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Michael W Noland Aug 2012
another
smothered lover
in the Hollywood hills
unbag the bottle
crack the seal
oh the appeal
of intake
for the sake
of intoxication
so meek and unique
in gurgled screams
a pixie in the hand of a king
compelled
to discretely
capture the beauty
in eternity
expelled
i just felt
i had to nest a shell
and befell
clearing her residual
flirtatious signals
even in the squirms
and even in the squeals
even though i know
she yearns
to be hooked by her gills
dragged through landfills
in a projected field
where she would yield
and kiss me.
i'm gonna pretend
to love her
as i tenderly
shove her
in the river
of our love
take her under
my loving thunder
and plunder her
when drugged
dazed in her wonder
i hold her under
from above
if only for a moment
we locked eyes in love
she fit me like glove
remnants
disposed of
in a rug
posed so beautifully
for the smack
hack and rip
one pretty *****
dumped
in an irrigation ditch
triumphed
our wordless
relationship
its over *****
move on with it
in the mouths
of varmints
oh
charming
as im clicking *****
on key chains
sticking misfits
with loose lips
usually homeless
decoys
here to destroy
nothing
in my twisted ploy
to employ
maximum points
conjoint
my addictive anger
to something a little stranger
im going to dangle
her entrails
in front of her eyes
while i'm bangin her
shes looking so surprised
from every camera angle
the mangled *******
what a lamo
hypnotized
in the passing of life
in the
blood
the ***
the ****
and the knife
Brian Pickering Mar 2017
The plumber came to call or The self-draining P’trap

To all the plumbers I have met, and yes I've met a few,
Domestic pipes, commercial pipes and civil pipe-work too,
Blow torch and solder, flux and joints,
Tricky bends and straight bits, in perfect counterpoint.

Then of course the big stuff, pipes bigger than your shoulders,
Not supplied by DIY, only bought from stockholders,
No solder for this job, a welding torch’s the thing,
Careful tack, align no crack, weld a perfect ring.

All the pipes are connected, whether large or domestic small,
Fill with water and pressurize, hoorah, no leak at all,
Flush the pipes, flow is fine, a job with a happy ending,
Pack the tools grab the kit, thank god I’ve finished bending.

The domestic user is dabbling, with a little pipe-work flair,
Can’t be that difficult, just one joint here, or the odd joint there,
All seems fine, fresh water in, waste water out,
I’m not going to spend money, on a plumber’s callout,
The waste seems not to drain well, gracious, how can that be,
I connected what I thought was right, no it can’t be me

It appears the waste pipe is blocked, gone are the comforting swirls,
This must be where the gooey stuff goes, and all those hairy curls,
I can clear the blockage, how difficult can it be,
Now, the water goes down the plug hole, around a wiggly bit, I see,
I think they call that a P-Trap, that’s all technical news to me
An old wire hanger, with force of water, will definitely do the trick
Plunge hanger down the hole, wiggle it round a bit, give it a flick,
The water hasn’t moved an inch, and the wire is firmly stuck,
Time to remove the P-trap, and deal with the unpleasant muck,
How difficult can this be, what could possibly go wrong,
Get the tools, lay on my back, this shouldn’t take too long,
Gripping trap tightly, with little effort it should unscrew,
Nothing moves, try again, it’s ****** tight, I think the thread’s askew,
A tap with my hammer, will loosen this stubborn joint,
No movement is detected, both sides are still conjoint,  
A mighty whack should do the trick, just to make my point,

A thin stream of water, is dribbling down my arm,
Success, I grab the trap, twist like merry hell, and to my alarm,
The stored bath water gushes out, the mood is far from calm.

Pushing the trap together again, trying to stem the flow,
A loud voice calls, from the dining room below,
What the hell are you doing, water’s all over my Chapeau.

Sorry my love, move your hat, it’ll be fixed in a trice,
Me thinks, If I don’t fix this very soon, I’ll need a flotation device,
Just a five minute job, am I kidding myself, my mouth is all agape,
I hunt around with my free hand, and grab the gaffer tape.

I unwind the life saver, and wrap it around the leak,
Let’s consider the situation, to avoid my wife’s serious fit of pique,  
Keep my mind focused, what could possibly go wrong,
A solution is required this very minute, that won’t take overlong.

I’ll wedge my hammer, beneath the troublesome trap,
This will give extra support, whilst my plan, I have time to map,
As I swung the hammer into place, there came a mighty crack,
A hole appeared in the bath end, I suffered a symbolic heart attack.

Time to call the plumber, and hang my head in shame,
My wife’s assessment of DIY, will never be the same,
Emergency call out was swift, a smiling youth at my door,
Lead me to the problem site, and I will probe and explore.

An estimate was made, whilst ******* air through his teeth,
What Pratt, he said, has been working on the trap beneath,
Is it bad, my wife has strength of a gorilla, it’s beyond belief,
I’m afraid it’s a bath, a trap and associated pipe work, good grief.

It’s going to be expensive, there’s the bath and tiling too,
I can’t do it straight away, but I’ll put you in the queue,
Said he was interested in the engineering feat,
Designing a self draining P-trap, was a little hard to beat.


A temporary repair was fashioned, with fiberglass and tape,
I cleared the mess around me, and quickly made an escape,
It was some days later, I thought I’d clear the gutters,
I could tell the family were not keen, by their groans and their mutters,
Not to be diverted, I disregarded all their ridicules,
I told the wife I’d start right now, but she’d locked away my tools.
Maria Etre Dec 2016
I have never enjoyed
the rain as much as I did
the night I bumped
into you
walking adamantly
to a destination
that I wished
conjoint
with mine
Single Serving Love Bursts
Nat Lipstadt May 2016
(Return to Shelter Island)^^

~

"And even silence found a tongue,
To haunt me all the summer long;
The riddle nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love"^


   ~

the winter's quietude
slowly dissipates,
like a miser's reluctantanc to-part-even-with
unwanted, yet saved up tears,
now finally shed, 
tears easy ease on down to please,
morphing into spring rain  
creating a horn of plenty of
les amuse-bouches,
summer tastes,
hints of mint,
all to commence, orchestrate,
miniature, slews of budding teases
of what may yet come

t'is only summer peekings coming to refresh,
memorized friends, recalling a former full bosomed lover's
abundant bounty,
untying the quiescent, frozen tongue,
relieving it of its stale,
suffocating, whited, slushed crust,
issued a full pardon and
twenty bucks pocket money and
freedom
to see the
new full born poems,
without the interference
of grey baited, metallic bars,
poems, floating by, on summer breezes,
air borne for lovers

the same water vista,
under grayscale sky and
winter cloud cover,
is uncrackable and the
Hollow King of Words,
silently languishes, jailed alone,
wretched and deposed,
a wrecked winter's tale told,
an empty throne forlorn

no-way-out aperture extant,
no keyhole found to unlock,
all the songs
that to no avail,
the ineffectual poets impatiently
have prayed,
beseeching an unresponsive sky to rain forth
uniforms of pastel blues and whites

only summer sun-rays
seasonly ready now, fully ripened,
rays notably higher angled,
that can ***** and crack open
the skull and bones,
rejoice the soul's soil,
filling eyes with leafy canopy of green down,
while reheating the heart's chambers,
un-encoding the precise temperature formulae,
for the degree exacting,
where the words-wanting-for-extracting,
release and rouse themselves from a
deeper dreamless hibernating,
and even a last remaining,
napping, spring drowsiness

awaken to a symphony spoken
pitch perfect,
a woven rainbow color palate ensemble,
all full throated blooming

before and by my water view,
an old empty Adirondack throne has grown
one more winter-withered and wise and weary,
aging well,
if aging a well be,
and yet visibly poorly,
unable to speak,
bereft these so many months
of its human companion's conjoint, howling voice

chair asks him now plaintive,
not
where I've been,
knowing that any answer
immaterial

nor
does it inquire,
have I come to stay,
knowing any human answer
is always at best
an uncertain truth

only this it seeks ascertaining,
desiring a newly needed-seeded knowing

do I return
carrying with me,
a summer's secret love?

strong enough to make our single tongue
break the wet dog woeful silences,
to sing the praise of
those refreshed elements now blossoming surrounding,
that all come to enhance,
the secret purpose of the human

do I carry the tune
that will unlock,
at long last,
the somber silence,
that no winter's gale roar or
noisy, erratic spring chirping ,
however loud,
yet leaves nature, alone, clouded,
incapable of solving
the riddle of human nature,
that bring summers birthing to fruition

do I in my possess,
own the love,
that's strong enough to end
the silenced weeping
of the other season's mourning abscesses,
the absence of summer?

they say it is but the mechanical turning of
the hardware store's calendar, kitchen-walled hung,
that marks the man's semi-automatic returning,
yet the paper's crossed out, numerical dates,
cannot foretell,
if the necessary passion,
the requisite human love,
the provident kindling of summer's furnace
whose heat,
can provide life's
reasonings,
will arrive on timely so that


even silence will now have found the tongue
to haunt me all the summer long;
the riddle nature could not prove,
was nothing else, but secret love
5/23~28/16
^^written in anticipation
and completed
upon the return to
Shelter Island

^John Clare, English Poet
1793 - 1864
Derek Miller Feb 2011
To see the spark that died out quickly,
Then feel the hurt that flew in swiftly,
Brought the dawn's rays brisk and cold,
A feeling warmth should not behold.
You were the straw that broke my back,
It seems I chose the will to lack
A skill that's vital to survive, and thrive,
Indeed. I chose to die.

The strength of love becomes the sword
Of double edge, striking! I'm bored
Of chronic pain that will not leave.
Relentless, biting, lest I grieve.
For in the pangs I find the spark;
That light that leads me to the ark.
The source of joy I'm bound to seek
'Til lacerations cut less deep.

It's in this house that I call home
I find myself, there left alone.
Where I was left to stew in doubt,
Recalling all that you left out.
And though you seek what shan't be sought,
I've found the things that can't be bought.
The love you took for granted, too,
I shall bestow on all but you.

For all are far more fit than thee
To wrap and gift to me the key
To which I shall unveil the truth
Behind the smiles of photo booths
Attached to memories of the past,
Of all the things that couldn't last.
With that I promise you, my dear;
I shall move forward, without fear.

The tortures, fevers, cramps and burns
Recede as quickly as worlds turn.
And though their speed seems too slow still,
My love for you becomes my pill.
My drug, my therapy, my escape.
An unknown man, with mask and cape.
But known to thee, i stir and wake
From floating pyre, on ravaged lake,
To be the dormant man no more.
I'll look to you and find the cure.

Your hate runs deep, my heart stings deeper.
One day soon you'll be the sleeper
That I once was, insomniac.
Too late, I've gone. I won't come back.
You'll know that hurt, cur, feel this wrath.
Your stench of lies deserves this bath.
So have your cake, and eat it too.
Embrace the fraud you've grown into.

When your time comes for outright candor.
Where none are fooled by subtle slander.
Your good name shall be as mud.
Hypocrite. Liar. Cheat. You're ****.
I detest the ease that my heart finds
To beat in time with my demise.
No longer shall I give to you
This core you sought to rip in two.

Indeed you won that battle, true.
This one last thing, I'll give to you:
The knowledge that I've made it back,
An anxious wolf among the pack,
But I've not stopped, I've passed the point
Where cipher's settle, and conjoint.
Normality is caustic still,
But scathing more, this truth shall ****.
To abate the storm, I've readied the cure.
Darling, with finality, I love you no more.
Vladimir Lionter May 2020
THE 1st
I have known you not long, believe me
Girl - friend, and I am not joking
You have become so dear to me,
Like a light ray, endlessly darling.
You are warming me by radiant hopes
You are valuing me, my feelings, you.
Your moral aid’s giving me vital force,
You are awake the whole night through.
Being together we won’t die
Our plans to live are plain!
Two stars bright’ll light up in a blue sky
After our dying again.
{2018}

THE 2nd
Winter has burst forth again. Nature is
Measuring the camisole of snow hard.
“It always happens year in year out”,
Say you and you seem to be right in this.
You say looking at me. What affecting
Tenderness’s your glance containing. You’re almost
The princess in a holiday attire hobbling
When it is so necessary, the horse
At full tilt, don’t quit, be with me longer, please!
Your character, steel will, features are dear
To me up to pain, no one’ll find your peer
I love to be with you, my honey bliss.
{2018}

THE 3rd
Country meadow as the carpet of camomiles,
A nice girl’s standing in the field.
“Volodya, your poems give me creeps, thus”,
She says without being bewildered.
Her plaits as cornfield have spread over her
Shoulder- blades as a brook. The girl is
Very beautiful, her voice’s ringing so
Clearly as if it were the nightingale’s bliss.
Her eyes are like winter waters
I am enchanted by their depth.
Freedom’s wind secluded corners
In soul. Peace’s in my soul’s wealth.
{2018}

THE 4th
I’ll sit down by you, my sweet, filled with joy’s
Tune, under crown wood noising by blessedness
You are the most lovable among girls
You are my most true, darling, princess.
Your bust can be compared with ripe poppy-heads,
Your pimples juicy are luring me.
You are my long- awaited berry, my goddess
Pure for my being able to be.
We’ll crown our conjoint life’s happy
Cup by the last straw not being in the cold.
You are ineffably beautiful now, sappy
You’ll be beautiful whrn you grow old.
{2018}

THE 5th
Hard parting is the wisest of the wise
And the word’s expressiveness’s in my soul.
Oh, woman’s lot, what for are all these pangs?
When will it end once and on the whole?
And what for is this punishment at last?
It is related to sword of Damocles.
The distance separated both of us,
Every night I sob of all days those.
Every day I read in correspondence your
Poems–how sweet is to be Muse! And
I’ve erected obelisks in your honour
I won’t be able to forget your type grand.
{2018}

THE 6th
Accept me, please, my wonderful girl- friend,
Accept me absolutely and my poems.
And I’m ready to reveal you my yesterday’s
Sins in my rear leisure’s hours.
Understand me, a poet artless, please,
Who’s got used to love so elevated.
My sonorous style’s more terrible than pistols’
Shot, feeling’s calling’s as the vow on blood yet.
I don’t smoke or drink brandy or whisky,
And terrors are often unknown to me.
You are my Angel so dear, close, friendly,
And my idol sung in my poems free.
{2018}

ЛЮБОВНАЯ ЛИРИКА

ПЕРВОЕ
Я тебя недолго очень знаю
И поверь, подруга, не шучу:
Для меня ты стала как родная –
Ты подобна светлому лучу:
Ты меня надеждой согреваешь,
Мною непомерно дорожишь –
Мне морально сильно помогаешь,
Хоть ночами целыми не спишь!
Мы с тобою без вести не сгинем –
Наши планы – жить – они просты!
После нас, подруга, в небе синем
Две зажгутся яркие звезды!
{2018}

ВТОРОЕ
Зима вступила вновь в свои права
Камзол из снега меряет природа.
«Всегда так происходит год от года» –
Ты говоришь, и, кажется, права.
Ты говоришь и смотришь на меня –
И как же много нежности во взгляде –
Почти принцесса в праздничном наряде,
Что на скаку стреножит и коня.
Не уходи, побудь ещё со мной!
Характер твой, стальная сила воли –
Черты твои мне дороги до боли!
Такая милая, мне нравится с тобой!
{2018}

ТРЕТЬЕ
Сельский луг как ковёр из ромашек!
Чудо-девушка в поле стоит.
«Мне, Володя, твой стих до мурашек!» –
Мне, стесняясь, она говорит.
Её косы как хлебные нивы –
Растеклись по лопаткам ручьём.
Эта девушка очень красива –
Её голос звенит соловьём!
Её очи – как зимние воды –
Околдован я их глубиной.
На душе снова ветер свободы,
На душе наконец-то покой!
{2018}

ЧЕТВЁРТОЕ
С тобой сяду я рядом, любимая,
Под древесною кроной шумящею.
Ты из девушек – самая милая,
Ты принцесса моя настоящая!
Твои груди как спелые маковки –
Меня манят бутончики сочные!
Ты моя долгожданная ягодка,
Ты богиня моя непорочная!
Чашу жизни совместной счастливую
Завершим мы последнею капелькой.
Ты сейчас несказанно красивая –
И прекрасною будешь старенькой!
{2018}

ПЯТОЕ
Мудрее мудрого тяжёлая разлука –
Невысказанность снова на душе.
О, доля женская, за что такая мука?
Когда она закончится уже?
К чему сейчас такое наказанье –
Оно сродни домокловым мечам:
С тобой нас разлучило расстоянье –
Я каждый день рыдаю по ночам!
Я каждый день читаю переписку,
Твои стихи – как сладко музой быть!
И в честь тебя воздвигнут обелиски –
Я не смогу твой образ позабыть!
{2018}

ШЕСТОЕ
Прими меня, прекрасная подруга –
Прими как есть, прими мои стихи.
И лишь тебе в свой редкий час досуга
Готов раскрыть вчерашние грехи.
Пойми меня – нехитрого поэта,
Привыкшего к возвышенной любви.
Мой звучный слог страшнее пистолета,
Признанье чувств – как клятва на крови.
Я не курю, не пью коньяк и виски
И часто мне совсем неведом страх.
Ты ангел мой, такой родной и близкий,
Ты мой кумир, воспетый во стихах!
{2018}

Translator - I. Toporov
"...And as if I set fire to matches,
I’m pronouncing amorous words.
“For ever”, “honey” and, of course, “dear”
Carrying always in my head the same.
If you touch passion in the man, it’s clear
You will never find the truth again..."
Sergei Esenin, 1925
«...И, как будто зажигая спички,
Говорю любовные слова.
«Дорогая», «милая», «навеки»,
А в уме всегда одно и то ж,
Если тронуть страсти в человеке,
То, конечно, правды не найдешь...»
Сергей Есенин, 1925
Påłpëbŕå Sep 2021
it'll always be physical
attraction, affection & attention
making me cynical
and creating these perceptions
all he wants is an adrenaline rush
and all she longs for is some company
the blood running to give him a blush
switching her cloudy days to sunny
a drink to bury his sorrow
a text to make her a little less hollow
a joint lightening up their eyes
only to mask their conjoint cries
they're too afraid to feel
and too wounded to heal
so this is how
with their depression they deal
but not feeling won't help
later or sooner they'll yelp
because done damage
can never be cured
simply hidden behind a bandage
day by day it'll be endured
In the beautiful embrace of my life's haven,
Both beauty and ugliness intertwine,
Taking shape in a divine personal form.
No eternity is foreseen in the emergence,
Of the Conjoint actor, with boundless energy,
Spirituality intertwined with absolute intellect,
Endowed with unique aligned energies.
His arrival fulfills the Father's liberation,
From the notion of centralized perfection,
And from the absolutist decree of personality,
This liberation, in the Creator's decree.
Revealed in the power they share,
To craft beings with utmost care,
Fit to serve as bright ministering spirits,
Even to evolving material creatures.
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI

— The End —