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"pummels" poems
Poem I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox? Now clambering onto the icy porch I open the door into smells of brass polish, wood polish pots full of bones. Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in I must make marmalade with Seville oranges with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like a little sweetness of the blossom worn on bridal veils will come back as the flesh boils soggy with pips and Demerara’s sweetness pummels and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars My house will be dressed of stiff forsythia branches, blooming while I pull on stupoods of wool socks, and wax my boards I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling separating mills and boon from reality. If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar And whispered ancient simple words And as spring soars from the dirt he would say agapa me and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter O my mighty easel, you are not like nature though you are like a highway of roots, clamped with straps Supported or shaded, you reveal all that I am. The light begins to drop out of ticking stars onto the snow bank behind the studio the place where crimson and ochre mate. I am really a painter and my brushes are words which glaze accidentally across vellum, spurning censure.
0
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
taylor-watson
Marmalade
Poem I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox? Now clambering onto the icy porch I open the door into smells of brass polish, wood polish pots full of bones. Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in I must make marmalade with Seville oranges with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like a little sweetness of the blossom worn on bridal veils will come back as the flesh boils soggy with pips and Demerara’s sweetness pummels and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars My house will be dressed of stiff forsythia branches, blooming while I pull on stupoods of wool socks, and wax my boards I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling separating mills and boon from reality. If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar And whispered ancient simple words And as spring soars from the dirt he would say agapa me and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter O my mighty easel, you are not like nature though you are like a highway of roots, clamped with straps Supported or shaded, you reveal all that I am. The light begins to drop out of ticking stars onto the snow bank behind the studio the place where crimson and ochre mate. I am really a painter and my brushes are words which glaze accidentally across vellum, spurning censure.
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43
rattling thunder pummels the tinny tin can roof under which you drive through the swelling swamp-roads. you say this is england. i say this is climate change. snakes emerge from murky water, the same green as your eyes. a hiss wobbles through your tar-bones and your flesh boils to scales. a fat, emerald python. eating me whole and clean. your bleach-bowels sear me. a hapless, cocooned boy for a devil. the teenage smile is what beguiled me, tricked me into your drunken youth.
0
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:51 AM UTC
TheMessyPoet
summer storm
rattling thunder pummels the tinny tin can roof under which you drive through the swelling swamp-roads. you say this is england. i say this is climate change. snakes emerge from murky water, the same green as your eyes. a hiss wobbles through your tar-bones and your flesh boils to scales. a fat, emerald python. eating me whole and clean. your bleach-bowels sear me. a hapless, cocooned boy for a devil. the teenage smile is what beguiled me, tricked me into your drunken youth.
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16
*" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,             Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and                   Illuminations from one End of this Continent                       to the other from this Time forward forever more.”       John Adams – July 3, 1776.* Webster Groves - 2016 The Townhall fountain dances cheerily in the morning sun. The red-white-blue shirted crowd rises as one for the colors. Laughing children scramble for tootsie rolls and sweet tarts tossed by a strolling  clown.          Philadelphia, July 3, 1776         Carriages sped toward Philadelphia         where resolute patriots         would turn the pages of history         and tell an unsuspecting world         that a new nation had given birth to itself.* Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen, Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts - hooves echoing through concrete caverns. Vintage firetrucks and autos sound their horns and sirens as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.         *Each crass insult from the British crown         had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.         The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood         and revolution was the only course left.* Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly. A pot-luck feast with beans and franks interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.         *One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment         resolved to endure the costs of liberty -         knowing to the marrow that defeat         would spell certain ******* and death.* We reach the lakeshore at dusk - unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets - strains of Americana drift over the lake. then a pyro-technic extravaganza blazes across the summer sky.           *Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men         cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.         Then surrender - all British claims         to American soil banished to the tomes of history.* The grand finale pummels the darkened sky raising cheers and whistles from the crowd Toddlers collapse in parental arms, car doors slam, engines ignite and head-lighted caravans, turn for home, spiraling off in every compass degree. “Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns "from this time forward forever more!”   Robert Charles Howard
0
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
robert-c-howard
Independence Day
*" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,             Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and                   Illuminations from one End of this Continent                       to the other from this Time forward forever more.”       John Adams – July 3, 1776.* Webster Groves - 2016 The Townhall fountain dances cheerily in the morning sun. The red-white-blue shirted crowd rises as one for the colors. Laughing children scramble for tootsie rolls and sweet tarts tossed by a strolling  clown.          Philadelphia, July 3, 1776         Carriages sped toward Philadelphia         where resolute patriots         would turn the pages of history         and tell an unsuspecting world         that a new nation had given birth to itself.* Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen, Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts - hooves echoing through concrete caverns. Vintage firetrucks and autos sound their horns and sirens as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.         *Each crass insult from the British crown         had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.         The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood         and revolution was the only course left.* Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly. A pot-luck feast with beans and franks interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.         *One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment         resolved to endure the costs of liberty -         knowing to the marrow that defeat         would spell certain ******* and death.* We reach the lakeshore at dusk - unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets - strains of Americana drift over the lake. then a pyro-technic extravaganza blazes across the summer sky.           *Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men         cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.         Then surrender - all British claims         to American soil banished to the tomes of history.* The grand finale pummels the darkened sky raising cheers and whistles from the crowd Toddlers collapse in parental arms, car doors slam, engines ignite and head-lighted caravans, turn for home, spiraling off in every compass degree. “Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns "from this time forward forever more!”   Robert Charles Howard
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55
Poem I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox? Now clambering onto the icy porch I open the door into smells of brass polish, wood polish pots full of bones. Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in I must make marmalade with Seville oranges with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like a little sweetness of the blossom worn on bridal veils will come back as the flesh boils soggy with pips and Demerara’s sweetness pummels and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars My house will be dressed of stiff forsythia branches, blooming while I pull on stupoods of wool socks, and wax my boards I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling separating mills and boon from reality. If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar And whispered ancient simple words And as spring soars from the dirt he would say agapa me and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter O my mighty easel, you are not like nature though you are like a highway of roots, clamped with straps Supported or shaded, you reveal all that I am. The light begins to drop out of ticking stars onto the snow bank behind the studio the place where crimson and ochre mate. I am really a painter and my brushes are words which glaze accidentally across vellum, spurning censure.
0
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
taylor-watson
Marmalade
Poem I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox? Now clambering onto the icy porch I open the door into smells of brass polish, wood polish pots full of bones. Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in I must make marmalade with Seville oranges with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like a little sweetness of the blossom worn on bridal veils will come back as the flesh boils soggy with pips and Demerara’s sweetness pummels and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars My house will be dressed of stiff forsythia branches, blooming while I pull on stupoods of wool socks, and wax my boards I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling separating mills and boon from reality. If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar And whispered ancient simple words And as spring soars from the dirt he would say agapa me and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter O my mighty easel, you are not like nature though you are like a highway of roots, clamped with straps Supported or shaded, you reveal all that I am. The light begins to drop out of ticking stars onto the snow bank behind the studio the place where crimson and ochre mate. I am really a painter and my brushes are words which glaze accidentally across vellum, spurning censure.
Continue reading...
43
Turning Dark brown I let go The sweetest release Slowly I fall Twisting my way Upon the wings of the wind I soar Gently I rest against the ground Which grows Colder Harder With every second I lay Silent Curled up Crunchy Dead A foot comes Large and wide and horrifying It steps With power and purpose Directly on top of me Squishing me Breaking me into Tiny fragments Puzzle pieces That could possibly connect to form What I once was Lucky for me My stringy veins Hold me together I lay sprawled Flattened Exhausted Like a connect a dots completed by a toddler I don't resemble myself But I can see my parts An unlikely display of Strength I had long thought disappeared The wind pushes me around I tumble Forward Back The air cools Rain soaks my surface Snow pummels my body Soon, I am trapped beneath its flakes All I see is White A blank wall of Nothing I can feel my body Disinigrate But all of the sudden A warm sensation comes over me It is so strange I see slivers of green from beneath my white blanket Eventually I see blue Puffy white clouds Brilliant flowers I am soggy But somehow Still One The whole time The evergreen stands near
