"erupt" poems
Mountains on mountains erupt from the earth's chambers of burdened lava and collapse back into their hellish landscape just as quickly
Waves assault the beach in frenzied randomness, striking their mark upon the sand and washing it away in the same breath
Birds flail about, learning to sail the clouds while dolphins soar their vast expanse of golden sea
People in suits war with each other for ****** glory, sign a strip of paper agreeing to stop, then ignorantly carry on their violent pastiche
Far away, tucked behind his world of scattered phrases and pretentious works of art, the writer observes all this
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Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.
Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through
West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
from the mind it flows
traveling through my veins
down my bones.
every part of me rages
for comfort and ignorance.
I erupt,
my emotions drain
oh I wish
I wish I cared less.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
(gulp)
Couldn’t resist a minute more.
Relapse.
I again…
After six months sober...
Here.
In this pain I know all too well.
Ten years lost to this drug my veins ache for.
First breath in the morning and last thought at night, all consumed by it.
Every cell in me craves it.
That physical euphoria my body portraits.
Feels like someone has poured pure joy into every single muscle and fiber of my being.
It makes me feel so content
Every single bit of me is singing and buzzing with life and love.
It's like the ecstasy of ******* that first blissful, pleasurable pulsation of endorphins and serotonin.
This is what I feel when I first take LOVE.
And then...
And then, the honeymoon stage is over.
Fights erupt.
Never-ending debates.
Miscommunications.
Misperceptions.
No trust.
Accusations.
Lies.
“I’m done...”
…
Again, it feels like a part of my soul is leaving my body.
Again, sitting here numb.
A toxic love...
I’m addicted to,
And there’s no way around it.
It’s already deep intertwined with my veins.
Yet, no matter the toxic, tragic event that happened before, I sit here, and I want nothing more than to spend my life next to this soul.
To see his eyes unchanged as the skin around it wrinkles and grows old is what my heart will always desire— to stare at those eyes for the rest of eternity.
Dead air…
So here I’ll wait, until you decided to come into my life again and repeat this déjà vu.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
That relatable gay dream of running away,
Wind blowing through what's left of your hair,
the first ties to be cut.
That relatable gay fear, questions you'd rather not asked and that subsequent relatable gay sorrow after the answers.
That relatable gay loneliness, all hollow spaces and devoted secrecy.
Bitten back tongues and hidden colors.
That relatable gay moment of finding love in your friends.
Not the kind that you kiss but the kind you hold dear in the night,
as tears drip from cheeks to shoulders.
That relatable gay plan of holidays with your other gay friends, a real family, the one who would love you no matter what.
Cheers and queers and all too far away.
That relatable gay longing for love-
true love-
Like the kind they never show in fairytales,
Real and supportive, never hidden away or forgotten.
That relatable gay anger,
Boiling from injustice always under the surface,
Waiting to erupt in pointless shouts of grief for a world that was not built for me.
That relatable gay exhaustion, hostile slurs and benignant apathy blending together into a reality of unending fights just to keep on existing.
So when someone asks me what makes you a community I show them all those relatable gay moments of anguish and loss, of solemn support and stolen minutes.
And I tell them of how terrible it is that they are so very relatable,
But how wonderful it is that we could at least live through them together.
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 12:03 PM UTC
I am an erupting volcano
Spewing passion
Spewing rage
Burning those nearby
I erupt
I burn
I die
My ashes will remain
Asphyxiating those nearby
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
The concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who lie in plain sight for the world to see
Crouched in marble ledges, twisted in metal beams
Wrapped around handrails, perched in their cemented trees
They laugh at those who cannot perceive
Because they don’t believe.
And who am I,
Yes possibly me
To find my identity
In removing my wooden sword from its sheath
Placing it beneath my two shuffled feet
To answer the alluring call of the beasts beckoning
To my hero’s heart, for my eyes to blink
To suddenly see them as they were meant to be.
In a world between
Real and imaginary.
For it is I,
Yes I believe it to be
Chosen to find my destiny
In a single push
That propels me
Into the path of the snarling beasts
Approaching their stairs and rails, ledges and beams
Gaps and bumps and ramps with speed
And as they stare at me hungrily
Opening their mouths expecting me
I will stand strong on my wooden sword
As the wheels of fire erupt beneath
And the scenery blurs in the flash of the rapidity
I bend my knees and grit my teeth
My eyes narrow and the drum in my chest crescendos its beat
A shout explodes from my chest, a primal scream
As I press on
In the concrete jungle.
Home of the dreaded concrete beasts
Who quiver in plain sight for the world to see
And whimper at the sight of who they now perceive
Because I do believe.
And it is I,
Yes undoubtedly me
Who will find my destiny
Conquering the concrete jungles of the world unseen
Surfing the concrete waves of the world between
With my loyal vessel being the wooden sword from the sheath,
That remains steady in the face of danger beneath my feet.
I am alive
In the concrete jungle.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
Be my novel tonight
Allow me to navigate the depths of your thoughts
and journey through the pathways of your mind while
merging in my imagination and infusing in my wildest
poetic fantasies. Inscribing in our bedpost an
unforgettable bestseller.
Be my music tonight
Let me groove to the beat of your heart picking up pace
as I explore new ways to invoke melodious outbursts. I
want to sing a duet with you of synchronized moans and
pleasurable sighs. Culminating with you belting out my
name in one final perfect note.
Be my masterpiece tonight
Permit me to trace my fingertips across every inch of
your frame as I find your sensually stimulating spots.
Armed with new knowledge and intent, sit back as I
stroke you with my brushes of desire and take you on a
creative adventure of twists and turns as I bring to life my finest
work of art and watch with all anticipation your love erupt.
© Tina Thompson
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
Too long this rot has run its course, too much the damage done
When men deflect acknowledged glance, they know that wrong has won.
Across this land and far afield the wrongness seeps within
And pride becomes a memory through distant halls of spin.
How can we bow to tyranny, how can we shy away
From that which causes eyes to slide.... and coaxes will to sway?
To tolerate the bombast, the bullying, the lies
Succumbing to a hopelessness, which, both we despise.
Division in the nation, uproar in between
A man and wife’s contention-ness beyond what should be seen
Brothers loathing brothers, silence in the room
Where a word uttered wrongly can erupt to screaming soon.
Allies left in tatters, trust is cut to shards
Tariffs injudiciously, imposed to **** the cards.
International uproar, industry in strife
Teetering disastrously when NATO flees the knife.
Putin sits and rubs his hands, hilarious the show
Disorder and disharmony to lubricate his glow.
Beijing sits inscrutably, always opportune
Manoeuvring judiciously, in place, to call the tune.
America, the isolate, sails away to sea
Blondini, at the helm, wears smirk indulgently.
M.
The White House
HAMILTON NZ
12th July 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
I feel like a volcano, that will erupt.
The lava isn’t cooling, it’s just heating up.
The lightest wind, will blow me off.
The most little rain, will drown me in.
The lightening strikes, my so called soul.
And thunder will, deafen me from my core.
Walking in this darkness, I can see no more.
Walking in this darkness, I can see no more.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Monday was terrible.
Horrific.
I spent the day sulking on my lonesome and went home ready to erupt.
I could feel the slight tingle of tears threatening their way through my eyelids
Ready to pour over the second they perched open
But due to my lack of sleep last night
I doubt I could even build up the strength to open my glossy eyes
Even if I wanted to
In a weird sense
I enjoyed the mere thought of Monday being able to make me cry
I almost laughed
Or screamed
Or both
A year ago today
Everyday was a Monday to me
Everyday went horribly
Everyday made me come home crying and lock myself in my room
I was so used to that constant repetitive torture
That Monday appeared to be no different than any other day
Monday was just... It.
Tuesday was "it"
Wednesday was "it"
Thursday was "it"
Friday was "it"
Even Saturday and Sunday were "it"
But now, today
Monday is distinct
In a horrifyingly gruesome way
And this tear-jerking unsatisfying Monday gave me hope
Monday made me cry
Tuesday did not
Wednesday did not
Thursday did not
Friday did not
Not even Saturday or Sunday made me cry
Only Monday made me cry
Only Monday
Just as Monday made 7 billion other humans cry
On this torturous inescapable earth
It also made me cry
And that gave me hope that maybe I really am normal
Or I can be
Or I will be
Because Monday is unbearable for everyone
And Monday is unbearable for me
And the rest of the week is alright for most people
And it was alright for me
And Saturday and Sunday are fun for most people
And Saturday and Sunday were fun for me
Somewhere
Deep inside my clouded, muddy mind
I caught a glimpse of hope
That maybe
There is hope for me
Maybe I am cured
Maybe I can be
Maybe I will be
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
I watch her
climb of top
As she mounts me
I slowly fill her up
she rides me
I love the way she bucks
My explosion starts to erupt
Her body quakin
An eruption exploding
my hot lava seeping in
as it over runneth her cup
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 2:59 PM UTC
Fantasizing
Feeling
Needing
Something scarce is eating at my melancholy.
As I deliberate, a vigor burns beneath my blood.
I get so warm thinking about his hands griping my hips.
My cheeks flush at the thought of his skin pressed heavily against mine.
Unalloyed ecstasy
His subsistence is the key that reveals my coffer.
I beg to feel his breathing
For him to cognize how much I want to gratify his every desire.
Slow motion when I fantasize.
A room bursting of fine riches I could erupt with gratification.
A gentleman who can pleasure me both with innocence and sensuality.
Rarity that comes as one.
He demonstrates loves configuration, he bestows complexity and certainty.
One could ****** with the thought of his supportive charisma.
I weaken at the awareness of his reciprocated needs.
The definition of love is embraced through his actions.
Bleeding perfection, he is untouchable.
He makes me feel amity.
He is the dream I want to feel as I shut my eyes at dusk.
I can sense him so close,
yet when I open my eyes
I’m alone.
He is what every women searches for.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 10:41 PM UTC
by
rgpage
face down she rests her naked form
head turned from her lover's glance.
eye's closed she lies and knowingly waits,
(a) loving touch starts passion's dance.
his huge hand moves across her back
with strokes the touch of butterfly wings.
upon her creamy skin so smooth
its path now set toward splendered things.
his pace a slow deliberate score
her passion's breath he brings,
from touch so soft, igniting sparks
with love her breath now sings.
his steady course she knows so well
with every touch as if it's new.
her sparks of passion love's embers light,
love's embers loving hue.
down past her rear with feathered touch
just knowing where to go,
behind her knees his fingers dance
to passion's steady flow.
their hips now in synchronic dance,
love's voluntary ride, she feels his
passion grown so hard,
now pressed against her side.
he cups her breast so gently
as if it were a flower,
its ****** earlier soft and small
now hard with passion's power.
and in her ***** great sparks erupt
her soft and pleasured flesh.
with juices flowing, desire's high
to meet love's natural crush.
now she turns to meet his lips
her passion running high.
with savage hunger she pulls him in
her hunter now the prey.
tables turned their urge well matched
desire holds the pace.
she takes control and guides his love
with feminine stealth and grace.
to places only she could know
where sparks ignite
small streaks of light,
that illuminates her soul.
together they fend love's tempting end
to stay their lover's dance.
to take control and reach their goal
the essence of their romance.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
can you explain
what it means
to despise someone?
to frame hate
and hang it on your wall
to count the number of days
lost sleep in your coffee mug
with the aforementioned's
name expensively embroidered on it
an old feud, laid in skin
and memories
so long you no longer remember
what the original sin was
only the feeling endures
an anticlimax
that you could go on
and on for hours about
without rest
so much pathos
teeming under the surface
that you could erupt
in volcanic tantrums
at the sound of a name
the way you clench your fists
until your fingers bite blood
from your palms
over street signs that bring up
old memories
the way you dream
of burning chairs
you heard they sat in
you find solace in the fact
that you are conscious
of this pervasive madness
that you are not tired of
and never will be
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
Pacing rapidly, doors slamming in the background.
I can't find iPod...no - irritation is building up inside of me - it's about to erupt. Where is my iPod??
In a violent flash of outrage, I smash my earphone against the desk.
Dropping down to the chair, and gazing out of the window, I'm suddenly thinking who is this hot-tempered person?
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
I see the skyline of the city at sunset. Smoke from my cigarettes rises, Dancing around us.
We sit in silence,
Watching the sky darken.
I look at you,
Take in every strong line of your face.
I notice in the fading light,
Just how stunning your carmel skin looks intertwined in my milky white hand.
I inhale in the darkness,
Letting it envelope me.
Fireworks start to erupt in the distance. I exhale,
watching as they glow in sympathy. Stardust and sprinkling colors surround.
I smile,
It's so magical with our mountain view. You kissed me tonight,
as I thought you should.
Perhaps it was the whisky,
That made us so bold.
I don't know why it is,
That I couldn't help but kiss you back. Even though I knew,
It wouldn't last longer then fireworks and a cigarette.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Watching night step-sitters staring at each passerby
abiding time as if counting sheep stepping with the city's cadence
Hearing sirens alarming in their BEWARE BLARING;
persistent fearfulness for evil and citizens securities
Staring-walking-bodies searching a barren land prostrating
before the great needle
Patched streets and decaying sidewalks by flooding night lights lay surreal
DECAYING fingers of poverty playing its fingers into every crack, crevice; into every pore, into every cell member
into one's whole being
Sounding the hip-hop generation street corners of hustlers
jiving away the night
The hustled and hustlers' overwhelming struggling for power; being surrounded by red brick and stone; being incased in poverty
Pounding city hysteria;
at times laying silent in sleepless depth
by the waning gradualness;
anytime readying itself to ERUPT
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
I don't live here
I'm only camping
On this planet
I didn't plan it
Yet I feel the need to explain it
As the plaintiff
To the sheriff
Imposing tariffs
Money is their concern
While my emotions burn
They are somewhat surviving
At the price of dying
That's the cost of lying
It makes us stop trying
Only commodity buying
While silently sighing
And violently frying
Through fruitless searches
No matter what we purchase
Or how much we spend
The gripping grief never ends
When there are no hands to lend
There are no problems with these items
When we willingly refuse to sight them
They are from where our problems erupt
For we neglectfully allow them to disrupt
The connections that our hearts yearn for
And our wallets burn for
When we spend our emotions on inanimate objects
To avoid the intangible subject
Of love
We're frightened of phantoms
A life heightened by tandem
Is not in the cards
We buy for each other
They don't begin to cover
The way we feel
They are a shield
For our true emotions
Objects can't evoke one
Yet that's our language for expression
Consumerism acts as our lethal injection
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
The Pigeon Gent,
He woos and coos around the river bent.
Pursues his muse with artful dance and skillful prance,
With inflated neck and ruffled plumage, until his energy or luck is spent.
He then resides by ebbing tides to ponder on his next advance.
"Now Now", "Whats This" the gent exclaims,
A shadow looming from the skies.
With ***** and claps he glides and lands with full surprise,
He spies the intruder, "A fellow Brooder".
Pigeon gent cant believe his eyes.
Pigeon Gent cannot believe the sauce,
The scurge seems intent on taking his prize by force.
At once he knows he must respond,
And force this illbread vagabond to abscond.
At once chest puffed and muscles flexed,
With wild eyes he jabs and pecks.
To teach this ruffian respect,
So on his actions he may later reflect.
He stands his ground both large and proud,
To make example of this foul winged burglar from the clouds.
"You insult me sir" he shouts aloud,
To make his intentions clear for all the crowd.
For several rounds they fight and scuffle.
With intruder retreating, feathers ruffled.
Then bested suiter fairly parted,
The quarrel ends as fast as started.
The vanquished victor displays and grooms,
As peace and honour now resumes.
Soon the ripples upset the green,
An armada of ducks come on the scene.
Alerted by the heightend coos,
They race to see what act insues.
The mighty mallards, Kings of the river,
None contest their right of way.
Their ways of conduct such generous givers.
Majestic river royalty, the law is always what they say.
On bank or shallow pebbled river they have always been,
They love to feed and breed amongst the river scene.
There royal cape made up of browny reds and shimmering greens,
reflects and intejects on mirrored water skies and evergreens.
To their mates for life and lady lovers,
The mallard gent is like no others.
Such loyalties are seldom seen,
In modern times and different dreams.
Fine and lean with striking features,
Best examples of river teachers.
But at any moment no matter how abrubt,
A river duel may easily erupt.
Battle can ensue and rage,
As both apponents approach and engage.
For they mate for life as duck and wife,
A rarity in any age or life.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
With the sunrise: emerges a world of cruelty,
Though natural like a running stream, and a flower’s beauty,
We see it when fires rage on and volcanoes erupt;
Even more when animals are maimed and poisons corrupt.
Yet none I would venture,
Can compare with human horror,
Who spilt rouge over lust, greed, prose and power,
They would gladly raze cities, massacre families and abhor,
In cold blood or warm, killing more makes man dour,
And Whether to catalyze or antagonize we’ve made time; seconds and hours,
But are we a product of the world’s cruelty or is the world a product of ours?
Perhaps it is our own; after all it is our curse,
To evolve is to make great, even evil,
So making greater our hearse.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC