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writerReader May 2015
his pale face was covered in week old scruff
I could see his life's blood in his eyes
PoserPersona Jun 2018
I.
The moon sings the languid flower,
  to bloom at midnight hour
Harmonious feast transpires -
  luminescent choir

Pedals mirror la hue de Luna,
  but pale below her glow
Though the desert sweet aroma,
  is fragrance plus photo

Neither causing nightly failure,
  in idyllic charm
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

II.
The moon a long gone distant rock,
  yet pulls on ocean tops
Cereus lures with sweetest tricks,
  and stings with countless licks  

Battered holy asteroid face,
 woos flawless solar gaze
And even though it causes mire,
  lunar eclipses fire

The cactus thrives in driest sands,
  and chokes in fertile lands
Alluring lonesome wanderers,
  promising mere water

The lucid beauty bewilders,
  as much as it can haunt
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

III.
You, once my cereus and moon,
  were drowned in my love well
Perhaps, I was this to you too,
  though your hole I’d not delve

However, what was first velvet,
  morphed into devil’s horns
Winter shed those thorns in my chest,
  now spring gifts hope and more

The icy grips of each winter,
  provides spring fuel to spark
In fact, those powers are greater,
  together than apart

IV.
Although we have gone our own ways,
  I wouldn’t change the past
For each step was necessary,
  to find true love at last

We were once greater together.


I’m now greater apart.
nat Jan 30
blood in my hair
can't rly remember
what yr face looks like
makes me sad
but i can't rly feel it, y'know?
i love yr sick veins
i hear yr heartbeat in my brain
wish i could feel it
i wish i could feel something at all
i don't know why people like this one so much
CK Baker Oct 2017
dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park

combine shavings
in ***** rust brown
scissors chips
fall to the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts)
give thanks

joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull at the seeds

wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
blood rush churns
in a chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound

jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball park empty
with pennants past

barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch

brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from timber tops
3 wick candles
set the dinner place

shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return;
poets and artists
and dreamers awake
Rich Hues Jan 8
Morphine,
  Like her sister, Absinthe,  has a slender, glass waist,
  But she is not as green,
  And lacks taste.

  Last night I had a conversation with my father.
  He has been dead for years
  And was asking if I'd seen his keys.

  I woke worrying about what had happened to these.
Left Foot Poet Aug 2018
pale dead moon

them the words heard, cloud covered, make the few streaks visible
look like mocking smiles saying see we got your numbers,  
play pale and dead you’re sure to win and add an over/under
and a trifecta guaranteed

everyone is willing to take and give you thanks
with a nice tap on the head which buys them
a grimace smile of 2 seconds recognition and
further confirms the crumbling internals
and unless you walk away,
into solitude and recall from
high school language class

répète après moi "c'est la vie,” repeat after me, that’s life

no, now,
pale dead moon,
that’s life
Amy Leigh Sep 2014
Little cracks like weeping windows
we grow opaque
and under the pale blue moon
(tainted)
you seep into my soul


© A. Leigh
SøułSurvivør Sep 2015
---

i

blue grey clouds
of crushed
velvet

sunlight
tears
the
seams


ii

embers of
delicate peach
ignite flames
of fuchsia

the orb of
sun burns colors
away to ashes

blown into floes
of white
mare's
tails


iii

tiny bird
settles restless
on the
highest
branch

flits
away


iv

wind
through
the weathered stones
cries then whispers

luring
the children
who lie within our ribs
to break free
and sing
songs
of
play


v

mamalaria
cactus
wears her
wreath
of
pale
lavender
flowers

sings to
her babes
clustered
below

saguaro
listens



soulsurvivor
(C) 9/13/2015
beautiful day rises up
out of the ashes
of a flaming
sunrise

---

To a special friend...
... thank you!
galio Mar 2016
the sailors called the sirens beautiful
they wept, tearing out their hair
and tossed it into the ocean
turning it into seaweeds.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who then hid themselves in caves, till they passed
their skin growing pale and lifeless
till feathers emerged from their hands.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
who decided to mutilate their legs
and scar their feet
so they would no longer be human.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
and the creatures wailed as loud as they could,
screeching noises, ringing
but sounded only like bells to men.

the sailors called the sirens beautiful
but they didn't see beauty or sin
instead,
walking vessels
an empty name
and a prize to win.
harpies are described as repulsive half-bird half-human creatures that represented evil. however in early greek mythology, hesiod described them as beautiful winged maidens.
Aurelia Ward Dec 2018
I stare into her lovely face,
the moon who's long looked after me

Mother, sister, lover, friend
And yet she belongs to the sea

She daintily sits upon his lap;
her liquid groom who loves her so

She will not leave him though I plead,
How I wish that I could show:

I'd never slap her pale form
as he does with his careless waves

I'd never leave her so forlorn
As he does with his escapades

He carries yars from shore to shore
But I've arms only for the one

And though she may not shine as bright
I'd ne'er compare her to the sun!

Yet every night she still returns
into his embrace, not mine

And days go on, but still I yearn
for her sweet, forbidden shine
.I.
10-12/2018
Humanity flourished the gardens,
IVs replenish dehydrated seeds. He dug
through soil, with carmelizing fingernails to ****
a flood of vapored veins, flowers wilted in twisted
beauty. He held onto bruising stems and curling leaves,
just to abandon a husk in undetected love. Its carcass left
in black and blue, burgundy residue slathers pale petals.
Jewels lay at the Dahlia's crest, beads of ruby sold at the
cost of swelling mischeif. He's a cheater with demons; a lover
to the halo, obeying life within silver wings, crafting a
prolonging Death-
All feedback is welcome!
Uma natarajan Sep 2018
Pale leaves
Lying in heaves
Crave for life
To relive and strife
Staring at branches
Which have shed
Now lying on earthbed
With covering fog
Like a wooden blog
Awaits for a miraculous touch
Bothering too much
Some one would take it back
To the branches and stick there
Noelis Dec 2018
your hands on my hips so firm
while we aggressively kiss
hungry for each other
you bite my lower lip
oh master, you look so celestial
your black, leather belt
on my soft, pale neck
please, tighten it up
take me to that high
drive me crazy
whip me up and call me out
punish your ***** little  s l u t
for being such a  b r a t.
Pale skin that's
so beautiful in comparison to the sunset.
Her eyes,
the perfect concoction of blue and green, stare away.

Deep in thought,
tears on her cheeks, a smile pasted on her face.
Although her scenery
is lovely, the thoughts she has are not.

Dark demons
swirl in her mind and pick her brain.
They travel through
her veins, and pull her apart at the seams.

On the inside,
she's going crazy; she is undeniably insane.
On the outside,
she is smiling just like you; she's unwillingly happy.
Zeleyha Mata Jul 2018
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I'm not broken, I'm free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...

Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.

Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.

The man who has...
Pants swollen, hair to his brow,
Along his jaw,
Down his legs,
Sprouting from his toes.
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on his sheets, not between his legs
A beautiful girl lies beside him
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, scars, burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Maybe one day you will.
Any one who can relate to this but can’t say it, I hope I can be your voice.
Adrian Betz Jun 2018
Tell them soon I won’t be home this night
And relieve me of the burden, the bitter farewell
Comfort them, a calming voice such as yours
Will be all it needs to keep sorrows away

Tenderest tides, so timelessly fleeting
A yearning verse with an endless story to tell
Purple moonlight, the shores of a cleansed sea
Woeful the sighs sung to the horizons afar

Eternal solstice
Harbor of the distant, pale blue sight
Come under this softest blanket there to see
Where the tale of the first scribe came to be


Separate seams holding the same cloth
Then I saw my closest company wake
Fear not, still, before you I will hold my world
Hand in hand with my messenger, my friend

Snow-white stairs, a valley of figurantes
A stellar choir with the quietest piece to play
Come now the breath of a warmly greeting fall
Inviting me to witness the cycle begin anew

Eternal solstice
Harbor of the distant, pale blue sight
Come under this softest blanket there to see
Where the tale of the first scribe came to be


Sing me to sleep with peaceful times
Another one then might finally begin

Eternal solstice
Harbor of the distant, pale blue sight
Come under this softest blanket there to see
Where the tale of the first scribe came to be




©2018, Adrian Betz
Rich Hues Aug 2018
But we trod grapes and paddled on,
Through a neap tide of Sauvignon,
Drowning our disappointment in drink,
Above a pale octopus poached in its own ink.

Castaway and stowaway using another name,
Fantasies swapped on the website that we blame,
Until in the blood-black sea we agree to give it a try,
And I wash up in the morning beneath my mother's palid thigh.
Hg Oct 2018
bouquets of powder
as white as flowers of zinc

skating thin ice
cutting thin lines on the sink

sniffing inhaling
until his nostrils would bleed

skip to the morning
they find his pale white body

he was so nice
in junior high when we met

his younger brother
smiled exactly like him

the death tore the team
they were closer than magnets

but he risked it all
to fall in the flower bed

is that what we get
when we encourage the dope

tuition’s forgiven
still the parents don’t cope

and i can’t imagine
how hard it must be to hold

a part of your brother
right underneath your own nose
©Hg
Paul Hansford Nov 2016
(a brief love story)

1/
The morning sun warmed the dew
from the opening rosebud;
a bee visited the fragrant heart of the rose;
the breeze tumbled a petal to the water,
drifted the pale petal across the surface of the water.
You surprised me gently.

2/
I thought - hoped - the emotional baggage
was safely in the locker,
just for once,
just overnight,
but like a Houdini homing pigeon
it escaped,
it came back.
Like a smart missile locked in on thought patterns
it found the target,
penetrated the armour,
and suddenly
just after midnight
I knew how Cinderella felt,
her new world ****** back
through the vortex,
as the life we call real returned.
Suggested (not exactly inspired) by a visit to Cuba, where the local currency is the peso and the language is Spanish.  When I assocaiated "dos pesos" (two pesos) with "dos besos" (two kisses) the germ of the poem was set.
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