Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"prodding" poems
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower, And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed, She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes, Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,  As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair  And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,  Softly he drove his hunting command, homing  To his huntress. Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance. Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then  Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely  And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark Dominion of her quarters. In the middle of this carnal match they paused. And looking into the forest beyond they saw A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,  Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved  By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent  Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle  Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on  The human hunters did not speak. Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep. Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew. He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing  Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood. In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves  With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,  Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings  Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning. Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid, And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made; She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable, In Artemis’s wood.
0
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 1:33 PM UTC
ormond
In Artemis’s Wood
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower, And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed, She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes, Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,  As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair  And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,  Softly he drove his hunting command, homing  To his huntress. Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance. Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then  Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely  And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark Dominion of her quarters. In the middle of this carnal match they paused. And looking into the forest beyond they saw A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,  Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved  By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent  Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle  Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on  The human hunters did not speak. Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep. Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew. He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing  Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood. In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves  With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,  Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings  Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning. Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid, And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made; She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable, In Artemis’s wood.
Continue reading...
39
It seemed the space between us became torn and Profoundly distanced.................... Jamming bony knuckles and spread eagled fingers, Lying their mapped out journey.....direction on point patrol.... Adorned by silver decoration, delighting in their skinned habitat Shafted, deceit punching the recipient of the poison digits Prodding and pushing their intent....dare you contradict The intended carved out dose of punishment, Risk and Safety......not yours and never would be; stooped Down under the assailing bony palmed attachements That delivered penetrating power, cupped around Your arm til it became discoloured, pressure points Backed you into a corner, up against the grain of the Brick wall, cold and damp, the odour reaching And scolding your nostrils with its stale internal vows Refuse, stretching and protruding its foul remnents An earlier life, when you were not under threat fades Your very existance in jeopardy, your eyes pleaded for Normality, willing someone to hear your silence, grip you Tightly, not with malice, but with bravery and valour Right now you need that shining knight, that white Horse galloping down the blind alleyway, yet you Know that won't happen for you're already sinking To the floor, the blow comes sharp and stings, warmth Exudes and trickles a path downwards, leaving your Body, finding the cold concrete beneath you, travelling Outwards................
0
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
laura-susan-smith
Wrong place.....wrong time
It seemed the space between us became torn and Profoundly distanced.................... Jamming bony knuckles and spread eagled fingers, Lying their mapped out journey.....direction on point patrol.... Adorned by silver decoration, delighting in their skinned habitat Shafted, deceit punching the recipient of the poison digits Prodding and pushing their intent....dare you contradict The intended carved out dose of punishment, Risk and Safety......not yours and never would be; stooped Down under the assailing bony palmed attachements That delivered penetrating power, cupped around Your arm til it became discoloured, pressure points Backed you into a corner, up against the grain of the Brick wall, cold and damp, the odour reaching And scolding your nostrils with its stale internal vows Refuse, stretching and protruding its foul remnents An earlier life, when you were not under threat fades Your very existance in jeopardy, your eyes pleaded for Normality, willing someone to hear your silence, grip you Tightly, not with malice, but with bravery and valour Right now you need that shining knight, that white Horse galloping down the blind alleyway, yet you Know that won't happen for you're already sinking To the floor, the blow comes sharp and stings, warmth Exudes and trickles a path downwards, leaving your Body, finding the cold concrete beneath you, travelling Outwards................
Continue reading...
27
To **** or not to **** that’s the ******* question: Whether 'tis nobler in the bowels to suffer The twists and turns of outrageous rumblings Or to take action against a bellyful of gas, And by farting pump one out? To strain, to bloat No more; and by a mighty outburst we’ll end The gut’s ache, and the thousand natural stenches That the **** is heir to, 'tis a resolution Right devoutly to be wish'd. To **** to **** But perchance to **** there's the ******* problem; For in that mighty **** of doom what turds may come, When we have let the little beauty out from mortal tail, Must give us pause; there's the danger That makes calamity of the farter’s life; For who would bear the sneers and mocks of men, The neighbour’s shock, the lover’s curling lip, The pangs of horrid stench, the ******* o’erflowing, The leaking **** orifice, and the drips, Impatient strainings that the tragic farter makes, When he himself might sweet easance make With a careful prodding finger? Who would a ******** wear, Grunting and sweating with noisome convulsions, But that the dread of solids after air-release, The undiscover'd oozings, from whose delivery No toilet visitor recovers, puzzles the will, And makes us bear the bellyache we have Than fly to others we know not of? Thus indigestion does make cowards of us all; And then the native heave of constipation Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of defecation; And enterprises of both ******* and crapping With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of exciting toilet action.
0
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
edna-sweetlove
Hamlet's Toilet Problems
To **** or not to **** that’s the ******* question: Whether 'tis nobler in the bowels to suffer The twists and turns of outrageous rumblings Or to take action against a bellyful of gas, And by farting pump one out? To strain, to bloat No more; and by a mighty outburst we’ll end The gut’s ache, and the thousand natural stenches That the **** is heir to, 'tis a resolution Right devoutly to be wish'd. To **** to **** But perchance to **** there's the ******* problem; For in that mighty **** of doom what turds may come, When we have let the little beauty out from mortal tail, Must give us pause; there's the danger That makes calamity of the farter’s life; For who would bear the sneers and mocks of men, The neighbour’s shock, the lover’s curling lip, The pangs of horrid stench, the ******* o’erflowing, The leaking **** orifice, and the drips, Impatient strainings that the tragic farter makes, When he himself might sweet easance make With a careful prodding finger? Who would a ******** wear, Grunting and sweating with noisome convulsions, But that the dread of solids after air-release, The undiscover'd oozings, from whose delivery No toilet visitor recovers, puzzles the will, And makes us bear the bellyache we have Than fly to others we know not of? Thus indigestion does make cowards of us all; And then the native heave of constipation Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of defecation; And enterprises of both ******* and crapping With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of exciting toilet action.
Continue reading...
33
Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones I feel the scratch of the itchy cotton gown on the narrows of my back as it climbs up and down Displayed I lye on the medical tables hard cold steel It seers into the crevices of my bones I ponder the lone window and wonder if it's real I listen for the bleep and bloop of medical tones Nurses walk by in a mechanical grace poke and **** & tap and touch my face and then proceed to leave without a trace with no hint of knowledge of my medical case Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones I'm a big girl, I'm a big girl I begin to chant in a simple rhythm as small as a ball I begin to curl I'm abandoned inside this glassy prism The dead silence creeps inside my brain I want to scream to fill the deadly gap but the cold thick air of silence brings pain I comfort myself and say it will be ok My breathing begins to quicken my eyes dart around the room only comfort is the fear which I am stricken my sight goes bleary as darkness looms Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones Tears sting the corner of my eyes I want someone to hold my hand Oh God how I want to cry but the only thing there is the bleeding arm band The test begins with the thickness of barium It slides down my throat and clings to my esophagus It tastes like chalk and pandemonium they want me to suffocate I guess I chug and chug as the pictures are snapped x-ray upon x-ray of my stomach and my back Drink more Drink more They tell me to do Nervously I shake and say, anymore and I will puke on you Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones Even more poking and prodding ensues but of my stomach, ribs and ******* I lay rigid as a board from the pain of each touch I grow weary of this tiresome rues The tests are done and the coast is clear I am left alone to dress myself in fear Dismissed and discharged to walk away they file my chart with a robotic smile now for the wait of endless days I'm lost in my mind's land of emotional exile Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones Pins & Needles Pins & Needles I wait for the results Is it stomach cancer, an ulcer or both?? In the dark I am kept like followers in cults.
0
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
erin-schenke
Doctors Visit
Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones I feel the scratch of the itchy cotton gown on the narrows of my back as it climbs up and down Displayed I lye on the medical tables hard cold steel It seers into the crevices of my bones I ponder the lone window and wonder if it's real I listen for the bleep and bloop of medical tones Nurses walk by in a mechanical grace poke and **** & tap and touch my face and then proceed to leave without a trace with no hint of knowledge of my medical case Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones I'm a big girl, I'm a big girl I begin to chant in a simple rhythm as small as a ball I begin to curl I'm abandoned inside this glassy prism The dead silence creeps inside my brain I want to scream to fill the deadly gap but the cold thick air of silence brings pain I comfort myself and say it will be ok My breathing begins to quicken my eyes dart around the room only comfort is the fear which I am stricken my sight goes bleary as darkness looms Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones Tears sting the corner of my eyes I want someone to hold my hand Oh God how I want to cry but the only thing there is the bleeding arm band The test begins with the thickness of barium It slides down my throat and clings to my esophagus It tastes like chalk and pandemonium they want me to suffocate I guess I chug and chug as the pictures are snapped x-ray upon x-ray of my stomach and my back Drink more Drink more They tell me to do Nervously I shake and say, anymore and I will puke on you Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones Even more poking and prodding ensues but of my stomach, ribs and ******* I lay rigid as a board from the pain of each touch I grow weary of this tiresome rues The tests are done and the coast is clear I am left alone to dress myself in fear Dismissed and discharged to walk away they file my chart with a robotic smile now for the wait of endless days I'm lost in my mind's land of emotional exile Waiting all alone waiting on this cold table waiting for the doctors and the drones Pins & Needles Pins & Needles I wait for the results Is it stomach cancer, an ulcer or both?? In the dark I am kept like followers in cults.
Continue reading...
