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Impulzez Nov 2013
It was just a Kiss
It was a fellas hangout
Why I refused? Still don't know
We were all there, ballers and players
Ian was always there, behind
Never fails to appear a Lover
Tonight she is a drunkard
No hold backs; No barrier
"How long Adelaide, how long?"
You can't kiss me in public
I am not your side-chick
No more , No more, NO!
I've done it all, everything
Come dear can we go home
We can talk about this at ....
******* Adelaide! Sit down
These are your friends, aren't they?
Tell them who i am to you NOW!
She's now the Boss, I get Bossed
For your information, giggles!
I'm pregnant and I'm not terminating
Oh! Baby... Don't baby me...
Gabby should have kept quiet
'Hm-mm Sorry can i excused?"
Shut the **** up Gabriel!
Are you saying you aint in this?
Giggles! NG Gabby has a child ...
"What! SLAP! Jeez! ***!
Its enough Ian! SLAP! Silence
Long silence.....
Tears, agony, wailing, pleadings
Guess its more than just a kiss
It always is Stupid...
Ian and Adelaide got married 6 months after.... Please don't try this unknowingly, it doesn't always work...
Mohamed Nasir Dec 2017
The bellowing clouds of smoke
The paralyzing threats of death
To the residents down below
Holding on to dear breath
Choking throats stinging eyes
By the languid sulphur laden air
White powdered ashes everywhere
There's nothing that they could do
Because nobody can say no
To a volcano
It can erupt at anytime if it wants to
They're uncertain what to do, follow
Their hearts to stay where they are
Or follow the orders to evacuate
The folks can see fire and smoke from afar
They've to move from there before it's too late
Because the volcano could boil over
It's brewing up in the creater
They've to leave their belongings
Behind them and say farewell
To the chicken the ducks and geese
The cows the dogs and the cats as well
Or take some of them if they please
Take along the important documents
And regrettably flee for fear from their homes
Before the fiery lava will leave
Their huts to remnants
They can't say no because
The Bali King the 'spokesperson'
For the Gods won't listen to their pleadings
And why it's throwing up it's tantrum
Because the Gods have spoken
The Gods are angry at them
And they've to sacrifice all
Their belongings to appease the Gods
Because they know the volcano
Knows they can't say no
To the volcano
Katy Laurel Oct 2012
These autumn sunrises bring a remnant

Of cool spring mornings we spent
In 
moments of content, encompassing silence.

What is the foundation of this feeling

You once claimed to brand me with

Inside other lips?

The truth comes out,
coated in masks,

And unknown hopes,

That we have already proved to be wrong.

Can we rewind?
Can I bring your mind

To understand the beauty of the present?

Will ghosts always follow the trace of footprints

You left when you took flight from me?

But this language of ****** magnolias dipped in salty water

Recognizes the impossibility within her pleadings.

How selfish I become with the possibility of magnificent love.

Perhaps all I do to you now is inflict pain upon the

Wary navigator who sails the ocean of your soul.

I feel the weight of your ship sink into the water well of my mind.
I let it sink into my numb mind.
This juxtaposition fills my veins with anxiety,
For all that places itself in my hands
Quickly dissipates, melting under my overbearing love
And insecure need to be fully loved.

This has led to a natural novocain,
Which I am unable to keep from filling my blood,
And infecting the dear heart within my ribs
With nothingness.

I sink into the comfortable, encompassing black
With a blank stare and shiny scars.
Reminders that this abyss,
Often leads to insomniac slicing.
Watching my own blood leak out with happiness.
Sickfully joyful to see my liveliness,
Praying the physical will call upon frozen passion.

This is the secret.
This is how I could bear to look at you for years without emotion.
Your love sang too true for my many masks to survive,
And my fear of feeling became cold, guilty friendship.
Perhaps, my guilt hoped for your understanding.
I just couldn't commit you to my own insanity.
Too many times have I tried to find fulfillment in lips,
I would never permit inside the lost water well.
You were better off without my tactless attempts at love.
Perhaps, that remains the reality…
Doubt haunts determination.
My difficulty in recovering our old language
Begins to overshadow my bright hope.

So now I contemplate the truth in my journey.
Am I merely chasing down your ghosts
Fighting to show you the value of your own love,
When you are so pridefully aware of its worth.
I wonder if you have ever truly observed my own love?

It existed, long ago, once within childhood
And then transformed into trapped, teenage hubris;
Prideful of my naivety, and what I then called fate.
But almost all evidence has been destroyed,
Out of selfish preservation.
How could I expect you to understand,
I only continue to breathe to rebel against these violent memories.

Yet, my fearful pride continuously tears at my honest ambition.
So, I call upon rhythm to release me.
Bon Iver breaks all my honor,
Evoking all memories of my ******.
Moments of time I keep deep in my silent sorrow.
Only this particular pain,
Allows me to isolate my words,
And continue singing.
I realize I have become lost in the water well.
When will this precarious ego finally shatter?

The silence returns to the mountain night.
Frigid, soft breeze breaks my blank stare,
As I fight with my twisted nature.
I continue to hold out my hand,
Shaking and trembling,
As you stare at me with shocked confusion.
I am no good with promises of the future.
So, I remain in the present,
And believe,
In the vulnerable emotion,
You unconsciously paint upon me.
Jacquelyn Cruz Nov 2010
In the middle of winter, my heart is the one filled with cold winds
If I look towards the skies, the white clouds passing on as to say goodbye.
Voices of deep pain, try to convince my ways of thought,
As cries of old pleadings, want to stop this anguish of lust.
.. ..

You were like the last desert rose, my only essence in life.
As I search for summer, to calm my internal blizzard.
A cold darkness is what is holding you away from me, my love.
But I am the only one to blame, It was me who was afraid and ran away.
.. ..

I couldn’t imagine my life with you…your a gentle soul , a warm breeze,
And my heart as cold as the night, afraid to let in the summer winds.
.. ..

But its now in your absence, that I have come to love the seasons.
I extend my hand to the darkness awaiting, the return of my desert rose.
Soon spring is upon us, and the cold winds will begin to fade away,
And the cries of old pleadings now want to regain the passion, once again.
.. ..

The white clouds will bring back to me, my essence of life…
Now I can't imagine my life without you, you’re my gentle soul, my warm breeze.
The warmth of the seasons will calm my heart and my desert rose will set me free.

Gentle Soul...
O'how I love thee...
J.Cruz©2010
A.k.a.VelvetRosetta
JL Apr 2013
computer screen, computer screen,
please fill yourself with words
my brain is much too tired now
writing decent diction hurts.
computer screen, computer screen,
please let me see the light
my head cannot think of anything
but cliche phrasings this late at night.
computer screen, computer screen
I sort of wish I were dead
but perhaps I should log off Hello Poetry
and finish this so that I can go to bed.
Jonathan Surname Aug 2018
She never minded the scars I carved.
She'd beg me for more, and as her wrists were tied in knots.
I'd make sure another night was never forgot.
Sure, she'd struggle, much as any of us must.
But she was lurching toward me wild and bewildered such.

She would calm as I tended wound and her panting
below became a parting of bloom. Springtime crept
in like a slow, low light on a horizon only meant
to be seen by us two.

Her struggle turned to sound and her mouth stuffed still.
Her lids heavy hiding stained glass eye windowed sill.
Her knees buckled with belt tied firm to keep her tight.
Her smile crept wide as tongue wetted what kept words inside.

Her drool ran and stained our sheets,
her eyes filled with tears which ran down cheeks.
Pleasing pleadings strung out by Morse code taps of her feet.
She was more than a canvas,
she became my tapestry.
Trojan Mar 2021
One, two, three
Silver coins
Silver scales

Four, five, six
They go down
One by one

Seven, eight, nine
In a bucket
Plucking them out

Ten, eleven, twelve
Blood and pleadings, cries
Squeezing wounds and lies
December, 2020
Feelings are full of meanings.
Abandonment and pleadings.
Heart beatings.

Feelings are just sweepings
swept up off the floor from
pain frozen beings.

Feelings release the pain.
Which overreaches and falls.
Pain palls.

A dark cloud of dust
emerges to cloak
the feelings to black.

Feelings like seedlings
grow in the sun. Eclipsed,
the sun and feelings turn dark.

Bright, feelings ultimately
turn to gloom
Happiness vs sadness

Who wins?
© JLB
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2014
a story, a long strange poem, and a thank-you note of a sort
~~~~~~

swords and verbs,
subjects and nouns,
participles and particles,
participants of past and futures
transitive and intransitive,
none can get pen-rooted,
sic transit gloria verborum eius
(fleetingly passes the glory of his words)

slow or swift, overhead, all unobtainable,
from the atmosphere unpluckable,
no deposit, no return, no po-ahem,
only a sad sonata denominated,
Air on the E(mpty) String continuous playing

likely something is a brewing,
clock internal clocking,
but no talking, just tic tocking,
ideas stumblebum in and out,
inebriated, fuzzy speeches,
don't reach out to touch or savor 'em,
those weird words were made for walking,
not for retrieval, sorting, storing, and
subsequent lots of
some assembly needed...
poetic conceiving...not

perhaps they are disfigured?
important but disguised?
definitely not credos and codas,
mission statements, definitions,
nah...not me, unimportant amateur passerby,
my only "laurels" come to
die at holiday time,
lariats to lasso, tether and then brownout,
a wintry green,
gone to nether garbage cans, timely and expediently,
per a calendar deadline

but an overheard conversation
on Eighth Avenue,
a ******-onto latched-onto,
undid this parlous state of
an evenhanded hypnotic flatlining,
a perilous mind,
infected with no-inspiration

"Why I do not share,  
or publish on the Internet," she said,
"what I write is so
precious to me that
the thought of it,
orphaned and drowned
amidst the unending pixels,
water-falling words
into ocean trenches,
unborn, yet ignominiously dead
just the same,
at the same instant,
an unbearable pain,
childbirth and death,
all in one, unthinkable!"


"Publish" he begged her,
"too good are you
to deny this world of this,
the world needs it proofs,
you are a proof!"


stunned by an emotive slap,
I knew kinetically,
I too must have,
proofs,
of me,
worthy of presentation,
if only,
to prove worthy of
your time and thus
prove to myself
my very own existence,
even derision decisive,
is an extant proof of sorts...
~~~~~~~

My Proofs

having come so far,
task so vast,
bedeviled and bewildered,
I am the face I have seen
in photos and mirrors,
but how can I stake my claim
to be more than just a
passing fancy virtual reality?

you cannot bite me,
though willing do I tender
my body for your impression
upon my body permanent

you cannot caress my lips,
though oft imagined it,
the multiplicity tender of that dream,
makes the would-be reality of it,
pale with a shame of insufficiency

bleed and wept poetry for the unity us,
so hard, so oft, so free,
my tablet machine
human tear-tracked and deep red scarred,
the Apple Geniuses,
when they see me coming,
whisper it's him, Poet-man,
who made an
iPad into a tissue
that cannot be repaired/replaced,
and run away and hide

have I not confessed enough my colorful sins,
but alas, all you can see is blackened dots of crimes
hosted upon a white background
of pleadings for forgiveness,
i's dotted with rejection slips,
t's crossed with painful slivers
of writings crucified by me,
therefore, for the grace of god in man,
they died unnamed and lived only briefly

perhaps if you saw a man by my name
on your television, you would say
"****, that is/was him, it cannot be denied,"
but you cannot be sure, imposter,
what must I do, to make the evening news,
and claim existence, therefore I am!

I cannot say with certainty,
am more then a running-around,
neurons and electrons colliding,
a mess of sub-atomic particles
invisible and in periodic possession of a flavor
of the god factor or Einstein's hanky

but if you come to my city,
I can give you a location,
a centralized park, a wooden fruit-box stand,
at an end corner,
(cause corners end well)
where a man stands and recites
and sorta sounds like what's his name

if you want to be sure it is that one,
look for teeth marks on his body,
reading out loud from a tablet unique,
alternating stanzas with Siri
his spiteful spitfire editor and sometime fan,
the box upon he stands transported
grapes from California, oranges from Florida,
can't be sure, the stickers rain washed away,
and if he weeping as he chants,
odds are it could be me,
I mean him...

to be sure you must place gentle a finger
or your lips across, upon his,
if electrons you sense and taste,
and yours they embrace
as naturally as if they were waiting

just for you,
you can almost be sure,
don't ask his name, unnecessary,
for he will face you with these words:


*"Thank you, Thank you!
you are my proof..."
a story, a long poem, and a thank-you note
to one who is known as
Jara Fan,
from Saskatchewan,
writ as an attempted proof of our actualized mutual existence
beyond
mere pixelation
The tourists all jostle for a look at the falls
At the point where the water just drops
It goes over the edge, crashing down far below
And then it's all over, it just stops

But, further up river before the falls are in sight
Where the river's hypnotic, dull and oh, so boring
The dark voices are waiting, hiding and calling
This is the place that the powers are storing

Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware

A dark, gloomy bar on the wrong side of town
Where the waitresses all dance for their tips
A strip joint so defined, but really not so
This is where one's morality slips

A sniff of a perfume, so fragrant yet cheap
Blurs your connection to the ring on your hand
The dark voices are calling, telling you things
Get the waitress and prove you're a man

Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware

You've returned from  a movie, back to your home
You must now take the babysitter back
Your wife stays home waiting for your return
But, with the babysitter you kind of lose track

You see a young body, and a glimpse of her breast
She crosses her legs, but you don't look that far
You share idle chatter, as you flirt like a kid
And you take the girl to the back seat of the car

Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware

The voices keep coming, just block them out
They feed on your weakness and pain
You have to ignore their pleadings to break down
For nothing good comes of them, there's nothing to gain

Jump in the water, go over the falls
Go with the dancer, surrender your life
Lay down with the baby sitter
Feel the voices twist the knife

Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2024
after Alexandra Leaving, a song by Leonard Cohen

<>

to go where?

to a city self-consuming in madness,
giving every excuse to stay, and yet,
it came to me just now when the poet
must be leaving his redoubt, with doubt,
and return to the concrete and anomie
of a different kind of splendid isolation

when the last leaf meanders slow down
to the battlefield, and the falling terminado,
and the tree branches are stick figures, each
finger pointing skyward in an j’accusing manner,
accussing & conceding defeat, begging for mercy,
their pleadings too much for me to bare and bury

when green has been wiped clean, and deleted
from the dictionary of colors, my moth eaten soul,
can no longer be granted a stay of execution by
merely looking at the landscape and seascape
to admire their friendly contrasting schemes,
their installation in me of the awe of a visual
quietude, that was an astonishing injection
not truly appreciated till now, too late and
still early, the awe colorations of nature’s vibrancy

The gods have come, my soul hoisted upon their
broad shoulders, the dead-appearing tree branches
can no longer keep their poet safe, hold him back from
meeting his fate; now, he too is a leaving but
floating upward, unlike like the fallen crowds that have
come to rest upon the soil that born them, now to be buried,
all saying: Goodbye Island Poet leaving,

Island Poet
has no poem, no good understanding, no vision,
had no plan, no foresight, only a hope against hope,
that safety was/is not seasonal, Van Morrison reminds,
“These are the days of endless summer,”are memories,
to be held onto tightly, until when if I pass muster, angels
will return to my island abode, where my natural friends
will greet me again, with a flowering and new births,
and The Island Poet can once again revel in ideas in words like
future, sanity, when boarding the ferry with a one way ticket smile.
From a Labor Day  funereal so long ago,
yet forever permanent…nml
karin naude Mar 2013
i wandered for a long time
among thorns, disease and death
no glimmer to see
feel the walls, feel the cave,it leads you out
i found many Christian doors
locked with big heavy chains
you preach "come Ye weary"
to locked door?!
Christian followers preach beautiful
words divinely chosen for impact
no temperature ever checked
walk among bibles, oil and cloths
dance in praise
blow the battle horn
But But But
who sees those wandering in the dark standing before closed doors for help

closed doors mean" banishment to the Barron out field
red sin covered land
mercy irrelevant
demanding cruel deity
pleased with nothing
pushes self destruction
cries are stamp on
more pain more glory
damage soul the goal
your pleadings are laughed and spit upon
the glorious hellish Barron outfield

do you allow this dear reader?
do you have closed doors?
i lived in the outfields now i'm home thank God
my Guardian through prayer opened a door for me
now i know, now i know
follow the true Christ
EdnaLim Dec 2012
We fell, for what was thought to be Love.

We held, on to what was thought to be Hope.

The Days went into Months and the Months went into Years.

We even lost count of those pages in the book of Promises we dogeared.



Those summerdays we spent traipsing in the sun

and the starless nights spent watching life slowing down in motion.

All these time we shared and get involved in each other's emotions,

The Youth we spent consumed wondering about our actions and reactions.



The carefree times lovers should have were filled with paranoia,

Even Freedom was robbed by another person's act of denial!

Disappointment and Hurt, tears and Sadness;

the desperate pleadings of the Heart were taken and thrown into the wilderness.



The bank of tears has dried up, the Heart has gone weak.

The Mind stopped working and the Body has lost its Spirit.

Finally, it is time to say goodbye.

So goodbye, goodbye. I end this with a sigh
Warren Gossett Nov 2011
Lacking self-respect, I again seek her out,
my wounded heart oozing intimate poetry,
sonnets and pleadings of love in my
addiction to her lustful wine red lips,
mesmerizing pale thighs and *******.
She smiles perfect teeth, indifferently
sipping on one of my love poems but then
spews minute flecks, revealing nothing,
perhaps feeling nothing; I'm certain her heart
remains either dormant or nonexistent.
I know her ****** routine so well as she
becomes that familiar raptor, and I allow
her to sink razor talons deeply in my nape.
Night animals stir with fear as she carries
me off toward the blistered moon, trailing
precious bits of my love, her sensuous
midnight blue silhouette seared into
this dulled brain as my dreams of reciprocal
love are left smoldering on the foul ground,
all for another night of disdainful love.

---
Stephan Aug 2016


Melodious tides serenade along a foam dipped coast line,
we drift as a single composed symphony,
seduced by a pounding surf, its sensuous rhythm pulsates
flooding our hearts, aching to collide
in the tempo of a lone torrent’s embrace

Scorching August passions seize the moonlit sand,
palm tree shadows dance atop sultry weathered dunes
of lemongrass and saw palmetto,
on saltwater breezes moaning our names, mellifluously
from a distant cantata's horizon

Warm dark *** skin intoxicates, I stagger,
lost in hypnotic topaz eyes, reflective pleadings
of deeper desires sought, fingertips probe sun softened locks,
nightshade tresses, mingling with a rippled surf
as stardust illumines moist swollen lips, parted  

Harmonic waves wash atop entwined silhouettes
nearing a crescendo, a pinnacle of pleasure,
where secrets are revealed in half swallowed sighs  
on this coastal haven when voices sing in
throaty whispers of impassioned ecstasy

Now as heated breaths hover beneath the moon’s glowing stare
we too build and recede, feeding our amorous desires
as the fading night relinquishes its hold and dawn cracks the sky
Our tide becomes one, our union remains unbroken,
our love, eternally bound by the melody of the sea
Evon Benjamin Aug 2018
Aching hearts or burning bridges?
My mind races as quickly as your footsteps run amok in my sanctuary.

No peace of mind resides, so peace, I have to leave you behind. Love is all you need, what a fallacy. Trust builds real love. If it flees then love is but a drug, numbing senses, dulling intuitions, instincts,
If it smells like rotten eggs, it stinks

Pleadings and pleasings,
Return to sender please.
Wrong address because you’re not ready to please my mind, ease my mind. Don’t want to me to see the last seen.

Foibles, fumbles, stumbles,
Reminiscent mistakes are daggers to my heart.

Yet, out of the bloodbath comes no effort made to ease the ache of a heartbreak, only sorrow and pain left in its wake.

The struggle continues, solitary soldiering, destined for a peace longed for to ease a troubled mind.
I find it you know, that peace I was looking for.

But nothing is free, oh no Siree,
Especially, not peace.
Lady, if you'd slumber sound,
Keep your eyes upon the ground.
If you'd toss and turn at night,
Slip your glances left and right.
Would the mornings find you gay,
Never give your heart away.
Would they find you pale and sad,
Fling it to a whistling lad.
Ah, but when his pleadings burn,
Will you let my words return?
Will you lock your pretty lips,
And deny your finger-tips,
Veil away your tender eyes,
Just because some words were wise?
If he whistles low and clear
When the insistent moon is near
And the secret stars are known--
Will your heart be still your own
Just because some words were true? ...
Lady, I was told them, too!
Hal Loyd Denton Oct 2012
Death stole a soul from its earthly place no other can fill the empty place for thirty years each one gave
A little and then a little more in time mathematics over ruled and was disallowed two became one. The heart
Of love ever watchful try as you may the bond unseen unshakeable unbreakable this spouse this was the
Only house my soul has found unending rest within these walls our ease measureless as infinity. We can
Search earth and universe but not one glimpse, it was one of a kind just one face.

Commitments watchful eye never allowed disorder steal away even while surrounded by friends these
Eyes fixed to yours through them pour each moment love’s torrent we go to distant habitations passing
On always to carefree laughter oh this stronghold our union has made only lions know these privileged
Paths we walk together hand in hand a man and a woman who tasted fruit as it had to be back in Eden
Purest delight no dark turning only the light drenching quenching every longing.

Time was the banner unfurled our covering protecting shield over head rain and sun deflected as we
Strolled past ruins of former days then it spoke softly of permanent connections that always flowed into
Promise filled tomorrows to soon it would speak of unbearable sorrow. The one would be left only as a
Half plunged from brightest light into darkest gloom, people still stir and go about their business I walk
By them they are whole while I walk in half light and I am blinded and confused once everything made
Sense. Now only senseless starved for a single meaning anything to stop the pain.

Moving forward is the only constant it leads to only more desperate pleadings that go unheard through
Black and twisted dead wasteland I feebly stumble I see you momentarily only to have you vanish if only
I could pass into the forgotten world where memories were unlawful and strictly enforced but then I
would lose you again no soul could survive that torment. Though tears flow unbidden in them you are
Alive they hold within their fiery drops the unquestionable hope of that eternal tomorrow.
extasis Apr 2010
Listen to the bell's toll
It brings solace to the soul
The imps of my fitful slumber
Hope to drag me in the deep of sleep
Awakening to the noon of day
I leave my house with no delay
Hoping to find the one I love, dream of
Upon the stone from where she lays
As I rush into the sea of granite
The tombstones' voices drown my thoughts
A hundred murders, a thousand deaths
Accusations, reveries, pleadings
They cloud my mind
And I embrace darkness.
I feel the chilling touch of winter's baby soft breath
As I rise to my feet
To find myself in front
Of my long lost lover's
Final retreat
A heathen's breath descends upon
My heaving breast
As I claw the cursed ground, oh, the cursed ground,
Away from this place of solemnity
‑­
As the final clod of dirt is removed, in an air of infallibility
I hope to obtain a glimpse of my dearest
Only to find those accursed pits of black like a pool of tainted water

With hair like limpid worms in the night
And that ghastly nightmare grin,
Mocking my very existence to see whom I seek
In a terrible rage, I shred, I tear, I smash, and render the Beast
Indistinguishable in any form
I fling myself into the streets
Tearing thru the crowds
Vaulting over and thru the market stalls
To find my wild flight halted by a pair of
Panicked citizens hoping to alleviate my obvious distress
Only now in a flash of mental shock
That throws me close to an unconscious state
Does the realization of my actions ascend to my heavens
And as the citizens holding me let go
I myself let go
Of everything and everyone that matters
Or should matter to me
Stumbling, hoping to hold my balance along the precipice
From which my mind has already cast itself
‑­
I once again see a dripping, searing red rage cloud my vision as the madness
That had taken me among the tombstones returns
Swatting aside those near me
I approach the river that runs thru the city
And staring into the depths
I see the creature that I had become
A haggard defeated man that had succumbed to the
Eternal darkness that engulfs everyone in time
And I see my love, the one who I had sought for so long
Alongside this poor creature that is within me
Her presence is all that I can now perceive
And I let my grasp on this world
Decay, and as I sink into the depths
My love approaches and embraces me

In the final act of Love

In the final act of Life

In the only act of Death.
I do not sleep well at all. Never have. This time I woke up and felt very, very depressed, which was unusual. So I wrote. I was about 14 at the time.
Kurt Philip Behm Aug 2018
In the song of the antelope,
  the Prince heard his Queen

Now locked in a convent,
  her beauty unseen

The tower still distant,
  its ramparts on guard

Just one point of entry,
  a hero’s reward

The mist in the valley,
  her prison unseen

Through clouds in the distance,
  her pleadings, her screams
  
The miles before him,
  twin antlers ahead

His future unfolding
  —his destiny wed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Martin Narrod Jan 2018
Picture me suckling on her elbows, lips enveloping that round lump, teeth scraping up past the skins’ v-fold, you might even want to dress that elbow in dotted pale cerise cotton *******, picture me lapping at her neck, tongue thwapping, spit running down to the corners of the mouth, bright nose pressed firm into the temple, my salacious grin in the wee pit of her eyes,

Yes I am there.
Picture me pawing, growling, climbing up her thin skinny young legs, my junk clambering its way into her grove garden cemetery of Hearse boxes and heart suitcases, where by death nothing grows anymore. Picture heavy, weighty, fleshy flesh tearing to shreds those photos you’ve been keeping of changing diapers in the back of your mind, those pictures on the top of your Steinway, picture me in your picture frames. Picture me I am the perfect imbecilic interstices to incise your pristine sweethearts’ heart, picture me, for I am the beast trammeling your restful sleep. Picture me while I take what I please, picture me as I take and I cleave, fueled by rancor and grief, I am your concerted antithesis of pleas and no’s and pleadings. I am but her best friend till the end. Picture me, woof woof. Picture me.
K Balachandran Oct 2012
A Heartless act
                                         #
   I let you put your signature
                       in my throbbing heart,
how could you heartlessly erase it,
               unheeding my pleadings and part?
                                                #          ­  


                                                              ­                    **Wistful thought about the one who left

                                                          ­                                                  #              ­                                                   
             ­                                                                 ­      Without a word, she left,
                                                           ­                                       her soft whispers still reverberate,
                                                    ­                                   would she remember our days together,
                                                                ­                                 I realize, her silent presence was my succor.
                                                         ­             #
extasis Apr 2010
Try men's souls. Provocative mind-whip how you soothe me. I scorn modern poetry...not because it is truly bad or truly good. It just makes me feel as if my pores are ever-expanding with clicking, skittering, masses of insects.

Black shiny minuscule monstrosity.
Beautiful in gritty grotesque.

A lamb lights upon the searing dark-light torch...**** them all with glee

No pity or remorse towards humans humanity human nature,
we are disgusting creatures until I cease thinking about us.
Then we are interesting and subject to more discovering and journeying.

Take the child and expose it to everything at once; it shrivels and mumbles distant screams of flaming cliches combined with a burning shot of plasmatic soul searching. How would we approve of such?

Inside the black brown shriveled parchment child-casing: The other children are ignorant. My crooked cracked being shivers disgustingly. I hate them instantly. Not hate. A rigid viscous feeling. Rip apart the sublime ape. She-he in all splendid obsession. Strive, then, no more to ape the emblems of the spirit that was, but evoke anew that spirit in modern life.

I, we trust none. Drama drama dramatic dramatically dramatical in all appearances, but truly flat-line non expressionist.

I love only once.

Burn them and their wicked kindness.
I will soothe my satisfactions and live love only once.

My Muse is the riptide chainsaw hackslash terror of our generation. Reveling in the natural ones. The rocks  scrape phrases up of graves and trees wickle waveringly with pleadings of insane sleeps.

How beautiful is nature. That it can reduce us to nothing at all and raise us upon our grandest delusions.

I love to despise of women's voices. Androgyny is revelation worthy. Epiphany causing in romanticism.
I love to desire my emotional and mental consumption.

she is grandeur made flesh
epiphany constituted within reach
glorious
*******, you sweet, sweet *******
this soul will rest
not mine, not ours
it will take rest and tendril itself through all

love commissions such things
what ****** soul
She I Cannot Resist
I can't seem to organize this one properly, and it may seem hard to understand, but it requires multiple readings and analyzing...which some people don't feel like doing.

I wrote this for a very androgynous woman that I loved dearly, but she was very insecure about herself and closed herself off from me because she wasn't sure what to do with someone who loved her more than anything.

I wrote this during my time of despairing over the fact that she wouldn't let me close.
Pauline Morris May 2016
For my original sin
I'm paying again

For a choice I made long ago
When I was young and did not know

I did not know, loving someone
Could keep you under that gun

Let me set the scene
Of how he was so mean

I endured all his beatings
The only sound, my pleadings

Years spent in his prison
Under constant supervision

Found the key
Set myself free

It was years and years ago
But he still finds where I go

Moved towns and home
Trying to end his syndrome

His mother manipulated my kids
Now he knows where I live

Doors and Windows bolted down
A waiting game till he comes to town

Last time it ended with me in the woods
***** and bruised, because he could

This time it will end in blood and gore
Only question is, which end of the knife I will explore
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Separation
Death stole a soul from its earthly place no other can fill the empty place for thirty years each one gave
A little and then a little more in time mathematics over ruled and was disallowed two became one. The heart
Of love ever watchful try as you may the bond unseen unshakeable unbreakable this spouse this was the
Only house my soul has found unending rest within these walls our ease measureless as infinity. We can
Search earth and universe but not one glimpse, it was one of a kind just one face.

Commitments watchful eye never allowed disorder steal away even while surrounded by friends these
Eyes fixed to yours through them pour each moment love’s torrent we go to distant habitations passing
On always to carefree laughter oh this stronghold our union has made only lions know these privileged
Paths we walk together hand in hand a man and a woman who tasted fruit as it had to be back in Eden
Purest delight no dark turning only the light drenching quenching every longing.

Time was the banner unfurled our covering protecting shield over head rain and sun deflected as we
Strolled past ruins of former days then it spoke softly of permanent connections that always flowed into
Promise filled tomorrows to soon it would speak of unbearable sorrow. The one would be left only as a
Half plunged from brightest light into darkest gloom, people still stir and go about their business I walk
By them they are whole while I walk in half light and I am blinded and confused once everything made
Sense. Now only senseless starved for a single meaning anything to stop the pain.

Moving forward is the only constant it leads to only more desperate pleadings that go unheard through
Black and twisted dead wasteland I feebly stumble I see you momentarily only to have you vanish if only
I could pass into the forgotten world where memories were unlawful and strictly enforced but then I
would lose you again no soul could survive that torment. Though tears flow unbidden in them you are
Alive they hold within their fiery drops the unquestionable hope of that eternal tomorrow.
Michael Mar 2019
Rest in Country

We'd just lobbed into Vungers from the Dat on R & C,
Innocently strolling was **** Knight and me,
Across the Flags to the Some-Such Bar wherein the girls drank 'tea'.

And I can still see Max beside me striding to the Some-Such Bar,
With the baby-sans about him going just that bit too far,
With their practiced tugs and pleadings going just that bit too far.

And of course among the baby-sans the cowboys moved in too,
Which didn't worry me too much my cash was in my shoe,
But Max was Max and in those days, not like me and you.

‘Watch your wallet, mate,’ says I, ‘in case it comes to harm.’
‘No fear of that’ says mighty Max with patriotic charm,
Then he tucked a cowboy baby-san beneath one brawny arm.

Well! 'You silly ****** put him down’ but Max went like a rocket;
'I'm off to find the White Mice 'cos this *******'s picked me pocket.’
And I groaned aloud because I knew that me and him would cop it.

Sure enough, there gathered round an angry, shouting throng,
In Asia you don't maltreat kids, no matter right or wrong;
Believe you me our lives that day depended on that throng.

And I got hit with an iron bar (the hat protected my head),
Whilst Max had a pistol ****** into his belly and really should be dead,
And across the Flags M.P's I saw, turned white in craven dread.

Australians too, those coppers but no good to Max and me;
The gutless ******* turned about just so they might not see
The riot raging fiercely now about my mate and me.

I'd say forty upright citizens we met that Vung Tau day.
Policemen, soldiers, rascals, all with us two in affray;
Those Aussie ******, save our lives? They'd turned themselves away.

Thank Christ the mob stayed leaderless, our riot's end surprise;
And the cowardly action of those two? 'twas blessing in disguise,
For a Yankee Jeep barged through the mob and drawled 'in here, you guys'.

It barged back out then drove full speed to the end of R&C
Where the Major spoke severely to **** Knight and me.
While quietly back at the Some-Such Bar the girls sat drinking tea.


Saved
This is doggerel, of course, but it is also a description of what happened to me and a digger from my section.
Vince Paige Jun 2010
Prayers fall on deaf ears
Silent pleadings unnoticed
And the moon shines on

The ax falls swiftly
Heads roll like children’s marbles
And the moon shines on

Justice falls like rain
The crowds cry and cheer with joy
And the moon shines on
07:12 AM 5/25/04
Andy N Aug 2014
And always the silent smell
Of music follows
Each time his name is mentioned
Never justice,

Covered in ignored pleadings
With pinpointed accuracy
Constantly kicking
The ladder away
From his freedom

Evidence suppressed and misplaced
For 16 years
In cross currents
Of ignored medical reports

Miscarrying justice
And innocence
Constantly brushed
Under the carpets

Drawn back on curtains
Across hospitals
And your bedroom upon release
Which eventually killed you

A terrible crime
With two victims.
(This poem is in memory off Stefan Ivan Kiszko (24 March 1952 – 23 December 1993), who served 16 years in prison after he was wrongly convicted of assault and ****** of Lesley Molseed. His ordeal was described by one MP as "the worst miscarriage of justice of all time” Kiszko was released in 1992 after forensic evidence showed that he could not have committed the ******. He tragically died in December 1993 shortly afterwards)
blue mercury Mar 2018
in this pestilence and heartache,
i doth lie here without remembering
an instance where i shall not stay
in this quietly bleeding prison

my hands have groped the air
for a phantom amongst the breeze
but there is no longer a soul to spare
when i am brought back to my knees.

i feel my prayers are but thrown
fruitless pleadings to the sky
my truths to bear, are mine alone
never will they be your plight

you hold your head to my chest
and we dream away the time
this prison feels like a prison less
when your heart is calling to mine
romantic Romantics
Stephan Aug 2016
.

I touched the field of amber pleadings
with eyes only sure enough to find that hidden light
Long lost in the sea of forgotten grasses,
brown from the sun, parched by a drought,
exhaling diversions as I stand facing time,
expecting faces to appear but hands caught the sorrow,
passing it down to an earth that is baked and sore,
thirsting for more, a longer plain in this universe

Weeping cocoons snug in the brambles
oblivious to what the outside wears,
blend in with the endings slowly creeping
awaiting metamorphosis
as a tree falls, no noise, no energy for that
Rooted in dismay, clogged by last season’s air,
pausing only to capture one final view
of the smoke stacks, brick faced commandos,
circular spewing pillars
where beneath wealth is created
but eternity is shortened at wholesale prices

Grey skies, a constant color
pressing doom and gloom
into the landscape, fitted like wedges
force fed in spoonfuls of ignorance
Gathering place settings at my feet,
stirring up dust, blurring the wishers
wondering where the water went,
dry beds, serpentine emptiness,
spilling into garbage piles where lakes once
reflected the ripples as they slowly left,
as not even mud stands a fighting chance

When on a hill I see them, the youth,
our future, backpacks and bubblegum,
ear buds and sunglasses, well meaning,
looking for the next iphone, not being taught
that an apple is actually a fruit
Reading comic books about heroes,
caped crusaders who will save the planet
(that must be what the S stands for)
one colored page at a time

And I sit in the dirt, leaving my impression
for that is all I have left, no answers that
have not been asked, no solutions
that remain passed over, just a wild hair
out of place in this take all world
as highways trickle across farm lands
and corn fields are as barren as my stare

But there is hope…there is always hope...

I hope
Note: I meant no offense to children, I believe they are our future and I have great hopes for each and every one of them. I was just trying to make a point kind of metaphorically or something like that.
XIII May 2015
There I go again
I was dragged in
Inside that chamber
On the 6th floor

Heart thumping
Wild, about to burst out
This worst feeling
Seeping into my guts

I'm about to throw up
What butterflies?
These are dragons inside my stomach
Devouring me from inside out

Then it started
As I expected
I was handcuffed
chained all over, down and up

It echoes, the incoming footsteps
I shivered as I froze
'Cause I know what will happen
Then, the doors were locked and closed

There it is, The Ghost
"Why me?"
"Because it is you I chose,
and I know you chose me."

It pierces my chest with its hands
It dug my heart out
Torture, this is torture
Nothing can compare to the hurt

I am screaming in pain, crying
But I cannot let out a sound
Under its rules, I am bounded
To express, I am not allowed

If I let out even a soft sob
I will receive a million jab
Because to express is a taboo
And probably to be human too

But who is it to blame?
On the 6th floor, it is me who came
I came knocking, searching
The Ghost only accepted my pleadings

Because this is what I wanted
I'll have to heart-fully accept
That I'll repeatedly succumb to the torment
On the 6th floor chamber

Because The Ghost is right
From the start, the decision was mine
I know I cannot go back
*Because I chose to love
Pain is part of love.
Robert Gretczko Sep 2016
I've cast aside memories like falling pennies
from my pockets filled with scraps of paper and pleadings
for joy or action

some might feel a distraction

stepping so lightly across puddles that appear
and dry to soon to the sun's burning rays
as if they were never there

you might think it would cause fear

and falling into passions that drift
through filtered memories
you grasp without thinking

you've got to because you are sinking

pleasures hurry down your backyard streets
fast now man... can't you see
no way to stop this wave

sit back anticipate the crave
Wk kortas Oct 2020
The story is in Grimm’s ancient tome
Of the girl who wove straw into gold
Bamboozling the evil, gnarled gnome
With subterfuge both cunning and bold.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter
.

The dwarf chose not to concede defeat,
Rightly convinced that a deal’s a deal;
Filings and pleadings finally complete,
The circuit court to hear the appeal.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter
.

The panel’s judgment swift and direct;
The lower court had most gravely erred.
Petitioner may rightly expect
Payment plus damages
, they concurred.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter
.

Bailiff took heir and inheritance,
Leaving nil which could be sold or pawned,
The king’s glances gave full evidence
The scapegoat would be a clever blonde.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter
.

There was no chance she could be returned
To her former home life in the woods
The miller’s girl, derided and spurned:
She’s a beauty, yes, but damaged goods.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter
.

A room in Amsterdam’s red-light tract
The former princess is on the game.
Still works under an implied contract;
The terms, however, not quite the same.

Sing songs of cold tea in Styrofoam
And rude brown bread, dry without butter;
She knows no carriage nor castle home
Awaits the princess in the gutter
.
I could say "blah blah a story befitting our time blah blah", but I will simply note that Rumplestiltskin got hosed royally.
Jack Jul 2014
~


“Pristine your pose, exposed artistic allure”

Canvas on easel waits patiently
Naked in formless thought
Inviting rapture’s brush strokes

“White on white destined pleadings”

Visions engulf watercolor yearnings
Blending passion’s tints…
Seductive bristled breaths fall

“Soft curves fill unframed desires”

Olive skin seeps semi-gloss wishes
Hues of fire fed glazing
Smooth along tender tan lines

“Valleys of bliss penetrate oiled needs”

Mahogany eyes captivate
Pearl’d glints shimmer silently
Beckoning in secretive glances

“Portal’d palettes draw on my sight”

Crimson lips in whimper’d pout
Satin pillow’d arching designs
Whisper me my dreams

“Their touch breaks my will”

As I paint you, I linger in lust
Overwhelmed by your beauty
Falling helplessly into this masterpiece

“And we become one via art”

Saturated in drop cloth drippings
Sighs of fevered temptations rise
Releasing abstract movements

“Acrylic serenity, vibrant achings”

Melting in chromatic motion
Collapsing among overspray imagination  
Embracing iridescent ending

“Lost forever in a portrait of love”
The smell of bleach stings her nose
And waters her eyes.
Clean and purifying, whitening her darkness,
the bleach is cleansing the beast.
She's lost count of how many scourers
she's used on her skin, just to get the taint of him
off of her.
His actions were well concealed that night,
her pleadings fell on deaf ears, so intent was he.
He made her feel like a piece of meat,
cheap, and at fault
time after time he forced her to kiss him,
to smell his closeness
his alcoholic breath, his sweaty hands, his rough hold.
Finally, a friend appeared, he grabbed her from
the monster, then rage, fists and threats appeared.
She ran as fast as her heels allowed,  
through the maze of crowd, oblivious to the monster
lurking in the corner.
The monster's name was John.
Her saviour's name was Rhys.
Yet, still no peace not even today, just the cleansing smell of bleach.
© JLB
@18 this happened I owe Rhys a lot, I owe my husband an apology as to why I couldn't kiss him for almost 2 years.
Jack Apr 2014
A Portrait of Love



“Pristine your pose, exposed artistic allure”*

Canvas on easel waits patiently
Naked in formless thought
Inviting rapture’s brush strokes

“White on white destined pleadings”

Visions engulf watercolor yearnings
Blending passion’s tints…
Seductive bristled breaths fall

“Soft curves fill unframed desires”

Olive skin seeps semi-gloss wishes
Hues of fire fed glazing
Smooth along tender tan lines

“Valleys of bliss penetrate oiled needs”

Mahogany eyes captivate
Pearl’d glints shimmer silently
Beckoning in secretive glances

“Portal’d palettes draw on my sight”

Crimson lips in whimper’d pout
Satin pillow’d arching designs
Whisper me my dreams

“Their touch breaks my will”

As I paint you, I linger in lust
Overwhelmed by your beauty
Falling helplessly into this masterpiece

“And we become one via art”

Saturated in drop cloth drippings
Sighs of fevered temptations rise
Releasing abstract movements

“Acrylic serenity, vibrant achings”

Melting in chromatic motion
Collapsing among overspray imagination  
Embracing iridescent ending

*“Lost forever in a portrait of love”
Kimoy McKoy Jun 2012
sitting

staring in the darkness

what is it that i hope to see

a reflection of you?

a reflection of me

a reflection of all the things i wish to be

but cant...

think about that for a second.

i'm sure you've heard of

prisoners staring at the outside through bars of a cage.

now imagine that cage being your mind.

that's right.

i have become a prisoner of my mind

locked away behind bars of prohibition

words of cant, wont, shouldn't, and no

just sitting there,

looking in the darkness at places i want to go

people i want to see

and things i want to do,

but cant

i wonder,

has it ever occurred to you

that being held prisoner in your mind

is worse than being held prisoner?

only i

can hear my silent cries

my unspoken pleadings

my rabid curses

only i

can see in my mind's eye

my bloodied hands scratching at the grill

my righteous rage

my madness begging for a straightjacket

only i

am sitting

staring in the darkness

trying in vain to silence that voice in my head

hoping that you'd look into my eyes

see the me locked up wrongfully

climb into my mind

reach into the darkness

and free me.

free me

from my mind
Your feedback is greatly appreciated
A faint noise in a current of forgotten happenings
Some unknown feeling I fight for to keep myself together
Time out to determine the source of this pulsing sensation
Alone to a day met in an alley
Vocalizing a pain I've known for a while but refused to show
Falling apart to the rhythm of solitude
My world just isn't the same
A spark forgotten long ago that held us together
I'm bleeding from the outside in and wiping the dirt into the wound
Good times left undone as we spend lives apart
Hosting feelings of gratitude and self-worth
I'm not gracious but hostile and volatile
A bomb waiting to blow apart
My timer set to minutes
I speak my mind but its gone in seconds
I've torn my sleeves off send my heart with them
I left my pleadings at home lest they come out as despair
My words come as murmurs in the wind
Taken away as they reach you
Faint sounds of a time left unspoken
Etchings of moments that have yet to pass
Crystal ***** show what is to be but mine is an opaque abyss
Just sit back and wait for whatever happens next
I can't change the past but maybe the future
Just sit back and wait

Mitchell S. Bartlett

— The End —