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Jenna Lou Mar 2013
The unimpeachable glasses are fogging,
as they tentatively ignore the premonition,
while ignoring the suppressive partition,
that defends themselves from submission.

The eyes detect,
with unreasonable rest,
the hazy, shadowy terrain,
that prevents them from pain.

If the mugginess stays,
and the heart embellishes the fade,
then the glasses maintain,
their authoritarian reign.
MereCat Feb 2015
If only
I could put the corners of your eyes
Into words
They would be like
The skin that sits on custard
And crinkles
Or they would be
The shattering of sunlight
Over leaf-spears
That toy it apart into
Forkfuls of sweet butter
Or they would be
The winkles around the heart
Of a daffodil
One day growing,
The next dying
But always yellow

I don't much like the colour yellow
But there's a richness to it
And a glassiness
And an optimistic up-swing
That I see in the corners of your blue eyes

If only
I could put the corners of your eyes into words
Because we've all sold out
Of happy poems.
We've all sold out of happy poems
All the new poems on my feed this morning
Hated life
And most of my own do to
So
Why not
Try to amend this?
RCraig David Oct 2016
Looking away from your eyes,

I realize the size of the rising situation.

In your eyes lie no lies

that give rise to despise or desperation.

I dare to compare anything unfair

with that glaring stare you wear.

Bright and full of wrong-less right,

their bright white glassiness contrasts the night.

Sincere fears rearing near tears

by the mere peering on clearly seen "dears" of yesteryear.

Eyes despising the realization of past situations.

Be bold and unfold your reservation.

Only good truths shall be told.

No lies spoken.

Old molds broken.

Sympathy and empathy and things causing the heart to flee.

Breathe.

One...two...three, lift your lids and see.

Hates once realized,

words you once despised,

glances once causing your very demise,

shall not be recognized in my own eyes.

If we again allow our eyes to close,

and the world around us slows,

and our instincts move us nose to nose,

we shall realize a sizable rising situation just arose.

by R. Craig David-Copyrighted 1998
By R.Craig David
The first time I truly fell head over heels for a girl, It was the first time I ever felt scared to go in for the first kiss. I knew it had to be immense and mind blowing, like 4 of July fireworks. I knew all the relationships reasons why she was scared she had already fallen too fast and felt completely powerless to stop it. i knew all the pain burned into her and the hurt from her past and why her hesitation was justified. The night I anticipated I might first kiss her, I wrote this poem in like 10 mins and brought it with me on the date. Towards the end of the night, we made our way to the roof, I read her the poem, we kissed, then she panicked and said she was too young to fall in love this hard, this soon. I never saw her again
Ciara Ginelle Jan 2014
I spent my life waiting for you.

Tasting your flesh on others, I knew the smell of your sweat before holding your physical face in my mind’s eye. But this does not matter.This was nothing but the feeling that aroused my being when looking into your eyes for the first time. This was simply the line in the water that attached my soul to yours and everyone else’s.

I held my breath and then, I saw you. light sparkling, aura burning. Your astral self floated around in my day dreams. I prayed. Listened harder than I have ever had to, because I had to. And in you came, galloping on a horse bright white. Like the gods themselves descended, and allowed you a few minutes to enter this dimension. To hold the hand of the lover(s) you never felt, but felt.

Soft, and gentle. Your skin reminded me of the house I grew up in, and longed to never leave. Your pain glistened like the glassiness of your eyes as you held me in your heart, terrified that I would leave you. That somehow your beauty would be taken for-granted, with the vision of me drinking your cup greedily and you having to refill and refill, until there was nothing to fill it with. And, I did. I drank, fearfully. That veil hung heavily in my eyes, wrapping my body tightly and you begged me to take it off. Let your face be seen, you said. I asked which one, and pulled out my heart. Stood there with it in my hands, letting sticky, smelly blood run down my calves and stomach, and you smiled. The first real smile I had seen, in what felt like decades.

Now, dissect. Rip it apart, you said. I argued that it may never look the same, that it would it would fill every nerve with pain. But just you smiled that smile, and took my hand. Tried to stitch every stitch, every slice, every position possible. But it kept slipping, the way you slipped around inside me. Moving, shifting, making space, rearranging my soul so it may fit you. So we may fit inside each other, in this life that was no longer ethereal, but a physical thing. Too physical for my soul to understand, it seemed. Relentlessly circling my small intestine around your throat, like a snake with no eyes left. Trying hard to go home.
I saw your **** wiggle in the moon-glow of a smile that disinfected
the ****** ward over the death-rattling noises of Frisbees deflected
On Cindy Brady's mongrel paw I placed a safety-glass slipper then I
replaced little Bobby as her step-brotherly, swollen-*** *** whipper
before an experiment in ****** ******* with a ripe, past stripper
I slayed Siam's evil city Bangkok as a diesel **** combo gas sipper
T R S Sep 2019
Glassiness is the hell that's
happened to crack my blood-soaked eyes.

And crass presumptions
hold little hell when gumption is what belies

Belies a holy belly,
Held in hell,
but built upon holly and poison ivy stalks.

Still,
I don't talk about green deals
and I don't care about water.

Not long enough.
Not enough to falter.
Not enough to give an ear.
Not even enough to breath.
Not enough to give a shoulder.
To cry on.
Enough for the earth to see.
dead communists with their Lenin red fluff fanciful fanciness, while dancing on dirt with broken glass glassiness to the communal romancing of runny Turkic birthing holes & ports with an ultra-glib romantical Romanian pseudo-manliness...
T R S Jul 2019
Glassiness is the debt I made in my eyes.
Money's overrated
and so is love.

Love is like a masterpiece
that you see in a show.

It's real nice to be by it
but it'll blow you up and know
just what it did.

Bidding for a fancy life
is a horrorshow
is exactly who I am
and it's all I'll ever know.
T R S Jul 2019
Glassiness of faces
would make me remiss
of the pace which
Would rather I breath straight forward.

Lordness,
lordy lordy
gorged me in a intestine filled

Gizzard gritted grated grop
of drops of sticky sweet silt
Held in our hand with self hated pigment
sewn upon on salts colored in summers
and others
but even still
Built, on eversnow evenings
bereave me and steal
please believe still
Believe
that I'm not unnerved by that fact that i'm
a person.
it is certain.
Just like you.

A stew of free seed words.
It's absurd.
Blood.
And words.
And painful shields.
words,
and thoughts that you would
kneel for.
Some shore..
some ocean.

Some place
Some face that is worth the world,
Some face worth falling in love for...
I credit rotting, dead communists with their Lenin red fluff fanciful fanciness, while dancing on dirt with broken glass glassiness to the communal romancing of runny Turkic birthing holes & ports with an ultra-glib romantical Romanian pseudo-manliness...
Β Β  Dear Tammy, You know how when you just get out of the shower and the upper part is still sticking to the lower part and you think, β€œthe soap has made the bond tighter,” and then you look in the mirror to see that everything looks normal enough...?

— The End —