"loft" poems
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation. My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth. I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis. The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange. Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
She was my lover all night
sensual perfection we held each other tight
We eloped into our anechoic room
Escaping the world I was her groom
I kissed her slender feet and hands
The only thing wrong she was married to another man
Honeymoon in Singapore
It was unplanned but meant to be
I wonder if she still remembers me?
Housewife and mother of two
Sinful synchronicity rendezvous
On vacation when we met
Our lust was hot and so very wet
We kissed and bared our souls
Hard and soft in loves loft we rolled...
Honeymoon in Singapore
His wife was my bride tonight
we both cried in the morning light
We were one in flesh she took off her wedding dress in wanton caress
The only thing wrong she was married to another man!
Honeymoon in Singapore
It was unplanned but meant to be
I wonder if she still remembers me?
True story of a *** lustful night with a pretty married ultra exotic Chinese-Filipina girl in Singapore
Oct. 2009
Singapore is the microcosm of urban perfection
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose;
But then again
I wear a flat cap,
- and stroll through meadows.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
When in Bohemia, she screams about
Her pastures green, but not too loud
So never have I known, that the world listens too
As a comedian, I see she belongs
But never conforms, to the song of
This nomad world, I'm glad she found it too
So run! She wants to run again
You vagabond, you're well-spent
Bohemian tendencies says, “you can't stay long”
“These kinds of commons, you won't ever get along”
Armenian, it’s such a release
Materialistic animosity
The speed of life has no value, like dollar signs
I loved an alien, who dabbled in art
Of all visage, enema of the heart
Wanderer, she's spent so much but there's that bliss in the air
So smile! It's all sorts of worthwhile
To see a world and not fret so much
Bohemian tendencies says, “be spectacular
Before the nebula men steal your fur”
In the Caribbean, you dream a kite
As your taxi, you can't walk all the time
Travel hills of puce-mauve sands, the world in trance
A true deviant, the thinking of
All dreaming thoughts, and loves begot
Tinkerer, what will we do when our brains run dry?
Oh, no! Don't think about the end
To love a life in due pretence
Bohemian tendencies says, “think fair, live now”
“The world is watching with distaste of time in doubt”
As a chameleon, should she go alone?
The world is cold, except for times in colour
Her world in dance, she'll do without me
When in Bohemian, the first I've seen
Of pastel stencils through her happi-
Ness-tled in her loft home of the wind
There she goes! Ain’t she a lovely wing?
I hope she finds a world that sings
Bohemian tendencies says, “to love and to hold
But to let go, for treasures can mold”
There she goes
There she goes
There she goes
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
Nestled high in her loft, she curls into a C,
snuggling against my chilled skin, a
tranquil warmth pulling our bodies
together like a puzzle, the perfect fit.
My arm wraps up around her waist and
she hugs it to her chest, holding on
as if in fear of losing our reality.
A stir in the night immediately awakens me
to ensure her security, both physically
and emotionally.
If all is well, an electrifying kiss
and hopes of sweet dreams. However,
if something is off, maybe
an unusual distance, as I can
usually sense, I offer my whole
self and attention to help
soothe her beautiful mind.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
It's on the bottle,
On the lit cigarette,
The ***** sheets
And sweaty bodies
That are tangled
Within the emotional
Textiles and figures
That dance on the walls
With each passing car.
It's the cats piano
And the manic that follows.
It's the mouth that opens
And the sound that lingers.
The terms and conditions
Which form when entering into
A loft that isn't yours,
But someone else's.
It's chocolates and cigarettes,
Whiskey and
Of course
A solo sunrise.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
*Dust on the ledge, before me, magnified
Smell of gun oil in my nostrils and cramp in the calves
The boredom of the wait intensifies,
Stale air in my loft is full of must
With the failing light I’m grateful it is almost time to stand down.
Through the cross hair sprints a target
An ordinary, everyday, running target,
I know not who this target is,
I know not why it runs across my sights,
But because it is, where it is,
It becomes my enemy.
In a microcosm of time
the loud bang alters things forever.
The buck of the rifle’s recoil,
The immediate sour stench of the shot washes back across my face.
The intoxication felt, in being the one who caresses the trigger.
The satisfaction earned in deservedly making the ****
My target spirals in mid stride,
Contorts in agony
And collapses to the rough tarmac
To lie dishevelled, an insignificant, dishevelled item.
Checking the **** through the telescopic sight
I see the rough stubble of the chin,
The nicotine stain on the fingers,
I see the colour of the eyes are pale blue.
…I know well, it will breathe no more.
With descending twilight
I trudge from my tower perch
With the long ****** rifle slung across my weary shoulders
The crones in the street glare as I walk by
There is a loathing in their aged eyes, It is a tangible thing.
I know they have no knowledge of the target,
But they know, however, that there has been a killing made for the cause.
A cold beer would be nice.
God! how I hate these young punks with purple hair.*
Marshalg
Gaza, Palestine/Mogadishu, Somalia/Kabul, Afghanistan/Tehran, Iran/Cairo, Egypt/Islamabad, Pakistan/Soweto, South Africa/Dier El Zour Province, Syria/Beirut, Lebanon/Baghdad, Iraq/Tripoli, Libya/Pristina, Kosovo/Grozny,Chechen Republic/Veracruz, Mexico/Guatemala City, Guatemala/Sao Paulo, Brazil/Moscow, Russia.
27 November 2012
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
She applied the latest fashion tips to her lips
and put on the newest dress to cover the mess.
I held her as she swayed in front of the mirror.
"I want to get away from here," she cooes in my ear.
It rains ridicule as she tries to be classic cool;
storms that brew from within-
and there's no way of knowing how it'll begin.
She'll say that she's a succubus
but I promise that she's a star and thus
destined to implode but shine beautiful before death.
And I await to be burnt by her deathly breath.
She says that she feels detached,
I read the message that has hatched
from ten eggs thrown from a wrist.
Her lips are mine but all I do is miss.
Her lips aren't mine and all I do is this.
I **** time with new noise and old sights.
She asks if I'll be home tonight
and I wish I could because I'd clearly sway thee,
macabre debutante lover baby.
Her name is Tricia and as I whisper,
her cheeks blush.
"Don't break hearts or mine too much."
I could say the say the same for you, my Josh.
Couldn't we all break broken signs
with the love we reallign?
I tantalize her lullabies with eager hands
and lethargic eyes.
I shoulder her and press her near,
and kiss her from neck to each ear.
She slides hands and traces each crease.
She runs her hands as soft as fleece.
My hands hide in her underwear
and she says,
"How did you remove all of my air?"
She fixes her hands and grabs my base,
I kiss each corner of her face.
Stroking, stoking my desire,
I ask her to lay naked by the fire.
I disrobe and throw each cloth on ground.
Tricia takes off her bra and there is no sound.
Her ******* make me eagersome
and, suddenly, I'm no longer numb .
I tell her that if it doesn't feel right
that we don't have to make love tonight.
She walks and her feet kiss the tile.
She says she wants to stay for a while.
We get lost in blanket and the cloth is soft,
as we move from the fire to a loft.
I tell her that her lips are silk,
her chest plays songs,
and her taste is milk.
Her feet appear behind my head,
and she bites her lip until I feel dead.
I place my hand between her thighs
and listen to each moan and sigh.
I hear her shudder as I break her soil
and I feel my body start to boil,
as I push in and kiss her nose.
She throws back her head
as her mouth can't close.
I wake up and she's next to me.
I kiss her forehead to thank for harmony.
I pick her up and let her bloom in my arms like a flower.
And then I walk her to the shower.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
i know we haven’t talked
i know it’s been a while
i know that it’s kinda my fault
but i still miss you
i miss your fast talking and crazy stories
i miss your dyed hair and red arms
i really, really miss you
i miss our hangouts before class
i miss our planned birthday parties
i miss our ranting about how mean our friends were
i really, really, really miss you
i miss your old car with the cupcake sticker
i miss your loft bed and starbursts from math class
but most of all
i miss us
- a.g.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
I remember lying there in the greenish sleeping bag,
Staring up at the wooden ceiling with all the dust,
The cobwebs sway in slightest amounts of air,
And falling asleep slowly, the loft so full of must.
This sinking sensation comes over me and I can see
A dark shadow in the other room, it moves across the
Doorway and looks as I call out for someone anyone
And in panic I have a total feeling of doom.
But this is just the beginning, I wake up in beads of sweat,
Is this really my life or dream, have I truly woken up yet...?
This story I hear tell of a man across the halls,
Who would walk toward the other side
At half past 12 at night as my friend recalls,
A dark visage, a shadowy veil, came out
When the daylight would subside.
The story as I recall keeps me up sometimes,
He had no eyes, again I repeat, you could see right
Through his eyes!
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
A pigeon loft on the protected building list!
We should add a Fishermans hut they will all be missed.
They are built around the docks hung with nets and pots,
That are repaired and stacked for the next tidal slot.
The smell of fresh fish and tarred rope in the air,
Lots to sell and some spire.
Boats are moved and huts come down,
Progress changes Seaham town.
Replaced by cafés and sailing boats,
No more lobster pots with coloured floats.
Improvements are made so we can move on,
What can we save before it’s all gone?
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 11:47 PM UTC
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the ****** starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the **** on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
3.3k
there was a racing pigeon he was very lost
he had lost direction when in the air was tossed
flying over france he had lost his view
which way he should go he didnt have a clue
he took a little rest at a small cafe
had a little break then back on his way
he flew across the channel and all across the sea
looking for his home where he ought to be
suddenly a crow who was passing bye
saw the little pigeon alone up in the sky
pigeon he told crow he couldnt find his way
how he had got lost on his racing day
dont worry said the crow you just follow me
i will take you home again where you ought to be
after quite some time crow he saw some land
down there just below him a pigeon loft did stand
pigeon he was happy home again once more
happy and content on his home;land shore
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
It's easy when you're an hour away and it's been a few weeks.
It's easy when you aren't brought up in conversation like you're the sting of coffee on the tip of everyone's tongue.
You no longer linger in my dreams, day or night because you haven't got the time anymore.
But it's not easy when you've decided to spend the night and the walk from my bedroom to the loft where your heavy breathing feels like it's suffocating me and all that will ease the discomfort is laying beside you, is just steps away.
It's not easy when the soft whispers of how much you love me bounce around the room, repeating themselves, and when I ask if you hear it too all you say you can hear is the soft hum of the refrigerator.
It's not easy when you grab me by my hands and waltz with me in the hallway, and when I say I can't dance, you say you can't either.
It's not easy when I thought I was finally doing okay, and you just came right back.
I can't blame you, because I love you.
And it's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, memory loss is impossible to the sense of smell:)
ancient perfume box
left somewhere in a classic loft
opened moments in a meet
to an old of an old sweet
memory in a tape on a leash in fear
like a flashback of brief to four years
disclose the good not the sad
never the bad
already made sure to wear
on the days of happy in mere
and now the odor
smells a swift of colors
once in each while
go back a little in miles
a tickle to the nose
something out of Beethoven's ears
souvenirs the precious chandeliers
things the mind randomly chose
several pasts when my pen couldn't write
and the piano served a beam of light
in an ocean
sinking deep with no motion
escapes
from each New Year's mistake
for the lifetime spaces
of the turn from the tackling faces
pink floral promises
of better opposites
fragranced to keep a stay
afraid a glass would slip away
------ravenfeels
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 6:46 PM UTC
I've abandoned a withered state, fumbling
Toward your ecstasy - opening windows to
A brave new world: What a scene to behold!
My heart has calmed consuming life’s tonic -
I'm filled with attraction, alike an alchemist
disposition to discover their personal legend
How far, do thoughts travel? Become aware,
we’ve covered only but a few hours of sleep
The vicissitudes of motion - by faith we move
At luminal speed, ’til visions dawn and we’re
Before a sky clearing moon
Shall we recline in that loft above?
While it be suspended in the fetal position?
Or tarry until morn’ when reflections are reborn
From spurts of spontaneity, to cycles of growth
Apprehending blessings so as to appreciate the
distance of our obstacles
For camaraderie's had since severed –
And authenticity perfidiously pilfered –
And liars became prosecutors of liars
Pregnant with delusions of grandeur
Freedom is the temporal prison for
Revolutionaries wails of conditions
Psalms of sentimentalism provoke
An emotional tug of war, conscripting
another soldier of love – wearing a fig
Leaf of inhibition and foul remains of
passed transgressions...
Where to turn to when you’re cold?
Intransigent echoes give no warmth
I’ve fallen into the (d)earth of sanity
Erstwhile
Fumbling
Toward
Ecstasy
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
Sweet sing-song kisses take time to times forgotten. I’d compare you to semi-sweet chocolate chip cookies. giving me taste of worlds known not to be. I’d make you the sensual honey in the bee hive. so sweet, I can’t share you. You’re like the tall glass of lemonade on sweaty summer days. quenching my every desire. The binding touch of your lips is a prison I will most certainly enjoy. The words that you speak so softly makes my ears tingle. With you, I can float around galaxies. no gravity exists in this rotary revolution. If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to tell you how beautiful you are, how your eyes are more than windows to your soul, they show mine too. The amount of words I could write cannot scratch your diamond hard surface. If I could put poetry in motion, you’d be the ever-so sweet line that melts hearts like butter. I could use these hearts in semi-sweet chocolate chip cookies, with tastes of worlds only known to us. We can fly around galaxies, save a dying world and if there’s time, we could possibly fall in love. You would be my light at the end of a tunnel, casting small pieces of serenity. You could show me all the things I never thought beautiful, having all of there delightful smells and sounds cascade over me, dripping like raindrops. The ways you have shown me. bring me back in time to a history I perceived long lost. This place has sweet sing-song kisses that takes time to times forgotten. It makes me think of you like sensual honey in a bee hive, I’d go searching from flower to flower with weepy eyes of joy, knowing that no matter how far I’ve gone or where I’ve been, I can bring my discovered treasures back home. When I finally return to our loft so high about unforgiving soils, I would swarm you with hugs and kisses. I’d love you so undoubtedly, gods must kneel before its power. So when our final curtain closes, our show meets a lovely lullaby-style ending, we could ask the world, How does being GAY change love?
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
I am from too long grass
that left muted green stains on my knees
From rock gardens overrun with punny yellow snapdragons
which delivered into my care all sorts of fascinating creepy crawlers
I'm from ash grey two by fours
which were all together fun to climb on
but gave nasty splinter when they were mad
I'm from the woodchips and sand
that provided me an elaborate landscape
in which to house my boundless imagination
I'm from the tail of sulfur smoke
that burned white hot through the crisp October Sky
and propelled my rocket to high heaven
or so it seemed to my eger eyes
I am from Thursdays
from green and red rhubarb leaves
and dirt under every fingernail
I'm from hurling half-rotten tomatoes
at the fence accross the ally
and running haphazardly from angry neighbors
I'm from lasagna and jell-o
candels on Christmas eve
and the squirt bottle of water
my only defense against ants
I am from obscure old families
who came over like so many others
and played the ***** in the secret choir loft above the church
I'm from woodwinds and piano strings
and never a silent moment
From reading aloud and reading alone
and from those who did the reading
I'm from the future and the present and the past of a million different stories
And I've always been headed towards
Where I'm from.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
He catches rats for a living
The fine young, jolly young man
Says if you can't get rid of them
Call me, because I can
I'll trap 'em, drown 'em, poison 'em,
Hit 'em on the head
Failing that I'll fire some shot;
Fill 'em up with lead
Bedbugs, fleas, ants, pigeons in the loft
Squirrels being troublesome
Tell me, I'll stop the lot
Then he handed me a business card
Said this is me as well
So if you fancy tasty burgers
Just give me a bell
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
C'mon! Spank me like the naughty little girl I am!
**** ME! **** ME! Stop being a man!
See this? Right here? My tight little hole?
Put it right there, baby! Homosexuality makes you whole!
Put this on your tongue, this seed of pomegranate.
Have a little fun! Let loose your granite!
Ice shavings and ice cream, my sweet little angel,
Come closer, come closer, let me study your angels,
Put your **** in my mouth. I'll **** you off.
*** in my mouth, and let yourself loft.
I'm not one for chains and whips,
But I'm more than up for shafts and tips!
*********** sliding in; so sweet;
Pound me harder with your big, strong meat.
The good'ol in-out in-out ~ The rhythm of life.
The dullness of cream ~ the glint of a knife.
Petrifying pangs of pleasure; cross a prostate ~ pouring,
Sweetly like ~honey~suckle~ Alluring
Breathe, my darling, like music, like a breeze.
Like the blood in my ears; like the wind in the trees.
In the closet, we are allowed but seven minutes.
But that is not enough! By the time its up, I won't be finished.
So for now, my darling, put your lips on my cheek.
And allow me one, little, innocent peak.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
Delicious midnight,
kyanite and citrine crystal bells buzz
& haummm....
Piano notes dance around the room,
some sing silent eurythmy patterns.
An amalgam of pinball gypsy
time travelers colliding--
the timing couldn't have been more perfect
as we rest in the sacred loft
under the metallic ear.
Full Flower Moon
whispers persimmon kisses at 2am.
Here we rest,
a space for the timeless animals,
wounded healers,
soldiers of peace
all seeking a brief respite....
collecting energetic auric heart fire fuel
before we slingshot off in our kaleidoscopic time machines,
candles navigating to the darkest reaches
of outer and inner space.
Here, fear dissolves....
Here, light evolves....
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
i
She isn't thy average
Typical being;
She sit's upon a loft
Only made for a queen.
ii
Her bedstead is mine
We shareth ourn pillow;
I've never been so happy
Her love, pure as a meadow.
iii
A battlement coordinates
Wherein we shalt be protected;
She's spiritually awoken me
Hari and his reyna, ressurected.
iv
I shalt beget her, from her painful sleep
Now she's awoken, her face none more weep's;
Other's shalt Bestir us, from what they can't get
Though we shalt prevail, with love, forgiveness, them to forget.
v
Brigandine silver, shalt dress me in battle
For If beast's cometh close to mine queen, their boot's shalt rattle;
A Gilbertese I wilt carry, known as a shark tooth weapon
Mine Filipino empress is mine all, no faltering, none question's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/Filipino rose......
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
~~
Then it became a blue afternoon
while came to evening
They were the realities of her farewell
Glowed in the dark blue,
what an abstract shadow cast!
Floating Autumn Clouds,
away the red hibiscus grew gray
heard a vague weird tune
Then one morning
Along with a purple flower
red hibiscus saw inset
and the dark chorus of a clay oven
covered her face
away in the loft several gourd hanging
walking,
walking down the way
at the end,
stood beneath a banyan tree
Doors opened in the silence
southern wind followed
to move in the room
randomized the bed cover,
poetry books,
morning news paper
while closed the door
opened the northern windows
The tireless long night
while I left the room,
wandering as the lonely clouds
went through the garden
where the sky came down
wanted to say life
walked on foot
A long sleepless night
saw the stars fairs
heard a vague weird tune
At that April's night,
Caught the sight of
dry dropping leaves
The smell of gardenia
to bring me the new ideas
of poetry
touched the sky
wandering on a raft of clouds
filled with
see you decided to
Then it all went down together
in the dark with blue
anyhow a golden sun bought
a yellow day
and all the red flamboyant trees
singing
while standing beside
the two sides of the road
with the wind in breath,
my dying
And instead of go with them
mingled the ways of life is changed
when the ways rolled along a curve
One January morning's mist
coming off the sun on the dew
I liked to walk barefoot
in the soft sun
with a woolen blanket covering
At noon,
the river flowing
with streaming sound
took flock a small Sampan
toward upstream
uprising mind grew cool
with stream
Today is just going to get lost
beyond the horizon
Feel to see back,
Slowly known nature
grew small with time,
after some times
shadows mingled
with a dark space
While came the night
Footprints remain in the dust
of shadows
after millions of years
to become fossils
In the mind and
In the deep heart of
the Milky Way
Her fade face is still
to come and go
Over time,
in terms of conservation
of energy
Again when I opened the window
At a long sleepless night
Saw the stars fairs
Heard a vague weird tune
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
Where buses still elapse with Time
Down straight Dame Street
The Trees are satellites that allow Children to look up
and let the pavement breath.
Earthen Columns that gate the Boombox Clubhouse tint
Flanked by the Yeoman Guards of Hollister
but forget to pay the same compliment
outside of American Apparel
Where Teenagers dream out fantasies
of lamp-lit, flash-shot
worship-worthy objectification
in a converted loft in the real New York
Their headphones spring streams of bright optimism
as they cradle knitted knee-high socks.
Take the curve round Trinity College
and laugh past the rumours
that it may soon float on Dow Jones
and dodge past the charity advertisers
Strutting over campbags of sleeping homeless
to Lemon Cafe for an overpriced Mocha
Which regardless deflates the sheen-covered hollowness
of green-comfy Starbucks
and learn the subtleties of speaking lightly
to dark-jaceketed Blonde girls
Whose eyes seem to sparkle "Yes, we have sipped
on Veuve Clicquot at reserved tables on Graduation nights
at Cafe En Seine"
-"Where Oscar Wilde might have drank"
- "..Had he been alive."
Then speculate on the best Festivals and whose
Films and Books are over-hyped and under-appreciated
and the after-College Gossip on who broke-up or stayed together
or who hooked up even though they shouldn't have
or regretted it
and who's doing a paid internship and who's moving abroad
and afterwards charmingly tease their superficial attitudes
as meanwhile they secretly take photos
to upload on Instagram
and later you'll fake-admonish them
for how they did this behind your back
while you were staring into the lake
in St. Stephen's Green.
When the moon no longer glazed the water
and had receded its contrast to the farthest grass
and you decide to take the last bus home.
Throughout
Caution Glints The Vowels
and Brands them too.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation. My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth. I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis. The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange. Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC