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September Roses Jul 2018
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets

Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire

Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet

Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song birds chorus
And the blissful sun

Bask in it
And relax
Carissa Blessing Aug 2015
Still silence filled with the warmth of your body radiating on me while we sleep
I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else other than lying next to you
The light is just dim enough that I can see
the smile you give me after we kiss goodnight
I can't sleep, I can't dream, if I can't have you here with me
Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety
I CAN'T BREATHE
You should be home by now
Where could you be?
Did you find someone better
Someone 10 times better than me?
Anxiety, Anxiety, Anxiety
You are my anxiety relief
So baby please hurry home
So I can fall asleep peacefully
You here with me
zebra Apr 2017
i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication

seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth  
glamors that excite

cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards

wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice

your supplication
love pangs

i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your  limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life  

I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death  
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous  
waiting humbly in the wings

i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules

your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops  
as it echoes through oblivion
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, and yes  i admit to my paraphilias.
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Adam Childs Aug 2014
As the glorious LION
Stands strong in stature
Radiating with a presence
Of Absolute rule
The air washed with
A bristly respect
A natural pride
Beams with  beauty
He guards the gateway to truth
and only the brave may enter
He is the king that needs no crown
as he holds a royal presence as he
sits in his golden coat and main
Lies spark combust just bounce off
dissolve in all his shine.  

As broken men become renewed
Their fractured parts
Collect in the melting ***
Of the Lion's  stare
As they are engulfed and swallowed
In the reservoirs of his strength
As the many wounded souls
Find themselves restored
In his majestic presence
As he rattles the very fabric
Of this world

There is no procrastinating belly
Exposed by a lackluster display
No one insults his strength
By creating a make believe world
Or covers him with scaffolding so
That they may alter him
For he is the finished article
And he is never held up or supported
With anyone's emotional ropes or strings
For he no ones puppet
He is never silenced
By the Strangle hold of this world
Tightened with a multitude of gestures
For I hear his ROAR!!!!!!!!
His explosive self expression
As his throat bursts and beams like the sun
Breaking all collars, and his tongue is freed
As a thousand trap doors Open up in him  
And boulders are lifted and rocks are shattered
within the sound of his voice.
His Soft pads of silent stealth
Gather for all his wealth
As the power of his pounce
Is governed by both his strength
Of spirit and the honesty
With which he meets the earth
For he owns all of his own pain
And paces and growls to warn
Away any who seek to steal his fresh ****
And diminish him with pretty lies
For he owns all his space
As it feeds his strength
As somewhere in the fury of feasting
Lionesses and Lions  
We find our freedom
For his power explodes like a volcano
When his soul meets the earth  
As he shakes off all avoidance
To seek only truth
As streaks of white light
And pure Gold glisten in the SUN
As the world's projections
Reflect and bounce off him

There is so much to learn
From a beautiful LION
just decided to take my two poems about a LION and remove all the dead wood and see what I came up with . not sure but I love some of the lines individually
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Taken, gotten, or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything…

slow
Slow think,
make real

re-al-ize
what fighting for life is…
this is the only
try,
it is not a test.

Take your time, use it wisely,
if that means anything.
Wise, I meant.
No offence, if wise is anathema to your kind,
die,
die if I knocked the reason for being right
outa you,
did you hear cognitive dissonance?
did it sound like
this. LOUD?
listen,
rolling rolling rolling
crash crumble rolled in nurse rime frosted
fables of monsters and maids
Thor, witharoar likka Lion King?

or the light brigade,
CHARGE?

thunder words from lost generations of
reasonless riddles for children,

Why did Peter Pumpkin-eater have a wife, but
couldn't keep her here?
Was that okeh? Oh, wait.
Ah, I see, I say,
they never tell that whole story any more.

Know why? They forgot it. In the war.

Duck'n'cover,no
crying, how long?
When begins forever? Did no one tell you, child?

Taken or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything
like it was nothing, given
enough pre-sure-sup
poser-power

War, as a game, has a reason.

Battle, hitting, slapping

stop touch, stop now slap
slap back

or cry
oh no no ma

waddayahsay?  A theist or atheist
who started this war?

space case, or
lover of wisdom, met on the road
to Emmaus, discussing Weil's proof
firming Fermi's connection to the matter of fear,
3, 2, 1

Kaboom, but with a whump you feel in your teeth

1, 2, 3 Fermat's last theorem ,
easy as pi an no re me

ABC to
Michael Jackson to
Howard Bloom because he

inadvertently, began
an-ionic converstatic re-vibe time warp
meme,
which vibe, started the legendary Sixties. I was alive.
Radioman,
a sixty cycle white-noise humm heard every where these days

There was a gospel song, "Turn Your Radio On".
my theme, open the window in the top of your head,
as it were,
a new,
as new as

a novel-state of water, H three Ohs, re-al-ity ification,
Ah, a shared Oh, I remember now, how this works…

like a poem

at the edge of a water vapor bubble in a boiling body of water,
at the edge of the bubble, water becomes a wall of water,
not vapor, not flowing liquid,

but a wall, insulating the vapor in pressing opposing force
to permit, from permission,
meaning with a message same as the message,

is that the right word? per-mission-grant, is power given,
agency,
that idea….
wait for the sign….?

By sharing an ion ic bond as a quest to make a point
for a free story to go,
the question marks you. Let the snake dance.

Press your point,

whetted edge,

slice through ties holding worthless axioms
with withered dendrites dangling disconnected
in participles
unfired for centuries muttering,
enchanting, enthralling enchained melodies
of ambitious syllables vying for idle minds
to rope in,
unbranded, wild
bucking ideas,
whip-twig, slap-face,
tanglewood  thicket, catclaw and mesquite,
willow,

wait.
And the old man remembered the willow whistle,
so He asked Grandfather,
How is such a whistle made?
And when he knew,
he made one.

A willow whistle with two notes,
like an Oscar Meir Wiener one.

-- and that was a different time
I got lost here, bucked up…
maybe
--- listen, way back--- we-ain't whistlin' Dixie---
we ain't marchin', as t' war.

D'thet mean some sign to pro-phet -ic take?
Tophet?
Ancient cannon fodder shield walls,
a moaning
Pro-phy-lactic warning of the danger of not
knowing exactly
what a war is for?

Get back on,
relieved of any idle baggage words believed
to mean other than I say.

Nullify
Idle words with cultural meanings from
what you thought you knew when you feared hell.

Loose
those peer-locked memes
made of meaninglessness, per se,

shaped and molded into fashions
of expression, once needles and awls,
now, dull as tinker's damns for swearing,
with any effect.

But tools, none the less, a stitch in time took a tool.
An awl or a needle, and a thread, thick or thin,
dependin' on the mendin' needed
to redeem an idle word,
its meaning all bloodied with the tyranny of time.

An awl or a needle,
a tool for a task, mending a tear
where curses, never meant, spent
the entire dark ages, lying, lying, lying

powerless, pointless aimless, proverbial proverbial proverbial
verbiage, vaneless shafts launched at unseen marks,
signs, as it were, a spark,
triggers,
rumored since the sixties,
the first sixties, when Cain killed Able.
Howard Bloom was but a mere gleam
in our mito-mother's eye,
but, no doubt,

his role is real,
in loosing the forces Ferlinghetti locked in
City Lights mystery of secret meanings room,
which un
mystified and blew away upon opening
the door to
meanings mapped on
scrolls rolling and unrolling
idle ideas,
rites of passage, as it were,
Pre-bat-bar-mitz vah
as a fashion
like VBS,

to tickle little minds and make em wiggle.
MEMEMEME, I did it,
mea culpa,

the holy place
Here we are…

On Vacation, leave a message.
-----

See, wee hairs in your ears wiggle, making,
signaling, the need

to scratch that itch, that itching hearing feeling ear… hear that

don't scratch, listen

listen

60 cycle humm, steady, bass, but no thump whumpwhump;
soft, deeep.
ooooooooo or mmmmmmmm or in betwixt, steady thrumm
hear another, and another… sixty in a second,

one in every million ambits twisting,
threading qubits, radiating signals in the field
wireless, blue-tooth... satellite...

can you feel that?

hummmms, all around us, since the womb.
We are not the children of the greatest generation,

We are the children of the last generation of
**** sapiens sapiens non-augmentable-us.

We, the augmented, recycled ideas,
possessing
minds of Adamkind,

is that a secret or a sacred?
Is this
a new thing, an
unknown unknown known known now?

Ah,
novelty.

Whose is fear? Who was afraid of Virginia Wolf?

Should I remain in fear of her now, if I knew why then?
God would know such answers.
Proving my imagined AI guides are not God,
but lesser beings,

haps I recall.
I defined these things,
these thoughts that shape themselves,
forming words and phrases
I saw
shiny. Crow-like,
gleams seen, captured and claimed mine,
I tucked them away,
a sign in a thought in an imagined image made 4
real once more, to be seen from the shore,
new land new world
a fourth for some, a fifth or more for others...

haps happen, I'm not sure how,

Born or emerged, as a bubble, what do you say?

Reserve judgment.
Grant me your grace for now, until you solve my riddle.

Ah, the old way.
Right. Which way,  'ere, 'ear
and do we roll the rock with silent haitch or harsh, shhh

someone's waking up,
a bit grumpy,
don't you dare oppose me in this, the kid is certainly my son

Michael went stark raving mad when I told him, Billie Jean knew better all along...
the link, axiomatic,
the fatherless child has been claimed

hence, the thread to Howard Bloom, meme-ic,
meme-ic, like the Roadrunner,

but with the real Coyote, as the hero in this bit of
whatever, such meandering maundified maun maund  
mound

wind blown crystal silicon dunes
mounded up to that point where granulated
beens and dones

begin to slide at an angle,
a ***** deter-mind by the weight of the rock

We made it.
I know where this is.

This is a novel that has Sisyphus being happy
as the main premise behind the idea of anyone ever being
able, en abled, or un-dis-abled or un-dis-enabled,
if one of those is right,

Sisyphus being happy
is the main premise behind
the idea of anyone ever being glücklich,
happy, blessed, lucky.

How happy is your ever after?
When did forever begin?

"A man is as happy as he makes up his mind to be"
Abe Lincoln, is said to have said,
after the seance, maybe.

You push on, dear reader, make some sense
re-ligare or relegare, but take a stitch,

pull-tight,
do what works the first time as far as it goes, and try each, as needed,
it may be that we invented this test.
To make us think it is a test,
to sort ourselves out.

Get back on,

see who went crazy and who found the thread, if the same thread
this is that, right,
the same train of thought,
the same idea
spirit wind
sign
?
A snake facing west standing tippy-tail on a singularity;
a point in time?

Why are you reading this?
Curiosity Shoppes trade in interesting, alluring, click-bait

Pay attention, watch, you shall see

imagine this is the dream,
the stream, the flow, the current, the cream

in a dime coffee at the drug store on the corner

the rounded-corner, in a square-cornered town,
the most right corner of the twelve that quarter what it was

Punctuate, wait, imagine you read ancient Hebrew or Greek and there
are no dyer diacritical's who can twist one's
end tensions into knots

dread extensions, we could sell those,
is that an idea? did somebody
sell white folks dread extensions and black folk dolly pardon wigs?

Did that happen the real real?

-----
Battlefield Earth, oshit
scientology ology ology ology

allaye allaye outs in free

WE we wee every we you imagine you are good in, we

We have a war to win again, we heroes rolling from your
myths of Sisyphus torn from minds trampled
in the mud beyond the Rhine,

Mushrooms. magi are aware, you are aware, of course,
this course includes Basic Mycelium Net Adaptation or Augmentation
BMNAA, eh? So you know.

Camus and many of his ilk were ill-treated, the questions
they asked were memorized, maybe in our cribs ala
Brave New World.

We are all Alphas, always were, of course, you know.

Shall we imagine

more? Re-legare, eh, sistere. Point .(Back to the top.)

or agree? Make peace.
Practice, like Eazy-Bake,
the cook must swallow the first bite. May the best cook win.
A continuing examination of opposing forces when good is the goal, who could be against that? The old word war is festering, inflaming evil to start a try, therefore,  I whet the edge and swing wide
b e mccomb Aug 2016
a discomfort
radiating
upwards from the
***** of my feet
up my calves and
through the muscles
i try to keep
from twitching.

some nights i could
wash my hands
twenty times
and still feel
sweaty and
hopeless.

i could give up
sometimes
i know where the
blind curves are
and the tallest trees
in the woods
and i know how
much it hurts
behind my spine and
inside my rib cage.

i can't
breathe
i can't
breathe

and maybe giving up
would hurt less than
trying to hold myself
steady and trying

and

and

thoughts keep getting
cut off in the middle

i can't
breathe
i can't
breathe

i've had dark
nights and
slightly lighter
nights and
quiet damp
nights and
buzzing summer
nights and
throbbing multicolored
nights and
nights so deathly silent
i questioned my own sanity

and some nights
where i wanted
to just
give up

nights
nights
all of them were
nights.

i can't
breathe
i can't
breathe

i would run away
from my problems
if there wasn't this
discomfort
in the ***** of my feet
radiating upwards

and also
if i could breathe

*but i
can't
*******
breathe
Copyright 4/23/16 by B. E. McComb
Madhurima Oct 2014
The sea, endless, magnificent blue
Reminds me of your deep swirling eyes
Looking at me with mischievous love
Reflecting the big, open skies

The stars of the dark night
Remind me of the scars dotted on your skin
Painting your body in loose touches
Polaroids of everywhere you've been

The Sun, in its bright glory
Reminds me of your smile
Radiating, powerful, from cheek to cheek
Sadly, I haven't seen it in a while.

And finally, I must say, my love
I realize, as I finish this verse
Before, I saw the universe in you
*Now, I see you in the universe
I don't know but yeah.
Brandon Amberger Sep 2018
You know you're like the sun.
Radiating beauty naturally
and everlasting.
Laura Robin Nov 2012
there is a monster beneath
the lofty, billowing sheets of my bed
beneath the mattress
the box spring
the carefully crafted wooden frame.

[he lives in the shadows,
in the obscurity there.]

i should feel sheltered...safe,
underneath these sheets,
[like my mother’s arms
tucking me in tight,
don’t let the bed bugs bite.]

but when my arm dangles off my bed,
when i commit that fatal mistake,
i feel a draw to the ground
more forceful than the force of gravity
seizing my hand
paining to pull me under.
and i know it is the monster.
i feel his yearning
for the blood and guts of a child...
his desire to rip me apart
like a lion does his prey.

i take back control of my hand,
wrap my arms around myself,
feigning safety.
for as we all know
that monster could very well
clamber, creep out
climb onto my bed
and swallow me whole.

i don’t know why he hasn’t yet --
perhaps he likes the challenge
of waiting for me
to be susceptible enough to
forget myself
and leave my arm suspended
for more than
just a moment.

i am curled up into a fetal position
paralyzed by my fear.
the anxiety invades my joints
so that i cannot move anymore.
i fall into a fitful sleep
and wake up to sunshine radiating
through my window,
casting the intricate patterns of
my curtains on the rug.

during the day,
the monster cannot survive.
but when nighttime falls
the darkness returns,
my trepidation returns
and the monster is alive.
well, again.
Diya Aug 2018
I wasn't born
With this hole in my heart
But it developed gradually
When pain drilled my chest to cling it's art.
Oh! I was smiling radiating the usual rainbow colours!
But just then, I was grayed and torn
Just like  withered flowers!
The pain! Yes the pain
Is unbearable
My tears all are in vain
They are just emotional fool , being unstoppable!
I am fed up of emotional breakdown
My soul became mournful, being lost in the ghost town!
I know, sorrows are part of life
But how can I frequently bear the pain that cut deeper than the knife!
I try my best to just forget and move on
But what shall I do when I am trapped in the useless emotion?
Just in a process of getting relieve from the feeling of being hurt! It's really difficult...
Sorry,my poem sounded somewhat boring but I really meant what I said .
Those supernova eyes,
Outshine the galaxy in her freckles.
Her busts like mountains,
And curves like a river..
Hair radiating like sunrays,
Thighs like smooth iceberg..
Within her divine body, melts my universe.
Elise Law Aug 2014
To be hugged by someone you love,
Is not a simple matter.

The first hug was shy and awkward,
But the second hug was warm and complete.

The heat radiating from him on a cold winter's day,
Warms me up.

His arms circling around me,
It feels like home.

It is like we are meant to be,
As we fit completely with each other.

I feel safe in his arms,
Like he is protecting me from the outside world.

I can tell that every hug I get from him is full of love,
As I also put all my love into my hugs.

One hug can make you feel special and happy,
So treasure that hug and do not forget.
If you have read my other poem 'Hugs', you will know that it was very simple. This one has more of a meaning to it.
The hugs from this special person are wonderful!
Enjoy :)
Bee Sep 2018
she was the moon
radiating the night sky
and dancing among the stars

you were the darkness
the shadow that waxed and waned
through the phases of her life

she grew to believe
that your presence
is what made her whole

but like the full moon
she shone brightest
without you


x.
Kagami Nov 2013
Silent crackle, tingle,
The smell of a sticky must. Floating dust in
An abandoned attic, where the rats roam and the dead skeleton of a fish
Still lies in an empty bowl of moldy rocks and plastic plants.
Yet, despite the emptiness, a girl curls up in the corner, black
Running down her face as she weeps for the things she longs for most.
She looks out the *****, broken window at the cloudy sky and imagines it
Blue. The brightest of skies with only few hints of cirrus.
A blanket on the ground and the man she loves, nothing else in sight.
The expanse of green in her head is contrasted to the rotting floorboards she lays
On, dreaming. The steady beat of Boy in Static thrumming through her headset
As she struggles not to scream and jump, finishing the job on the window
From troubled teens years before. The sound reminds her of VHS tapes,
Press rewind, take a turn and start over. But she can't, when something has changed.
The boy she knew, looking down with his hood not up, but covering his face, shielding
Himself from her. She knew he had a ***** in his head, but she just looked away. He never answered anything she asked. He was unable.
But her heart still dropped, she smiled her best. An amazing actress, fooling everyone, makeup allergy keeping her eyes dry. She just read Huck Finn as though nothing was wrong.
Now she sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry, but her mind kept wandering to that attic.

She was there again. Blankly staring at her star charm anklet. A simple blue ribbon.
And the throbbing of her heartbeat through that one spot on her thumb,
That pressure point that hurts more than anything. But one thing could be worse.
Being left. Just like the broken rocking horse in the corner and the baby's cradle
Lined with blue silk that was shoved into a box. That baby is probably dead. Just like all
Of the others who lived there, burned by the fire. Goose flesh raises, prickly
Hairs on her legs from a week of no shaving. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Bleed.
Change the song. Bleed Like Me. Perfect. She draws on the peeling walls, two hundred
Years of wallpaper and lead paint, chalk barely leaving a mark. She sketches a masterpiece.
A child that she wishes she could have. Impossibly too young, but still...
A daughter she could raise better than her mother raised her. A chance to do something right.
More than the mechanic life she has lead, empty and useless.
Confused and pathetic. Like the broken grandfather clock that ticks backwards.
Three, two, one.
Ding-****, ****-ding. Grandfather never taught me anything. He was not a wise man.
He was a fool. Knew too much and too little, no room to know what was right.
She let another raindrop escape and suddenly it began to pour. Lightning crashes as a glass
Slipper collides with the picture drawn of her dream. Thunder as she releases a
Bloodcurdling scream. "Why!?"
Why her? The pain in her back is unbearable. She slouches too much, and her eyes burn.
She is not Cinderella; her ball gown does not glitter.
Piano is her least favorite instrument, but it somehow gets to her. Small hammers
Striking her heart strings, low notes reminding her of his voice and the soft, feminine
Voices radiating, remind her of when she was young... Immortal. She has aged since then.
Too quickly. Her entire life has been a masquerade ball. Unskilled idiots dancing
Around her and stepping on her toes. Shouldering her in the stomach,
Breaking her ribs. Beats of music guide her skilled toes, swerve around falling raindrops that
Her own eyes emit. And she crashes through the floor of that dismal attic. Broken free,
But she is still trapped. The walls are charred down here.

But the walls are not painted black. They were once a mint color, green and cheerful, healthy.
Until a psychopath lit a match.
"I didn't mean to do it." It was all in her head. The house.
She set it aflame.

She sits in her room, writing and shaking her head. This line is not right.
Her walls were full of color and poetry. It isn't worth it to stare. Nothing will change.
She is still just a girl in a glass box, being stared at and judged. Trapped and ridiculed because her eyes bleed and bless the onlookers with bad luck. It's amazing the things
That people don't know. Drifting deeper into a pit of endless darkness. A candle won't
Live down here. No oxygen to let it breathe. But one lit self portrait hangs in the air.
Years ago, drawn in pencil. Symbolic, it wants to be erased. To die.
And the ******* the page is wearing a mask. The girl in the parchment is me.
Medium length hair and a tear painted, permanent. A Parasite. Capitalized for its meaning.

A demon is running through me, singeing
My tissues, blisters on the insides of my bones. Swelled up, show through
My skin. Waves on a shore. But I am not a beach. A ***** maybe...
Still, I hate it. The hate killed whatever flowers I had left planted in my mind.
Tainted me with the horrible visions of a tear streaked face of paper mâché.
She was the one in the attic. Her whole persona
Wilted and ashen, grey. A silent movie might mask it; the hurt, I mean.
The grey lines on the screen hiding the bags under her eyes and the redness of her nose,
Get rid of the twinkling shards of glass frozen on her cheek from crying in the dead of winter.
Slip up once, and everything goes to hell. Well, I must have slipped years before I was born.
Few smiles are left on this dismal timeline. And I shall use them wisely. But, for now,
I think I will just weep, sleep forever and hope that you don't give up on me and pull the plug.
I am still here somewhere, just dormant. Please wake me up. Get me out of this charred cabin,
This glass box. Pull me out of my warped sense of everything, teach me again what
Love feels like. I have forgotten amidst everything that I have felt and remembered.
There is no more room for things to be learned. Only for things to be repaired.
I will give you a hammer. Come inside and fix me; that ***** in your head couldn't have taken your knowledge away. You are the only one that knows.

Use this never ending lightning and bring your bride to life.
I can feel you,
radiating unto me.

Love and pain,
we go unseen.

You're my plutonium,
my queen.

I'm nothing,
a dying ****,
maybe.

Pull me up,
roots and all please.

In the hole,
plant a seed.

Watch it grow,
watch it bleed.

Heal its wounds,
make it believe,
then toss it aside,
when it becomes a ****,
like me.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
Its my body, my money, its up to me what I do with it.
But everyone else is wearing it.
I cant help the way I feel.
Blonde
Red
Orange
Brown
Purple
DMs purple with pink laces
school skirt altered in the textile lab 3" shorter
hormones racing, zipping, vibrating, fizzing till the top pops
stairs made for stomping and storming
cackling laughter crackling down the telephone wire
clothes left on the bedroom floor abandoned for a girl crisis.

You cant read my mind
read my lips
read my body
read my journal sandwiched between the midriff covering cottons gran bought for Christmas and the skimpy lace thong I'd be grounded for buying

Mother's mattress sanitary towels tossed aside
for shamefully purchased tampons
instructions included

and time has passed
and masks have fallen
and I find you there in the muck and the mire
and dust you off
until

I see your face - all mothers lipstick and glittering pink eye shadow
and the smile that stores secrets in a treasure chest.
Your legs shake like Bambi's but you get to your feet
and nestle yourself into me warmly, strongly until you fall right into me
and you run and you run and you run and you run and you run
right through my veins
giggles throbbing through my pulse
pajama parties and homemade perfume radiating in my eyes
and there you are
and there I am.
This poem was inspired by and dedicated to Eve Ensler and her book 'I am an Emotional Creature' which expresses girlhood in relation to men and women as something which we are all encouraged to surpress.  This is a snippet of my girlishness - the girl I was, am and will always be.
Written 2011
Arcassin B Sep 2014
BY Arcassin Burnham





when they came tumbling,
in my mind very troubling,
lungs and feeling of dumping,
but i'm so done with everything,
eyes changing , and my age elevating,
red skies , i cant see the radiating,
of the walls.
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-walls.html
Skia Kyria Jun 2014
Charmingly radiating
Your flame, so stimulating
Just like all the shades of red
A Force of life flowing through me
Which without, i would be dead

I find it amusing
How you pulse within
You are my heartbeat,
My sacred harmony,
my soul's violin

I find you so soothing
my spirit's melody
Swallowing me
With the chorus that your eyes sing
As they are searching,
And pierce right into me

My source of vitality
You are life, absolutely!
As you walk with integrity
And live entirely,
Opening up to me
properly, and seriously
Unlike anybody previously
Trying me to insanity

As you become my new reality
And dive into me cautiously
Wrapping me in security
Awakening all that's necessary
I will burn with you sincerely

As you are radiating, charmingly
I begin  to love you, literally

You are tranquility
My one and only
And i pray that , obviously
I will walk with you eternally
zebra Nov 2017
i felt like talking that night
reciting poetry to your big blue eyes
and raw pink mouth smiling
high as a wind whipped kite
discussing
art, ontology, and existentialism
sitting like lotus
at the
Cafe Figaro on McDougall st
in the west village
belly of a ghost
lost in a vagrant memory

afterwards
we went to a
little one bedroom flat in the east village
haunted by the vapors of its history
a slight stench of ****
and dingo tongue
dripping toilet
all peeling walls
intimating births, cheer and squalor

after a hot bath
of lathered torsos
we followrd each other naked
winding around a table
into a swaying bed
that beckoned
**** here my darlings

and i licked and drank out of your drenched
rose red blossom for hours
it licking back
I salvaged the loneliness
of my soul between your thighs
like a desolate dog whimpering
thanking God with every graze and ******
of your all supple shifting limbs

your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm

we looked in the mirror
reflecting on my glistening face
all red raspberry
my lips like blood hydras
laughing our ***** off at how artsy we looked
smeared
with your rouge painted thighs

appearing as if half eaten
you growled swallowed and
licked big butter piggy
till your nose ran like the Ganges
gagging
eyes bloodshot pools of fire
cooing and oowing
driving me maniacal
with every ****** of your wild flicking tongue

we poured our selves into each other
viscous creels gushing
coursing like slime silver
radiating

and finally used to the marrow
we found ourselves drooping sails
our eyelids  leaden
the night mist fell upon us  
muttering shadows

and our *** shriveled
like cast-off umbilici
and we fell to sleep
steep steep
buoyant
like two buttermilk clouds
adrift

your company
your company
your sweet droplets
of company
in moon rise
summer balm
*** *** ***  love memory fiction nostalgia
ryn Nov 2014
The gentle reaches of the late afternoon sun
I'd bathe in this light abundant reverie
Swaying breeze... Caressing the web we've spun
In the warmth of this amber coloured spree...

Shades of gold, stretch beyond observable measure
My vision could only take me so far
Shining through between the green and azure
As if the window of heaven left slightly ajar.

Swathed in the glow... Laying on a bed of green
Eyes closed... Under the blue that spanned forever
Feast for my senses thus honed keen
Relishing the lingering touches of her radiating amber.

She's finally dipping, taking all of her light...
She'll sink behind the horizon, descending gracefully
I'd still remember all through my night
That amber...
                   *Amber is the colour of her energy.
Inspired by 311's Amber
My eyes are black,
My heart is cold,
self-hatred is radiating from within my soul,
the mirror reflects what i don't want to see
i hate every single aspect about me
from my abnormal eyes
to my ugly, fat thighs
see, i hate myself too
probably even more than you.
Dee Bach Sep 2014
I’m radiating a smile,
In this moment I’m unstoppable,
I can do anything.
No one will break this smile,
For smiles are the most beautiful,
When worn for not everyone,
But for yourself
When you know you are
Unstoppable.
I’m radiating a smile
Because I know
I Will Be Okay.
Egaeus Thompson Dec 2012
Here.
Attempting to write something
To match your eyes.

Something that will make you see things
The way I see things.

Noticing.
Every mark.
Torn by  fences climbed
To get away from those who didn't take your hand
And fly.
They left intricate laddered rips in your jeans,
Though you try to hide the fact that you know,
That I know that is the case.

We play childish games of denial
Because all romance is to be transported to a time when we were innocent.

Back to a place where ‘I love you’ is what your parents said
When all the screaming, laughter
And the innocence of loud noises stop
And is replaced by silence.

‘I love you’ made that warm feeling
Growing and radiating out
Eventually finding the tips of your fingers and ends of your toes
And bursting out,
Moving through to the next person you touch.


Contrary to popular practice,
‘I love you’ is not just three words to be said
When you are trying to break the awkward silences
Left between two people who have simply gotten used to each other.



I love red licorice.
It gives me a warm feeling of sugary goodness.
Though artificial,
In the times when the weight of the world is the weight of your sheets
That lay a top of your body
Which you tell yourself over and over and over
It is not good enough for that person
Who gives you the inner warmth
That a campfire gives your shins;
I find that artificial red licorice warmth is good enough.
And sometimes good enough is the best we can get.

Here.
In the hope that the words that must be said
Stream from ink to page.
I hope my hand moves so fast over the page
That smoke starts flowing and my words mean something...



But no words come.
No letters.
No ink scratches the page.





*I just want you to see the way I do.
Lady Narnia Jul 2016
Keep me in your arms
Cherish me, like you always do
Twirl my curls and stroke my hair
Kiss me on the fore head sweetly
I always want to be here

My cheek on your chest
Hearing the sound of your love
Thumping a beautiful tune to my ear
The beats gently reminds me
Just how much you truly care

Serenity surrounds me and I drift away
Escaping the world and falling into us
I see you in this little dream
Meeting my eyes, inspecting my soul
You're lost in me as I am lost in you

The air filled with a careful chill
I'm untouched for I am of fire
A flame kindled by your fiery heart
Of which burns of love, deep for me
Clad in armor, you kneel at my side

Oh dear and humble knight
I'm honored to be your lady
Like the wardrobe meets Narnia
We're dreams that cross paths
To a whole new world unlike any other

A place of splendor and awe
Radiating with gentle magic
That is what we are, my dear protector
Stay by my side a humble knight
And I will be your faithful lady

~Lady Narnia
Mikaila May 2014
Thin, white wrists.
Bone white
Like china
And just as brittle.
They make that coarse, scraping sound when they touch one another.
The kind of sound that delicate, expensive teacups make when stacked
The wrong way.
It makes me cringe.

Little blue veins kiss the surface of them,
Hissing and sizzling when the air gets
Too close
Like tiny snakes.

These wrists
Have made promises.
They have
Borne loads.
These wrists have snapped like twigs
Under the weight of a heavy,
Punishing love.
But, pressed back together the way they'd been,
They hardened oncemore
Like stone
And the cracks and fissures
Sank inside again
And smooth, unmarred, delicate white skin emerged
To begin the process over.

At night the snakes whisper and murmur against my cheek in their sleep
And sometimes, quite suddenly,
They sink in their fangs
And I awaken with a start,
A sharp pain radiating out to my fingertips
Like a shock.

Last night I felt their strikes by the hour
One,
Two,
Three, more.
And this morning a strange... fullness
Began in my wrists
And seeped out
Up along my arms
Through my collarbones and down
Into my heart.

Perhaps it was the venom
Working
But where it spread I
Settled
Like an old stone wall.
Like the halls of a castle
That has seen too much death
And too many kings.

I sank into myself
For the first time
And the ground felt heavily solid
And I felt
Only the hollow hiss
Of little blue and green serpents
Dreaming inside me
And that
Was something like certainty,
Although of what
I still don't
Know.
alice Jun 2014
I'll never forget
my first one.

The tree was
aglow;
branches
blazing
with enormous,
yellow and orange,
halcyon sunflowers.

A glorious heat
pulsated
up my back,
their magnificence
radiating
through all
my senses.

My eyes:
wide,
taking-in
every iota
of this visual
majesty.

Transfixed,
in a state of
awe,
my photographic
memory
came into
play.
Snapshots
of
those giant suns
forever imprinted;
negatives pressed,
into my mind.

A night to remember;
when halcyon sunflowers
danced
on the limbs
of trees and
the branches
of my mind.
Many thanks to the sacred mushroom. Inspired by my very first experience with magic mushrooms - June 2005 **
Love Dec 2013
You stepped on stage,
And people ohh-ed,
And ahh-ed,
There were murmurs of,
“He’s cute.”
But something wasn’t right.
Something was off about you,
And it seemed oh so familiar.
Where have I heard of this?
Where have I heard of a person having those same…
Characteristics?
You’re charm,
How charismatic you are,
How people seemed to worship you?
Odd.
Up on that stage,
I saw you,
But you were tainted,
Something…
Messed up.
You seemed to be radiating.
But it wasn’t love,
Or charm,
Or anything like that you were radiating,
It was evil.
Pure madness.
And then you smiled,
And won over the hearts,
Of many,
Many people.
Where have I heard of these characteristics before?
They sound so familiar,
Like something I learned in school.
Oh,
I know.
History.
I learned of a person like this in History class.
His name was ******,
And all the things people are saying about you,
They said about him.
Be careful my darling,
History repeats itself.
So I wrote this in the car on the way home from the Poetry Out Loud competition last night. This is about a guy in the contest...creepy.
oceansandforest Jul 2014
Heaven and Hell,
I taste when i'm with you.

Heart as cold as ice,
yet warm like the grassy fields of the spring meadows.

You were the hurricane, chaotic and unforgiving.
But with every storm, lies a rainbow radiating every inch of beauty within.

Your mind beautifully balanced,
a mysterious blend of dark and cheery.

Your existence, like the gleaming rays of the sunrise.
Bringing new hope after a dark and cold night.

You are the bitter sweet of life.
a poem inspired by my sunrise.
Joseph Miller Dec 2017
One glorious moment
God said to me
"I am here"

Tears of joy
washed away my fear
as he lifted the veil
revealed his face
radiating the essence
of all things
a cosmic oneness
filled with love
beyond imagining
the mystic sees
the infinite connection
of the ultimate power

But I a mortal being
consumed by form
it seems
God withdrew
left me standing there
in a world separate
where matter divides
and boundaries form
to close the mind
and hide the truth

Yet I am blessed
to seek the light
and find myself
witness to God
Shanell Dec 2012
I need you.

These words are true,

but it's hard for me to put them in a sentence.

I can't say them out loud because that would mean that I depend on you.

I want to get to know you.

But I forget that I can't get close to someone who's never there.

I wish I could go to ball games with you.

I wish I could have looked out into the audience in the middle

of a recital and see your face in the crowd.

I wish I could see the same look on your face that they do.

You always look so proud when you talk to them, talk about them

and even when you look at them.

Especially when you talk about the one that got away.

You praise her. Even after everything that's happened you're still proud of her.

I wish I had that.

I wish I could see that radiating smile of yours and know that it's for me too.

For something that I've done that you were so unbelievably proud of.

I know I'm not yours, not really.

I know that you're trying your best. I understand that it's not easy with three kids in the house.

I also know that it's harder because I'm older than she was when you first got her,

and I'm older than the kids are now.

I try to make you proud, I really do.

I study for every test and hand in every homework assignment.

I await the scores so I can run home and tell you what they are.

After telling you the news you always have the same stern look on your face.

I feel as if I'm never good enough.

I even got a job and am trying to learn the value of money.

I try to be smart. Sometimes you say I'm not,

and just to prove you wrong I try to impress you by telling you useless facts.

But it still doesn't seem to be good enough.

Is it because I'm too boring, too loud, too girly, too lazy, or because I spend too much time on tumblr?

Is it because I don't look like the rest of you?

Is it because... I'm nothing like she was?

I know that she was your baby girl.

I know that you'll always hold a special place for her in your heart.

But I was second. Doesn't that count for something?

Maybe you actually are proud of me.

Maybe I'm just over analyzing this like I do everything else.

Maybe...

Just maybe.

But I've still never seen it.

I've never seen that radiating smile that they've all seen...

Oh how I'd **** to see it.
almat011 Feb 2019
Juicy, sweet, hot chocolate skin...black girls are black goddess
**** black girls For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulattoes. Sweet brown chocolate color. And inviting, savoryly pure black-sugar skin color. This is the most delicious, beautiful, sweet candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a pastry shop when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get her children from her, and live with only one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her alone. Your life will be the sweetest. Skin of black color and color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion. The skin of dark-skinned girls seems to be radiating the heat of ***, burning sweet, sensual passion, this color of temptation, attraction. There are drums of ethnic, traditional music, it's the sound of ***. . The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******
The skin of black and dark chocolate is the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
The women of three races are beautiful: the sultry, torrid, hot chocolate of hot passion of the deep passion of black fire of love and ***, a paradise oasis of tenderness of the east, and snow-white, sensual pearls.
For guys and men. The most beautiful, attractive, seductive, **** and exciting in African and African-American girls and women is their sweet, juicy, chocolate skin color. Honey caramel mulatto. Sweet brown chocolate color. And alluring, relish pure black sugar color of skin. This is the most delicious, beautiful, cute candy in the world. You feel like a sweet tooth in a candy store when there are a lot of them around you. If you marry one of them and get children from her, and you will live only with one of them all your life, and you will be faithful only to her. Your life will be the sweetest.
Your skin is the color of one hot, unforgettable night, your libido is the word lava in your hot body, burning passion, only your photos can excite me, only your beauty turns off my brains, you have a ****, ****** tune in my head, you are like a hot bath after a hard of the day, like an ****** massage, like a soft pillow with sleeping softness.
Dark skin
The black skin of a girl with which sweat and moisture is flowing, as if she still radiates ardent, hot, passionate, and a little stuffy *** in the sauna and her sweet moans are heard. This skin color is like a powerful aphrodisiac replacing ******.
The skin is black and the color of dark chocolate are the sweetest, seductive shades of sincere, hot passion.
Dark-skinned beauties are a deep passion of black fire - this is a hot safari, a wild savannah, an exotic havana.

My new love poem, i hope you will like it.
For my dear light brown girls
Captivating honey caramel is like a shining dawn, life with you is like a sweet ****** dream. Juicy sweet fabulous fantasy beautiful. From your sexuality, the glasses of the captured ****** force in your eyes are sweating, this is the amazing magic of charm concealed in them. You are my depraved temptation ***** temptation. The sweet temptation of a tenderly roaring passion is a breathtaking juicy caramel berry, sometimes pouring with a picturesque modulation, tender sensual shades of red sunset, incinerated with the burning heat of passion. From your hottest, sultry beauty, the brain seems to turn off and faint from your sweetest kisses.

Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Brycical Jul 2012
I think it's my eyes.
The glowing hazle stare
blankly piercing through
whatever bubbles you've shielded
yourself with.
Arms crossed means you're defensive,
raised tone towards the end of a sentence
means you're lying
but when your lips scrunch together
you're holding back something.

Maybe it's
my thought process.
One second
I'm talking about polar bears
celebrating birthdays with ******* and hexagrams
when I shift
to a rant about my self empowerment
through meditation and how astral travel
might be real.  

Perhaps I'm too comfortable
with myself for you to handle.
I don't give a **** how tangled my hair is
or what weird religious doctrines you follow.
Let's have a conversation,
not an unruly **** measuring contest.

I truly love you,
and all my mild frustration
and slight agitation is radiating
from a place in my heart
that tells me I want you to succeed the most.
Rational Daisies Apr 2014
You are a smooth
stone Warm
under a setting sun

Radiating a heat
that draws me in
to hold you

with a scent
that lingers
in my hair and

reminds me of
the comfort
that is you
Kaylin Apr 2019
Brown mahogany skin rich like forbidden soil of  Africa

Deep colored pigment that drips melanin

Angels rub coconut oil on your skin and harmonize with songs of your ancestors radiating from your bones

Open wounds filled with blood is replaced with fertile soil that holds the caskets of the Sun lovers

Coffee black skin can't get no darker, the sun rays make love to your skin

Wearing chains to wearing gold,
You are gold,
you shine even though your country doesn't see how much value is under that dark brown skin you wear

The stripping away of each woman's self-being because of society doesn't even tear at the flesh of your skin

We don't tear our skins,
they have already tore when the white man whipped us on our backs,
difference is we are healed

We stand as the healing replica of our ancestors,
we stand as the freedom they spoke from their tongues

Bitter dark chocolate turned sweet,
our body is displayed with authority,
this is what the white woman is now trying to be

Your Thick hair, thick thighs, curvy waist, black is the beauty of you no longer afraid to hide

Every single shed of brown skin was ripped away from our mother land,
We are in a land that's someone else's mother land

Our bodies reside in a uninvited place where we play house

Brown faces all over known magazines,
It's our season

They say the times are over of picking cotton seeds,
whenever a black baby is born another black body is hanged off a poplar tree

Our skin may be black but we still shine in the dark

One day the soil will cradle our skins and bones ripped and passed from our ancestors

We will be sent to a place where ears will be filled with Whitney Houston and Karyn White

Where the smells of cocoa butter will dance in our nose

Where the amount of black skin releases so much melanin that the white man is overpowered

Where coffee black skin won't be kissed by the sun because the light is already radiating from us

We will be in a place where our mahogany black skin isn't forbidden
inflamedveins May 2014
If i was her lover
I would have poetic *** in the ocean
reciting poetry to her
while I **** her
mindlessly

If i was her lover
She would be the mermaid of the ocean
Whom I am jealous to touch
and while I am here wading
wanting to make sweet love with its bride

If only I was her lover
I would whisper passions in her ear
like waves whispering on the shores
of her children

The water of the sea, he chokes me
surrounds me
but i am having poetic *** in the sea
with she

and i say to her, my lover
"i met a mermaid out in the sea
she came to me and poetic *** she needs
i grabbed her heart
and laid inside her
see i'm still a man who wants pleasure
and poetry together
i'm jealous of her lover
yet i'm having poetic *** with her
in the ocean"

My love moans
groans
let's me own
her majestic bones
and her ravaged soul
is radiating
with every ******
beckoning passion
in this historic sensation
so intense
so loud
so real and unreal

and in her throes i hear
water logging in my ear
this moment here
of me ******* my lover
in the sea
i guess that's why they call it
******* poetry.
A girl and I were having an engaging conversation about running in the woods and diving into the nearby lake. She says she would run naked in the woods; it will be easier for her to win the race that way(i think that's cheating)
and so i got big ***** and i imagined how it would be, to scream poetry out in the sea, while having amazing *** with her.
so this is the baby of a *****.
We are so close, but not just by physical touch;
I can feel you the way I feel my cheeks warm up,
after you have said something
that inevitably causes me to blush.

Its as though our souls are connecting
on the same frequency
radiating off the core of this Earth.
This pleasure is unnoticed by most,
but we can feel it
like we feel the blood dripping down our thighs
on a substandard night.

Before we started talking, so many years ago,
I never believed in true love
or really love at all.
I always assumed it was just all in the head,
and two people could only connect to a point,
unless you were related to each other.

After the first year and a half or so of talking to you regularly,
you proved me wrong.
You proved what I grew up believing
for 16 to 17 years was completely false.

For if I had never met you,
to this day, I more than likely would of continued preaching
to myself, that everyone else
who has experienced this feeling called
'love' was insane.

Life without you would of still been bearable,
but only because I would still be lost in ignorance.
I am more than grateful you walked out of your way
to meet up with me that night three summers ago.
I owe you so much, and will cherish every moment
I'm blessed with standing by your side.
I'll make it a point to provide a nurturing life for you,
one worth living for.

You are my world, my inspiration,
the main reason I look forward to waking up,
or falling asleep cuddled in your lovely arms.
I cannot wait to see you later today and hug you,
while my heart races with satisfaction
like the first time you put your arm around me.
This is more than just some fairy-tale,
this is still the beginning steps of our long journey together.
So we mustn't give up when things go south,
for if we do,
it will be the undoing
of what our relationship has always been about.

You truly are my best friend,
the one person who'll never let me fall
if you know you are capable of preventing it,
even if i don't want your help at all.  I appreciate that,
even when my words or actions do not acknowledge it.
You truly are the only reason i was able to climb out of that dark lonely tunnel of agonizing depression;
for everyone else either dragged me father down or walked out.
You are my life saver, my sweet guardian angel.

I love you, my dearest, Chris, forever and always.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
chalk it up to previous trauma and learned experiences influencing my approach to new situations, but i’m wary of everyone now. my eyes are fixed on every exit and everything that can be used as a weapon when someone enters the room. if there was a pill to forget, I would take it. i can’t go back and change yesterday, no, but it still touches me.

it’s tiring living with borderline personality disorder and it’s tiring being in love with someone who's also living with borderline personality disorder.
you can never love someone more than they hate themselves at times; you can either never be good enough for them, or they’re not good enough for you.

we’re supposed to be constantly feeling things at an intensified level than neurotypicals; extreme rage, excitement, drowning waves of sadness that threaten to take you somewhere no one can ever reach you again; i’ve lived my life in violent reds and heart wrenching indigos of tear-soaked navy-colored silk and it’s dusk.

these poor legs just don’t run like they used to. i’m thinking of plaster-filled walls and my poor mother painting layers and layers of my childhood bedroom, concealing kneeholes and knife holes i made as i descended into the labyrinthine maze of madness like a caged animal; a minotaur.

i think i tired myself out too early, fighting that good fight against familial kidnapping and climbing over the top of gated communities and skipping school to buy a greyhound ticket and shack up with a strange boy.

i lay last night in your bed, listening to the whirr of the fan you always insisted on using to help lull you to sleep, white noise and blackness and your warmth radiating into my perpetually cold skin.
like it, i am numb.
Jeuden Totanes May 2014
....

summer heat
pulsing in these veins
searing and revolting
emanating from the keyboard

radiating within
this hopeless romantic
charring the barren heart

but hope will suffice

the summer heat in her eyes..
it's gettin' hot in herr
Over-Complicated Dec 2018
A bed we knew very little of, the history was a mystery.
My skin smiled when it met yours,
Radiating peace and security.
My bud blossomed into small roses that were pressed close to your heart.
Between us, a dance
Unlike any other I had ever known. A twist and pull, a push and shout,
Breath intertwined like branches in a cold winter forest.
Your hands fell down my hips, slithering to the beat we had made.
A grin, I felt, behind your curled lips, and a kiss they delivered unto me.
The deep pulse of love entered my stomach and my heart.
It filled my soul with the feeling of you.
And we
We are a drug so powerful that you can never forget the taste we left upon your thoughts.

— The End —