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Tommy Randell Apr 2017
come blow my brains out
with your body of a gun
frazzle my eyes
with your smile of a sun

crush my bones
to splinters and shards
teach me mercy
is only for *******

let your kisses be fire
your breath a disease
bring your apocalypse
down on me please

sext me the text
the call to arms
skin me alive
with the blades in your palms

I don't want it cosy
all hearts and flowers
rain down on me
like a meteor shower

and the knife of your tongue
and the knife of your tongue
pressed to my flesh
like the touch of the sun

let it brand me as yours
burn me deep so it shows
I'm the brunt of your love
as everyone knows

through the 50 shades
of your tendencies
I am the prey
and you are the need

a willing accomplice
to mutual destruction
where passion results
in total eruption

it is not perverted
to want love this way
you know it and I know it
it's 50 clichés

in public poetry
on private sheets
it's what happens to normal
when preverts meet!
A satire, of course, on the whole 50 Shades phenomenon - I was going to call it 50 Shades of Clichés but choices are choices.

'Preverts' ? ... yes, that's right. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ud9zBKJJQe4  Hahahaaa
jcl Mar 16
Animals have an intuition about danger. Men have “gut feelings.”  I should have listen to mine.  The first time I saw her, I knew she was dangerous.  I could feel it, and it excited me.  She was a predator, a tigress, a seductress on the hunt.  A wild, untamable savage woman who destroyed men.  She would destroy me.  I saw it in her eyes the first time I saw her.  She was walking by with her girlfriends, laughing and giggling  She looked up, caught my gaze, and my world suddenly froze. A thousand feelings were expressed in blink of her eyes.  She told me I was prey.  She told me I would die. She smiled, releasing my gaze.  My world rushed back into focus with the abrupt harshness of a slap in the face.  I was sweating. I was afraid. I was excited as I  watched her disappear into the crowd. I was reeling, trying to conceive a way to approach her, to find a clever, witty one liner to distinguish myself from the rest.  I set my drink down. I couldn’t think of anything.  I was spent.
Written  May 13, 1998 Paris, France while sitting at a bistro
#243 2019.04.15
You’re an extension of me, little lion
Voice, soft and ever-flowing like your
frizzy, unkempt mane
You once had trouble roaring like I do,
when you were a cub
Heard a fragile roar, one that
broke my heart into happy tears

You’re an extension of me, little lion
Character, resilient and galvanizing like
your aspirations, never-ending
You once had trouble staying strong with
your claws of positive voices,
when you were a cub
Heard a decree of triumph, one
that lifted my spirits beyond happy tears

You’re an extension of me, little lion
Voice, impactful and ever-confident
like your beautiful, voluminous mane



Melody
3/4/19
We are the physical embodiments of our parents.
That ONE Guy Aug 2018
Parched in a tree,
Watching the prey with glee.

Seeing them scurry and run without limitation,
Makes me pounce without hesitation.

I grasp the prey sqirumining,
Hearing the voice of them worming.

I clench my claws over there body,
I pierce it’s hide,
And my talons get ******.

It starts shaking with false life, shaking and shaking,
Until it gives and all the death is for the taking,
All the meat is for the taking.

I parch in a tree to enjoy my feast,
And then see the sun rising in the east.
Hmmm... I just felt like writing it. So here ******.
jcl Mar 31
The train slowed as it pulled into la Gare de l’Est, the cars bumping and wheels grinding as it came to a stop. It was late. I’d have to move fast to catch the last metro home. I didn’t have the energy, I was tired, cold and hungry, which made me grumpy.

I slung my satchel around my chest, grabbed my carry-on, and made my way to the exit. As I neared the door, I could feel the cold January air flooding into the car. I tightened my coat around me as I stepped down the stairs onto the quay, carry-on in my right hand.

Looking for the nearest exit, I turned left without looking and ran full on into woman. Our bodies collided, time slowed, as we compressing into each other. Her hair flowed into my face like an ocean wave. I could smell her hair, her scent, her femininity. She squealed in surprised, her voice full of youth and nubility.  

The world rushed back into real time and I saw her. My eyes opened wide in awe and disbelief that a woman could be so beautiful. I remember her eyes, supernaturally blue, sapphire blue, as if they glowed from a power within; her skin, white, milky, alabaster, as if she were a statue come to life; her hair, black, glossy, like the feathers of a witch’s raven.

Our eyes locked. Her angry gaze cut through me. I felt exposed and in danger. I looked down and apologized. “Excusez-moi mademoiselle,” I said, putting my right hand to my heart and bowing slightly as if addressing a queen.

I looked back up. Our eyes meet. She had assessed me in the blink of her eyes. She regained her composure, her body relaxed, she touch me arm, and said, “excusez-moi, I was not looking where I was going,” which I sensed was untrue.

I stepped aside. She passed, turned her head, looked me dead in the eyes, gave me a slight smile, and disappeared into the stream of the exiting crowd.

I was perplexed and confused. I’d never had that sort of exchange with a woman before. I didn’t know what to make of it. Was it good, bad, or somewhere in between.

The crowd had thinned. I started walking toward the metro station, looking for #4 Port d’ Orleans, increasing my pace before I missed the last metro home. I followed the signs, and descended the stairs to the quay. There were a few people and groups, up and down the quay, quietly waiting. I leaned on a large concrete pillar, too tired to pay attention to my surroundings, waiting for the train, smelling the air filled with exhaust from electric motors. I could hear the hum of the approaching train. In an instant it was in front of me, slowing down, coming to a stop, the doors hissing open.

I waited a bit, for the groups to board the train. Tired and on auto-pilot, I leaned down, picked up my carry-on, boarded, and sat down on a folding seat by the door, putting my carry-on between my legs.

The train slowly accelerated, humming, rocking, back and forth melodically. I looked up out of curiosity to see who else was on the last train, and I saw her, sitting on the first bench catty-corner, facing towards me. Surprised and caught off guard, that I would ever see her again, I  immediately looked down, not wanting to be caught staring, looking at her from the corner of my eyes.

I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Preternaturally beautiful, as if she wasn’t one of us, somehow not human. She was reading a Kindle, iPods in her ears. Her dress was Parisienne, black on black, the only color, the blue in her eyes, and the blood red of her lips.

She oozed sensuality, sophistication, and confidence. How could that be for a woman so young, a woman in her early 20s.

She read quiescently, only her thumb moving, ever so slightly, as she page forward through her Kindle. Her eyes never looked up, not even to see who new entered the car, when stopped at new stations.

I would look up, occasionally, to glimpse at her. She was fascinating to me, not only because of her beauty, but from her vibe. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t figure it out. Why was I so drawn to her, like a moth to flame.

The train pulled into to Ile-de-la-Cite, rapidly slowing down, passengers counter balancing so as not to fall over. The doors hissed open. In the corner of my eyes, I saw her stand up and start walking up the aisle towards the doors, towards me. I raised my head slowly, our eyes met, locked, time stopped. She smiled, subtly, but enough for me see. Her eyes, gentle, tender, inviting. I smiled, a slight smile back, my eyes saying everything she wanted to hear.

She turned and exited the train. I stared at her, my mouth open in amazement. The klaxon sounded, the door started closing. Panic surged up within me, as I feared I would never see her again. I bolted up from my seat, headed towards the door, abandoning all behind me. The doors slammed shut with thud, I pulled down on the handle, they were locked.

The train started to move, I looked at her. She was looking back. Our eyes locked, as the trained speed off into the darkness of the night.
#162 2019.05.15
Lady Ravenhill Sep 2018
The darkness recedes
Gale forces swirl around them
The eye spies it's prey
©LadyRavenhill 2018
Haiku 59
Wyatt Aug 2018
I can tell you’re a freak
by how your hands
wrap around my throat.
You establish dominance,
you shut me down.
I’ve seen this before,
I’ve felt this before.
The **** between us
put a target on my back.
You sent a shiver
down my spine,
shook me to my core
then you took my heart
with you back to your door.
It’s only natural, it’s obvious.
I’m meant to be owned by you
with nothing at all in return.

I picked out locks
to get into hearts
I had no business being in.
I took your bait,
settled in and got comfortable
as your trapdoor caught me.
I took just a shot of her
then I found myself
at the bottom of the bottle,
addicted to her taste.
I’m drunk on a girl
who knows her way.
Her legs wrap around me
like a snake with her prey.
I’m drunk on a girl who knows her way, she’s a freak of nature.
RH Fists Jul 2018
superfluous really,

my insatiable pursuit of ecstasy
and ruminations of slaughter
only to find my ferality
alone in introspective cacophony
waiting and waiting for prey.
“An ill of greed has befallen the land,”

“A quickening sickness which seeks to prey…”

“Where wealth accumulates and men decay.”
I WANT TO BE VERY CLEAR HERE..I DID NOT WRITE THIS. IT WAS WRITTEN ON A TWO THOUSAND YEAR OLD PIECE OF STONE ON DISPLAY IN JORDAN BELIEVED TO BE PHOENICIAN.

All I did was change the synonyms to make them modern.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
The jungle makes its calls, welling up from hollows beyond.
Monkeys and wild things make their way through the spaces in between,
rapping from unseen places on long barriers
and marking their territory.

Sounds of birdsong fill the air calling out to all too few.
Others prowl the paths looking for prey in caves and behind walls.
Packs of banshees laugh as the chorus grows until the final call.
The last bell rings all are free run for home.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Danial John Jul 2018
**** or be killed
                  Killer be killed

         For they pray
                           For their prey
                                    For they're prey
Stu Harley Sep 2018
the
redtail hawk
have eyes
the
color of
cold blue Remington steel
thus
her eyes
pierce
through
the
soul
to
catch her prey
Arianna Oct 2018
Les étoiles s’étalent
Vers moi, et pendant
Un instant j’ai imaginé
Qu’elles m’auraient dévorée.
I was stargazing one night, and decided to crane my neck so that nothing but the sky was visible. I don't know how long it was, but after a while of staring at pure sky, I swear it swooped down straight AT me! Still remember the jolt of shock, and my heart dropping at whatever it was that seemed to bring those stars tumbling to earth. :-)
King Panda Sep 2015
my love has 1000x
the energy of a
dead corpse

viscosity

singing telephone
wire

aeolion
harp

my heart beats
like a rabbit’s

me
the prey
crouching in
tall grass
ears flat
legs ready
to spring
with dusk’s
breath

I will continue
to shake
with this
expression
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

**** sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
April Jul 2018
A labyrinth expands before me,
Its only prize, the truth; reality
Awaits the shrewd of mind.
At every turn lie misdirections,
One wrong choice and I am
Lost, for perils lie ahead;
Webs of lies lie waiting for their prey.
I pray for wisdom that I may not fall,
Misguided by a ghost I thought I saw;
My own illusions turn me from the light.
The path ahead is cobbled from the shadows,
Bits of truth among them shining gold,
The only light to guide my weary feet
As Darkness beckons me with gentle hands.
Temptation offers respite from my search:
“Sit down and rest, poor ragged
traveler, you search in vain
For worthless lies. I tell the truth;
One as beautiful as I is honest, sure.”
I pay no heed. The truth is rarely beautiful or pure.
Heidi Shavill Jan 2013
Please don't let me go this time,
I need a hand to hold,
Away, away you
push,and push,
You win this hand,
I fold,

My weakness shows,
you feed off it,
I'm such an easy prey,
To you, I'd sacrifice my soul
if only you would stay.

Heidi Shavill
2008
patty m Jul 2018
In the pale beyond the moon
fossilized predators bay,
while stone footprints lead us nowhere.
We slide across meridians,
masked as silent shadows,
some run with wolves
and sometimes vanish
others are mummified
soon after they're born.
Lost souls, stray cats, fleas on the
backs of ubiquitous rats,
we flail ourselves with twisted hangers
sounding discordant notes.

Tattooed our blood rituals finalized
we peel ourselves from the edge
living knife sharp against the violence always flaring.
Beat up junk, reeking of smoke
the cruelty of it all and yet we reveal nothing,

Lionesque leaders stalk
jabbing their claws, partaking in torture,
now we are random prey;
no tower of control or greetings are chorused,
as we move alone or in pairs conversing only in signs and signals.
We align our sites on the bullet's trajectory,
superimposing ourselves on our enemy's vision,
Like demons spreading disease and infection
we fight until we die, or defiantly dance
in the bloodlust of future freedom.

Idols turned clay, the universe erupting
what do we make of it all?

Nullified regions under siege
and still they fight,
don't they know that we're all dying?
Seeking a Dragon:

“Has anyone ever seen, a lizard who licks the air, smells the sounds, hears the tasty gnats flying ‘round and knows the instincts of his prey while holding fast his scaly-green statue on a hot summer’s day with his eyes like pinholes straight to ****, his hunger an anxious frantic swell he quickly darts after his dinner devouring that faithless sinner?”
I have heard that obese Christians are tastier. In that regard Americans must be delicious!
Chris Chronister Dec 2013
I try to remain calm
Simple conversation fuels curiosity
My focus is acute
I want to be reckless
I attempt to seem distant
I am hiding
Like a predator circling prey
I am waiting
Leaping prematurely could be costly
My hunger justifies risk
I want to be reckless
Outside influences
Compel me to behave appropriately
I am screaming
Secrets disguised with lies
I am hunting myself
I want her exposed
For I am exposed
I am vindictive
I want to pull and rip
S+rip her of shame
I am burning
I want to take her in front of the world
I want to be reckless

© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
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