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zebra Jul 2018
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-naked 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
Land,
The Mystery
A Nature to One's Mind
A Sand which Flows,
And Glows
And sparkles Success
To One.

Before Men,
Before Cities borne out of
Civilisation's Womb
There was,
And was known to many
That it was Land,
The Enigma,
The Unknown to One.

Who lives in the Deep,
The Paradise Underworld
Of Many,
Of Millions,
Of a Thousand Beings in Atlantis.

The Impossible
Is Done
And should be Done
By One.

The Brave,
The Humble,
The Curious Juniour
One Foot,
That touches the Sand
One Breath,
Of Boreas' Air
One look,
Of Demeter's Feet
One Meet,
At Thriver's Friendly.

And Wisdom,
Has been Known,
And Shown,
The Impossible
Has been Done.

It is One's Dream,
The Goal,
The Conquest,
For the Future of Existence.

The Happiness,
To many of One Nation's Grand
Of Praise and Possibilities.
Why is it so hard to breathe
with feet planted on dry land?
What chains itself tight in
our throats?
Can you flee until your limbs
snap?
Can you run from the raindrops
before they fall?
Maybe one day the sun will shine
on a candid smile
Maybe on day we won't feel as if we
are tossed about in dark waters
And maybe, one day, we will feel at home
on dry land.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
This earth is such a foreign yet familiar place.
IrieSide Apr 16
I’ve made it
my friend,
To the real Marijuana land
shamamama May 14
Kolea sees the rising of Orion's belt
and follows the belt into dawn's day
He spent his winter on green pastures on an island
nourished by rainwaters which have fallen
swelling into rivers and red dirt

Plumage changes, reminding him of his return
to the Alaskan tundra
How can he know this path of
three thousand miles across ocean
to ancient nesting grounds
his grandmothers used?
What faith does he need to ride through
currents of air across vast waters to reach land?

He arrives in green tundra,
and finds his feathered brothers and sisters,
Seeking his mate,
they dance and unite,
then begin their nesting ritual,
Eggs laid, patience sets in

Time well spent, the eggs are ripe to hatch
emerging birds open mouths wide to
feed and grow strong--
Those bones, those feathers, those wings
must be mighty  
for the journey home

They watch the sky for the sign to return,
Some seekers who have called him papakolea
follow him now in double hulled canoes
praying to the night sky,
While papakolea listens for the
whisper of the dragon
thrashing across dark skies

In the middle of the ocean
he rides on dragon's breath
to find a pasture on an island
where he had fed a year ago,
Paddling canoes, tracing after stardust
from papakolea
they reach the shores and reunite to land
In this way
Seabirds and seekers
find reunion
Every May, for maybe thousands of years, the kolea (pacific golden plover birds) begin their migration to Alaska, to meet their mate, and lay eggs.They all return in August, to rest and feed up for the next migration. I have often wondered how they sense their traveling time--I have also wondered how the Hawaiians found the islands---and so a while ago, I wrote this poem, to explore this.  One of my Hawaiian elders shared that the Milky Way is "the dragon" in the sky, and as the Milky Way rotates in the tropical night sky,  the dragon is "thrashing" in the sky.
Egaeus Thompson Mar 2013
Nearly home.

The bed
And the slippers grow ever closer.

A memory of things that give comfort seem palatial,
Euphoric in the mind's eye,
Though I do seem to ponder of its romanticized reality

Memories always seem so warm.

In reality,
The things that hold others close are affirming.
Love,
Shared events
Symbiotic empathy,
But given the current state...


The boring,
The mundane,
The trivial and the tedious that makes the most of a lifetime
Are omitted from the mind.

But why not have a memory full of nothing but the nothingness of life?
The train rides?
Waiting for the toaster to splay its insides
So I can feast on its wonderful toasty goodness?
Talking to the tenant who does not understand
That a bouncing leg
And constant time updates are signposts to *******?

Empty the files of my brain
And fill it with the moments of nothing.
These moments and these alone
Are your true self.
if you are a good person
Is not determined by
How many charities earn your pay
Or how many items stored,
What you are is chosen by the lonely,
The solitary,
The Tigress.

Only when you accept that person,
You are happy
And free.


But don't hold your breath.
Tanay Sengupta Aug 2018
Let the clouds invade the sky,
As my mind takes me to another land.
Today, I feel so high.

There is no reason to be shy,
The wind is my best friend.
Let the clouds invade the sky.

I feel so dreamy; I wonder why,
So many notes and letters to send.
Today, I feel so high.

I sit at the window as the heavens cry,
The tears that seem to have no end.
Let the clouds invade the sky.

I sit as my thoughts fly,
I have nothing urgent to attend.
Today, I feel so high.

I don't want it to stop; I will not lie,
But, everything must come to an end.
Let the clouds invade the sky.
Today, I feel so high.







Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
I think you will be able to figure out what it is the moment you read it. Happy reading!
Karijinbba Oct 2018
I Rose Again and Again

Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone
Man has created death.

By: W.B.Yeats, for Karijinbba
~~
The malice of thiefs injured me nearly killing me st only age five;
Men (beasts) in uniform Greedy Feds killed my father five brothers and all grown man and boy in my Purhepetcha Indigenous tribe for the greed of my father's land
Man created death repaing evil for my good from the riches of my forest land they ate and lived as kings while I barely survived, but take heed I did rise.

On my father's shoulders my seahorse kind of dad beloved
he carried and adored me
my future he could read perfectly in our starry night sky and love for me happened exactly as dad had predicted it would be
from my fathers heart I thrived and I rose
and men I did love despite treason by few
~~~~~
By:Karijinbba/AA.
THREE HEROS LOVED ME MY FATHER MY OLD TRUE LOVE AN AMERICAN AN ELITE WISE KING OF HEARTS AND MY ADOPTIVE MOM ROSE WHO LOST HER LIFE TRYING TO PROTECT ME
BECAUSE OF THEIR COURAGE AND FORESIGHT TO BET ON MY FUTURE
I RISE EVER LOVING AND WISE
Joanna May 10
Thrown off course by a wild storm, circling but never finding the runway.

Hit by crossfire and bob-wire life’s complexities rise, rainbows disappear.

With no time to get warm one could lose out on all that matters in a flash fire.

With no notice, another goes astray till love comes 'to melt' this glacier within.

Light brings an awareness of the might of been and then removes them with real communication between friends.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
Karijinbba Aug 2018
Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone
Man has created death.

- W.B.Yeats
For:Karijinbba
Me just a child confronted
murderous men at only age five
nearly killing me men in uniform Greedy Feds killed my father and every man child in my Purhepetcha Indigenous tribe for the greed
of my father's land I hid iñ the chicken coop and lived
Man created death repayng evil for my good from the riches of my land they ate and lived as kings
while I barely survived, I did rise I grew up and I also was Loved and kissed.. Again betrayed injured I was and dying I still rose and still I rose and still I rise again and again¡
I guess I am supernatural. Something always tried to **** me and something else rises me and kept me stumped but living. I love life babies children the wise eye of the aged. I love the Knight spirit breath of life  side in men, .music, poetry song with these I thrive I rise and rise..
my friends Poets and poetessess thank you for RISING up to read.
Kathleen Apr 2016
How many marbles can you fit into a bowl until you say you can't count them?

I do not want events layered upon events.
Birthdays toppling over birthdays:
a layer cake of responsibilities that aren't 'responsibilities'.
That do not count.
That cannot be measured or described as taxing or numerous.
I am outnumbered by numberless nonsense.
I am outweighed by weightless wafting pleasantries;
and opportunities;
and life-sustaining things;
that bowl me over.

My womb is a desert called Death Valley and you wish to comb it for antique glass bottles.
I care not.
I cannot partake in any more suggestions of what I might do with my 'free time'.

But you're not feeling the tingling sensation in your gut every time you wake up and the lights don't turn on.
The wheels don't work.
The mechanical arms don't move like they are supposed to.
Like the parts of you you're supposed to have on automatic have just given up the ghost and abandoned you.
You're alone and miserable and none of it rings any bells.
None of it gives out any signs.
None of it counts.

I'm crying because the milk spilled and there isn't any milk left anywhere in the world.
We're out.
We're just the land of Honey now.
guy scutellaro Sep 2018
(Jack is taking Kate to her apartment after O'Malley's wedding reception)


Through the familiar, haunted streets Jack drives the old Mustang fast back. The car rattles by the unkempt houses and broken down cars. He makes a left to Dunlewy Street and pulls the car behind a station wagon. Tangled in the tree tops the rising moon hangs above the roofs of identical cape cod houses.

"Is this were you live?" Jack asks.

Kate looks at Jack. His face is a faint shadow on the other side of the car. "Yeah, I live in the upstairs apartment."

"When I was a kid the down stairs was one of those mom and pop stores. You could make a bet with the grocer and every day after school I'd come here and buy a MilkyWay bar."

Kathleen steps out of the car and breathes in the cold air deeply into her lungs. The air is fresh and sweet and the sickness in her stomach goes away.

Jack comes around the side of the car just as she knew he would. He takes her in his arms and kisses her.

"Do you want to come up?" Kathleen asks.

"I don't want to wake up your son."

"You won't Richie is staying at my girl's house. I'm going to pick him up tomorrow before church."

They walk beneath the old oak tree whose roots have raised and cracked the sidewalk. In the spring tiny blue flowers grow through the cracks. The flowers remind Jack of the columbines that bloom briefly in the meadows beneath the high mountains. The wooden steps to her apartment creak beneath their feet.

She sways slightly trying to fit the house key into the lock. The key finds the lock and the door swings open.  Jack follows her into the kitchen. There are pots of plants lining the kitchen counter, on top of the refrigerator, and on the table pushed against the wall opposite the sink.

Crossing the room Kathleen takes off her coat and lays it over the back of the kitchen chair. When she leans across the table to turn on the radio her mini skirt tugs tightly around her buttocks

The music plays softly.

Jack stands and as Kathleen straightens up he slips his arm around her waist. She turns toward him starring into his blue eyes like a cat into a fire. His body gently presses her against the table and when he lifts her onto the table her legs wrap around his waist.

Kathleen sighs.

Jack kisses her lips. Her lips are as cold as rain. Jack reaches. There is a faint click and the room slips into darkness. Eddie Money is on the radio with Ronnie Spectre singing the back up vocals. Eddie belts out, "Take me home tonight, I won't let you go till you see the light."

When he withdraws from the kiss, her eyes are shinning  like diamonds in the night.

Jack unfastens the buttons of her dress down to her waist and parts the garment cupping her ******* in his hands. Her arms circle his neck and pull him to her. Her lips move against his ear.

"Don't Jack, please. You mustn't. "Her voice is a roaring whisper in his ear. "*** always ruins everything. I just want a friend."

Jack drops his hands to her thighs and up past her garter belts and slide around to cup her ***. "I'll be your friend," Jack tells her.

Kathleen draws a deep breath and her arms gently tighten around his neck.

He pulls her to the edge of the table and on the radio Ronnie softly  sings," Oh darlin, my darlin , won't you be my be my little baby."
to be continued...
Tanay Sengupta Nov 2018
A destroyed castle by the sea in a full moon night,
The sand bathes under the moon light;
I can hear her whispers,
I can see her cry.

The waves rush to the land,
Trampling on the sand;
As she walks away,
Her mind is a dark canvas.

With a heavy heart and moist eyes,
She soars above the sky;
The sun welcomes her with its warmth,
To a beautiful dawn.

Every day ends with a night
And every night ends with a day.









Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved.
Beyond every storm lies a beautiful tomorrow.
Mara W Kayh Nov 2016
A hollow takes root in my heart,

I watch helpless
as this cavern empties
its once warm elixir,
now cool as coal
on a bed of dying embers.

suddenly,
trepidation surges
upending my
quiet comfort
while voices whisper in an upswell

"this safety on the razor's edge
is an illusion
and must be returned
to the debt ridden sea!"

slowly the mist settles,
revealing the great divide.

I hold my breath
and  go under
Posted this poem without much editing last night. Rewrote it throughout the day, here and there when I had the chance. It kept on asking to be rewritten. Here is what I think is the final version. I originally had written "lost at sea" under notes. I think it still applies.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Once, the summer sun will rise in London
Like the half of the Ge meets the other half.
Like a magic by the Lamp of Aladdin
The love flame hidden in the chest lits out!

Like a blooming rose in a glowing beam of light,
Like a smiling face speaks a gentle word,
Like a beautiful sunrise colour in the first light!

The summer in London will pop and sizzle
We will see a threshold in our land.
The rose for a while is tucked away
Off the winter and is given to the sun
Winter is not forever spring is on the corner
Come back in the sun with the early bird
Before Cinderella takes on the primrose path.

Keeping an eye on a thriller is in the winter’s field
Oozy ozone misty land gets a gingerly seasoning
What on earth will it strike, will it dish out?
Ah, the sun will pop out like a river breeze.

Like a southern song singing on a dream scene.
a smooth fairy dance facing the Moon
a thrill of exposing Stonehenge once and for all
a melodious raindrop in the serene pond
a butterfly dance on the rose
a turned on tall tale of the blue peacock
Like a pure belief in heaven without a pinch of salt!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Monika Layke Jun 27
Poetry is la la land
Where I can stand on grains of sand
And hoverboard the textured shores
Endlessly back for more and more.
Poetry is la la land
Lost from realities command.
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