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zebra Feb 2017
all my life
ive only thought of one thing
YOU

you are why i got an education
why i tried so hard to make beautiful things with my hands
why i got dressed up
why i learned to sing
and dance

why i never stopped trying to make a living
why i always went to the gym
and worked out to be diamond hard
why i was polite or inconsolable
why i ran seven miles a day
why i tried to be charming
why i could never stop playing with myself
why i got through james joyce
why i learned
conversational hypnosis
neuro linguistics
magick
and
witch
craft

to invoke a spell
that would compel
YOU
to dance
the wiggle wiggle
naked
from hot rhythms
and slow melodic
sways
as i prayed
burning
blood red candles
during the darkest moon
for adorations
with endless masturbations
to your beautiful *** and feet
for tender red lipped mercies
kisses kisses kisses

because
you are beauty piqued
from your golden angelic head
soft silken hair
to your sweet pink arched feet
and twinkling painted toes
magnetized
to yank my eyes
and be your
**** boy *** toy
my goddess glitter ****
queen of heaven
all paradise any man needs

BUT
sometimes i couldn't have
YOU

and
it velvet crushed me
taught me hopelessness
broke my will
gave me fear
made me cry
and shiver inside
tore my heart to smithereens
twisted my in-nerds
like jagged metal
melting me
as i spiraled
down
into madness
all burning veins of fire
until inferiority dragged deep
suffocating me
shuddery
like
winters
midnight freeze
and howling winds
through
hollow desolations
marrow-less
bones
The mystifying howl is irksomely faint yet vividly heard,
Akin to orchestrated footsteps of the undetectable command
As the new dawn illuminates a smoldering fire beyond the horizon-
“A sign of human activity-but an awful omen to the warlord”
Legions called into action, and for every step they take, matter is drawn from the ether,
Waiting for the final caravan of conquest and conquer;
Do the militias now turn their swords into ploughshares to suffer?
When their enemies-without remorse-silently creep up on them in silence,
However the distant shuddery sound of their battle cry is harmless;
But is the shunned “death-valley” an inescapable companion anyway?
With strident herons flying high above the maze-like island…so forlorn!
These shameless war-warriors!
Heroes With-Out!
Villains With-In!
Unlike them-the countryman is truly so fortunate nonetheless;
He marvels at the innate splendor of the single showy tulip in the bucolic wilderness,
Although now the heathen intimidate his terrain amidst his recoil in resistance;

The characters of men and women under this impudent sentence
On the uniformity of fate, however gay were the earlier scenes…
This sense of the seasons and mortality-more tragic in great cities
With mortals forgetting it is superfluous to go in chase of nature’s thoughts;
She comes of her own free will in the passing shadows of the seasons!
The boastful soldier…
The learned doctor…
Footing out of the masses for the qualities they assume beyond the galaxies afar;
The qualities they assume are those that most men admire!
Their hypocrisy, bravery and ingenuity survives more
Even in times of turmoil and war-with satirized lies and rumors
“Giving praise to bloodshed?”
Since when has the sight of blood been a derisory affair?
What a horrific carnival of double standards of power;
No laughing matter!
Doubtless criticism-sinister in origin with a false swagger
Sharper now in the modest gestures preaching feminism
For if modern elegant ladies adorn their bravura torsos in red fashion
Why give acknowledgment to this same reddened “color of death!”

The new world is finally shedding off the aged navel scar
Releasing the “Mother-Principle” instinct to be mothered and to engender!
Are awakening sons of men along with their nations betokening universal grandeur?
These lions among ladies!
These foxes in the fight for freedom…
“The men of Marathon”
Ironists-commonly more “characters” than thinkers,
Irritated further by the hypocrisy than by the ideas of those they portray,
Blind to the verity that modern tolerance might seem to go further than that,
As vengeful souls vanquish and oppress their enemies by craft and deceit;
…if they thought it was a sin, they would not argue about such a mischievous plot.
Finally money has a power above
The stars and fate to manage love:
Whose arrows, Learned Poets hold,
That never miss, are tipped with Gold.
Proxii May 2016
Words etched across my skin like the pages of Your favored book.
Tell me who I am,
To You.
Gifts of sensations You give not belonging to this earthy Realm.
Tell me who You are,
To me

In this Darkness We are Free.
My toes inch over the edge and You take my hand.
Tell me that You ain't goin' nowhere.
I close my eyes and take a shuddery breath.

Like Magic there You are.
At the bottom now,
Calling my name.
Telling me who I am.
Telling me, to jump
To trust
You'll catch me.

When I jump,
when Fall and Shatter,
You with Your smooth voice and rough hands.
You Will mend me.
You'll guide me back to the Top
To do it all over Again.
gabrielle boltz Jun 2013
it is two o clock in the morning
and you are shaking in my arms
taking those shuddery butterfly breaths
that only accompany sobs -
my frame trembles with yours
because you are so much
heavier,
stronger than i,
and i cannot hold you still,
so i hold you gently instead
and hope you do not miss the
steadiness that i'll never have.

and when the earthquakes are over
we breathe with your head in my lap
and my feet on the dash,
fogging the windows with
silent understanding,
or a lack thereof.
running my fingers through your hair
i raise my foot to the windshield,
and draw tiny circles around the moon
with my big toe -
somehow it seems melancholy,
that moon.
big,
silver,
and emanating a sadness that i
altogether comprehend for a moment
with my fingers in your hair
and my toe on the chilled glass pane -

and with that shared sadness
came the realization as to why
the moon stays so far from the earth -
the moon has watched from the sky
as countless loves ended
from the beginning of time,
and so she knows better than
to get too close to anything
that might make her fall.

i giggle at the thought
of how even the moon
knows better than i do.
but regardless
i'll just sit here,
toeing circles around that moon,
taking guesses at what you are dreaming.
Reuben F Mar 2021
As dressed in paltry kinds of satin
Maya ambles through the corridors,
Carressed in faulty rinds of pattern
By her handled wooden shutter doors:

She chants with song along the matins
From my shruberry here... as afore,
Enchants the throng among and battens
On my shuddery cheer, evermore!
Anais Vionet Oct 30
Should I write a poem about Halloween,
full of psychological horrors and gruesome things?

Like deep romantic wounds getting infected,
herpe kisses or Donald Trump getting elected?

I could lean on shuddery tropes, like haunted houses
or more real world threats, like cutthroat spouses.

I could make you look up scary looking words, like Syncretism.

gasp What caused that creek in the floor?!
Who’s that banging on the door?

Is that blood on that rag?
Is there a body in that bag?
Is that your husband in drag!?

Relax, have fun, chill-out,
Oh, better get a bowl of candy out.

Happy Halloween!
.
.
Songs for this:
Monster Mash by Bobby "Boris" Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers
I Killed You by Tyler, The Creator
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/30/24:
Syncretism: combining different forms of belief or practice.
Travis Green Aug 2021
He smothered sultriness
Over my stunned skin
With his raw hands
Sparked hot verbs
In my world
Made me choke up
Feverish syllables
As he gave me a glowing gaze
Guiding me into his
Green-light clubhouse
Made me crazy high
In his fierce flight

He whirled me
Into a state of perpetual bliss
Kissed me avidly
Had my brain scattered
Riveting runs exploding
Out of my mouth
All shuddery, stuttering
Drugged up in his heightened love
My eyes large and spinning inside
Feeling flowery in his fiery frame
Anxious for him to take me
To the thrilling bridge
Of his horizonless desires

Make the façade I stand upon
Dance in jamming motion
The flashing red lights far off
Immersed in radiated ardor
The countryside a picturesque portrait
Of blooming dreams
The harbor in which my body
Swim within, drenched
In his moist metaphors
His slinky similes
My body bound to him
I couldn’t fathom
Being without him

— The End —