Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Nicole Jun 2016
Inside the tiny cupboard holds a piece of sinful pleasure,
forbidden fruit that you and I conceal like hidden treasure.
Upon this ship seduction docks itself across the bay,
with wicked thoughts at night and curiosity by day.
Overwhelming pleasure, pain and all that's in between,
drowning seas of secrets if the gentlemen had seen.
Inside the tiny cupboard holds a piece of honest pleasure,
where I aboard as captain and you shine as sapphic treasure.
© Nicole ***
zebra Jul 26
there are women who love demons
you can see it in their eyes
like a sick hunger
silence in a straight jacket
smiling limbs on a pyre
starring entranced
whiskey blind
as if marveling
at a howling blood-spattered dingo in a crater
seduced to wander off half-***** into a bush of thorns
******* barbed hooks for heroine kisses
women on fire who believe in nothing
except their atavistic compulsions


they are a burning land
beauty in ruin
ready for the slender whip
and black-toothed kisses
who giggle and then plunge into an abyss

i hold her like a jaw holds teeth
Am I having one of those days,
where I want to leave everything
and everyone?
Where I want to go into a daze,
and watch my dreams all come?

No, it's not 'Just one of those days'
It's not even a phase.
I'm extremely unsatisfied and bored,
and my life feels more like a chore.

So i cry, and sigh,
and get out my frustration.
While claiming I'm okay, I lie,
because no one has time
for that curruption.

So i try to let these three years go by, as quickly as I can:
while I'm still being controlled
and watched,
as independent as I am?

I long for those three years to fly,
so my life can be ran, by only I.
I'll have my own lovely home,
with a cosy fire,
and everything made of stone.

There won't be much company in need, apart from all of my books, candles and reckless sprees.
My house will be filled with glowing golden lights,
and expensive furnishings,
of all shades of white.

I'll be looking out of my balcony,
with my blankets wrapped around me,
as I listen to the rain pour and slide,
with a pen and paper at my side.

With my dog at my feet,
my eyes on the sky,
and my music playing lightly,
I'll always be on a high.

I know that's what my future holds,
as I won't settle for anything less,
I won't have lived until I live that image,
and until then I'll try my best.
This is truly where I hope to be, and these are only a pinch of ideas, out of a whole jar full of them.
Traveler Mar 2014
Life, it seems a question
That’s answered only in death
A light that leaves your body
As you grasp for your last breath

What comes next
Nobody can know
You came like a dream
And now I’m alone

The tears that I bleed
Are hidden by lies
My love is spread thin
For those I would die

Her eyes gave me access
To see through her soul
Now I've gone blind
How could she let go

If death holds the answer
And love holds the key
Then somewhere beyond
She’s waiting for me
Traveler Tim
Over 20 years
I still can't let you go



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QU1nvuxaMA
Her titillating tattoo
tantalizes me deeply,
to the tenth degree. I see
it as I slip her silk dress
slowly down her left shoulder.
A lizard lying on a
boulder, contrasting with her
silky smooth soft snowy skin.

I kiss her shoulder, and she
shudders and sighs a deep sigh.
Goosebumps rise up her body
as a sturdy gust seizes
the moment. The forest we
make love in quakes and shakes
as she shivers and quivers
under the touch of my hands.

My left hand holds her upper
arm, while my right grips her hips.
She closes her eyes, smiling,
giggling in amusement.
I spin her slowly ‘round, and
look into her hazel eyes,
her soft ******* and thighs against
mine for warmth and gentle touch.

I kiss her lips. Strawberry.
And we slide down to the ground.
The scariness we have found
slips away in our grace. We
sinners share our shame, our ****,
and come to a conclusion,
and bust each others doors down,
sweet ****** on this cold ground.
ryn Jan 2015
.
             *the *future is...a tornado of uncertain-
          ty• a swirling vortex, in its centre is
me•such power and speed, can ne-
ver see•can never foretell, it's hid-  
den debris•like clockwork, it will        
   make contact•by the second, bra-        
cing for next impact•the past is...      
  yet another•wild winds that echo      
     my mistakes as reminder•this twis-         
      ter within...tearing with no remo-    
           rse•destroying confident strong-
             holds, breaking feebly boarded
           doors•can't ease the rage...eat-
    en from the inside•won't stop
until...my beating heart had
        died•the present is...only this  
   frail little body•fighting huge 
battles that come incessantly  
  •fending off the future, con-        
    taining the past•not know-            
ing how long.......this disas-       
ter would last•but I'm still      
   here.....still holding integ-         
   rity......•still fighting this       
war waged in history's        
folly•will i be settl-
ed? will the winds
ever abate?•
will i ever
      come to    
terms...?
will i
ever
    acc-
          ept
                     fa      
                 t
               e
             ?
             •
Next page