Oh yes I fully understand
The sounds of this world are good and bad
Good and bad
Good and bad
Nothing like the sound of a good rhyme
A chime
A dime
The sound of a kiss
THE LOUDER THE BETTER I ALWAYS SAY
The sound of a forest
Sleepily
The branches scrape and scratch
Ratta tat tatting on the window
I love to hear the ones I love
Say I love you too
But  bad sounds are just as bad
A breaking bottle of good *****
A child crying in a store
A branch
Ratta tat tatting on my window at night
A car crash
A crying girl
Or your parents fighting
CRACK BANG SLASH KURRANG BOOM RING A DING DING
So I guess  to put it all into a rhyming couplet

If a sound is bad I hates it
If it’s good I loves it

From a distance designed for instant intimacy you begged me
to satisfy your earthbound,
dirt-grounded fallen-star needs with hands carved from the Moon.
Writhing between wildflowers and weeds
I danced my discretion on the definition of ecstasy;
pleasing your pleas with partial gravities—
like Atlas with sweating palms.
And I felt compelled to apologize as habit has trained me to
for loving you less like great lovers do, and more like
a high school “C” student who can’t remember the answers to the test.
But you kissed me mute.
We are daunted by the constant reminder—
from history books,  reality television shows and A.M. radios—
that, today, fame is a cannonball’s shot away
and insanity is as volatile as gunpowder.
But you,
You told me that beneath a sky bombarded by the broadcasts of bad news,
my skin made you convinced that the rest of the world were skeletons.
So under the thunder and crack of artillery facts,
for a moment we dawned the ignorant crowns of amnesia and
allowed ourselves to forget, as you let
your fingertips orbit the cores of my crater-faced palms.

We’ve both
(at the same time but never together)
mourned empty shells filling themselves with liquor and beer
at mid-morning barstools.

When we talk, we don’t need words to fill the space between smiles.
You’ve perfected the art of the gently bitten bottom lip,
while all I’ve got to offer is this goofy grin—
flashing a mouth full of teeth like typewriter keys,
craving to spell out in some brand new word,  
that I’ve never used and that you’ve never heard,
how wonderful you look today.

I bet you’ve left stronger men than me kissing sparks out of wall sockets;
craving something that shocks like your electricity,
but I’m just happy that your static touch has got my hair standing on end.
And even though I’ve never known the face of God,
You’ve given me belief in rebirth.
You make me feel funny and young:
Like Saturday morning cartoons.
Like midnight skinny dipping
And *** with socks on.

The truth is, you make me want to fall in love like it’s 1945.
I’ve been shipwrecked on war torn foreign banks.
Lullabied to sleep by the ratta-tat-tat of
machine gun harmonies and
the horseshoed hoof beats of in-sync cavalries,
and your portrait warming the breast pocket
of my jacket is the only thing reminding me
that there’s real music in a place called home.
And even though I’ve never been the gentleman
that the storybooks promised
when you were young,
someday I’ll wear a three-piece suit and learn the piano for you.

After three years digging in dirt,
weaving roots and planting seeds
in the most unnoticeable lingering looks.
thing I’ve learned it’s that gardeners
make the best lovers,
and together we’ve grown a grove out of un-regrettable mistakes,
midnight stairwells and
out-of-state license plates.
There are things about myself that were nameless until you
embroidered them a set of initials on the insides of my eyelids.
Now my rapid eye dreams read about the best parts of me –
and the long nights, they don’t idle so much
when I have something to be proud of.

Cold, cold hands.
These hands of mine...
Cold with red.



I carry a burden.
Such a heavy burden.
I bury this burden-I bury deep.
So, so deep.



As I drive, I feel relief.
My mind is wandering from place to place-
from thought to thought.
...I swirve.
Hitting a tree is not what I need right now,
or is it?



Maybe it would be better if I no longer existed.
I'm quite awful, really.
I lie to people very often-
no remorse.



Nah, maybe not.
Just keep on driving.
That's what I should do.
Exactly what I should do.



Home.
Home feels so wonderous.
I need my bed...but I shall retire to the couch tonight.
My sheets are awfully messy.



Pit pat,
ratta tat.
Knock knock,
it's twelve o' clock.



I answer the door,
and I find a man in uniform.
"Do you know the whereabouts of this woman?"
She looked very familiar...



"No, oh no, my, my, no, no."
I answer with earnest.
"That will be all, sir".
Men in blue.
Never leaving me alone.



I feel they like me.
I wonder why?



Night time again.
Oh, I love the night.
I don't love this woman, though.
She lays on my bed, naked.
Some girl from a bar-
she wants to lose her inhibitions with me.



What she doesn't realize is...
I'm losing mine with her.



I tell her to close her eyes.
She obliges.
I walk softly over to her.
Slowly, slowly.



I feel her body with my hand...
I feel absolute power within my palm.
Bliss runs through my body-
I end her.

Now I have another burden for the night.
It's no real problem, honestly.
I'll just take her where I dump all of my other burdens.
Hopefully I won't be too tired to lift her.



She's pretty light, anyways.

I shot you
in my wildest dreams
again last night.

Over & over,
I put you in my crosshairs,
aimed straight on you
& drew a bead.

Then switching to a rapid fire mode,
I unloaded everything I had
on fully automatic,
dropped you
every which way but loose.

Ratta-tat-tat,
kapow, kapow,
ratta-tat-tat,
that's where it's at!

And you,
playing the perfect victim,
lay beautifully sprawled out,
relishing in each & every wound,
covered with my flood.

It was extreme,
so romantic,
a wonderfully ******,
sensuous scene,
and it made my blood boil,
left me dreaming for more
hot, straight-shooting.

Lock and load!

Hurry up Darling
& shut the door!

I just walked by her
& lost my breath.
O boy,
the incredible
feeling in my *****
for her
was immediate,
very palpable.

I mean dude,
I fell for her hard,
like somebody
pulled the rug
right out
from under my feet.
& I usually don't fall
for the ladies like that,
but man,
she was smoking hot,
ratta-tat-tat,
super-sweet.

I figured
it must have
something chemical,
because
I don't do drugs
on the first date.

I had been up all night writing
then as I was going to get my head down
the phone rang, it was Britney
saying do I want a hot toasted muffin
I laughed out loud
and told her to f**k off

I know your hotel room number she said
I am just outside
then I heard the ratta tat tat
oh well there goes my sleep
it's breakfast on Britney
and I know she'll let me

She can sing me a song
and I will read her a poem
we both with no doubt
know where this is going
keep the press away
it's breakfast on Britney


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

The only thing I want is you
Slam me up against a wall,
**** me till I can't breathe,
I want you

The sounds our bones would make,
A hundred years from now,
The most beautiful ratta-tat-tat
Of our bones pounding like drums
Heavy, ******, filling the air with our chorus
Love is music,
Life is love,
It all goes in a circle,
And currently,
I keep coming back to you

me.gs

Walking down the city streets
Wearing a fresh new pair of pleats
See a dame with a dog in a purse
I know that soon I'll be in a hearse

Dog springs out and clutches my face
Looks like a bat flyin into a vase
Whips out the claws and scratches me up
I fall to the ground an throw off the pup

Late that nite I wake up in a fuss
Break down the door an leave in a rush
Jump in the car and punch the throttle
With my hand wrapped up around the bottle

Hauling down the streets, **** the cops
Try to stop me an I'll pop your top
Drive right up to the tallest hill
I'm feelin ill, needa pop a pill

Take a look up at the moon
And then I yell
Ahhhh oooooo!
Ahhhh oooooo!

Drop on all fours and sprout some fur
Cravin some mo so I let out a grrr
Ears pop out
That's what I'm talking about!

Sprint down the hill
And I'm ready ta ****
Pounce on some civilians
Cuttin em down by the millions

Chomp at the fools bleed em out at the throat
Bodies falling by the river, watch em all float
Spot the cops drivin a by
They don't know they're soon all gonna die!

More keep on comin
So I keep on runnin
Nowhere to go so I take a last stand
Load up on guns just like an Afghan

I whip out the gat
Make it go ratta tat tat
Pinned against the wall
I take it to overhaul

All out of bullets, **** my gun
The old fashioned way is a lot more fun
But I don't last long, shots puncture my skull
Flies out the back of my head leavin a hole

Fall to the ground in a ****** mess
But I got one last thing to profess

Werewolves in Compton!
Ahhhh oooooo!
Ahhhh oooooo!
Next up is hell!
I'm comin fo you!

"I went back home when things got ugly."
O' things be a'gettin' uglier-ugly these days.
These days spent slipping into subtle sub-absurdities.
These days spent alone with the maimed voices of vocal minds.

I caught a ratta-boar-ship sailin' across the mellow seas.
Its engine burned on days past and the trimmings of willow trees.
Oil pools and plumes. How all colors do break!
Tongue-in-cheek statements cross my illogical state.

I’m all a’breakin’ down on these dead-leaf mounds.
The rabbit breaks swiftly at the neck without sound.
I pledge fanfare to the reeds in the marshes between woods.
Aye, this confidence had been borne of harshness, all raked.

You line'd and fume'd– body and mind and breath.
Yea, my love burns long before fleeting into death.
Spin some honey in mud, them lies are laced with truths.
Honey hunted down from them hives all exhumed.

I exclaim, for I know.
Facts gathered from sea-salt snows
were read concisely and plain.
One must share what one knows:

This craft berates waves.
So intent on indexing all of those days.
Such absurdity. How vexing.
Confusion! Confusion! So bent and off-putting.
‘Twas Confusion who first sank in simple, mud-less footing.
Her clumsiness could not be stayed, nor postponed or ever-praised.
No, not by slipshod attempts at brewing a lightly-dark grey.
Spare drops a'dribblin' 'round the base of the water tower.
Shadows of clouds with night approaching by the hour.
Knocks a’rappin’ on a door hung without hinges.
Stomachs full of hunger. Hearts fearing blood.
Lungs on smoke-binges. Forest fires during floods.
My body's burnt-out on them rank soul-singes.
Confusion bating breath through chapped-lip fringes
whilst catching fish without string.
As the sun at dawn and the moon at dusk,
steam rises when eyes have been cast far from us.

Waters be a'ripplin' beneath your trudge-boots.
In the marshes makin' movements in the moonlight.
Only patience will bring the sunlight.
"I’m raking harshness in the morning."

It's dark
I... can't.. I can't see
And the walls talk
And say its not worth it
It's so not worth it
I wish I knew what happened
After you breathe, say goodbye
And they ask me why
Because the moon isn't as bright
And he doesn't look at me the same
And the summer was such a hot one
"You're gonna burn up, girl"
Oh please, please
Burn me up
Backed into a corner, she cries
They get mad when she catches their lies
Behind her back, ratta tat tat
Metal on wood, it hurts more than it should
Where to go, what to do
Up at 4am, lashes wet and thick as glue
So hot your sheets are soaked through
I want to do it
But I don't want it to hurt
But sticking around
Would be even worse

I thought I left them
in the ****** desert
with the burning diesel
& the screams,
the ratta-tat-tats
& the bad dreams.
But I was ******* wrong,
they're still here brotha,
buried here,
deep inside
my aching head.

Two steps forward
one step back.
Always a' pacing,
a ratta-tat-tat
on the beat of my heart
or the beat of the drums.
Why won't you acknowledge
the people we've become?

There was once a spot,
some would say he was charcoal
others would say it's got to be coal.
then you would have the, no its dark grey.

But we'll let you decide that for now.

The spot was on the page all alone,
   he filled up quite a portion of the page.
But it's not fun being alone, so he thought
instead of a spot ill become many dots.

So slowly what was one became two, three
smaller and smaller did spot become.
After quite a time, the spot was no more but
dots sprinkled over the page, they all looked
at each other the many but still alone.

So they decided to connect slowly the large dots
shrank as they lined from one to 100.
It took a while but now they were connected.
still their individual selves but now not alone.

But the funny thing is, that when we connect
things, we see more than before.
They didn't realize that from a spot to a dot
then united. They Painted a picture, you
may ask of what could a giant spot becomes.

Well ill tell you, it had a waggy tail, four legs,
and one of the cutest barks. He ran around
the page, some dots shock loose.
landing in the middle spread out but
close enough not to be alone.

They wondered for a while what they were till
they went "Woof, Oh my gosh were a dog,
a puppy to be exact. And with that they came
up with a name, they did a vote that was only fair.
All wanted one, but you have one always
                             wanting something esle.

Well the vote was in the many had thought and
pondered, now they knew who they were going to be.
Drum roll please....
      Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat ratta-tatta-tat-tat.
And there name was to be Spot the dog,
   except the one on our ear.

He shall be known as bob.

After he had a zoomy, scuffing the edges of the
page, he settled down, ok after he'd chased his
tail just this once more.

So the story goes from one to the many,
to be more than they'd ever wished before.
We have Spot the dog and Bob the spot.
    And if your careful and don't make a sound.
You can peek through the door and see spot
running around the page, chasing his tail
and barking in the excitement that he's now more.