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Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Gun shot
Cherry blossom
Second thought
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Cné Apr 2017
the club is not the place to be
so the bar is where you'll find me
with my girlfriend doing shots
scanning the room and catching nods

your eyes hang in the smoky air
come on over, if you dare
trust me, I'll give you a chance
surely you see that, in my glance

my friend and I are laughing like girls do
my magnetic eyes push and pull at you
starring, you haven't looked away
I can see the interest, you convey

another shot the bartender places
confused, he gestures and your glass raises
I smile as my girlfriend whispers, he's cute
toasting you, we lift our shots and shoot

I won't beg you to on come over
but it's only wasting time until you come closer
the possibilities, I foresee
I'm already in love with your body

in confidence, over you saunder
in my mind the question, I ponder
obviously I see, you're in to me
but what about my friend... are you into three?
Just thinking out loud. Lol
café Dec 2018
feeling
super super super
Sᵤᵢcᵢdₐl

don't tell my friends
or my family

It's getting too hot in this clown suit

give me a bottle of sunshine
I'm overdosing

no one needs to care for me
don't get mad

we can be friends
I won't spill my secrets

I'm feeling
super super super
▌│█║s̶u̶i̶c̶i̶d̶a̶l̶ █│▌

can I take off the mask
I can't look ahead

nose bleeding
I love taking a leap
a shot of hope

everything
in my life
is a metaphor

who wrote this sad story
where's my sad ending


ᵒᵘᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃⁿ ᵃᵈᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘʳᵉ
ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵈⁱᵉ ˡᵃᵗᵉʳ

ᵇʳᵒᵏᵉⁿ ˢᶜʳᵉᵉⁿ
ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵘⁿ ⁱˢ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵖᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵉ ˢⁱᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵉ
ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ
ˢˡᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶜʰ
ⁿᵒ ᵒⁿᵉ ⁱˢ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ
ˡᵒⁿᵉˡʸ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳⁿᵒᵒⁿˢ
ᵃ ᵇʳᵃᵛᵉ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ
ˡⁱᵉˢ
ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵉˢ

ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵃˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵃⁿʸ
ˡᵃᵘᵍʰⁱⁿᵍ
ᵇᵒⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ
ˡᵒᵛⁱⁿᵍ

ᵈᵃʳᵏ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ
ʷᵉᵉᵏˢ ᵒᶠ ʷⁱˢʰⁱⁿᵍ
ᶠᵒʳ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ
ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃⁿ ᵉⁿᵈ
ᴵ'ˡˡ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵉᵈʳᵒᵒᵐ ⁿᵒʷ

I'm hurting
my pain is loud
Jordan Rowan Apr 2016
Romeo, Juliet
They were better off dead
For falling in love is just like getting shot in the head
Come along, little fool
What better way to learn the rules
Than for someone to be cruel to you  

Miss Thelma and Louise
Their spirits drift over Belize
Lovers live forever and never learn to leave
Mrs. Bonnie, Mr. Clyde
Seems like everyone in love has died
Not in each other's arms but by their side
The Will-of-Strength, firm and subtle at Peak
Sought to follow his Elder and charge his Day
With Weight-Lifts and Fork-Bells conquer Relief
Took a Sling from his Semi; Shot the Green Elf
Who flew around the House and tampered his Rage
To learn such Programmes like Responses and Growth
But Confident as he was to draft his Age
Shot the Green Elf again; His Candles grew Old
The Candles! Left there on a Muddy-Cream-Cake
Waiting to be puffed by a Cold, Moral Bite
Till the Drogbas arrived and brought their own Bake
Then the Party resumed; Screams sparked in Delight.
And the Green Elf, sleeping, spoke in the End:
"Manhood be your Goal; First make me your Friend."
#will_daley
ryn Jan 2015
Backdrop of hues from heaven's palette
Two silhouettes stood hand in hand
A pair so in love on their deserted islet
Only witnesses were the sky and the sand

Two silhouettes with roles of lovers
Frolicked forever in the setting, evening sun
Only they'd know what laid under covers
Secrets of pure passion in their blood did run

Their merriment presented bare in a playful dance
Two silhouettes engulfed in their own private universe
Kisses and embraces offered in a reciprocative trance
Dark lips matched the other's voiceless whispers

Two silhouettes then dissolved with the set of sun
Strained my eyes to unravel this sweet shadow clad mystery
Last few moments pierced through like a shot from a gun
Because I realised that one was you while the other wasn't...

                            me...
Cné Jan 2018
years ago
i was consumed
in the deep abyss of depression.
i had been there before
and had always managed
to dig my way out.
but this time i got lost
in a maze, each turn dragging me further
into Hell.

so many unresolved thoughts plagued
the chasm of my mind.
i wanted to die,
not to **** myself,
for i couldn't be that selfish
to hurt my family in that way.
but i prayed selfishly
to be put out of my misery.
a prayer i felt unanswered
for months on end.
i tried to hide
this darkness
from those closest to me,
isolating myself.

in a defense mechanism sarcastic tone,
i smirked to a friend
that all i really wanted
was peace.
she encouraged me to pray.
i responded honestly,
"i'm not sure prayer works for me
because i've lost faith."

as if God only answers to those with faith.
she told me
that i might need to see results to believe
but that i should
give it a shot anyway
and stick with it.
i brushed it off.

the next morning,
i woke up with my normal
(worse than normal, at that time)
negative thoughts, you're ****, fat, unworthy ...
(that's the censored, more kind version of my thoughts)
to which i argued in my head,
be kind.
silly i know.
then my friend's words resonated
"give it a shot."
so i quickly prayed a simple prayer for peace
in my mind, body and in my soul.
of course, i didn't feel any different at the time,
but i drug my heavy laden body out of bed.
forced myself to workout and went to work.

my first client that day was new to me.
hiding behind my work mask,
i presented myself professional
with my usual introduction.
she returned the favor
with a look of odd fascination.
so i continued with
"have i worked on you before?"
hoping i hadn't absentmindedly
not recognized a former client.
she responded "no, but you are Liz, right?"
i confirmed and proceeded to my room.
after scoping out the surroundings,
she commented on one of my paintings
on the wall, of an Angel.
it's an abstract.
some people don't see it.
then she asked ...
if i was a believer.
caught off guard
i responded "excuse me?"
she said, "do you believe in Jesus?"
not accusatory or even with aggression,
but a simple question, with dancing eyes.
i said, yes, more out of fear,
with my current frame of mind, at the time.
i was fragile and trying desperately
to hold it together.

i left her to ready herself for therapy
and took the opportunity
to regain my composure,
securing my guarded mask.
when i began therapy
she sighed and said
"i felt in my heart
that you were the right therapist for me,
because i can feel your kind heart."

i asked "did someone refer you to me?"
with suspicion, and narrowed eyes.  
she responded "no. Jesus gave me your name."
she told me how she relied heavily on prayer
and that brought her to see me.
i **** you not.
i brushed off her words
as any sane
(even in depression)
person would.

she was not easy to work
as a large body
that was hard as stone.
but my thoughts began to shift,
i swallowed an emotional lump in my throat.
in that moment, i realized,
i felt privileged to be working on her,
for her to have sought me out
on a quest from Jesus, or so she believed.
a peace i'd never experienced before
washed over me, cleansed me, anointed me.
in that moment, i felt clean, light.

afterward she gave me a huge hug
with an exaggerated pause
and whispered in my ear,
that prayer was the only reason
she was alive.
it felt like no other hug i'd received before,
so tender, sweet and sincere.
so i asked myself
"was this a sign?"

from that day forward,
i found my way back.
navigating the maze.
it didn't happen all at once
but each step, each turn
lead me out of the abyss of darkness
and toward the light of harmony and peace.
and though, i still slip occasionally,
i recall that spiritual experience.
this happened. i don't consider myself and a religious person but i would say i am spiritual.  i don't share this experience often because had it not happened to me, i wouldn't believe it. i share it now in hopes that someone who is lost, isolated, hurt, in pain, and in the grips of darkness, might believe it possible to find their way out.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Breaking up is hard to do
       let's rise take it easy
       Waking- up don't be lazy
My morning glory spiritual stretch
Soothe me like a tranquilizer
His words are my pacifier
The shooting star sprinkling shot

Stars work dot to dot
They connect get rid of all
broken heart subjects
Soothe me star even if there
is nothing to do

We need to do something
Earth wind and fire just
knock-me-out
Don't lock me and throw away
the star key is it going to Key- West
 Daylight no broken light in my
        Star stuff- sight
Light to the dark twilight

Those zillions of stars my
eyes closed I suppose
Take another look lovely rose
The same spot share the good stuff
I saw the soothing words
Star pointed toes who knows
Even
or to out-win the odds?

Not the starry night
Going through something
It's been a hard day night
One star light years to fight
Breathe in and soothe me
It was up to me not to blind me
My cool spirit meditation table

The New York soothing menu
Rendezvous all talk but delicious
She is tough walking
The hardest avenue
The *Positive me
even if its the
broken up me that's the only me
No one can take his place to soothe me

French fondue it suits her another clue
Red White moody blues the statue
Do you all agree? Another feel good
shopping spree are the stars true
I cannot even say soothing-word
Your home is your oasis love stuff
                Venus

Sooth me star stuff no one to minus

The hard stuff is to better yourself
The feel-good smooth flowing
Even if you missed your star
You're the no star he's is always late
Soothe me star may be my fate
Cafe warm running lattte late

The forever flight hit so hard
  Got_  Thrown brick harder
They say remorse is the
poison of life
And divorce could be the best
change in someone's life

OH! Lord The new? Hard cushion/night

"The winding rough road see the light"
*It may be tough but make it good deed
Athletic Girly curve walk
The pep talk she had the tough birth
The Preppy he's training the puppy stuff
You don't have to be a star it doesn't matter

Who you are
Never get in the middle of a dare
Show the whole world you care
Puff the magic dragon
Harder side of logic is the mission
Been Moonstruck light flick
Both mouths a volcano

Hard star stuff ham and swiss hero
Exploring new stuff
Please take it from pointed star
beware?
She walks like she is hot stuff
Those color forms of love stuff
Things and stuff
Stuff and things

Walking through the end of
the exit
It a hard position of the angle
Tough to be single even more
to deal with lotsa stuff to be married
Being the first online
I am getting a handle on my stuff

Indie Pop like Ice Queen Pop
Going mainstream
She's Brook long stream
He's under the influence
She doesn't nearly have
the up to par patience
Gifts of curiosity

Adjusting to reality
Hard life too much focus
On our happiness
He's coming home
breadwinner of money
Just one loaf of
bread she blossoms
Disavows humanity

The harder the words
How it challenges our sanity

Dark crayon hard stuff
Heavy_Rough__Tough
Wild Hawaii Say Hi to all our
blissfully but soothing hearts
She is like a hard sandpaper
He is so cool reading his
worldly carefree life

He is inside the newspaper
Big Ben London guard
How mindset like Hallmark card
Too much Holiday Turkey going
****** tunes when there is I tunes
So powerless word hard ingenious
Be thankful for what you have
But feeling too much
of the dry spell that rain fall
Going to that heavenly gifted secret
Like an Elephant, you are

the tough one the smart one magnet
No-one is perfect to be the
brilliant one
The star way of the fantasy
Nothing fancy doesn't make you jump
Presidential Trump Roger Rabbit
My lucky tower rabbit foot
Between a hard rock meets her sexuality

Having bad luck long shot solitude
Hallucinations all dark things hurt
My imagination world is sometimes
belly overstuffed Santa Claus
I love the hard candy bitter- sweet metal
Who gets the Metals and honors
The Terminators better leaders

PJ-Clarkes Princeton NJ
Superman Clark Kents
We need more therapy events
Princeton pancakes no remakes
And tons of maple syrup
***** Tonk women at the rodeo
Her horse lucky hoof sooth me

Stars real stuff
New York City roof ruff ruff
A hard rock and critters
And then you wake
back to the hard stuff

Soothe your pain the goodness of the rain
Hard life or its way too easy what is truly better I know my moods change in this hell of a gun weather. Let's keep our spirit high and heal our minds to get better don't you want a better life or something in the middle of the road make sure you don't kiss deeply inside of a hard binding book of the fairy tale. You are worth so much more than kissing a toad but we are talking about the hard stuff please go easy on me
Wyatt Jul 2018
Shoot off a warning shot,
wait to see if I'll hit the floor.
Don't tempt me with a good time,
death's been what I adore.
Life's got no more color,
what's the point for me now?
I know the truth, but I live a lie.
Pull the trigger, pull the trigger
if you've got enough nerve to point it.
I'm not afraid to go, afraid to go.
Ever since I was a kid
I had a death wish
so shoot off a warning shot
and wait to see if I'll hit the floor.
Take a step into my life,
but don't forget to close the door.
Life's got no more color,
what's the point for me now?
I'm living, yeah I'm living
but best believe I'm not alive.
You shot off a warning shot,
but now you better aim
for the heart or the head.
Flip a coin, flip a coin,
neither will hurt any less.
Now I'm well aware of you today,
take your aim and fire when I say.
I'm not afraid to go, take your shot.
James Floss Aug 2018
Rim shoot
Overshot on the
Carousel of time

802,702 A.B.C.
Time Safari Inc.
Jumping multiverses

Check. And check.
Could’t happen here…
President Deutscher?

We've stepped off the path
Time to jump back on and
Reclaim our future
King Panda Oct 2015
we are monsters
from the boutique to the
embroidered throw pillows the
pen dashed around the neck
stage 5 bone cut
sawing ossification to the
hollow core

we are monsters
hooting in tunnels lined
with bats coming out to feast
creation
to scrape the streets
shimmy the walls
bust the coffin and
succckk

we are monsters
who can't enter under the
doorframe
fearful of being burned by
the sun silver stake
rat poison holy water sickle
and windmill ash

we are monsters
sewed stapled dead meat
skin hair plugs ceramic
teeth tested and tasted by
rats

we are monsters
jumping high over white
fences frenzied explosion
running through corn
angrily bled in a field shot and
hunted like embarrassing
waterfowl in the jaws of
mammalia

we are monsters
of flaming brilliance flashing
in your inbox
read us and gnaw
braised
roasted
grilled limbs
watch
as we watch you
be scared and
stab
I promise we don't die.
Kimberley Jan 2018
4"2 with the voice of an angel
he couldn't be more than ten
the only thing he ever stole was the hearts of those around him

a week later,
his body drains of blood
a mother's cry echoes around the town
her innocent baby
why'd they **** her innocent baby?
he was only nine.

a mother's cry echoes around the world
her baby's gone
blood drains from his body
one shot to the head
several to the torso
why'd they **** her baby?
he was only coming from school.

a shaken up officer stands to the left
Caucasian and worried
a grieving community to the right
African-American and terrified

straight A's and a bright future at seventeen
a future no-one could foresee
both labeled thugs
at 9 and 17

why?
because of the skin they keep.
Cné Feb 2018
I just had a shot
Of Pappy Van Winkle neat
Smooth with a good burn
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Hanging on to each day, trying to sustain,
as a spider on a web hanging by a thread.
Weaving our way through time and pain
left to hang by lovers, life and death.

Making my way through life;
strength and power of spirit take their leave.
“Be brave, chin up”, all clichés borne out of ignorance…
what do they know of me?  

Each must travel this journey on our own terms.
No flack jackets to spare us from hearts shot through by pain,
no maps to guide our way.
We stand; alone, vulnerable and lost.

Where is the one to guide me on the right path
through showers of pain and cobwebs that bind?
Let me see through this to a future of love and life.
Let me see you.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Weeping Zaire, her Bleeding Flannel blew
Over the Land this Serenity bequeath
What happened, then, to the Children you knew
Took out their Armites; And shot Mercy beneath
Salt from their Riches they greatly export
And infected your Brothers in the Dark
With Mums, Flesh-Spermed Tales of Horror consort
Lost all but their Shelled Samples in the Park
Our Dear Hands sprout! And cry to Heaven's Name
Asking the Saviour when this Madness ends
As the Radio's Red Tape is all just the same,
All just Light-Shows; But very few Amends.
These Congo Apes weep black at the Event
Not just the Brother; But Habitat meant.
Logan Robertson Apr 2017
My little deer
Is that you
peeking between the trees
peering at the stag
but your heart's
still not at ease
... time ago
a short time
a stray cupid's arrow
shot the night air
splitting your spirit in two
frightened you took off
from the foreboding
hiding in a lea
there was sun
and cloudless skies
but not really
as your insides
raged
in a storm
in a hourglass
with sand pebbles fighting
to heal
for the best
now as you peer
between the trees
of salvation
do you hear
birds singing near a brook
... songs sung
so beautiful
in concerto
with the chipmunks, *****, crickets
then, as you take
that step forward
so lion hearted
peering
between those
branches
of redemption
my little deer
are there rays
of sunshine
peeking back

LR-4/23/17
This poem I write with passion, mainly because the deer personifies all the women in my life that walked away.
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
She's spent all the rent on
cigarettes and cider,
so pull out your **** and put
it inside her.
No need to bring your polished game,
for this one's a **** and that
is her name.
In her **** or up her ***.
The choice is yours,
where d'ya wanna ***?
Say "You ******' ****, get down on all fours, 'cause this is how I **** little ******!
Impale her on your hardened stick and explode inside her, creamy and thick.
Bangin' her *******,
it used to be tight.
It's not anymore,
it gets wider each night.
Then when you're done,
wipe the rest up her back,
letting her know most got
shot up her crack.
Next week she'll be suckin',
an appetizer before ******'
This **** she don't care,
for a TGirl with red hair.

*******
Poetry by Kaydee.
Just a creative imagination, I guess.
;)
Knit Personality Dec 2018
Give me a shot of eggnog!
    A shot of nog I beg!
Give me a shot of eggnog!
    The nog that's made of egg!
Give me a shot of eggnog!
    Or better yet—a keg!
Give me a keg of eggnog!
    And let me **** your leg!


Pitch Hiker Jul 2018
The rain felt beautiful.
The grass stuck to my body itched
But I secretly miss that feeling
On any sunny day
I feel meaning in the way the field slants
Its always done that
The white paint has faded away
I love it when it stains my fingertips
Every shot leaves a tail of water
And the rippling sound of the ball sliding down the net
The way that the rain falls on me
Feels beautiful
Literally washing away my worries
As I never feel truly tired
As if every drop was distracting me
From my physical state
This makes me feel strong
pitch black god8 Apr 2018
”good night, good travels, pitch black”

depending on how one counts,
cause size matters,
do have I
one small blessing


though little do I get, more-less,
in each twenty four measuring cup,
when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling,
lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation,
it’s less than sixty seconds till
dispatched to where all poems
plead like unborn angels for
good parentage

the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed
with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side,
preceded by, a single solid smacking of
an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow,
then lost in pitch black galaxy travels
with other sleep-drunk little princes

instead of the wavering, singular word,
a traditional goodnight,
a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing,
undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title,

“good travels”

to places where ferment the aging words under
the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening,
names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes
zebra May 2016
i was looking at you
and thought it would be fun
to shoot you in the ***
and use a big gun

you shook your **** hips
and said do me in bed
you pursed your pretty lips
and said i like to be dead

how do you figure
i'll look good when i splatter
please pull the trigger
and watch my skull shatter

no not in the head
id rather shoot you in the belly
please, baby, i said
you know i love jelly

you prefer stench
to a hole in the skull
whats wrong with you
are you really that dull

ok lets compromise
a bullet in the ****
wow that will hurt
i will scream i will grunt

i'm getting the fits
i'm upset just a tad
i'll shoot off your ****
before i get mad

alright honey
let's make it fun
ill open my legs
you shoot the big gun

i shot her once
she ****** my ****
i did her again
she went into shock

i'm not dead yet
but i'm starting to fry
whew i am really wet
but when will i die

soon darlin
do you think you can ***
i'm tryin hard love
but i'm gettin pretty numb

i shot her and shot her
she spassed and she lurked
i cumed in her mouth
then she died when she ******

i kissed her good by
she was **** to die
i ****** her some more
and went to the shore

now she's dead
i'm in a bad mood
layen in bed
i'm starting to brood

two days later
i met someone new
she said i like guns
what about you?

i walked outside
i started to cry
she kissed my mouth
and said im ready to die

i fell on the ground
ready to scream
what a merry go round
what a ***** dream :)
PC classic Feb 2018
When the sky was full of hummingbirds
we shot them down
for a cheap buzz
and now our trees go into the night in silence.
jcl Apr 14
It was starting to snow as I entered Pere Lachaise cemetery. The few that had ventured in, were streaming out, as daylight faded, fast giving way to twilight, on this 1st of February night. I had 30 minutes of daylight left, to take the shots that I’d planned for all year.

I knew where I was going, having visited the cemetery in the summer, to scout locations for this moment. I walked up l’Avenue Principale towards Le Monument aux Morts and took the first right on l’Avenue des Puits. My pace quickened, not wanting to waste a single second, of the dying light.

I crossed path with the the last stragglers, most likely having paid homage to Chopin or Morrison. I was entering the oldest and most forested area of the cemetery. It sent a chill up my spine, not because of the cold February air, but because of the surreality of what was in front of me, a cobble stone path, lined with old trees, surrounded by an ocean of tombs, fading into the white and gray of a snowy afternoon.

I arrived at my location, the tomb of Heloise and Abelard. I set down my tripod and camera bag. I stopped to take it in. It was eerily beautiful, the snow slowly falling, lightly covering the tomb, the flowers, the love letters, laying around the plinth.

I was surprised at the number of single roses and love letters that were strewn in the yard, between the wrought iron fence, and the tomb. Even during the dead of winter, young women pilgrimaged to the tomb, leaving letters and prayers, hoping their love will last forever, in life and in death. Sadness overwhelmed me, as I felt the longing and pain of their and my,  unrequited loves.

I pulled out my camera, turned it on, double checking the battery indicator and exposure. I put the viewfinder to my eye, slowly pressed the shutter till I heard a beep, as the auto focus sharpened the view and my world became crystal clear. I zoomed in and out, composing my shot. I was too close for my lens. I picked up my tripod, turned around, and surveyed my work area.

I moved up the path, three tombs over, next to an old wide trunked chestnut tree, set my tripod and bag down, and recomposed my shot. The snowfall had intensified, to a heavy flurry. The snowflakes were thicker, fluffier, slowly drifting down like dandelion seeds. I was swimming in an ocean of white magical specks. Everything around me was dusted in ******, pure white powder.

I unfolded my tripod, mounted the camera to the head, and verified it was securely attached. I zoomed in and out till I composed my shot, stepping down the aperture and up the speed, till I achieved the dark, moody, feel I wanted. I pressed the shutter and captured the shot.

I was looking through the viewfinder when a woman stepped into my shot. For a split second, I was angry, then confused, then intrigued. I looked up, stepped back from my camera, to see and understand what was unfolding before me.

She was wearing a full-length white Lynx fur coat and cap, black leather gloves and boots. She was stunning, breathtaking. Was I hallucinating? Was she real? She hadn’t seen me, as I was behind her, catty corner, partially hidden by the chestnut tree.


She was holding something. I couldn’t quite see. I looked through the viewfinder, zoomed in on her. She held a single long stemmed blue rose in her left hand.  Instinctively, I pressed the shutter, captured the shot, the photo, the image, of this unworldly scene.

It was late, almost dark. What was she doing here? Was she praying, why, to whom, Heloise, Abelard, or both? She moved up to and placed her right hand on the protective wrought iron fence. I took a shot, then another. Then with her left hand, she gently threw the blue rose, time slowed, I pressed the shutter, never letting go, as the flower arched in the air and landed perfectly, on the plinth, at Heloise's side.

I released the shutter, still looking through the viewfinder. She placed her left hand on the wrought iron fence, bowed her head, just stood there, in the darkness, in the snowfall.

She pulled her right hand away from the wrought iron fence and wiped her eyes. Was she crying?

She slowly turned around. I pressed the shutter, held it down, for a continuous shot. I saw her face, her raven black hair, her incandescent blue eyes. Like a cannonball hitting me in the chest, I realized and recognized who she was. It was her, the woman from the metro.

She looked up, turned her head, and looked directly at me. I zoomed in, framed her face, continuously pressing the shutter. Her face expressionless, her eyes aglow. Had she seen me? I don’t know. She took a step, turned her head, and walked back up the cobble stone path, and faded into the night, into the falling snow.
laura Oct 2017
No I'm not jealous, you are
millenial me seeing green with that
type of money, I'd hit the cams
if I didnt look **** in my head at least
for a shot at that kind of money

maybe I should deal drugs instead?
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.

She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.

Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects  
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.

She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.

Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.

Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.

She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.

She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.  
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.

Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.

She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so?  I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was ***!
Still is.”

It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.

I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.

Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.

Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.

Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I can not attest,
watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.

Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
True stuff from an old guys past.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.

She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.

I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever  happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.

Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
Regardless of whatever height we reach
The fall is almost always inevitable...

and yet, we still continue to take our chances
We just tighten our very grips,
Shut our doubting eyes,
hold our labored breath,
and just savor the free fall
King Panda Sep 2017
I was not sick
and needed no

convalescence

no rebirth
or panning
view of

bloodscape

the black

gasp of dawn
it offered

never
drew

no sickness

no hospital
beds

or starched sheets

no goodbye
rain

or last shot
of whiskey

it unended

when the
sickness of

the mind
rolled in

with its fingers
shaped like a gun

and a trash bag
for my jewel

give me
no sickness


I begged

and robbers
there were three

beat me down and
left me like a

headless buck
John Stevens Apr 2017
A Gang of Guns was walking down the street
Looking for trouble, Someone to defeat.
The Guns saw a man who looked very loaded.  
One Gun shot him in the head. He was goaded.

"Please don't shoot me Gun. " the man had pleaded.
"I have a wife and kids. I am needed!"
"Dude" said the Gun when he found no money.
"You are a real loser. Ain't it funny?"

Got to get the Guns off the street.
Too many people dying, blown off their feet.

Note.  
2016— 781 killed
2017— 664 killed
2018 —555 killed.  CPD

Those who pull the triggers.
Need an appointment with the diggers.
Saw Chicago police saying we must get the Guns off the street.
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