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Denel Kessler Apr 2016
Waking breath ghostly frozen, clang of ***-belly stove opening, cedar crackles good morning, sap sizzles, pops, melting.  Warmth finds children sleeping, humid air, mouth-breathing.  Smell of boy sweat and feet, young women ripely sweet.  

Cats purring, stirring, padding quiet down stairs, weave meowing through mom's legs.  Dented percolator burbles better days, snap of toast burned haze, molten mush bubbles burst, fade.  Birds early on the highway Paradise-seeking, time, flash-burned, fleeting. Cobalt jay mockingly complains, chickadee sings his own name, coyote wails, thin and plain.  

Children rise, sleep in their eyes, squabble over bathroom prize, eldest wins, click, locks herself in.  Hurry, hurry the bus is coming, ancient driver, annoyed and honking.  Brown-bag lunches crinkled running, feet slapping, seats squeaking, lungs hot and bursting.  Ride the dawn breaking, hearts aching for more than this, rural bliss.

Stop sign flashes caution, young lovers in the back seat, bodies in motion.  Stop, start, sway on down the highway. Engine mimics hot blood lust, accelerated diesel rush, nothing can stop us. You grab my knee - young, carefree.  Brakes sigh and hiss, sneak one last kiss. You mouth - meet me later, we'll sneak out, rush to a future we haven't got, ready or not.  

The old road at dusk, frog song accompanies us, bike wheels on the asphalt hum, forbidden moonlight run.  Feel your heartbeat on my spine, frantic drumming matching mine. Horned owl hoots, forlorn and bleak, a premonition we refuse to heed, reckless with need. In the clearing young love begins, forget-me-knots on burning skin.
Heavy lavender blossoms, lifted
by sudden rushes of night wind.

Jacaranda, her scented branches swept into
dancing alone under the only streetlight.

Hiding further in the dark, bushes of
kumquat fruits, ripely orange,
tempt me to taste them.

In the deep blue air, first stars create
orbs of light beyond themselves,
glowing hugely in the sultry, silent sky.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Daniello Mar 2012
I would die to say here, truthfully,
splaying my arms round as the sky,
this, this! is how it is possible to live
and not sink under a faint surface,
and not run, windfaced, against a distance,
and not lay down, weary as nothing.

This is how it is possible for us
to look without shaking skin or heads
or blenching eyes, writhing like mangrove
limbs in this incomprehensible slough.
To live as discovery of life and still not know
if ever we were born, or when, if ever, we’ll have
died.

But to you, I cannot say this, truthfully.
My person is not truthful. It has a voice
you hear through air in the daytime, I am
not truthful to you. Else I would be
fringes of all time
stretched. You cannot see me, truthfully.

I am ground movement, just under, welling
untouchable imperative unattainable.
Are you bound by the point to create
your own destruction, as I? Then proclaim it
yourself, truthfully, waving your fresh
roots out to me, soil juiced and ripely plucked.

I will try to remember crossing the plains from
dawn till dusk, before I made the world fragile.
If I do, I will dissolve, and will come out your
breath, speaking truthfully. But will you remember
too? So that, disappeared, I may find you?
I would not have to die, then, truthfully.
Paul Rousseau Sep 2013
Ripely at 13, quickly an Internet queen
Found a boy around the same age
To swap and talk of things

Mindless banter from pitcher to batter
Such fun to see the words received
Upon the silliness, love was an illness
And the two were a couple on screen

But he became rash and rude and demanding
Forcefully aggressive and to my understanding
Required some photos of her undressed
As to which a little frightened she replied
“I guess”

For a year and a half, enslaved by a monster
No words of love just innocence slaughtered
The last picture she sent was of red bloodied arms
Without clothes on her body
Death from self inflicted harm
Sophie Mitchell Mar 2014
“she said,
‘almond colored sheets
are the best
for dreaming.’”

well, my sheets aren’t almond
but i did tend to dream
when you were lying
right next to me
(as imagined by this lumpenproletariat)

When no bigger then innocuous,
     ** hum, happy go lucky
     generic black whole
     sonny and cher full pinhead size zit,
thine pluperfect promising
     mysterious seat of pants whodunnit

     wordlessly wise wedded
     waywardness writ partly apportioned,
     thru totally tubular fluted circumcised
test tossed truly valued throned
     kingdom come emancipation *******,
     released special ops assigned prickly role

     donning spermatozoa swimsuit
owning papas hurtling
     traversing repertoire,
     noteworthy inherent pistol unit
flesh gun firing off biologic
     gum-shun reproductive script,

within zygote, sans courtesy
     squirt of flagellating
     fostering nanobyte superior vicesquad
     programmed fed tidbit,
stalwart sea men meted brooked shield
Dickensian gonadal mutual friend,

     whence gamete extolled finesse,
     (yet tubby revealed
     many a chromosomal trait)
     didst undergird uber reproductive
     up the down staircase
     reinforced by microscopic balustrade,

     yielding one ova Eggland's Best soffit
     rendering (unto Cesaer...)
     **** like magic fusion,
     whereby exiting fallopian tube
     deposition met fertilization,
     hence embryonic initiation

     wrought wondrous ultimately vibrant blastocyst
     triggered uterine settlement,
     ripely channeling
     tree men das transition
signaling ovulation to taper off,
    yet not entirely quit

fertilization triggered secretion,
     analogous quasi
     pollination process, qua gossiped
     biochemical romantic tidbit
     activated via powerful
     ****** popgun "hello kitty" visit,

milky dollop hormone
     exquisite in utero exposition,
     human female body electric
     generated chorionic gonadotrophin (hCG),
official warrant issued
     drafting subsequent surfeit

secretion spured double helix spin off
     flawlessly choreographed
     following impregnation,
     whereby molecular sized blueprints
amazingly graceful processes
     promulgated propensities

     prospecting proven
     (survival of the fittest) atavistic properties
     concentrated subatomic activity
engendered secure ankh cur,
     where wick keel lee reader rabbit
burrowed within amniotic

     filled sac didst outwait
nine month journey,
     a real swell gambit
for mother and child,
     thence bundle of joy
     exited birth canal.
Quisha May 2016
Next time, I want to be loved for all of me
Not just lashes and lips
No, not my ears and eyes that so seamlessly
breathe new meaning to life

No, no I want to be loved for the crusts of me
The thick and thin of me
(Baby there ain't no thin of me)
Just ripely thick honest sweetly raw delight.

Which is precisely how I want to be loved
Through thick and thin
Bring strength and nourishment,
Challenge both body and mind with thought and compassion

Night and day, day and night,
Light and dark,
Good and works in progress...

Will not be told "too much you ask for"
No, that jus means I too much Woman for you.
Get back at me when you can relate
I'm out.
TLK May 2013
First find her ripely inconsolable. She must be beautiful (squeeze the round end -- does it yield perceptibly without deformation?), yet she must think herself ******. The following factors produce this effect: a society which denigrates her, a family which ignores her, fairy-tales which tell her she fulfils herself upon belonging to a man. Once you have selected her, you must purchase. Pay with attention, time, care and compliments. Do not spend too much -- you might suffer buyer's remorse later. Then, before she is sure of herself, make demands. Tell her that her utility is based on your own convenience, and slowly browbeat until soft and creamy.
paperclip May 2017
dad’s numb lips
two bruised slugs comatosey cozy
glued onto a paper-mâché head.
lips the delicate hue of grape skin
tinted by self-asphyxiation.

his wet mouth became unexciting so I rested my head on his chest
on a wine-blemished button down
intoxicating me.
the blotch soon wore off onto my neck
a small patch bitten reddish purple.
speckled flesh–a stamp of lust.

his universe existed in an 8oz Styrofoam cup.
a cough syrup medley shimmering violet with needle-head fizzy stars.
sip, swallow, spent.
he made his galactic purple potion perish.
and in this way he was God.

a baby was born
a seed gorged out of a plum
wailing in a thin sheet of sheer mulberry plastic.

we were made good for lavender stacks
weaved into flowering quilts
warm enough for a peasant foot.  

you are the royal dye of Joseph’s coat of many colors.
I am the artificial tinge of a grape flavored popsicle stick stain on a bathrobe.
what if Joseph wore a bathrobe?

rotting plum for a knee
you kiss it ripely
– a sunset sickly blooming
Dead servants, feed me medicine ball grapes off the Divine
Tiffany iscoa Jun 2015
You
So young
Ripely falling from the strangely fruited trees
So full of life
Why do you worry about what lies ahead?
So young
Yet hanging onto every word as if it means everything
You don't have to worry young one,
In time you will learn
To stop being so predictable and settle into life's heavy burdens and "what ifs"
Your life will stop one day
But the world will never stop rotating for you
Young one,
We have a long way to go
And you must learn that we do not fall into to love
But grow in it
You have so much to learn
But life is not about learning love,
Life is about living
Living with all your newly profound wisdom
Young one,
Do not worry about the future
Do not worry about what has happened
The past does not define you or your future
Young one,
You must learn to live In the moment
And not to turn your back on life,
But to take it by the hand
And let it guide you to who you really are
Young one,
Close your eyes
Picture you as who you've always wanted to be
Open your eyes
And that is who you are.
While lies drip wildly; unimpeded from your tongue
There exists an endless cave,  where un-ending battles are won
This cave for most be a small box, for all thoughts found unfit
Here you’ll find, for those with daring to try, a true summit resides

Atop this summit rests a pleasant yet vacant throne
Fit only for one man, and for that one man, alone

Our women lay idle, our children paralyzed
In the one hand a portable non-sense machine
In the other the ruins of what we’ve done
Who were once our cherished seer stones
Have been left wanting, withering in the sun

Enough is Enough! I shout as I set sail on the open seas
To forge a glorious path, and glorious it shall be
For my path, you see dear friends, is one that’s set by me

Now is the time, a time long since forgot
To brandish our wicked swords,
The ones so forged in thought
And ride on to a glorious battle,
The one which must be fought
And return home triumphantly
With our treasure won with words

You have robbed us of our minds, free will, and love for just one day too long
and so it is to you, dear enemies of truth, that I dedicate this violent song
The one barely audible today through the thick silence of your design
but will one day blare as an orchestra, chaotically toppling that which you’ve done

Let the sirens’ song woo you, dear poets, as we crash upon their shores
For our carefully crafted ships were designed but for this cause
By Land, Sea, or Air I will claim what is rightfully mine
And that my friends is my one true love’s desire
Begging to be won, resting ripely in her mind
Travis Green Oct 2021
My heart was eternally yours
My firmament was entrapped
In your extravagant and exalted loving
Holding my ripely voluptuous *******
Reflecting on all the love I had for you

I was dramatically drunk in your hunkiness
Defenseless against your peerless
And lecherous loving, your kingdom
Of surprisingly ****** dreams

And when you penetrated
My grand and enchanting palace
I became your profoundly
Beautiful and favorite flower
Rising flourishingly in your dopeness

— The End —