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VV Lettish Feb 12
of all the names to keep in sight
yours are the sharpest
denoise and watch us reunite
the ones that are just
belittled, fleeing underbreath
the rathe arrivers
recount the signs that have been dealt
a lifetime prior

trialed with love on better times
fruitlessly frantic
for apter notes or fitter rhymes
some order, planted
uncoiling subjects from your hand
as if you're equal
in reach for the desicion-man
the drudging eagle.

keep dancing on your master's knees
no questions uttered
miss not to arm yourself with these
heels bent to cut her
denoise and ler her understand
this aimless evil
in reach for the desicion-man
the taunted eagle.
patty m May 2014
Turn out the lights

and let me drown

in passion's darkness.

Play blind

and read my body's braille;

find me in pieces

letting fingers

paint designs.

Crawl beneath my skin and

fill my hunger.

Mold me, make me

malleable and melting

as you permeate my senses.  

. . . And l will trace you too,

traveling across your uncharted map.


Darling you are my ocean

my new country, each inch of you

touched and tasted as new routes

are discovered and pinnacles climbed.

Close your eyes

and feel the tickling of my unseen hand

through the darkness

of this forever night.
luci Mar 2018
in the waves
of your gaze
    my ship
  bursts into
     dreams
                                as my mouth
                           watering for yours
                                fills me with
                                     unease
                                                          ­              endlessly
                                         ­                                longing
                                                         ­             to permeate
                                                        ­           on your reverie
                                                         ­                  steam
                                    to dim
                                 the lights
                            of your sirenic
                                   breeze
                                                          ­           to undress
                                                         ­        the complexity
                                                      ­            of your mind
                                                            ­           scheme

                                        i solemnly live
                                     to hear your name
                                  that even the silences
                                               scream
a poem for someone who will never read it
Weljay Jul 2018
having you stuck on my mind
is an understatement
in every crack and crevices I find
you there, always present

you permeate in every thought
like literally in all that I think
threatening to fill my mind
so I incarnate you through ink

writing poems during library
when I should be philosophizing Saussure
but don't worry I can cope
I can handle this, be sure

I've drawn you in pencil
heck, even in paint
but alas, my skills are not enough
to depict the beauty you contain

but don't think you're a distraction
you're more of a motivation
like serene blue skies to a young bird's eyes
you are what inspires me to greater motions

oh girl,
I'm chest deep in thoughts of you
but tell me, my love
do you think of me too?
I am spellbound.
Thomas Hatchett Jan 2017
Castigate Sublimate
         Sanctify Indoctrinate
     Expatriate Disseminate
Proselytize Reiterate

     Reject, Deny, and Obfuscate

        Incarcerate Dehumanize
   Desensitize Decimate
        Incinerate Rejuvenate
       Simplify and Permeate
You've laid in numerous beds,
Stalks sprouted from every one of them,
Endless pedestals of life from where yours bled into them.

There is your final bed,
A place where the flora of your memory shall eternally permeate,
Flowing- unchallenged, into my mind.

And when the resounding influence of you enters,
And I am overwhelmed with you, I shall say:
"Give me your bed, and let me be your vessel!"
Emily Williams Jan 2018
You permeate my universe and wreak havoc on my cosmos.  
You aren’t really here, just a phantom lingering on the horizon.
Like gravity you force me down, until I'm nothing but a speck.

Your insides burned like the heaviest star in the sky.
We collided and the explosion demolished my world
Our cosmic radiation scorched the atmosphere.
Now I’m back on Earth, left to map the constellations
Lingering in the shattered sky left in your wake.
Luke May 2018
"You're wasting your time."
Familiar line, I'm sure;
Leisure, time you take pleasure
In wasting, fighting off chores

With scores of swords forged in
Words, nouns and verbs, you argue
"I've nought to do, work's been,
I've earned it!" The frayed border between

Toil and sleep, 'spare time',
Your crime is laziness, sloth;
The clock – time's warden – watching
As your lies thicken like simmering broth;

The monitor melts your eyes into half-smiles,
"Wasted time, your pastime,"
A degree in procrastination, hesitation
To face – "the clock, the time!"

The moon hides behind the horizon,
Your fingers flurry, too late to hurry
Out the piece you left so late.
"Wasted time" stinks like left-over curry,

Let it permeate your nostrils; exhale blame
As you **** in the shame that you've failed.
Cradle the melted clock, warm butter,
Spread it onto toast, yellow trails

Crying "why?" Place it between guilty lips
And chew; the taste's bitter.
"It's raining today."
Pitter patter, patter pitter.
A poem about procrastination.
Dimitris Sarris Sep 2018
Our voices covered the silence of the night.
Just me and a beautiful woman talking
about our vivid lives. The road is getting
darker, the moonlight could shed little light.
She tightly grabbs my arm and kisses me with
her soft red lips. No words could be spoken as
i lose myself to the pleasures of her kiss.
I responded "I am not a man who mistreats
a lady for a night's satisfaction."
She replied "I know, i can feel it. But what would you
do for a woman in need. In need of your love,
of your caress, of your kiss?"
We drove our way back to my house.
Her beautiful green eyes could see within my heart
and her passionate kisses fill my lips and tongue.
I lose the sense of time as our warm breaths become
a cool breeze to our throbbing bodies.
She holds me tight as i lay her upon the soft sheets,
gently she kisses my neck and lets me slide down to fountains
of pumping milking beats, ******* her healing liquids like honey drops.  
Slowly i enter the altar of her lustful ventricles
becoming one as we press into silken gist
and break open as her skin brushes like silk.
She holds me tight with her angelic body as i permeate
deeper when oceans of liquid lava burst at the white sheets
of our bed and her breast ignites in slow movement
as we gasp and sigh the air around us.
She holds me tight to take in a river that will
quench her thirst, licking heavens milk that covered the secret
spaces that our kisses marked.    
She holds me till the sun rises to put an end to this salacious sin.
She holds my hand and crowls her way back to me. Back to my craving heart, back to our prurient desires.
A bold release of trapped emotions. We had to break up cause of our age
difference (she was older) and i just wanted to prevent her from getting hurt in the future.
Breaking up for something usual hurts but when you have to break up
cause the circumstances of life itself block us
is a different quality of pain. I know that is happy now...
Wishing happiness and joy to the troubled hearts
out there.
Caroline Feb 10
Exhaling, my breath drifts through this frigid air like a living,
Languid smoke,
Sharpening my senses to the immaculate cleanliness of a northern
Tundra, delicately glacial and remote;
One that thrives on the absence of fertile growth.
Frenzied atoms approach
Near total repose.
A death-like calm
Preceding the germination of hope
That arrives with spring.  

And in this space I can finally breathe,
Release my burning places,
All the faces of rage,
Supplicating my unbridled spirit
To the numbing fingers of
Subarctic days
That are washed clean of shame.

And so, I wonder if you can see me,
Poised quietly under these winter stars,
Barren figures of deciduous trees reaching up their naked arms
As if to plead
For this arctic clean to descend into us all;
To permeate the torrid edges of my soul.

But what of the thaw?
When the frozen rivers once again run
And the lonesome trees begin to bud,
The wind carrying in the scent of cedar, sage and mud,
What then?
What then of my wild blood?
When the frozen plains no longer restrain me,

Will there be any way of taming
The reckless burning of
This
Love.
It has been up to -50 with the windchill on these northern plains where I live. It brings a harshness, but also the absence of complications; a certain purity.
Graff1980 Oct 2018
I long to pull back
the pale skin *****,
to release that
deep world
woven in
my imagination,

but the voices I heard
of the heartbroken
and disturbed
pierce the veil
and permeate
the place where
my dreams dwell.
Till, all hopes
and playful notions
become adult nightmares.

I long to
achoo
and spew
silliness,

but seriousness
is silence to
that heartbeat
that taps out
daydreams,
erasing the
treasure maps
that lead us back
to free form fun.

I long to
inspire you
to play as I use to,
but in truth
I forgot how
to do what I
ask of you.
rgz Apr 13
More than a decade past since that scorched June night
not so because of the midsummer heat
not due to the throngs of bodies that surround us while electric waves permeate our souls and synthetic messengers roam our brains.
No, a flame was lent to that night
a burning heat unrivalled by a thousand summer droughts
a fire to bring the castle to its knees
moulded in the shape of you.

I can only stare
as I try to comprehend
what stands before me

Against better judgement
against better will
my hands reach out for fires they could never hope to contain
flames dance naked in the ballroom of my flesh
your opulence delicately swaying in the flickering green
as the beads of our sweat turn to pools of our lust, I'm reminded of a lesson I never fully learned.

I can't even think
incomprehensible, you
I feel before me

And I do feel you.
I feel your reluctance to let go and your longing to give in
I feel your indecency when your grip falters
and the quiet desperation
that seeps in
as you relinquish to my touch
A touch you know only too well
a touch of blood laced hands and barbed wire bones
a touch none can endure.

my eyes have gone dark
blinded by Asmodeus
while looking at you

Together in my room
black and dark as our sins
we unveiled ourselves
one for the other.
A glittering ocean spilled from you
treacherous and beautiful
soaking me with your warmth
drowning me in seven seas of desire
the paucity of my breath worth every one of yours
I never did completely dry off.
Thanks to patty m for exposing me to the haibun, although I'm not sure I did it right

I do like a comma,

(Asmodeus is the top boy when it comes to demons of lust)
Cosmic kraken,
gelatinous tentacles that choke the ventricles..
air tainted by its pungent pores...
daylight darkens,
its presence hearkens,
for the light to shine no more...

Heart is hardened
vestigial veins with not blood but pain...
wrinkled cartilage writhes at lore..
of the divine despair
I now come to bear,
graces this unworthy *****...

"I beg I pardon!
spare me the road to your celestial abode!"...
whispered screams that scrape throat raw...
silence snares...
at my futile affairs...
with the sadistic nexus between doors...

"Oh I cannot fathom
creature with unworldly features...
and blade fashioned from nebulous ore...
what terrors await...
and to permeate....
my flesh forevermore!"
Sometimes I feel this way about my parents....
anthony Brady Oct 2018
Dim the lights
let me melt in
passion's night.
Let you spread
webs of silky veils
to blind my eyes.
Take my fingers,
let them trace as
braille the skin of
your body contours.
Smoothe its patina
caress, mould it.

Permeate my senses  
guide my travel over
your uncharted map,
voyage ****** terrain:
each inch of you
touched, surveyed
as new routes
are found, explored,
landmarks followed.

Close your eyes
feel the search
of my tender hands
through the darkness
of a night without end.

Expose your
beauteous body
contours, curves
soft swell of *******,
arched thigh cleavage  
cleft half moon peaches
lead me to a fern veiled vale
to secret gorge spread wide,
steer  my roused questor up
the mount of  Venus’ cleft,
to plunge pulsating adown
slippery labile slopes into  
clasps of foaming depths.

Tobias
Thoughts and vocabulary gleaned from a brief dabbling into HP ****** and Sensual poetry.
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.
He rides the waves and waves
of consciousness, mimicking
the movements of the mind
with vital, kinetic energy.

Nature has been his mentor.
He lives in an ancient bamboo
forest on the island of Maui.
He cultivates towering trees.

No punctuation mars his poems.
Only the natural pausing
of breath, visceral rhythms,
all in one, a fluid dance down the page.

He has won every prize except
the Nobel, for which he is long
overdue. He studied with Berryman
and translated Lorca. His poetry transports,

an exercise in Zen. All is fleeting
for him, yet he preserves the past
in the present. Love, joy, serenity
permeate his poems. He is a master,

awaiting his students. He does not
have many years left. Now is
the time to read him. Now the time
to climb his trees in search of wisdom.
a black highway road guides my body as my mind quietly wanders

stepping onto the fragile
and pondering what lies beneath

allowing the shackles of restraint to fall free from my heart
inviting a relentless mercy

I am yours
and
you are mine

allowing the pain of doubt to melt away  

my king
I kneel before

allowing the truth of love to permeate

my staggered faith
ignites
and burns for him

chasing the creator is no monetary venture

weak still I lean on you

blessed to wander under your hand
Leisa Battaglia Jul 2018
Slumber is sliding slowly away as wakefulness creeps in

Few hours remain before morning breaks, and I feel his arms around me pulling me back to rest

I feel the warmth of his body and the smell of his skin long before my eyes open to meet the day

I can hear his heart beating its soft steady lullaby against my face on his chest

This amazing man, so loving, so gentle, so kind, yet fiercely protective and loyal; a mixture of perfection

This is what I want, I think to myself, as I start trailing my fingers across his chest

He lets out a low growl in his sleep, his body responding to my touch even in its unconscious state

Does he feel my presence with the same strength that I feel his

Does it permeate his resting mind and infiltrate his dreams

His nakedness next to me is so primal and natural, everything about this feels so right

I study his face, the long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, the cut of his jawline, his lips not long removed from my own

I listen to his soft snoring and smile at its familiar cadence, a sound I couldn't imagine being without now

I wonder if he knows; does he know what he is to me

He is air, he is water, he is food, he is sunlight; nourishing my every need

I worry that I am not enough to fulfill all those needs in him, but I will live my life trying

This is what I want, this moment, this peace, laying on his chest, his arms keeping me safe, our bodies lazily intertwined

This is how I want every day of the rest of my life to begin

He starts to stir and his eyes sleepily open taking me in, he pulls me even deeper into his embrace

I melt into him; happy, peaceful, and content in this moment that I never want to end

Yes this is what I want; this man, right now and always

Good morning my love
Matterhorn Apr 2
Once again, lying in bed,
The day's events
Flowing through my head
Like a movie
I don't want to see.

The dreams come and go.
I push them aside,
Each time wishing they would return;
They don't, of course.
Why would they?

I see her eyes—
His eyes—
Their eyes,
Painted on the back of my eyelids
Like graffiti on the silver screen.

Covers pulled over my head
Only serve to catch the vapor of my breath;
The click-clacking of a beast in the hall,
The quiet tick-tocking of a distant clock
Still permeate.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
Luiz Aug 2018
The day I die, I shall be here at the ready...for death will not leave the stables unannounced!  

When that day dawns and I hear the clattering of the horse's shoes out in the barn, I will be dressed in my finest suit, with all my affairs in order and ready for the knight's embrace.

Hours before the rider mounts the beast and hunts my soul, I will have done my goodbyes with kin and friends.

For the day I die, I shall be here at the ready! prepared to see my beautiful mother and my father by her side, unafraid of my next life...excited about events here to unfold!

The raven will have cried at dusk, announcing the pale rider’s coming at midnight and I alone will hear the weeping bird...and those eerie sounds will prelude my dispatch to the ready.

For I won't fear the fading of the light! This light that nears the black, with a fleeing dim, disappearing just for me.

This ready I'll perform in peace, as I'm tired, lonely and aching to now part.  The knight, I promise, will never have such a willing participant to meet his mortality.  The rhythm of the galloping hooves will grow louder as the beast nears my door, and there I'll be, as ready as can be.

I will not retract from the fading glow. Rather, when the pale figure enters my home, I will scream with joy:

"Oh! I've missed you mother!, I've missed you father!"

There I'll stand at the ready, and the squawking of the bird will show he's at my doorstep, and I won't flinch or evade, even as the dim dims!

You'll be proud mama!, you'll be proud father!

The beast's snout will breathe on me!  I will feel the wetness of it's breath upon my neck as it draws closer! The stench of death will permeate my spirit.

The rider will wait for my last plea for life, but it shall never come!

No!

Instead, I will give him his first loving embrace after I see to his dismount and shout:

"I STOOD HERE AT THE READY! AS I'M TIRED, LONELY AND ACHING TO NOW PART!”


© 2017

Luiz
Feature post at spillwords.com/ready/
Next feature on 8/21
Spillwords.com/the-promise/
You know it's funny the things that leave an indelible mark on our lives! 2 times when I was 8 years old, a catastrophe landed square on me that still haunts me... almost 55 years later. Funnier still is how alone I feel in this, as I've never seen, or even heard of it happening to anyone else! Surely it must have, (punched someone in the metaphorical gut - besides me)  as this cannot be the one thing that makes me unique among human beings.  We played real baseball back then, not t-ball and because we ( my family) moved around a bit during those years; that town and field time dates itself as the  2nd or  3rd grade, so I was 8 or just turned 9 when life turned on me...twice!! With the benches filled with the enthusiastic, happy faces of cheering parents and friends, the hot lights in a perpetual battle with the cool night air of early spring, creating a foggy haze that hovered just over our heads like a gray wool blanket and added something to the crackling excitement of this rite of passage. I loved it all!  I loved it for the excitement and I loved it because it was mine ( all mine) not a hand me down shirt or pair of pants! It was the first thing in my life, that was mine!  Because I paid for It by sheer sweat and determination! Paid for with all the effort made that took me from the Siberia of the right field - that 1st year - to pitcher/ first base the next! Yes, I loved it all; and aided by an even swing and a penchant for meeting the pitch with the sweet spot of the bat, giving me status and accolades that I admit was to be loved as well! All that mutual love made the pain of... well you will see!
    I found myself on first base, by walk or a fair hit, where I'm sure I was leading off and taunting the pitcher; as were my teammates on 2nd and 3rd ( a fact guaranteed to promote to a higher level our taunts and threats of stealing a base!) Yes! but what base? What with them all occupied. Bases loaded was almost a no steal zone! So then, with the resounding crack of a good hit filling the crisp cool spring night, we all 3 began to move around the bases, pushed by the 1st base coach and aided by the one at 3rd ,who was like the traffic light in human form as he urged us to make a left turn and head for home, unless the light went to caution or red. That then was the time to obey ( without question ) the traffic laws of the ball field!  Sometimes the signal went to caution, slowing all progress as everyone waited for the ball to return from beyond the wool blanket!  At that age we had no more free will than the merry - go - round did ,or the kids aboard it did ,when suddenly hijacked and assaulted by bigger and stronger kids bent on turning  it into that momentary " hell ride " while they pushed and pulled together, creating enough momentum that you were too  scared to remain and.too scared to jump! As bad as that was back then, I would have taken it 100 times to 1 in avoiding the catastrophe and walk of shame dealt me then. , The runners, all but the one going from 1st to 2nd (me) were running toward a coach. The one at 3rd base, now with the caution light shining ,then flicking to red as he saw the ball appear from the glaring haze of lights to be an easy catch for the outfielder in question! Then, just as sudden , the red went to green and the race was back on, aided by a collision ( usually ) of those not calling out " mine"  or someone else not hearing it. From 1st to 2nd I had not been guided by a  coach, but as I was returning towards 1st. I could see him waving me in, only to start waving me off, yelling at me to go go go!!
Clear in my mind  - even now - is the scene I turned back to as I went towards second! To my left, I could see the kid round 3rd and head for home, with the traffic light behind him bouncing and swinging himself around like a happy 10 lb. dog with a 20 lb. tail! To my right I saw 2 players doing an Abbott and Costello routine as they scrambled around, bouncing off each other while trying to retrieve the ball, and there, straight in front of me I see the returning runner land back on second and stick there like a lawn dart! From the corner of my eye, I see the winner of the scramble fling the ball towards home plate, arriving just in time to not get the runner. And then...  there's me, standing 5 feet from second base; lost, confused, embarrassed, and boy am I *******!   Now ******, it's not fair! I followed the rules and obeyed the signals.
   No walk of shame is nice, no matter how much dignity one might portray, but at that age, under those hateful lights and the faces of those mean people on the bleachers, who keep staring at me... I'm sure I was crying as I walked that long walk back to the dugout!   2 times that happened to me that year. It wasn't fair, was not right, and in point of fact,  it was cruel and heartbreaking! Why else would it still permeate my life 55 years later.? Am I alone in this club and should I let it affect my memory so? IDK, because as far as I know, it's just a one-man club and no others for assimilation.
  No one else has paid the dues to join  - that I know of - but  I truly hope I am not alone here, Okay so It happened and it broke me at the time, yes it did that, but it; also prepared me for life, and armed me with the knowledge that sometimes we must endure the pain from doing " no wrong"!   That's where that dignity comes from, as we take the walk of ( undeserved ) shame, with head held high and caring not if anyone sees the gleam of tears... that may fill our eye!
Danny Wolf Dec 2018
“Let me hold precious the memory of those who have crossed over by letting them be a part of me.” May I be granted with opportunities in my daily life to honor them through kind and loving actions towards others. When my heart is darkened by the strokes of pain, may laughter emerge from a deep fallow within me and allow for a moment of joy.

“Dissolve the haze of fury, and help me be patient as the puzzle comes together over time.” When I question, “Why?” remind me of my faith in Creation. Bring to light my roll in this becoming, and help me forgive myself for my actions that have contributed to my suffering. Grant me the space to be with my anger and move through its outbursts to its source. Implant within me the tools to feed its call for action with love.

“Mellow my hearts rhythms when it engages in a race with my thoughts.” Help me to stay present to my emotions so I can give them the acknowledgement they deserve. When the tears flow and my chest aches, allow the winds of my ancestors to create space within my heart for healing. Break down my walls so their love can permeate through my being.

“Inject me with a reminder that I didn’t come this far to abandon myself now.” Help me remember these prayers. Give them an open pathway to soak into my subconscious and become my way of living. May I swallow them and let them become my blood, my cells, my being - my foundation for higher consciousness.

May my grieving become a light in the abyss of the unknown.
Quotations from Prayers of Honoring GRIEF by Pixie Lighthorse
Star BG Jan 14
I’m ready to be Geronimo in this day.
To ride horse of intentions
and move under cloudless sky.

If thunder strikes, I with war paint infused with love
will gallop and conquer enemies of fear.

Birds in song whistle urging me on.
Flowers permeate nostrils
as winds hugs.

I am ready to take bow and shoot in poetic fields
and aim for many to fall at my poems.

Ready to transmute all judgements into heart
as I balance and wear Apache sash to celebrate self.

Ready willing and able
with breath deep to align with power
as warrior of love.

The day is young,
and I will ride Palomino steps gracefully.
Ride into the sunset blessed.
The word Palomino came to me and I decided to scribe.
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