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Cné Jan 2018
~
Him
sits in an arm chair
slouched and relaxed,
watching her
with a glass of whiskey
in his hand

~
Her
lays on the bed
*****, long legs spread
watching him
watching her.
~
Him
asks her to do
what he had
been dreaming of
even before seeing her *****.
Beautiful scenery

~
Her
strokes light and feathery, at first
delicate fingers tracing
up and down
while the other hand
on her breast
tipping her nip
~
Him
mesmerized by the show
he takes a sip of whiskey
the burn does not compare to
the burn growing in his pants

~
Her
dips a finger inside,
spreading the glistening liquid
found across her inner lips
increasing the pressure
and moving from side to side
~
Him
doesn’t know where to look
as she concentrates
on her ******,
pulling at the tip
she gnaws her bottom lip
he settles on her eyes

~
Her
picks up speed,
the circles of her fingers
smaller and smaller,
focusing on her pearl
shallow breaths growing rapid
as she nears her peak
~
Him
slips out of his shirt
he starts to sweat
unbuckling his pants
to release
the growing pressure

~
Her
tilts her hips
finding the optimal position
to intensify her pleasure
~
Him
holds his breath
to hear the
gasping of her breath

~
Her
eyes on him, longingly,
back arches,
head falls back
and lips part
“Oh God”
in heavy breath
~
Him
“Amazing”
whispers unsure he said it aloud

~
Happy **** Day
"I'm trying to be myself,
Understand everyone,
It's a mission and a half.

Looking at everyone,
Trying to learn something
but I am getting more confused;
It's hard being cool.

Our generation,
Alienation,
Have we a soul?

Techno emergency,
Virtual reality,
We're running out of new ideas?

Who is the Queen?"
Film: Human Traffic (1999)
Writer(/Director): Justin Kerrigan
King Panda Sep 2015
you
modified magic lantern
incarnadine
soul
puppet show
short dresses
free
cocktails
little swords
and
big drama
where we
make love
in the
dressing
room

I watch you
don
the sheets
and cut
eye holes
while I grab
the light
and radiate
your
behind
the audience
better not
see
that
***
I’m
protective of
my baking
flour
*****
Ezra Yelverton Oct 2018
We were standing still, you armored in my arms.
The stage in front of us was brightly lit
but the faces around us I could not see;
we danced while the world revolving around us changed.
I whispered song lyrics in your ear and
your body language prompted me to hold you closer.
So, I did.
For a moment I was sure you were in bed with me
because the air around me smelled of you.
Lost in your fragrance,
I didn’t notice the scene around us change.
Even in a new setting the only person
my eyes could adjust to was you.
Beautiful Woman.
You turned to face me and lay your head gently on my chest.
All while I wore a coy smile.
I felt your hand on the back of my neck
as you raised to the tip of your toes to kiss me.
Just before our lips met, I woke up.
You make me nervous, even when I dream.
the thought of death is an uneasy thought
in my case it's a ****** nightmare

on the 16th day of May, 1967, Mr Youngblood took his 6th grade class to the playground as he always did, every Tuesday after lunch. The kids spread out to their usual positions. Some played catch with Mr Youngblood. A few, like Roger and me went to the basketball net and several played on the monkey bars, both of which were part of the big asphalt square. Just opposite this area was the soccer field and then some good distance between that and the Middle School. Lots of open space for a bunch of suburban kids to have fun. The Sun was bright and the wind was light and the temperature was right around perfect. We had been playing for 10 minutes or so when the wind picked up and clouds seemed to move in out of nowhere. We all thought it must be a storm coming...and it was. A distant laugh froze everyone. At first no-one saw him, but then we all saw him at once. He was walking across the soccer field towards us, long deliberate strides. Where he came from is a mystery as there was nothing but open land behind him for several hundred yards. He was tall and lanky and as he approached us, I noticed that his face was contorted and discolored...a pale, almost painted white and he had jet black hair combed back, long and greasy. His lips were thin and black and his eyes bloodshot and almond shaped. He wore a black suit, a black shirt and candy apple red tie. He looked like a mosh-up of Curry's Pennywise and Ledger's Joker, only I would have traded for either one of those ******* right now over this guy, ten to one. He came to the edge of the concrete square. Johnny ****** his pants and Charlene fell from the monkey bars, landing awkwardly on her left side and causing a compound fracture, her radius protruding from her skin leaving her hand dangling like a dead fish. She did not scream either because she was scared it might draw his attention or she was going into shock...or maybe both. He took two more steps forward and then began laughing as if he'd just heard the funniest joke he'd ever been told. His teeth looked as if they'd been replaced with shark's teeth. I swear there were rows of them and his mouth stretched inhumanly wide. His laugh slowly winded down to a snarl, and he gave a long look to each one of us, as if he was burning the faces to memory. And then he spoke..."You children just go on having lots of fun! Well, except for you Johnny...didn't your Mom just rip you a new *** for ******* your pants at Grandma's? shame, shame!" And Johnny was off...tripping twice before he got his feet under him. "You run home and ...Ha Ha Ha...oh my...change your pants, you pathetic little ****!" Mr Youngblood picked up Charlene and started to carry her inside. By this time her pretty pink dress was soaked in blood. The freak addressed him. "Nice man...but you can't save them. In a few days they will all be mine." He laughed again and every kid ran for their lives back to the school. I was the only one who stayed. To this day I'm not sure why. He turned and walked towards me slowly. "What have we here? The little man isn't running with the others. Are you not afraid Billy boy? Afraid for your life?"...and he leaned in close...close enough that I smelled a foulness that cannot be described. "Because that is what I'm here for...your life!" "Who are you?", I asked... and with that his dark black and pointed eyebrows raised and he straightened up. "Who am I...Who am I? My, my the boy has a backbone. The nerve to question while others lose control of their bladders. Well, I'll tell you who I am, child. I am God's worst nightmare. I am every ***** little secret thought you've ever had. I am evil in all it's forms wrapped up in one little package and sent to collect the souls of the innocent. All of you here today will be mine tomorrow. Roger will fall down the stairs off of his front porch and break his neck. Charlene will die from infection due to that nasty little accident and Becky will be hit by the school bus Thursday morning. That will be most nasty! Almost a decapitation. I won't bore you with the rest, but they will all die. Hmmm...you know what Billy... I like you, so I'm thinking, perhaps...yes, I'm going to make a special offer to my new special friend. I won't take your soul until you die from natural causes. What do you think of that idea? At that moment, when your family is gathered round your bedside after suffering that...well, maybe you don't want to know the details... you will see a bright light...but you won't be going towards the light Billy...at that moment I will place my hand on your shoulder and that light will slowly fade into darkness and we will meet again, and you will become my apprentice. So, what do you think of that, Billy? Do you want to be my apprentice, or do I **** you now? Come, come...I haven't much time!" I tried to answer, but my mouth was as dry as cardboard and I could only manage a weak gasp. That laugh again and he turned and walked away in the same direction..."I'll take that as a yes. Remember, you are mine upon your death, Billy boy!" The wind died and the Sun appeared again.
By the end of the week, every child on the playground that day had died...exactly as he stated they would.

And now you know why, even in my darkest days, I never, ever contemplate suicide.
this story was prompted by a Joker bobblehead I found in a collectibles store that is creepy as **** - I think I will make it my annual Halloween post!
Kiui Sep 2018
When will I realize that I wasn't the main character of a movie
That I have to make myself feel alright with a cup of smoothie

When will I realize I'm not a supporting character of a tv series
That I'm only important when people have queries

When will I realize I'm not a scenery nor a sound effect

When will I realize that I'm only a credit scene
The unattractive, full of words, boring, credit scene
The scene people will never pay any attention to
The scene where words are so small, you don't hear me crying
The scene where people say, "thank you for making this show"
But never really remember the names

When will I learn to love myself as a credit
When will I learn to accept that a credit is just as important
Even though I'm boring, unattractive and unwanted
Tom Spencer Dec 2018
cold morning light
streams through
the concrete cathedral
beneath the highway

the clouded breath
of a homeless man
glows and curls
in the golden air

cars accelerate
and the wisp is swept
into dim
and hardened shadows


Tom Spencer © 2018
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Not at all terror has no religion
today like yesterday London is ON!
For good for the good reason!!
Like in the West, in the East
It’s the same for all the people.

Send to the prison
the terrorist has no religion.
There are terrorists
on the front and more
so behind the scene
forget not both
are equally terrorists!
Andra Aug 2018
to make a scene,
even if you're not on stage...
it really is your style.
i applaud you.

bravos!
bravos!

i thought
i was the actor and
you the director
or more like the puppeteer
and i would
drag Myself,
the puppet
along and dance
dance to your poorly written songs
and recite your pathetic soliloquies

amusing
how you are trying so hard
and all i can think is
that this might be the interval
and some lunatic got on stage
wishing he could be part of all this.

but i am really enjoying my ice cream, you know?
- Nov 2018
Enter scene:

A girl sits on a bed in a room.
The room smells like cat **** and Fabuloso
(whatever the name of the yellow scent is).
The black-out curtains are open,
letting the moon shine onto the bottom of the bed.
The lavender fitted sheet has come undone.

The girl hasn't slept in a day.
She hasn't eaten in two days.
There is an empty handle of Jack
that she bought three days ago.
The scabs on her leg were four days old,
But she reopened them three hours ago.

The girl had chestnut hair that flowed,
cascading to the small of her back,
but she cut it herself, drunk in the bathroom.
The girl has chestnut hair that spills
in a mass of tangles to her shaking shoulders,
uneven, moving with her as she readjusts.
Mote Jan 19
.
  .

feeling has felt bad
since feeling began

  .
    .

i tell

the silent god

nothing is real
on this car-fire
stretch of road

but you
These nowhere towns,
Mountain tops snow-capped long through march,
Everywhere else,
A brown.

Though people live here,
And they aren't broken down.

The paint peels from the motel,
The mother tends to her daze,
The attendant ponders the insects of the sill,
Tumbleweed decry these acts of being still.

Life is good here,
In these hazy,
Background,
Nowhere towns.
Really hope I captured that picture I saw... I don't think I fully did but... It was almost there...
An innocuous smile,
one that touched the hands of Time–slowed it down
like the graceful              of curtains
                             closure                    on an exhausted evening

My heart
                                        e
                      ­         s
                       o
               r
                                                        like a helpless leaf that died a tree,
descended into the Unknown of departing from being
a l o n e
to being Someone

(Love at first sight was such a  s t u p i d  thing, till I saw you)

An innocuous smile,
one that touched the abyss of Loneliness–sobered it up
like the scenic                       of the night's eyes
                         tranquilities                                 on a lethargic morning

You smiled at me
Such a benevolent smile that paid my debt of helplessness
More than just a subtle indicator of authenticity or a shadow of happiness
You smiled at me
Such a moment that you and I share, one that no one could ever take away

More than just a simple smile,
But one that bridges my heart with yours to cross this path of Loneliness
To discover what it means to be in Love



Melody
3/7/19
A smile is electric, despite its simplicity.
Balcony perch,
Romeo's known role reversed,
Juliet below in harmonious search,
What's a name really worth?
THE SCENE OF YOU AND ME

O! My Love, how the past seems inevitable,
every time your name is mentioned.
Old memories start calling me back to you,
I cry with each chapter as the pages of us
keep turning to my happiest times I shared with you.

It is as if we had written our own love scene
but we didn't know how the ending was going
to be in a dramatic scene where our love
will soon make a case of an end.

I truly never wanted to look back
but it is hard when I know what I once had
and what it is I had lost…
what was and what is no longer.

I still have in my heart this deep longing
for that one person that possess my heart
that truly had shown me true passion and love.

O!  My Love, what a scene it was,
It is crazy how you could keep a smile on my face
way back then...and every time I think about you
that smile finds it's way back.

Poetic Judy Emery © 1982
Copyright © Judy Emery| Year Posted 1982
I am not only some peaceful stream of the forest,
Twinkling beneath songbirds,
Watering romancing deer.

I am also the raging river that cuts through the mountain,
That carves the earth to better fit my ease.

The one bears dare not cross.
The cascading ire,
Raptors are unfit to tame,
With any bellow.

Men will come to know the rocky bottom,
And winding parts,
Men will come to know their helmets and life preservers,
Won't be salvation,
When I say that they shall drown.
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash the woman's weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, that formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera slowly backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a silky black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. *****.
Alex Bex Jan 2018
Through the white, beating Texan heat,
water towers cry out titles
high above the flat land
where kids from the roadside houses
run around in stained tank tops,
dreaming of their own names up there.
The long and burnt grass cuts their ankles
and the dry cement scrapes their feet.
The midday ritual begins in a racing circle
raising dust over the roofs and into the shy afternoon.
Around 5, the roadside families reunite
in front of their houses to watch the daily traffic jam
and observe the variety of faces through the glass windows,
which after a short while do not seem to vary at all.
But today, something else had their full attention.
The sky was never seen this low and the clouds
​turned a shade of black
so dark as to be almost green,
so the eldest women on that single row of houses
declared bad omen. The next early morning,
the closest water tower laid gravely against the ground.
Already, a small boy had climbed on top of the tank,
soles bleeding, and waving
​his shirt into the wide clear sky.

©2018 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net
English Jam Apr 2018
Sitting in some car in a forgotten parking lot
Grey marks the skies
Lush green plants peeping in
The wildlife of concrete and paint makes the perfect background
For
Little ***** of liquid heaven falling on my windscreen
And some music to complete the scene
Each guitar line synchronises with each raindrop
Each blast of power thunder hits hard like heavy metal
But the soft clouds, the gentle ebb and flow lull me to sleep
Whispering, persuading me to dream
But I really don't want to miss this shard of time
I never want to lose little moments like these

A silver raindrop is born by landing on my car
Crash landing, rather
The bubbling pocket of mystery travels down
Swerving and slamming into other fellow pockets in crime
It's life cycle completes when it reaches the bottom
It races to it's death, unable to stop gravity's plan for it
Each drop morphs into another, making a wave
The rain weaves an intricate web of waves
All strutting their sparkly magic before me
I sense a metaphor for humanity creeping in
Millions of crescendos growing about
Too concerned with their internal politics to worry about others
But I stay focused on the beauty all around

I wonder if heaven has rainy days
If so, this must be one of them
Eurus Feb 6
A love so strong,
A jealousy so fierce,
A sneaking anger,
With an ill-concealed need of you.
These pent-up, raw, reluctant emotions,
Now, plaint to see,
Are beckoning even the innermost of my core.
The beat to an apoptotic dance.
The final curtain
To a life of sweet sweet nothingness.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
A night owl in the harvest moon
was awake till the ***** of the dawn
but wasn’t surfing online, wasn’t rowing
the boat in the digital river.
Deep down to a dreamweaving scene
that was, in musing, painstakingly creative.

Wait till you snap up a witty aphorism.
The darling buds of May will be in bloom.
The tickled pink nightingale too will
give out its voice, singing a song.
Save a copy and tweet it to all,
but do give us a demo, tell us a bit more.
Where does it shine and sizzle?
Where did the winter tuck away the rose?
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
Up steep streets
I repeat
In a dream
Words seen in windows
To myself
Sub-vocally

Turning right
And Northward
Left and Westwood
Checking number plates
For initial surprises
Numbers for primes

Multiplying
The number of years
By the number of days
Adding the leaps
The few left over
Beats

To arrive in the viewfinder
To stand on the edge
To look at the scene
To breathe with the light
To know finally that I am
The lens
nosipho khanyile Aug 2018
injustice has become the affirmation.
hesitation, passed down to each generation.
oblivious to how this is a cause of our own transgression; through temptation.
misleading us to our own damnation.
Crime has become a norm in South Africa and it has gone to an extent where we don't even look over our shoulders anymore but hope that when a crime comes about we still have our lives to keep. This poem not only highlights crime in my country, but the international rise in other issues such as school shootings, human trafficking, ****, sickness, hunger, mass killings- there are some issues which I haven't personally experienced in this list but am deeply moved by. This is a time to put our hope in the greater energies we believe in and not let the Enemy succeed.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Once, the summer sun will rise in London
Like the half of the Ge meets the other half.
Like a magic by the Lamp of Aladdin
The love flame hidden in the chest lits out!

Like a blooming rose in a glowing beam of light,
Like a smiling face speaks a gentle word,
Like a beautiful sunrise colour in the first light!

The summer in London will pop and sizzle
We will see a threshold in our land.
The rose for a while is tucked away
Off the winter and is given to the sun
Winter is not forever spring is on the corner
Come back in the sun with the early bird
Before Cinderella takes on the primrose path.

Keeping an eye on a thriller is in the winter’s field
Oozy ozone misty land gets a gingerly seasoning
What on earth will it strike, will it dish out?
Ah, the sun will pop out like a river breeze.

Like a southern song singing on a dream scene.
a smooth fairy dance facing the Moon
a thrill of exposing Stonehenge once and for all
a melodious raindrop in the serene pond
a butterfly dance on the rose
a turned on tall tale of the blue peacock
Like a pure belief in heaven without a pinch of salt!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
raquezha Aug 2018
This is a story of a girl who goes into the shower
but she doesn't want to changed her clothes

And she's ******* infront of me
oh god please I don't wanna see
cause it's tickles down there in me

and then we're
goin' on a free way
we're goin' on a highway
we're goin' to see a movie
we're goin' to see the stars
and watch the milky way
away from the city lights
oh my eyes see everything
even when it's dark

this is gonna be fun
we're gonna run
away from home
we're gonna run
to a place that we we're never ever
to a place that we we're never ever
to a place that we we're never been before

This is a story of a girl who goes into the shower
but she doesn't want to changed her clothes

And she's ******* infront of me
oh god please I don't wanna see
cause it's tickles down there in me

And she's ******* infront of me
oh god please I don't wanna see
cause it's tickles everything inside of me
Ray Ross Nov 2018
My whole life is made of acts,
Different roles to play in peoples lives,
Different things I feel I should be.
And I'm sorry,
I don't want want to play anymore
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