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Ashley Chapman Jul 2018
Pressesd tenderly,
your carnal flower opens,
its butterfly released,
hovers like a hummingbird
drinking from the bill.

Oh, I too would steal you away
and cage you happily,
to get under your black-fringed skirt; 
to see that pretty dress,
fly off once more,
and see you bare;
burned now forever in my banks,
a first sight,
of dark curls!

As I think of it,
my desire stirs,
but of us
I have already masturbated twice:
jammed,
hips pinned,
sliding over our wet perspiring bellies,
in our jungle heat:
'cause in the firmament of our embrace
- it's hot -
where glued we **** into each other,
stoking flames,
until sleep,
when we disappear from each other.
My mind crowds,
with niggling neurotic inanities;
yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed,
before better spaces overtake.

When I awake,
I am lying next to you,  
Gwen over the horizon of your fertile valley,
a mountain,
white and reposed.
You,
murmuring desire for me.
****!
I can't wait to answer.

It is late,
late morning,
and we are all half asleep.
You have your back to me,
as we lie,
rubbing feet,
stroking hands,
(the oiled bulb at the end of a finger),
your fine shoulders,
(that delicate but persistent bone in your wrist that stretches with pointed elegance);
as quietly inside,  
(warmly enveloped),
my couched *****,  
rocks us:
each diffusing into the other
like the early morning brew.

Lust and love,
closing-in,
which for a good while on edge had been:
the weeks,
days,
hours;
faint promises from afar;
sometimes a little closer,
our shadows in daylight cross,
as one over the other storms;
and once (or twice),
a sleeve brushes,
even better,
hair crackles,
as a speaking lip touches lobe,  
and for a moment,
taking in the other's scent,
a hint sublimely overpowers.

And these,
dearest of fancies,
are just some,
with which to penetrate your mind,
as you have mine:
the energy of my yielding tenderness,
inviting you to complete me,
as I spread for you with desire.

Much later,
those daring looks you have,
the way you walk our stage:
your beautiful elongated face,
those quick-fire arousing eyes,
your sultry self-assuredness,
your pre-possessing self.

I could talk about your couple,
of generosity,
reaching up,
beyond mere comprehension:
of the fact that I like Gwen
(his love gift for you, me);
but actually,
in truth,
I prefer to take this moment to make love to you;
to say how wrapped I am,
folded in your limbs,
in our mingling sweat;
how with your joy,
you touch my desires,
into yours,
so they flow,
run rather:
honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.

You love my smell,
you say,
and I dream of gathering you in pheromones,
of drugging you,
of intoxicating you,
so once again you will find me,
take me,
have me.
Entice you once more like a creature from its shell:
Come!
where I can ravish you,
all of you,
lay naked to me,
flesh,
sinews,
everything,
your very bones;
those fine elbows,
those knees I would like to ******* over;
wash their smooth surfaces in my come:
from these cliff heights,
rain ***** on the rocks below.

To once more cast aside your socks and get at your toes,
to pour oil on 'em,
to rub and squeeze' em,
while in the moist cavern of your insides,
we ****,
half washed over by our own tide.
And as we do,
I quail,
speaking sweet nothings of appreciation;
from full lips,
your sounds return,
the hypnotic rhythm of your breath:
I engorge and in our labyrinth,
- the maiden and the bull -
we consume ourselves.

There,
Sweet Lentiform,
you did it,
you got me rolling in flesh,
lusting after your intimate parts,
wanting you in bed as I know you must have me:
pulling me on you,
kissing and biting;
my arousal in your palm,
pops,
as you run a curved finger over my nethers.

Lying,
lying,
side-by-side,
lying prone,
lying ******,
never unconsumed,
because,
please,
please us,
with more;
so rarely,
unfucked even for a pause,
nothing doing more than sleeping and carousing;
our sustenance barely enough to keep us at it,
an occasional comic thrown in.
Oh,
God,
throw the ******* comic at me,
will you?
Beat my ******* flesh with it if you like.
Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory!

And if you can,
keep texting me,
so I can hang on your every word like a ******* puppy!
Beautiful
long-haired,
skin tight,
upright,
wise,
gorgeously wild,
woman ...
Now pull me by my **** into your **** -
where I love it best.
Christian Ek Jun 2014
Disappointment is thrown strongly at my direction.
Blame gathers in large quantities like a pest infestation.
"It's your fault" and words like "You always make mistakes" evoke anger.
Anger which I want to take out on myself and take out on others.
I can excel in my work of choice, I know I'm more than average.
The bad gets pointed out more and little praise is given for the good.
Stunned by unmoving words. I'm like a prisoner sentenced to jail, released and expected to do worse.
Destruction emerges from my enraged emotions, i wish your words could offer a solution.
I want to be an alchemist and turn things into gold.
It's ironic how I am a creator of words but cant create better words in my critics.
Conversations lead to arguments because i want to be heard.
I'm sick of revolving doors, sick of being slammed by your atrocious comments.
"You have no common sense" you say to me, maybe I just prefer to be in a daydream, my mind drifting away because life is too dull.
Realize that what you say has an effect and that effect can drive somebody or stop them in motion.
Cné Sep 2017
Let me mold my body along your curves; trickle yourself into my entire being

Vulnerable, ****, my heart exposed, palpably we connect across the starry sky; you ... within me

I want your intimacy to linger along the edges of my lips hours after you've gone

I ache to be consumed by your eyes, intense with emotions, long after the dawn

Take me to your intimate chambers where hearts race; the rhythm of our silhouettes melded on satin sheets

Leisurely feel your way; a slow descend along the avenue of my rhythmic swell; forgive me of my quivering wanton needs

Allow me to graze at the gates of your femininity, drinking the honey from your pink walls; to feel your crowning point between my lips

How can I resist those wandering lips that stirs the curtains of my garden alcove; perfectly painted in honey dew, I throb for the touch of your kiss

Drape your thighs upon my shoulders; let the waves of satisfaction cascade up your spine

I beg to be released, dear God, of this intoxicating spell; I submit myself, heart laid bare; oceans of emotions no longer can I hide.

Find your eyes locking with mine; my torso parallels yours, my body pressed to you; equal in ferocity and tenderness

Mesmerize by your burning eyes in our melting flesh, so strong your hold; yet so tender your caress

Utter our names in fiery moans both whispered and screamed in heated breaths on our solitary night

Vile obscenities float out on heated breath, as cool air kiss our molded skin on the evening our time takes flight

Take me to your heart & cast away the flesh; allow our souls to weave in the throes of passion as our bodies mix into one; slow-motion ecstasy

A longing deep inside, the locked chambers of my soul to exotic places beyond our imaginationsyou sneak into my heart to fulfill my every fantasy 

Feed me the lullabies you paint on your canvas; orgiastic symphony we conduct in cascading tides; trembles throughout our bodies when our fluids mix

Let me paint upon your heart a ballet of our duet; the crescendo palette of my tide drown you in the spirit of our lyrics

Your ripe fruit quivers tenderly while our union completes; take my hands and let me be yours

Hold my sated body that tremors from the wake; a union of our souls ensnare a bond secure
~
A Collaboration with Jack Jenkins.
https://hellopoetry.com/jack-jenkins/
ryn Apr 2015
This is me...*          
Seeking refuge          
under a tree,          
As the wind released          
it's pensive sigh.          
Leaves sapped dry          
were then set free.          
Shades of yellow          
took to the air in an          
attempt to fly.          

This is me...
Peering through
jaundiced eyes.
Laying still
in a torrent of
ochre.
As leaves fall
from lowered skies,
Drenching
and
submerging
me in a sea of
scattered amber.

This is me...          
Captivated by this          
spectacular phenom.         
Flavescent dance          
governed by          
wind and gravity.         
This is the dream...          
Too long held for ransom          
By the relentless          
grasp of reality.         

This is me...
Awaiting such time to
arise and run.
In my heap,
my safe haven,
my fortress of yellow.
Till the inevitable set of
the *orange
sun
Only then...
myself to the moon
I would again
show.
Dead Rose One Apr 2018
3:15am

<•>

unlike a first kiss, a first love,
the premiere awkward first coupling,
which when one recalls it
appears with ever increasing fuzziness (intentionally?)
or not at all, so much so that making it up based on
fleeting hazed glimpses of unmemorized dreams
just to have an “official entry in the cloudy memory,”
is a semi-necessity for regaling...nobody

but you never forget your virginal
projectile vomiting

there is even an emoji for it,
a hurling curling celebration

like a computer reset,
a confessional admission
that includes your own original
original sin,
a purging so complete,
it is a rebirthing of sorts,
a human do over

(c’mon c’mon get on with this, this
no kiss, a most undeserving bizzaring poem title choice)


each and every time I draw forth
the words on the in sides of me
they are ejected with force comparable,
my body rejecting l'étranger,
who’s now escaping

no first kiss, miss, no laughing at one’s first tumbling fumbling,
there is no smiling recollections sweet,
a cover up for your exciting intimation initiations faint revisions

but your first writing!

given up and out in a ejection burst,
a needle in the arm, gunshot
fluids *******, spit out,
without malice aforethought,
and this your last writing

this one, yes, this one.
comes quick, rough and inelegant,
expulsion combustion leaving you
panting on the cold floor you emptied
but
sorta of whole, a clean sheet, so to speak,
swearing you’ll never do this again,
must be an easier way,
to just slow secrete it holy,
or give up the drug of writing
raven forevermore nevermore

nope-u-dope

the vision of a long ago rabbi,
being burned to death slowly
by the Romans, wrapped in
dampened torah scripture scrolls
to lengthen the burnished burning,
a vision burned into a
very youthful boy’s consciousness,
the holy black ink hand drawn letters flowing
from martyr’s mouth, flying heavenward
this fresh within,
a childhood image primal mind,
is ways present
as each letter typed, formulating mathematically,
based on an artificial intelligence theorem,
that updates itself with every missive,
until the new poem is
projectile released in
a single ***** bursting,
purging of the urging

and guess what,

it just happened again

4/27/18

~for Sky, whose poems endearing found me, in her brazen ways,
which is what poets do~
https://hellopoetry.com/sheepskyny/
When Rabbi Hananiah ben Tradyon was caught teaching Torah in public, the Romans decided to make an example of him. Accordingly, Rabbi Hananiah was wrapped in a Torah scroll, which was then set afire. As if this torture were not sufficient, strips of water-soaked wool were placed on his body to prolong his agony. While his distraught students looked on helplessly, Rabbi Hananiah inspired them with his famous utterance, "The parchment is burning but the letters are flying off," meaning that enemies can crush the Jewish body but not the spirit
By David John Mowers

Oceanus, Acheron, Styx and Gyges, Phlegethon,

Phaeacians lament, mourn the loss, Scheria, dissolved in froths.

Virgil’s tale, found correct, a land too good, a nation wrecked,

Nausikaa, burn the ships; their minds released, cool airy nips,

Below the wave, watery grave, submerged to bottom, fathoms by stave,

Fathoms some more, until the whorl, descending to, another world.

Through Omphalos, to Land of Sleep, awaits a beast, where time has ceased,

Darkness here, underworld, cold and frigid, below the whirl,

In solemn grave, souls released, judged and counted, by the beast,

Deeper than, the deep itself, past drowning fairies and dying elves,

Who did mourn them? Those golden men, magic mariners, Mino's kin?

What wrong was seen? What vice not true? What awful sin? What did they do?

One thousand years, first black age, Two thousand more, to find the stage,

Cast off Aries and cast Orion, to find beginning, of Golden Lion.

Man of Heavens, Beast agrees, Bull of Sky, Ox of seas,

Land of Punt, Land of Éire, Ogyges blue, hearts on fire,

All the seashores, all the mines, Tribe of Dan, from ancient times,

Port of Sais, Port of Thera, Port of Lagash, bygone era,

Sailor’s horse, Minotaur, a lyre is crying, strummed guitar, nation dying, abattoir.

Ochre foams to sanguine depth, there they rested, where Kronos slept,

He’ll never answer, he doesn’t care, we’ll never know, if this was fair.

Our hearts in sadness, hands on the gates! I curse you Poseidon!

. . .and your Sea of Fates!
Every historical and mythological reference to the kingdom of Atlantis which was destroyed by it's founder; Poseidon. All of the characters including the archaeological agreement on the historical basis along with Geo-location as well as an approximate age of occurrence, extent of the kingdom set to metered rhyme.
Smoke Scribe Sep 2017
best believe!

don't use this expression
much in my northern parts,
when you hear it spoke,
then you well,
best believe!
what comes next is **** serious

choose words more than with mere extra care,
when you true
believe

it is a surrender to surety,
a gift released,
to own the grit courage of trust
and all that is
best

when you give it up and write in
pixel perfect unretractable,
now know it immutable,
asking pointless,
there is fact that

I love you
(best believe it!)
*
too
Jordan Rowan Aug 2015
I fell asleep on a runaway train
Trying not to go insane, oh no
I felt alive but couldn't decide
If I wanted to live or die
Or spend another night / without you

I boarded as the sun went down
And there was no one else around, oh no
I slept against the windowpane
Hearing dreams and the falling rain
As I ride towards nowhere, without you

The endless fields go on and on
Like the pain when you said so long, oh no
I held in my weary hand
The letters of a lost romance
The words all seem empty, without you

As the sun rose in the East
From my dreams I've been released, oh no
The rhythm of the railway car
Makes me wonder where you are
And if I'll be alright, without you
These are lyrics for a song I've written. Heartbreak is good inspiration.
Jordan Rowan Nov 2015
Send my dreams to the paper press
I've got too much to confess
This whole mind is a mess
And it's mine
It's all I could find
As I was spending too much time
Screaming and crying

**** my brothers in the Middle East
Let their souls be released
As the mongrel dogs have a peaceful feast
On our blood
Down in the mud
When it's someone you don't love
You don't even shrug

Break my bones over color pride
Don't you see what I have inside?
For my thoughts, I must die
Or else I'm a joke
Lost within the smoke
If I'm not rich then I must be broke
A dying man unknown

Make the streets a place of peace
Instead of hate and bombing grease
Power only makes us weak
To ourselves
To you and myself
Take a long look at yourself
And you can tell

The morning comes and someone's gone
Sent away to a funeral song
They lost their life being young
And still bright
Now they only see the night
As their mother tries to sleep at night
Without life

I'm dead and gone someday soon
But still I love each sun and moon
As they pass over my room
I kneel down
I start to look around
I start to love everything I've found
And I'm proud
Bus Poet Stop Jun 2018
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-Job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
L B Oct 2017
I suppose there has to be a reason
or at least a note
to mark that day--

He ate his breakfast
She let him out
He walked along the railing like the plank
defying death for pleasure
of his lady's company
to get his belly rubbed
sprawled long
across her lap

She released him
to chase the squirrels of his dreams
to his black cat adventures
to the aching green of life's
late summer ways

But, the days assemble against your return

May the angels find you quickly
my darling, Bailey
Dark beauty of coal
I was a Tuesday, bereft
You disappeared--
like the shadow of a whisper

Disappeared like hope--
in the last blow of day
Black cats, so often feared by the superstitious, are the last to be adopted at shelters and often singled out for cruel treatment by the heartless.

Bailey was on "Death's Row" after being seven months in the pound. Even his status as "The Pet of the Week" could not get someone to want him.  I saw his little vid with the TV reporter --and he belonged to me.

My first impression of him:  
"Gawd! what a tall cat!"
Jesse stillwater May 2018


I wish I were the Moon
Bequeathing an enchanting night
A mystical celestial sphere
Bewitching lover’s hearts


A practical magic spell
C a s t
In a lonely hollow shell
      An ardent musical echo ―
Released in an irrepressible
Impassioned moan
A twilight sigh
escaping in untamed
Blissful breath


A Sky without Moonbeams
Is like a world without song
It takes a certain darkness
To heed a Sky full of Stars alone


I wish I were Moonstruck
A fate I crave to behold
Waxing and Waning
Rising ― Changing
A distant ocean’s ebbing tide


A captivating enchantment
In the twilight beauty
Of your eyes
Dreaming of drowning
Deep within
Their deepest water’s Wild


I don't want to wake up
    and become ―
More fading
Barefoot traces left behind
On some faded memory's
Deserted shore


Right now is all
There ever is ―
and
I wish I were
The Moon tonight



Jesse Stillwater ... May  2018
The moon peeking through the trees to the east of the window as I lay awake last night at 3 am ... it was simply mesmerizing ― kidnapping illusive sleep, making a daydream out of a wistful night dream
elaine Jul 2018
I.
brown eyes and soft lips; hushed words on cold nights, marijuana filled lungs, constant affection with loving arms always wrapped around my waist.
angst feelings overtake the love that had once moved into the heart of a broken soul, eyes seeking lust in another, loving the next who came by.

II.
pale skin with a caring smile, friendly eyes, living in the greater good, Marlboro pressed against her lips as the painful words begin to tug down her smile.
waves crashing against the rocky shoreline of her mind, fighting about whatever there is to, coming clean with the hurt that has overcome her soul. promising a better life calms the storm raging inside her hazel eyes.

III.
deep blue oceans trapped into the soft craters in her mind. dreadful for the loss of love that slowly destroyed her young mind. skipping school and upset parents.
restless nights, dark circles hiding under the spark in her beautiful eyes that once held her lovers captive. medication slowly slides down her throat as she is accompanied by pills and whiskey, slowly fading away from this pathetic world.

IV.
Smoke fills the midnight air as her petit face quietly enters the crisp cool night, daydreams filling her thoughts that pull her away into a better life.
heartbreak and ***** filled every friday night aching to be released into the adult world, free from all restrictions.

VI.
skin like hot chocolate that melted the cold inside others. laughter filling the room as we stepped in just me and you, never thinking of what was to become.
Hidden secrets became reviled as we said our goodbyes. silence washed over us and soon i took my last glance at the passing girl who once knew me. streetlights dimmed, showing teardrops dripping down as we thought about how it was.
Split May 2018
a bean like no other
bitter and white;
a microscopic dynamite,
peristalsis using all its might

my cave so suspenseful and hollow
ridges lined along its curves
churning to my so-called mental benefit
those gastric juices now released,
microscopic dynamite
simply had one more muscle to defeat

a match at last perceived
microvilli yearning love ,
in, it took the dynamite.
yet confused it became as
micro relations only last a short while.

"Nutrients" absorbed,
betrayal on its way
the bloodstream sent in shock
oh such bloodless atriums
oh such vaulted ventricles.
oh how my blood flow met its end.

Although deceiving it had been
no promises were riven
the dynamite exploded
and at last
no longer was I broken.
I do not seek out a brighter day
A wish of happiness, no more
Vaulted hope; Cracked safe opened and released
Laughter and cheer walked out the door


Position every window blind shut
Draw the shades so none shall see
Must keep sunshine’s heavenly rays locked out
And preserve this perfect misery
Written: March 16, 2018

All Rights Reserved
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
The candlelight
flicks soft and low
you live too fast
give in to slow

cold hands hold tight
the fight would go
released her grasp
gave in to slow

he wakes at night
bad dreams in tow
still blames the past
gave in too slow

a weary sight
the tired soul
time couldn't last
gave in to slow

God made it right
with one soft blow
an endless task
gives in to slow


©2012 Lyn
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Rising from ashes like the fabled phoenix
Growing out of nothingness to a possibility of life
I am but a tiny whisper of a breath, still struggling to be.  
with life renewed yet to be lived.

I am born to a freedom to be
what I will… what I choose to be.
Can I truly be all that I am; what I was made to be?
My slate is wiped clean by you.  

Debts repaid and fears released,
Replaced by age and broken hearts.
Why did this have to be so harrowing a life.
Why did I have to die to live?
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Wayward Aug 2018
She laid in her cage, her feathers combed,
She was a beautiful red parrot.
She was taught what to speak and taught how to be,
But she lived imprisoned in a cage.

She was looked after well, and she lived with class,
But this wasn't where she longed to be.
She stared out the window, at the bright, blue sky,
And wondered how it would be if she could fly.

She had everything that she'd ever want.
But why did she feel so dull and lost?
What would her life be outside this cage?
All these questions burned inside her with rage.

She longed to live of her own free will.
She wished she could be released.
But alas! She'd live and grow old in age,
As free as a bird in a cage.
This is a little inspired by my own life I guess. Strict parents and all that. Another quick shirt one! Hope you like it!
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
I’ve been moving to the same song for so long,
I’ve forgotten how to make my own melody.
Singing only cover songs that I’ve heard along the way,
trying to find my own voice again.

I found myself moving to a different sound;
one of joy, of newness and sweetness of life.
Music that has been fighting to be released, exploding now into song.
For a time I was singing in perfect harmony with the voice of angels.

Your music was your own, doomed to repetition,
stuck behind an immobile wall of fear.
Caught up in youth and crisis.
You left heaven behind, free falling into another.

Looking for harmony in others, our duet became my solo,
making our song incomplete,
sounding more like a dirge than dance.
Once, one of beauty, I now weep at the sound.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Mark Grover Apr 2010
BGM
the Big Gruff Man
let the fear from his soul
leak through gray stone eyes

how hard the matter
must have been pressed
before he released his grip
on that liquid prize

what a strange sight
seeing water falling,
falling,
                falling,
                                falling
from those grave, stone eyes

he looks at me
as though i hold the key
to unlock the lock
and release the chain
binding him to his pain

look away Big Gruff Man
or i will drown
in your pleading stare

for you are me
or more to the point
what i fear to be

i scream to his deaf ears
"it is not the matter
but the clinging
that brings your pain!"

let it go,
                  let it go,
                                   let it go

the waters will come
the waters will rise
the waters will carry you away
King Panda Nov 2017
tenderness leaves
my eyes in capillary ribbons.
your diamond lips are chalked,
released from rock.
your head, a knot of angel pine—
a dark-brown blooming
sticky and lucked to the back
of my throat.
it is in this moment that
I hear a wisp of rapture
blowing through the oak overhead.
my heart’s motor cranked
like October’s last churning
bumble bee.
pollination
susurration
be gone…

you kept looking past me,
your hand on my shoulder.
the precious gauze of your profile
mixed porcelain doll and found a
chisel to perfect your nose.
I feel the love of everything and
you—so unaware of your
beautiful.
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