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ryn Apr 2015
This is me...*          
Seeking refuge          
under a tree,          
As the wind released          
it's pensive sigh.          
Leaves sapped dry          
were then set free.          
Shades of yellow          
took to the air in an          
attempt to fly.          

This is me...
Peering through
jaundiced eyes.
Laying still
in a torrent of
ochre.
As leaves fall
from lowered skies,
Drenching
and
submerging
me in a sea of
scattered amber.

This is me...          
Captivated by this          
spectacular phenom.         
Flavescent dance          
governed by          
wind and gravity.         
This is the dream...          
Too long held for ransom          
By the relentless          
grasp of reality.         

This is me...
Awaiting such time to
arise and run.
In my heap,
my safe haven,
my fortress of yellow.
Till the inevitable set of
the *orange
sun
Only then...
myself to the moon
I would again
show.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Enveloped in a cloud of rain,
drenching spirit and soul.
Sunlight flickering through clouds ahead;
finally hope.

Leaving sadness behind at last,
my spirit longs to move in the sunlight of dance.
My body singing, rising to its newness,
twilight is turning bright with vibrancy ahead.

Praying the path will not turn
to the dark rainforest of gloom once more.
Can I believe in the light?
Can I believe in a future with hope?
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
zebra Jul 2018
flex and perspire my darling
would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses
to have your dark fig **** and drenching *****
stroked with a tickling finger lingering
and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat
that shunt the breath
to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping?

will you present your soft belly and cupping *******
for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation
will you present yourself with smiles
and goddess leg show
sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming
while quivering thighs
turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings?

will tears of love
mix in wild berry utterance
and flashing spitfire’s tongue?

are you made for this?
your every whimper an invitation
like an open pink gate
do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you
from banal dim-witted all american in and out?

do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis
of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms
and tender aftercare?

my wish
that you shimmer like silver
possessed
by the saint of sadism
popes of eros
who fill you with the milk of the moon
all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise

and that this dark ecstasy
is the only suffering you will ever know.
your pain is my pleasure
mmmmm
ryn Oct 2014
Paints of dark twilight hues,
Slathered across in blunt strokes.
Blend with deft hands,
Cajole gently with jabs and pokes.

Backdrop begging for a few others.
Longing to hold in infinite embrace.
Friends of earth and midnight sky.
Worthy of a doe-eyed lovers' gaze.

Cascading moonbeam...
Drenching all in silvery white.
Restless twinkling stars...
Singing their mismatched might.

Silhouetted landscape as horizon,
Darkened oils of plateaued ridges.
Finest brush could only manage,
To close the gap, I build bridges.

Nearing completion, this stint on canvas.
Nuances of dawn for what I've begun,
Usher the arrival of a brand new day.
All I need now is a few drops of sun.
Inspired by you...
fiachra breac Oct 2018
emotions collide in great crashing waves
as I career from sea to land to bed.
head full of static,
perpetually stuck
between channels.
white noise drenching
my soul in
rich and vibrant grey.

faint images trace across
my faulty mind,
and, for a second,
I catch a glimpse of —
a line must be drawn,
and it is here I must decide,

upon which pillow to lay my head.
I am not ready for this yet.
E L K Jun 2018
Looking out the window with a blurry sight
It is another hazy Wednesday afternoon
Although it is not time for midnight
I could already see the faint silver moon.

A beautiful June day is back from the past
For her resting summertime dream
The sun has rose to the mountaintop at last
Softly drenching us with his golden beam.

I could smell the wild roses of desire
From the garden of heaven above
They are colored in the shade of pure fire
To symbolize their sweet summer love.

The fragrance of afternoon is in the air
Like the cool freshness of pouring rain
The silent darkness is just and fair
I can hear his footsteps coming again.

The seeping shadows will come with time
Soon everything will grow mature and old
I will count the remaining days of mine
What Mother Nature has given us is gold.
Lora Lee May 2016
I am hungry
and it is reflected
in the contours
of every inch
                  of skin
every cell a-flutter
tiny wings and heartbeats
activated within
right down to
the ribosomes and
kidney-shaped
mitochondria
right up through epidermis
woven as threads
of softness penetrating
your inner hard, dark parts
causing them
to melt into
                my light
I am craving
to feel your
absolute heart's
raging core
my aching flesh burning,
my heart, wrapped in
a love
              so pure
My need to be
devoured surfaces
in smoothness,
at a glance
You feel it acutely,
no room for doubt
or subtle chance
               I am ravenous
for muscle-worked arms
(arms that could easily
try to break)
to be supremely
gentle as you part
my thighs like the ocean
and sacredly partake
the slickness of your tongue
in my feminine grace
the stains of my love
drenching
                your noble face
your eyes on mine
as I sharply breathe
         need to hold your
head stroke your
           hair know that for me              
the king takes off that
garland of gold
breaking free of
all symbols of status
the only real treasure
the queen who
gives to him,
and who he now pleasures
     and I let myself be consumed
with the reverence
of a psalm
my love pouring into you
healing your hurts,
               like a balm
in this private landscape
we are the most
ferocious of tender
estuaries
in an eternal vista
in this hour of somewhere,
the sea hauls us in
like ancient creatures,
     bringing the fossils
back to life
in lustrous foam
as they
         inch their way
into the spirals
    that we
feel we could
call
     home‎
Appropriately attuned with "Alternate World" by Son Luxe...yes in an alternate world, so much could happen
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wnIs71n_kE
and, for the mood:  "Hazey"by Glass Animals
Yes.
Alice Wilde Jan 2017
All I see is up
The pink flower stretches to forever at the sky
I stare wishing to be among the clouds
Its anterior filters the sun’s warmth upon my soft arms
I sit upon the dark, sodden, summer earth
I am all to myself. Alone.
At home under their stems
So benign am I encased by the pink flower

The pink flower trembles under slight hand of a summer breeze
Honeyed are its petals,
But dangerous is its center
Pricking my delicate fingers
If I am not careful
Yet I watch a dragonfly land on it with grace           
Fragile insect legs grip tightly at the miniature pointed peaks

Wind caresses wisps of hair around my petite face
I am like a fairy
Not knowing the wonders of the world
Only the kingdom of the pink flower
Moisture sweetens the air
Drenching it with the breath of nature
Almost as if a mother is breathing comfort into my small body
Elemenohp Jan 2011
Luscious green botanics,
brought back to life by a drenching storm.
A single tendril of rain remains,
slowly rolling down a branch.
Watch, as it lingers in its last moments,
holding on to the tip of a leaf
before falling to the ground,
soaking in, to all that's around.

The air, so fresh,
as to say the world can breathe again.
Life, seems to appear from everywhere,
both plants and animals come out to play,
and I realize that this is where I want to stay.
zebra Mar 9
vampiric ***** house
a fearful symmetry
of cleavers for something to love

***** addicted
pearly satin's copulate
a continent of curves
ovoid rectums and raw mouths
in a ritual of sadistic etiquette
drenching phallus tongued spit
like gales of flames
at a masochists invitation
for foot blooded kisses
and heated lopped breast

eager haunches thunder
in a malignant lust
******* utopias **** cyclops
spreading winkling's dribbling
night operas
in a red cathedral of flicker hives
squealing euphoria's hemic arcade
with greased ******* that break backs

fluting throats ***** chromatic fizz
and shrilling wombs flutter like bat wings pandemonium
in the museum of the moon
Inspired by Minna Loy
tinhearts Jul 2018
The heir of pleasance
Within the secret place of my soul
Prayers rise as a misty reverence
Only Your splendor beholds

Intimacy in silence
Our Love encompasses
Privacy emits compliance
Our communion witnesses

In Christ we are complete
No outward buildings do we need
Emerged in the depths of deep
Language the Spirit evokes light to me

All I am and all I can be
Is according to the Spirit
That dwells within secretly
Drenching anointing by merit

Inhaling Your breathtaking fragrance
Expressing my desire to be
Consumed by His benevolence
Submerged in Divine eminency

Illustriousness embodies my soul
True religion arises tenderly
Hearing and obeying in whole
Purity in all holiness invisibly

No outward view is beheld
A vessel to embody the Spirit of the Lord
His tabernacle my soul honors compelled
Being united in One accord

All is hidden deep in Shiloh
His radiance summons mysteries
Yielding caution unveiling my soul
His likeness is found in my treasuries

Born to be
Hidden in a mystery
Awaiting patiently
For immortality
*
tinhearts~©️
Your the one son being rebellious little darlings here comes
the sun drenching delicious but wait those cloudy days
watch out the hunters run ducking our heads like babies
wetting  their beds those mad men getting stuck
  ten O clock playpen the daring duck gourmet
Orange you glad all her richcreme spread across her penpals
Do you trust those gals too country slick on Newsweek getting
Paid he is the longest laid egg getting pampered all grilled
I'm the "Chuckie Duckie" doll those ***** barbie collectors

Not one quack doll the made up duck lips she thinks
she will make it chicklet romantic "French" lips up the
"Eiffel Tower" splash splash she is out of cash
Those hot items presidential poll we are being
barbecued
Too much blue yes attention swan dancers Springtime
for ****** please I need a journey not the "Attorney"

