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Cné Apr 2017
He soars high, floating in her wake
Inhaling every detail of her flowing grace
Her brushes of touch, causing him to shake
Delicate weaving hearts of leather and lace

Inspiration sails high, with her drifting in his mind
Ripples from deep emotions, she elegantly paints
Closing his eyes, entrusting her, flying blind
Together, one with the other, interlinking chains

Flickering fates of fireflies under stars aligned
Precious moments in time, worlds collide
A rendezvous in the Milky Way, by design
Consummating souls kiss passionately, ignite
to be ...
da Vinci's "Mona Lisa"
Vermeer's "Girl with the Pearl Earring"
or "The Girl from Ipanema"
only in my dreams ...
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
. so yeah, perhaps the aboriginals, the argument for the noble savage is there... point being, they have a narrative, more eloquent than the moneticised outside the frantic fanaticism of Harry Potter, a plagiarism of Merlin... etc. etc., with all the scientific superiority, a narrative in collectivism based upon plagiarism? does it really matter? the people who spurn on the superiority of western culture... let's just say, they love to gamble, but don't understand nature's gambling pattern of weeding out the weak... and... given their opinions? i wouldn't want to share a meal with them... contradictory *******... tell them about the Manchester attacks, and they'll cite Yemen! i find it rather uncomfortable sharing a public toilet with them... to begin with... but eating with them? what a strange anticipation of the most profound profanity!
            
                                 so yeah...
  nice critique...
"philosopher" *** sophist -
namely a rhetorician...

i love the giggles,
don't you love the giggles?

philosophy is something to engage
with, rather than explain...
more a tartar steak than
a medium-done slash of slaughterhouse
debris...

ahem... where's your western narrative?
where is the sociological focus?
the focus point?
the campfire?

  where, is, the, glue?

    can't see it...
western civilization is superior,
i grant you that,
but, where is the self-inflammatory
implosion?
  the self-reflecting critique?

look at your literature!
my good fellow!
  the pop-***** of vampire-clad-
neo-gothica?
you have to be kidding me...
too many facts, imbedded with
seeking counter-doubts (i.e. facts):
compensated with an antithesis
of a narrative principle...

a right, without a wrong...
a fact, without a narrative,
is pointless educational rubric -
no more finding an point
of answer, than regurgitating a bunch
of facts...
      i would be so certain as to joke
about the aboriginal culture...
when the western narration continuum
is plagued,
   by inconsistent narratives...
narratives that would never
want me to allow myself
a focus for congregating...

   no, sorry...
           you sit that **** alone in youir
little group-therapy sessions...
i'm about to do a Pontius Pilate
revision...
   i'm washing my hands away
from the gloat...
i can't stomach it...

      i don't want to stomach it...
i don't even adhere to an I.Q. discussion
as astounding racial differences...
i have already the point breaker:
and why so few black athletes compete
in the swimming events,
while so many are prescribed the
100m / 200m distance?

            what comes naturally...
800m / 1500m races?
white...
          the quasi-marathon running?
evidently Kenyan or Ethiopian...

i hate this, the vest iz v besht...
                       i regurgitate on this
factoid...
               with diarrhoea...

for all the science involved...
what is it, exactly, that constitutes,
the gluing fabric of community?

    i hate to say this,
but seldom facts are a differential aspect
    of exploratory conundrums...
Moby **** type of narratives?
the integral aspects...
      science has overtaken the expression
of life, sanitized it,
   securing an antithesis of
misery and mortality...
                    with: "facts"...
      
i might share the pH scale with someone...
but if i don't share the commonality of
a narrative?
  **** me, third party sources...
why should i share?
we share the same factoid,
why should we even bother consummating
this fact, over lunch?!

no bother!
there is no reason!
      live your life, let me live mine...
but don't you ******* even bother
dictating what i can, or can't do,
on the allowance of having invested
in a private property,
you, *******, english, ****!

  savvy?!

  the vest iz z best-chore...
   sure sure...
      love your literature, wonder
of the ******* world!
          YA ******* and your journalism?
makes Mecca pilgrims blush!
  wonderful!
                
...and for not particular reason...
vampires, werewolves,
zombies, the whole generic
exhausted stereotype -
   applause! applause!
applause!

              what?! health service?
i was lucky to have met up with my socialistic
accessible doctor,
   how many? 2 years to spare from
the last visit...
   zee vest iz z best!

            because why would i have considered
studying chemistry to an edinburgh university
level...
    and not began a post-scriptum of schooling,
beginning work in a supermarket?!

nice narrative, love the advertisement...
keep up the belittling tactic...
   glorifying your ***** wiped clean...
nay bother...
  as the Picts used t say...
                there is an actual masochistic
attache of internalized hate,
that even i can accommodate...

                     i hate gloating,
i hate boasting...
   and i hate the sort of people who
self-identify themselves as philosophers...
rather than sophists...
the sort of people:
who, simply, can't, keep, their, mouths,
shut!

don't criticise cultures,
when your own culture...
   is gearing up to problematic investments
of its own,
most notably, the teenage mental
health crisis...
          please...
                       this is not a time scant
for diminishing the already
queuing problems,
   by resorting to I.Q and race arguments...
the ******* can claim to be
philosophers, and entertain
the centre stage...
   i have a bench...
  in a park, talking to an old east london
geezer about rayleigh bikes...
and the scalpel attitude to
finding a prefix, negation,
                in the word disease...

western civilization has been gripped
with an Sunni Islam virus of
a superiority complex...
             they sure as **** know how
to point the good stuff...
   but slightly less...
                dream-detached when it comes
to the current,
    problems...
                  but hey!
the barbaric peoples are our closest
allies of worthy comparison...
   compare a ******* donkey
to a galloping horse!
  that'll fix it!

- but i thought that western culture was
all for the inbreds,
the down syndromes?
  the last birth mothers?!
   so?
        some cultures are somehow
more clingy to a peoticization of
the past...
    which... says much more...
for what currently grips the western
inconvenience in the pursuit of
a narrative, whether historical,
or fictional.
Andre Baez Aug 2013
Everyone Has a Story… Here’s Five.


Part I: Cousin

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

I was on the island,
At the very top,
Looking down from our mountain,
It was night time,
And the lights shined clearly,
Little holes from the bottom of heaven were penetrating the world,
As they did so I peered on,
Never truly understand what heaven was,
This was my element,
The curiosity which was placed in me,
Since the birth of my being,
Has never been one for being quenched,
Even if my parents tried to beat it out of me,
After a time they kind of hit a fork in the road and decided to go right,
But at the last second I side stepped and ran my behind to the left,
Because the right side isn't always the right way to go,
I felt that their minds died some time ago,
But I was a kid, in the hoods of Puerto Rico,
Only visiting, never witnessing,
The day to day realities,
That came from living so rapidly.

I met my cousin for the second time the days before that night,
He took me under his wing almost immediately and I was happy to follow,
He was a tall man, tattooed from head to toe,
I thought the second I laid eyes on him, that this was my role model
As a lover of Hip-Hop I thought this was how everyone should look,
He would cuss, and spit, and drink, and have several women on deck,
While rolling a couple of joints,
This was the MAN!

However, this view didn't last for very long,
Because on that night,
I witnessed the devil for the first time,
I crawled from beneath my covers,
That my mother had so carefully put into place,
As a safeguard against the realities of the world,
That would come true in my childish fantasies of the boogie man,
The only bad I knew was what was told to me by the news,
People falling left and right cause of wars and other endless fights,
But in my mind they could be brought back to life by the Dragon *****,
Unfortunately Goku wasn't here this night,
I snuck through the house silently,
As the noise would be drowned out by the singing of coquis,
My bare feet hit the humid pavement following the rush down the stairs,
I only wanted to see my view,
The view of heavens holes peering through the vast and dark sky,
It was located at the edge of a cliff that looked over a ravine and then the wilderness,
At the precise moment I stopped to realize my will,
My dream was disrupted by a voice,
Followed by a sound that sliced through my mind and deflated my childish intuition,
A sound that penetrates my adult mind and echoes in the silence to this day,
Muffled screams echoed out after I heard the gunshots ring,
Beneath the sounds of the forests singing,
My heart was pounding slowly,
I was strangely calm rather than panicky and fearful,
Not that I was a brave child, but I remained curious,
Until I saw the blood…
It was then that I saw the dimly lit lamp beneath the moon light,
Resulting in the two bodies casting elongated shadows against the dank Earth,
Followed by a larger body standing over them,
One body was completely still,
While the other one was rocking back and forth,
The terror that took me was shear and raw,
The only other time that I had witnessed such a fear,
Was through the appearance in a pig’s eye,
As my grandfather drove a machete through its heart,
I heard the second shot ring out,
In the same amount of time that it took me to blink,
The other man had been murdered just the same,
And before I knew it the gun was pointed at me,
I stared back and started shaking,
This had to be pure fiction,
But no, this was reality,
I turned to run, but stopped when I realized who it was,
Looking up at me as he exited the thicket and the shadows,
Was my cousin, my role model,
He cocked his head up and looked at me with concern,
But said nothing,
As I ran home breathlessly,
Under the holes into heaven,
That had been put there by bullets,
My childhood was finished…

And I'd never see him again.


Part II: Brother

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

As a child,
I thoroughly enjoyed,
Playing around outside,
I enjoyed getting into play fights,
I loved feeling like I could overwhelm any opponent, but I couldn't.
My brother was way stronger than me,
He had the height advantage,
And best believe he had the weight advantage,
But still, I thought I could manage,
It never really crossed my mind that my brother was a bit off,
To me he was a big kid,
A quiet companion,
My best friend,
My heart.

That was more than enough,
Until one day I went too far,
See my brother had one toy that he loved,
It was string; he'd tear up clothes to make string,
He'd cry up storms at department stores if he didn't get his string,
He'd hit my mother and punch my father if he didn't get string,
I just always thought the exception was me,
I was his play mate, he smiled at me,
Something quite rare for my big brother to do as a result of his condition,
And the medication he was taking,
You see when a child has autism they kind of want to do their own thing,
They want to be on their own,
Enjoying whatever it is they enjoy doing on their time,
But I had a child's mind and a child's ego,
His toys were mine too,
Share with me,
Play with me,
Look at me,
ME, ME, ME!
So he punched me right across the face,
I went flying into a sliding paneled glass door and began crying,
When my mother entered the room,
She asked what was going on and tried to calm me down,
I wouldn't listen so she told me shut up before the neighbors called police,
And we were both taken away,
Being that my mother was a single parent, I believed her,
With that being the case, I closed my eyes and didn't look at my arm,
Nor the blood slowly dripping down it onto my fingertips,
Down to the floor below,
I didn't play much anymore after that,
I was too childish to blame myself,
So the fault was his.

The fault would end up being mine,
As this action being a culmination of things done by my brother,
Led my father and my mother to do what I thought was unthinkable,
They chose to let him go,
Giving him to a group home,
My young mind couldn't even begin to comprehend the pain they felt,
But to me all I could see was two adults giving up on their son,
I saw love and hope dissipate right in front of my eyes,
He was playing with his string in the back seat of the car,
While I sat beside him just watching him,
Saving every movement of his,
And his joy into my memory banks,
To be left to gather dust; because the pain was too much to harness,
But with respect I chose to re-open the chest,
And hold my brother in my arms once again,
Before he was ripped away from me,
And given away to the monstrous people,
That wouldn't let him hug his mother nor me,
I didn't care if this is what was needed to be,
I was losing my brother!
My blood!
My playmate!
My best friend!
My only friend!
My HEART!
It didn't matter that he hit me,
It don't matter if he hit my mother or father,
Because the beating my heart was taking was too much,
For my slim frame and still developing body to handle,
As such my growth was stunted and I gained heart problems,
On top of the asthma,
Autism meant nothing to me,
He was everything!

But it ended with me sleeping alone,
At home he was gone.


Part III: Father

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

I never felt much towards you,
I was taught to love my mother solely,
As she was the one always there to heal my bumps and bruises,
The only memories I have of you from my childhood,
Are of you feeding me God awful food and teaching me to ride a bike,
But I forgot how to ride a bike,
And I could cook what you cooked on my own,
Burnt hotdogs, and pasta, and cereal never really fazed me,
Every other memory is a blur,
Your love was like a line or two painted upon a Mona Lisa of love,
That I had gathered from the various sources of inspiration in my life,
I could always gain appreciation for them,
But not for you.


As I entered my adult years,
You tried to make up for it,
I knew you had pent up guilt inside from not seeing me,
Yet you bought presents and rose up the seeds of another tree,
Seeds that I don't blame,
I only wanted to smell the same flowers that you gave them,
So you were trying to give them to me while I could still smell them,
But that sense was long gone along with my sense of sight,
Literally my vision was fading, but my mind was expanding,
As I was witnessing the world around me quite clearly, and the soul within me,
Just wouldn't release me, from the overwhelming feeling of needing you,
A father figure I could depend on,
A monument for what a man should be, and truly believe in,
As it comes to issues of morality, love, and loyalty,
Up until this point you had only taught me resentment,
Resentment leading to hate,
But I wanted to honor you in place,
So I hide the parts of me that you don't care to see,
I hide my relationships,
I hide my true feelings,
I hide my poetry,
Because if you found those things,
I would no longer be free,
And I refuse to submerge my soul into slavery,
Just for you to feel like you rose up the brightest son,
When truly the darkness is where I was brought up and where I belong,
Moonlight is the only thing I can touch with my pen,
As I compose the paintings residing in my head,
Of wordsmiths and demons battling,
Because words are my angels,
And they have always been there in every instance,
Whenever I've needed a piece of wisdom,
Or a calming presence that would come from the essence,
And recollections of stories of glory,
Stories that helped me forget you,
I love you, and hope our relationship can bloom,
But I no longer wish to speak on you.


Part IV: Mother

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

I was taught to feel love towards you,
And it still remains as strong as ever,
From when I was a child,
Your sacrifice made my life exactly what it is,
Exactly what I needed it to be in order to grow and explore my soul,
To reach for my dreams,
You have always given to me,
Even on your last two cents,
Both would be for me,
You were my mother goose,
Even if I seemed like a young rooster,
Because we were always so different,
You always wanted to mold me into your vision of me,
While you instilled in me many things which cling tightly to me,
You've made someone completely different from what you expected,
I hold different views and truths that are separate from you,
Which is fine, but for a time it would keep me from being who I desired to be,
Because you could never cut the umbilical cord.

In fact, it was wrapped around my neck,
The death of me was coming slowly,
Due to the inhibitions of my creativity,
You loved that I would write, but you hated what I was writing,
Hip-Hop, home to me, was looked at as purgatory,
You couldn't see why I would want to listen to these stories,
Stories of struggling and hustling and juggling jobs, drugs, women, and friendships,
These ships were all sailing gallantly through my mind; the wordplay was so sublime,
And the fact that the words blended with their worlds were so unkind,
Appealed to me, but you were blind,
This changed my perspective,
However what really taught me to be a man,
Was when you began pushing opposing women out of my life,
I would be deep in love, buy-a-ring love,
But one thing would be enough to trigger a string of insults,
And a manikin-like regard for the person of whom I adored,
This was too much for me, you were systematically ending my dreams,
I thank you for your love and for everything that you continue to do for me,
But the cataclysm that was forming in this poets mind,
Was becoming too much to bridge,
If this feeling was to be ongoing,
So as a desperate act of love and care,
I left you behind,
But the love is forever there,
I'm a man because of you,
Your heart will forever reside with me on my journey,
You’ve no need to be frightened,
I’ve got you, I’ve got us,
My senses have been heightened.


Part V: Lover

I remember
That daze I felt those days
Those days that were fixtures
In my life at the time
But like all good stories
They come to an end
Sometimes abruptly

We met after a string of accidents,
Accidents that nearly cost me my life,
These were love losses, blood losses,
Things I’d never thought I could recover from,
The experiences had me going numb,
Until you found me… or did I find you?
It's hard to tell it just seemed like we were two lost souls,
Looking to quell our young hunger for the opposite ***,
Each and every day was spent together,
First on the stoop in front of your sister’s house,
The place where I first kissed your mouth,
Second on the park benches,
This is where hours flourished from minutes,
Third was along the streets of the world,
You were my diamonds and my pearls,
Indestructible and irreplaceable,
Once you met the paper you were there forever,
With that ink blood that flows through your veins,
A fellow poet whose love would stain my mental,
Instrumental in gifting my simple world with a new understanding,
It wasn’t how I imagined, but God laughs at notions of planning,
I finally found out what it meant to be in love,
I never had two people show me what it was,
Honestly the many descriptions of hate,
Is what would be seen at the gate of my consciousness,
As such, I believed this same fate would await me,
It was once the singular feeling with which I could relate,
But the euphoric hands you laid on me,
Made me lose an awake thought process,
As I was in a lake filled with your waters,
That would flow to rivers,
Followed by seas of your loving,
Seas consummating your body,
As I laid on the beach,
Believing it to be a dream.

But it wasn't, and it shouldn’t have ended,
In reality, love has ways of being reprimanded,
I was so lucid, and the picture was candid,
It was the simplest of pleasures that I'd ever been handed,
I learned right away the right things to do,
To flow from my heart and work my way into you,
To take care of my lips,
A rough kiss can't ******,
Nor find proper pleasure,
Along a woman's surface,
You’d allow me to peruse your mind,
Sending shivers up your spine,
As I embarked on my conquest,
Explorations of lustful aspirations,
Symbolizing and synthesizing,
Each and every stroke,
Representing a new letter,
In the alphabet of love,
Allowing our tale to unwind,
To combine the breathlessness of our exploits,
With our hearts desire for choice,
Which declined to lend voice,
To the greater work to be done,
The acquisition of newer positions,
Are symptoms of the journey,
Keep going, never surrender,
Be tender and conquer,
Mental foreplay is stronger,
Than any physical touch.

Love of a poet both bold and stoic,
Is a simplistic view of unfolded vibes and rhythms from the inside,
This could never subside to anything less than genuine spirit of heart and signs,
Among the winds, trees, stars, because you are the art,
You are Moses parting the red sea of my subconscious,
You are the dark sphere which encircles me,
You are the light that penetrates me,
You are harmonic melodies and sweet remedies,
You are rude symmetries and cool symphonies,
You are a lesson learned and an angel untouched,
With exception of me,
Hushed whispers or high pitched screams,
Mean nothing, without the mind following the body to finality,
The fluidity of our ****** motion,
Is a reflection of our mental state,
I seek not to pass through you,
I seek to become one with you.

That's how I feel about poetry,
That's also how I feel about ***,
That's how I feel about you,
You showed me the way,
You are my soul mate,
One with the words I write,
And the memories that I seek the convey,
You are the sun pouring through with the rain,
You are my miracle, one year my junior,
Fifty years older under the skin,
Deep within, your soul, my solar,
Not an eclipse, but a shimmering glow,
Always for my love and never for show.

I fall in love with people's honesty.
Their smile.
Funny jokes.
Tears.
Scars.
Passions.
Eyes.
Dreams.
Their spirit.

Word to Marley Soul.

Five steps in my growth,
Five indispensable cogs of my sou
Stanley Mungai Jun 2012
Upon the arboreal dozed and limb,
Extended coccyx serpentine loose,
Throne of inspection, tenet and dumb
Stillness hunts akin stealthy Mongoose;

Except for the natal locomotive
Soft deep sufficiently immense purr
Emanating from some industry; effective
In the cover of the thick supple fur.

The lord of his unconquered empire,
Thrives on flesh and quenches on milk,
Wintering unperturbed reading the fire
That flickers, gleaming his bed of silk.

Ever landing on appendage quadruple
Acrobatic athlete not soiling once his back
Consummating in strict concealment marble
Couch of perpetual indulgence buried black.
Joel M Frye Apr 2011
aimless caresses possess
a puissance, carelessly
purposeful, impossibly
sensual, seducing with
mercilessly sharpened
incessant desires,
releasing passionate
hisses of suspended
breaths, sweetness
of whispers, softness
of kisses slipping their
passage past *******,
solar plexus,
slowly, slowly
submerging
to sunder her
senseless with
soul-shaking
consummating
surcease.
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
   to the seminal instance
   whence spermatozoa
   (from profuse *******) beget

the miraculous propensity
   to procreate despite the steep odds
   female fertility fosters potential impregnation
   fusing the hereditary debt

of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
   fueling fancy free footloose fornication
   prior to seminal fertilization union
   sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with

   diametrically opposed exultant sensations
   (biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
   et cetera) seismic shocks inject  
when deliberate intent arises to disregard

   applying prophylactics choice
   plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
   bastes the "cooking" egg omelette  

which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
   first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
   of webbed world de jure upon
   consummating that most miraculous deed

necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
   from messy menstrual cycle
   she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
   in the euphoric family, she instinctually
   abides prenatal signals that heed

without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
   pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
   ineluctably, kinesthetically
   lectured by elder, especially cast

in thee reel life drama, that nine months
   til offspring utters initial whimper
   elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing

   to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
   when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably

   (perhaps colicky infant)
   gets first dibs to suckle,
   which round the clock nursing
   consumes moments many vast.
I adore you as if
    you were divinity,
   midst shadow's darkness
      and wildflowers' flourish,
cherish your dignified sensibility
       in all spaces without pride,
breathe your complexities and
          simple nature's composure,
where affection prevails 'tween
    sun and moons' compelling power,
savoring your enraptured essence in
           the realm of my own being
   hence, consummating  
             an unqualified existence
Hayleigh Aug 2017
I've seen endless galaxies in her eyes,
And I have felt entire hemispheres
Hot and burning
Upon our lips,
The sun and the stars,
Consummating, constellating
Between her hips.
Josh Harrison Oct 2012
through graceless steps and cleavaged twirls,
girls shared repost with other girls,
and the upper lips of the ladies curled,
as the married men all swooned.

they got bored all too readily,
so drunk their liquid steadily,
synthetically coloured blue and green,
she'd seen the latest advert.

and the boys in their polo shirts,
drunk and high on testosterone,
they took pictures on their camera phones,
and called each other gay.

the male claws began to itch,
for the feeling of **** and the feeling of ****,
and the dancefloor was badly lit,
so they knew they had a chance.

sweaty hands and fluorescent teeth,
moved through crowds to find their niche,
and the necessity for niceties,
was shortly overruled.

uninvited gropes from behind,
on bellies of those who looked like they might,
be easily persuaded to bed that night,
without heavy rhetoric.

then came the bartering stage,
those awkward five minutes in which to arrange,
the consummating details, the exchanging of names,
the reality of night.

there were many things to factor in,
tales of lost friends still waiting,
I said we'd share a taxi home,
and she can't walk alone.

and after the barter is all complete,
the scorned pick fights in the street,
the end draws near finally,
so the masses all go home.

some walked home solemnly,
whilst others share the company,
of people they'd knew they'd never see,
after the night is through.
fearfulpoet Mar 2019
Why they call me the fearful poet! (The Razor Thin Difference)

”but who am I to complain
the  razor thin difference tween
blessings and curses so thin,
sometimes are they not, the same thing”

Aug. 2018

~~~

this familiar line, well traversed, lives on the maps
sketched indented on your palms and brow,
at the edges of the crow’s nests, the eye’s keyboard witnesses,
recording every stroke

we tap in seeings, forming letters,
letters into lines, lines into verse,
as we alliterate, we walk unawares,
of the razor thin difference tween blessings and curse,
indiscernible until concluded, perhaps, not even then,
the stanza’s probable outcome,
always unsure, unknowing destiny’s decision

so we walk, tread, plumb, shoutout
“vive la difference,”
hoping the blessing messengers hear us first,
consummating our pleas on their favorable sight & side,
ever fearful, we do not shout loud enough,
do the blind hear,
need me, possess my sacrificial offerings,
my trepidations, burnt on the Temple’s altar

who will breathe their smoke and understand
their fearful origins?

so we-write, cajole that our every moment’s fear,
find the difference, that we don’t bleed from life’s razoring,
the thinner thinnest
needle threaded,

and fear is the threat,
and fear is the thread,
that holds me together


until the unraveling
requires me to write again,
the fearful poet
3/21/19 4:15 am
Stanley Mungai Feb 2012
Upon the arboreal dozed and limb,
Extended coccyx serpentine loose,
Throne of inspection, tenet and dumb
Stillness hunts akin stealthy Mongoose;

Except for the natal locomotive
Soft deep sufficiently immense purr
Emanating from some industry; effective
In the cover of the thick supple fur.

The lord of his unconquered empire,
Thrives on flesh and quenches on milk,
Wintering unperturbed reading the fire
That flickers, gleaming his bed of silk.

Ever landing on appendage quadruple
Acrobatic athlete not soiling once his back
Consummating in strict concealment marble
Couch of perpetual indulgence buried black
Anshuman sharma Apr 2015
Come,
Find me by the sea
Look prudently,
For I'm not what you perceive..

Am I the wave,
Distant
Ruffled,
A captive of the wind

Or
Am I
Tender,
Rapture,
Eloping with the wind tonight..

Come,
Find me by dawn
Look prudently
For I'm not what you believe

Am I
The distant weary traveller tale
The Tale of endless starry nights..

Or
Am I,
Cupid
Sensuous
Consummating the tangerine sky
Until sunrise..

Come,
Find me by the park.
Look meticulously my love,
For I'm not what I reveal

Am I
The crumbly undusted forgotten bench,
Stained, left to scar.

Or
Am I the blowing leaf
Scaled mountains,
And the parks..
Alluring,
Telling everyone,
How lovable we truly are.
K Balachandran Dec 2012
"Stop thief" I yelled out chasing her,
            she stopped, hugged and kissed me deep-
                                                   consummating her theft.
Sally A Bayan Feb 2017
(10wx3)

Ocean plays,
pokes the shore,
waves' bubbly edges
bashing,
lapping,

seducing,
making love,
calmly,
violently...
sand and rocks,
both subservient...

ocean...fondles shore with
masochistic caresses,
consummating...eccentric
love affair...

Sally


Copyright February 7, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Love poem #4
Alyssa Feb 2014
She has become her demons.
This innocent flower.
Her demons have lived, pillaged and devoured her.
But yet she does not fight them,for these demons are all she's known.
In all the chaos they have become her home.
At least she's certainly not alone.
Its to the point now, where she dare not escape.
Her mind corrupted and her life at stake.
But its always been this way, ever since she tuned in.
When that happens they finally win.
These hell sent goblins of grief, never stopped to keep the peace.
Instead they thrived and bred, eventually consummating in her head.
This innocent flower, corrupted so soon.
Not even these malignant spirits allowed her to bloom.
But she did bloom, into a flower of despair.
Its too late now, these demons have won.
She has become the most beautiful valley of Autumn Crocus.
So toxic there is no cure.
These demonic sprites have left her impure.
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
   to the seminal instance
   whence spermatozoa
   (from profuse *******) beget

the miraculous propensity
   to procreate despite the steep odds
   female fertility fosters potential impregnation
   fusing the hereditary debt

of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
   fueling fancy free footloose fornication
   prior to seminal fertilization union
   sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with

   diametrically opposed exultant sensations
   (biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
   et cetera) seismic shocks inject  
when deliberate intent arises to disregard

   applying prophylactics choice
   plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
   bastes the "cooking" egg omelette  

which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
   first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
   of webbed world de jure upon
   consummating that most miraculous deed

necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
   from messy menstrual cycle
   she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
   in the euphoric family, she instinctually
   abides prenatal signals that heed

without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
   pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
   ineluctably, kinesthetically
   lectured by elder, especially cast

in thee reel life drama, that nine months
   til offspring utters initial whimper
   elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing

   to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
   when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably

   (perhaps colicky infant)
   gets first dibs to suckle,
   which round the clock nursing
   consumes moments many vast.
Midnight Confession to Stingray  III  

And suddenly awake. i think i heard the phone ring, but long ago that no stingray called me; it would be absurd. who call a forgotten man, yearny of themselves?. And suddenly awake and crying i wonder what i have done to live this. why i can not die? what's stopping me? god kills for pleasure, i would do it out of necessity. i end with my life and the importance of being earnest.
    
Outside roars the sea. the waves claim my life, my life claim it and head on a silver platter the almighty, responsible to no justice. ha! justice. Consign it everything to god is to add an extra shadow existence. whenever i get depressed i confirmed the existence of nowhere. already said my old friend Andrei, "the soul craves harmony, while the world, reality, life, are full of dissonance".
    god! i do not want any harm to feed my humor. and i tell you because i know that fate is but the unilateral decision of a supreme being, without the intervention of the creature that falls. you and your **** decisions!
  
I must then settle the illusory permanence of my bad steps taken. after all, the man has not been done to exemplify rebelliousness.
Insert - cans carrier some catching film and rolls a finger cuts / , looking at his finger and begins to move circularly, leaving his palace versailles topic decorated, full of blood stigma. then  an arm and his shadow the succor envelops faucet cracked.

insert final -
you always give back things to their original order, no matter what man does or does not do. when the world ends, will only continue the deserted streets where consummating the drama of solitude, loneliness of man. solitude, that awe you feel your son, more powerful even than the fear of death. loneliness, ontophanicus element of childhood fears and unrecognized face of the adult human animal.


Insert - Snifp    opens window, moist your hands with rain, seals his hands, making a drinking vessel of your hands. someone you back then close was noting his eyelids his old love visiting him - Snifp shudders take turns and trafficking in their eyes hands that image. followed gets humming a ditty ... continuing with your thought the song of your song - only the first two lines sing, the rest is with musical pacing phraseology showing on time images:

  "  maybe everything is reduced to ideas. the great wars and the huge advances in the history of mankind are due to them... what is most important for the soul to believe in change? the flowering of ideas! proclaim them the wind and see how they are trampled, but when they die, they will be remembered by them.
    yes, i know, when my turn comes, or not taking into account what you have said, i must kneel before you. "

Insert - Snifp - in your room like versailles, kneeling before the accompanying idol behind his cabin. it was a huge torrent cans with film rolls. some were leaving your movies its packaging. on the upper part of torrent was an eye that turn that also glinted colors and eye on pared scenes showed pictures romance film and expressionist cinema.

  " something happened with spring and winter, only took one night to erase my life. everything i've done, everything i am has been solely because of my insecurity even look at my letter, is confused, irregular, insecure, unfinished, unfinished, ugly to my way of translating the letters on paper it is unsafe. That's why i am where i am. it may not be the best, but it's comfortable. i should not deal with anyone but my ghosts. "

Composition: the whole song - this song in passive voice - before each pause they call Snipf, her father, her mother, she the same calling it self doing choir with letter of the song telling you enter is late and that not early to work everyday continuing - voice feels off, but the darkness appears immensity of arms in clothes ragged and *****, treating him to speak. every aspect of song be supported by allusive as a documentary imagine.

[insert images]: Mr Snifp. this in a paramo isolated, everything smells rancid stink and essence with her mouth glottis churned a finger as mayor, the three items that were deposited in calderon reddened by flare. Their beards 90 cm, crisscrossed end of pointed shape. mr. Snipf it took out glottis your hands together his cross to remove the book and the lenses pipe. While he continued impetuously making this movement of his arms, lashed out on the top step your home room your nearest death, and if it was confused casket 60 cm or a 2 mts. such was the fan accession that uttering which carried from the limbo of house untouchable pantheon, but it was not, all the servants threw it out of doors sliding down the cobblestones, while Snifp kicking as if to take revenge until the last priest perpetuity oblation gave to your existence non tyranny.Still getting off cobblestones, planters keep falling, cornices. carnations falling on follow your body wood caged.

Removing Snifp appears in Calderon lenses, pipe and the book, but this time he has in his hand left the book, and pipe right. but when child, walk the avenue where would buy tidbits, seeing through the showcase  the owner of the commercial always had in his right hand a book and left a pipe.

