"shush" poems
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The Instigation:
Edmund Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”
I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“
<•>
*both of you shush!
there is no “better” in poetry
mine yours theirs, alive or not,
just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail
tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse
good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come
they get it
how we get there unimportant
get there
GET THERE
get there
that is the poetic
mission critical
no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace*
the common place
*where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,
a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest
successive
call my poems,
blessedly common!
that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
and
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better*
for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been
bettered
8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
A small clearing surrounded by trees,
Everything is bright and vibrant.
A crisp breeze blowing,
Swaying the grass.
The ground is covered by rocks
Of various shapes, colors, and sizes.
Bladed grass and ivy-like plants
Growing in the cracks of the stones.
A small white butterfly fluttering about,
So full of beauty and life:
Like the sweet-smelling flowers,
So simple with a fragrance of purity.
A soft breeze blows rustling the leaves,
Seeming to shush the world.
All is still, obeying the command,
And all around is at peace.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC
Why do people insist in the use of figurative language
I am not as blue as the sky (simile)
This sadness is not swallowing me whole (hyperbole)
My tears are not carving new paths down the skin covering my cheeks (imagery)
The frown I wear is not eating the happiness off my face (personification)
This feeling is not a storm that won’t subside (metaphor)
I am not softly shaking so someone stops to shush my sobs (alliteration)
You can’t hear the smashing of tears on the table (onomatopoeia)
There is no way to make this pain sound beautiful
I am sad, plain and simple.
Deal with it.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;
The Abyssimal Sea?
Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang. *
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and ***** wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'
Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!
*And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.* *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
*I am not a woman
No, not a man either
No flesh so keep shush
Crossing borderlines
Of love and hate
Through letters
Perfectly distorted
By motion of emotions
Spilling ink through papers
I am born free to wander
My body is a story
Of pain and pleasure
Slipping through time
Yet keep sailing away
From oblivion*
-I am a poem.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
"Shush now child, you lay your head down, go to sleep right on my chest. Bombs are ringing out the windows, rock us both to sleep or death. Feel the warmness, feel my smile, feel the trickle of my tears. Baby girl just know I love you, heaven’s gates are shining near."
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
Alexander of Macedonia this time
won’t U-turn from the might Gangaridai.
At the bubbling edge in the Indian subcontinent,
one would dare, taking his last plunge,
believing it here the proverbial Well of Life!
Yet Al Khwarizmi will discover the algebra,
drawing from ‘nothing,’ purely untouchable:
The Zero from the Indian pole.
Not a digit, not a number on its own, yet it’s all.
Every number jumps up in the zero loophole!
Then the whole number bows down into decimals,
escalating the hunts of the 1.618 golden ratios.
Plough through at your own pace
for the uncharted water, for ab-e-hayath.
Sip in a drop of elixir in this secured zone.
Sylhet is in the core, is written in stone.
What do these mean? I too wonder
down the line, I was intrigued by the Arab
and Indian tectonic plates’ slow dance.
Both rolled out, hugging each other
Then the Makkan soil lying at the heart of earth
gets exposed, with Sylhet’s soil it pairs up!
360 Sufi dynamos, mathematically a perfect circle,
find the match giving a perfect heads up
laid on the nine yard show the whole box of wax,
simply inking the vivo jump on the storylines.
What’s under the tectonic-rug at the bottom of the earth?
Shush softly, whisper—the heavens might hear it out!
Hold on to the least bit, it could be all one wants.
The earth, the ocean, all started with a drop of water!
Let alone any well, which way did this original matter,
the first, primeval drop of water stream down
Has this alleyway been exposed here, or in Paradise?
Then how can we say we don't have a secret for Paradise?
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
known to all that he had lost,
all that is valuable within him.
kneeling down in pure exhaust.
and now, cutting emotions in his world so dim.
shush the wind for its noise,
hear his heart wince in pain.
imagining their voice,
hear the cry of the rain.
at last, he showed the emotions.
turning his back on the facade he shows.
arguably the man showed no motions,
keeping the tears that continually flows.
etched in his heart is the still of mourning and grieving.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 10:32 PM UTC
*Some people will approach you. You will let them, and they will hurt you.
But here’s the twist: they won’t want to.
Their intentions are sweet and pure, like petals that drip in honey.
Flowers; but the kind that are covered in thorns.
But here’s the twist: they do not know they have thorns.
“Where are you!” they will cry, standing in the quiet café you would meet.
But they will not find you.
You hide, hearing their soft whimpers, and you think, “Oh, what should I do?”
But you see, you cannot tell them about their thorns.
You cannot say ‘you are unsafe for me’ without breaking their heart and yours with the truth, the crushing truth. For thorns only fall when a soul has grown enough, and theirs has not grown where yours has;
“Please speak to me! I don’t understand!”
and this is why they do not yet have the capacity to understand your silence.
You hide still, and you cover your ears, but oh, how painful it can be, when flowers are so stubborn!
“Shush”! you want to tell them, “Shush! You cannot yet hear the truth! Stop calling my name, I’ve little patience left! Do not hurt yourself, do not hurt me!”
The thorns that ***** the honey-kissed petals that fall.
Oh, how frustrating! -to hide from flowers who only wish to love, but have not yet learned how.
Oh, how sorrowful! -to see a hand bleed when you caress it, to be covered in thorns, and to not even know it!
Yes, how awful it is, to hurt another.
I will tell you something.
I have pricked the ones I love, when I only wanted to give,
and I have hurt flowers who all but withered away at my silence- whose souls had not grown where mine had.
So you see, I am both the flower and the Other, so I understand.
And so here it is, here is what I want to say:
Shush, flower. Stop calling their name. You cannot yet hear the truth. Do not look for it; for it will crush you. Do not hurt yourself, do not hurt them. Shush; the pain you seek to **** will not wane with force. Shush, flower, quiet your wants. Listen instead; listen to the lessons of the universe, grow. For only when you have grown will you be able to understand.
Shush, flower, and know, that one day you will sigh at the memory of your pain, and the thorns will have fallen from your body; and flower, oh flower,
you will be able to hold their hand.
*
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
to hold a photograph in my hand
and believe what is presented,
take is at it already is – why not?
if I close my mind’s shuttering eye,
will you be as candid as before?
unrestricted, unsorted from the hullaballoo,
you, freer than what is imagined, closing
in like a bullet from yesterday shot out
of the sky’s contrived clearing –
to hold a photograph in my hand
and tug closer by the mouth of the fringe
as if to pour water on a broken glass,
slithering now, a shadow of moon
at the very dull end of my cup;
you are closer than any rehearsed moment
ready to catch the inner canthus of the eye:
this relentless picture-passing, tense and
fervent, avid like bankiva to air,
water to chrysanthemum: behind thick shrub
of crepuscular, an arboreal locomotion
shatters loose, your frantic figure.
to hold a photograph in my hand
and size it down to the dimensions
of this home – there is potential in this
comparison: flaring out like smoke from
where it infinitely burns, I seek an ache
and hence place a finger to shush,
to hold this photograph in my hand
and confabulate a soft blow to the gut
and feel it realer than any dagger or berretta
held at one’s life-edge: this delusory intimation,
a slipshod work of feeling. to feel it rejoin
me somewhere I ought to be back again.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:48 AM UTC
Close your eyes
relax
breath deep and slow
as I with words
****** your aching form...
Feel my breath against your neck
no don't move
not yet
as my lips graze your skin
lightly dancing
in quick succession of kisses
between your
shoulder blades as you shiver.
My finger tips trace your spine
feeling every
delicious movement
as you arch backward tilting your head
I bite slow
your upturned chin
feeling your sigh upon me soft.
My hands with reversed finger tips
stroke your arms
tentatively touching your upper thighs...
Shush he's home
we will continue this soon...
To be continued.
Biting you
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
A POSEY OF SHEEP
She a butterfly
in her little blue dress
chasing butterflies
blowing bubbles after them.
Butterflies and bubbles
skitter here and there.
Her "flying flowers"
as she names them.
One b one by one she
picks wildflowers.
They blossom in her fist
losing more than she collects.
I take the ribbon from her hair
tie them tightly in place.
"I have a garden
in my hand!"
She runs and runs and runs
as only a little girl can
joy and speed
fused together in her.
And when she returns
her petals have all gone.
She holds only stalks
in her hand
flowerless flowers.
"Shhhhh!" I shush her sobbing.
"Look what you have found!"
And I let perspective
take a hand/
On each stalk now
a sheep replaces petals.
The sheep unaware that they
have become surreal flowers
only existing
at a certain angle.
Who cares if they are not real.
It's the seeing that matters.
She holds a posey
of sheep.
I tell her they are
flowers made of magic.
On the far away hillside
sheep still safely graze.
And when she moves and
finds them "GONE!"
I reposition her and
there they are.
"Hold still!" I tell her
and pick each sheep
pocket them
mind them for her.
Happy once again she
runs and runs and runs
clutching her precious stalks
in a tiny hand.
All her imaginary sheep
tucked up in her mind
possibly for ever
if not
longer.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
oo put dis paintin on me walls
me gona find out eider way
me gona drive to niagra falls
to find out who ruined me walls
*rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******
ey ***** me say to me wife
dis be yor stupid paintin,
no steve it aint (read double life)
**** you dis be ugly anyways
sorry steve, shush *****
u no i turned reggae
me name aint steve anymor
call me steve one more time
and il shove a lawnmor up ur ***
its reggae mon not steve
*rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******
johny johny, "yes papa"?
did u put dis tin on me walls?
"no papa", telling alie?
"no papa", close your eyes
smack! dont put any tin
on me walls *******
sorry papa it wasn't me
shut up, smoke a splif *******
*rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******
hoo could ave put dis ting on me walls?
maby is me smoke me a splif
me will remember if me did it or not
but me out of rolling papers
and me left me ganga in me rig
*rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******
me left me rig at me work
me boss dont no ow to twerk
me boss tink she no ow to twerk
no wan wants to break da news
me just a shy island boy
still confused bout de paintin
*rip bing bing pop, ****** come in on line 1
no not extension 1, line 1, no wonder they call u
******
love reggae
love ganga
love art
love poetry
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
Ten black crows
in a red-budded
cottonwood tree
basking in the eerie
glow of the waning sun
bruised, livid sky
weighted air
waves shush, shush
on the receding tide
serenity reigns
but I can feel it
hovering offshore
a curled fist
wound tight
ready to strike
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
if every word i said could make you laugh i'd talk forever
the stereotypical lines don't work on your brilliance
your cold
my intellectual rain cloud
bringing me my favorite weather
not without the wet socks of course
it all hurts
the constant sunshine
my pale skin only wants your cumulonimbus touch
tracing my skin
your gentle raindrops
bring me to seattle
our future with no barriers
i rub my own back
replaying the memories in my head
my favorites
your regrets
i try to calm myself down
but only your shush will suppress the tears
only your sheetless bed will defeat the cold
only your presence will crowd the loneliness
i surrender
will i ever hit the bottom of this sad abyss?
can you pull me out?
i know you can
there i go again
answering my own questions
i'm not fixing anything
i'll just keep waiting
i'll just keep failing
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
Shasha: If you like then u should’ve put a ring on it.
Emily: A.) not the right song b.) not singing time yet C.) What’s your name?
Shasha:BUT I WANT TO SING !!! And I’m Natasha
Emily: Sorry about that folks I’m Emily. We are the Purple People Peepers
Shasha: Purple is the color peeping is the uhm.... Dollar??
Emily: Well who here knows about the smurfs?
Shasha: Smurfs??
Emily: Yup.
Audience hoots and hollers
Emily:Well sometimes if I embarrass Natasha enough she looks like a smurf.
ShaSha: You weren’t supposed to tell people.
Emily: Sorry.
ShaSha: Emily shush its my turn.
Emily: Well alright.
Shasha: We’re gonna be singing!
Emily: Yeah... What song?
Shasha: We Wish You A Merry Christmas!
Emily: (Gives Shasha a sarcastic look) And A Happy New Year?
Shasha: What song is that?
Emily: (Gives Shasha a confused look) Or, we can sing the song we planned on singing.
Shasha: (Smiling) Okay! (Turns and looks at Emily, very confused) What song is that?
Emily: I Want You Back by
Shasha: Cher Llyod!
Emily: No, The Jackson 5.
Shasha: The band?
Emily: (Gives her another sarcastic look) Yes, Natasha, the band. The group, Sweetie, The Jackson 5 is a group.
Shasha: I know, when are we gonna start singing?
Emily: Right now.
Shasha: Great! Who’s singing first?
Emily: I don’t know!!! How about Hermes??Maybe Jesus??
Shasha: \What does that have to do with the song?
Emily: Really? I hadn’t thought about that *sarcasticalIy
’
Shasha: Because you’re not smart like me. (smiles and points at herself proudly)
Emily: Yeah.....thats why.....
Shasha: Tehe
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
Bubble and pop
sweet baby darling
blow
blow me, *****
and bring up all the sweet candy corn you can find.
shush and shake sweet honey babe
shush me and taste the shore with the tip of your tongue
can you taste the salt, sugar?
do you feel the rush, daddy?
chew me up like a piece of pink chunky bubble gum
and store me behind your ear.
draw me some cotton candy to munch on
and paint yourself a rocking chair to sit and watch.
blow me, babe.
pin me up against the wall and down underneath you
let me be your pinup girl
pull my stockings up
and sit me down on your lap
give me smacks for bad behavior
and leave candy colored crimson smeared across my chin.
oh, sweet baby darling, don't you crave to swallow me whole?
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
Shush.. quiet down!
Do you poets ever go to sleep?
I believe It's all been said
And done before
Still you had to write your piece
But you are correct
Most of us forget
If I miss a single word
I'm eaten by regret
So here in my world
It's dark outside
One last post
And I'll say goodnight
Goodnight!
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 5:40 AM UTC
"No.
No you absolutely can not go to the store to buy some beer
you! you are too young
just stay inside and watch some TV
beer is for losers
no go and make your dad another G&T;
during the commercial break"
Feeling thirsty?
Want to be liked and respected?
want to be fun?
life of the party?
want to be swarmed by a slew of half naked vaginas with legs?
then get yourself a Bud
"Why can't you be happy with what you have?
you know we never had much growing up
and look at us now
a pair of reasonably comfortable adults
don't you want to be reasonably comfortable?
can't you just be yourself?"
Hey you! Yeah you!
what the hell are you just sitting there for?
It's a Friday night why aren't you out partying?
no invitation. **** Wait I know why -
What's that you are wearing?
you don't know!?
you need some Polo
and some Nike, just do it
throw in some brooks brothers
don't you want people to think better of you
don't be THAT guy in cargo shorts
unless you like ************ alone at night
and here's some Beats by Dre headphones
so you can hear us better
Now I no it's pricey, but don't you want to be happy?
we've got your happiness right here
and it will only cost you
your parents' credit card
"We just don't know what's wrong with you
why are you in such a rut?
get out of bed, go and do something
we got you what you asked for
why can't you be satisfied?
a lenovo 2 in 1?
what the hell is a Lenovo 2 in 1?
A laptop and a tablet?
Why?
Oh, you just have to have one
well I'm sorry, but money has been tight
maybe you should get a job
your birthday is right around the corner..."
Look at this cool guy
Look at how great his life is
you want this. We know you do
what you'll need is some more swag
just a little bit
and some cough syrup, expensive liquor and some ***
plus you'll want some *******
how else can you party this hard?
Maybe get a gun, or a knife
no. Definitely get a gun. A big one
that way nobody will say anything to **** your buzz
carry that big stick and walk tall cool dude
oh yeah, here's a secret for you
keep it to yourself alright?
women really like being treated like ****
we told them to
"What's that?
a gun? For what?
oh so now you're going to **** yourself?
well I'm sorry but we don't do that in this family
you'll just have to be ground into submission like everybody else
what makes you so special, huh?
why do you get to punch out early
shut up, keep your head down, do your job, buy some **** have a family
then get your kids started with all the **** you buy.
brand name baby clothes and such.
now be a good boy
and pay your taxes
but shush, the TV is on"
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
perpetuated indifference
freedom and fleas
cats in the trees
loving the grass and twigs
between my knees
and toes
and fragments
in my hair
my clothes
and on a day such as forever
I spoke to another
terribly,
not so good at words
with others
who say words back,
pretty little polka dotted
circles and nonsense
like who are you kidding?
Individuality is not a crime
though faking it is,
as if being unique is even unique
but another copy
of another
a thought already thought
shush up
kiss like a real person
not a slobbery
monstrous
adolescent,
but like a man who knows
or at least cares,
but not about the earth crusts on my skin
or the air in my finger nails
it's all me
and if they can't like it
can't love it
in any way
that can be considered love
or positive
in any form or shape or sound or purpose
then forget
to forget
because sometimes
one is ****** up
and enjoys
a little game
of brain bashing insecurity,
until that day when one becomes self-actualized
(oh please)
and then real forget and freedom may happen.
How boring.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
Matilda listens to make sure they’ve gone out knowing Mr Doozie the cat is licking his milk the slurping sound fills the now silent room but she has to be sure her aunt and uncle have gone she can’t allow Moses to come in by the backdoor until they’re long gone and in the town buying and selling their wares she places her hands on her head and closes her eyes to focus her listening to close out Mr Doozie’s sounds the saucer of milk being pushed across the floor the purring but she cannot hear them now cannot hear their voices can’t hear Auntie’s whines and Uncle’s bellows can’t smell Uncle’s pipe or the aroma of his farts or Auntie’s sour body odour and sniffs the air and puts one leg up on the chair and lets the skirt fall back revealing her fine thigh and underwear something for Moses to see and get excited about not that he needs any encouragement especially after the last time he came around when her aunt and uncle had gone off for the day to market on the old bus and Moses had sneaked in the back door his eyes peering around the door and she saying They’ve gone out you can come in and he did and while Mr Doozie sat on the end of the bed watching disinterestedly Moses had kissed her all over her body and after games of foreplay he’d entered her with subtleness and moved in a slow motion so that the bed only moved and rattled slightly and did not disturbed Mr Doozie and they had only just dressed and was letting Moses out the back door when Auntie came in the front door followed by Uncle with his arms laden with shopping and moaning about the prices and the shop girls and how there is no manners anymore and she feeling Moses’ ***** easing down her thigh and stood there with her innocent stare but this time Moses would need to be quicker as they had only gone to town and wouldn’t be long and if they returned earlier and caught her and Moses undressed and ******* with Mr Doozie sitting watching she doesn’t know what they’d say or do although knowing Uncle he’d chase off Moses with his walking stick and tan her hide until she cried and cried but Moses hasn’t come and she listens out hushing Mr Doozie with a shush shush and scratches her thigh and strains her ears was that him? She sighs opening her eyes sitting up looking towards the door waiting anticipating feeling the body’s urge the body’s need wanting Moses to come through the door and hurry with her up the stairs followed no doubt by Mr Doozie and quickly ********** and into her bed and setting aside the kissing and messing get on with the ******* but the door remains closed the room is almost silent apart from Mr Doozie’s licking and purring and the soft tick tocking of the grandfather clock and her heart thumping boom boom boom boom like a small drum all around the room and inside her head and she disappointed frustrated with no *** with Moses just a small empty bed.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
Allow me to be bold- brave prying eyes and bare all. Allow me to tamper with excommunication- to tempt ostracism- to tease trouble by talking of taboos... speaking of shushed subjects- oh, society's little secrets, the ones we're all willing to share. Allow me to expound on the lessons parents never wanted to teach- the lessons children are so eager to learn. The very act- the very word- that induces giggles, inspires poets, excites lovers, and makes or breaks "true bliss."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns." -V.N
*** a word constructed of three of the twenty-six letters that make the English language go round. On their own, quite harmless, but collectively- a jaw-dropping, blush-inspiring, shush-provoking combination. *** the ultimate caricature of love and all that is romantic- oh, just look at this tangle of thorns. Tangled- because we have turned the beauty into a beast- taken "the two will become one"- and rationalized- two will always be two- Not you, me or me, you. No, nothing bad can come of this.
*** used to make lies beautiful and truth obscured. Sold in society- the promoter of skin- condemned in the church- discouraged as sin. All the while, teenagers are toppling around- neck deep in lust- desperate to be loved- fumbling- tumbling into the open arms of the ultimate outlet. *** a shallow solution to a deeper problem- a gift given, unwrapped, re-wrapped, and given again. Allow me to attempt to untangle these thorns- when does making love become wrong?
When it makes heroes into harlots and turns the righteous into romantics- when it complicates the uncomplicated? When it manipulates insincerity to seem sincere- liberates itself from simple mathematics, why, the more the merrier, and forgets three's a crowd? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to be ridiculed- expose myself as a hypocrite and define: It is when *** is misconstrued as a mere act of "love" that it becomes a crime.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC
Wings
Folded
Pinned
Down
Fingers
On
Lips
Shush
Quiet
Sit
Down
Wings
Unfold
Angel
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
He tells me to hush,
be quiet, and hide
in his arms tonight.
There's no rush
as we lay side by side
in each others' arms tonight.
With only a shush
I watched as he cried
in my arms tonight.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:01 AM UTC