When you need them they always duck
When they have a new quack case they are ruining
my image
Duck tapesty Carol Kings youve got a friend
feeling yellow
the same yellow tie a different atmosphere the Spa
She's flirting do you know where your going how is
life treating you he's giggling way too wild  on her
goose chase

  Losing our grip down to her chicken bone hip
Duck season not much time for love being hunted
The Spa  la la ha have Merci' oh la la 'Disco Duck"
The wild ones the only ones quack- quack the
lonely ones
At the waterfront trip to "Chinatown" they let
them hang to dry but why Dad? They are better
like the delicacy shark finn soup we need a Spa

lucky green group Irish eyes are smiling stories of ducks
I am  not buying do you see duck climb the
          "Eiffel Tower"
All talk-talk is cheap lets talk French Mom walks
With her pretty duck handle umbrella we waddle
The penquin what a beauty swan feather pen
  But she's the"Prima Donna" look out!

The slingshot Marilyn Monroe wiggles out the "Spa- Ma"
                 Don't  Scramble me darlings
                    Breakfast eggs cagefree
                     *          *          
My little chickadees organic brown on my gown
Spa duckies traveled the whole Atlantic town
One bad apple all the ducks smashed them
sleeping like "Rip Van Winkle" twinkle twinkle
doublecrossed the street you get one dermerit
Sesame street Big bird how many words in duck
vocabulary quack- quack who get's the duck star

Mars from Men women go to the Spa like the bad
omen and they don't leave tap tap chop chop
the cleaver the duck with his tonka truck Mom
I want it now!! Its now or never why does she always
get **** duckling book delivered
Lazy goose she is the spoiled rotten egg how
do we love those  I apples

Carrots are for the eyes Mom always gets bird eyes
frozen meals the ducks need a warm up drill
My little chickadees the Alaskan cute puppies
Big salute to the cutest duck feet "God Bless America"
  Visa  American Express Daffy Duck in Disney mess
the real picture "Mona Lisa" getting the duck
         Prime  chop minister

"Parliament Spa" prices so sinister
"Eat Duck and Pray" the  southern biscuits more recruits
my cute rookies those duckier cookies another Spa day
So prim and proper teatime with "Queen deck"
  Alice in rabbit hole-Santa candycane poles cute chick
is homesick you better sent her money quick
The ducky bib the Chinese duck soup won ton

The feather fan she loves her Sushi roll Hollywood
Style California all duck drama
The best treatment duck made carpet
On the "Disney Hollywood" deck "Epcot"
On the futon what diction for a duck "My Fair lady"
Got the whole fortunes bed
The duck on the hill what a fool but the monk
Is the whole spiritual existence

The peacock's longest wait for lobster tails
centerpieces red bird Robin fly Robin Fly
Disco ball fancy tails she ended up up up to the sky
Her duck sunglasses a dozen ***** spin's the disco
The Duck Pop singer wants him back
High price or a short mack duck shooter attack
Food for thought homesick all saucy duck tie waiter

Cinderella rags to ducklings I went to "Woodstock"
Imagine me the teenager chick the duck split
Fill wing concert sky made a hit
The blues love is strange chick-lets are yellow
Like clock work what a duck work out orange          
        Duck handle umbrella               
 Duckies I pledge to you College Preppies

The chick feeder Ain't nothing but a hound dog
      Elvis heart breaker bird-brain feeder
  Moms duck sugar cookies
******* Jack one prize quack quack
 Huckleberry Finn paper boat old billy goat
  In the drowned mans eye holy ducks he delivered
I will blow you down duck horn the day you
were born

Having a third eye one duck Wendy a 4 for a 4
Notre Dame church tragic but saved
   The  Easter yellow chicks

To Rome lend me your feathers no secret ears
Sticky Fingers she lost her writing finger in the
pond  OH! look whats beyond so kind
With her duckling apron dress he ducked
The chatty cat "City Dr Seuss"

Wearing duck boots those duck lips played her
like the fancy feast
The teachers pet the ducklings cute darlings
Spa cream she quite the flabber belly dancer
The ballet swan achiever "Spa One Day tripper"
The **** duckling changed to beauty witch
Holy-land or duck pond Mickey's ears
                   Disneyland

Stand up daffy duck comedian Las Vegas
Godiva Peking duck soup flapping swishing
mess
The Big Ben red whose been sleeping in my
duck wing bed
The car stops he hiccups cute bebops
The guardian angel quack quack any luck
Yummy raspberry pie someone delivered

Christmas Scrooge all tears
New York lights camera I love my
        Serendipity chandeliers
Those duck tear drops last stop
Or you die__your still quacking
       Just in time said I
           Fly Robin Fly

     Saved my baby chick lovely
     Cradled her to love her
          Dr Seuss read
Its about all speculation dreaming need of a nature cool environment ;our eyes up get your cafe favorite cup my baby chicks  words will give flight and I hope you will feel just perfectly right with her duck lips  Quack Quack
e fields Apr 25
CSI
Crime scene, the body, yellow tape
Foreclosed, unfocused. Rain drenching.
The smells, the dumpster stench
Rising in the coming heat
Advent of another summer stretched
With the wrath of the lost weekend:
Minus colorless glamor, minus drinks.

The spirit could actualize in any city
But the nattering has only worsened
Deafening, mixed with all the static hums,
Sonic ringings.
Travel via any roadway above or below
Bridges, certain highways,
River-run jogging paths,
Alleyways, side streets:
Out of the question,
Unthinkable against a draught
Of other thinking.

The splintered back
porch of the homestead
Where childhood has yet to cease
Temporary respite of sorts,
Under the clear blackened violet blues,
With the spectral blank-slate companion
Of a craggy-faced Moon,
Haranguing will start in again,
Nicotine-hastened and probably soon

Black cat vanishing between houses
After imparting a glance seeming
Full of wisdom and meaning,
Now we’re legitimately ill-fated.
Just kidding, only superstitions,
Probably
Michael Briefs Aug 2017
I.
The black ruin exploded
On that cold night,
A drenching rain hid a peril,
Unseen.
With lighting strikes
A thunderous white,
We drove in that hour late,
Lost and wandering.
The dark road
Stretched like a tight rope,
With twisted, wooded boughs
Cloaked around.  
We searched the thick shadows
And kept hope,
But chaos is all we found.
…Praying for safe passage,
Clutching the wheel in fear,  
Clinging to the way forward,
But the way was still unclear…
Suddenly
The elements flashed a
Dagger of jagged disaster --  
We veered violently,
With vertiginous swerve and
Swallow.
Sheer horror revealed
A visage, eviscerated –
Eyes of deep pitch
And bone, hollow.  
Broke and black marrow, portends
No tomorrow;
Shattering glass,
Splintering wood,
Shredding tires,
Spilling blood.
Both of us cast into crushing trauma.
…I faded into a murk of the mind,
Of Stygian sentience,
Slipping beyond, resigned…

II.
Emerging back from a
Wild twilight,
Where I lingered,
Drifting in a diffuse dusk
Of a subconscious
Dream…
With a flood
Of shock sensations!
I awoke to a world of
Twisted metal
And wicked pain,
Extreme.
…“This is really happening?!”
Flashed across my mind,
As I struggled to free myself from
The maw of debris.
I could not tell the time or location
Of place or friend, but there came
Flashing lights and helpful
Souls, rushing to attend.
In and out
Of temporal existence,
My eyes dreary --
Heart beat shallow,
Impressions of
People and rooms
Were bleary.
Numb in my safety,
Skating on the surface of an
Induced calm, I thought,
“I am in their care.  I can only let go and
Let someone else steer.”  
But I waver to explore
The depths of the well
In which I fell;
I can’t yet grasp what transpired,
And I recoil from the traps --
I resist,
I deny,
I withdraw,
I collapse.  

III.
The wet, dark, twisted
Walls rise,
Reaching high
And ringed around.
The sheltering shock
Subsides, and in this
Well of pain I drown…
It was only after many hours,
From the moment of
Impact,
The difficult work
Finally began.
To try to come to terms with
The meaning of this hard fact,
To wash the fear from my heart
And the blood from my hands.
With bracing clarity
I realized
How close to death
I had wandered.
All that my life stood for
And meant was crystallized,
And yet
There was so much weakness
And Fear I had not
Conquered.
…and the tears rained down,
Drenching my face…
I reeled in despair, clutching
In anguish at the reality,
My mind was white
With grief.
My short life had conceived no honor, no art,
No lasting vitality!
A legacy of wisdom and
Love was imperiled,
Nearly stolen by that
Phantasmal and cloaked thief.  

Reaching out through the tears,
Calling on my savior for help,
I cried out for a way through
The shadow, clinging to
A hope.
Through the blur
Of hot sadness came
A human face, with eyes
Sending love, healing, empathy, and care…
Her voice and presence was
As an angel from above.
Her tender heart
Struck like a thunderbolt
Of compassion.  
I was instantly drawn out
From the deathly well,
And the darkness was
Dissolved;
I was saved from Hell.  
This Motherly embrace
Came and whispered soft
Words of consolation,
As she held my soul aloft.  
I felt my hope
Returning, I saw my
Life revived.
This dawn,
I was thankful that
From black ruin
I survived.
This is auto-biographical.
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2014
My Second Letter to Allen Ginsberg
Dear Allen,
Almost five years ago, I wrote you a letter, and in
That letter, I purged my drunkenly woeful cries
That seem so first-world now and naïve –
The things I grimed over with luxuries I didn’t
Realize that rubbed against my plump limbs
Like millions of felines poised at the
Tombs of pharaohs.

Oh, Allen, I’m so tired –
These politics, and poly ticks, so many ticks that
Annoy my tics. Allen! I smear your name so liberally
Against this paper like primer because the easiest way
To coerce someone into listening to you like
A mother
or predator
tugging or nibbling on your ear –
Swatches of velvet scalped from a ****’s coat
Are you and I talking to ourselves again?
Candid insanity : Smoky hesitance.

Dear Allen, I’m so tired –
Yes, I love wearing my ovaries on the outside like
Some Amazonian soapbox gem glistening from beneath
The iron boots of what the newspapers tell me while
I cough at them with the hurdled delicacies of alphabet soup.
Give vegetables a gender and call them onions, Allen.
Sullied scratch-hicks pinioned feet from slapping
Society’s last rung on the ladder.
Ignore the swerve of small-town eyes.
Scapulas, stirrups, pap smears, and cervical mucus – now do you know who we are?

That fingernail clipped too short, Allen. We’ve all got AIDs
And AIDs babies, haven’t you heard? Hemorrhaging from the political
****** and out – they haven’t reached the heart.  
Since when have old white men given a **** about some
13 year old’s birth control? I’m riding on the waves of the
Parachute game and I swear this abortion-issue is just a veil outside Tuskegee University
Being further shove over plaintive eyes, swollen and black.
Pay up and
shut up.

I still remember my first broken *****, Allen.
Can you tell me all about your first time?
The vasodilatation that made veins rub against skin,
Delirious brilliance : unfathomable electricity.
I made love during an LSD experience, Allen,
And I am not sorry. I see cosmic visions and
Manifest universal vibrations as if this entire world is
A dish reverberating with textiles and marbles, and
All are plundering the depths of the finished wine
Bottle roasting in the sink like Thanksgiving Turkey.
The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.
The opening, between you and you, occupied,
zoned for an encounter,
given the histories of you and you—
And always, who is this you?
The start of you, each day,
a presence already—
Hey, you!

Ah, Allen, if you are not safe, then I am not safe.
And where is the safest place when that place
Must be someplace other than in the body?
Am I talking to myself again?
You are not sick, you are injured—
you ache for the rest of life.

Why is it that I have to explain to my students that
sometimes what I'm spouting is prescribed by a pedagogical pharmacy --
but all they want to know is "what do the symbols on the television mean?"
I am completely aghast against the ghosts of future goners --
I am legitimately licensed to speak, write, listen like some mothers --
I am constantly cajoling the complex creations blamed on burned-out educators --
I am following the flagrant, fired-up "*******"s tagging lockers --
Pay up and
shut up.

Yes, and it’s Hopeless. Allen.
Where did we get off leaping and bounding into
The dogpile for chump change jurisdiction, policing
The right and the left for inherent hypocrisies when
Poets are so frightful to turn that introspective judgment
Upon ourselves?
We didn’t see it coming and I heard the flies, Allen.
Mean crocodile tears. Flamingo mascara tracks
Up and down : up and down: bow – bow – bow – bow
Buoyant amongst the misguided ******* floating around
In the swirlpool of lackadaisical introspection.
What good is vague vocab within poetry?
Absolutely none.
Would you leave the porchlight on tonight?
Absolutely, baby.

Dear Allen, would you grow amongst the roots and dirt
At the knuckles of a slackjawed brush of Ever-Pondering Questions
Only to ask them time-and-time-and-time-and-time-again.
Or pinch your forehead with burrowed, furrowed concentration upon those
Feeble branches of progression towards something that recedes further
And further with as much promise as the loving hand
Attempts to guide a lover to the bed?

Allen, I wish to see this world feelingly through the vibrations of billions of bodies, rocking and sobbing, plotting and gnashing like the movement of a million snakes, like the curves collecting and riding the parachute-veil.

Ah, Allen! Say it ain’t so! Sanctified swerve town eyes.
And everything is melting while poets take the weather
Too personally
And all the Holden Caulfields of the world read all the
*******’s written on the walls and all the Invisible Men
Eat Yams and all the Zampanos are blind and blind
And blind and blind and blind and blind
Yet see as much as Gloucester, as much as Homer,
As much as Oedipus.

Oh, Allen, do you see this world feelingly
and wander around the desert?
Colored marbles vibrating on the curtailed parachute paradox.
Lamentation of a small town’s onion. Little do we know, Allen,
That what you cannot see, we cannot see, and we are bubbling
Over in the animal soup of the proud yet weary. I can see,
However, how the peeled back skulls of a million
Workboots and paystubs may never sully the burden
Of an existential angst in miniscule amounts.
Pay up and
shut up.  

My dearest Allen, there is always a question of how
The cigarettes became besmirched with wax to complement
What was once grass, and
What was once a garish night drenching doorknobs.
The night's yawn absorbs you as you lie down at the wrong angle
To the sun ready already to let go of your hand
As you stepped, quivering, on to
The shores of Lethe.
michael cera Mar 29
my mind is on fire,
my soul such a liar,
both dress up my hopes,
indifferent attire,
the eyelids wide open,
my pupils are cold,
a scent of scorched dreams,
slowly drenching my nose.
I'm a world where its yes,
And all yesses mean no.
but the no's share a secret,
that nobody knows.
and my loved ones are helpless,
like a picture in frame,
for they all say the same **** thing:

'I'm sorry,

so sorry,

that you're terribly insane'.
Michael Marchese Nov 2018
Try as I might
To ignore the insufferable
Clamorous racking my brain
All too audible
Are these despicable
Sickening shrill
Voices wicked, malicious,
Insipid kids still
Instigating and baiting
Me closer to spill
My contempt vitriol
Seething passion to ****
Every little last filth-frothing
Mouth to feed dead
Bottom-fed in this
Stress-induce cesspool are bred
In an **** of virulent,
Ignorant stench
Still entrenching my senses
In sieges of tension
And drenching my clenching jaws
In reprehension
Spat out in the face
Of this whole human race
But mostly just this
Poor excuse of its waste
kirk Oct 2018
I came along to your garden, to see your chillies growing
Unaware of what laid in wait, or what was really showing
There stood a glass a lidded drink, familiarity of knowing
If that's what I think it is, I don't want it overflowing

Do my eyes forsake me, is that a fluid from the body
Is that froth of a good beer, or from a head that's shoddy
Does it look like what it is, a very dodgy toddy!
Ghoulish drinks will turn you green, like Goblins are in Noddy

What the hell you thinking off, with water that's distilled
It smells like the local gents, so it should not be spilled
I don't mind a special brew, but this time I'm not thrilled
Unusual cocktails are okay, but not ones you have filled

Aren't beverages supposed to be, refreshing and thirst quenching ?
You say that it's good to drink, but really it's gut wrenching
An endless supply you may have, but it should be toilet drenching
Don't ever make a wankers drink, by using a fist clenching

You wouldn't want this drink on tap, it defies imagination
It's just the same as a lady, drinking her own *******
It maybe the water of life, but it's just urination
Aqua vitae is not my idea, of a real drink designation

Even just the thought of it, makes me feel sick and hazy
To drink a glass of this stuff, you must be ******* crazy
Well talk about recycling, or are you just bog lazy
Is Harvey Denton related, or do you live in Royston Vasey

People like to drink sometimes, is there something I have missed
You seem to have your own ideas, but with a certain twist
A brand new meaning you have brought, to getting yourself ******
Golden showers are one thing, but that's when your sexually kissed

There's one thing I'd like to know, so what do you say
Why do you think that drinking ****, will keep the germs away
It cant be very good for you, it's an inside body spray
Your just drinking toilet water, hay Jay are you ****** today ?
This is a response my sister sent I thought it to be a worthy mention:

Ha ha ha he he he , a poem about a man that drinks his own wee , I should have guessed I should have known, because when I told you the seed was sown , so very funny, I think it's great , for all the laughs , well done mate
Pricers Feb 11
The drenching of the haze to come was on no timeclock but more on a clout the sun would be brilliant in and past days that vains what it grows that if every wish was granted the world would be not a place to recall until looked around and stared with closed eyes from the bask so she was crowned on her first night shining against the shadows caster luminous so to not done it was cared as if not to be so the moonless nights remind that fire cant go in the water but we were to see radiant night first for the dark came before light and moon after sun then came earths clarion
Joseph Flores Jun 2018
Once we ran with freedom
Our hearts floating in the sky.
Love fell abundantly.
Drenching you and I.

Boom!
A selfish thunderburst...
Lightning on the scape.
Our love once bedewed...
Gone without a trace.

Sunshine can't conceal...
My swollen cirrius pain.
Nor the slicing breezes...
Slivering the rain.

Life devoid of nature.
Sunbeams lack the reach.
Indoors.
Life in a tiny cell.
Reinforced with steel.
Heavy dungeon door.
Bars made out of tears.

Melodramatic dreams.
Stir an exotic drink.
Making love on my cot.
Beside the stainless sink.

Life without parole.
Without your tender touch.
Love in the first degree.
Now I never see you much.
Will you visit me?

You are my lonely prison...
My emotional cocoon.
Your love a distant thunderburst...
Far beyond the moon.

You are the pin-up girl...
Pasted on my wall.
You are my prison warden...
Life's not fair at all.
Neeloo Neelpari Sep 2018
Many a times, when I am alone
I just find myself thinking of the fun
Collecting pouring water, drenching in the rain
Sailing my paper boats in the small drain
Catching frogs from puddles of water,
in matchboxes
And throwing them on young and old with giggles and smiles

Smearing the silver, golden color on my friends
Of the butterflies that we picked in the sunny garden
Feasting on dollops of homemade icecreams and chuskies (ice lollies)
Listening to stories of kings n demons by granny

How could I forget that fight with parents
To stay awake all night during summer or winter break
To watch uncountable movies on the rented video player
Or to read Agatha Christie, Enid Blyton in just one sitting

There was a different story all the time
for each of my tantrums and fantasies alike
And a unique reason for enjoying every season

Oh! How I wish I could have a time machine
To take me back to my childhood innocence
I really miss being a little kid O my Lord!
With no stress, worries or care in the world...!!!

© Neeloo 'NeelPari'
Naomi Sep 2018
I cried my eyes out today.
I drowned in despair.
And I floated in air.
Two eyes shed a different tear.
One, warm and forever - remembering the childhood friend.
The other, craved a forgotten person.
One reminds the other  of how happy she should be!
The other, weeps in silence as it endures memory de-fi-cit.
Falling simultaneously towards the ground.  
Quiet and unnoticed/ drenching and drowning.
Why is it that I go back to such horrible thoughts?
I live in them with a colourless splash.
I am happy, I believe. I was happier, I recall.
Windy torrents of water and thunders echo
against a silent brown house,
It's large grey doors open, shrill voices sing,
chandeliers burn...
more sounds are heard outside, like a wailing.
chandeliers burning the ceiling...
statue wax ivory figures melt, burning in their
passion, melting turned violet red they have become
hopeful, promises of painless joys, power over
wars, famine, disease and all things of darkness
are whispered in hushed "sincerity and truth"
but still vague and opaque.
Even now a banging of hail, leaves upon a pane
all the doors blow open now
and with a shriek all of wind in the drops are
scattered drenching, so even the mid morning rain
can still drip earth upon the clear white figures
revealing their true origin
rendered **** by what once made them.
Ghazal Nov 2018
Too many expert voices lay a claim on your shape,
You are either too full, or
You have gone too far,
Too many moulds get thrusted at your face,
To some you resemble a pear,
But they feel your should look more double cherry,
And whichever fruit you succeed in turning into,
You still, are a tad too hairy
But then does anyone ever tell you,
That sometimes ice cream will be the only answer
And that is just fine?
That a bedtime prayer can be enough night-time routine,
Which needn't include expensive lotions and creams,
That you need fats as well as you need protein,
As also each little gift that Nature crafted lovingly
For this marvel of a creation that is your Being-
So that your skin is fed and living,
And your knees are lubricated and sprightly,
And your blood is rich and active,
And your soul-
No one will give you
"How I brightened my soul in 4 weeks" tutorials,
But you ought to set your happy soul-goals,
A tummy rub in a sunny lawn on a lazy winter afternoon/
A drenching bath in heavy July rains/
A spontaneous poem effortlessly jotted down on a napkin
Level-happy!
And when you're that happy you will know
That you aren't a cut-out on public display,
Not a fruit,
not a diet,
not a fad that peaks and wanes,
You are an everlasting uniqueness,
You are an undefined shape,
You are that collection of rare energies
That only comes custom-made.
Chelsea Jul 2018
I used to be afraid of water, certain that I would drown

I don't want it near my face, for the feeling makes me flinch

Flinching in fear, waiting to drown

A fear that's drifted within me since childhood

Ever since my grandmother put me in swim classes

Because she couldn't stand the water near her face

Today, from my mother, I learned why

A father that evaporated like a summer's rain

Who would cleanse her of her sins in the lake yonder

Each splash drenching what was already emaculate

A father who praised God more than she

I've never seen my grandmother swim

Only wade through shallow waters

I used to be afraid of water, for I have waded my whole life

Two generations of sinking behind me, but I will swim
My grandmother was the youngest of 10 children born to a father who was 64 years old. She spent most of her life trying to escape her rural upbringing.

The aversion towards water is fact but is also a metaphor for trauma and my family's inability to escape their past and move beyond their comfort zone. This poem was inspired by a real conversation with my mother who is a PTSD sufferer.
Luiz Jan 16
On an uneventfull
Monday afternoon,
she lays in bed dressed
in black laced lingerie

Then, a glowing,
vibrating screen
reads: "Hubby cell"

She starts:
Hello?

Him:
My darling,

I've had a bad day
I'm tired, done and
frustrated

right now
I could really use
your sweet lips
to numb my ails

I won't take time with
the usual foreplay,
not today!

I'm flying home
still dressed in my
3 piece suit and
I'm making a crash
landing on the couch

Her:
Really?

Him:
That's right!

and when I get to that
leather reclyner
you're coming out
the bedroom

you'll be wearing
your 4 inch heels,
the candy red lipstick,
the black bralette
that make your gorgeous
******* look so suculant,
and nothing else

Her:
is that right?!

the bralette that makes
my ******* hard
when you just
stare at them?

Him:
That same one!

Her:
Then what am I doing after that?

Him:
Then, you will float
slowly over to me
sit on my pipe and
start rubbing
yourself against
my metal manhood!

Her:
Hum...I see,
am I getting wet
all over your pants
as I start to ride you
like a cowgirl?

Him:
I want to be sticky wet
with your candilicious liquid
all on my pants!

so much so,
that your
honey will
drench thru to
my manhood!

I will have your perfume
all over my steel before
you're done galloping, baby!

Her:
(She can't resist
but to see the words
come to life)
She tells him:
I'm getting the honey
flowing just listening to you!
my mouth is watering
(licks her upper lip)
I'm touching...

Him:
Stop! like I said,
this is for me!
make no mistake!

you'll be my slave
and I, your master!

after you engulf me
in your essence,
you'll tenderly kiss
my sugary neck
as take my tie
and shirt off!

with your other
soft and burning hand
you will trace
all the gorging,
fat veins from
my other neck!

Her:
But babe, I'll need you
in me by then!

I'll be drenching
sweetness for you!

Him:
You're going to wait!

Her:
Why are you being
such a ****?

Him:
Because for today,
that's all I will
be to you!

The biggest, most
delicious popsickle
for the deepest,
dryest reaches
of your throat!

Her:
(No words articulate
she loved giving oral
and the poet knew it)

(the writer was going
to **** her silly
with his voice alone
before he even
touched her)

(he finally understood
the power he could
summon with
fantasy filled words.)

(only heavy breathing
and dry swalloying
is heard on his end
of the phone)

(******* images
of her bobbing head
start flooding into
her warm and
drenching womanhood)

(clear honey is bursting
from sweaty, tight,
pleasure lips)

(she slips half a tongue out,
as if to catch rain from
in between her shaky hips)

(the sugary rivers flow
onto shaved hair follicles
and manicured fingers
as if he turned her ****
on like a fauset!)  

(the poet had morphed
from a hurt cub
to a Lion King
at his prime!)

(she's a tornado of sensuality
throbbing.
touching.
finding herself.
******* herself.
tasting the deliciousness
sticking to her index)

(she gets lost in a
blissful landscape
between her red,
bothered *******
and her open hips) 

(she comes to reality)

then, with a trembling
low voice wisphers:

"yes master, how else
may I serve you?"

Him:
Your ocean blue weepers will
not look away from my eyes
as they roll back with pleasure!

you'll be looking
up at me on your knees!  

bobbing your head,
choking, wanting more!

you will feel the tip
of my steel gorche
with blood and
you'll move your head
faster and faster
as I quench your
thirst for sin!

Gods will peek in envi
as your face fulfills my
carnal fantasies

until I burst my dam
into your mouth!

Her:
(She **** undone
and squirts from
between her legs!)

(her moan echoes
for half a block:)

"Hhaaawwwwww!!!!"

the silk sheets are
drenched with ambrosia

Him:
mission accomplished  
I'm at the driveway  
get your gorgeous face and heels ready!

THE CALL

Luiz (at thedriveway) Syphre
©2019



Wherever you are
Please call out to me
Call aloud my name
With LOVE...
And I'll be there with YOU

I am waiting in anticipation

Do not torture and
Make me suffer
So much in your LOVE

Since we've parted
My life has been
Full of miseries
Filled with pain

Even if I die in your LOVE
My ashes won't be
So distraught as I'm now

Just like a dying candle
Flickering in stormy winds
Don't let me burn-out slowly

I hide within YOU
In every breathe you take
I live within your heart-beats

Just try to look within
The inner core of your being
Inside your heart and soul
You'll only find me inside YOU
You'll only find my LOVE within YOU

If YOU won't exist on this earth
While I am still alive
I'll cry for YOU in LOVE
Drenching the woven fabric
Of my heart with your LOVE

Do not even try to ****
The one who LOVES YOU
Who has already
Annihilated in your illumination

Wherever you are
Please call out to me
Call aloud my name
With LOVE...
And Ill be there with YOU

I am waiting in anticipation agog





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