"lunge" poems
Through the naked crest of your back
The dips above your clavicles
And the way I lunge at your jaw.
Through pale hands and swollen lips
And heavy eyes
It echoes
Resonates through thin air
And seeps into the cracks of the walls
The way it collides with your skin
And buries through the flesh
That moment, awakening, I got through
You know now how much I love you
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
I will regret this in the morning
but I will do it anyway
my impulsivity often overpowers my conscience
yet I am almost always fully aware
of the decisions I make
and their consequences
I am not exactly mentally stable
but I am sane enough
to know right from wrong
yesterday from today
love from lust
although sometimes I mix them up
I have a tendency to lunge at any pair of arms that open for me
my mind and body often disagree
my body saying yes to eager hands
my mind saying no
constantly looking towards my heart
thinking how stupid one must be
to fall repeatedly
get hurt every single time
and still manage to do the same
over
and over
again
I wonder
how many times I will have to hit the ground
in order to learn to stop falling face first?
I often say things
that should be left unsaid
I often do things
that should not be done
sleep in beds unfamiliar
make believe love to strangers
get to know people who will not remember me tomorrow
I am gone as quickly as the hangover
I can be washed off the tongue
just as quickly as the liquor
I often believe I am capable of inciting change
I kiss temporary lips with permanence
hoping that I can train them to stay
I love temporary people with permanence
hoping that I can train them not to leave
and when they do
I claim to have seen it coming
I am incapable of forgetting
a scrapbook memory of skin and heartbeat
of touch and moments
I know not to look directly into eyes
for they can be blinding
and I still
do it anyway
I know of the risks that shouldn't be taken
well aware of their consequences
and I still
take them anyway
you could say
it is my own fault
for the way that things continue to turn out
but I can make no promise of apology
instead
I will live momentarily
**** up intentionally
love recklessly
fall unguarded
break enough times to learn how to put myself back together
crash into concrete enough times to learn how to shift a crooked smile
into something worth seeing
I have been told that a life lived in fear
is hardly a life lived at all
so I intend to live every second
like it is the last one I will have
I will write each night as it happens
narrate my own stories
and hope they turn out okay
I will regret this in the morning
but I will do it anyway.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
Did you know that if you don't stretch in the correct way, you might end up thwarting the entire purpose of your workout and suffer unwanted injuries?
Doing pre-workout stretches thoroughly will determine whether you are benefiting from your workout or whether it's worsening your muscle tear. Here are the major stretching crimes that you should never commit.
Not doing a proper warm-up
According to gym instructors worldwide, this is the most commonly committed crimes in any gym. A warm-up is a must before any kind of workout — cardio or weights — and must ideally last at least 12-15 minutes.
Assuming that stretching is a warm-up
Stretching and warming up is not the same. You need to warm up first, before you are ready to stretch. A slow jog or brisk walking on the treadmill is a good warm-up.
Rushing through your stretching exercises
Stretching should be for the entire body. You cannot skip any parts. Involve stretches that work your lower back, shoulders, calves, stomach, quads etc. You should not move from one stretch to the other in very quick succession because that may cause untoward injuries. Try to hold each stretch for 20 seconds. When you breathe deeply and hold the stretch, your muscles get trained to tolerate the maximum that your limbs can go to.
Giving stretching a skip after a workout
You have done an hour of strenuous exercise and now you just want to rush out of the gym; that is a huge mistake. Spend some time bending and stretching after your sweat session. Then, do a cool down before you leave the gym.
Not stretching every day
You need to be your flexible best always and that can only happen if you stretch daily, even on the days that you aren't gymming. This ensures that your gym days are more fruitful and that you make the most of them.
Not breathing properly
Breathing right is a very important aspect of stretching. Breathe naturally while you inhale through your nose, expand your rib cage and upper abdomen as you fill in your lungs. When exhaling, breathe out through your mouth, preferably making an audible sound. This relaxes you. While stretching, you need to breathe out when you are exerting, that is, when you are actually contracting your muscles.
Doing static stretches
Never stand still and do stretches that work only one muscle. You should rather do stretches that work a group of muscles — like a lunge that stretches your upper hamstring muscle, your ankles and also your glutes.
Ignoring pain while stretching
When you are in the middle of a stretch and you feel pain, stop immediately and consult an expert. Your stretch should make you feel a gentle pull only, not immense pain. If you are hurting, you are doing it wrong. Rest a few days and then go back to working out under a qualified trainer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
Arriving at the entrance of the ancient temple the white rabbit covered his ears. Shattering glass from a high-pitched vibration he leaped away from a falling chandelier.
“I must find our beloved Harvest Moon."
The white rabbit said to himself. With stern affirmation, a dark fog churned then into the vortex he was consumed.
He stopped at the entrance of the temple courtyard; everyone was frozen like statues.
"What has she done to all of you?"
He cried, then pulled out a magic rune deflecting a hail of daggers. The white rabbit looked up at a floating cocoon and saw the shadow witch hovering over the temple roof. Pale skin and veins glowing red, she was draped in a black tattered robe. With a sinister look and a Crown of Fire on her head the shadow witch spoke.
“White rabbit, white rabbit the Harvest Moon is dead!"
The white rabbit took leaped back then cried out.
"This cannot be so!"
Then he pulled from his bag a magic scroll and read the words written in gold.
"I ask the wind to protect me from this dark magic despair"
Then he conjured a circle of trees in a water globe. The witch streaked across the air and swung around her jet-black hair. Then she commanded an infestation of spiders to climb inside the trees and explode. Barricading himself inside a magic bubble he was protected from the onslaught of shrapnel. The white rabbit grabbed the water globe, leaped into the air, and disappeared in a puff of amber smoke. The shadow witch pulled out a blood-red pearl and murmured an incantation.
"Clever white rabbit, I shall find you in the invisible world"
The white rabbit snapped his fingers then magically appeared behind her. He snatched off the Crown of Fire from her head then whispered the following words.
"How dare you use dark magic on me!"
She jumped in fear spinning around, then summoned a devil hound. The white rabbit raised the water globe and merged it with the crown. A shock wave of light pulsated in the air then the witch menacingly yelled.
“Take him down!”
The white rabbit saw in his peripheral view the hound lunge to attack. But he was too cunning for this, with a symbolic wave and a vigorous slash the hound was severed in two.
The shadow witch glared, then cried out.
“We shall meet again white rabbit; I promise you I'll be back!”
Then she summoned a fiery cauldron and vanished with a blinding flash.
The white rabbit ran inside the temple and approached the Harvest Moon. He stared with eyes full of tears and sorrow at a beautiful princess with hair long and blue. A beautiful creature he so desired, the love he had for her was true. He opened his bag and pulled out the globe which was now encased with the Crown of Fire.
"I brought you a gift from the shadow witch"
Then he smashed the globe and with a flash of light, the Crown of Fire was finally free. The white rabbit held the princess and spoke.
"I have always served you because I love you and now, I command you to come back to life!"
Then he placed the Crown of Fire on her head igniting a ring of light. The white rabbit looked down to see the Harvest Moon Princess opening both of her eyes.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Tendrils of Alien Anime Lunge
Wide Eyed Innocent gets plunged
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
god gloats upon Her stunning flesh. Upon
the rechings of Her green body among
unseen things, things obscene (Whose fingers young
the caving ages curiously con)
—but the lunge of Her hunger softly flung
over the gasping shores
leaves his smile wan,
and his blood stopped hears in the frail anon
the shovings and the lovings of Her tongue.
god Is The Sea. All terrors of his being
quake before this its hideous Work most old
Whose battening gesture prophecies a freeing
of ghostly chaos
in this dangerous night
through moaned space god worships God—
(behold!
where chaste stars writhe captured in brightening fright)
6.8k
Lay rest your flashing glaze of wishes
Down received for a moment
Breathy bow lifts to hold
and waver across few measures
Sienna and topaz
Sienna and topaz
Singe and simmer
Shine and glimmer against
All the thoughts born and dead
What makes you eager to rise
If it is not sensing gone away stories
or nursing the aches that lunge through anywhere else but here
While you replay and delay all creation
the blossoming goes unseen
She, the maiden is reigning
Une palais à remplir
Une palais à remplir
where she is her own queen
Her oceans made of no time channel open mouths
flooding its spill
She waded into The archer
Downed in his own vessel he mistook himself the pilot of
He, marooned in the surrender of damp and fertile places
where in Death he is still recovering
Soldiering and sullen
Soldiering and sullen
He is choking, and can not stop to see or savor the blossoms rising from his own till
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 9:03 PM UTC
I will not drop my drapes it is dark outside,
TV will wait, for
body weight is all I, or any of us, ever have to move,
whether one wins or lose your ...groove,
the next twenty minutes, too late tonight,
I will run on the spot
I will pushup, I will run on the spot again,
I will pull back
No...no heart attack
I will run, once one the more, on the spot, you getting bored?
