"peeks" poems
Fingers sinking deep
below your surface;
seeping into your *****
caressing your crevices.
leaving their mark; baring pleasure.
coursing ecstasy through your veins.
searching for the highest of peeks beyond measure
scorching heat, blood boiling, the pleasure pains
soothing your aching flesh
in relentless pursuit; of higher depths
guilty yearnings, urges run rampant
as your ecstasy starts to progress
heavy breathing your hands held abreast
pungent liquids; drenched with desire
a seeping puddle stains the mattress
gingerly leaking, outlining your canvas
a mist in the air, cooling your skin;
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
On this carousel
You and I
Ringing bells
Time passes by
Scorching bulbs
Ornate bobbing horsies
Enchanting music
Tell of magical stories
I am here
On this side
You are there
Same ****** ride
Opposite ends
Placed we two
We can't see
But each other we knew
Friendly peeks
Directed to you
All I could afford
Keep you in view
Still rotating
Ride goes on
Chasing each other
No closer we've drawn
Enjoy the ride
Soak in the sights
Hold at bay
Reality that bites
Thought about
Getting off
Don't know how to
Come to a solve
Can't hold still
It's eating me alive
Can't just stay
Have to strive
Hand still holding on
One foot dangling
Second thoughts play
But bent on releasing
Take the first step
Don't overthink
Take the leap
Step off the brink
Close my eyes
Time is now
Just let go
Fate I must allow
Ready now
Time came to a freeze
*one...two...
three...release*
Now off the carousel
Cloying uncertainty
Never been here
Unknown territory
In the music
Found familiarity
Unsure if here
Is where I want to be
What do I do?
Wait a little more?
Hop back on?
Or await what's in store?
Glad I waited
Glad patience I found
There you are...
Coming back round
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
~~¤~~
a
pink
bud
peeks
out
.
.
.
fearless
of
the
hands
that
would
crush
it
.
soulsurvivor
(c) 5/19/2015
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
Flying
above a layer of
cotton clouds, woven white lining clear blue
It looks like a snow-coated hill,
punctured by snowdrifts and gaps
where that blue, clear clear blue
peeks through
Don’t fall through
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
The mind of that girl is a pain sanctuary
whose aching decreases due to a world that's imaginary.
From home she goes out to get away,
and all those nights in stranges she relies.
The soft morning breeze
tenderly dries the tears in her cheeks,
and childishly it peeks
through her bloodshot eyes looking for a trace of peace.
Nobody could really tell
if she, bones and flesh, is still alive
or if she's just a wanderer ghost.
Probably the only one of her kind.
The dark circles under her eyes
are a proof of the restless crying nights.
The tangled auburn messed up hair
tells she didn't sleep at home, but no one cares.
Picking up flowers on the way back home,
humming songs that once made her feel whole.
She rests for a few hours and once awake she grabs a pen,
she writes down a poem before she gets drunk again.
Somehow she finds calm
in the simple things of life,
and she tries not to think
about the coldness in her eyes.
Barely getting through, day by day,
trying not to be absorbed by all the grey.
Amassing countless heartbeats
to the final point where life she quits.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
A lonely child,
child of neglect
I see you.
Night it befalls,
lonely child met..
You meet me.
Peeled round waist from belly to back,
four pieces do a belt of babe make;
stitched and branded.
Lonely child of neglect,
I bathe in your warm fat.
Clouds they roll, stream cotton-frayed sky.
Mother's light peeks to say goodbye, to you;
-the lonely child whom had to die?
I transform.
AWHOOOooo!
eah, hah-hah, hah-hah, hah-hah...
<>...Hunt...<>
C
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
The almost sibling
An almost brother,
Or maybe sister,
Perches at the edge
Staring down
Searching for me,
An unknown brother
Save for short peeks
Between clouds,
And wonders of the almost life,
The almost love,
They could have found
Amongst us.
But the love was taut
Barely enough
For us to be sustained.
I’ve heard mom speak to you,
While clutching herself,
Asking for forgiveness
For taking your almost body out
Before a body could be.
I hope you know,
Crouched there watching,
Though I never met you
Or knew your almost self
I still love you.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 11:03 PM UTC
just like a shooting star across the sky
just like a sunshine peeks behind the green leaves
with its rays and bright lights all over my dull eyes
just like a warm coffee in a rainy days
just like the pigeons that fly happily on the big blue sky
my world stops when you smile at me
and the time stands still when you look at me
and i'm so over with inks
and papers
and words
because you are too beautiful to describe
and my love for you can't be contained in thousand words.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
Waiting for the summer heat to eclipse the somber thread of one day, an old man is gifted a brand new pair of sneakers.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost? The pinnacle of the "y" axis has paralyzed the saltiness of the old man's overcoat.
"Grand dad?" A young boy turns the corner and peeks in while the old man leans over in his chair to reach his feet and lace his sneaks. "You were breathing loudly and I was just making sure you're okay."
The boy continued, "cool sneakers grandpa."
This reminded the boy of a new student in his class who moved here from Scotland, or Ireland - he couldn't remember which. Guess what the new kid in my class calls his sneakers?"
The grandfather looks up and leans back, "he doesn't call them sneakers?" "Nope" the boy replies. "I would imagine he must call them shoes, or something like that."
"Not even close. He calls them 'runners'. He came into class one day with a pair of red sneakers and Miss Kerrington had him stand up in front of class to talk about them. She said that people in England probably call them runners as a nickname for running shoes."
The old man stood up with a groan and said, "That makes sense. It seems a bit odd, but I like it. As a matter of fact, I am gonna start using that to refer to all sneakers. What do you say we go for a walk around the block so I can break these puppies in? We'll stop for some rootbeer on the way home."
The two of them set out on their walk and the old man felt invigorated. As they continued, a light rain began and the old man said, "lets get to the store, this rain'll do damage to my new suedes."
When they finally made it to the store, the old man rushed in the door pushing his grandson out of the way. Upon his entrance his eyes met with the shopkeeper's. The shopkeeper's eyes shifted to the young boy coming in behind the man. At this moment the grandfather realized that he pushed his grandson aside in his haste to get inside the store and out of the rain.
The shopkeeper turned his attention back to the grandfather who shrugged his shoulders before gesturing to his feet with a smile and said, "I'm breaking in a new pair of runners. They're not gonna dry off as easily as he does."
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
Parallel tremors follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
It lingers between small talks,
things best left unsaid.
All that remains
is the silence, so dead.
Nervous, little peeks
when the eyes refuse to meet.
That lump in your throat
at every heartfelt greet.
Staring into empty space
like you lost your muse.
Why was the courage hidden
if it was of no use?
The mind begins to burn
and the smoke grows thick.
It creeps into the heart
and makes you sick.
The silence then grows
with each passing moment.
Memories cloud your eyes
and make you repent.
The tongue begins to sting.
So much to be said.
Yet, all that ever remains
is the silence, so dead.
Things remain unsaid
when words begin to fail.
That excuse you make
is just another tall-tale.
That tension in the air
when you pass each other by.
That lump in your throat
stays, and you wonder why.
Dodging the questions
for there are no answers.
Wishing for things to go back
to the way they were.
They still linger between small talks,
things which were left unsaid.
All that will ever remain
is the silence lying dead.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
it is hard for the truth to come out of my sealed lips
played the victim and I take my role seriously
we were just on the same water, passing ships
the sun and the moon meeting in an eclipse
only for a moment but the moment was potent
wishing for more moments like this
rips and rips until I finish my zip
hours and hours until I finish my shift
you are the one thing my mind cannot slip
the one man that drives me to drink
so I don't think, just a couple of sips
now I am covered in my sadness as the sunlight peeks through
such a naive little boy, never knowing what to do
what to do
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 12:16 PM UTC
You are the sun
That peeks
Through the window,
Letting me know that
It's time to get the day
Started.
You are the roots,
Cut and carved from the trees
That provide shelter,
A place to live,
A place to grow.
A foundation built
From strong roots,
That stretch and wrap around me.
You are the air that circulates
Through my lungs,
The air that, if I think about too long,
I'll mess up how much
You've changed my life.
When I am in you,
I am not in some house,
Nor am I in just any old room.
I realize that I am home,
That I have everything I need.
When I close my eyes,
The first thing I see
Is you,
And how the first thing
I want to do is come back
To you
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 10:33 PM UTC
Ash outside
Sparks - encased
Just deny
If the world peeks
Through the keyhole
For it was meant for
It was meant for One
Whose eyes unlock the door
...barefoot 'cross the threshold
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
Sugar maple’s immature leaves bounce lively on the breeze
Robins frolic through dandelions and freshly cut grass
Brilliant brightness peeks through clouds warming my face
Families of rabbits skip through budding yellow tulips
Lavender lilacs dance with dogwood blossoms tickling my nose
Baby woodpecker taps at the sycamore branch
Fat bumblebees buzz from cherry bloom to zinnia bloom
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
Against the sky is the Pillar of Light
Hands outstretched ready at our open backs
Milky Way our Guardian of the night
Is everything that our world hereby lacks
Tentative to show its face to our eyes
The Red Moon peeks out behind a curtain
For a few minutes it will socialize
Of our humanity it is certain
Along the line our lineage has crossed
Stardust lingers in the blue of our veins
Our existence was very nearly lost
Resilient Stardust helps us remain
So you see that we are made of star stuff
Because being human was not enough
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
Elizabeth and God exist in a sunflower grave. Her mother and father slit her stomach open and watched the contents pour out like
spaghetti confetti.
Tommy, Elizabeth's boyfriend, rode his ocean blue Huffy, until the tread on his tires grew bald and until the grips were blanketed by dead skin. Looking for her, panoramic views of the horizon leapt beside him. Silhouettes of his legs, churned and kissed the orange and caramel dusk. With every tear in his hamstrings and calves, the **** in his sky grew and swallowed the memory of Elizabeth Mendenhall, Honor Student.
Margot, Elizabeth's twelve year-old sister, was an idealistic soul. Taking a Sharpie, she wrote on her sister's wall, "Liz, there is no death greater than the loss of self, and no life greater than one where we continuously search for what self is." Margot struggled with concentrating and frying eggs - but focused on the sunflower garden, dangerously and perfectly.
Hilary and Brendan were thirty-five and thirty-six years-old. They stabbed their daughter thirty-seven times. They don't know why they did it, they just couldn't think of a reason not to do it.
She begged for her life. The yellow petals of the sunflowers caught blood-drops and, after enough struggle, floated down to kiss and lay on Elizabeth's slow-twitch body. Hilary looked at Brendan and said, "What does this mean?" Brendan shrugged and said, "This is new to me."
The garden was an oven, and digging her grave was like pulling back on a cheap, plastic latch. Elizabeth had pale, pre-cooked pie crust skin. The slits in her stomach looked like peeks into a cherry stuffed filling. Crinkled lips looked indented by a stainless steel fork, back and forth, side to side. And the soil rained upon her like the reversal of hot vapor, returning home.
Elizabeth and the Sunflower Garden.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
I've never thought less of you
than in begging moment, flipped
on smooth river rocks, arms wide
on expanded hips, smile
fake and expectant.
You paddle kayaks in
awkward plaids and throwaway
sweaters, grinning sweetly
at dimples and polished toenails
and forgetting my name
while I repeat yours in echo.
On tall bicycle, you look down
at tear-strewn carpet, at
lingering rain, and you lean
to one side, precarious balance
while the sun peeks through the blinds.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
I know you don't see me the way I see you
I know you don't love me the way I love you
I know you don't waste hours by hours crying over me
I know your smile and your laughter are not for me
And I know all of these scenarios that I have made
in between my dreams and my sleeps
are not true
And I know my dream is just a dream
and soon, it will be fading away
But I will still admire the way you chase the sun
I will still admire the smile you wear when you see the stars
I will still admire your aura that reminds me
with the bright sunflowers in summer days
I will still admire the way sunlight peeks around your eyes
and the way sunrays play with your brown hair
I will still admire the way you are;
a beautiful person who changes my world,
and also my perspective in life
And even if you don't feel the same about me,
It is okay.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
Press your lips against my **** &juice; me. Thirst for my juices as you, drift into my Yoni! Kiss my flesh as eye nurish your Soul. Sink into me as we dance into the candle lit stars; become me, as eye become you &as; one.. We make Love until the sun peeks through the cracks! Kiss my Yoni; feel my Power!
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
I think of mom often.
Like when I read anything by Jack London
or Ernest Thompson Seton.
Her memory swirls around me when I see a dead opossum by the roadside
it reminds me of the one we had as kids.
Yes, we had an opossum.
It wasn't a pet as much as it was a wounded soldier,
convalescing in a field hospital close to the front and cared for by Florence Nightingale,
except the field hospital was our carport under a suspended Old Towne wood canoe,
the battle, with a Ford or Chevrolet, on the main road near our house in Connecticut.
Florence was Mom.
She peeks at me around corners in the kitchen when I make fish,
or soup,
because I hated fish as a child.
She made us eat it because it was healthy and the blocks of frozen Turbot were cheap
and she was a single mom at forty two with three hungry mouths to feed.
She tried to make me think it was exotic because it came from Iceland.
I thought Turbot was Icelandic for "more bones in your mouth than you ever thought possible".
Mom was, however, an accomplished homemade souper.
She's by my side as I explain wild things
to other little wild things which hang on my every word.
Words put into my head which make it seem,
to the under four foot set,
that I know everything.
Knowledge put there by her in our yard,
by the lakes of New York, the mountains of West Virginia or deserts of California.
She is in every frog that jumps, whippoorwill that calls or each stalk of Jewel ****
which is a cure for poison ivy by the way,
that grows near a stream in the woods.
But then today
as my daughter opened the overhead sunglass holder in her car for the first time,
the Subaru she inherited from Mom over a year ago,
and Grandma's sunglasses fell out,
there were no thoughts of lessons learned
or knowledge imparted.
Today,
I just thought of her.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
~
A bashful sunrise
peeks through the curtains
as we greet the dawn
beneath satin sheets
creating our own
glistening dewdrops
before a wide eyed
blushing horizon
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:14 AM UTC
Tearstains unlock doors
You reach out in darkness and
Ask for me to come inside
We sit in the space in your soul for
Hours pouring out our hearts
Until the light peeks through the
Crack under the door
Stepping out you dance away
Into daybreak without farewell
Leaving me in an empty shell
My poured out heart is
A puddle on the floor that
You didn't embrace the way I did
I might see you again
When it gets dark
And you recall
Just how miserable
Seclusion is
Welcome back
I've been lonely
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
dandelion eyes, rose petal lips
counting down the seconds until our next kiss
like rolling thunder, impatience rumbles through me
because even wrapped in your arms, I finally feel free
the time passes as slow as the color of your skin
honey, sweet, honey… oh, how I yearn to drink you in
and as the sun sets on yet another lonely night
I delight in the way it peeks through the blinds
rays of gold shimmer in, finding rest upon my cheek
all I feel is your warmth and on my heart, havoc wreaks
for even in this golden hour — the time that reminds me most of you — eons will pass before I am once again close to you
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 2:07 PM UTC
The long hours of the night highlight our inner insecurities
Relating to the change slowly disappearing in a clanking machine
My stomache burns
I didn't suggest to pay this, indebted to the alcohol
No filter to the lewd humorous words we speak
As we cruise away from the wild eyed life, bits of lint collect on the drivers glass
The mistakes and embarrassment blinds our minds
A push of a button, watching the grey fluff slide down the wind shield
Turning into a tumble **** rolling down the loneliest highway
No commitment to the grief
The clouds smother the brown smudged mountains
A white submissive canvas, I see
My metaphoric future becomes one with the peeks
My heart weeps as they come back into view
The world once teaching me, is now background beauty
Where shall this car take me
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC