"riveting" poems
Slowly unfold,
as you fold into me.
Two explosions that explode
imploding our senses with sensory overload
too intersections that intersect invisible
connected through connectivity
magnetized magnetically
galvanized genetically
when energized
this pleasure is derived
riveting her visibly
I convulse as you implode
Extinguishing our misery
With pleasure beyond measure
Thirst quenched physically
satisfied, apparently.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:16 PM UTC
being gay won’t save me from touches i didn’t ask for,
because that’s what they are,
touches i didn’t ask for.
and you still punch me lightly in the arm,
like we’re fooling around, like you didn’t do anything wrong.
but i don’t like it like that,
i never have.
it feels so much worse when it’s forced,
or even when they're simple touches that the eye can barely see,
the alarms fire through my body at different speeds,
it’s absolutely riveting.
i'm learning the difference between want and need,
and i think when it all comes down to it,
you never even wanted me.
my eyes are up here,
not scattered in the crevices folded in my skin,
my eyes are up here,
but you don't care because you're wearing my favorite lopsided grin.
i believe in individuals having a right to their own consent,
and no offense, but you're not my romeo and i'm not your juliet.
liking the same *** won't save you from touches you didn't ask for,
because that's what they were,
touches you didn't ask for.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
My cat child
brings order where there was none.
Let's not talk about the walnut shell of my womb,
empty birthplace of dust.
Let's talk about my cat child, proud with powers, handy with struts.
Now, listen--
I have forgotten all about you.
I've heard that I was in love once, but who knows?
Show me the evidence; I'll yawn elaborately, and my cat child will agree
that such stuff is dull in the extreme.
Dead fish, on the other hand, become more riveting every minute.
You would not have understood my cat child.
At least, that's my foggy instinct about it.
You would have objected to the damage, the **** and the fleas.
The rumor is, cats were royal once,
and I need the reflected glory and the chance to sleep during the day.
Right now, my cat child is away.
She is hungry for mice, songbirds, or someone's leg.
Me, I don't eat anymore, can't recall why I ever did--
I remember nothing, value nothing, aspire to nothing.
But once,
The feel of my mouth closing gently over the curve of your soft lower lip
seemed such an urgent thing,
like warm waves for mermaids,
a place I would do anything to get to.
Yes once,
the sight of your dark hair sent warm honey over my heart,
my belly,
my ***
and everywhere, my love, from my skin to the stars.
Now, though,
I have forgotten all that.
What were we talking about? I have no idea.
Now there is only the glare of afternoon
and the magnificence of my cat child who has given me nine lives--
none of them worth a ****
all as dead in the mouth as a finch with a broken neck.
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
unsure, uncertain,
of the laws invested
in the realms and reams
of poetry ingested,
am i addict,
or supplier,
retail consumer
or
wholesale supplier,
a mom & pop candy store,
or a metastasizing intelligence
that takes any thing, and all,
a solitary letter,
an instance of a sighting,
a gasping palpitation
and reformats it into
a hehe literary madhatter^ piece
you supply, I demand,
I supply, boy oh boy,
do I ever, but you never,
come to me directly asking,
write me a poem, thick or thin,
witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong
e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol)
yet the trade goes on and om,
the marketplace never closes,
except when periodically the
gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills,
and the trading centres are global scattered,
young entrepreneurs try to sell a single
piece, as if it was breaking news history,
and tired old men, review their lived,
eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget,
in retro!spect perspective,
the mirror who cannot lie,
states affirmatively, you are
both ****** and dealer,
a corporation scientific
of ancient biblical origins,
a psalmist, a deacon,
a lyricist, but thankfully
not a singer,
an essayist who writes best
when ****** by tawny port wine,
who snatches inspiration with
equality of equity,
(wait! that's wrong,
the equity of equality,)
where he can
find, ***** city streets, the deaths
of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle
he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas,
by estuaries brackish, and streams
of watered purity, the riveting bays,
the individualized glisten deflected
into my eyes, that each
contains one pure blessing within…. nml
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:24 AM UTC
Every single one of us has our own perception and definition of perfection and beauty.
My definition of perfection and beauty is simplistic, but at the same time is insanely intricate and alluring.
My definition of perfection and beauty is her: her riveting smile, her luscious brown hair, the glint of her admirable brown eyes, so perplexing and captivating.
She is different, not quite like all the other girls.
Something about her makes her stand out.
Could it be her inspiring and enchanting positive attitude?
Or could it be her constant yet elegant and exceptional charismatic display of intellect and wisdom?
Whatever it is, it’s entrancing and spectacular, constantly forcing me to crack a genuine and stimulating smile, even when I may not be feeling the greatest.
The feeling she makes me feel when she’s present is indescribable through words; it’s a feeling that can only be truly understood through enduring it.
There is only one word to truly describe how I feel whenever I talk to her, and that is bliss.
I may be naïve to believe that I am deeply in love with her, but that intense smile and sense of self-worth I feel when I talk to her tells me otherwise.
She gives off similar vibes, leading me to believe that she may feel the same way about me as I do her.
When she displays affection towards me, my face turns slightly red and inevitably, I smile like an idiot.
When I talk with her, everything feels at ease, and I don’t ever have a single worry on my mind.
Every single one of us has our own description of perfection and beauty.
My definition of perfection and beauty is her, and she’s the perfection and beauty that I need.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Cold beer,
a long necked bottle held to my forehead
and in my throat,
to my lips,
so relief comes both ways,
glad for it,
the double of the cool,
helps the day of troubled nothingness,
and the long necked bottle makes it
worth the extra second of anticipated tasty wait
can't drink in the river park,
don't cotton to brown paper bags,
do it anyway cause the East River
tides me over on its way
thru the Verrazano Narrows,
bound for the Atlantic with me low rider spirit in tow,
a devil may care attitude en contrôle
this troubadour opened the store at 700am
but not a one came looking for a song,
but the mail came reliable,
with dues due,
promises that need keeping,
and other items,
what the grownups call responsibilities
June Monday early eve and the Moran tugboats
ply their trade like reliable ****** to the sailors,
and their larger than bathtub size toys,
turning containers, freighters, into docile boys
who do as they are told on their way to ports far
there are stick figures outlined on the hexagon
paving stones that are so nyc for me,
here pedestrian! follow your designated path
here pedestrian, you must walk to be safe arrived
but I take to the railing,
where Isaac-bound and mesmerized,
I imagine surfing the churning wakes on the surface
of the riveting tides and wonderous wanderlust for
where we are bound...
no voice heard from the heavens,
saying Abraham put down that knife,
because I have not passed the test of true belief,
perhaps the river's invitation is my test,
if I should sing another song here,
perhaps it will tale the end of this tell...
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
Today I learned that
red lipstick makes me a fox.
Foxier, that is.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
when the dragonflies escape
the sensation of being swept up
in kite sailing within and without
riveting curvatures
of wind breaks
there's nothing like catching
the breeze so proposing this
please sweet universe,
I ask of thee
let the dragonflies free.
when the dragonflies escape
you will embrace it
in every fiber of your being
with even
electricity flowing
up to the fingertips
you cannot shake this feeling
like the beating of fragile wings
poise and power
strokes the air so carefully calculated
I hope the both of us make it
to a safer existence where there is
virtue and inner peace then
why can't you
just release them
when we again understood
after such a long time
that we were already
free
already free to
begin with.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
***** moisten, ******* wet.
Petite round **** ******* swollen stiff.
**** hard and fully ***** his girth is thick.
Long length, curved at the tip; tight fit.
Silk boxers on the floor, ******* next.
Naked bodies, both so magnificent.
Slippery, silky smooth tongue slid,
up and down her slit.
Lips pressing her hood.
Under it, her exposed clit,
glistens with spit,
Hot breath and warm licks
encircling her tip.
She's rolling her hips,
to the beat of the tongue licking it.
Fingers gripping her long ******* pink.
Twisting her nips, then pinched
squeezing them numb,
between his fingers and thumb.
her moans, turned high pitched
Tongue flicking, ******* as he rubs,
She tugs on his pulsating Dick.
Waves of pleasure whip through his core,
ending at his tip.
Just as quick,
******* rip, through her thick hips;
As he cums.
Her tension shifts,
from her stomach,
to the core of her hips.
Her creamy silk liquid drips,
fluids flowing, fingers sliding,
between her ***** lips.
He licks his lips clean,
cleaning off her salty drips.
Body frozen stiff,
She's shuddering;
spasms of orgasms,
riveting her hips.
He lays at her side,
her wild side subsides,
she's relishing the fix.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
Forgot what I searched for to find heaven.
But I know that at the age of seven
I seized my mother’s phone and found a god.
He led me to an arresting world with strings.
Strings that swept your hair the way the wind does
when your ego would reach the sparkling skies.
They touched your heart no matter how heartless.
I refused to blink because if I did
I would miss a second of his gentle
fingers gliding across the maple fretboard.
And no sane person would want to miss that!
Strings danced back and forth as he played a chord.
Oh, his fingers grew sore, but calluses
helped desensitize them from aches and pain.
The instrument he mastered was waiting
to call him master cause’ guitars love how
he manipulates and makes them his slave.
Strings begged for his touch, for sounds they could make.
My eyes felt heavier than dense gym weights.
I mustn’t stop gazing if I want to
stay lost in heaven. So **** riveting!
“School is tomorrow.” ****** I forgot.”
“Give the phone back. Hmm, what are you watching?”
“Heaven.” “What did you say?” “I said heaven.”
Mom didn’t say anything afterward.
A few hours came, she asked for the phone.
I gave it to her, prepared my backpack.
Maybe in a different universe.
I would have proclaimed, “Don’t take the phone back.”
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 4:34 PM UTC
They say it's not safe to walk around here
You'll see women standing on street corners
Few drunk mortals and usual dealers
Still, it has a unique flair that's sincere.
Interesting folks spotted at cafes
Nights and on weekends, the scene is alive
Best galleries in town, boutiques survive
A form of art, nothing close to cliches.
The kind of place that gives someone a fright
A misconception for some who can't stand
The riveting darker side of their mind;
It's here geniuses like Baudelaire saw light.
There is something alluring about them
Those society scorn, the marginalized.
Judgmental souls persist; not so surprised
When below the surface waits a poem.
The people here have no care in the world.
Whether it's where they work or their hangout
Here, free spirits do not need to stand out
They think lightly and none shall be bothered.
They say it's not safe to walk around here
It's the truth, one must be a bit careful
But this area, genuinely soulful;
Rather here, red light district I revere.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
She is all kinds;
Of stunning,
Exquisite intrigue;
Sultry crude substance,
She is bequeathed of delicate allure;
She is,
Raw beauty;
Unpolished titillating elegance,
Unfettered natural charm;
She is provocation,
Captivating distraction;
Deviation of one's resolve,
Without so much as a casual glance;
Riveting seduction,
A Mona Lisa of subtle sweet temptation;
Yet unpolished,
She shimmers and radiates through the haze;
Unlike fool's gold she is genuine tangible truth,
A magic act of unquestionable splendor;
Waiting lurking smoldering essence,
She is --
Rapture divine; beyond words...
© okpoet
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
Joshua tree
Across the high California desert you stand with lifted salutation off the beaten path the drift
Of sea moisture mingles with tule fog rising from the desert floor you have briefly entered an alien
World a brooding connection develops with London’s fog shrouded streets or the Arden with its
Identification with It being the one natural barrier to the advancing Roman’s might and Shakespeare’s
Play the woods for him was familiar but a place where change to ones fortune could occur and one
Could find love mist is one of the times that a magic wand was effectively waved it produced a myriad
Of realties notable connections a display that reaches the far borders of wonder pleasantness infringes
On the harder order of the desert’s hotter principles farther east the great desert sentry looms above
All else the saguaro cactus also raises its arms as the Joshua giving thanks for life in a stark and
Burdensome land rock and scrub fills this place it takes time to appreciate such bitter circumstances
But you can sink thoughtful roots that will play a symphony between sun and shadow and all the living
Things that eke out a living there are a breed of people that thrive here also they can teach a lot to
Others live on less you would be amazed how refreshing simple living can be get to much you find
Fun squeezed out of the seams of the so called good life just think in this term when does water taste
Like heavenly nectar when you have been deprived and are at a loss to find it the abundance of anything
Can temper its value death swiftly occurs when the spirit of taking things for granted pervades those
Times that are riveting and create completeness in us are by nature rare and treasured you don’t have
To trek to far off deserts or faraway places a child’s youthful smile that is slipping away When tenderness flows and she makes your heart glow know my friend you are blessed with God’s best for all of earths time a husbands
Gentle laugh his look that stirs you deeply these are but three of rarified finds that are in your life
Enjoy treasure them they are personal gifts you possess today
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Its sun-bleached pink parka
Limply hung over slumped, thin shoulders
Even in the summer twilight,
Crinkles, stale newspapers and plastic bags
Dissonance with the jarring
Rattle of shopping cart wheels.
Its rank malt liquor stench—
Astringent ammonia sweat
Runs in rancid rivulets down
Decaying skin on decaying face.
Pimples and pus and
Meth-notched teeth.
It offers a drink
In exchange for change.
My watch has never been more riveting.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC
My juxtaposition to your heart...
Just short of right and just left of leaving...
This fascination...distant adoration...
Trailing off into the distance...despite my own persistence...going...going...gone...
You see...Yours was a velvet touch... smooth against the skin of my soul...
My lips raw from your sandpaper kiss...once riveting...
Now... remorseful hue... morose shade of blue...defunct me and you...
My own sweet type of primal bliss...you...audaciously exist...within me...
As I the ribbon...the strand...
NO...the last straw...
Am wrapped around your finger...linger...
flail...fight...then make tight...our binding...
Intertwining...
Bound by our brittle bias...
And you... pious... feel the need to mediate...to delegate...
NO...dominate...
Our love...
You... an anomaly...of the not right variety...
Build...gather...house the mire ...selfishly... misty moments... memories
My pain protruding...while eluding...my acute identity...
Pregnant with grief...disbelief...I strain...
Laboriously to free you...
Giving birth to the rain...
of emotions...
And OUR storm rages on...
A weeping...seeping semblance of love...
Circling the drain of our destruction...
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
Is poetry the last bastion of the scarred mass of humanity lost to the subtle truth that words are signs from the divine that we are all one and nothing, because if so then I must hope that mine are worth the lasting
If what is both false and true heard by no one but the mute passed trembling from his unused lips sealed with venom by a scarlet kiss and gassed silently on by occultist grips narrowly worth the waiting
Then and only then will we learn both the where and when as the spirit goes on laughing
Falling further farther down clutching tightly golden crowns mimicking Gods with emboldened sounds riveting emotion flicker round
Theater is what we’re asking
Days upon days without any end the trigger lingers shoot again imprisoned here by our own command lost in thought not acting
What will it be our own device to save us suffering from the pain and strife the mortal coil lust and vice perpetually worth the asking
The snake he calls with warm lit clouds and the sun is ever shining
Uproot the tree out of sodden ground the branches broken crash and pound
litter ridden strewn across the burial mound the eagle cries in distance
Sparrow flies upon the wing angels make joy and forever sing our ears in whispers but never bring consistently the frequency to our brains
My foot falls but once upon the wither winds softly like a child carrying me to the end
the bridge between the forest creek meandering mends uplifting me from sorrow.
So long until tomorrow.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
I saw....
Two black crystal *****
Rimmed with white
Reflecting an indefinable emotion
Glowing with some intense passion
Riveting
Entrancing!
Two eyes of oceanic depths
Relaying the most intimate message
“I love you” (?)
So piercing were those eyes
That I couldn’t stand their electric glare
From those eyes, rose the Promethean fire
Glistening like molten gold
At once sending out
The light of a hundred galaxies
From the fire bursting through those eyes
My body was turned into a conflagration
And my soul rippled like fermented wine
An ocean was stirring within
Whose whirls could never again be tamed
In those flooding pools
Let me cast my fishing net!
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 4:55 AM UTC
There is a dull ache in the pit of my bossom-
maddening and riveting as the alcohol scalds
my tongue, my throat and settles in my stomach.
Far away,
In the different weather and scent of-
streets, alleways and my bed not quite the same.
Long way from home,
Amidst a place not quite my taste-
missing and kissing in the the corner streets.
Epiphany as the place; that is not quite the same,
reminds me that it is not the missing piece;
Rather, that I am the lonesome traveller.
A stranger, a moribund
In this far away land of sorrow and of memory.
Long way, homesick in the vast expanse of-
memory lane;
A place not quite the same as the one left behind.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
Riveting, in so many aspects
Yet still you cannot seem to
Not float away from me.
Just like those clouds
in front of your eyes;
Your head dwells in them quite frequently,
Same for the pixie in your psyche,
You've discovered
the mess of her reality
Marking my heart when you sing
Want to mend
my broken wings?
With you, I have no suspicions
But **** baby,
You still lack-
Lust (re) Ambition
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
A strum
One strum
Two strum
Three strum
All strums at once.
Then the chords
A chord
G chord
F chord
A series at once.
Then the melody
A rest
A note
A pitch
Ringing in all sincerity.
Then it increases
Louder
Faster
Stronger
Everything, all at once
Again and again
Strumming
Plucking
Playing until exhaustion reigns.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC
***Sickening waters– waves and the ocean
Seep it cold, body in motion. Breathe
No. Majestic, mystics of deep blue abyss.
Unraveled, riveting.***
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
i. i wonder if the stars fight over who's the brightest.
the night sky is a canvas, covered in a million strokes. each shining star in this endless sky holds its own beauty in the masterpiece above us, thousands of miles away. without a single star, the constellations would not be the same shape. without a single star, the sky would not shine as bright.
dear, you are a star. you and i, we fit in this universe, shining brightly for all to see. even though we flicker at times, even though our light may become covered by clouds, we are still bright. we still add our own light to the night sky. without us, there would be no masterpiece. without us, the world would not be as bright.
ii. i wonder if birds mimic melodies to harmonize with others.
not every song must be a duet - a solo love song can be riveting, can be like an orchestra of sounds all encased in one single lover. the songbird can sing symphonies on its own, every note echoing throughout the forest finding its way into each animal's heart. music they whistle with honest notes are the songs that make a lover's heart soar.
dear, you are a songbird; you are a dove. every note you make with your voice is a song; every string of words you say are a poem. your song deserves to be heard, so make your voice louder, higher, stronger. do not hide behind the voice of others, for you are worth being heard.
iii. i wonder if roses grow thorns for a reason.
they say every rose has its thorn, but they forget to mention that roses don't ask to be touched. the thorns are its warning message: it will harm you if you grab it. it is as if they're building a weapon, rewriting their genetic code to avoid being bothered. a sign to tell us to not hurt beautiful things, for they are armed with knives and sharp thorns.
dear, you can't expect people to just admire your beauty. a dog can understand no, but boys are worse than a dogs. if you keep acting like a daisy, you will keep getting your roots torn out from the ground, and boys will rip off your petals to try to find out what's inside of you. arm yourself, my love. roses need thorns to survive.
“dear, you are a star, you are a bird, you are a rose,” i tell her. “but most importantly, you are you, and you are important.”
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
Oh, here I am confined to the walls of my sadness!
I am lean and weary,
my heart thin and dreary.
Oh, how I've longt to wander yon mountainous hills again,
this time with thee,
descending the steeps, our bare foots brushing against the heath beneath
blending into the hilly surroundings
under the laughter of the joyful heavens -
o how riveting the bank underneath shall be!
O how delicacy shall reign my frame abruptly -
bequeathing its foreign spirit gladly,
so that I am showered with its frantic idyll
with adversity whose love can never forget!
O how this joy shall conquer any rivers of indignation,
drive their disdained yoke away
along with those conceited tears
of sullenness, hatred, and amorous gluttony!
But unreachable art thou!
O Kozarev, my prince, sole prince in these silent wintry dreams,
how thou appeareth like a gleaming apparition,
soothing my reposes, making whose armours complete,
with smiles can bear all my gloominess away,
whose lovely jests are warmth to my soul, my yearning and choking soul,
in the deathlike bursts of this misty day!
O Kozarev, in today's laborious air I shall think of thee,
thy stately figure, thy youth of ardour!
Thy grin the star to the fading sun;
thy words that calmeth sorrow; and sendth thrills through my bones!
O mumbling lips, o trembling horns!
My little treasure, if only thou could hear my earnest longing
my very earnest desire; sincere yet tempestuous
that I shalt lift my hands around thee
Just how those rocks stand firm on the glaring sea
Cheers in its coldness; praises its bland waviness
Like a small boat unyielding to the melodious storm
when the last harmony is no longer sounding!
O, how I long to share this fondness with thee!
Kozarev, my demure pleasure, my belated fate!
My firing snow, my blazing sun,
the handsomest flower of my being!
My lithe little heart might be of nothing to thee
I am unworthy, yet I yearn for thee so willingly!
Kozarev, amidst the rolls of my dreams I devour thee,
wherein dwells the upmost of our affection
and sits our sheepish little village!
And adjacent to the gentle fireside
upon our wooden squeaking chair
brimmed with love, smeared with laughs
I should rock by thee
sew thee into my very own loveliness
and ****** thy grace
to the faint redness of my lips.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 5:55 AM UTC
~~~@~~~
i break
my chrysalid womb
into a realm
without
protection
my wings
are wet and stunted
cyan jewels lie dew'd
tourmaline
clusters upon the
veins
i'm only beginning
to learn the
nature of flight
i'm at my
most vulnerable
please
protect me
but don't assist me
in my struggle
to break
FREE
~~~@~~~
**it took me
disolving time to
emerge
from my own
beautiful
amorphous mess
while I drew
my imaginal discs
i dreamt
of flowers
and their
everlasting
bursting colors
the
celestial skies
and soft
empowering
spring
breeze**
~~~@~~~
as i push apart
my place of
safety and security
i find the life
pumping
into my
wingspan
the colors of the
world
entrance me
i am no longer
dreaming
as i drink in
my natural
but still
foreign
home
~~~@~~~
**riveting pain
with each
s p r e a d
of these
newly acquiesced
defenseless
delicate
appendiges
this
m e t a m o r p h a s i s
has just begun
my
j o u r n e y
to self discovery
paved with
wrestling and scuffling
everlasting
flight
and
wondering**
~~~@~~~
for it is in the
p a I n
we find
g r o w t h
and in the
s t r u g g l e
against
the
safe and secure
that we
at last
find
F R E E D O M
~~~@~~~
dajena m
soulsurvivor
(c) october 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC