absurd admixture of
human~you-man~a man~amen.
and here I leave you...
for I have left
the sunroom too...
@
3:26 am
Thu Sep 4
someplace else
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
I've had enough of all this wind and reindeer
We otter go away
Holidays are important, my parents tortoise that
Weasel have to look on the internet
You know I can't bear the heat
But here's a spa hotel where I'm sure they would panda to your every need
Alpaca suitcase right away
Toothpaste tube, cattle class
Purple stripes, rows of lights
A newly formed castle white
In concrete, steel and glass
Cloud-high halls, giant pots
Re-charging bodies strewn around
Turning deeper shades of brown
Volcanic sand, hot black rock
We watch a floating city, blazing light
Like a dying star, fade into the night
-
Ali, where do these bananas go?
What kind of tree is this?
How far does this levada flow?
Ali takes the tourists out
He throws some breadcrumbs in the water
He likes to feed the trout
Madeira born in forty five
Ali told me many things
Ali, our levada walking guide
His family was very poor
He collected mussels from the shore
And sticks to burn for heat
For today his mother said
I have no food and we must eat
We have to eat
Ali, where are all the vines?
How long before your boots wear out?
Do you drink the local wine?
Do the tourists drive you mad
With all the questions that they ask?
Ali smiles, shuffles us aside
To let some others pass
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
She’s busting my eyes in that slinky top
Dreaming away in that tight, bright skirt
She owns my heart but she wants the room.
How about a day from today, hey?
How about it, hey?
How about it?
Cos I can already feel your hands on mine
Grabbing my t-shirt, grasping my thighs
She’s making me sweat
Looking **** in stilettos
Hot **** girl
You’re **** in stilettos
**** in stilettos
She’s **** in stilettos
High on your own image, hey?
Give me more of that smile, baby
Give me more of that **** smile
How about a day from today, hey?
How about it, hey?
How about it?
Cos I can already feel your hands on mine
Grabbing my t-shirt, grasping my thighs
She’s making me sweat
Looking **** in stilettos
Hot **** girl
You’re **** in stilettos
**** in stilettos
She’s **** in stilettos
Baby you’ve got my respect
Might as well go ahead, take my jacket
You own that slick red smile
I wanna feel that slick red smile
Cos I can already feel your hands on mine
Grabbing my t-shirt, grasping my thighs
She’s making me sweat
Looking **** in stilettos
Hot **** girl
You’re **** in stilettos
**** in stilettos
She’s **** in stilettos
13th July 2016
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 3:40 AM UTC
there is a camping trip planned and preserved
on the reservation of our hopes and dreams and summer sweet nothings. we
retreat upon an open-toed weekend, cooler gemmed
& ready.
there is a place in the mountains
& on that wooded ridge it is waiting to be seen and witnessed. lived
upon, lit upon,
seedling.
sure, i love you.
& sure, i’ll die. and that is forever.
& forever is -
no worry. no bluffs. no sweat.
because this life is right, and right now is everything.
yolk.
to become a bloom of love more than just words and digits and plays of
time. this time
is ours.
is good beer. great beer. &
the heat. the her. her soothes and sovereigns
on this land in which we live with the whole tribe and fun days.
we are our own dreams.
good dreams.
meet her on the shore of a river.
& she is listening and speaking and sung.
with an urge
to love and let begin.
take precedent. take my nettled little heart
and crackle like fire from it the nutrient of lonesome ode.
& from the strum of that
we begin.
we end.
we cog back into the existence of small time
small town nobodies. worked little we.
service and cinema.
thus
busting gut toward town and more weekends and more movement.
there is motion to this curve of time, kids.
curve of pages expressed
& exposed here in wayward traveled poems.
truths of some sort or hallucination. here
we daydream.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
For years of feeling trapped.
For years in hiding.
For years of making everyone else happy.
I quit.
I'm breaking open.
I'm busting my shell to pieces.
I'm tearing the walls down for good.
For me.
I cut my hair.
I dressed how I wanted.
I am who I am.
For me.
But I'm still trapped.
But I'm still in hiding.
But I'm still not me.
I'm lost.
With these breast.
With this voice.
With this body.
I'm not me.
My *** won't define me.
My looks won't save me.
My voice will hurt me.
I need to change.
I'm forgetting society's idea of "normal."
I'm not a 'princess,' I'm a 'prince.'
I'm going to be happy.
Trans.
No more pain.
No more hiding.
No more being scared.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Peculiar
Agreed?
How ******** clad lassies
Get the pass to show their ***
Long as nobody touches
Jiving gyrations
In counter-clockwise rotation
Seldom unescorted by damnation
By God, sense the relation
She's losing her patience
Can't afford to be a patient
So being patient...
That **** is ancient
Swanging ******* before eyes
Eyes that can't see
Eyes blind by the fuckery
***** get hickory
And the tic tickory of the clock
Stops
Drop drop
Shake that body for the coin
Make those men yearn to join
Their meat to your groin
Blind men throw out the presidents
Nixon Jackson Benjamin
Facts is
That these hoes stay cashing in
More than ****** busting traps
And toting gats to make stacks
Peculiar
Agreed?
How a ***** sell and smoke ****
High off they own supply
Baby mamas multiply
Covered all the **** by a lie
Making these young girls cry
And the innocent have to die
For this boy to strive
When you mad at the *** clap
Fat *** on a mans lap
Slow wine then fast
Slow grinding for cash
But no harm is caused
No obstruction of laws
But men be a "Boss"
& a woman... A loss
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 1:47 AM UTC
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** and moan
about us drinking all the milk
that you didn't help pay for
and then drink each last beer
that you didn't help pay for
while the guy who bought them and got to drink none
is busting *** at work
making him able
to buy yet more things
for you to take for granted.
With friends like these..
By the way,
where's the last few months' rent?
You know, for all the months sense your parents stopped payin' it?
Oh, I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to assume
that you would assume some responsibility
like the rest of us
to whom you ceaselessly complain
about how un-fucking-fair
your spoiled ******* brat lifestyle is.
You can't even keep a plant
you want for personal reasons,
so how is it even fair to assume
you could get and keep a job?
How foolish of me!
At least you can roll a good joint
with **** you didn't acquire
and papers you didn't buy.
A ******* professional, you are.
By the way,
that soldering iron
you neglected to leave the house to pick up
would be ******* fantastic to have,
but even a walk half a mile to the post office
is too ******* strenuous
for you.
By the way,
do you want ants?
Because your heap of cans, bottles and dishes
is a great way to get ants,
but you get all vindictive and indignant
if anyone tries to clean "your space"
in my ******* house
you haven't even paid to live in
for many months.
While Money is far from everything,
and I wish it was a non-issue,
kindness and good intentions
will not even begin to pay
the bills, the mortgage
or these exorbitant Californian property taxes;
and, even if they did,
I fear you'd still fall
rather short.
Perhaps-
no, not even perhaps:
I've been far too nice far too long
to people who couldn't be ******
to show some ******* respect.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
Changing buses at Flamingo and Decatur,
a Sister ogles my comped leather jacket,
while braceros mill about across the street,
awaiting any drive-by job offer.
This is the Vegas never seen from the Strip;
a town of cheap gifts and off-the-books labor,
where paychecks disappear in Dollar Loan Centers,
every cranny packing a local's casino.
A hundred taxis queue outside the Palms,
like pilot fish seeking ectoparasites upon a shark.
Inside the thousand dollar escorts hustle
overextended gamblers busting hard 16's at the tables.
I told the Sister I'd won the jacket. Impressing
her that anyone would ever be a winner,
watched her intentionally cross the street
to invite a bracero out to breakfast.
The 103 bus downtown ran late.
Leaving my losing parlay tickets on the bus,
I walk through the parking lot of despair,
the casino's glass doors awaiting me.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
It all started with mixing Tequila and Sambuca last Friday night.
Then I noticed him, busting some classic moves on the dance floor.
Soon we are dancing, grinding, kissing, laughing, dancing, kissing,
he's even drinking out of my half finished cup of water, he's smiling.
"I'm a Royal Marine, not an Army boy!" he corrects. "A Commando."
We both even have the same phone! Coincidence? I don't think so.
Beads of sweat dripping from his hair onto his flawless face and neck,
yet, he smells oh so divine, "it's Gucci Guilty Intense", he explains.
I blurt out, "Hope this won't be a waste of your time, 'cause I'm not
going to sleep with you tonight!" He says, "All right", and smiles.
Mixed signals, cold bed phobia, pure drunkenness combined,
I offer him, "It's late. You can spend the night at mine, I don't mind."
"Just Scott, you won't remember the rest, it's long and complicated",
later he adds, "Good luck trying to find me without my name!"
"I'm Twenty One." "That's so young", I exclaim and he frowns.
He's cocky yet witty, and also very pretty, so I let my dignity drown.
Taking him in my mouth until he explodes like a loaded gun,
my duty to the nation's hunkiest hero was well and truly done.
"I joined two days after my eighteenth birthday", said he with pride.
"My vacation's over. I'm leaving on Sunday to Poole". I sighed.
I spent the entire night insomniac, with my head throbbing to the beat
of his obliviously, peacefuly sleeping exhaling and inhaling speed.
Close enough to feel the heat of his body, yet a million miles away,
him dreaming and I reminiscing, both awaiting the dawn of a new day.
Skipping the "thank you", "goodbye", hug or phone number, he says,
"See you around maybe", holding a rather deceitfully seductive gaze.
"Scott, we're never going to see each other again", I answer bluntly.
Mirroring my sad smile in reply, minus the sadness, he left promptly.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
well then shepherd in the mess why does that sharpened cowl of wheat surround those sweet yams in the satchel, some scene of loosening transgressions, no pear ripening itself one dull, and one unfulfilling afternoon, rolls down over its branch of sister and brother father and mother Bartletts from the stem, only to make its way into the bottom of that stretched out tawny hide. Where by the wayside every other nobody can see straight inside when a hand moves in, sweeps its fist and then goes deeply down into that can of rotten novelties we all hate, but you feel keeps us in suspense. I wonder will it ever end? Bells busting from the insides of their guts, another candy shock, up and bounces, popcorn kernels, roasted almond slivers, and some preceding green vegetable posted on the 8th St. Diner marquee display on 9th, another advertisement fighting at the sore, devoured hunger for that silhouette following closely behind the moistened wells where my brush dabs lightly into the cup before the gouache and paint mixture begin to dry, that is where I wait and wonder why? Why? Pained with hunger but besmirched with fright, skin sweaty, knotted like muslin yards growing weak against the coil. So humbling were the groans that nearly a decade crossed swiftly across his face, only five or ten minutes had passed before another twenty years flowed into the vast matrix of the rivers of blue sweat marked by estuaries, creeks, and streams across the brow, down the cheeks, and ultimately across the neck, lazing down into the chest, before settling its heavy panic soaking in the guts. Where a heavy glass brick has been vitrifying in the sun, never have two people seen the steamy and piping-hot quarry go from its conviviality and festivity of life, into this shriveled up tree having found its way into the prairie where giant winds bend its branches and enormous thunderstorms nearly strangle it with its own roots. Frisked by sin and pangs of nostalgia in which a thousand thoughts intersplice the whorls imprinted upon our brains.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
May Day
Fertility way
Beltane honours life
A peak of Spring
Earth energies are most effective
Let it begin
All busting with potent fertility
The wheel of the year,
potential becomes conception
Nature is fair
Fire festival glare
Ireland celebrations
Feast of Beltane
Latter times,
Mary's day,
it was called in the rhymes,
they say
Bonfires marking,
the coming of Summer
Granting luck to people's livestock,
without mock
The first day in May Irish holiday
Beltane rituals,
counting young men and women,
picking blossoms in the woods,
lighting fires as the evening stood
Matches for marriages all good,
right there and then,
or Summer Autumn would be when
Medieval modern Europe holiday
Return of Spring observance
Probably originating anyway,
in ancient agricultural roots
Rituals and perseverance,
The Greeks and Romans,
held such festivals
People and their cattle,
would walk around bonfires,
and between rattle
Sometimes leaping over,
embers and flames
All households,
fires doused and re-lit
from the Beltane bonfire
Accompanied by a feast,
with some food and drink,
offered at least
May Day also called Worker's Day,
or International Worker's Day
Commemorating the historic,
struggles and gains made,
by workers,
and the labour movement,
reins without jerkers
In the United States and Canada lakes,
a similar observance known,
as Labor Day partakes on the first,
Monday of September not May
Beltane also sometimes,
goes by the Name May Day
This holiday strongly,
associated with Pagans,
they say,
for fertility come what May
The origins are in ancient play,
across the world this May Day
© 2022 Carol Natasha Diviney
May 1, 2022
May 1, 2022 at 5:45 AM UTC