Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Daytonight Dec 2012
One night in heaven
one night of bliss
I'm yours eternally
claimed by your kiss
your taste amazing
your touch devine
pulling you closer now
making you mine.

Bodies become heated
as temperatures rise
hands ever grasping
as I reach for the skies
breathing more rapid
coming in gasps
as I moan
emitting throaty rasps.

Sweet and the salty
flavors combine
arms and legs
seem to entwine
wanton and willing
wild passion explodes
just before my body
seems about to implode.
Matt Jursin Dec 2009
On the beach with a bottle when the sun turns to wine...
Together on a towel holding the 'one' soul devine...
A thought from the past, a memory at last...
Would I do it again? Yes. But not so fast...

Memories.
Every cloud is not a storm.
Live in the Present.
Nothing is impossible.
All great quotes, but none really ease the pain of the past.
Wonder, Regret...sometimes feels like death atlast.
My task incomplete, wandering lost in the street-of sadness=(
The Baddest.
But most of all, I trip and fall...
When I remember that you gave up.
Gave in.
Gave out.
Gave away...
Something often searched for and barely ever found.
I'm bound...
To the words I spoke and the buttons I poked, trying to sting my way out of this impossible history of thoughts...

It's still a mystery.
It never stops.
The misery...
Of not knowing.
Not loving.
Not growing.
My mind is overflowing with many things...
Many dreams.
Yet i see...your torn seams yielded an evil being.

And in the end, i realize...
Everything i thought you were must have been pretend.
Some of my earlier work...
Hewasminemoon Nov 2014
A rose pedaled room with double doors.
Smeared red spirits to be bleached away.
Raspberry.
Melancholy.
Cradle me.
I will cradle you.
Until we part.
Then cradle me no more.
How devine.
How wretched.
Solus.
Yet not abandoned.
Heavy eyes. Heavy hearts.
This brush of your finger on my lips now
will wreak havoc on my soul
when you are abroad.
What a decadent thing.
To cling to a man who consumes you.
My beloved.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
It does not matter.
As long as I am not forgotten.
But if I am forgotten,
A wisp of air passed through your ears
A whim, now less cared for
A corner dweller
A shadow behind your eyes

Where am I to go?
You have already consumed me you see,
My existence does not exist without your existing affection.

Overripe raspberries.
The trees are my friends
also is the moon
I feel their love extend
with people i pretend ;
Weary of the mask
elliptical prescriptions full of chemicals i pass
They told me it would help
mellow out my mood
Smoothen out the edges
no longer craving food
Im sleepy all the time
the opposite of fine
I cry to the devine
so i wont lose my mind
Sever the appendage
take the skin from bone
Allow my soul to fly
into a better home
Hungry for my freedom
we found it isn't free
Detach your arm and leg
to live conveniently
Amanda Griffin Jun 2016
I have had charming ,slept beside exquisite, pushed through the threshold of the most devine,felt the sweat of the insatiable, licked honey from my lips from the most ****** of sins ,had "You are Mine .marked across my bottom, ran my hands across the sublime .I have been there ,clasped around the fire and heat of immortal gods.Now it's my mind,i want drenched ,my thoughts straddled and ridden until I no longer know where I begin and you end .I want to taste your intellect and feel your reasoning deep within my soul.
Matt Jursin Nov 2009
Backed in.
Upside-down yet right-side-up.
My "Days Off" are never enough.
Backed in. Feelin rough.
Being alone in my quiet place is often tough.

My mind wanders, getting lost.
Missin out on bein about.
Locked up on a cold, cloudy, winter day.
No doubt.
No trust, no love, nothing to clutch...
I hold my blanket and pout.
Loudly.
No friends wander in and out.

Undoubtedly this pen holds no cure for a broken spirit and a broken heart.
I guess this just falls under "Vague Art".
But it's a new start...to an old art.
I should've known this'd be harder than being a martyr.

Underestimating the already underestimated.
It's my time to shine.
Mesmerized by the bright light.
I try not to fight it...this paper, My Shrine.
Im an ugly person with a handsome mind, intertwined with the devine.
My life, MY throw, MY time.
It's never this easy to draw strait lines...-----------------------
K Balachandran Dec 2015
Elena receives a secret message from God
"Keep quiet and listen to Bach, kid"it said
She was so cross with God at first,naturally,
"The old man is cold, I won't listen to his
new commandment" she averred
as she wanted to annoy Almighty as much
as, a retaliatory measure.She felt good,
pleased, she fell silent for a long, long while.

Quickly she realized she obeyed His word
and by that time her ranting and raving
had fully come to an end.
                                             "Oh! my God!"
in astonishment she thanked God,
for making her feel better though she was
thoughtless and horribly blasphemous.

"What a crafty old geezer God is"she grinned.
yes,her defiance was intentional,but it was
as God willed,how intelligent His designs are!
"Oh! Bach! she remembered his words
she ran to fetch a record.Hey presto! it's there
right at the top of the heap, as God willed, of course,

while 'Christmas Oratorio' of Bach sweeps her off her feet,
Elena feels elated, as if the hands of devine, embrace her tight.
Let's welcome Christmas in advance
with  elating music ;Johann Sebastian Bach's "Christmas Oratorio"
Ashty Aug 2015
Comfort Scilance
Hold you in my arms
Closer I get
To my true Devine
Heart to heart
Inhale exhale
Free to feel again
Stillness moment
All and all
You and I
One
aar505n Jan 2015
Don't let me down
Let me keep this crown
Just for a little while
It does make me smile

And with you beside me
I have never felt so free
Then I do now
So lets make a vow
Hand in hand
Promise to never disband

That is all I ask
Such a simple task
I don't want to be needy
Or seem greedy

I don't mean to cause a fuss
All I need is us
So love, lets fly
High in the sky

Please, don't let me down
I would surely frown
And turn blue
Missing you.

And your fingers in mine
A touch devine.
A touch I adore.
A touch no more.
CHAPTER ONE

My geographic movements during the past year could be called “A Tale of Two Couches.” So as June draws to a close, I assume the position here again on Couch California. I am back in Hemet, the place the smug among us call Hemetucky--as if there was nothing a couple of Mint Juleps and a **** of Blue Grass wouldn’t cure. It is the year of our Lord, 2014: so far an interesting year for women. There was a woman who wore socks to bed. There was always my long-time, here today-gone tomorrow, long time companion, currently teaching somewhere remote on the Big Rez, a southwestern Navajo concentration camp near the 4 Corners.  Next, there’s my current object of affection, that fine and frisky lady from The Bronx by way of Bernalillo--currently at home in Laguna Beach, Orange County. Trixie: my main squeeze at the moment.

And now, completely out of the ******* blue this afternoon, my cell phone rings and it’s ******* Juanita--my all-time favorite woman, Juanita Mi Favorita de La Quinta--a Coachella Valley town and desert wadi, extending its lucrative winter tourist season to become a significant, year-round retirement venue and a robust service economy feeding off it.  Juanita arrived there in the late 80s, in middle of her early forties.  She was unemployed, homeless, just a suitcase to her name and a two-year old toddler in tow. Her parents were there, as was her Aunt Peggy.  Juanita was always Peggy’s favorite niece, her favorite child, actually, Peggy herself being childless, never married.  Aunt Peggy put her maternal instincts to work on Juanita Rodriguez, her Sister Rosalia’s second favorite twin daughter.

Maria, Rosalia’s first favorite daughter, Juanita’s twin sister—MARIA: lives in Newport Beach and acts as an extra in many commercial ads shot in southern California and elsewhere, an irony never without sting for Juanita. “Que lastima!” Poor Juanita: as her would-be Hollywood Movie star aspirations disintegrated over the years, along with her unrealized lower expectations to be TV star, and even those semi-glamorous modeling gigs at trade shows and fairs—the elephant’s graveyard of the acting profession—failed to materialize, and now her celebrity habitat shrunken even further, to that sporadic but consistent mockery of stardom, I refer to any would-be thespian’s ignominious one-celled visual protozoan: The Extra Call List.  And—*******-- what happens next? Juanita’s sister Maria starts getting these parts, starts getting hired by filling out a ******* postcard, starts getting paid to look good in the background. *******: no professional education or instruction, no agent, and no need to **** off both the producer, the producer’s cousin Morey, the director and the director’s wife’s huge Golden retriever, Genghis--actually a mighty handsome animal--or needing to spill $4K on that Derma-brasion, Juanita inflicted on herself last year.

Juanita, as you already know, was the second favorite daughter and the second favorite twin of the family. She became the third favorite child in her three-child family upon the arrival of her slick baby brother Nico-- the Golden Child, who grew up to be a glib Merrill-Lynch stockbroker, office and residence, Beverly Hills 90112.  (Enter forcefully into the narrative, His Nibs himself, Sir Nicodemus of Hollywood, Juanita and Maria’s baby brother Nico. He speaks: “Excuse me, stockbroker my ***, as it says in a 11 point Rockwell Boldfont, right here on my gold-leaf embossed business card: Senior Large Capital Investment Counselor.”)

No, Juanita had a hard time just treading water in that Cleveland shark tank. And though she lacked nothing in the cuteness department, she had this one fatal flaw, namely, the gift of ***** and sass and a reflex to speak truth to power. Juanita: rejected by Rosalia as a threat to her hegemony as Boss of the Girl’s Club, was cast adrift on a tempestuous childhood cruel Montserrat sea, out there on the briny deep . . .  
                

                                      



High Seas: where many a tuna has a Sorry Charlie moment: “Star-Kist don’t want no tuna with good taste; Star-Kist wants a tuna that tastes good.”

Finally, Juanita is rescued, taken aboard the Good/Soul Aunt Peggy—that wayward bark Elisabeta Rodriguez, home-ported in Southside, Chicago, Illinois—the rescue at sea performed in classy, rather low-key manner; no Andrea Doria drama, but understated:

{Camera One, Helicopter above, zooms over turbulent ocean surface. Peggy, an oasis of calm, aboard the raft Kon Tiki with Thor Heyerdahl and his crew, floats by, whispering, “Going my way, Honey? Climb aboard. Have a homemade oatmeal cookie and a small glass tumbler of Jack Daniels.” Okay, no, that’s not fair. Sure Aunt Peggy drank, but never got round to offering you a drink until you were well into your 30s. Let’s just say she offered you a warm glass of milk, the mother’s milk deprived you by your mother, her sister Rosalia. Dear Aunt Peggy: a seasoned survivor herself, flawed by early childhood deafness and grotesque speech.  Yet, she had refused to settle for life in an asylum. She made a go at life.  She learned; she prospered; she flourished. And when the time came, she was there for you in the Coachella Desert, there for her feisty niece Juanita Ann.  Aunt Peggy: a loving spirit personified, became Juanita’s special confidant and counselor, her personal cheer squad of one. Juanita, of course, a former cheerleader herself--an early hint of greatness to be sure, a highlight, perhaps the highlight of her life, shown off every Halloween, still celebrated at American high schools each Fall. She is the Principal’s secretary at a huge suburban high school in Indio. Each Halloween, if the date falls on a school day, Juanita arrives for work wearing that scrupulously preserved, vintage 1966 cheerleader uniform, looking real foxy still, snug now in all the right places. Eternal Truth: Juanita has always and will always be good looking. Life with Juanita is perpetual “ooh la-la.”

So, I am on the couch that afternoon, reading more of Gramsci’s prison notebooks, specifically the philosophy he calls “Praxis.”  Completely out of the ******* blue, Juanita calls me on a RESTRICTED phone, as I said, Juanita, a torch I’ve kept burning for years, flaring up like a refinery flame--oil still very much in the present energy mix--hope springing eternal as they say, and instantly my mission in life is rekindling our lost love. Juanita’s conceived her mission prior to her phone call:  using me to keep her son from being whacked by the local Eme--the Mexican Mafia—that ethnic-pride social club that the RICO-squad-- using family tree socio-grams and other expensively-printed graphics, the one RICO keeps trying to convince us is some sort of organized crime conspiracy. The Mexican Mafia: like everything else practical and utilitarian in this world: THAT’S ITALIAN! And, if you are starting to sense a bit of ethnic chauvinism on, between & below the lines, you are barking up the right tree.
                                                           ­     
      
                                                            
(AUTHOR’S POST-SCRIPT EDIT: And, an ad for dog food right here? Not the best choice of sponsors, perhaps, at the moment. Juanita was far off from the ****** ***** that start looking not half-bad at 2:30 in the glazy morning, not anywhere near those beasts you find lingering in the airport bars you usually frequent near closing time on Saturday nights. No, I remind you that Juanita was all “ooh la-la.” In my next printing—and my Lord, there have been so many, haven’t there, Paulie “Eat-a-Bag-of-****” Muldoon? I will change out the Alpo ad, plugging in a spot for Aunt Jemima pancake syrup or Betty Crocker whipped cream, you know, something more apropos.)

Juanita, I really must hand it to you. You showed the greatest staying power, year after year as I moved further and further away from La Quinta, California. Juanita: you embraced what was good in me, ignored my flaws and strengthened me with your love for so many years. As far as you and Peggy, I guess it was a case of the “apple not falling far from the tree” one of many endearing Midwestern metaphors you taught me.  Peggy taught you, taught you to be kind and then you taught me. No matter what bizarre venue I pulled out of my ***, you showed above-average staying power, continued to visit me wherever I went, Casa Grande & Buckeye, Arizona, Appalachia, West Virginia, and even Italy, when I thought I’d try Europe again after so many years.  With each move, each time, Juanita renewed her commitment to the relationship. Meanwhile, I continued to test her, quantifying her dedication, undermining her sense of mission to disprove my worldview on the expendability of women. Surely, you know that one: the unreliability of women, women who disappear without saying goodbye. That old deeply etched conviction to never get attached to a woman, any woman, based on the empirical fact that women have been known to suddenly die, a fact seared into my still tender metal by the surprise death of my mother on 11 January 1962.

1962. It was already an insecure world, to wit:  The Cuban Missile Crisis. Nikita Khrushchev, in his time both Dr. No and Dr. Evil, namely the Premier whom we Baby Boomers saw as Boogey Man of All Time (Although Putin is showing potential, lately)—the Kennedy ****** (what else could you call it?). All these events scary, whether or not I got the chronology right . . . I remained on high alert for any threat to my delicate adolescent psyche.  My mother-Rosa Teresa Sekaquaptewa-died at 2 o’clock in the morning, screaming in agony while apologizing to my father for not having his dinner on the table when he walked in from work that prior afternoon. She’d already been in bed since noon, attended by two of my aunts--both my father’s sisters--who loved their Hopi sister-in-law, Rosa.  Also present was Lafcadio Smirnoff, M.D.--last of the house call medicine men--a dapper, mustachioed, swarthy gentleman, misdiagnosing her abdominal pain as a 24-hour virus, while she bled out internally for at least eight more hours, her whimpers alternated with screams, well into the wee hours of the morning.

I was upstairs in that dormer bedroom listening to her die. An hour later, Father Numb-nuts of Our Lady of Lourdes Parish teleported in, beaming directly into my bedroom from the parish rectory.  Father Seamus Numb-nuts, an illuminated Burning Bush . . . not quite the bush I ‘d conjured at other times, so many times alone with Gwen Wong, ******* Playmate of the Year, 1961, one of Hefner’s hot centerfolds. No, give me a ******* break, you momo! Whacking off is the last thing on a libidinous, adolescent guinea’s brain when his mama is being tortured and killed by God. Even Alexander Portnoy, Philip Roth’s early avatar would have drawn the wanking line at that unforgettable moment.

No, perhaps what I’d had in mind was The Burning Bush Golf Course where so much of Fletcher Kneble’s political mischief and government shenanigans got cooked up. You remember his books, some of the Cold War’s finest: Seven Days in May, Vanished, etc.

Or better yet, perhaps the greatest political slogan of the 20th century: “STAY OUT THE BUSHES!” Thank you, Jesse. “Thank you, Reverend Jackson,” I slip into my Excellence in Broadcasting mode, my very own private Limbaugh. Announcing my on- air arrival is El Rushbo’s unmistakable, totally recognizable bass line bumper, courtesy of Chrissie Hynde’s Pretenders band mate, guitarist Tony Butler: Dum, dum, dum-dum, Da-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum-da-dum-dum. Single, “My City Was Gone” by The Pretenders
Rush Limbaugh Song– YouTube www.youtube.com/watch?v=SScW9r0y3c4

I become Reverend Jackson. I emerge from the vapors, an obscure abyss of deep family pangs and disappointments, ever-diminishing public relevance and fade to black (no pun intended) and media oblivion. The only thing left is that line:  “STAY OUT THE BUSHES!” You will always own that line, Jesse--true political genius (to wit: Rainbow Coalition) Jackson that you are, despite El Rush-Bo’s virulent anti-Black animus, his predilection to mock you, Al Sharpton, Corey Booker, Barack “Hussein” Obama, and any other professional ***** in America. Isn’t it time someone came right out and tagged Mr. Limbaugh as the Father Coughlin of our time.

Meanwhile back in The Bronx, enter another man of the cloth:  It’s Seamus Numb-nuts, making one of his many well-documented spectral visitations, his splendiferous miracles and wonders. How much longer will the Vatican ignore this humble Bronx priest, this epitome of Sainthood; this reverent man, lacking only the stigmata for a unanimous consent vote? Quote the Numb-nuts: “God Works in Mysterious Ways.” An old standard to be sure, but a lovely, all-purpose bromide for explaining why evil exists in our world. Needless to say, I was underwhelmed; I lost God at that moment, consequently shooting myself in the foot--metaphorically-speaking-condemning myself to an unshielded life, life OUT THE BUSHES!  I went forth into the world without God, without that handy divine crutch, that Andy Devine metaphor for when one’s legs grow weary: a puff of smoke, a reverb twang and a nasty frog croaking “Hi-ya, Kids. Hi-ya, Hi-ya. Hi-ya.”

   Andy's Gang - Pasta Fazooli vs. Froggy the Gremlin - YouTube
► 3:55► 3:55
www.youtube.com/watch?v=H35odPm7b3w Aug 8, 2012 - Uploaded by jmgilsinger
Froggy the Gremlin -Tuba ... Andy Devine (Aug 24, 1952)

Life for me became lonely and purposeless. And probably explains my susceptibility to military discipline and a subsequent career in clandestine government service. In 1968--the very day I turned nineteen, September 25th of that year—that fateful day when I should have shot myself in the foot—literally not metaphorically--earning that coveted 4-F physical rejection, a draft deferment to be desired, that 4-F classification of unfitness for duty, a necessary loophole in U.S. conscript service law.  The Draft: last used during that great commonwealth Cold War purge, that culling out of the unwashed, uneducated children of immigrants, that cut-rate, discount, lower socio-economic ***** bank—the only bank where after you make a deposit, you lose interest, to wit: most Black, Hispanic and Poor White Trash parents.  We were cannon fodder, many of us got to be planted at Arlington and other holy American shrines, still wrapped in black or olive drab leak-proof body bags, doing our generational bit to strengthen the gene pool left behind. A debt, some would say, we owed the country and, given the sorry state of the global wicket, increasingly an obligation to the species. And if I had to predict an outcome, Fascism in America will arrive riding the white horse of the environmental, anti-nuclear Bolsheviks. One could argue that Communism has moved so far left on the political spectrum that it’s now the far right.  Concoct a legislative policy goal, accomplish it legally as the bill becomes Law, signed by the President, endorsed and blessed by The U.S. Supreme Court, the highest court in the land.

To wit: “Three generations of imbeciles is enough?” declared Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., an Associate Supreme Court Justice at the time, buttressing a majority argument harnessing the power of U.S. law as a legal means of purifying the race.  When euthanasia failed to win over American hearts and mind, the Federal Government played the war card again and again. Vietnam: undeclared and therefore unconstitutional--except for that Gulf of Tonkin ******* resolution. Vietnam: a cost-plus eugenics project, if ever there was one, although responsive, of course, to the needs of the Military-Industrial Complex.  ******* Ike: he warned us against Fascism in America. As usual, we ignored the man in charge.

Eugenics? Why didn’t the government just put all the retards on the stand, as John Frankenheimer did in Judgment at Nuremberg, a crafty Maximilian Schell humiliating a feeble-minded Montgomery Clift?  Why not, make everyone face a public tribunal, forcing all of us to testify in court, exposing our many substandard and borderline substandard cerebral deficits?  Why not force everyone to demonstrate just how ******* dumb we are, using some clever intelligence test, something l
Heather Stiles Dec 2010
Love you and i'm here to stay,
That is what you always say.
Kiss me and I can barely breathe,
Sending bolts into my knees,
Distance draws us far apart,
Passion still bleeding in my heart,
Love devine and of so true,
Hoping that you feel it too,
I dreamt about you twice last night,
Standing there and holding you tight,
Keeping your hands on my waist,
I still remember how you taste,
I love you i need you thats what you say,
The snow starts falling and the sky turns grey,
I laugh and kiss you and say how could I leave,
The only place I want you is right next to me,
Then suddenly your gone and I start to cry,
Waking up with tears in my eyes,
Rolling over to kiss your face,
But your not there and my heart starts to race,
Right now I need you more than most,
To hear you breathe, to kiss your nose,
Just to lay there watching you dream,
But your not here I just want to scream,
I sit there now not able to sleep,
My hands are shaking and I start to weep,
I can still see you there, snow falling in your face,
Watching the sky turn from blue to grey,
I think about it for awhile longer,
WishinG I could be much stronger,
That beautiful dream turned into a nightmare,
Most of it was fuzzy but your face was so clear,
And suddenly it hits me,
Like a car going sixty,
I sit there and smile for the longest time,
Dreams aren't real and I know your not either.
Kitty Prr Dec 2013
Day 1 of a poem a day*

God created 'man' in his own image.
Is that why we feel compelled to
Create, invent, make
Things that were never there before?

Is this compulsion a God complex?
Or reflecting the nature of the Devine,
Or perhaps our own Divinity.
Because it's that big, no matter how small.

It's everywhere, in everyone.
Some people think they're not creative.
But creativity isn't just 'art'.
It's creating a building, a positive experience, anything you make.

Some people think they're not artistic.
When they've learned to suppress it.
Taught that it's not 'worthwhile'
Or comparing themselves to others.

It is in us to create.
When you express yourself you will create.
In whatever form that might be.
And it's beautiful... whatever form that might be.
Ashley Etienne Jul 2016
did you hear them? did you hear what they said?
they said that you were gods gift to the world. that your words could break glass and shatter any feelings of numbness. they told me that you had tones like sedatives. addictive and the whole nine yards. you. you know just how to make someone stick around long enough to wonder what the world has In store.
because
your words
they are
beautiful
so brimming with hope for a better mind
that you have the power to turn the darkest of skies into a glimmering array of celestial bodies
and quite frankly I like to take the time out of my day just to admire such divinity
so thank you for being Devine
Jacquelyn Cruz Nov 2010
My heart forever longing
As seduction and pleasures melt inside,
Entwining thoughts of desire behind.

This kind of love, is enthralled with pain.
If you could read into my teardrops of time...
You be blinded by the thoughts they hold inside.

A curse, of bleeding hearts raveled with vines
Of temptations... for a wanting of something devine…
That’s been embedded from deep within…

As the burning hunger of love, for you never ends…
Lingering desires, of seduction and pleasure,
Equal…the entwining of two hearts together.

This kind of love, is enthralled with pain...
As my heart, is forever longing...
To feel the same...

The pounding of, Burning Hunger
For Passion and love
That forever lingers

In my heart...
Teardrops...
Fall...
Rickie Louis Mar 2017
I wish I knew the color of your eyes, but easily I imagine they're beautiful. I wouldn't close mine for even a second,  not a single blinks worth missing. I'd travel as far as they'd let me go,  I wonder if I could get lost? Or how soft your skin, your hair, or lips; to feel them on my finger tips. To know your imperfections. Lord, to be your last confession. To feel your body pressing mine, it makes me ache and leave my mind.  I see your inner beauty, a certain devine serenation. You'd lull me to my dreams I'm sure, and time would just become this blur. I wish I knew your scent,  so as I make my way thru this mundane life; I'd stumble across your fragrant so sweet, reminiscent is where I'd be. I'm not too concerned with how small or how tall, how narrow or wide, but the tenderness of your soul. Mmm.. I can already envision how heavenly you must be, now this would make me complete..
something I found in my notes
Joseph Norris Apr 2015
Your eyes tell a story, down a path
leading to an eternal ocean
of past lives and loved lies
basting in the hopes and dreams
of permanent destruction

Devine perfection
perceived as crippled obscurities
fearful of who's identity is portrayed
keeping signs of divinity at bay
avoiding the love of the guides
covered in humanities tainted prides
Dina Nov 2018
So much mystery
Hard to find
Beautiful
Yet fragile
On the surface
You cannot see
Devine shine
You have to seek
The deeper it gets
The more crystal clear
Its hidden beauty
Nothing to fear
Pretty to look at
But hard to hold
Is it a woman
Or is she a Geode ?
The beach swept away in the distance,
The tide as far out as could be,
A couple were laughing and playing there,
She’d cuffed him, in fun, to a tree,
‘Now that isn’t fair, Isabella,’
He’d laughed, as she danced in the sand,
‘You’re going to be mine, Richard Andrew Devine
Or forever be tied to the land.’

She taunted and teased and annoyed him,
He said, ‘I just want to be free!’
She spun on the sand and she held out her hand
And she laughed as she dangled the key.
‘You can stay ‘til I hear your proposal,
It’s like squeezing out blood from a stone,
If you fail to propose, this relationship’s closed
And I’ll leave you out here on your own.’

‘We’ve talked about this, Isabella,
And you know it can’t possibly be,
I’m already wed, when you came to my bed…
For God’s sake, just throw me the key!’
‘You know that you’ve never been happy,
With her, or with all of her friends,
It’s time you got rid of the lot of them,
It’s time you were making amends.’

‘I said at the start, Isabella,
That a fling was the most it could be,’
A shadow passed over his worried brow
As he looked at the incoming sea.
‘That might have been in the beginning,
But you know it’s gone further than that,
I’m having your child, did you know, in a while
And I’ll not have you leaving me flat.’

The sweat had burst out on his fevered brow
As the water encroached on the sand,
‘Did you know we’re beneath the high water mark,
In an hour or so, I’ll be drowned!’
‘The choice becomes yours, you must get a divorce
Or I’ll just walk away and be free.
There’s no going back, I’m determined in that,
I’ll be walking away with the key.’

The sea was beginning to lap at his feet,
And she to retreat as it came,
Then suddenly she was beginning to sink
While crying that he was to blame.
In seconds she’d sunk in the sand to her waist
In terror she cried, ‘Rescue me!’
But he was restrained by a half inch of chain,
‘For God’s sake, just throw me the key!’

‘How do I know that you won’t walk away
And just leave me to sink in the sand?’
‘I wouldn’t do that, just throw me the key
Or we’ll both become part of the land!’
She’d sunk to her shoulders at this point in time
And she struggled to pull out her arm,
Then raised it on high and she let the key fly
As they both held their breath, in alarm.

‘I’ve told her I want a divorce,’ he cried,
As the key fell just short of his reach,
‘And I lost the baby a week ago,’
She cried, to her neck in the beach.
They stared at each other as she sank from sight
Then the water rose over his head,
As a little gold key, was swept by the sea
To a hand that was already dead.

David Lewis Paget
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
All of gods children.
                                                    Wal­k by faith. Not by sight.

Blessed is the meek.  Love your enemy I know that sounds weak.
It is the context.                                   An eye for an eye. Doublespeak ?

I am learning to live and ÷ I live to learn.
Learn to forgive or you surely will burn.  I am a skeptic by trade
A realist by nature.

Deeper still
Deeper transcend.deeper.


The surface lies deeper and furthur below.

To err is human to transcend, devine.
So. Seek within . Conjure without.
Heal your heart with love.
Love. Deeper.
Feel.deeper.
Give. Deeper.
Cast your bread. Furthur and abide.

Deeper without and deeper inside.
i am aware, aware if your beauty,
How its devine,
And time  has nothin on your body, forever it curves , your words fall and the one that i pick up, are lines i wanna write, to get your attention, to grasp your mind.
I stare cause i dont wanna miss a moment, your the sun your true blinding beauty, and a morning smile that shines throughout heaven,  im surprised your not in movies.
i wanna know what you think, know who are, tell me who you be, and how can an angel like you cover your black feathers nd scars?
How many battles have you faught? How much heartache?  And how can you still stand strong and not fall?
You dont need to answer, im just truly captivated by you,
Who captures my sight, with eyes that dance with sunlight,
Without a flash of a camera,
Can a man like me handle ya?
I wanna hold you tell you how truelly you are special,
A heart so big all state hands couldnt caress you,
But i can, hands of man, whos blessed too,
You got me goin bananas runnin thru my temple,
I cant touch, so the feelin of wanting you is imensful.
So dear who I can i be near??
A angel like you , flys untouched,
Like 11s with no scuffs,
Its tough ,cause im tempted to touch, but i want your interest,
First, is it jay low? Or enough too much?
I wanna know soo, i dont over doo or rush,  i want you too smile or aleast eyes flutter interest with alil blush...
See ima artist, my loves a paint brush, your an  idea, i wanna brush upon ,
Caress your canvas,  cause theres nothing more defined as beauty as your face, eyes of dawn,  lips of life that can calm storms.
And hair that waves like the sea,
And a personality that glows like the halo you have,  hands soft and free,
More than any thing curves  worth a ride.
Thighs sweet like honey seepin up to a jar of a jewel  inside.
No disrespect, but head to toe you are a fine dime ,  with a mind intelligent aswell as sublime and kind, i wish i knew what its like to be cuff by you, cause im guilty of thoughts as a crime..
Your inviting, delighting, sweet all around.
Ima clown , but i dont joke when i say, when i look up and and down,
.Its hard to believe God made such a beautiful woman,who ls yet to have a crown.
Your strong ,  flawless, defined as one of a kind.
No one can come close to your stature,  and be as radiant as the way you truly shine.


-Deep Thought
Aka Emmanuel Jv Hernandez
Mercury Chap Dec 2016
'Let me tell you a thing or two,' he said.

She clutched his hand
The other clutched her breast.
She heaved and wheezed
As the universe dropped on her chest,
Waiting for the last words
She would hear.

His lips were devine as they recited a sermon-
How good she is,
How the world needs her-
She watched his perfect eyes
Delve into her depths, see through her.
He acknowledged her beauty,
She didn't hear.

She was deaf for those words
Her beauty, nonexistent,
Her intellect, negligible,
Every word he spoke about her
Was Unintelligible.

All she mumbled with the life left in her:
'How did I deserve you, oh, heaven?'
1am
I close my eyes and you are with me.
Only we exist together.
Your embarace; my safe arms around you,
penetrates our souls.
You look into my eyes and I exist because of you.
My heart beats for yours.
The poisonous air is cleansed and is sweet,
there is spring beneath my feet.

I'd become religious, just to pray,
we feel like this, every day.
So my lord, some heavenly being,
I thank you; now and forever,
for making this dream com wonderfully true.

I cherrish and love with utter devotion,
holding hands and smiling sweetly,
or under the covers, love in motion.

With my life, heart, mind, body and soul,
I commit, to this, wonderful angel,
and end my skit;
for words are always of a plenty,
but in comparison, seemingly empty,
for nothing written can describe,
the tingles emitted from your eyes,
the touch of your skin against mine...
This ruddy waffling's a sign...
Head over feet, a love so devine,
A feeling so proud that you say "he is mine".
X
Salmabanu Hatim Aug 2018
Excuses,excuses,excuses,
I am tired of you lazies,
For once why don't you handover your homework on time,
Thus, make my life devine.
Don't tell me your little sibling tore your homework,
Or you were absent, such bad luck,
Your grandmother spilled tea on your maths sheet,
Here, to give you is not fit.
I am tired of your lame pretexts,
Finish at break,I will be less vexed
What!You  finished your homework and you left it at home,
Well, call your mum to bring it when she comes,
I didn't understand the topic, can you please explain,
What were you doing when I went over it again and again?
I started to do my homework when the lights went off,Sir,
Most homes now have inverters
or generators.
I know you find the tasks I give you a bore,
Do you think marking them at home I adore?
So, please help me not to spoil your break or give you detention.
Do your homework on time and with great attention.
Jonan Jan 2014
Dance on the brined surface
Porcelain mug hot to touch
Aroma tempered love rises steam

The first sip brings blessings
The second a flavor devine
The third a clarity of dream
Some people believe
That dinosaur bones where put on this earth to
"Test our faith"
I find that highly disconcerting
That your main deity is running around in his spare time ******* with people
How do you sleep at night knowing that
you pray to a prankster god
Fundamentalists
jeffrey robin Apr 2013
Sweet
The Buddha
He come
He come

He come here

I saw

I heard the sweet song I don't care no more
--
----
The pain in the heart don't fade no how

I'm not so sure I want it to no more

---

I am no FREAK

Sweet Buddha

My love is YOUR mountain I know

I walk the high trails of myself to visit the saints

I meditate

Within the caves of my own Devine kingdom

I don't care no more to **** the pain
--
The weight of the people !!
--------

The pain of the heart don't fade no more
Don't fade
---
WHERE THE WARRIORS OF THE DREAM?...!
WHERE THE GUARDIANS WHO PROMISED TO APPEAR?...!

Sweet Buddha

The peace

Sweet Buddha

Where oh where is HUMANITY?

What has happened to OUR STRENGTH?

Buddha

I

Simply remain

In the mountain

Wandering

If you want me

Come around
Des lumières tamisées
Sur vos lèvres irisées
Des couleurs de ses phalanges
Ailées comme deux beaux anges
Vous et votre éternité
Ombres de la noire nuitée
Vous savourez la caresse
De son rythme. Votre détresse
Devient détente divine
Par vos rires on le devine…

Là, la douceur infinie
Tout commence, tout fini
Par ce que ce corps vous fait
Dans ce soir noir si parfait
Lentement, si tendrement 
Par ses doigtés, doucement 
Connaissant votre plaisir
Et comment y parvenir 
Vous lui rendez, soprano
L'extatique mélodie,

Ainsi l'on aurait bien dit,
Que vous êtes son piano…

26 Août 2015 
Lyon, France
Panegyric to softness


Subdued lights
On your iridescent lips
Of their phalanxes' colors
Winged like two beautiful angels
You and your eternity
Shadows in the black night
You relish the caress
Of their rhythm. Your distress
Becomes a divine relaxation
With your laughter, it's easy to tell.

There, through this infinite softness
Through it it begins, through it it ends
With what this body does to yours
In this so perfect a black evening
So slowly, so tenderly
With their fingers, softly
Knowing your pleasure
And how to reach its peak
You give them back, soprano
The ecstatic melody

So we would think maybe,
You're probably their piano.

Translated on August 31, 2015
Aix-Les-Bains
Chuck Feb 2013
Punxsutawney Phil
You're so furry
And adorable
But your forecasts
Are deplorable
Thirty-nine percent true
That makes you a fraud
But cute eyes have you
Therefore a god

Early spring you say
Yet snow and low temps
Flourish today
So conflicted
By this contrast
Indoors now restricted
Godhog is Devine at last

Tomorrow swimming
No matter the mortal's forecast
You say the sun is brimming
The masses praise
Nearly naked in the snow
Why the wintery haze
No shadow, it is so

Now we stand
Swimsuits adorned
Frozen faces
Countenances Forlorn
Faithful in our belief
In you and yours
In fur and sharp teeth
Buds and flowers restore
Trees and life anew
What could go wrong
A groundhog we pray to

In Phil we trust
What's wrong with us?
Sorry! I wanted to write a tiny poem, but I couldn't stop! I live 30 minutes from the famous Punxsutawney Phil. My wife made fun of my children and I for caring what a groundhog says! It's fun, also a great movie!
Danielle Rose Apr 2013
My mind dismantled
decaying in cynic pride
silly fools galavanting
as I watch in bitter taste with darting eyes
wilting in devine nothings
plotting like a theif in the night
working my magic out of spite
only looking for a fight
trying to hate and fuel a rage
Banging in a rusty cage
while spitting on the notion of love
undone lying naked laughing alone
as all of my nightmares begin to unfold
Dancing demons caressing my weakened soul
Darkness surrounds my brittle bones
so far from the point of console
as I tare out my eyes and spit out my tongue
with ears only tuned for the devils song
Slowly dragged to the gates of hell
beyond redemption and cast out
G Rog Rogers Aug 2017
She came to me
within a dream
Somewhere there
betwixt and between
Where all you see
cannot always be believed

And all is more
beautiful than
can ever be
known or seen

My eyes were amazed
by the wondrous sight
She standing before me
as though devine

Crying Her tears
of golden light

Her words were sure
Her grief then true
I could not begin
to comprehend
what I saw
and what I knew

In this moment
She was
perfect and pure

She wept as She spoke
of a great disgrace
The destruction of
an Holy Place
where We once
there were wed

A sacred chapel
where solemn vows
were said

Gone it's gone
it has been destroyed
Her cries of anguish
tore at my heart

I could not believe
such tragedy occurred
My words were
They couldn't
They never would

This is just a rumor
that you have heard

The chapel is protected
by law and truth
and by the powers
from all above

She was there
but just a little while
My eyes then opened
and I recognized
She had been with me
She had appeared

This was the moment
I knew it all was
so very real

I then heard
the blast of horns
from the great ship's
on the LA Bay

And knew I must find out
I must go back
and see someday

I traveled far
I journeyed high
But still I wondered
if the chapel stood
Knowing I must
go back there

To know what must
and should be seen
to be understood

Time then went on
as several years
they came and then went
I remembered and decided
I must go back to see
if this Holy place
might still exist

As though on
a mission sent

My travels went beyond
and then I returned
to that city where
my life there once was

I went there to see
If the chapel remained
But when I arrived
the chapel was gone

Real and a fact
The evidence seen
A vision of an Angel
who seemingly Devine
therein descended within
a lucid dream

The purest
of knowledge
The absolute Truth.

Mystery or Mysticism
It is all just what it seems.

-R.

2.22.17

-LA

-4MAR
©2017

— The End —