Snifp lying on his altar Calderon churned with thousands of books, lenses and pipes, falling to tiring and suddenly the ground with his right hand possessing a book of phrenology and left a pipe smoky reddish. it was so faint Snipf and only with boiling essences smelly around.

[insert end].

Zooantropomorphic Basic Kinetic Theory:

In the room, three and a hommo sapiens stingrays. Located facing each other. how to illustrate and in between them appearance with animals, and acting daily activities.

Every stingray, is an object and subject to time, the eyes of Snifp, but more remarkable is that each of them can auto refer, as having instincts and feelings, which alternately men intimidate and used in a extended range of possessions and physical, and electromagnetic powers psychic. "

Snipf in the room seemed feeling redeemed, because they came to help him, came to the town of his abode. A hold a escape. but to think and think and read what rugs you wrote on the wall concerning this theory, he reminded inescapably on fatigue years of thinking, to nearly multiply your ideas on every beat of your heart as an avalanche in your own heart

And they continued typing:

... Thousands of years sail the seas for fixing without ours where our dreams console conditions. we have seen many events, births islands, shipwrecks _ at that time Snifp, he takes the head and can not believe what you tell manta rays, being very shock and sorrow.

He told ...: as you, enjoyed the freedom to grow and believe in my labors happiness. up next to toasted you hiding the sun my skin. trying to follow them confine of the seas as well wishing one day be as you but i saw growing up and that my gaps growth .
interrupts writing one of them on the wall:

... Birds and we seem confused in the sky and the sea. its movement is a great similar  infinitely ours. by instance. for reproduce places and we are in very favorable temperatures. Our food to go for a  tractile  movements resort in places, where our hunger and thirst unite to hunt our prey. There are certain movements, seemed birds river near the sea; with love that in a small ball enjoying our offspring thousands of kilometers from hunting place chosen.

My father strand a day in the pacific sea rivera, seeing some odd birds in groups, moving choreography of side to side, changing their appearance or disordering composition, rare birds when they reached another species, but enough with birds are you were visiting for them with their move to, they give the spectator the camouflage invisibility, violated them to be your space.

Snifp: but the move with air allays tour and return either in any direction. and when i feel abandoned by my wishes of faith or of love, which will be the right move?. One of them says: the movement may not porte nothing, or also something ruined, importantly possessing energy for all be alive call the highest levels rising to pay for that move your body energy; something like love for fuel survive, perhaps not frustrating not to have to turn disoriented when we storms at sea with boats and we want trap, without relying on a moment to pray, to save our destinations. Snifp, think that as you suffer, it happens to us. the blankets impassive, floating on the piece and brought them to Snifp the miles genealogies and exhausted by origins of existence.The cornerstone of movement, time division yours and mine, separated by both affected synchronicity things for immense currents.

Snifp replY: if, if you !!. but both to animals we  vanished others because you have eyes for men only see your interests.
Snifp as if you are thinking _ ourselves the told, what confusion ... not !!.

Then  in men, animals are invisible visible and motion forms. But yes, each generation of movements different article, since each margin regarding your drive specific functions  changing the man, what you plenty of activity what to generate be blinded  no recalling the advancement finally  to not to repeat their mistakes. Snipf words in good men living in a house of fears caused by collective and not totally bad habits subjugations evolved animals. An animal, a being who owned and self contained and do nothing  not self  supply materiality.

We do not pray to  God, just keep your policy creation and preservation, just keep your commands as a whole to vibrate, knowing and ignoring sometimes. This is our Creator. Stingrays sailing in my Mind  and in  the spreading architectural dreaming.
FINAL  MIDNIGHT CONFESSION TO STINGRAY-  Under edition
Samuel Otieng Jul 2017
Painfully  the  heart  beats the  chest,  
Ember  of  lineal  segregation  will  come  out,  
And  the  ripping  blaze of fire  will  engulf,  
Communal  harmony  consummating  peaceful  coexistence  gulf,  
Executing  ethnicity,  caste, creed  and  religion  smithereens.  

Patriot’s  spirit  yields  serene  backdrops, 
Everyone  perman­ently  scribbling  down the  tales,  
And  if  we  don’t  improve  the  stories,  
Coming generations will  be  forced  to  clean up our mess,  
Ending  up  in  the  question  “what is  peace?”  

Peace  is  simply forgiveness,  
End  of  hate,  war  or  violence,  
Abstinence  of  using  violence  to  show  our  emotions,  
Calming  silence,  
Endeavor to  have  unity  in  diversity.  

Portrayal  of  Kenya’s flag  is  peace,  
Entailing  every  magic  spell  of  her  climate,  history  and ­ culture,  
Appraised  by  her  quick succession  of seasons,  
Culminated  by  the  gentle  sun  and  benign  rain  that softens  the  mind,  
Endorsing  peace  naturally.  





Wishing a peaceful 2017 General Elections in Kenya.
Jonny Angel Dec 2013
Gently,
ever-so gently,
I am covered by
your succulence,
sweet parted-lips
upon sweet parted-lips,
I eagerly search
your soft-folds
with such tenderness.

O what delight,
there is no fight,
but harmony!

A warm-moistness
engulfs,
surrounds
my rigidness,
consummating
our sensuous-act,
this sacred-gift,
a smothering of Heaven.
William Eberlein Mar 2013
Imagining us together...

Holding hands and exchanging vows.

Kissing and consummating.

To passionately conceive.
And to birth a passion.

To raise it,
and love it,
and watch it grow.

For us as well...
To grow old,
and love one another all the same.

And in it's own time,
to die at your side.

But for all it's worth,
to live a life worth living,
with you.

Yes, indeed.
Imagining us together...
It does not scare me.

Not one bit.

Not when I look at you.
the inexorable finality of time

that outlives us all

clutches at exaggerations

that would conform

to pretentious intentions

and succeed in consummating

an accentuated design

of limitless flaws
His belly full up

    of castigation,

she could finally

      shed her tears

'neath thundering

     sleeplessness

'til the giant was

       once again roused,

    to commence forthwith

       consummating

          another imperfect storm
And in her eyes, reside starlight and fire,  
A multitude of sparks against the dark of her pupil,
Shining through open windows of iris - showcasing soul.
And stars dance in her gaze, a mimickry of laughter on lips,
"Come share in this joy with me" they seem to say,
Projecting their thrall, compelling and enticing,  
Bespelling like beings and light beings alike,
Drawing them nigh, to join in a ritual baring.

They envoke a sharing of spirits, inviting a marriage of ideas,
Consummating a journey of ties, unveiling unseen connections.
Cloaked in midnight, and still she is luminous,
Mysterious, yet, as precious and pure as genuine pearls -  
Her glow resonating from subconscious through skin,
As moonlight in human form,  
Her tendrils stealing into universe,
Shaping, adjusting, freeing.

Paying homage to the goddesses before her,
She calls the tides to her fists,
And beckons the raging winds to surrender to her will,
She commands the rains to cease, and the seas to still;
A reckoning force, blunting the force of storms,
She calms calamitous energies,
Standing fearless in the face of catastrophe,
Gargantuan, even to giants, overwhelming and limitless,
Black, and magic.
Rex Allen McCoy Feb 2015
~~~
Dappled grey horses
sweat crusted and weary
hooves drifting dust
lift a day
passing dreary
The harness bells faded
reigned in at the rill
a cool running brook
near the base of our hill
~
My eyes
I'm a lad
scant older than four
brought visions to mind
full of wonders in store
A wagon decked out
like a big city market
he lifted the side
then he shook out the carpet
~
Our old kitchen door
screamed out
lack of oil
a kettle
clanged gently
just set on to boil
E'er mother's voice shouted
"I think it's the Pox
the old folks have died
I've been digging their plots"
~
"My father's in bed
and they won't let me near"
the stranger walked by
with a smile
mussed my hair
Went in with a bag
full of magic he grows
started mixing a broth
made with god only knows
~
Tip toed on a box
dragged in from the yard
through windows
he folded
gunpowder with lard
The screams of my father
sent tears to my eyes
they rubbed him completely
in spite of his cries
~
They fed him the broth
a few drops at a time
I climbed off the box
with his horses in mind
"The horses love apples"
I turned with a whirl
peeking out from his wagon
the freckled face
of a girl
~
In moments I knew her
a lifetime
it seemed
a most likeable friend
who knew all the schemes
As father got better
t'was time to move on
her father
a doctor
a peddler
a con
~
He'd done us a service
we could never repay
though he sold us an *****
an' stool
by the way
Each year they returned
once or twice
they dropped by
little freckle faced Mary
soon
the girl of my eye
~
They'd rest a few days
with each visit
it's true
she wrote the best love songs
while I wrote the tunes
Then one night it happened
'neath moon and the stars
consummating a love
that would forever
be ours
~
He stumbled upon us
but said not a word
in the morning
so early
fading echoes we heard
Ne'er again did we see them
though rumors
of peril ...
my parents expired
to a place 'neath the barrow
~
Five years had surpassed
isolation and grief
knocked a lamp
from the table
when I'd fallen asleep
The house nearly cinder
an' I felt like the fool
only item I'd saved
was the old ***** stool
~
Just sat there and watched
till the sun broke the morn
in the distance
an echo
I'd heard years before
Then over the rise
sweat crusted and weary
two dappled grey horses
on a day
passing dreary
~
The horses reigned in
right next to the rill
that sweet running brook
at the base of our hill
A woman climbed down
took a step
to the glade
the dawning day's sun
streaming in to pervade
~
A light in my heart
jumped a thousand times fold
the smile in her eyes
and the story's been told
The tears
fell in rapture
though nothing was said
embraced
now with Mary
she'd returned from the dead
~
She unhitched the horses
I lifted the side
"The years have been kind"
I said
lifting her pride
"Are you my daddy?"
I turned with a whirl
peeking out from the wagon
the freckled face
of a girl
A true story about my great great Grand Parents



Romeo:
My abundant affection for YOU
Is the wonder I see in your eyes
Your LOVE is quality of eternity

Zuliet:
My LOVE takes every form of nature
My LOVE dwells in your spirits

ooooxxxxoooo

Majznu:
My seeking of YOUR LOVE within me is "unique"

Layla:
My LOVE is fire within YOU
My LOVE is water within YOU
My LOVE is air within YOU
My LOVE is the earthiness within YOU
My LOVE is the void within YOU
My LOVE is The light within YOU
My LOVE is the darkness within YOU
My LOVE is your very NATURE

ooooxxxxoooo

ZHeer:
Your LOVE becomes everything within me
Without any effort of mine
And I become "nothing" in your LOVE
My invisibility resides in YOUR being

Ranzjhnaa:
That's why our LOVE is ETERNAL
That's why...
We are not seen as TWO by the world

ooooxxxxoooo

Chorus:
Their union is a never ending fight
Their prayers of LOVE protects them
And lights the whole world with illumination
Their saga of LOVE is ETERNAL
No one in this world can change their LOVE


ooooxxxxoooo

Shirin:
We are just two tiny particles of Golden Dust

Farhad:
We are just two amoeba caught inside each other

ooooxxxxoooo

Sohni:
Consummating in our union to become "ONE"

Mahiwal:
We are each-other's ether quintessence particles

ooooxxxxoooo

Sahibaan:
I'm the taste of saliva of your mouth

Mirza:
I'm the fluid of your womb

ooooxxxxoooo

YOU:
I am the answer to your search of LOVE

Me:
YOU are the answer to my search of LOVE

ooooxxxxoooo

Chorus:
Does the world see their LOVE?
Everything they do is done for each other
Come and see them -
They will live beyond ETERNITY
They are not the beginning, nor the ending
Their union is infinite cycle of LOVE



Praise LOVE of LOVERz-BELOVEDs
Biankha Sarahi Feb 2017
Longing for a kiss
On the lips that stir desire
Longing for the scent
Of the skin that sweetly taunts her

Yearning for the touch
A warmth that burns her deep
A sweet caressing brush
It traces round her peaks
As they heave about with passion

His breath upon her skin
Sighing sweet temptations
Lust and love in one

A rhythmic waltz of passion
One hip upon the other
Consummating love
Letting themselves go
lust *** love
Samuel Preveda Dec 2010
It was the night my hair all came off.
It was the night I never wanted to let go of you.
It was the night that every breath I took took took me farther away from you in time, but closer to you in my heart.
It was the night before the morning that I had to rip myself away from you to go back to an empty city.
The clock ticked silently as I tossed and I turned, unwilling to close my eyes to your face, knowing that once I fell into the comfort of sleep I would immediately be yanked back up - to get dressed, to carry my bags, to leave your warmth, your love, your bed.
I didn't live in the future or the past, I lived in the sea of our love, because that was the present. Throwing my passions and dreams on the floor to be yours, sweeping them back up again like flour, snow dust, magical. Consummating our love over and over and blurring the lines, melting the rules, playing our own game.
Waiting helplessly for you to tell me not to go, though no one knew what to do, what to say, how to feel.
It was the night I couldn’t feel because my light was being turned off.
It was the night my body slipped away, the night we shed our tears, the night we made love with our eyes. One of the nights I fell in love with you.
Yael Zivan Jan 2015
I can paint you in a few short strokes,

Imagined, designed, fleshed out in passionate paint.

I'll enjoy my time, i truly will.

Our tiny window of creating and consummating.

Relating, remembering, expressing, then releasing.

Then i have done what i can.

It's not my own anymore.

Maybe this work never was.
Star BG Mar 2018
LIFE is poetry in motion.  It’s the interaction of one soul to another weaving with story and intent. Sometimes it comes out in a poem or a song. Other times it’s in a story or gentle whisper consummating an intimate moment.

LIFE is poetry in motion. It’s a memory that plays inside the wind that blows gracefully.  Perhaps it’s part of the ocean waves that are sandwiched between an aquatic world and sky. Or inside the setting sun’s pulsations to welcome in stars and glowing moon.

LIFE is poetry in motion. The place where words are filtered into the human experience for others to hear. It’s the home of the heart that echoes, welcoming in the gentle mist of a waterfall that harbors love inside life.

LIFE  is poetry in motion.
Care to dance?
The world was left behind
As we soared into the clouds
Our private escape waiting for us
The birds welcomed the new lovers
And sang along with the sounds of joy
Consummating the wildness in our hearts
The rain gently patters down,
And the leaves blow in the breeze
Fanning the passion between us
The animal hunger arises again
Only to feast on each other
To consume us in desire
Your are my bride
And I am yours forever
In morning, he is divided and pried from the dream
Confronted by the next plaster gray View-Master day.
He lingers on his traditional half of the bed, teetering
Then ventures across the deafening, empty apartment
Where the dust accumulates like hourglass sand
Blanketing, bit by bit, over sedimentary plans
And archeological troves of screaming bones
In a vast, derelict desert of vestigial space
Towards a wardrobe of aborted echoes.
There he peruses his potential noms du jour
The coats of people he could have been
Knowing most of them no longer fit.
He settles on his most generic pronoun.

He performs his penance to the Tao:
He is each domino just as it tips
He is becalmed
He is amid still waters
He is a ship without wind
He is a captain without a ship
He is a bouy on the waves
He is one last minute
Treading water
(He is Legion, sleeping)
He is another last minute
He is the dragging current
He is the inflection of breath
He is the mooring of the moment
He is the stones in the coat pocket
He is the coveted numbness of now

In evening, he recoagulates and retires
Resigned to eat the tail that eats itself
Consummating one more centrifugal lap.
He remembers Sisyphus must be happy.
He watches through his dizzy window
A caterpillar spewing up a second womb.
It will be the last monarch butterfly
But he avoids the finality of the situation,
And in his mind, any ensuing hurricanes.
He buries himself in stale anticipation
Beneath slowly overflowing drawers
And trash bags piling up in hallways
Where he stores expiring fortune cookies
Whose pearly secrets he leaves uncracked
For want of a friendly sweet tooth
To bite the bullet for him
Because he can't today.
A breakup, a pandemic quarantine, and zen philosophy went into this.
Exploring the discomforts of the past, present, and future.
mark soltero Sep 2020
i beg pain to breed my pleasure
the thoughts moving around my head
seem to bring out
the inner peace i seek

like the creator’s discovery of jacob’s ladder
my afflictions expose to me
chaos consummating it’s presence
no sense can be made of this

like god
they aggregate my fears
separating each by fallacy

nothing feels better
than feeding each like my pets
like the unconditional love i’ve never had
i promise them i won’t abandon them
Markie Waters Nov 2020
Into the cursory environment, gripping to memories
Of all ones you see. Is it over yet?
As you gaze back seeing tree roots distancing, you stay berating
to the mirror. Fiddle then pacing, stepping not to the future awaiting.
Omitting the transpiring minutes, sitting
dabble dally, idling the glad, even treading reflecting water. Why?
Just one hint to pave the path into circles.
Depths each curve, that pang thoughts that hurt a lil.
Lengths racing treads, only finding your miss-steps.
Befallen to shoulds, the cans consummating the cants.
Gathered theatre, with quips and ribbing rants.
Recognized concessions to your stance;
Ten toes down in the Stage...Cognizant
~Markie Waters~
Remembering all the choices you've made and the audience you gathered in your midst.
John Destalo Feb 2019
cut bangs
brown

straight

like the edge
of the world

she is a
sudden storm

coming in
from the sea

cold and warm
consummating

soon after
their first
meeting

violence
oh so quiet

an explosion
of trust

a night of
silent
fireworks

am I deaf?

she is tiny
invading me
with

the intelligence
of an ant

following a path
invisible
to my
uneducated
eyes
ears
nose
and
throat
Megan Sherman Aug 2021
To love, or cede to dark, that is the choice:
Be the force of light overwhelming, it is yet besieged
By the knives and punches of circumstance
Which yet the Heart transcend
And in its echolocation with like Heart sings. To beam - to soar
In perpetual eternity. The Heart never sleeps,
Constituted by its aches and victories
That resembles ten thousand suns blazing on in song
Incarnated in the flesh of the lover
Love is heir to childhood
Consummating divine principles
To which the faithful are devout
For in the blaze of love and life we wake to go wild
And wear our hearts on our sleeves, proud,
Committed to Heaven from which rose a great knight
My lover, whose destiny sublime
To vanquish hell and transcend time
For I no longer find favor
In your exclusionary arms
No longer embrace the warmth nor kindness
You come lacking all your charms

The eyes have all turned inward
They gaze upon your wall
You have pulled the curtains
Now I feel like Adam after he had made the fall


I am the seed that was turned to grist
By the grinding of your wheel
For I see , I feel , and taste
Your ever consummating will

I was raised a tumble ****
in death was I set free
To roam the plains of noncompliance
by the fickle winds that be

Every day a broken branch
Rounded out in form
Everyday another chance
Was I only to be scorned ?

So I choke on the dust of life
No waters near nor far
Forever will I remember
the child . . .

Sleeping . . .  

in the rear window of the car

— The End —