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Nigel Obiya Apr 2013
PLANET NAIROBI (When the sun goes down)
Nur…
They were on the verge of losing this battle… it was only a matter of time, and he knew that. Through the window, he saw them advance, with a fierce swiftness that would have put anyone opposed to them at unease. Trembling uncontrollably, he reached for his weapon and held it firmly, ready to martyr himself for his family’s honour and legacy if need be. For they were not, and never would be known as a family of cowards, they were royalty... and he would rather go down fighting than cowering, that was the bottom line. But he knew that his sword, as well forged as it was, would be no match for Rath and his five hundred man strong battalion. So, biting his lower lip he waited for the pounding footsteps to reach the top of the stairs where he stood, the one solitary guardian to the throne. Martyrdom was his destiny.
“Let he that stands between Rath and the throne fall like the city walls!” Rath’s dominant voice bellowed as it got closer, too close for comfort.
He braced himself.
Suddenly, the doors burst open. And Nur... Prince Nur, finally got to come face to face with the scourge that had terrorised the lands of the sea for so long. A man of whom he had heard about from stories as a child growing up. A man that had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember. Nur realised that he had always been afraid of Rath, long before this moment, how was he supposed to fight this man when he was clearly at a disadvantage? For it was common knowledge that to go into battle afraid, was to go into battle prepared to lose.
Rath was a gigantic figure, and exuded the air of one who was accustomed to crushing his opponents and hadn’t experienced defeat in a while... if not ever. This man stood at almost eight feet tall, with rock hard muscles that seemed to pile on top of more muscle, threatening to tear through his dark skin. His long locks of unkempt hair fell over a face that could only be described as menacing. He had a permanent scowl that was complimented by his black, soulless eyes. And as they stared each other down, Nur couldn’t ignore the presence of sheer evil he saw in those eyes, a shiver of dread ran down his spine. He raised his blade.
“A child?” Rath barked, “A petulant child? Is that what this Kingdom’s defences have come down to? An infant?” He waved a dismissive hand at Nur.
“A prince!” Nur responded defiantly, raising his blade even higher and more confidently. This man may have been the epitome of terror, but Nur would be ****** if he was going to be talked down to in this manner, this was his palace.
“A prince huh? Prince Nur I presume? Your father was a brave man, I respected him. Even if I met his acquaintance only for a couple of minutes, before I slaughtered him. But I do respect a king that fights alongside his men, as opposed to other cowards I’ve had the pleasure of killing that had barricaded themselves in their chambers and let others fight their battles for them. King Thur was a rare breed... but a dead one all the same.” He laughed remorselessly as he said this. “And soon you will get to join your warrior father foolish one.”
Nur lost all sense of fear. Infuriated, his nostrils flared as he swung the blade with all the ferocity he could muster, slicing deep into Rath’s right forearm. Time slowed to syrup as he saw his adversary’s blood stain the sword, but realising that it wasn’t a fatal strike, he turned around swiftly, switching his stance just in time to see Rath’s massive blade come down on his head. Then there was a deathly silence.
The afterlife was nothing like he had pictured. It smelt of... he couldn’t quite place that peculiar smell. It wasn’t pleasant, but neither was it unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Then he turned around and saw her. He deduced that she was probably the source of the smell. He noticed that smoke came out of her nostrils and mouth every few seconds after lifting a sticklike object to her lips. Nur mused at how wrong the high priest in their kingdom had been when he spoke about the place in the sun... the afterlife. It wasn’t anything like he had described.
But wait a minute! He realised that the sun was still above him, in the sky. He could see it. He could feel it on his skin. So WHERE WAS HE? He felt dizzy, unable to comprehend. Only a minute ago he was in the royal palace, facing certain death. And now he was... he didn’t know where he was, or even what he was. Was he dead? Transcended? Was this just his soul? If so, then how come he still had his senses? All these questions raced through his mind at the same time. He turned toward the lady, who seemed unaware of his presence. She was tall and very light skinned compared to him and her hair was tied in ponytail at the back of her head. He couldn’t make sense of her attire though, she seemed to wear a lot of clothing, garment over garment that covered her arms and legs. She was also extremely beautiful and had a slim womanly body most warriors would **** for, he noted, and felt himself flush. He tried to see what she was squinting so intently at and concluded that she was just staring into space as she drew, he realised now, on the tiny stick and blew out more smoke. That was when he noticed how high up they were, this palace stood almost five times as high as theirs. It was overwhelming to say the least.  He got up and walked over to her, deciding to leave his blade behind so as not to come off as a threat.
“Greetings?” He said politely. She jumped as if she had just seen a ghost, dropping the stick she was holding. He had clearly startled her, so he took a step back lifting his hands in the air to signify that he meant her no harm. She breathed rapidly and began to speak just as rapidly in a foreign tongue. Nur couldn’t understand what she was saying, but the hostility in her tone and her demeanour was hard to miss. He took another step back, ready to defend himself from an attack if need be. He had heard tales of an island with warrior women who could match, and beat, even the strongest male adversary in combat. He decided to tread cautiously.


Nasim...
Nasim Naikuni was beyond peeved. Who was this ******?  He had scared her half to death and almost made her fall off the roof, not to mention burn her favourite grey, three thousand shilling trouser suite when she dropped the cigarette. And what annoyed her even more was that he didn’t seem to register how ******* she was. He just stood there with a blank expression on his face, like a schoolboy waiting for his mistake to be explained to him. Nasim couldn’t stand slow people, they got under her skin. She was yelling at the top of her lungs, which was taxing to say the least, seeing as she had been smoking just seconds ago.
“Are you slow?” She shouted, tapping at her temple repeatedly. “What makes you think you can sneak up on me like that you fool? You almost killed me. Do you realise that?” Then she stopped and studied him, out of breath. She noticed that he seemed unable to understand English and so she switched to Swahili, “Nini mbaya na wewe?” What’s wrong with you? Still there was no response.
She gave him a once over. He dressed strangely. His large, golden brown pants that fluttered in the wind seemed to have been made from an expensive material, though it was like no material she’d laid eyes on before. It bordered somewhere between silk and suede. His shirt was also made of a similar material, but leather brown in colour, matching his leather boots that were laced and reached just under the knee. He stood an inch or two shorter than she did, but she guessed that was probably because she was in heels. He had long hair that seemed to fall halfway down his back in one long braid. He looked almost exotic as he tried to communicate, but she couldn’t place the language or his ethnicity, for his skin-tone was chocolate brown but his hair looked almost like an Asian’s, dark and straight. He spoke in a tongue she had never heard before. There was also something really classy about this boy, whom she guessed to be around eighteen years of age or so. It was like looking at a darker, more pampered version of Sinbad the sailor.
Nasim relaxed a little and decided to give the fellow a chance to introduce himself, in whatever way he intended to do so. He seemed to pick up on this and started explaining something to her, making a couple of gestures, and at some point she thought she saw him mimic a fight, and then  point to the sky. Nasim still didn’t know what he was talking about, but felt a semblance of communication begin to take form. He directed her attention to another part of the roof, probably where he had approached her from. And she saw the blade! With catlike agility she swung her purse at him, the blow caught him square on the jaw with a thud! The bottle of perfume she religiously carried around in it serving a different purpose on this day. He hadn’t seen it coming and so had no chance of stopping it. He staggered backwards as she made a run for it toward the staircase but felt a hand grab her ankle causing her to tumble onto the hot cement floor. At that moment her heart sank, for she knew that she was done for.


Nur...
Nur was perplexed, he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve the assault. The lady had seemed to be calming down, but all of a sudden she had lunged at him with a weapon he had first assumed to be a bag. Though, she didn’t strike with the strength that a warrior would have, and also had made an attempt to flee. This told him two things. One, she wasn’t accustomed to combat... and two, she had attacked more out of fear than strife. Which meant that she posed no immediate threat to him. Also, she was the only person he had met so far and his only hope of figuring out where he was. He couldn’t afford to lose her, not just yet, so he decided to try something he was ashamed he hadn’t thought of sooner. Nur spoke into her head.
‘I mean you no harm.’  He said, and waited. No response. He tried again, concentrating harder this time. ‘Can you hear me? I mean you no harm’
‘LET ME GOOO!’  Her thoughts screamed.
He could understand her, they had made a connection. Progress...

One year later. Nasim...
“Good afternoon people? You’re hangin’ out with me Nasim Naikuni on your favourite show Voices, where you can throw any question you have regarding life... and living it, at me and the voices in my head will answer them for you... yeah, you heard right, the voices in my head. I’ll be takin’ your calls for the next hour. Let’s begin shall we?” Nasim spoke into the microphone just before a voice-over added...
“NASIM NAIKUNI, THE ONLY RADIO PRESENTER THAT’S LITERALLY GONE BONKERS!” And then was followed by some rock music. ‘So what?... I’m still a rock star... ’ Pink’s lyrics belted out as Nasim removed her headphones to take a breather before she talked to her first caller. A breather... and also to have a bit of a chat with the voice in her head. She walked out of the studio into a corridor where she was out of sight, and concentrated, her eyes crinkling from the effort.
‘Hey, are you there?’
‘Uh huh.’ The prince replied.
‘Okay, we’re on in roughly three minutes. Make me look good babes’
‘Don’t I always?’
‘True dat. What are you doing?’
‘Breakfast.’
‘It’s one in the afternoon... ’
‘This is not my planet, therefore I’m not obliged to follow its rules. I can have a one o’clock breakfast if I want to.’
‘Brunch.’
‘What?’
‘Brunch, what your having would be brunch. Breakfast... aaand lunch?’
‘You see? You get all high and mighty on me about this and you even have a name for it? If it is so wrong to have breakfast at this time, then why would your people give the meal a name? I’m just saying.’ Nur said mockingly.
‘I give up’ She replied with a sigh.
‘Nas... Nas?’
Silence.
She walked back into the studio.
“Caller... you’re on air. Shoot.” Nasim said softly, leaning into the microphone.
“Hey Nasim, lovely job you’re doing by the way.”
“Why thank you dear, but I don’t deserve all the credit you know?”
“Yeah I know... you and the voices in your head... ha-ha! Anyway my name is George, and I’m kinda’ in a predicament at the moment. You see, I have a wife and a family... two kids, but I kinda’ got into this relationship outta’... obligation as opposed to real love...”
“Obligation?”
“Yes. I met my wife five years ago in uni’ and we dated. But looking back, I only got into the relationship because I felt I’d led her on and she loved me soo much, I just couldn’t disappoint her. So I got stuck in a phony relationship, at least on my part. Next thing I know, we are pregnant and... It’s been we ever since.”
“So you want to what? Get out of your marriage?”
“I want to be with the person I truly love...”
“Hooo... **! Scoreboard! Now we have lift off. And how long have you known this person that you truly love George?” She said this with a tinge of amusement in her voice.
“Six years... and we’ve been going out for the past two.” He sounded ashamed.
‘He sounds ashamed.’ She heard Nur say observationally.
‘No kidding.’ She retorted.
(In the past year or so, Nasim and Nur had come to an understanding somewhat. After she had struck him with her purse and the little scuffle they’d had on the rooftop, and after convincing herself that she wasn’t going crazy... or that the cigarette she had been smoking wasn’t laced with marijuana or some other hallucinogen, she finally gave in and listened to the voice speaking to her in her thoughts.
‘Please, just give me a chance to explain. I need your help lady!’ He sounded desperate.
She felt sorry for him, but still suspected she could be going nuts.
He continued. ‘I don’t know where I am. My father is dead and I don’t know where I am or how I arrived here, and you’re the only one that can help me right now...’
Nasim, touched now, replied. “How am I supposed to do that? And how are you doing this telepathy thing? Are you really doing this?” She shook her head violently, like a wet dog trying to dry itself, “I’m very confused right now.”
He looked even more confused. ‘Talk to me in my head, I think it is the only way we can communicate with each other.’
She didn’t know how to.
‘It’s simple, concentrate.’ He said reassuringly.
She tried. Still nothing.
‘I could hear you a moment ago, I don’t understand. Let’s try this slowly, repeat after me... Nur.’ He told her.
She heard him, and was thinking what?
He repeated, ‘Nur.’
She tried thinking the word he’d asked her to repeat as hard as she could but he didn’t seem to be getting anything. She decided that the cigarette must have been laced with something. Here she was, on the roof top of her work building trying to master telepathy, with a stranger who just happened to own a sword. This had to be a dream, a nightmare.
‘I must be high.’
‘Yes! Yes! You’re high!’ She heard the excited reply.
‘What?’
‘You did it!’ Nur said happily, ‘you figured it out. And yes, I was also meaning to ask you about how high we are.’
She had done it. Nasim could hear him and answer back, she felt oddly proud of this accomplishment. Then she asked puzzled. ‘High? You get high?’
‘I am high.’ Came the naive reply.
‘Oh...’
‘Why are we so high up? The palaces on our island are half the size of yours, are you that many in your palace that you need to build it so tall?’
Then she understood. And laughed... ‘Who are you? And how did you get here?’
‘My name is Nur... Prince Nur... how I got here? That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ He was being honest.
And thus begun an adventurous relationship between the two. Nasim took him to her apartment that day, passing curious and disapproving looks all the way. The most difficult part being trying to explain to her boss why she was coming from the roof in the company of someone who dressed like a ******, as he put it. She made up something. And he gave her one of those I’ll accept your story just because... looks. Nasim found that hilarious. But she was glad she had asked Nur to leave the sword behind to be recovered later. That would have been a tad difficult to explain. They got to her apartment block and were met by more disapproving looks from a group of nosey old women, the type that love to mind everyone else’s business but their own, as they walked to the lift. And when they got into apartment F6 on the second floor, she introduced Nu
Planet Nairobi… wrote this a couple of months ago, it was turned down by one publisher and awaiting other publisher’s feedback. However, it’s been a minute so I decided to share it with my peoples… if you like my work, this one will get you going… it may have it’s flaws, but hey… I never said I’m perfect, I’m just a writer.
Graff1980 Oct 2015
She wore the wild winds
Like wasps in her hair
Flinging locks furiously
Letting them settle
Wherever they will
Long and gorgeous
Raven black and full

Crushed poisonous rose petals
To further blush her bloodied lip
Knees scraped with grand adventures
Arms bruised with strange activities
Feral and fearless
Catlike climber with such feline agility

No landscape was to daunting
No night life to haunting
Just beauty and wonder
Seeing her eyes wander
Seeing each stone turned over
Seeing each sea shell collected
And carefully inspected

No tea parties
No fashion runways
No mindless musings
About prince charmings
Princesses or queens
But books and dreams
Scarlet schemes
Rivers and streams
That ran as far as she could see

She watched it all
Each daring doe that darted by
Each bird that perched or took flight
Each fish that shimmered searching nearby streams

Nature was her discovery
Life was her poetry

As the oceans battered the shores
As the tundras whitened the landscape
As the stone strewn pathways
Searched for new towns
As the mountains strained to touch the clouds
The wild wind warrior woman
Conquered it all
Medusa Jun 2018
Zenia Argos is tired. Tired to her ventricles, but still curious. She might possibly have told the right person on a certain type of night in the right kind of bar that she defined herself by her curiosity. Now she felt that her strange mind and her odd ways probably overwhelmed her and had thereby come to define her.

~^~
Zenia not only felt undefined, she felt amorphous.
Like a ghost in a black silk raincoat and black patent leather stiletto  heels, she stalked through airports and the gutters of various cities. She forgot to ask herself meaningful questions. She forgot to ask herself any questions at all.

~^~
One day in some unbelievably high-numbered floor of a high-rise hotel in a city whose name she had forgotten she woke up in a luxurious enough bed with a body on the other side of it, face turned away from her. Her brain tossed up only this inane phrase, which repelled and fascinated her at the same time.
"Age has it's privileges"

First thought after that was a silly image of an actual ledge, outside of a high rise building such as the one she found herself in at the moment. With a cartoon cat and a cartoon Zenia fighting to stay on the edge, and comically slipping, hilariously falling, and hanging on, in fast forward and then reverse, and she lay there with her eyes closed and watched the vaudeville show for as long as it took to run through it's loop several times.
~^~
Then she wondered why she was thinking in perfume ad cliches, especially ones from decades, perhaps many decades ago?

This prompted her to jump, catlike, from prone, to alert, and holding her gun from beneath pillow, scanning the room.

Nope.

Not a perfume ad.
Zenia Is a result of reading the excellent work of Margaret Atwood, all of it, for decades, but in particular: The Robber Bridegroom. In which she is the villain.
Powering whisker's tense, the unfurled orange;
teethed with nature's rosy armament.

Brother Tiger sniffs. burning nose
  whispers of passion
  with breaths of love.

More than two million years under human life
And she knows more than you, a white milliner
roses bloom
rose is a dove.

Brother Tiger gazes off into the East
Rose smiling, rose laughing,
Roses are searching for proud preys

Heaving breaths
dynamic, catlike stealth.

    Heartbeat’s thunder
****** shadows hide.

She sends him a fairy-white rosebud: 
“Hey Love, let’s off to search again for spring…"
"come home safe, Brother Tiger: Don't be feared"

Chant and roar along please
A kiss of desire on the lips.
Chant for Love,  a Tiger year's wish: a white milliner
roses bloom
rose is a dove.
William A Poppen Jun 2014
Together amid greenery and blossoms
they stand shoulder to shoulder, narrow eyed
and fixated upon bursts of golden daylily.

More than spring mingles in the mist
more than heat flows between them
mystery envelops them

There was the first time she held a clock
a miniature spring operated swiss piece
forbidden, still she opened the back

Movement, synchronized with sound, churned
tick, tick, tock, tock, steady clicks
worked the hands notch after notch

Would she let what was between them
work without her fingers, incited by catlike curiosity,
prying open the back of him

Stare at his insides, his tick, tick, tock, tock
until she sees him as a machine
turning until the spring unwinds?
Melissa Hardie Jun 2010
Once upon a time in a far away land
there was a girl with a golden hand.
She lived to dream and dreamed to live,
and once she loved she loved to give.

Her perfect face had silver eyes.
Those silver orbs held golden lies.
Her platinum hair cascaded down,
a nimbus of light, seraphim's crown.

Enchanted looks, by angels blessed
with skin of ivory, ocean's crest.
Body like the Goddess Bast,
catlike grace with snakelike past.

Elegant hands wove magic light,
spinning threads throughout the night.
She wrapped the world within her web,
controlling tides, the flow and ebb.

Seductress, warrioress, lovely queen,
she's breathless beauty, strength unseen.
Once upon a time in a far away land
there was a girl, with a golden hand.....
One of my favorites ^_^
I am poetry do me as your first thought.
I am poetry do me with all ya got.
I am poetry do me in the morning after coffee w/cream.
I am poetry do me as if romance is not a dream.
I am poetry do me as if you have never done me before.
I am poetry do me in a Starbucks store.
I am poetry do me in your latte' thoughts and more.
I am poetry do me calmly in rush hour traffic.
I am poetry do me at home when things get erratic.
I am poetry do me manifesting universal love out loud.
I am poetry do me in the woods and be proud.
I am poetry do me on Sunset Strip on a trip New York to L.A.
I am poetry do me in the Hollywood Hills at sundown.
I am poetry do me on the shores of Maui music around peace.
I am poetry do me out at sea drifting in on currents of a warm ocean breeze.
I am poetry do me catlike and tease.
I am poetry do me at 4 am. when sacred silence sounds again.
I am poetry do me in your heart until that spark never ends.
I am poetry do me on the third day rising in huckleberry heaven.
I am poetry do me with your soul on fire full of passion desire.
I am poetry do me love.
.
Angie Acuña Oct 2013
I am a poetry wizard (or witch)

I may not be the Hermione of the poetry world,
But sometimes,
If I try hard enough,
I can stupefy you with my words.

My pens are my wands
My words are my spells
And this paper is my cauldron.

Sometimes the potions go wrong
And I'm left with a poem that resembles a catlike Hermoine;
I'm just using the wrong ingredients.

I have Ron's and Harry's to support me in all of my poetic adventures,
No matter how stupid.

One day,
After all of the potions and poems have worn me out,
I will not be just another poet.

I am a poetry wizard (or witch)
And I will be known as

*The Girl Who Wrote
So I like Harry Potter~~~~
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2021
~
The Umbrellas
of Cherbourg,
pastel-coloured,
rain-soaked,
bouncing
around the room,
blocking all of the exits,
in Doppler shifts
it all turns and returns,
indeed there's daggers
in a woman's smile,
from a grain of sand
to mushrooms in the sky,
say it in a letter—
a hostage crisis,
recitative,
and catlike,
load the cartridges
and let them fly,
(flutter of wings),
face the sun and
bargain with flowers,
(flutter of lashes),
grow as clingstone and
follow my warlight home,
(flutter of heartbeat),
just close your eyes
and make believe,
it all turns and returns,
Geneviève,
I will wait for you,
la petite amie,
I will wait for you,
anywhere you wander,
anywhere you go.

~
Matthew Truett May 2014
I wanna moonwalk upside down on a cloud. Do The impossible. Things that aren't physically allowed...
The unthinkable. The unachievable. Everything unbelievable.
Saturn stride on an asteroid belt.
Swim on the suns surface as long as I wouldn't melt & live to tell how good it felt.
Run a moon marathon.
Ride on top a mastodon.
Float on an angels wings & pluck on her harp strings.
Slay a dragon wearing chain male with a long sword & as the rain fell scoot away on a long board.
Walk on water & rise on sand.
Crumble to pieces & return to solid on command.
Perform all my own stunts.
Be a double dog dare devil.
Be everywhere at once.
Always be next level.
Quadruple backflips always landing upright. Catlike. I wonder what that's like?
Perfect.
Supreme.
Living in a dream.
Surfing on shooting stars.
Canoeing in Milky Way bars as we all snicker. Keep going. Rowing as the chocolate stream grows thicker. Graham ******* life jacket. Icing filled lifesaver ring marshmallow packet. Candy cane Twizzler string racket. Lemon, where's my head at?
Drop the ball. Been there done that.
Rabbit in a hat magician.
Endless scarf transition.
Habit forming tradition.
Senseless. Don't know where the end is. Nowhere. Everywhere.
We're all right here. Left of where you're standing. We're all falling. A different act of landing. Stalling. Waiting... Weightless. Comfortably relaxed. Anticipating the parallax. A soul eclipse. A solar wisp of her lips. Kissing. Puckered. What you've been missing. Feeling a bit like you've been suckered. Willingly overwhelmed. Reminiscing.
A play on words. Play on. Hug tight on the curves. The days gone. The night is forever. Sunshine's for the birds. Maybe it's twisted. Take the road not taken. The unvisited. The one not listed. Take advice. Take it again. Take it twice. Around the bend. Bound to press send. Copy & paste it. Don't waste it. Even if it's sloppy give a chance to taste it. It could be sweet. Sugar it soft. Repeat. It's worthy. No need to worry... What's the hurry? There is none. Visions blurry but it's still fun. Super funzies. Adulthood in onesies. Toddlers in slacks. Giant bottles of milk with twist off caps. Baby sized six packs. Reversed living. Invert your reality. Introvert personality.
Random thoughts thrown in a pile...
K Balachandran Jan 2012
milky moonshine,
pours down the cloudless sky,
froths on snowy expanse,
in catlike mirth, eyes drink it all.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Huntress
by Michael R. Burch

after Baudelaire

Lynx-eyed, cat-like and cruel, you creep
across a crevice dropping deep
into a dark and doomed domain.
Your claws are sheathed. You smile, insane.
Rain falls upon your path, and pain
pours down. Your paws are pierced. You pause
and heed the oft-lamented laws
which bid you not begin again
till night returns. You wail like wind,
the sighing of a soul for sin,
and give up hunting for a heart.
Till sunset falls again, depart,
though hate and hunger urge you—On!
Heed, hearts, your hope—the break of dawn.

Originally published by Sonnetto Poesia. Keywords/Tags: Baudelaire, cat, catlike, cruel, creep, creeping, claws, paws, talons, huntress, heart, prey, hate, hunger, alliteration, sonnet
Ryan Bowdish Aug 2013
put off on the sweat
There's something nauseous in my ****
United in the vertices and acid
The axis lamenting and venting
Sitting us out, putting it's mouth
Over you, over me and sorting
Tongue slide around move the mind without
Youthful thoughtful private number one

Exhumed adoption and children listless
Why don't you just give it to me?
I'm tired of gliding in this outlook
Let's ****, let's scream our pain out

Bees in needles and nails deflated
You flatten in your pool of stick
You shine in your muffled movements
This is a temple for the primal language
Words annoyed many moons before me
Howl under the eclipse dissolve me within
The translucency of the way we are
I feel it radiate
I can see her crawl
Away catlike in night
Try to spoil this moment
Let me feed you me

Forget hunger and dreams
Let's lose our minds in ecstasy
I'll never return
I'll never call you again.
A Simillacrum Dec 2018
On split finger webbing,
blistered metatarsal pads,
catlike: left left, right right.
You're just over there?
You call this chasm just?
On split, sore patella,
charred hands,
the head hanged loosely,
as dead: left left, right right.
My head down, eyes up, right?
Compensation has been tendered
for the services rendered, right?

                          Right?
For Gibs
donna valenz Oct 2014
Eyes
that emit an effulgence
like two glassy orbs
wide and curious
cautious
catlike
flicker at any sudden movement
eyes like moonbeams
window to the soul
portals to the passion
within
Jo Hummel Apr 2014
I think I could get used to waking up beside you,
and following the catlike curve of that smile
on your celestial canvas
with a trembling brush.
I could paint you in the evenings,
and watch as you colored the world with
such a vibrant palette of a voice
and explained to me the things you love
with the most vivid of words.
Unfinished, unedited
I'm too tired to think
And she's clogging my mind, anyway.
Elizabeth Kelly Jul 2014
This night has fallen so must I into the sleep so dear only the the singing birds slinging their melodies hear the last dying crickets in the gray glow of the first hint of the sunrisen day.

Catlike and furtive, creeping toward the last of this or that odd prey, these words unwind till the thread runs out.

All heart within but stark without.
Goodnight, 2:30. You made my day.
In the vagueness of twilight,
your blonde hair sparkling
in the moon and rising sun
all at once;
smiling an exquisite smile
veiled by memory,
tinged by dreams.

By and by as the new dawn
pierced me with greeting
blustery tendrils of frost,
warmth emanated green
from your catlike eyes,
generous and feral
awakening my soul.

I basked in your spirit,
and in the deepness of winter
I suddenly felt alive,
longing to breathe your smile
to taste your fire...
Butch Decatoria Jun 2017
I have returned
Although I must,
To this glittering bowl of dust
I had to,

In this so similar form
The jackals recognize my shade
In the dark, they watch and stalk,
My moon to daylight sun

The seasons of my change.
The pupae without
Awaiting for grand mals
Or some winged departure
Of my light

Expecting me to fall...

But seasons stir with lightfoot
Pages turned,
Between the numbers in all that
Man's made
Hands knocking hours
Ticking seconds
Minutes crawling
Under every door

Like a shadow unnoticed underfoot
Moments walk on wires
As life watches from below
Or is it vice versa?
The Circe du foils
The urchins that we drown to be
Voila! Not much ventured
In the rings and side shows
We spectacles
Of flesh
Fallen and fearing
The feelings

Of just before
Steps
(Beyond)
If catlike careful some nimble beast

I must be
To return from the place
That once birthed and attempted
****** the unlearned me
I am too
American in the humidity
The parasitic biting
The heat

I'm a stranger in strange islands
Beautiful mystique
Of superstitious super strength
The beliefs become aswang legends
Come true life
The slaughtered pig as sacrifice

I vomited and **** out
My inner being
Waters of life projected out
The length of tongue and the depth
Of insides
Gushing out
Even through my tears
And delirium...
Possessed as tho' a lever had been pulled
To reverse what flowed in
The nutrients
The rehydration of excretions
Sucker punched to spew

And thru the pain I knew
The swine and its smug snorting laughter
And the old ones in the villages
Living among their own dead
In the trees and sands and sea
Their jealousy of City boy me
The threat I must be
Fearful of what I might ****
Tho I dare not and have not
Done
Unto
As they have now done to he
I have karmic grace
To make them mine,

But what and why would I want
Such long gone then and agains
Or rage against
In revenge?
At my beautiful motherland
The face of my race
The home of my blood

I keep my silence as their defeat
Render them
As a breeze through palm trees and hiss of sea
Rumors of the weather
Food poisoning
Jonny Angel Mar 2014
The sounds
that she made
while he ate
his delicious breakfast
were catlike.

She purred
so contently,
didn't even notice
his face was a mess,
as she was taken away,
lying somewhere else,
in a different place.

Gracefully she moved
un-hooded, so open
to the rhythm of his soft-chewing
& he never had it so good,
filling his mouth
with her moist-goodies,
satisfying
his early morning appetite
to greater heights
of soothing pleasure.
Jo Hummel Apr 2014
She is five-foot-three,
with an odd crop of brown hair
and a catlike grin
that forces her to smile when she doesn't want to.

She is fourteen (fifteen in thirty-seven- no, thirty-six days),
and makes me think that age might really be
just a number,
because she carries herself
with all the wisdom and remorse
of someone much older than me.

She is perfect
in the most imperfect of ways,
and her dry humor and quirky attitude
can keep me smiling all day.

She is everything I never asked for,
but
She is everything I've ever wanted.
And she is making me seem like a ******* ephebophile.
Hair perfectly teased into a beehive
thin black line making my eyes catlike
red lips
a sheath dress that clings to my curves for dear life,
I walk down the stairs,
you gasp at how beautiful I look
cross the room
grab my waist
lean in for a kiss,
I turn away and walk out the door

That's how I wish things would have ended between us,
Instead of me loosing my breath at the site of you
trying to find ways to make you adore me
only to come  up short
Mattrick Patrick Nov 2014
Green cascading from the smooth curves of her hips—
unmoving—of velvet flowers that I approach.
Silken, they are; and with balm applied I kiss her lips.
Wandering to discover Eden, without reproach,
hands and eyes journey together, seeking
what pleasure, what ecstasy, delight  
the texture of her soft skin returns to me, peaking,
I am only hers tonight.

And yet the sun is not in keeping
with the children of her Eden shores,
swallowed up by her catlike creeping,  
why side to side, like waves of joy
crashing in curves of green velvet cascading.

Eyes ablaze, yet shoulders coy
her stare implodes my chest, inflating  
waves of rapture, collapse, and drown me so
I am but a child of sudden, timid choice.
Why her eyes that say come hither, come slow,
that motion stills and vibrates with her voice,
yet I am a silent caress that goes
up and down her thigh intending, from her waist
to her lips; I am not a fool to woes
nor a child to her eyes unchaste.

Lo! Reflections of the crescent moon,
the night unfolded like dreams hidden behind her eyes
that call “lover,” to me soon
I know, and yet cannot impede reprise
for she is the sun that draws me out,
and I am the seed that sprouts ***** before her.

Choiceless and unaware of clout
hiding nothing as if nothing were
the object of my affections streaming
from the fingers stroking down my chest,
to lips that pucker open, and to her eyes, beaming
shatter the gray of storm and jest
that by the sounds of thunder repeating
could not find meaning in the apparatus of her smile
nor the significance of her heart.

Yet still I search beyond the mile
to understand what plays its part.
The answer must lie at dusk
between the hours sweet and bitter, which have no time,
but smell like musk
and whispers softly in sweet and gentle rhyme.
Danny O'Sullivan May 2013
there are interludes in life like this,
smoke in the air, catlike on a breeze.
I'd say it's oppressive like snakes
around my neck but that would be a lie
my flesh betrays with fleeting feelings
of old fingers and the quiet burn is the
same sound as ancient echoes and
silent whispers shatter the shut up
windows.
that will neither revolutionize whorled wide web,
   nor pollinate like fecund human loam
viz - it mine neurological nuances here
   within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,

   my present home,
town pulsating with
   so called "butterfly effect" ineluctably
fluttering microscopically
   like dust motes or invisible foam

(bell leave me) metamorphosed
   mental whim, within cranial dome
(in valise case body electric)
   covered in 50 + nine slim shades
   of gray streaked brown dread fully medium
   length lockets i rarely comb,

   boot food for thought to set literary stage
before affixing my poetic missive -
   from this word wrangler,
   hoof hinds himself dumbfounded

   at **** bang of years cuz - just yesterday
   aye remembered being a boy,
   now i yam more than
   half a century since birth didst age.

without further ado
i offer literary missives enclosed
   within this body politic spooked
   me playful teenage inner child goes "boo"
fur ye to ponder and brew

of his small bread box sized lil motley crue
two daughters due
tee flapped wings, and flew the coop
whereby aye resemble offspring hybrid
   ostrich crossed with an emu,

whose deux progeny sired from personal
   super reproductive goo
swimming swiftly in
   harried styled, swiftly taylor made
   viscous tailored tulle lord hue

carrying miniature bin - laden
   genetic heritage predominantly Jew
wish with one late uncle Sam,
   who preferred to be called cra debt lou
who himself happened to be,

   a milch cow frequent moo
wing for bare naked lady gaga friend
   winnie mandy della pooh,
which induced inxs doth rue
what comprises Darwinian

   Origin of Species to be true
evolutionary biologists versus
   Bible thumping creationists claim
   with tangible proof as their view
perchance includes you
this chimp bull leaves humans
   originated from primate zoo.

NOW **** THE MOMENT TO PREPARE TO SCRUTINIZE
MY WRITTEN ATTEMPT AND HOPE MY OFFERTORY
DISTINCT FROM OTHER GALS N GUYS.

thankful to enjoy genesis of thoughts
from whence doth spring germ
of an idea, that either takes root
(exhibiting potential to live with
arms strong) when just a tender

vulnerable shoot (ephemeral as notes
issuing from a magic flute)
within fifty plus shades of gray matter
per this fifty plus year ole coot?

This need dull in haste tack
search for source that gave rise
per process to enable **** sapiens
to think doth nag horse sense
of this poet as he initially digs shallow,

yet sometimes forced to spelunk
into crawl space narrow and shallow,
or shine laser focus into a chasm
teetering on brink (hunting down

gamesome elusive dodging catlike whims)
out pace readied whorled wide net
to capture alive agile rat fink unseen
quiet as a mouse notion gives hardy fellow
(quite a chase) scurrying thru micro
cosmic burrow of Manhattan skyscrapers

at a blink, said quarry vanishes
without a trace just as quick mental cogs
and wheels generated riveting link
connecting bot sized tinker toys pinging

within cerebral cortex appearing random
as nonsequiturs conscious kinks via
distracting ability to latch onto awesome
fleeting mindspace inducing minor frustration
at lack of ability to nab (albeit painlessly)

zinc shimmering insight cognizant ability
likened to ode to Grecian urn vase frieze
depicting ever closely captured thought
process, cuz lifespan shorter than a wink
king third eye blind comfortably numb beatle browser.
Murderer
they called me
Murderess...

to take a life
into my pale,
sculptured hands

to mix bone
and blood
into a thick
paste

to shatter the heart
of a mother, herself
reaching into the
abyss in fear of

nothingness.

I did not tremble
from top to toe

my back arched, catlike
sensing danger

where there was only
love, taken from me

beaten, burnt, corrupted
until only this shell

remained.

I take God into account,
hold him to his word,
beg him to remember
that night when I was

six

when heaven and hell
mixed as my mouth
filled with sweat
and blood

the taste of fear
caressing my lips

murderous,

the shadow on the wall,
the whistle of wind
through long hair

I take, plunder, delve
into fields of red
Poppy's

remberence

dear God,
remember me
(alternately titled GENESIS RESPLENDENT)

The ability of corporeal (once arboreal) beings to adduce, contemplate and exhaust gray inner knobby matter oft times finds this clothed apish chap entertaining gamesome insight. How did this, that or another thought spring forth per mine consciousness? This conjecture might be a shrunken modus operandi how life began, which query mankind scrunched brow throughout **** Sapiens history did contemplate.

---------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------
This veritable stranger sends what he hopes you consider to be

a most pleasant unexpected note

allowing further discourse (communication) a boot

ourselves, and maybe fledgling acquaintanceship

will positively resonate akin to a magic flute,


whereby digital life jackets donned in virtual trump petsmart boat

perhaps if weather inclement, an additional slick trojan raincoat

to help stay dry until destination reached

perhaps landing upon a north Carolina island


resembling hill Billy goat, whence springs germ of sum re: idea

takes root exhibiting potential va lance lives strong

when juiced sta stp away from ma super ***** violating

tender tinder and tumblr ova vulnerable shoot.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

To search for source that gives rise enabling **** sapiens to think

this ace of spades heart felt (albeit diamond in the rough poet)

digs shallow sometimes force fool lee with light club

to emulate spelunker easing into ***** of Gaia,


or shine laser focus into chasm teetering on the brink

hunting down gamesome elusive dodging idea sunkist,

dogged catlike whimsy doth elusively, and we silly out pace

yet hi yam ready with whorled wide net to capture alive


agile rat scorpion fink unseen quiet as mouse notion

gives this hardy laurel a *** vine run for his money

quite a chase - bank king analogously viz monkey and weasel

scurrying thru microcosmic burrow of cerebral size manhattan

sky scrapers at a blink quarry arising whim of mine


vanishes without a trace quick as mental cogs & wheels

generated riveting link, perch ants connected

to previous pondering within cranial place, or appear

as some random non-sequitur conscious kink

distracting ability to latch onto awesome fleeting mind space


inducing minor frustration at lack of ability

dag nab bit (albeit painlessly) steely zinc

shimmering insight cognizant

ability likened to ode Grecian urn vase frieze

depicting close capture thought process cold playing life


spans shorter than a wink via third eye blind

of this comfortably numb, yellow brick walled

beatle browed face, whereat he espies verdant

pastoral themes that billow and flow

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
across terra firma hallowed ground

sanctimonious from immaculate mother Earth conception

synchronized in a symphony with terrestrial

fauna and flora which life forms abound

via natural laboratory qua nature,


especially at seasonal dawn of spring tide

where multitudinous existence can be found

carving out a figurative zoological niche

in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds galore

idyllic melodic musical sounds


artist palette of rainbow blended sights

which twin manifestations of restorative and natural calm

assuage auditory and visual sense pleasures respectively

serve as psychic balm against global threat

of life, liberty and happiness triage psalm


rampant in the form of diabolical deliberate deeds

bred in the soil of deep rooted hatred

kudzu resistance asphyxiates human camaraderie

democratic state attacked with no qualm

malicious and terroristic plot methodical map


blueprint leaves catastrophic trail of red

dire prognostications constitute doomsday scenario

no rocket scientist mentality requisite

grave misfortune writ large for all life!
Caroline Shank Oct 2021
You will never forget that first brush
of love.  The earnest breeze of a fresh
today, as if now were magic and
breathing was beyond explanation.

After which the future cannot  
draw from you the stream of
that song, the bell of a long moan.
For the days stretch on catlike
and clawing.  You understand that
this was the beginning of the
end of peace. A rip in the
fabric of time.

You will never forget the sound
called out by tomorrow that
never takes tomorrow under
consideration.  

To love infinitely is a lesson
beyond youth or midlife's
precarious adventure.  It is
the last bite of all experience,
the quintessential notes
of poetry.

Love itself escapes all the
ink fallen in the glass.
You are writing a
diary no one will
ever read.

The red hair of yesterday
changed into dusk and the
sun sets in perpetuity.

Caroline Shank
Terry Collett Nov 2014
The canary perched
on Janice's finger.

Her eyes wide
in amazement,
its plumage,
yellow, sickly,
beauty, all in one.

I looked on,
eyes wide
in amazement, too,
not at its yellow
plumage, but at
the bird's whitish poo.

Look what it's done,
Janice cried,
on my finger
and hand.

Her gran,
who usually said,
Make sure
the window's closed,
lay in a chair
and dozed.

Wipe it off
or take the bird,
Janice said.

I took the bird
in cupped hands,
studying its
slight alarm,
its ruffled look.

Janice went to
the kitchen to clean
her hand and finger
under the tap,
while Gran grunted
in her catlike nap.

The bird wanted to
escape my hold,
but I held it firm,
cupped tight in hands,
in captured hold,
studying its yellowness
and thimble head.

Janice returned
and said;
Naughty bird
to poo on
Janny's hand
and finger,
and took back
the bird
into her care
once more.

My hands
were clean;
it had not
shat on me,
not a bit,
if it had,
I thought,
not said,
I’d have
strangled it.
ON THE HOLDING OF A CANARY AS A BOY.
Hasan Maruf Jul 2017
One night I was walking in the woods
It was blistery, dark and cold
It was the night the whisper came
And this story must be told

At first I thought it was the wind
Blowing frantically over the trees
Then I heard a catlike meek voice
Flowing through the breeze

I felt warm breath around my neck
Then it crept up gently to my ear
The murmur I heard was serene and sweet
But it filled me up with precipitous fear

"My lamb," she crooned sleekly
It chilled and killed me to the bone
"Resign your mortal life and submit to me,
And you will never have to be alone."

I spun around to stare at the sight
Of who muttered these words to me?
But miles of trees and woodland finite
Were all that I could see

"Where are you?" I yelled in the dark
Then, "Who are you?" I insisted with a bark
At first there was a dreary, dead silence
Then this is what I heard she said like a tyrant

"I am your deepest desperate desires,
To your loved ones you won't reveal.
I am the truth, fair and sparkling purifier
I am the one who can make you really heal”

"You know nothing." I sneered at her.
How dare you say you can conjure up true?
You have no idea what is buried in my heart.
What is false and what is myth- with no clue."

Her irritable laughter was full of enticing contempt.
"I know that you fancy a fantastic gore
You are trapped in a life of exasperation and detest.
I can make your spirit melt and soar"

Invisible hands grabbed my wrists
I screeched with all my might.
"I'll have your soul." she whispered to me
Well but not without a fiendish fight

I ran like prancing mouse terrified by a gigantic cat
But she bolted me like a monster to the ground.
I could now feel her sedated kiss upon my lips.
I could not utter a word but grunted a muffled sound.

"That's it." she said with burst of soothing stupor
"Do not wrangle with what you can't win
Succumb to your ecstasy in your wildest dreams,
Then your life will be laden with love without chagrin

I could feel my sternest resolve fading
Temptation was making me feeble and weak
I was in a hideous shock, as I lay there heeding
To the words I strutted to speak

"Yes." I sighed remorselessly.
“My libido has skyrocketed for what you can give.
For even though my life is tormented,
This is the life I so very crave to live."

"You're mine." she croaked with hysterical grin
"You have lost all those in your care."
When I realized what I had done
I bellowed thunderously in despair

I was still howling aloud when I was shook awake.
My deliverance it wasn't what it seemed
Then why were there spirits channeling in my gene,
If it was not just something I had dreamed
Then what could that be- Whispers not seen?
Horror/supernatural poem

— The End —