"quaky" poems
Is there someone out there that can make the insecure, secure?
The lost become found?
The weak become strong?
The introvert extrovert and all things in-between?
The ugly more beautiful?
The headedness and nightmares become more of a joke?
The sounds in the background become solid and free
Chuck out the garbage
The ties that bind thee
Those that put you in trouble of the deepest kind
The ugliest of mothers hellbent on revenge
Taking out pennies from someone else's den
Is there someone decent and cool
To help get along in the life of a fool?
I am the pest the irregular verb
Adjectives, hyphens the comma's full stop and nerds
All comprehensive found sometimes expensive
So you'll never know what kind of gift wraps inside
Quaky, Jackie, Stumble bunny and fall
Am running amok for the sake of it all
Sinderella what a fella
He went to the garden zoo
Played hokey cokey
Oh what a jokey
He even drank the soup
Happy Halloween you creeps!
© Bernard M Coldwell all rights reserved
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
you told me to send a picture
i looked another way
you told me to send a picture
i laughed it away
you told me to send a picture
again and again and again
i cared too much not to cave
i wish my **** form could be sculpted like clay
i tuck my necklace away
i try lip-biting, play with lighting,
hiding
my tan line from last summer
you tell me to send a picture
i have it ready
quivering, quaky fingers
quickly, quietly,
hit send
you tell me i did a good job
when the chat reloads, its gone.
you reply for two more days.
you ghost me.
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 8:41 PM UTC
the moon must be crazy
in the way that it glows
when it does,
for only ***** things
happen at night,
at twilight is when the
hungry men prowl
for the ripened darlings
in their lacy things -
when the fingers of
the raving ones
are stickiest in their
rabid breaths,
in the time that
wallows in the dust
of the stars' dusky debut
is where the shadows
are livened with
all things creeping
and perilous,
though,
it was in my
silken milk moonbath
that i rinsed the nagging
sharp terrors from my
fortitude undergoing
a quickening,
and in the pool of light
amid the crystal rocks -
that i gave my fervent
wet hearted
soliloquies.
--
lest i forget,
it was in the
late moon's lament
with his opal grand aura
painting softly my glowing path
that i embraced the silent
white cub, in his quaky
ascent who radically
up-ended my
existence.
--
treasured Sir Moon
in your tremulous
spry loon
i trust the satin truth
in the madness you brew.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 11:33 AM UTC
Some secrets were meant to remain secrets
You weren't supposed to tell me that way
That wasn't how I should've found out
And now I know
And I can't feel anything
Anything but what you said
In that shaky, quaky, terrified voice
Because I pressured you into spilling
More than just the tears that cascaded down your face right after
The break in your words
The hint of agony
Never again will I hear that
Because I will keep you safe
I swear it
My little flower
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Whatever you do - you can never lure me
Little does she know I am in trance
Worlds away in her presence
She is everything star - season and air
I hold breath for her perfume weakens me
Sucker for her quaky voice I remain
I hate how she ***** me into her world
Even more - I hate being far from it
Never will I be a citizen
Hopefully a second more she will be mine to hold
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 11:52 AM UTC
The massive door cries its opposition as it squeaks open,
The white walls and ceilings loom over me,
a small figure in a brilliant foreground.
Walking into the common room I find a large couch,
uninhabited.
I am a lone echo wandering these empty halls searching for the other guests.
But none of them are to be found.
A eerie sensation follows me,
Eyes roaming the room,
targeting me.
I am not alone.
As though reading my thoughts,
shadows creep out into the open,
The missing guests stand before me.
Friendly faces twist into snarls,
Smiling with menacing lips.
Each of them accounted for.
Each of them a close friend of mine.
With a quaky voice I whisper a hello,
only to see their grimaces grow.
Something cool is suddenly pressed into my stomach,
The metallic smell rises as I clutch the wound and collapse.
All of them,
Were Murders.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC