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G Rog Rogers Nov 2017
-Lyrix (Pure Country Tune)

There's an empty ring finger
where a shining band
of gold once was
The symbol of Our life
Our dreams and Our love

A vow to stay together
through the plenty
and the lean
Forever lovers and
Forever best friends
then and to the end

The years passed so quickly
yet our love still
held on strong
Up until that fateful time
when it seemed that
everything went wrong

Still I then adored you
Still you I cherished
and you I hoped to keep
But strangers
came against us
The destruction
was complete

There's an empty ring finger
where a shining band
of gold once was
The symbol of Our life
Our dreams and Our love

A vow to stay together
through the plenty
and the lean
Forever lovers and
Forever Best friends
Then and to the end

Your gone yet
I remember
All the precious
moments still
I remember you
beautiful loyal
and lovely
And I always will

It's been so long
Still I sometimes
look back upon the wonderful You were
Truth is as it always was
I'll still love You forever Girl

There's an empty ring finger
Where a shiny
band of gold once was
The symbol of Our life
Our dreams
and Our love

A vow to stay together
through the plenty
and the lean
Forever lovers and
Forever Best friends
Then and to the end

I sometimes touch
my ring finger
Where the shiny
band of gold once was
Thinking about the
one I loved
The Angel
I once adored

There's an empty ring finger
where a shiny
band of gold
once was

And empty feeling
deep down
in my heart
For the Angel
who was lost.

-R.

(10.25.17)
-LA

-4MAR
©ASGP
pk tunuri Mar 2018
She said She doesn't wanna talk
I waited for her to look back

I tried convincing her
She showed me her *******

I only ask you not to go blind on hatred
Be kind though we got parted
We all have misunderstandings, different opinions which leads to hatred. Be kind to everyone even if you hate them.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Bring me my palette board.
Bring me my paintbrush.
Look wide open, ask me not
if it’s full or a half glass.
The sea is babbling high,
The clouds swimming on the go.
Reach out to the sky!

Be quick, before a raindrop
spills off the rainbow bowl,
stirs the dew on the rosebud
at first sight of the
spring blooming fast.

So what if the sky won't
lend a blue patch away,
catch that close by,
slips through the fingers:
a pair of butterflies.
Does it matter if you say yes or no?
A piece of heaven is on earth!
Kara Jean Apr 2016
Touch a rush
Floral green trim
A dress of deceit
Ferocious credibility
Strike, shock and distraught
Question her everything
A maddening cluttered up chest  
Red unprinted marking
She is a tempus tip toeing
Digesting hearts of many
Warned, they crawl
Enthralled, lurking for her gore
Her dress tore in natural beauty  
Cleaning syrup from her finger tips
Jordan Sears Oct 2018
He clasps my five, fumbling fingers in his
Runs his thumb over the rocks that mark our forever
The fall and rise of the current; his breathing
The depths of the lake; the blue pools in his eyes

And I'll linger like the fog above the water

                         Every morning--
                         Every evening--

                               Always.
CK Baker Jan 2017
Thank you:
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life
in basic form
September Rose Jul 2018
Oh sickly poisonous flame
Darting back and forth
I hear you call my name
It's not what they think, for what it's worth

One slip of the finger
And a tingling sensation
Smells of gas linger
Now for use of personification:

Its seems that you love me
For you never let me go
I feel pitiful in your embrace
And it seems that you know

You always take control
And oh how I'm fascinated by your flame
Skin swells and pain holds
In this endless torture game
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
I wrote this when my daughter was born.

One little finger (wiggle one finger)
plays with another (wiggle another, same hand, etc.)
One little finger
plays with her brother
One little finger
and then there were two
Two little fingers
to play with you (gentle tickle)

Two little fingers
play with another
Two little fingers
play with their sister
Two little fingers
and then there were three
Three little fingers
to play with me

Three little fingers
play with each other
Three little fingers
plus one baby brother
Three little fingers
and then there were four
Four little fingers
to find one more (wiggle the one they will find)

Four little fingers
play with another
Four little fingers
all sisters and brothers
Four little fingers
and one more makes five
Five little fingers
A L L  A L I V E ! (all 5 wiggle & play together)
.
I usually sang this to a reggae beat. Never failed to amuse my baby, or me for that matter.


.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

**** and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to ******* your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful bone china face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay ***** to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
******* after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly ***** glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
When a white woman is victimized they'll scour the streets, fan out, stop,
harass, detain, arrest any black man. Any one they can finger for the crime.

They say things such as they all look alike or something to that effect.

A black woman is abused they'll look around, see white males everywhere but they cannot find any suspects? None of them fit the description.

Why is that?

Yeah, that's right, it is because they all look alike! Too many of 'em. Can't arrest everyone now can we? People have rights!

Yep,
          I suppose they do...



As long as you consider them,
                                                        "­people,"  
                                                    ­                           -they have rights.
For those who bother to check..my father told me about the original T.V. media on this and I deduced the rest by a sheer enjoyment of the man. Love you AL.
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth
snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
fish traps
and beaneries
dot the busy causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2017
It’s still hanging low
since the moon
came down so close.

The seven seas dance
beneath her polished feet
but could never touch it.

Then the intact moon,
in fact, once did unleash
only when one popped
out ahead of the rest.
Down from the earth
luminary Muhammad
Peace be upon him
pointed his finger towards it.
And into two halves
did the Moon split!

But the man wouldn’t touch it
remained with us all
with every human the Moon dwarfs!
Commemorating the birthday of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). One of his miracles was that he split the moon after some pagans asked him to show them a miracle to prove he is a prophet.
Pea Oct 2016
Mum and dad look, i have a poem
It is a poem I've written and kept and hidden
It is a poem I'll get mad about if you take a peek
Mum and dad look. I have a poem
I honestly hate to mention you in my poem
I don't want any of you be in any of my poem
Mum and dad look. I have a poem
This poem is not for you, mum and dad
This poem is not about you, mum and dad
Why would you think i would sacrifice a poem for you. Mum and dad?
Why would you think i would keep you safely in the blanket of my fluffy words. Mum and dad?

Mum and dad look. I have a poem
I wrote my first poem at 4 and it wasn't about you so you were sad but you did not want to admit it so you made fun of me, right?
Mum and dad look, i have a poem
Mum and dad look. It is not only one poem
I have hundreds and hundreds poems. Mum and dad
Mum and dad look
Those are what I've written all these years
Those are what I've kept from you all these years
Those are what I've hidden from your eyes and mother tongues
Please
Just misunderstand me. It's enough
My english is irrelevant. Leave it alone
Mum and dad. Look i have a poem
Mum and dad look i have a poem
I have a
Mum and dad will you read my poems?
Mum and dad will you misunderstand them again and again just like what you do to me?

Mum and dad. Look i have
Mum and dad look i have
Mum and dad look i have

a poem
MUM AND DAD LOOK I HAVE A POEM
Don Oct 2018
Leedle-d dumb
my gun of the finger and thumb,
up by the ear and the drumb,
Placed to my head
the lilt of the ****
blow out the thought,
light of the candle
last wish remembered,
and wait for the ring of it all.
Its the roll of the life
till toll of real truth
no filter to the air
just see yourself here,
the dirt and the dust
all on your face,
Your not at the end,
hold out again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Point it into my skin and run it across granite counter-tops dense with layers of intricate thoughts.
Slice your tongue on appetite and drop the influence of your lover into the perfumed atmospheres of animus.
Press the supple horizon constructed of saltpeter with its softening fields and breaking waves.
A finger tells me this- a bruised finger dipped in moss, concealed in trees and rubbing eyes-
The city is a concrete cathedral adhered by iron nails, rods of fear and unfamiliar faces; a colossal fist hangs over the soundless clumps of worshipers, seeding them with deceptive ease.
I carry the finger in my mouth, and it trickles heavy sound into my stomach; I hold it in my eye, and it does much the same.
A "stream of consciousness" piece.
I've been reading a lot about the surrealists and I've come to find that I enjoy their form of creative expression.
I've become more comfortable with letting my subconscious take over and write.
poetryaccident Aug 2018
Mortality is the closing fate
promised by the watching gods
for those mortals on the face
of a world all will escape
sad casualty of many fates
each with the same end result
taking all from the souls
arrayed at the finish line

finality that none shall avoid
hence my focus on the now
taking arms to make a mark
not play the martyr in response
by a pen or the sword
drawing blood in last resort
fighting back against the dusk
while the sun is lost from sight

stones reside on the hill
some exclaim the consequence
of laying down before the end
already placed in victimhood
look to the others that inspire
beneath the stones their arms are ******
a ******* to the sky
still the warriors as in life.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180817.
The poem “*******” was inspired by the lines “I am not only a casualty / I am also a warrior” found in the book  "I Am Your Sister: Collected and Unpublished writings of Audre Lorde (1985)"
punk rock hippy Jul 2014
I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.
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 ******
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
September Rose Sep 2018
Did you know you sound blue
That I feel yellow when you laugh
That your small hums make the air orange

Did you know your handwriting is pastel
And the way you run your hands through your hair is aqua marine
And the way you walk is every shade of neon

Did you know that when you fidget I see sparks of silver
And your smile is scarlet red
And that when you look at me
I feel violet in my finger tips

Did you know that you are the number 7
Or that I smell amber when I read your name
Or that I can't call you just one,
Because every colour comes to mind
Whenever I think of you
I know you’ve heard these words before
I've said them many times before
I wish that I could use them more
To make things better like before

There was a time these words had meaning
Sheathed in heartfelt cries and feelings
But shaman who can not heal
Is just a man and nothing more

Like worn-out, old and ***** pennies
Now diluted by the many
There's so many, many pennies
Don't care there's one on my floor

My cries of “wolf” no longer heeded
When these words are truly needed
To the darkness they've receded
Blindly searching for that door

In my chest still beats a heart
Painful regret tears it apart
Can't fix or go back to the start
And you don’t want me anymore

My anger and my finger pointing
Foolishly like I'm anointed
Not the one you are annoyed with
You were wrong; I was so sure

Attentively I listened to you
In-and-out my ears your words flew
Silenced; Gave no value to you
Truth revealed strikes at my core

Awakening finally have
Gaining awareness of how bad
Taking for granted what I had
A rolling tide erodes the shore

Alone I sit and think of when
We were not lovers just good friends
Fun times together that we’d spend
And from that my heart starts to soar

Reality then brings me back
Jolts like a sudden heart attack
A deep sharp pain gives me a whack
I scream until my lungs are sore

Can't fix the memories or replace
Nightmares wake me; tears on my face
Past filled with guilt, shame and disgrace
Start questioning what life is for
October 13, 2017

All rights reserved.
Johnny Davis Oct 2016
I want to get on my knee
I want to make you mine

I feel more secure when you are tied

Put a ring on your finger?
Baby, I won’t be satisfied

I want you so badly
I’m obsessed, and you are hypnotized

Never a day I don’t wonder how we got drown in this love and crime

Guess that’s what people say
I’m your longing
You fulfill my appetite

I can only see love
Through your throbbing veins on your sternal line

I can only hear love
Through the scream and cry

When you are chocked by the chain
When you are hopeless and frightened

I know I love you right

No one else matters
Nothing else shines
Your existence means more than my life

But baby
I would get on my knee
only if you died
CK Baker Feb 2018
lines cut heavy
on a button stretched brow
thick rubber shoes
and dragon canes
fill out the closet floor
gospel sounds
and narratives (drowned)
apparitions set sullenly
with voices of the past

finger pins
and crosswords
find the favor list
point men and preachers
tip up their tuscany caps
twitching and sign gazing
with spectacles held firm
recurring evening news
and beadledom views

clappers and caregivers
raise a crooked foot
grips and rockers
settle in on the front porch
gertrude grimaces
at an untimely turn
as the gooseberry pie
(with a smidgen of cloves)
chills by the night watch
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ Feb 2016
Passing through those glorious doors together

We find home at Bombay Bakers

Your hand in mine

The sugary air hitting us harder than a brick wall

We both feel the grace of familiarity

Our chemistry hotter than the rolls in the oven

The smell of freshly baked croissants gives me the same warm feeling as your smile

Passing Agora we look at each other with the same bright eyes

It'll just be a quick stop but such a savory one as we sit and share a large caramel coffee

I hate the aftertaste but anything with you is such a candied tang in the end

Your cinnamon dusted lips so close to mine

Your taste so sweet couldn't even be compared

Licking each finger after your touch, trying to save each bit of you

It doesn't matter which side of the world we are on or where we end up in the end

As long as there's that corner bakers shop nearby

It'll be home with you
I'm comparing love to food <3

Short little poem today. not too happy with it but I don't know how to go on with this.

also another note: I love the word tang but I wish it wasn't so ****** :(
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