0
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 2:09 AM UTC
turquoise-mist
Leaf
Turning Dark brown I let go The sweetest release Slowly I fall Twisting my way Upon the wings of the wind I soar Gently I rest against the ground Which grows Colder Harder With every second I lay Silent Curled up Crunchy Dead A foot comes Large and wide and horrifying It steps With power and purpose Directly on top of me Squishing me Breaking me into Tiny fragments Puzzle pieces That could possibly connect to form What I once was Lucky for me My stringy veins Hold me together I lay sprawled Flattened Exhausted Like a connect a dots completed by a toddler I don't resemble myself But I can see my parts An unlikely display of Strength I had long thought disappeared The wind pushes me around I tumble Forward Back The air cools Rain soaks my surface Snow pummels my body Soon, I am trapped beneath its flakes All I see is White A blank wall of Nothing I can feel my body Disinigrate But all of the sudden A warm sensation comes over me It is so strange I see slivers of green from beneath my white blanket Eventually I see blue Puffy white clouds Brilliant flowers I am soggy But somehow Still One The whole time The evergreen stands near
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69
Instead of a heart, You had a piggy bank. And instead of  happiness, You wanted to be filled with A kind of freedom that doesn’t exist. Freedom from who you are, but that can never change. I wrote lines and lines of poems, about how my heart sang when you held me. While you just scraped together lines and lines for me on your kitchen counter, And told me that this was you giving me the world. When I asked for love, you handed me Glasses of gin, instead of holding me. You filled me with fear, When it should have been safety. I asked for a husband, And you handed me a pipe. Was this the great love I dreamed of? Glass pipes instead of slippers, And my soul mate, My perfect fit who pummels me into shape. I faded into a ******* maid, "A hollow selfish person, who only one person could bear to love." My dream lover, a 6 foot 3 tradie with the temper of a 2-year-old. 27, and he still throws his toys. It’s a shame that I’m the only thing he likes to play with. The more he played, the lighter I became. Soon it went from pushing, to throwing. After tiny bruises came blood. The pain his horrid words made, Echoing in my head, Like ricocheting shrapnel. The tightness of his grip, Leaving his handprints all over me. The same hands that brought me pleasure, Brought far more pain. Lips that I once eagerly watched, Waiting, wanting to kiss, Now were the gate keepers, to the most hurtful words he possessed. The skin that once excited me, Now pressed against me, Holding me to the floor as he staked his ******* claim on my body.
0
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
e-vera
Claim
Instead of a heart, You had a piggy bank. And instead of  happiness, You wanted to be filled with A kind of freedom that doesn’t exist. Freedom from who you are, but that can never change. I wrote lines and lines of poems, about how my heart sang when you held me. While you just scraped together lines and lines for me on your kitchen counter, And told me that this was you giving me the world. When I asked for love, you handed me Glasses of gin, instead of holding me. You filled me with fear, When it should have been safety. I asked for a husband, And you handed me a pipe. Was this the great love I dreamed of? Glass pipes instead of slippers, And my soul mate, My perfect fit who pummels me into shape. I faded into a ******* maid, "A hollow selfish person, who only one person could bear to love." My dream lover, a 6 foot 3 tradie with the temper of a 2-year-old. 27, and he still throws his toys. It’s a shame that I’m the only thing he likes to play with. The more he played, the lighter I became. Soon it went from pushing, to throwing. After tiny bruises came blood. The pain his horrid words made, Echoing in my head, Like ricocheting shrapnel. The tightness of his grip, Leaving his handprints all over me. The same hands that brought me pleasure, Brought far more pain. Lips that I once eagerly watched, Waiting, wanting to kiss, Now were the gate keepers, to the most hurtful words he possessed. The skin that once excited me, Now pressed against me, Holding me to the floor as he staked his ******* claim on my body.
Continue reading...
52
They always told me of my pneuma, This creative spirit, Capable of conquering nations or liberating the unjustly incarcerated Unearthing fabled, folkloric myths, With all the pummels I’d expect a brain cyst— Still, he trudges on, Like a scapegoat in its farcical, ineffable glee— Why are you telling me To manufacture and market my life Like an indulgent, indulged on swine Conforming to the convention, Supporting units of straight edges What in this straight-edged maelstrom Can help the creative pneuma To thrive in a place so confining and restricting And detrimental to discoveries, breakthroughs, Spiritual sustenance?
0
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
a-new-optimism
Straight Edges
They always told me of my pneuma, This creative spirit, Capable of conquering nations or liberating the unjustly incarcerated Unearthing fabled, folkloric myths, With all the pummels I’d expect a brain cyst— Still, he trudges on, Like a scapegoat in its farcical, ineffable glee— Why are you telling me To manufacture and market my life Like an indulgent, indulged on swine Conforming to the convention, Supporting units of straight edges What in this straight-edged maelstrom Can help the creative pneuma To thrive in a place so confining and restricting And detrimental to discoveries, breakthroughs, Spiritual sustenance?
Continue reading...
17
She gave me tea and cookies and a blanket to keep warm A smile of reassurance and shelter from the storm She pointed at a crucifix and took me by the hand She said, 'this is my savior' But I did not understand. 'What is it he saves you from and what is it you fear?' 'He wards off evil serpents that would otherwise be here' 'You mean to say without him you'd be overrun with snakes?' She looked at me quite oddly and said 'Oh, for heaven's sake 'I don't think you realize the power of the cross it pummels every evil showing Satan who is boss' And all at once it happened as if suddenly on cue Two enormous serpents slithered to the door and through She moved as quick as lightning taking crucifix in hand And smashed each slimy serpent as it slithered in the sand I sat in abject horror as she pounded out their brains and smashed them for good measure three or four times once again And when she was quite certain that these snakes were truly dead she hung the holy crucifix back up over the bed Then turning in the fire light a smile upon her face She said 'One cannot argue with the power of His grace'
0
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC
patrick-mcfarland
Tea and Cookies
She gave me tea and cookies and a blanket to keep warm A smile of reassurance and shelter from the storm She pointed at a crucifix and took me by the hand She said, 'this is my savior' But I did not understand. 'What is it he saves you from and what is it you fear?' 'He wards off evil serpents that would otherwise be here' 'You mean to say without him you'd be overrun with snakes?' She looked at me quite oddly and said 'Oh, for heaven's sake 'I don't think you realize the power of the cross it pummels every evil showing Satan who is boss' And all at once it happened as if suddenly on cue Two enormous serpents slithered to the door and through She moved as quick as lightning taking crucifix in hand And smashed each slimy serpent as it slithered in the sand I sat in abject horror as she pounded out their brains and smashed them for good measure three or four times once again And when she was quite certain that these snakes were truly dead she hung the holy crucifix back up over the bed Then turning in the fire light a smile upon her face She said 'One cannot argue with the power of His grace'
Continue reading...
40
Snow pack dissolves, shrinking icecaps Trickles, connects with succinct spring Runs down frigid, joins brook Babbling, descends to stream Meanders past meadow land With butterfly **** rippling grasses Flows through tributary into river Enters the rocky canyon Cliffs high as cotton clouds Jagged, angular, shadowed sunlight Chilly air rising off splashing rocks Echoes of rushing, rumbling Fresh scent of Blue Spruce, sappy pine cones Churning white water, mile long Cutting rocky gorge Raging river travels with purpose reverberates around bend Water falls towards paradise Pummels hard to form pool Surrounded by grassy fronds of Deerhair bulrush, Hydrangea, Lady Rue and Button Bush trees My secret sanctuary
0
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
bernadette-rivera
My Secret Sanctuary
Snow pack dissolves, shrinking icecaps Trickles, connects with succinct spring Runs down frigid, joins brook Babbling, descends to stream Meanders past meadow land With butterfly **** rippling grasses Flows through tributary into river Enters the rocky canyon Cliffs high as cotton clouds Jagged, angular, shadowed sunlight Chilly air rising off splashing rocks Echoes of rushing, rumbling Fresh scent of Blue Spruce, sappy pine cones Churning white water, mile long Cutting rocky gorge Raging river travels with purpose reverberates around bend Water falls towards paradise Pummels hard to form pool Surrounded by grassy fronds of Deerhair bulrush, Hydrangea, Lady Rue and Button Bush trees My secret sanctuary
Continue reading...
20
I said that I needed to put between us some distance. And in that instance, with a voice so vicious, You warned me to never ask your help again. I don't think I need help from you if you can't give it freely. There's always some catch some payback some string attached. Not gonna let that enslave me. Not gonna do this anymore, Not when your anger pummels me into the floor.
0
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
madzq
daddy
I said that I needed to put between us some distance. And in that instance, with a voice so vicious, You warned me to never ask your help again. I don't think I need help from you if you can't give it freely. There's always some catch some payback some string attached. Not gonna let that enslave me. Not gonna do this anymore, Not when your anger pummels me into the floor.
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15
As I sit and stare- The water motionless, yet moving along I gaze upon eternity here- With white rip tides, gasping for air I sit and stare- The waves endless in shape and form Life pummels toward you without a care- © 2014 Christina Jackson
0
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
christina-jackson
Deep blue sea hear me scream
As I sit and stare- The water motionless, yet moving along I gaze upon eternity here- With white rip tides, gasping for air I sit and stare- The waves endless in shape and form Life pummels toward you without a care- © 2014 Christina Jackson
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12
Unkulunkulu arose from combusting reeds, Conjured snaking kalaidoscopes to colour the bony landscape. He summoned oozing crocodiles, Mud encrusting their jagged rinds whilst the newly vomited sun pummels it to solidity. Then seeds descended from Nzame's hands, Scattering, he watched the devil strive to swallow the sun with his eager muzzle, only thwarted as Kamui’s crow flew down his throat: Kamui and Aionia chortled smoke as he retched. Then, the first peoples. Their frail bodies of earth, chickweed for hair, Willow spines that would bend when they turned old. Sandals sprung into leather squirrels, Tarantulas span cord webs to create the earth-ball, supported by posts to stop it rolling, Steadied, it rotates: a roasting world on a spit.
0
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:46 PM UTC
rkm
Myths From Africa
Unkulunkulu arose from combusting reeds, Conjured snaking kalaidoscopes to colour the bony landscape. He summoned oozing crocodiles, Mud encrusting their jagged rinds whilst the newly vomited sun pummels it to solidity. Then seeds descended from Nzame's hands, Scattering, he watched the devil strive to swallow the sun with his eager muzzle, only thwarted as Kamui’s crow flew down his throat: Kamui and Aionia chortled smoke as he retched. Then, the first peoples. Their frail bodies of earth, chickweed for hair, Willow spines that would bend when they turned old. Sandals sprung into leather squirrels, Tarantulas span cord webs to create the earth-ball, supported by posts to stop it rolling, Steadied, it rotates: a roasting world on a spit.
Continue reading...
18
The thundercloud parking garage swallows me whole and drains the authenticity from my smile. The descending escalator sends me to my personal hell. All I can think of is my counterfeit countenance or the carefree singing voice of my mother. I grasp at the sound, the long lost curl of her hair, the sun of her eyes. It's like trying to catch smoke. The tears before security tell me I'm not alone though the final embrace of my mom disagrees. She disappears, fades into the metal detectors. I'm alone. I float through the crowd, past half-machine men, their brows furrowed in stone as they slice through lines without one last look at the family they wish they had. They race to winged robots that autograph the sky like the parting at the end of a letter. The goodbye. The stain mochas of Starbucks beckon me. The neon magazines cheer at me from Hudson News. Together, we watch the clouds gobble the planes, mourn the farewell of the familiar, the leaving of love. Rain pummels the windows like tears down a face. Again, the machine men, the magazines and mochas comfort and reassure everything will be alright.
0
Aug 27, 2010
Aug 27, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
kelly-sipko
Flight Observatory
The thundercloud parking garage swallows me whole and drains the authenticity from my smile. The descending escalator sends me to my personal hell. All I can think of is my counterfeit countenance or the carefree singing voice of my mother. I grasp at the sound, the long lost curl of her hair, the sun of her eyes. It's like trying to catch smoke. The tears before security tell me I'm not alone though the final embrace of my mom disagrees. She disappears, fades into the metal detectors. I'm alone. I float through the crowd, past half-machine men, their brows furrowed in stone as they slice through lines without one last look at the family they wish they had. They race to winged robots that autograph the sky like the parting at the end of a letter. The goodbye. The stain mochas of Starbucks beckon me. The neon magazines cheer at me from Hudson News. Together, we watch the clouds gobble the planes, mourn the farewell of the familiar, the leaving of love. Rain pummels the windows like tears down a face. Again, the machine men, the magazines and mochas comfort and reassure everything will be alright.
Continue reading...
23
Two ultramarine diamonds Glazed like hailstones Transfixing and adoring With the courage of a thousand monarchs Peering with an immortal persistence, Like the twirling whitecaps of the sea And how they never forget to kiss the coast goodbye Petrifying all nerve endings In every gap And every adjacent membrane ofaxons In every gland and cell Recepting molecules of hunger and thirst Set aflame by Pummels of my infant and eager heart Both silhouettes swaying in greed Yearning, longing,  speaking, Pleading with a meek caress For incessant spasms of arousal, A stifled sob made of silk Hushed by the storm of a lull Sapphire globes fasten once again A duet of mercy Cupping cherub faces Tracing trails of promise with settled fingertips Down chilled spines And frozen echoes Tangled in a warmth never wielded
0
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
ally-3
006.
Two ultramarine diamonds Glazed like hailstones Transfixing and adoring With the courage of a thousand monarchs Peering with an immortal persistence, Like the twirling whitecaps of the sea And how they never forget to kiss the coast goodbye Petrifying all nerve endings In every gap And every adjacent membrane ofaxons In every gland and cell Recepting molecules of hunger and thirst Set aflame by Pummels of my infant and eager heart Both silhouettes swaying in greed Yearning, longing,  speaking, Pleading with a meek caress For incessant spasms of arousal, A stifled sob made of silk Hushed by the storm of a lull Sapphire globes fasten once again A duet of mercy Cupping cherub faces Tracing trails of promise with settled fingertips Down chilled spines And frozen echoes Tangled in a warmth never wielded
Continue reading...
27
Under the shade of the Palm tree's Shadows cast by the early evening sun Relaxation Contemplation No worry on our exuberant minds The kind of basking that makes your skin tingle Every inch of nerve reacting Dancing on end to this forbidden sunshine happiness Light particles soaking into thin skin Frying our bodies and minds but we don't care... As long as we can feel it We don't care Rolling, laughing, tickling Trying to get away while inhaling Lung-fulls of sand Sparkling like the last strong stars in the sky The sunlight dances off our white teeth Whites of our eyes watch the twinkling waves Splash over and over each other Making sweet music that no one but us can hear Or understand The feeling of freedom is here in these lands Here in this hot sand Burning our fingers and toes but we don't care We never care Endless possibilities So many different lives lived Under the tantalizing sun Bright and effervescent It explodes our excitement Pummels us into a new level of joy There is nothing like pure sunshine Nothing on earth like that liquid gold
0
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
pennythepoet
Liquid Gold
Under the shade of the Palm tree's Shadows cast by the early evening sun Relaxation Contemplation No worry on our exuberant minds The kind of basking that makes your skin tingle Every inch of nerve reacting Dancing on end to this forbidden sunshine happiness Light particles soaking into thin skin Frying our bodies and minds but we don't care... As long as we can feel it We don't care Rolling, laughing, tickling Trying to get away while inhaling Lung-fulls of sand Sparkling like the last strong stars in the sky The sunlight dances off our white teeth Whites of our eyes watch the twinkling waves Splash over and over each other Making sweet music that no one but us can hear Or understand The feeling of freedom is here in these lands Here in this hot sand Burning our fingers and toes but we don't care We never care Endless possibilities So many different lives lived Under the tantalizing sun Bright and effervescent It explodes our excitement Pummels us into a new level of joy There is nothing like pure sunshine Nothing on earth like that liquid gold
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33
120 beats per minute and I can’t stop thinking about you It is the moments I lay under these sheets and The moments I spend alone I am tossing and turning with unattainable relief My lips resembling a dog’s chew toy Because there are so many words that I cannot say But I can bite them into morse code on my skin I am groaning, exasperated, the light beginning to pour in from behind those blinds 6am and I still can’t stop thinking about you The delicacy of your words flutters and lands upon me like a butterfly Pounding headaches and strife towards euphoria All leading towards the realization that Oblivion is inevitable And facing death is much simpler Than telling you the way I feel Because I can think about life and ponder about death but I still can’t stop thinking about you too I can’t stop thinking Not about your warm brown eyes The warmest I’ve ever seen Or the tone your voice takes when you begin to explain something to me And the smooth skin behind your neck And the taste of your lips Will have me up all day Because I sure as hell didn’t sleep last night I am in some sort of paradoxical tortured pleasure that picks me up and pummels me down With each profound effect of your words Ringing in my ears and Having my pillow greet my face For another night of painful thoughts about the pleasure of you
0
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 9:43 AM UTC
ionized
120 bpm
120 beats per minute and I can’t stop thinking about you It is the moments I lay under these sheets and The moments I spend alone I am tossing and turning with unattainable relief My lips resembling a dog’s chew toy Because there are so many words that I cannot say But I can bite them into morse code on my skin I am groaning, exasperated, the light beginning to pour in from behind those blinds 6am and I still can’t stop thinking about you The delicacy of your words flutters and lands upon me like a butterfly Pounding headaches and strife towards euphoria All leading towards the realization that Oblivion is inevitable And facing death is much simpler Than telling you the way I feel Because I can think about life and ponder about death but I still can’t stop thinking about you too I can’t stop thinking Not about your warm brown eyes The warmest I’ve ever seen Or the tone your voice takes when you begin to explain something to me And the smooth skin behind your neck And the taste of your lips Will have me up all day Because I sure as hell didn’t sleep last night I am in some sort of paradoxical tortured pleasure that picks me up and pummels me down With each profound effect of your words Ringing in my ears and Having my pillow greet my face For another night of painful thoughts about the pleasure of you
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32
I stand this pain so long, from the dusk of day all the way through past the rise of dawn. Sometimes look out in empty distance wondering if I shall go on. I've been so long walking past the pain, but that that don't change how it's a burden all the same. Not even worrying about faded dreams of fortune and of fame. The dark does not only come at night, it lingers in my head. Pummels my spirit so thoroughly and leaving it to dread. These thoughts come to my mind, they come from my heart. It takes my memories and uses feeling that pick and pulls apart. Remember where this point is is somewhere between heaven and those left for dead. Because like I said, the dark lingers and the thoughts all come in from my head.
0
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
ransomstake01
Where this point is
I stand this pain so long, from the dusk of day all the way through past the rise of dawn. Sometimes look out in empty distance wondering if I shall go on. I've been so long walking past the pain, but that that don't change how it's a burden all the same. Not even worrying about faded dreams of fortune and of fame. The dark does not only come at night, it lingers in my head. Pummels my spirit so thoroughly and leaving it to dread. These thoughts come to my mind, they come from my heart. It takes my memories and uses feeling that pick and pulls apart. Remember where this point is is somewhere between heaven and those left for dead. Because like I said, the dark lingers and the thoughts all come in from my head.
Continue reading...
12
A Cold Rain is here The invading cold rain Pummels the fall foliage Punches the dead leaves Like an angry mob of looters Stealing color from the trees Leaving the ground covered with the fallen   Now bruised and broken underfoot         Stomped and kicked to the curb Trampled by the relentless rain Copyright 2016 Richard L Ratliff
0
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
richard-l-ratliff
A Cold Rain is here
A Cold Rain is here The invading cold rain Pummels the fall foliage Punches the dead leaves Like an angry mob of looters Stealing color from the trees Leaving the ground covered with the fallen   Now bruised and broken underfoot         Stomped and kicked to the curb Trampled by the relentless rain Copyright 2016 Richard L Ratliff
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12
Lightning rips the sky apart. Rain pummels the ground. Thunder shreds the silence. The force of nature displayed in its most beautiful form.
0
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
dream-caster
Thunderstorm
Lightning rips the sky apart. Rain pummels the ground. Thunder shreds the silence. The force of nature displayed in its most beautiful form.
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5
At times oceans of memories flood my steadfast moorings yet still... my soul is in hiding as the undertow of the day's reality pulls me under and pummels my senses leaving shreds to be mended at a later time and place
0
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
the-analog-kid
In Hiding
At times oceans of memories flood my steadfast moorings yet still... my soul is in hiding as the undertow of the day's reality pulls me under and pummels my senses leaving shreds to be mended at a later time and place
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18
Rain pummels against the pavement of my skull. So loud is this silence, like static on my tv. White noise floods the every corner of my brain. I slide out of people's lives as quickly as I come into them.
0
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 3:31 PM UTC
dbabybey
Alone in the corner
Rain pummels against the pavement of my skull. So loud is this silence, like static on my tv. White noise floods the every corner of my brain. I slide out of people's lives as quickly as I come into them.
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4
Stories of burning in the sun fizzle out after a couple generations Stories of salt filling our lungs will outlast many civilizations The sun burns quickly like a brief moment of excitement that wanes away while we search for the next blazing hit The sea pummels slowly like a life of enduring and remiss beating you down day after day wholly until you sink into the abyss
0
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
EvilShredder
Stories
Stories of burning in the sun fizzle out after a couple generations Stories of salt filling our lungs will outlast many civilizations The sun burns quickly like a brief moment of excitement that wanes away while we search for the next blazing hit The sea pummels slowly like a life of enduring and remiss beating you down day after day wholly until you sink into the abyss
Continue reading...
12