67
Insecurity is wool blanket drenched in water laying across my nose and mouth, every breath i take in is a wicked reminder of everything i am not. its sharp needle points prodding my pores ripping apart the skin of my throat with every word i'm unable to speak. Insecurity is facing a firing squad, every bullet comes from the mouth, every tongue a trigger, every tooth ammunition Your feet are nailed to the ground, an iron staple of your own making lacing through your toes. The worst thing about it is that your hands are bulletproof shields, and if you had the strength to raise your thousand pound arms, you could use them to block your bruised up brain. But you can't. So you don't. its being uncomfortable in your own skin, a bone shattering, helpless feeling that you cannot change this. no amount of compliments or beautiful words whispered in the darkness can fix it insecurity is the building blocks of my personality, I'm constantly tailoring everyone in my life to fit it, like a worn dress I can't walk down the hallway, down the street, through a store without the feeling of a thousand weighty words cutting into my skin In every war my mind wages against my body i stand there like marble, letting the bullets eat me alive.
0
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
luckybones
a personification of crippling insecurity
Insecurity is wool blanket drenched in water laying across my nose and mouth, every breath i take in is a wicked reminder of everything i am not. its sharp needle points prodding my pores ripping apart the skin of my throat with every word i'm unable to speak. Insecurity is facing a firing squad, every bullet comes from the mouth, every tongue a trigger, every tooth ammunition Your feet are nailed to the ground, an iron staple of your own making lacing through your toes. The worst thing about it is that your hands are bulletproof shields, and if you had the strength to raise your thousand pound arms, you could use them to block your bruised up brain. But you can't. So you don't. its being uncomfortable in your own skin, a bone shattering, helpless feeling that you cannot change this. no amount of compliments or beautiful words whispered in the darkness can fix it insecurity is the building blocks of my personality, I'm constantly tailoring everyone in my life to fit it, like a worn dress I can't walk down the hallway, down the street, through a store without the feeling of a thousand weighty words cutting into my skin In every war my mind wages against my body i stand there like marble, letting the bullets eat me alive.
Continue reading...
22
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is not "fight my disability" we were never at war with one another like me, it just wants to exist and so i let it to some extent i’ll never “become my disability” yet i don’t believe it’s a bad thing either i’ve come to realise that he’s become a part of me as he’s helped shape my thinking and maybe even my personality a little bit i owe all my stubbornness to him nah i don’t fight my disability we’re bffs the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is not "get up every day" though for a while, i thought it was getting up is easy facing the world? getting easier i used to blush at the thought of getting a wheelchair i’d bury my face in my knees and cover my ears with my hands, thinking that if i couldn’t see it or hear it, i wouldn’t need it i cared too much of what society would see me as not “normal teenage girl” "sad confined possibly a teenage girl?" normal is overrated and to be honest? so is society the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is not pretending i’m okay with mainstreaming dear teachers, “mainstreaming” was never in my vocabulary pretending? pfft dear teachers, this is 100% real contentment IEPs got some getting used to but after 16 years of endless doctors appointments, people in white sterile coats, plastic latex gloves poking, prodding demanding things of me "mainstreaming" won’t ever exist in my vocabulary i know i’m smart and i know i can do it so don’t you DARE cry at my graduation it’d be pretty pathetic if i believed in myself more than you do the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is accepting the realities i don’t know when i’ll take my last step i don’t know when my muscles will give out for good i know that every day i won’t know what’s right in front of me i know that i’ll never be able to run another mile in my life and i know that i won’t ever stop dreaming about the things i wish i could do would love to do won’t ever do might do one day
0
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
raingirlpoet
not disabled
the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is not "fight my disability" we were never at war with one another like me, it just wants to exist and so i let it to some extent i’ll never “become my disability” yet i don’t believe it’s a bad thing either i’ve come to realise that he’s become a part of me as he’s helped shape my thinking and maybe even my personality a little bit i owe all my stubbornness to him nah i don’t fight my disability we’re bffs the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is not "get up every day" though for a while, i thought it was getting up is easy facing the world? getting easier i used to blush at the thought of getting a wheelchair i’d bury my face in my knees and cover my ears with my hands, thinking that if i couldn’t see it or hear it, i wouldn’t need it i cared too much of what society would see me as not “normal teenage girl” "sad confined possibly a teenage girl?" normal is overrated and to be honest? so is society the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is not pretending i’m okay with mainstreaming dear teachers, “mainstreaming” was never in my vocabulary pretending? pfft dear teachers, this is 100% real contentment IEPs got some getting used to but after 16 years of endless doctors appointments, people in white sterile coats, plastic latex gloves poking, prodding demanding things of me "mainstreaming" won’t ever exist in my vocabulary i know i’m smart and i know i can do it so don’t you DARE cry at my graduation it’d be pretty pathetic if i believed in myself more than you do the hardest thing i do as a disabled person is accepting the realities i don’t know when i’ll take my last step i don’t know when my muscles will give out for good i know that every day i won’t know what’s right in front of me i know that i’ll never be able to run another mile in my life and i know that i won’t ever stop dreaming about the things i wish i could do would love to do won’t ever do might do one day
Continue reading...
56
Found myself at a dental clinic... He was the best there was. Unorthodox and eccentric, But to the specialised craft, he was boss. Ran through the bits and bobs Like any normally would. The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays. Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood. Strange was what happened next... Specialist and I then stood facing each other. He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage. Held them there over a few breaths before it was over. Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man. Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature. Talks of politics and odd human behaviours... What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter. I then realised that along with his decorated credentials, Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant. Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide, But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant. Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness! I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought. I wanted him to just stop talking! I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!" He was stunned momentarily... I suppose he hadn't seen that coming. Then his features softened to a blank I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring. With an exasperated sigh of resignation, He uttered his next words swollen with regret "There's no need...for you only have four years left." It dawned upon me that my timer has been set. And then I woke up...
0
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
ryn
Strange Dream
Found myself at a dental clinic... He was the best there was. Unorthodox and eccentric, But to the specialised craft, he was boss. Ran through the bits and bobs Like any normally would. The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays. Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood. Strange was what happened next... Specialist and I then stood facing each other. He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage. Held them there over a few breaths before it was over. Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man. Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature. Talks of politics and odd human behaviours... What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter. I then realised that along with his decorated credentials, Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant. Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide, But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant. Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness! I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought. I wanted him to just stop talking! I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!" He was stunned momentarily... I suppose he hadn't seen that coming. Then his features softened to a blank I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring. With an exasperated sigh of resignation, He uttered his next words swollen with regret "There's no need...for you only have four years left." It dawned upon me that my timer has been set. And then I woke up...
Continue reading...
33
I want you to make me feel naked everywhere saying things that make necks hot, face hot don't have to be so ****** don't have to touch Want to? Do so, though, don't be so mechanical swim on, flow on, spill on, no pushing the things said should tear open, pop seams wonder what's inside,  beating running, ebbing, draining, no inspecting, no prodding a thorough investigation with  eyes, words make the most difference, words dig the farthest fill the fastest, reach to ends that previously had no end the end
0
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
broooke
Pronoun.
I want you to make me feel naked everywhere saying things that make necks hot, face hot don't have to be so ****** don't have to touch Want to? Do so, though, don't be so mechanical swim on, flow on, spill on, no pushing the things said should tear open, pop seams wonder what's inside,  beating running, ebbing, draining, no inspecting, no prodding a thorough investigation with  eyes, words make the most difference, words dig the farthest fill the fastest, reach to ends that previously had no end the end
Continue reading...
13
WHOOSH she goes On the low seas, carried by the high winds. Where Ankles anchor, Knees tack, Back yaws, Wrists lock, and Thumb sagg. Holding on to a harpoon in my dingy, flopping against Glinting, Honed, Double-Edged waves. "**Light, ** It's the Eye of the Storm.** Fatigue steers me into its heart My anchor prodding me, To continue or to rest.
0
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
xxxxx3
The Ships Set Sail
WHOOSH she goes On the low seas, carried by the high winds. Where Ankles anchor, Knees tack, Back yaws, Wrists lock, and Thumb sagg. Holding on to a harpoon in my dingy, flopping against Glinting, Honed, Double-Edged waves. "**Light, ** It's the Eye of the Storm.** Fatigue steers me into its heart My anchor prodding me, To continue or to rest.
Continue reading...
13
*as winter acquiesces to the blazing sun a soothing breeze softly grazes tips of aspen gently shedding past liaisons a perfect panacea allowing wild freedom for summer’s dawn healing from the ominous night a flower gingerly releases its grasp leaning into golden rays of summertime keenly aware of newfound vulnerability it yawns into the light a rousing essence induces a silhouette of life once thought lost prodding river’s rigid ice blue crystals to melt and flow with buoyant wonder kaleidoscopic-like waves having weathered near annihilation a sculptured consciousness remains painting summer clouds with soft-hued wisdom all awakens from the dream and should the cold return once more the sun will shine again ©2016janetaylor
0
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
jane-taylor
a perfect panacea
*as winter acquiesces to the blazing sun a soothing breeze softly grazes tips of aspen gently shedding past liaisons a perfect panacea allowing wild freedom for summer’s dawn healing from the ominous night a flower gingerly releases its grasp leaning into golden rays of summertime keenly aware of newfound vulnerability it yawns into the light a rousing essence induces a silhouette of life once thought lost prodding river’s rigid ice blue crystals to melt and flow with buoyant wonder kaleidoscopic-like waves having weathered near annihilation a sculptured consciousness remains painting summer clouds with soft-hued wisdom all awakens from the dream and should the cold return once more the sun will shine again ©2016janetaylor
Continue reading...
22
Fat; Bubbly lipids gathering and stacking in a fashioned order. Fat; It was not so "fashionista" when she gained and gained. Skinny; She was lost, had no where to run but to the pantry. Skinny; Bones showing, skin glimmering in the sunlight. Fat; Sticking to her bones as paper sticks to glue. Fat; Poking and Prodding at the blubbery material that sits upon her femurs. Unhappy; She will always be.
0
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
emily-mary-1
Fat
Fat; Bubbly lipids gathering and stacking in a fashioned order. Fat; It was not so "fashionista" when she gained and gained. Skinny; She was lost, had no where to run but to the pantry. Skinny; Bones showing, skin glimmering in the sunlight. Fat; Sticking to her bones as paper sticks to glue. Fat; Poking and Prodding at the blubbery material that sits upon her femurs. Unhappy; She will always be.
Continue reading...
14
What once is now was My feet tread delicately over egg shells Balance on unsturdy tightropes My body's equilibrium thrown off My legs shake like an earthquake of emotion From outer to inner core, I see A slimmer of green light, my american dream I am the Great Gatsby Holding onto a bit of the past Desiring it to become the present To the future of mine Yet with soft words I am met with inevitable flames of anger A rage so powerful, so dangerous So provoking, prodding me like a cow The man I was born from Whom is supposed to defend me Is one that destroys me His words conform, turning into a wrecking ball Slam into my heart, destroying it Pieces fall down like pebbles tip, tipping against a lover's window Except it taps the windows of Satan Awakening unknown, terrifying horrors As bottles clink, can crash, alcohol splatters So does the confidence I once had mbm
0
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC
mbm
Tightropes and Egg Shells
What once is now was My feet tread delicately over egg shells Balance on unsturdy tightropes My body's equilibrium thrown off My legs shake like an earthquake of emotion From outer to inner core, I see A slimmer of green light, my american dream I am the Great Gatsby Holding onto a bit of the past Desiring it to become the present To the future of mine Yet with soft words I am met with inevitable flames of anger A rage so powerful, so dangerous So provoking, prodding me like a cow The man I was born from Whom is supposed to defend me Is one that destroys me His words conform, turning into a wrecking ball Slam into my heart, destroying it Pieces fall down like pebbles tip, tipping against a lover's window Except it taps the windows of Satan Awakening unknown, terrifying horrors As bottles clink, can crash, alcohol splatters So does the confidence I once had mbm
Continue reading...
26
This is what animates me The force to set the motion of my soul Gears that grind, thoughts that whir, the sustenance of something holy. I do not think I sprang from Adam’s Rib I think I must have been struck into the ground like a stone A thread of lightning from the leaden sky, And the mechanics that rose after Demanded fuel, demanded heat And thus was born in the cooling core of me This mad desire, this stumbling, ceaseless search For words to light a fire in my head For eyes to light a fire in my bones For some weapon of beauty Some flaming sword A tool- nothing more- To sift among the dust and grit of time To stoke the embers and evoke a spark Prodding, prospecting As for gold Searching for a remnant which still burns Softly, feeble, buried but unquenched I chase the fire For it must always be: It cannot die But cannot be held It is escaped and never captured, Only felt and lost, an infinite second- A running step to overtake itself.
0
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
mikaila
Eve
This is what animates me The force to set the motion of my soul Gears that grind, thoughts that whir, the sustenance of something holy. I do not think I sprang from Adam’s Rib I think I must have been struck into the ground like a stone A thread of lightning from the leaden sky, And the mechanics that rose after Demanded fuel, demanded heat And thus was born in the cooling core of me This mad desire, this stumbling, ceaseless search For words to light a fire in my head For eyes to light a fire in my bones For some weapon of beauty Some flaming sword A tool- nothing more- To sift among the dust and grit of time To stoke the embers and evoke a spark Prodding, prospecting As for gold Searching for a remnant which still burns Softly, feeble, buried but unquenched I chase the fire For it must always be: It cannot die But cannot be held It is escaped and never captured, Only felt and lost, an infinite second- A running step to overtake itself.
Continue reading...
28
Standing perplexed Vigorously stabbing button Scowling at passing traffic Prodding repeatedly Slapping neon display like a defective vending machine Arms flailing in impatience Fidgeting on kerb edge. He's the cross crossing man.
0
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 3:40 AM UTC
paul-lockley
Pelican
Standing perplexed Vigorously stabbing button Scowling at passing traffic Prodding repeatedly Slapping neon display like a defective vending machine Arms flailing in impatience Fidgeting on kerb edge. He's the cross crossing man.
Continue reading...
9
At times can be seen melting together One into the other like a loving couple At times drifting as a lonely wanderer The clouds are there to imitate people It can't move on a journey on its own Without energy clouds are immovable It'll stay motionless if not wind blown Prodding to be productive like people Some are peacocks parading with flair Of damsels bosoms as white as marble Putting air pompous what do I care Show fame without shame like people Arms ready for war it's getting warm They gather warring forces for battle They march whip up a thunderstorm Rainclouds hungry for war like people Clouds can be big cloud can be small Can be rich prosperous can be poor Like people accumulate only to lose all To earn and loss and earn once more They orbit the earth decorated the sky Unaware of mortal affairs just rumble Prone to fallacy or vanity as you and I Can't help noticed clouds are like people
0
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
mohamed-nasir
Clouds Are Like People
At times can be seen melting together One into the other like a loving couple At times drifting as a lonely wanderer The clouds are there to imitate people It can't move on a journey on its own Without energy clouds are immovable It'll stay motionless if not wind blown Prodding to be productive like people Some are peacocks parading with flair Of damsels bosoms as white as marble Putting air pompous what do I care Show fame without shame like people Arms ready for war it's getting warm They gather warring forces for battle They march whip up a thunderstorm Rainclouds hungry for war like people Clouds can be big cloud can be small Can be rich prosperous can be poor Like people accumulate only to lose all To earn and loss and earn once more They orbit the earth decorated the sky Unaware of mortal affairs just rumble Prone to fallacy or vanity as you and I Can't help noticed clouds are like people
Continue reading...
24
I heard every word you said. Still running through my head. Your words like a needle, slowly pricking my skin. Prodding, picking finally making themselves slowly in. Staring off into the street, I knew I had to walk away. I could’nt bear stay nor listen to another word you say. Ashamed to have felt something more. My heart grew heavy and very sore. I slipped away, blankly into space. Disappointment and anger staring me in the face. I’m like a sock. A ***** one. However, twasn’t ***** at first. In fact it was brand new. Really, a very nice beautiful sock. It was comfortable too, and fit you well. You wore it so often, the fabric became thin. Eventually a tiny little hole made its way in. At first the hole wasn’t bad. Sometimes it drove you crazy and even mad. Yah know that feeling when all that sand gets in? Though irritating maybe it tickled, even made you grin. Boy! Did those socks get a lot of use, they were great. You still loved those socks. They were getting rattier and rattier every day, but you used them anyway. They were THE socks yah know? You see them, and you know you JUST want to wear them. So you wear them, you have a run, a WONDERFUL day ,in fact, in those socks. Really, you always have nice days in those socks, they were just so comfortable! You know how things get old? Well those socks got really old, I mean REALLY old. Looking at them- “Man those socks are the best, putting them on now.” You wish they would last but you just didn’t know how. Excited to start your day, you put your favorite socks on. But, **** one sock really ripped with a giant massive hole. Such a disappointment, you can’t really enjoy them anymore, they were better when you first bought them. MAN, that hole got so irritating. Not only sand came in but now pebbles and big rocks. That **** pair of socks! Not willing to throw them away cuz they were THE socks. You washed them and put them in a far off box. Still ***** worn, and torn. Maybe you will use them again one day. But, I don’t want to be your ***** socks. I walked away.
0
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 6:33 AM UTC
gabrielle-piacentini
Dignity and ***** Socks
I heard every word you said. Still running through my head. Your words like a needle, slowly pricking my skin. Prodding, picking finally making themselves slowly in. Staring off into the street, I knew I had to walk away. I could’nt bear stay nor listen to another word you say. Ashamed to have felt something more. My heart grew heavy and very sore. I slipped away, blankly into space. Disappointment and anger staring me in the face. I’m like a sock. A ***** one. However, twasn’t ***** at first. In fact it was brand new. Really, a very nice beautiful sock. It was comfortable too, and fit you well. You wore it so often, the fabric became thin. Eventually a tiny little hole made its way in. At first the hole wasn’t bad. Sometimes it drove you crazy and even mad. Yah know that feeling when all that sand gets in? Though irritating maybe it tickled, even made you grin. Boy! Did those socks get a lot of use, they were great. You still loved those socks. They were getting rattier and rattier every day, but you used them anyway. They were THE socks yah know? You see them, and you know you JUST want to wear them. So you wear them, you have a run, a WONDERFUL day ,in fact, in those socks. Really, you always have nice days in those socks, they were just so comfortable! You know how things get old? Well those socks got really old, I mean REALLY old. Looking at them- “Man those socks are the best, putting them on now.” You wish they would last but you just didn’t know how. Excited to start your day, you put your favorite socks on. But, **** one sock really ripped with a giant massive hole. Such a disappointment, you can’t really enjoy them anymore, they were better when you first bought them. MAN, that hole got so irritating. Not only sand came in but now pebbles and big rocks. That **** pair of socks! Not willing to throw them away cuz they were THE socks. You washed them and put them in a far off box. Still ***** worn, and torn. Maybe you will use them again one day. But, I don’t want to be your ***** socks. I walked away.
Continue reading...
40
He crinkled the daily paper and thought out loud, "You're my best friend." She scuffed her kitten heels, prodding for more. Far inside she told herself to take it lightly. He knew she knew that he knew it was temporary. Acting as if she made him happy. She sunk deep in the velvet green couch. Cons and pros of being the leaver or the left. He stared past Valentine cards and the spot on the carpet, where they laughed and spilled tomato soup. Their faces drooped and became that soup. Sodium and protein soaking into the ground every which-way. She resided and sat up out of their yard-sale bought couch. She set her mind on staying by his side. He toppled over on the yard tools he never touched. Now next to his side was the Earth's crust. She was left in the air and he laid in muck. His voice played over in her head, "You're my best friend."
0
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
kate-browning
Tomato Soup
He crinkled the daily paper and thought out loud, "You're my best friend." She scuffed her kitten heels, prodding for more. Far inside she told herself to take it lightly. He knew she knew that he knew it was temporary. Acting as if she made him happy. She sunk deep in the velvet green couch. Cons and pros of being the leaver or the left. He stared past Valentine cards and the spot on the carpet, where they laughed and spilled tomato soup. Their faces drooped and became that soup. Sodium and protein soaking into the ground every which-way. She resided and sat up out of their yard-sale bought couch. She set her mind on staying by his side. He toppled over on the yard tools he never touched. Now next to his side was the Earth's crust. She was left in the air and he laid in muck. His voice played over in her head, "You're my best friend."
Continue reading...
36
East...and west, are we? north, and south?.....maybe... we were nurtured with love, our eyes and our minds opened to different isms that helped shape our values...we were brought up, bearing our folks' customs, traditions and principles... we have different faiths...some practice...some don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive. we have dry and monsoon season...in other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds, and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice we are  a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan, and brown-skin, hiding from the sun; one's night, is the other's day, there are surfers among us, playing with the waves, there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate... there are those who hide from silent freezing winters, finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers... countless points of comparison,   yet, we've something beautiful in common, a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry, flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy, themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy... no set skeds...we do it even through adversity... we write...... we tell about our escape from life's banalities, mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities yet, we await the marvels of each  morning we wake, remembering gratitude, in every breath we take... years have passed us by, still, plays this soft music that mollifies and inspires......heard only by you and i prodding us, through hours, of day or night while you exist in your own part of the world, as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold. :::::::::::::::::::::::::: Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan     May, 19, 2019
0
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:54 AM UTC
sally-a-bayan
Different Worlds
East...and west, are we? north, and south?.....maybe... we were nurtured with love, our eyes and our minds opened to different isms that helped shape our values...we were brought up, bearing our folks' customs, traditions and principles... we have different faiths...some practice...some don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive. we have dry and monsoon season...in other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds, and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice we are  a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan, and brown-skin, hiding from the sun; one's night, is the other's day, there are surfers among us, playing with the waves, there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate... there are those who hide from silent freezing winters, finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers... countless points of comparison,   yet, we've something beautiful in common, a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry, flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy, themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy... no set skeds...we do it even through adversity... we write...... we tell about our escape from life's banalities, mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities yet, we await the marvels of each  morning we wake, remembering gratitude, in every breath we take... years have passed us by, still, plays this soft music that mollifies and inspires......heard only by you and i prodding us, through hours, of day or night while you exist in your own part of the world, as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold. :::::::::::::::::::::::::: Sally © Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan     May, 19, 2019
Continue reading...
41
Prodding Always watching Stalking My head hurts   I cannot understand   You're after something that you can't have That's why you try to get into my head Leave me alone I cry and I beg You just look at me and tip your head then you give me a smile instead That's when the pressure begins gripping my temples just like a vice Grinding my gears, stopping my wheels Trying to squeeze out my life
0
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
renae
Stalker
Prodding Always watching Stalking My head hurts   I cannot understand   You're after something that you can't have That's why you try to get into my head Leave me alone I cry and I beg You just look at me and tip your head then you give me a smile instead That's when the pressure begins gripping my temples just like a vice Grinding my gears, stopping my wheels Trying to squeeze out my life
Continue reading...
19
***** dishes piled peripherally Melting muscles begging to be built Education egging me on evilly Facebook friends warning I may wilt Clothes choking roomish rubble Coldhearted clocks click callously Traffic tickets to trouble Prodding for payment perniciously
0
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 7:32 PM UTC
alex-apples
Alliterative Aloquence
***** dishes piled peripherally Melting muscles begging to be built Education egging me on evilly Facebook friends warning I may wilt Clothes choking roomish rubble Coldhearted clocks click callously Traffic tickets to trouble Prodding for payment perniciously
Continue reading...
8
One. Two. Three. Four. Fi- Or... Was... It four? Better start again, being safe.. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Start Again. Counting. Every. Single. Thing. Here. Cracks. Wait? How long was that there? One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Scratching. Poking. Prodding. Anxiety makes me tick. Breathe. One. Out. Two. Breathe. Three. Out. Four. Breathe. Five. Out. Six. Breathe. Seven. Haiku. Seven. Five. Sev- Five. Seven. Five. Seven Doesn't Have Seven Freaking Numbers Crap. That was six. Need to revise. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Ignore it. But I Can't. You can. But I simply don't have the strength. I just can't stop ticking right now. Help me. Gonna drown and die. Save me. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Now it's too late to save me. The numbers have already won this one.
0
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
Sentient_Tacos
Seven
One. Two. Three. Four. Fi- Or... Was... It four? Better start again, being safe.. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Start Again. Counting. Every. Single. Thing. Here. Cracks. Wait? How long was that there? One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Scratching. Poking. Prodding. Anxiety makes me tick. Breathe. One. Out. Two. Breathe. Three. Out. Four. Breathe. Five. Out. Six. Breathe. Seven. Haiku. Seven. Five. Sev- Five. Seven. Five. Seven Doesn't Have Seven Freaking Numbers Crap. That was six. Need to revise. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Ignore it. But I Can't. You can. But I simply don't have the strength. I just can't stop ticking right now. Help me. Gonna drown and die. Save me. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Now it's too late to save me. The numbers have already won this one.
Continue reading...
147
I dreamed that dead, and meditating, I lay upon a grave, or bed, (at least, some cold and close-built bower). In the cold heart, its final thought stood frozen, drawn immense and clear, stiff and idle as I was there; and we remained unchanged together for a year, a minute, an hour. Suddenly there was a motion, as startling, there, to every sense as an explosion. Then it dropped to insistent, cautious creeping in the region of the heart, prodding me from desperate sleep. I raised my head. A slight young **** had pushed up through the heart and its green head was nodding on the breast. (All this was in the dark.) It grew an inch like a blade of grass; next, one leaf shot out of its side a twisting, waving flag, and then two leaves moved like a semaphore. The stem grew thick. The nervous roots reached to each side; the graceful head changed its position mysteriously, since there was neither sun nor moon to catch its young attention. The rooted heart began to change (not beat) and then it split apart and from it broke a flood of water. Two rivers glanced off from the sides, one to the right, one to the left, two rushing, half-clear streams, (the ribs made of them two cascades) which assuredly, smooth as glass, went off through the fine black grains of earth. The **** was almost swept away; it struggled with its leaves, lifting them fringed with heavy drops. A few drops fell upon my face and in my eyes, so I could see (or, in that black place, thought I saw) that each drop contained a light, a small, illuminated scene; the weed-deflected stream was made itself of racing images. (As if a river should carry all the scenes that it had once reflected shut in its waters, and not floating on momentary surfaces.) The **** stood in the severed heart. "What are you doing there?" I asked. It lifted its head all dripping wet (with my own thoughts?) and answered then: "I grow," it said, "but to divide your heart again."
0
3.8k
Elizabeth Bishop
The ****
I dreamed that dead, and meditating, I lay upon a grave, or bed, (at least, some cold and close-built bower). In the cold heart, its final thought stood frozen, drawn immense and clear, stiff and idle as I was there; and we remained unchanged together for a year, a minute, an hour. Suddenly there was a motion, as startling, there, to every sense as an explosion. Then it dropped to insistent, cautious creeping in the region of the heart, prodding me from desperate sleep. I raised my head. A slight young **** had pushed up through the heart and its green head was nodding on the breast. (All this was in the dark.) It grew an inch like a blade of grass; next, one leaf shot out of its side a twisting, waving flag, and then two leaves moved like a semaphore. The stem grew thick. The nervous roots reached to each side; the graceful head changed its position mysteriously, since there was neither sun nor moon to catch its young attention. The rooted heart began to change (not beat) and then it split apart and from it broke a flood of water. Two rivers glanced off from the sides, one to the right, one to the left, two rushing, half-clear streams, (the ribs made of them two cascades) which assuredly, smooth as glass, went off through the fine black grains of earth. The **** was almost swept away; it struggled with its leaves, lifting them fringed with heavy drops. A few drops fell upon my face and in my eyes, so I could see (or, in that black place, thought I saw) that each drop contained a light, a small, illuminated scene; the weed-deflected stream was made itself of racing images. (As if a river should carry all the scenes that it had once reflected shut in its waters, and not floating on momentary surfaces.) The **** stood in the severed heart. "What are you doing there?" I asked. It lifted its head all dripping wet (with my own thoughts?) and answered then: "I grow," it said, "but to divide your heart again."
Continue reading...
56
shut them out, clog my ears, I cannot listen. the words, they attack me, choke me, wedging themselves within my core. I cry, I scream, I take those words as truth, and drown as they push me, past the deepest darkness. but as I hold my breath, I tell myself that even though I may be a wounded gazelle, I have the heart and will of a lion. and somehow, I poke my head out of the web of pain. though the words, continue to float around my head, taunting me, prodding my nerves, I remember that I am a lion, and I will perservere.
0
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
aftermaths
lion
shut them out, clog my ears, I cannot listen. the words, they attack me, choke me, wedging themselves within my core. I cry, I scream, I take those words as truth, and drown as they push me, past the deepest darkness. but as I hold my breath, I tell myself that even though I may be a wounded gazelle, I have the heart and will of a lion. and somehow, I poke my head out of the web of pain. though the words, continue to float around my head, taunting me, prodding my nerves, I remember that I am a lion, and I will perservere.
Continue reading...
26
can you stop prodding at my heart disturbing it like a rock garden or pooled sand my insides are not so zen can be disturbed like cold waves and every time I still them arrange my mental hair and tuck in my theoretical shirt you just come down the aisle and unfold it all again.
0
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 3:48 PM UTC
f-white
Consumer
can you stop prodding at my heart disturbing it like a rock garden or pooled sand my insides are not so zen can be disturbed like cold waves and every time I still them arrange my mental hair and tuck in my theoretical shirt you just come down the aisle and unfold it all again.
Continue reading...
20