I will do a windmill slide, while staying in the house,
I will run with my knees one at a time to my chest,
I will do a single Leg Hip Raise a whole bunch of times
I will have my legs become like pistons,
******* off the the neighbour downstairs,
Then reversing the urge, I mean Lunge, I will kick my toes to my hands
Then run some more, maybe my neighbour will be pounding on my door
Take a break for as many seconds as I want to grow old (ninety is nice)
Then repeat and hope that supper,
does not want a curtain call
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
I finally accelerate and you sense it, pulling back before I can try to satisfy this thirst
The plotting smile in your dark eyes is mischievously magnetic and I lunge forward to steal one last kiss
But one more is never enough, with you
And goodbyes are so hard even when our hello is still so fresh.
How am I expected to pass your heart over to summer?
Your lips, your hands, your salt? Who am I to just let them go?
We are two bodies, becoming one, irrespective of the distance between us
If I am, then we are. If we are, then I'm okay.
Mar 18, 2022
Mar 18, 2022 at 6:43 AM UTC
Go to sleep—though of course you will not—
to tideless waves thundering slantwise against
strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray
dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind,
scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady
car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls’ cries in a wind-gust
broken by the wind; calculating wings set above
the field of waves breaking.
Go to sleep to the lunge between foam-crests,
refuse churned in the recoil. Food! Food!
Offal! Offal! that holds them in the air, wave-white
for the one purpose, feather upon feather, the wild
chill in their eyes, the hoarseness in their voices—
sleep, sleep . . .
Gentlefooted crowds are treading out your lullaby.
Their arms nudge, they brush shoulders,
hitch this way then that, mass and surge at the crossings—
lullaby, lullaby! The wild-fowl police whistles,
the enraged roar of the traffic, machine shrieks:
it is all to put you to sleep,
to soften your limbs in relaxed postures,
and that your head slip sidewise, and your hair loosen
and fall over your eyes and over your mouth,
brushing your lips wistfully that you may dream,
sleep and dream—
A black fungus springs out about the lonely church doors—
sleep, sleep. The Night, coming down upon
the wet boulevard, would start you awake with his
message, to have in at your window. Pay no
heed to him. He storms at your sill with
cooings, with gesticulations, curses!
You will not let him in. He would keep you from sleeping.
He would have you sit under your desk lamp
brooding, pondering; he would have you
slide out the drawer, take up the ornamented dagger
and handle it. It is late, it is nineteen-nineteen—
go to sleep, his cries are a lullaby;
his jabbering is a sleep-well-my-baby; he is
a crackbrained messenger.
The maid waking you in the morning
when you are up and dressing,
the rustle of your clothes as you raise them—
it is the same tune.
At table the cold, greeninsh, split grapefruit, its juice
on the tongue, the clink of the spoon in
your coffee, the toast odors say it over and over.
The open street-door lets in the breath of
the morning wind from over the lake.
The bus coming to a halt grinds from its sullen brakes—
lullaby, lullaby. The crackle of a newspaper,
the movement of the troubled coat beside you—
sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep . . .
It is the sting of snow, the burning liquor of
the moonlight, the rush of rain in the gutters packed
with dead leaves: go to sleep, go to sleep.
And the night passes—and never passes—
4k
Crossing the field
One foot after the other,
Grass under my feet,
Clay staining my skin red
With each heavy step.
I drag along,
Instead of flying past like I once did.
My each step is slow and hesitant,
Instant of a leap and a lunge
Towards whatever the future may hold.
And grasshoppers
And little moths and fireflies
Float and hop around me,
As the sun settles behind the Earth,
And the moon rises into the sky.
The grass is green, but yellowing,
And leaves decay at my feet.
Spirals of red and orange leaves
Spin around me a thousand times,
And the falling stars caress
My moonlit skin.
I am the night time,
And I don't want to be.
I am when the wolves and coyotes sing mournful songs,
I am when the foxes and cats come out to hunt.
I am the night time,
And I creep across golden fields
As slowly as the gold fades to gray,
Where the sky touches the earth.
And I want to be warmed by the sunlight,
But I am shivering and cold,
Within my shadow realm.
I sit within the tall grasses,
Amongst the trees that sway in
The harsh winter winds.
I feed off moon flowers and snapdragons,
Yearning to find a daffodil for myself.
And the warmth of the sun calls me home,
But I want to be bask in the light,
Instead I blow away,
And I disappear.
And as I prance and spin in the evening,
Casting rays of blue twilight across the landscape,
My brown eyes catch your blue,
And while I believe you can't see me,
I hope to the moon and back that you do.
I am the spirit of the night time,
But your eyes are like the day's sky,
And I could stare into your sunlight lined iris's
For eternity upon eternity.
And with fluttering wings,
I painted you stars in the royal violet and navy sky,
I prayed that you'd make me yours,
But I was impatient
And you fell along with me
Into the realm where
Landscape meets starscape,
And the blues of the night
Met the greens of the day,
And I'll love you forever
Where the sky touches the earth.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
"It's just one cut,"
said the sharp lady doctor before language
melted off her clipboard and the operating lamps
grew huge and spilled their bright innards into my eyes.
I lay on the cold tiled floor of the museum.
One monstrous cut -- the white shark suspended
above in a last hungry lunge yawns, belly open.
Around me what a wide-eyed fisherman pulled out:
old tires, whale-oil lamps, Damien Hirst, bones upon bones.
Damien sits on a tire, bored as hell. See the jagged edges,
he says, they pulled him into our cold afterlife
and cut while he suffocated, explosive oxygen flooding
his lungs from the wrong direction.
Later, the doctors showed me
what had for so long kicked and screamed to be out.
Liver-colored, swollen, wrapped in catgut, it was not
as expected. Others had promised ground seaglass,
poppyseed freckles, huge lungs like fibrous balloons
for flying or spouting poetry nonstop in day-long stretches.
Where were my eyes?
It was supposed to have my eyes.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 7:34 PM UTC
The many martyrs of boredom
make haste to their next death,
They nestle in their noodles
Over bowls of ramen
Ramming their frontal lobes in their palms,
In hazy rooms, staring in the hearts of tinted corridors
Dim lit lamps stand courageous,
Smoking kettles,
alarms the listener to lunge merrily
to,
his lazy lagoon
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
He asked me how I liked it today--
from the back or front?
He wanted to know why--
too small or didn't last?
He said he knew, so I shouldn't lie to him--
as if I was less than him.
What's a ****** to do
when the rumors peg her as a ****
She can't ignore the whispers,
or the blatant accusations:
*Now we all know how ***** she really is.*
It's been twenty-four hours,
and already the **** is coming
with dogs, chained, in their heels,
makeup streaked and lipstick smudged.
He releases the *******
But they don't wait for the cover of night to bite,
no, they lunge at noon in the crowded hallways
teeth of words, power of the sideways glance,
venom of whispers, bullets of pointed fingers
He needs a new name for the list,
his quota is short--
because when a girl becomes single,
she is an updated item on the auction:
Name: Lilith
experience: 1 guy(s)
skills:
hands: 4/10
tongue: 6/10
on top: 3/10
bottom: 7/10
volume: loud
Her reputation is spoiled--
the way her friends talk to her,
the invites she gets to hang out,
the fact that no one wants to talk to a ****
Welcome, little ******
to the Virtue Laments.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
The scariest thing is,
we're ready to evolve.
Imagine how many of our horrors we could solve.
Even darker still,
they don't want us to unite.
But after all, what's been solved with all these wars we fight
And money is of course...
the most important thing of all.
Yet funny as it sounds...it really means nothing at all
We're brothers and we're sisters,
under a common sun.
These lines we've scrawled on maps of ours...shattered instead of one.
That's the truest problem,
the final shackle yet to break.
The futures beams with brightness...but we've a final leap to take.
We must release the past,
We'll need both hands to lunge.
Balancing precipitously before the plunge,
Our consciousness transcending,
silence ringing in our ears.
The internal glow of love without the salty taste of tears.
We're worthy and we're ready,
and some of us awake.
Enlightenment expanding, like a ripple on a lake.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
I can't imagine how this looks
Me, face of clay
Silent windchime mouth
Aquariam glass eyeballs
Snowglobe life
Swimming in glitter
Tsunami at your hands
Plastic toes stuck
Until I lunge
Eyes flare heat
Stove top face
Coiled brain
Orange is the color I saw in you
Finger painted pianos
Mole rat grass
You took my monocle
Smashed glass in the garden
Next to tulip bulbs
That will grow in as your teeth
Fingers on mice
Like your genes
Granola girls take paths
I am glued, plastic feet
You walk around me
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
A pretty new dress
My pretty blue dress
I laugh, she smiles
I tease, she plays
“Let’s wrestle” she says
And jumps onto me
I scream, I struggle
Relentless, she seems
Wrists pinned above my head
My waste suppressed to the ground
I wriggle out, I push her off
She throws me down
No, no please no
As I climb away
I strive for distance
I battle for safety
My best friend reaches for a pencil
As she collapses over me, and jabs it inside
Her hand grabs for my dress, my pretty blue dress
And yanks it, burning my skin with its new thread
Crying out, I hit her
She laughs, she smiles
I scream for help, calling to her father
With no response
Breaking free, I lunge for the door
Only to trip, falling to the floor
Straddled, she laughs
She’s winning this match
My buttons tear, uncovering my *******
My camera in her hand
“Let’s show your boyfriend”
She toys
Suffocating under her obesity
I haven’t the air to scream
Tears leak from my eyes
Lips quiver in shame
Bored, she bounces, she thrusts
Nearly cracking my hips
My ribs crunch, my guts ache
And I gasp for air
My best friend grabs a marker
She writes on my face
As she bounces
She writes on my face
Asthma consumes me
As I struggle for consciousness
My mind fuzzes, and vision darkens
I think to myself, “This is how I end”
I never wore my blue dress again
I never told of what she did
I never spoke to her again
I never
I never
I never
My best friend.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
Rays set to illuminate her left
Making her form a black silhouette
As she twirls with ribbons in her hair
The sun gives her gold curls a halo
Giving her sea eyes more life to drown you
She turns and flashes you a last smile
Night wind blows her redolence toward you
Wrapping you in living desire
As she dances into the darkness
The moon scoffs at your loss your impulse
Passion to rage as you’ve lost her again
You storm out of the moons mocking light
Laughter sets way to the teasing sun
Seething with angst, desire for dusk
Racing to the cliff waiting for her
The sun setting behind the sea line
Then fireflies light your bitter green eyes
As they linger on the clear cold sky
Waves jump to kiss the maiden goodnight
Blushing the azure sky fire red
Out of the sun she appears dancing
She smiles, laughs and winds around you
Lingering behind you taunting you
Tying, lashing your stomach in knots
Sun reflects her alabaster skin
Fair with alive eyes and honey curls
Alluring, will crushing temptation
The sun is fading below the sea
Turning seizing her delicate arms
Only to have her slip through in fear
The waves reach wash away the left light
Cast an abhor glance atop bare skin
As she danced into the darkness
Fireflies shed more light than the sun
Cast long shadows of her fading shape
You lunge after her, reaching her hand
The suns slow evanescence over
The moon beamed at the failed attempt
Laughter rang with you into the sea
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:32 AM UTC
Strolling along
By the teeming docks,
I watch the ships put out.
Black ships that heave and lunge
And move like mastodons
Arising from lethargic sleep.
The fathomed harbor
Calls them not nor dares
Them to a strain of action,
But outward, on and outward,
Sounding low-reverberating calls,
Shaggy in the half-lit distance,
They pass the pointed headland,
View the wide, far-lifting wilderness
And leap with cumulative speed
To test the challenge of the sea.
Plunging,
Doggedly onward plunging,
Into salt and mist and foam and sun.
2.4k
“The Maiden”
Over her long legs,
Hips sway in a salacious manner,
As she strolls,
Past the gaggle of gentlemen,
Mustering the valor to face,
Their glances varying from curiosity,
To disgust,
Perhaps intrigue as these men,
Behold this exotic form of femininity.
An aura of mystery emanates,
From a tenderly warm demeanor,
Welcoming the viewers,
Who encounter this daughter of Aphrodite,
Capturing attention regardless of,
One’s alleged reasoning.
Intrepid knights receive the blessing,
To witness the hazel windows,
Into a maiden’s soul,
Deeply adorned with unbidden intensity,
Bestowing a small glimpse,
Into a beguiling beauty,
Mistaken as a cozening siren,
To an untrained eye.
Many chaps desire her,
Until revelations bereave these fellows,
Of security interwoven into the fabric,
Of society sewn with fine threads,
Uniting into an existence of conformity.
Some licentious men lunge,
At the maiden,
Gaping at what these fellows,
Observe as a tantalizing goddess,
Desiring to place lascivious hands,
Upon her soft skin.
Misguided stories allow life to be given,
To glaring spectators,
Spewing jeers of rancor,
Bemused as the unknown,
Deftly saunters near,
The valley of Oblivion.
Like the majestic Mona Lisa,
The maiden consists of subtle nuances,
Painting her tributes behind cryptic techniques,
Allowing one to inspect her façade,
Learning her similarities to the wind,
Feeling her spirit,
Rather than glancing upon visual proof.
The souls encountering the maiden,
Gain respite from strangling thoughts,
Placated by her light,
Revealing the contrasts,
The highlights to expose,
An extraordinary beauty,
Manifesting from genuine kindness,
Breaths of generosity,
And irrevocable love of all shades and tints,
Within a painter’s palate.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
The autumn winds ***** her mercilessly,
as idle hands lunge for delicate petticoats.
Their ugly, pockmarked howls pinch her deeply
with each new limb they expose,
until her tears drop like leaves, unheard
and become soiled.
By the winter, she’s left leaning awkwardly
like a slapper against a lamp post.
Her body but scattered, bent baguettes,
freeze-set with the frigid, nightly chills,
which preserve her stark immodesty
and her malign revenge.
Yet spring adorns her with tentative protruding buds,
glazed like freshly shellacked fingernails,
as her body itches with the swellings of youth
and foliage fastens frills around her chest,
summoning the dewy-peach lustre of virginity.
Now she basks in our wanton, forgiving glares.
As the summer teases, she writhes Lolita-like
in a raincoat that clings to her, just so.
Her barely concealed fruits spilling out,
as the sun caresses her skin hotly, until she ****
with that cacophony of lilac bells gawping, grape-like,
ringing out the sweet moans of her petite-mort.
Oct 7, 2020
Oct 7, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
Thick dirt matted fur, A warning snarl from between razor sharp teeth, Head lowered to the forest floor, littered with brown leaves, and fallen branches, eyes glowing with a beckoning challenge, hair raised, ears perked, senses alert,
This wolf will not back down, a threat obvious,
As the hunter points the gun at the snarling snapping wolf, hiding behind his man made power, but tonight this hunter will fall, and will not rise again, from behind, the wolfs mate emerges from the foliage, teeth exposed and a determined sway in her pursuit, with a hurried lunge, the hunter swirls, a bang in the nights air,
A gurgled scream, a agony filled howl,
The wolfs mate lay twitching, holding onto her last few breaths, muzzle to muzzle, they lay together,
An alpha and his dying female,
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
I am drinking water that is meant for the plants
I am singing songs I used to sing for my dog
but she’s dead now
and I talk to myself while I scrub greasy pans,
read messages but never answer.
my vocabulary doesn’t stretch the length of expectations
by now I know that my silence sends the right message,
clearer than my hand-picked words
when I feel my blood boil and my brain lunge to keep up
I shut up.
they are just waiting to speak
at me and
I am just trying to sleep
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
At your breast he likes to play
dive-for-the-nipple.
Like an Olympian on the high platform
he rears back,
contemplates the distance,
the object,
then lunges.
Today he grabs his own hair, pulls.
And screams.
The more he pulls, the more he screams
until I unclutch his fingers.
Don’t we all wish sometimes
a big hand would swoop down
to unclutch us
from our mistakes?
Then, oh! to rear back
and lunge
at life’s big love.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC