Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anakaren Davila Jul 2018
I always wondered
who taught you how to love
was it the fierce full moon
while it lighted you through a blackout night?
or the night owl
who sweetly sang you lullabies?


it wasn't until I had you
At the darkest hour of the night
Howling under the moon
And saw your hazel eyes
So vulnerable, yet fearless
That I knew
it was the wild wolves
who gently taught you how to love
acacia Jul 28
You live in a died of obscurities where you have field beneath the strangeness of your morality, yet, still seems to encumber the idea of factual (fractioned) evidence behind blatant vaunting of amour propre that only comes off as discreet in your "jagged, skewed, and isolated" projected matrix when, in fact, it's the most squared and neatly folded linen-textiles. Facile you are. But to me, the angel, it's okay. The angel will consider perpetuating you, even if it is against morals. (Neither cruelty nor kindness will influence the transit of the angel's verdict.) And, perhaps, the delusion of godhead soothes you with an old tear-soaked pillow from many purple skies ago, for you are the only one to break the poison-green chains of your own mind. Self-reflection does not imbrue you (with no follies), for there is no self to reflect on due to—not constant hammerings of your ego—the lack of introspective ability to see your body as fuel to a fire. In conclusion of that one fracture alone shows the vast difference between the bedroom door (Uranus/Saturn) and the bathroom door (Mercury/Mars)—if one were to take it literally, anyway. Almost nothing can not never be a stretch (do I mean stench?) of you, since three negatives means it is a lie; and it is all revolving around the sun-lighted Twin, whilst the other Twin is never going below the twelfth house—forests this idea of shallowness and this idea to never drive to the next town. So, please, end this.
Luminaries; girlhood is a synonym of godhood, celestial, sanctitiy
zebra Aug 2017
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless

we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever

i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
it's located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco
bright is the sun

i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist

a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma

i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up

i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb

i am the dead living
Irish Ditty.. One fine day, middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other.
zebra Aug 2016
on the first date
she confided in me
i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder
i need love and pain strangely mixed together
my elixirs
i suffer reality distoooorrtions
a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions
my soul is black matter
my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire
my *** cries for homicidal cruelty

mold me into a *******
fold me like a two dollar beach chair
the wrong way
tear me to bits
unwind my intestine
eat me like a blood ******* ghoul
make me squirm like an anime victim

i thought oh finally a soul mate
with soul

strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics
hot girl creeping
grimacing at me
meandering conjurations by ****** contortions
stunning impersonations of a Fellini impaling
shes a famous artist
keeps broodish bowels and blood tampons in stainless vitrines
spot lighted
ready for her debut at the
Museum of Modern Art

she blows torrents of snot like ****
her beautiful desperate tongue searching the upper lip
a salty runny viscoses snack
oozy
finding it finally with her frenetic tongue
feeding her gooey ****
with wet fingers
oh yummy yum goo
up her *** too

first smiling then hideous scowls
exposed teeth
posing with a knife
wana see me cut my self bad boy, she taunts
wana see my impersonation of pizza with extra tomato sauce

blood blood *** in the be in the bed
wipe it up with ginger bread

some how she miraculously bulges her eyes out
then performs, ******* lips as if a minnow in a fish jar

pointing to her ***
giving me that **** hurt me twisted look
how about a peanut butter jelly ******* sandwich
with a side of ****** feet
**** and **** on toes
its especially prized this day of the month
as her **** tears like a vampires mouth, a torrent of blood
pouting **** with white red stained thighs that break a mans heart
*** nothing at all she quips
just a little accident
do you like it?
as she glares like an invitation
to play slip and slide bare foot in her puddle of blood

oh she made me *****
my cherry red **** having a nervous breakdown
from apoplectic horror gasms
a dose of heavens hell

i want her
she is voluptuous like a dozen venomous snakes
copulating in warm soup dark water everglades
she is slither theater

curdling screams
then muggling *******
brought on by the first belly stab
falling to her knees
looking up shocked
mouth gaping
eyes wide
grinning
glance steady
holding holding holding
the belly cut
a cacophonous modern dance of agony
followed by rapturous convulsing *******
that went on and on and on

get a bat she implored

she is a real ******* movie star
the Greta Garbo of *****
a dark jewel
a must have
a hell wife
goddess of dread
a ******* *** genius
my best girl ever

fused by desire
we kissed like **** loving catholic priests
in adoration of their savior
young boy *** castrato hitting the high notes


she looked up with desperation
eyes with glittering tears
and said
are you my black knight?
do you know how to hurt a girl
are you my
Vex Mallus
Dr Satan
Marquis De Sick
Nick Nick
Dark Officer
Remus the Werewolf
Dom Sugar Daddy
Pit Bull
Tommy the Tummy Gutter
5 o'clock Shadow
London Cabby
Amputee ******
Uncle Surgery Gone Wrong
King of the Carpathian Vampires
my sweet kissy Kitten

ooohh yes i said
i am all that for loves sake
albeit twisted
i am what you crave.. your no taboo lover boy
your ******* licking foot slave with a razor in hand
a bubble of poison between my legs
your homicidal suicidal cockealiciousness

she said good,
now that we have that settled
can we go out for dinner
ill be dressed in a jiffy
if i can find my dead skirt
of soft white gauze
with that lovely motif of dread red
and my precious toe tag jewelery
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
zebra Sep 2018
have you ever seen beauty in a silky nightmare
have you  ever seen the monster of deprivation in heavens promise?

we speak of private things
we should never talk about
about vailed women
and their terrible secrets
and about myself who remains no longer a secret to myself

somewhere i went off the track
like a  daisy chain saw of honesty
to ensure you knew i was sick
a sick **** with a trick
as if i ate some ****** up hallucinogenic' s
making me spill my obsessions all over you
like some weird perfumed *****
down a swirling rainbow toilet
that turns out to be only jelly and whipped cream
wrapped in colored ribbons on cellophane tampons

i feel like  having *** or going to the toilet in public
while waving my hands up in the air
screaming yahoo i'm free
to blow to kingdom come
the temple of normalcy
you know
the church of rose gardens, cemeteries and deprivations
except of course for the sneers, smears
and self loathing vanilla demons
who wear long see through dresses and crosses
like dash board plastic virgins
with bobbing heads
that make hissing sounds about sin

i confess
i'm attracted to the darkest women
strange *******
and  ******
the stranger the better
who shake their butts
like hoodoo enchanted show girls
doing what they shouldn't do
crying and scrying like cooing moons calling
"drink me like ****** Mary
daddy **** lollypop"
all inky tats and razorblade ouchies

or
you can join those
covered in white collared black as death habits
begging the invisible *** cake in paradise
waiting for mercy and a little ****
that never comes
stuck in an empty
loveless bar of crucifixes that only serves up theology

oh baby
***** dreams do come true
pink ****** ***** gladly widen their haunches
like **** without boots
not caring if they go to hell
playin
like a joy ride of fiddle **** sticks
all freaky tongues and tingling licks
thick saliva multi lingual blow jobs
lathering flashing lipped saliva for the squirt  
with fiery wet hypodermic kisses
that make screams
like creamed upleaping lava and ash
for a million hungry sexed up twisting tongues
in occult ecstasy
fecundating shrouds of steamy clouds
in stained red black lighted rooms
with cherub crowned *****
and their drooling snatches buttered ****

eat quivering
like fowl mouthed piranhas
crying more raw meat please
while you drag your perfect person visage
into hollow caves of despair
cold and lonely

so you forlorn love struck weeping
horney pathetic scarecrow
socially engineered robots
if you want love
like heated buttery waffles with sweet jam
just give your self away like slutty putty
to lust criminals and *** addicted pervs  
until
you feel someone swallow you whole
soul and all
and lick their lips
like your their cherry pie

then look passed your
rats nest of pride and exhaustive approval list
and love them back
like free beer
bang their brains out
be their slave and make them yours
in the mad house of love
of warped shimmering mirrors, straight jackets, and squeezy insertions

and if one day they don't appreciate your imperfect perfection
if they weaponize like critic's
teach them respect
shove it where they breathe
lick your wounds
be brave
throw them in the trash bin of history
and move on

Eros and Venus
take a million forms

look around
your swimming in a giant bowl of broken hearts
hungry mouths, drenched ***** and hard *****

you whimpering little beasts
dress to ****
undress to live

its a movable feast
advice to the lovelorn young
thank you to Lora Lee for the line
" swirling toilet rainbows"
False Poets Oct 2017
does the moon get tired?

~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock,
by the light of the fireflies,
till the angels are dispatched by Nana,
to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~


<•>
while walking the dog I no longer have,
a happenstance glanceable up over the River East,
there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness ,
surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds,
all deferentially bowing, waving,
passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way
perhaps,
to Rebecca's northern London,
of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^,
in any event,
the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,  
all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place,
Master of the Night Sky

We,
the word careless, poets excessive,
sometimes called silly poppies, old men,
left footed, still crazy after many years,
most assuredly poets false all of us,
without a proper prior organized thought train,
outed,
bludgeon blurted,
an inquiry preposterous and strange,
strait directed to the sombre face,
to mister moon himself!

tell me moon, do you ever tire?*

the obeisant clouds shocked
as that face we all uniform know,
unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it,
watched the moon's face turn askew.

He looking down at our rude puzzlement,
with a Most Parisian askance,
a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief,
while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks
filled with airy atmosphere,
then he sighed

so windy winding, was it,
so mountain high and river deep,
that those chubby clouds were blown off course,
from a starless NYC sky
all the way past Victoria Station,
only to stop at Pradip and Bala's
mysterious land of
bolly-dancing India,
on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila,
magic places all!

Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative  
(me) and in a voice
basso beaming and starry sonorous,
befitting its stellar positioning,
squinting to get a closer look at the
who in whom
dare address him in such an emboldened manner!

Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those
who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura,
my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses,
reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission,
only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing,
p o e t r y

head and kneed, bowed and bent,
I confessed
(on y'alls behalf)

we take your luminosity and don't spare you
even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid
to you-up-so-highness,
and we hereby apologize for all the poets
without exception,
especially those moon besotted,
only love poem writing,
vraiment misbegotten scoundrels....

with another sigh equality powerful,
mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica,
all the way to the  US's West Coast,
up to Colorado,
where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light
so perfect for rhyming, kayaking,
and moonlight overthrowing,
once more, the moon taken and begotten,
nightly,
as heaven- freely-granted

yes, I tire
and though  here I am much beloved,
usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed,
seen in every school child's drawing,
in Nasa's calculations,
of my influential gravitational pull,
moving human hearts
to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint,
and while this admirable devotion is most delighting,
would it upset some vast eternal plan,
if but one of you once asked,
you fiddler scribblers
my prior permission,
even by just, a lowly
mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?

yes, I tire,
even though my cycles are variable,
my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance
in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages,
my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence,
unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over
how hot looking she is,
I,  so more personally interesting,
yet you use me as if I were a fixture,
on and off with
a tug of the chain string,
never failing to appear,
even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan,
and worse,
mocked as an amore pizza pie,
do you ever ask how I am doing?

yes, I tire,
of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly,
but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children
who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there,
a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still
watching over them

how oft in life do we presume,
take for granted
grants so extra-ordinary
that we forget to remember
the extra
and see only the ordinary

how oft in life do we assume,
the every day is always every,
until it is not,
only an only
a now and then,
till then,
is no longer a
now*

<>
oh moon, oh moon,
our richest apologies
we hereby tender and surrender,
our arrogance beyond belief,
what can we offer in relief?

silence heard loud and clear,
mr. moon was gone,
a satellite in motion,
so our words burnt up in the atmosphere
unheard

we did not weep
nor huff and puff,
blow those clouds back to us,
for we knew
the extraordinary
would return tomorrow,
we will be ready,
better another day,
to prepare
a lunar composition,
a psalm of hallelujah praise,
for mr. moon
of which
mr moon will never tire,
for filled with the perma-warmth
of our affection
for the one we call mr.moon
False Poets is a collective of different poets who write here, in a single voice,
hence the confusing interchangeable switching of the pronouns.    sorry bout that.


^ HP - give them back the claimed  V name!
Alexander Sep 2018
Everything in place,
A single book out
Made my world cave.
I tried to reason with my mind
But it always struggled to be right.
So I pushed my finger nails
Into  the bed of my palms
And ten,
little,
****** half- moons
Lighted my way home.
I wrote this about the fear of not being perfect.
Bryce Jul 2018
Amid the verbose magicians
Seeking kinships
And sailing deep into their arduous mists
Watching them peddle their afternoon
To a handful of smiling children holding their breath
Amazed in gentle body trick

The older men of age
Leaning deep into their creased chins
Stroking the grizzled fat
Blinding light of soul
Staring down the barrel of life
Striking the enemy one last time
And yet smiling
sober,
Met of match,
taking care of their kids.

Then there's the cold-clocked dudes
On the phone pushing buttons
In a button-up raglan
Lost indistinct
the promised land
The golden shores swept away by
inconvenient time
Left shopping in an auto mall
"Won't you look at the time?"
7.07 APR
Boy what a steal!
And Steve maddened and screamed
As the lines blurred instinctual between opposing teams
And the oven dinged a great alabaster slant
Leaning towards the new millenitants

Rise up!
***** the wheel
Turn the axel from pistons
To alkaline metal
And doubt with great monumental
Quality
That the machine borders all
And we cannot retreat

And while I sift bouyantly between the waves
Searching the puzzle piece within the molecules
Reconnecting with the things
And representing
dreams on a 66 hertz screen
I call rather failing
Towards a black rocked shore
Towards the sweet Dorigen
Of my dreams
Finding an integral of time
And space

And calculating the intangible *****
Of my desmise
With the imaginary constiutent
Of that lighted mind.
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
War paint I always found unnecessary:
Gloss for manicured lipstick commercial princesses
Not of my kind.

And though I walk with shield, I am without armour:
Ramparts mere cheekbones,
Bare skin impressionable as snow.

Boot-print,
The mark I hated. My characters:
Frail tree rings, exposed to the chill night air.

Gold inlay frozen solid.
The fairly bound dream factory
Lies purple with melancholy.



It’s the world’s bruise. It colours sudden,
Shadowing the other side of the room
Where it paused, rare moth

Lighted upon my dark reflection,
A Mona Lisa dressed in black
And reminiscent of bobby sox.

Beauty without fanfare.
Stuff of woods: we do not glitter.
We don’t call out.

Our tongues are both dumbstruck bells.
Shy rabbits, we fold within ourselves
And sequester our secret pulp.
Dumbstruck is a poem featured in my first collection of poetry, "Blood for Honey", available at Lulu.com and Amazon.
Lora Lee Mar 2
just when the dust
settles round my lust
and the thud
of despair hits bottom
just as I flail
and swim in this
blood-caked,
         soulless earth
soup of the lost
abyss of unbirth  
you plunge my wilderness
charred with remains
from hellfire
and we breathe
                 halos  
our bones lighted sticks,
colors rising in
angel arcs

Your rib cage
is open
for my tremulous offering
as my lips imprint
a crimson O
upon the earthquake
of your chest
I am still down with the
                           earthworms
wrist **** sopped
                    by soil
arteries, bashed
split to the root
by verbal hurts
in a sliding psyche of oil

yet here you are
suturing wounds
with whiplash kisses
saltlick moans in my throat
You wrap me in gauze
through the imprint of your eyes
turn my cuts
into fresh brook
gaze upon my
deepest darkness
like goddess worship shrine

my **** is a funnel
for your whipped light
sacrifice ****** prayer
skinned to the core
all layers exposed
your lips slick
with the drip
of my bliss,
deep juice of
freshly-caught
jungle hum
all is bared
we stop at nothing
paint our tongues
with tears
adorn the face of death
with ripe guava
and, as you scream
my name into
a blown glass whisper
my soft fruit
falls into
the heat of
          your palm

somewhere
in distance
a
        moon
explodes
Explicit
zebra Mar 2018
my step mom comes over to my office intermittently
turns on the computer and opens the emails
in the dark of night
making all cheery bright and lighted for my mourning arrival

so kind of her
making sure things are ready to go
she always the epitome of efficiency

did i mention
she's been dead now for over 20 years

did i mention we are lovers
sadly never in the flesh
always an unspoken ache during the living years
when we where near
a relentless unrequited love still burning
like fire licks and scorching lips
trussed thighs spread wide
twisting swarms of wet tongues lapping
in each others bellies
and lungs
her feet in my mouth

so now free from others
the dead do what they **** well please
and on the slippery side of life
so do i
its about time!

did i mention her soft kisses
her dancimg *******
and soft round belly

didn't mean to get carried away again
or
the scent of her **** that veiled wet jewel
as she walked passed me
demon smiling innocence
sending me into a swoon
as she floated across a foot worn floor
with her beautiful pink angular toe
**** ticklers

am i repeating myself?

how sad i am that i never got on my knees
to brush my lips against her drool
to see her widen her haunches
inviting me; glaring madness
out the sides of her eyes

to work my way up
to her lurid dark fruit
hot ****  butter

your dead mom
but your here now
turning on the computer
and watching **** with me
dressed up for a hot blood
star spangled glitter ****
staring into my soul like only the dead can
taking positions the living could never imagine
oh my pretzel girl

we kiss reckless raw naked
all furious *** toys smushing raw mouths
and eat each other like hot apple bend over

yes mom so dark the things we do
that the living dare not ever think
blood suckers
yes my beloved
even die for each other sweetly
over and over again
lat minute kisses for the thin air road

dead and dead
in love in bed

that's how the breathless ****
all tender kisses
till hell breaks lose
till bloods **** pulse eschews
till all is lucid comatose ****
we enter heaven
stooping to hell for pleasures sake
letting go to
******'s purge
like waves from the cities of our guts
the sacred sin of the flesh

no taboos for ******* ghouls

and you once again turn hollow
a transparency
falling through my embrace like dust

will you come back tomorrow
turn on the computer
or better yet
maybe visit in a night dream of tangled caresses?

or
a day haunt
dancing leg show
in a smooth white pearl bath tub
stained with spider webs of coos
wild naked mouth
brooding slippery dark *******
and feral tongued kisses
red as wild cherry  blood
mouth to **** to **** to *** to *****
to cries and silver whispers
to be possessed?

sometimes love
never dies.
Stephen E Yocum Dec 2014
The day crept by, we all held our breaths.
Tip Toeing on egg shells,  
Doing our collective best.
Holding to forced hollow,
politeness and meaningless small chat.

Avoiding the family elephant in the room,
Our painful history of misdeeds and misuse.

The tree was lighted, the room gaily decorated with
all the colorful Christmas props of our childhood.
Mom cooked her best guess of each of our,
once adolescent favorite foods. My two sisters,
my older and younger brother and me too.

And Dad bit his tongue and tried to stay hushed,
as Mom had pleaded for him to do.

Half way through dinner and a few Hot Buttered Rums,
The small talk turned serious, and just like that, we were
all truly back home again.

Grown adults quickly reduced to sniveling petty children
sitting at their domineering curl Father's dinner table.

Old wounds opened and bleed upon Mom's best-treasured
table cloth. Food grew cold for lack of interest, eyes flared
and oaths of profanity mingled with cheery Holiday Music
on the stereo.  Belligerence ensued and our Father raged
as he verbally listed his disappointments at our many failings.  

Judy's new husband took a swing at Jason and the women
protesting their loutish behavior, separated them.

Earl and his small clan fled out the door and drove
straight back to Emeryville with not one word,
Of goodbye having been uttered.
Even leaving the kids presents behind.

In tears, Sandy ran back up to her old room and discovered,
That it had been turned into an "Exercise Parlor and Sewing
Den." All her things gone to the Goodwill or garbage bin.

Dad went to the cupboard and got his bottle of Scotch
and the rest of us all quickly adjourned.

Mom started to cry and never stopped.

The Dog Days of Christmas had commenced,
And all the Kings horses and all the Kings men
could never put our Castle back together again.

I donned my helmet, swung a leg over my Hog
and headed for the mountains, leaving Christmas
in my rear-view mirror.  "Peace on Earth and
Good Will Towards Men", don't work for everybody
friend. Hopefully, maybe next year we'll try it again.
Not everyone has the good fortune to rejoice
in the happiness of home and hearth. We are all
different, come from varied backgrounds and
family situations. A conversation with a friend
was the seed of this write. Some are not as
lucky as others. And I think we can all relate.
Perhaps the flip side of what we imagine and
want it to be. . . Family stuff is complicated.
Repost 2013
Prologue: The Devil and the Nymphet

There she ran to the moon lighted alleyway.
Her heart beat fast, blood pressure hyperventilated.
She might be a runaway from somewhere else.
This nymphet seemed to be lost in thoughts.
There by the lamp post stood a coffee shop.
Inside, a silhouette sitting figure awaits.
Every sip dictated the nearing of the nymph.

Suddenly, the door's chimes sang like their head's insanity.
A lost soul meeting a devil of liberty!
Pier Cafe at Schicks st.
Prologue: The Devil and the Nymph

A Poem Series
zebra Oct 2017
there we where
me and my girl
Vavavavoom
speeding on a curving dark road

she
silky luscious
falling all over me
like a chinchilla fur

it was a menacing and stormy night
we pulled up
to the dimly neon lighted
Rag **** Paradise Motel
and adjacent diner
the Creepy Pasta Restaurant
that looked like a blinking furnace
where reality doesn't care what happens
and hemorrhages chaos
like a flushing toilet
at the end of the line

a location
that only exists for a few minutes
planted to create an illusion
to nourish self deception
a crime without a criminal
a continuity of the nothing
yet in it
an inevitable unfolding of consequences
like a scream scattered throughout the cosmos
a good place to curl up for the night
a point of departure on a lumpy rolling bed
as we vanished beneath the sheets
Inspired Jean Baudrillard
zebra Jun 15
hot and close
i **** the moon
in her dusted bell of caves
and notched noir crotch

she got red like a thirsty knife
in flames oval then thin
till the blood candied
into sugar fruit
and I drew strength from her dreams
those teaming gutters of the sun

***** boys with **** and thick with makeup
watched startled
through a winking diorama
of jumbling ***** and kicking feet
in shades of lunar water

oh this compulsive dream
me touching myself
kissing her golden apple ****
tabernacle of liquid jewels
curled split
jam slammed

this haunting mirage of desire
desire; born from having nothing

holding her face
tongue to tears
a lighted loon of sadness
cascades through fingers like bone dust
and i fall into myself

molasse's seep and gather
in a stone sea of wet music

vapor of darkness
mad nag hunger growls
meet me now!
riley minteer Nov 18
"oh how remarkable",
my front porch says
a welcoming mat,
a porcelain frog,
and a marble foyer

...and i've never been to scandinavian lands
frostbitten icing lines northernmost shores
the cold is brooding,
love will prevail
of course it will always-
but it's just that i choose to employ...
an easy retirement here could suffice

don't interject my utopian dream
a life in a land that i equated to peace
no child, this is not a delusional fleeting
bright-lighted is the sky,
clouds grace high peaks

oh how remarkable
is every lovebird,
oh how remarkable
it is to me...
-riley minteer
“oh how remarkable”
(from “seeds of change”)
Monday, November 18, 2019
BJ Donovan Jan 25
If I could set myself on fire
and with a lighted heart tell
about the strangers swallowed
in wars and earth's endless
disasters. Thousands dead and
missing and where's the dog?
If I could set my life aflame
and shed light and warmth on
this place and strangers then I
would strike that match and die.
Quang Duc, a Buddhist monk, burns himself to death on a Saigon street June 11, 1963 to protest alleged persecution of Buddhists by the South Vietnamese government.
Medusa Oct 2018
"She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

~Shakespeare, from 'Macbeth'
leila Feb 6
tonight I flied in the sky
met the moon
talked to stars
laid on clouds
picked one star
and held in my hand
lighted my way.
Michelle Adams Aug 2017
Guarded by darkness, it's too late,
The dungeon doors have closed.
The lights of heaven faded from your existence.
The sound of rattling chains,
Echoes off four chambers.
Lingering on your tongue,
Metallic lust from ankle cuffs.
You beg your veins to open up, and
swallow the poison you need so much.
To feel the indulging touch, that crippling crutch, you need to feel so much.
Crawl through your path of reason
Lighted with dim red lights, lined with zombies too lethargic to fight.
You stand, but you're too weak to stride,
So you slide by the hands that bite you.
They guide you down your hall of lesion,
Until you reach your crimson prison.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 16
*** in the morning
Death in the afternoon
And it was dark

Milling about stacks
Of paperbacks and out of focus snapshots
Some of her in the shower

But pay heed
She's an iceberg
Warm her up on a bed of nails

Until she's a plaintive waterfall
And then tie her to the scaffolding
Of a clean well lighted place

What remains out of sight
Through omission
Through silence

Through childlike syntax
Shall float to the surface
In its own due time
To the master of the Iceberg Theory, Ernest Hemingway
Jy May 17
Lived in an upside down world
Can't ascent up to where you are
An unreachable one,
Unobtainable man
You and I are  unlike,
An ant to an eagle
Jungle to a city
Frog to a prince
South to north
Far from princesses story
Nothing I am to you
Unfamiliar, perhaps unknown
Your valuable than diamonds
Needed than dollars
Wanted than gold
Rarer than platinum
Expensive than jade
Colorful than the fireworks
You lighted up the darkness
Broke down the silent nights
And awakened my sleeping heart
But what's the use then?
I am naught to you
#pain
With heavy ****** the bell announced -
Come one! Come all to tea!
With lighted feet the children pounced -
and came to tea with me!
John McCove Nov 2018
I'm holding your hand
Everything's blurred
Calm me down again
I'm so keen on
Your ridiculous hat

Let's not hide it
Let's not play hide-and-seek
Should we trust moviegoers
They've built us into the matrix
Lanterns lighted-up
I'm holding your hand

The stars are falling down
Into my 'no-single-dime' pockets
Giving me some hope
My freezing cold knees
You're happy
Sheet to the wind
Yeah, there's something
Between you and me...
Next page