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ryn Sep 2014
Like a grain trapped under the eyelid
Impairing the vision, in heart and mind
Flush it out with rivers, woeful and turbid
This grain still there; rendering us blind

Tiny and inconspicuous; No one sees the grains
Everyone's 'gifted' with their own to nurse
Doubling over we see each others' pains
Hidden and embedded within the poetry laden verse
My response to Joe Cole's - A Grain of Sand Challenge
U wear mascara over eyelid
Only prove your self
Black is on top little lash
Evil  is  away
Ananya Kalahasti Nov 2017
Our first kiss was in my basement, one year,
and three hundred and forty-seven days ago,

his lips tasted like the saccharine double chocolate chunk ice cream
that he licked off my spoon just minutes ago, beard
brushing against the soft bottom of my chin,
                                                           ­                   his hand slipped
into mine as we walked away from yet another birthday celebrated,
it’s been seven since we first became friends

and his hands have finally stopped trembling.

Her eyes convey concern as her head slowly rises up from mine.

“This is a bad idea.”
In her face, against the lightly accented string lights

I see his eyes, tears welling up,

I know I can’t do this, I can’t kiss her, I can’t lose her

I can’t betray him.

I know this is wrong but

I love her and as she leans back down our lips crash together,
hers are plain, soft, safe,

When he cries, he sniffles more than he sobs, when I see him sad, powerless,
my heart cracks, I made a promise in my basement to never be the cause of this suffering,

my right hand runs through her soft hair, twirled between my *******
left hand resting on her cheek, I can feel that under her eyelid she is helpless,
I feel powerless, captivated by the twinkle in her eyes when she laughs,

I feel as though I am held hostage in her arms, yet a wave of freedom washes over me,

I don't know how I feel all I know is I don't yet want this to end,

we both want this,

yet I tell him it is my fault, I hold him close to my chest, my fingers run through
his wildly curly hair,
                     she pulls me closer as we continue to fight rationality,
and in this moment, we are breathing in synchrony, I taste nothing saccharine,

only feeling her soft lips and a bittersweet moment

edit: this poem was written as an assignment for my poetry class, in which we were told to put ourselves in the shoes of a character who had made a life changing decision that we ourselves would never make. i would never cheat, this poem was written as pure fiction with no basis in real life.
Peter B Mar 10
Not diamonds, neither gold,
not a cross pendant,
neither a watch,
not even the smallest bead,
hidden carefully
at the bottom of your pocket
you will be able to take with you
on a journey to the Uknown.

Only as much as fits within the darkness
under your eyelid.
No more.
zebra May 2017
there's a crazzzy devil
the white house
twisting our nation
into a denizens den
a tub of **** in a suit
ascending ***** matter
a clogged toilet
a black plague
we have a president with the attention span
of sea clams
an emotional ******* drip of impetuosity
a spiraling fit of rage
a snarling delusional dog
narcissist in a warping mirror
a pathetic complainer
a cyst on the body politic
open sore
seething pustule
piggish **** lover
gangsters dupe
fascist wana be

heil heil
god your a pile

making Russia great again
licking Vlad's *****
protecting your assets no doubt
and hissing tweets
at war with with only everything
and figments of a disturbed imagination
a real windmill killer

his mouth
the devils mark
a yapping compulsive lier
forked tongued fury
possessed to a fault
by the vainglories
of money and ego out of bounds
the biggest and the best
at being
the very worst and a pest
grand royalty of ridicule
a ham ****** cartoon nightmare
and clumsy stumbling bore
a seething volcano of perpetual excrement
reading from the book of chaos
aberrations of enemies
a war room president
at war with his own citizens
huddled in a panic chamber
burns and cuts himself
with his own hot sharp words
as there thrown back at him
a bully getting bullied
a ripper getting ripped
the brains of a lizards eyelid
in a shadeless socket
pulp hearted orangutan
menace to society
his mottled soul
like a black sun
on the verge
of a black hole
a hell mill of decrepitude
a dark creep creeping
tarnishing our beautiful country
lights dim

there's a devil
in the white house
The Fidelity of Transmissions

”Cells, the units of life that compose our bodies, are able to make copies of themselves to help us grow, fight disease and recover from injuries. Cells have built-in mechanisms that maintain
  the fidelity of transmission  
of genetic information from one generation to the next, and to control cell division in a timely manner, allowing our bodies to build or rebuild various tissues.”

when the poetry cri de cœur grows unbearable ,
sound mystery-science calms his tumbling transcendency

alas, here too, his ears sit up straight when stumbling on a invitation to
“come write,” for hid within the science jargon, oft rests a snipers shot

redirecting the didactic mind back to the
everyman’s land where-poetry cells split,,
commanding him to delve into, visit new brain wrenching vistas
“the fidelity of transmission”
at its macro level, for science is micro-poetry,^
n’est-ce pas

when you love another
the transmission is a slow pour,
or a radical jarring,
the fidelity extremely extraordinarily variable

the loveliest unpredictable

the sip sip of eyelid kissing adoration,
the irrational irrigation of the no-space-between,
when the television remote disappears in the couch crack,
the screen, complete static, perfect complement, to a rigorous experiment of

the loveliest unpredictable

we manually conjoin fluids in her mouth’s petri dish,
stain the slide for observation,
in full Imax color observe the cells busting and doesy-do’ing over to
a new partner, where bonds of fidelity attach a partnership clause to

the loveliest unpredictable

when a child emerges, the first words are
find that remote, just kidding, first comes a comestible demand,
mother’s milk 98 degree heated,
feed me a white solution to any unanswered cell’s questions, what a

loving predictive predicate

scribble this, ****** that, change a diaper,
while debating whose baby’s assemblage resembles,
overjoyed at the experimental outcome,
proofs of the fidelity of transmission,
the outcome notated, but science demands no bias confirmation,
another test required of tissue rebuilding

the loveliest unpredictable


for is He not laureate greatest poet of all,
developer of the scientific architecture,
inventor of varietal sunsets, moonscapes,
individualized singularity of snowflakes,
love making, gravity and the preprogrammed death
of your own cells,
etcetera etcetera etcetera
all just poetry in motion in fluidity,
ah, fidelity fidelity
Sat., March 9, 2019
zebra Jul 2017
i come to you half mad
with desire
like slithers tongue
i wish
to have painfully stitched
to your silky ****
an act of desires supplication
my *** turned to poison
deprivations effulgent
obsidian flower salivating
your every smile
fleshy bells ringing
warping tintinnabulations
i am a starved incubus
drooling at your knees

behind me
a frothy junket of misdeeds
for loves sake
your feet the scent of lavender and salt
their shape evoking numberless poems
and begging adorations

your belly
a tender cauldron undulating
tummy ***** dancer
sacred *******
temple of worship
the site of your rounded bottom
naked red mouth calling
my sacred liturgy
your *****
velvet tulips for a tremulous kiss

I seed you a thousand times
a raging bludgeon
storming wounded gates Palisades
drenched and florid
fruit and milk ****
until jaws lock
and spire drops
turning me
to midnight cadaver
***** black hollows
a dark eyelid, blink-less
dead **** face down
a slumped snake

then soft dew
and cool ales
clear thickened muds saturation
lighten heat and peel
the warm palate
with agile caress
tender haunches wide and spiced
milk and butter thighs
her hair in mine
rushing river life
again i animate
an embryo id
dressed in fire
all vices and virtues
blood and sky
It's not a nightmare
But had a ghost within,
There are no such Succubus
But I'm unable to escape its grasp;
There's a penumbra to fear
and My beats were loud and clear.
I felt like I was choking to death,
OHH!!! My lackadaisical faith
but I can't wait
to see the aftermath
A comely face, in a solastu background
and now my beats were down
my kilig has no bounds
all the umbrage were gone,
My eyelid is on and there is none.
Yet, I've always wanted to see that face
chased many dreams but never wins those race.
Ashley Kaye Jul 3
Your beauty may birth from shaved legs
red clown lips, gaudy eyeshadow
flimsy black crumbles beneath
your eyelid
You are ****-sun-kissed;
I am opaque.
Blotches of color
Lighten my smile

cheekbones never as sharp
as your words
July 2019
I vow I'll go straightedge, grow
old w/ U now I will try to live.
Honey? I'm royal jellydrizzler, ambro-
sia sprinkler, manuka slav-

erer, glucose washingline.
Honey? Truncated puberty bassethounds
no more mellifluous a confection-
ary spokesperson than sweet sounds

of rhyming superlatives, purple prose glaze,
cherup syrub of yr...Honey?
I'm Jack the Dripper, Jackson ******* squeez-
ing bees,

weird scenes inside
the love hive. Honey, yr krazysexykool
- were U head
girl @krazysexyskool?

Yr compassionate
becoz yr compassion art
is that yr compassion heart
has compassion smarts. Compassion farts

even vent a delectable sillage.
Honey, when U showed me yr hon-
eypot, it ate away l/ acid at my 3rd eyelid
- pineal flash! When

I showed U my bruce,
U had me feeling
so pinefresh, last of the summer spruce

the mucus of a moose.
No relation to non-Monty Montgomery,
but when I petted yr zipper cat @clubhousecaboose,
U helped me see

- eureka!
o! ******.  Either that or 'Each 1 of us is special in their
own way'. The Get Along Gang

was a vision thang.
I'm yr Lenin & yr my Inessa.
I'm yr Lennon & yr my May Pang.
On a ferry cross the Volga to yr Oktober rock 'n' rolla.

& tho' U've got a hermione
& I'm not into hot karl,
U're my Lenny
& I'm yr Carl.

But shock appearance of the final realisation I
could lose the U inside of U, yr inimit-
able secular seelenfunklein, strikes down high
spirits l/ L.Ritchie floored by ceilingfunkline flit.
Peter B Mar 5
I won't take anything with me
on the unknown journey,
when I die,

but I will smuggle the image of her
under the eyelid,
closed, closed wide.
JLB Oct 2018
There's a woman drenched in blue
walking in a cold stone room
circling in a blinded way--riddles raddling out of her brain
and into a shoe.
what to do, what to do.
she walks with armoured gate.
hardened in nature,
speaking her truth,
she holds a hand high to measure
her worth
and it begs the question: do we believe her?
I don't dare go inside,
for worth dwindles with time.
the shelf life on her truth--
though certainly dire,
is short and sweet as vermouth
and society must hear him
before lighting the pyre.
I, a reporter,
root for her-- her biggest supporter.
through a peep hole I can see
the man, and then she.
but I can't type too loud, or the alarm will sound--
one eyelid closed, ball point pen stabbing down
to release some subliminal seismic rapture:
invisible to me, but gushing all around.
Our collective furry, coming un-wound
while unwavering folks still capture
a crooning boy in their arms
despite his cloying false charms.
She throws the shoe, blind,
spilling its rhyme
onto the stone floor
a moment of quiet
and some piece of mind...
but ending somehow
the same as before:
There's a woman drenched in blue
walking in a cold stone room
circling in a blinded way--riddles raddling out of her brain
and into a shoe.
what to do, what to do.
Senali Perera Aug 17
They’re like a smoke that rises from a corner of your mind
Filling your entire head in such an unhurried flow
And you inhale the scent in gulps, in gulps
dazed and intoxicated, you drown in it.
You’d look into a pair of fawn eyes
that belong to a grown man—
the throne bearer of your kingdom of red.  
Fawn eyes, for they really are wide, innocent and bright
pouring out a flood of sunlight, an eternity of thriving life
The man, himself is real
a renaissance sculpture come to life,
the undoubting incarnation of the youthful Adonis.
You’d look into those gleaming eyes and for a moment
you feel their presence, you see love
You’re subtly tricked into feeling real emotions
in the face of the imaginary
They play with your thoughts, your flesh
until you part your lids and find
that the dream is here, the man is not.
So you wipe all the unrequited foolishness from your eyes
and unwillingly face the weight of reality.
Until the ghost reappears
and breathes that poison smoke back into your mind

And oh, how skillful he is! Oh, how cunning!


[Breathe in… breathe out...
breathe in… breathe out…]

What awaits outside the eyelid dulls to dust in comparison—
The echo of silence for a friend,
the blemishes in the blood aching again
At the contact of the emptiness, the life
the fugitive escapes back into her dreamland.
Where she once lived in a foreign land
a thriving adolescence she lived within the walls of her mind
far away from the voids that mangled her childhood.
She once loved a man from that land
who ghosted inside her mind for years
In bleeding crumbs of reality
he sometimes appeared
but always, always to carelessly disappear
back into the million mile reverie.

Dreamland, O dreamland!
That grew up with me
inside my mind, inside my heart, so solitary
Now, a grown woman,
I still feed on your company
And I wait, I wait, I wait
for a true world as homely as my dream...
Take your eye away a second,
Or bat an eyelid,
And you will be sorry,
No story;

For out there roaming,
Is a mean fiend,
Ripping off female *******,
And leaving no tracies;

The story is awash,
In the pubs, on the streets,
Of desperate ritualists,
Getting into ****** fetishes;

That in used *******,
Is DNA for making money,
Deeply set in the fabric,
Is fluid that oils the maeveric;

So, watch out!
Fall not victim,
Of roving lunatics,
And their ***** antics.
In that country called Nigeria, a group of persons are in the prowl looking to steal used female *******. Those caught have alluded to using the lingeries for money ritualists - a dark fetish art of using diabolic practices tonentise spirits to bring in money. You must know that Nigeria dug in unrelenting poverty with no way out, so the young boys devise devilish means of making ends meet.
hetty Jan 27
there are some things i will never understand.

you are deserving of the pulse that beats through your fragmented skin.
every echo of your heartbeat proves to me just how alive, how real, you are

i will never understand why the universe thinks i deserve the privilege of existing alongside of you

every flutter of your eyelid,
every flicker of your hair,
every speckled star-dust on your body,

you are real
you are real
you are real

and you are a phenomenon, a diverse wildfire, a soul chasing the wind.
my whole entire world
rests upon your breath
[in which i wished she would see herself the way i saw her]
12 nerves that connected with the brain.
Okay, okay, okay
I)The first one is Olfactorii .
Do you ever smell the trash?
Yes, I always smell the trash.
Say thank you to Olfactorii.
He is in charge.
II)The second one is Opticus .
He said that I don't need a glasses.
But I'm exception from the masses.
III)The third one is Oculomotorius.
Up, down, left, right.
It's eye's direction accessory.
IV)The fourth is Trochlear.
It also had controll on eyeball .
V)The fifth one is Trigeminus.
Divided for the three.
1. Ophthalmicus - scapl, forehead, nose, upper eyelid, cornea sensory.
2. Maxillaris - upper jaw, teeth, gums; palate, nasopharynx, nasal cavity ; lower eyelid, lip , cheek skin.
3. Mandibularis - lower jaw, gums, teeth ; 2/3 anterior tongue ; mucous membrane of cheek; skin of lower lip ; auricle ; temporal region; mastication's muscles controller.
Do you see how easy it is?
VI)The sixth is nervus abducens.
Again eyeball controls.
VII)The seventh is the Facialis.
Taste of 2/3 anterior tongue, external ear and palate.
Mimetic muscles, m. stapedius, m. digastricus, m. stylohyoideus.
Submandibular, sublingual salivary, lacrimal glands.
VIII) The eighth is Vestibulocochlear nerve.
n. vestibularis - balance sense.
n. cochlearis - hearing sense.
IX) The ninth is glossopharyngeus.
1/3 post. tongue taste; sensory of pharynx, palatine tonsils, middle ear, carotid sinus and carotid body.
Upper pharynx muscles controls.
Parotid salivart gland controls.
X) 9 - Vagus.
Lower part of pharynx, larynx, thoracic, abdominals organs sense.
Muscles: soft palate, lower pharynx, larynx.
Glands: thoracic and abdominal organs.
XI) Accessorius: m. Sternocleidomastoideus, m. Trapezius,
XII) Hypoglossus: muscles: intrinsic, extrinsic tongue; floor of mouth (m. geniohyoideus), neck (m. thyroideus).
Sukanya Basu Jan 21
Remi may shoot you,
she had sown bladder with lungs
And paraded through a wedding

Remi digs up corpses and dances with them
She climaxes when poked with a thorn on her eyelid stiff

Remi knows how to laugh.
She is beautiful,
Remi looks at women and licks their skin

Remi had been in love
She had made love to wolves and painted her face with knives

She strips her clothes
And drips in blood
swallows her pain
Lifts her chin up
Remi calls Remi's name

Remi sold her heart in an autumn sale.

— The End —