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Jordan Hudson Mar 10
As your buried in my head
All you've said, nothing is left
Distant and far, reserved as you are
I am shook to see your reaction to me
But please just leave me be
But please do it peacefully
I don't want a war with no treaty
Especially one with you and
We just can't
Got what it takes, but the stakes are high
And a lake is ignored by me
Your reaction is like a storm
As I get hit by more
A door leads out as I fall to the floor
In a store of wild boars as I am tore
And your roar is silent but my core is tore
As I soar through this open door
I will never forget this time
As I say I'm fine but my mind
Is pulsing in pain, my brain
Has a stain as you are the stain
My pain came from your fame
And your the same as the rest now
As I just wait for another guest now
Never good enough, rough stuff
I bluff as they love, I just
Go and seek another
Sleek and slow lover
Critique and no other
I just love her
This one of my new favorites
Travis Green Dec 2018
Last night I cried myself to sleep thinking about you,
the ******* chemistry that we used to share over
the midnight campfire, our sleek bodies rising in passion
with each bursting flame, deep shifting fingers pressed
up against thick sheets, as our ankles and thighs
harmonized and smiled, glossy green eyes filled
with lust and immense thoughts.  Your soul was
calling out to me in the nighttime sky,
vibrant skin sifting inside timeless climaxes
and rewinds, shimmering lights and hypnotic
gleams, an ocean of water and poetry gliding on
booming beats.  The world began to sink inside
our romance, the horniness of our hot flesh sizzling
in sparking temptations, deep designs and glimmering
patterns.  And as our nations made music over earth’s
creation, brilliant escapes and captivating depths,
you were the magnificent star inside my kingdom,
the purest existence that could illuminate the fire
inside eyes.
esridersi Aug 2018
Beauty wears a short, black dress of olive silk skin.

    She lies poised on the couch, drained of her special sleep.

    Yet still, light pours His fingers down her figure, sleek and thin.

    The face of her dress smiles behind the glasses guarding her deep brown eyes.

    Beauty chose the slender sweet slits for her lips.
    They match the dips her hips outline on her gown.

    Her legs sit dainty off the side, but her flushed-red scarf wraps her cheeks,
And hides quietly in the back.

    She sleeps soundly dressed true black, with her small eyes cracked.
Matt Shaw Jun 2017
tendrils swirl from me and collapse
licks of flame lap, lazy at the ether
for now, i feel defeated
doused by the dream-killing waters of eden.

no law says my body will find its cove,
only its cure
i want to dock my vessel in your shore
the fine and smooth skin of your sands
feel the ecstasy of your thin blonde hair running over my face,
hold onto your hands.

******* in my sleek and emotional way
put pure desire in you, watch my fire in you
one weekend we'll have our earthly heaven
but for now,
i am a lonely boat.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!  

Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.

Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.

This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
Open your heart paint your dream.
Do it in the broad daylight,
it’s your colour scheme.  
If the twilight falls on your colour plate
before you’re done painting the noon,
keep drawing down the moon!

Breakthrough at the first light.
No sunrise is any bird’s sleeping pillow.
They are on their wings, out and tweeting,
singing on the past night’s dreamscene.

Any of the fair duo, the Sun or the Moon,
sleek sunny golden or the silver line,
neither one of those can you catch.
They know their science  
like you count your time.

You can set your mind any time,
pick any number to count your time,
but you won’t have the last one.
There isn’t one, the mind is spotless fine.
But if the solar-lunar duo can count the last:
ask them to stop the time.  

Be truthful as you speak.
Open the heart into your eloquent word.
Never think you are alone, you are
complete with the complete world!
J-J Johnson Jan 2018
It is Just...
... it’s just something about how her sleek black eyebrows meet her glittering brown eyes where her nose begins.
So beautiful...
shamamama Jan 27
"What's your birthstone?  
I don't know, Oh, I know--it's rock."

Black rocks baking in the sun
dot this beach
Like chocolate chips in the dough
They call to us
Come climb,
Come hop on us
Find treasures hidden behind and between
All our dark shadows,

Lying as still as stone
A large rock shape,
Oh, it's grayer
and duller,
and there's sand sprinkled on it,
And it's moving!
It's Living Rock,
The monk seal napping
from its morning meal.

Yes- we watch others walk right by him
caught in their words,
Unaware of the living amongst the rocks,
Living Rock doesn't care
His belly is full

Gray sleek shape
massaged by the wind
with feast in your belly,
So mighty tired!
You taste your sleep for days,
Clouds cover the day's starlight you seek,
Your body begs for light, and yet
Nobody can wake you from your slumber
Not even the high pitched voices
of children playing
nor the fishing lines in and out of the tide

What of your dreams
Oh Large Gray Rock
Do you dream of the ocean tossing
Fish  into your mouth?
Or of the warm sun coming
to bake your skin?

The salt water dances up your nostrils,
You lift your head in mild protest
Then let it rest on your
Ancient bed of coral and shell bones
My feet love to dig into your bed

No insomnia for you sea creatures,
Maybe I should count monk seals
Instead of sheep when I want to sleep,
Your body clock measures time
Not in days or hours
But in meals, in hunts
In fullness, in emptiness
Your sleep is well earned
My friend

We can learn from you.
You bask, dream,
Then awaken renewed
To taste your ocean again,
Rock, monk seal, ocean,  beach, renewal
Terry O'Leary Dec 2013
Ill-fated crowd neath foreign cloud: the Silent City braves
against a sudden sullen flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which washes stony structures clean with radiance that laves.

Deserted streets, once dense retreats, spin yarns of yesterday,
with  faded words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.

Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes...
They frame a frail forgotten tale,  in carved unwritten runes
with symbols hung like halos strung in lifeless, limp festoons.

The City’s blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues,
though churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise.

A church’s Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, windswept blown above the stones, a maiden’s blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow.

Stilled chapel chimes! Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won’t writhe to ring the carillons, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.

Stray footsteps swarm  through church no more (apostates that profane) -
their echoes in the nave ring thin, while chalice cups maintain
a taste of brine in altar wine decaying in the rain.


No face will come with jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, or beg lethean balm.


Six steeple towers, steel and stone, drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.

No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire
and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier -
abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir.

Coiled candle sticks! Their twisted wicks no longer 'lume the cracks
with dying flame in smoky swirl mid pendant pearls of wax,
since deference to innocence dissolved in melting tracks.

Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.

Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, across a cruel moraine
reflecting white a wisp of light in ebon beads of bane
which casts a crooked smile across a faceless window pane.

Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
haunt ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, with no one left to fete.

Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep... a clutch of clammy clouds.


No breath will come  'cross jagged tongue to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.



The castle clock, unwound, defrocks! Those peerless speechless spokes
unfurl the blight of reigning Night by spinning off her cloaks,
and flaunt the dun oblivion, her Baroness evokes.

Green trees gone dark, in palace parks, where children paused to play –
now voiceless things on phantom swings, like statues made of clay,
mark marbled tombs in graveyards groomed for grievers bent to pray.  

The sun-bleached bones of those who've flown lie scattered down the lanes
while other souls who hid in holes left bones with yellow stains
of plaintive tears (shed insincere, for no one felt the pains).

The terrors wrought by conscience fraught once stalked and lurked nearby
to rip the shrouds from  curtained clouds, frail fabrics on the sky –
now wraiths that scream in sleepless dreams no longer terrify.

And fog no longer leaks beyond the edge of doom’s café,
for when she trails her mourning veils, she fills the cabaret
with sallow smears of misty tears  in sheets of shallow gray.

Beyond the suburbs, farmers’ fields (where donkeys often brayed)
exhale a gust of barren dust where living seed once laid
and in the haze a scarecrow sways, impaled upon a *****.

A silo, still! Like hollowed quill, a ravished feather’s vane,
with traces of bespattered blood, once flowing through a vein.
The fruits of life, destroyed in strife... ’twas truly all in vain.


No souls will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
nor paint pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm –
they've seen, you see, life’s brevity, beneath a neutron bomb.


EPILOGUE

Beyond the Silent City’s walls, the victors laugh and play...
They’re celebrating PEACE ON EARTH, the devil’s sobriquet
for neutron radiation death in places far away.
Sam Vaghi Sep 2015
There are many unseen dragons that torment me in this life

There is a tiny dark creature
with a vicious forked tongue  
Who crawls behind my ear
and twists a barbed tail around my neck.
It whispers bitter words and
noxious notions that dissolve
my sense of self-
That make me believe
I am nothing
Unwanted
worthless,
Talentless
and pointless.


There is the sleek silver beast
Which laughs as
Sharp blooded claws and rapier teeth
cut and rip at my flesh
Guided by my own hand

There is the fiery flash
That ravages my mind to rage
And fight
And destroy those close to me
And the things I hold dear

There is the red heart eater
Who eyes glow brighter
As it steals the joy
And the pleasure
From the things I do
And from the magic moments in life

There is the grotesque malformed nightmare,
That drips sickly slime
And pumps putrid poison into the air
As it breathes heavily on me
And whittles away my will,
Drains all my energy
Until I can barely breathe
Or get out of bed

Then there is the great beast,
Of whom I only know eyes
Darker than the blackest night,
A despair that seeks the quickest end
That teaches my surrendering soul
To long for the final sleep
First draft
astrid Feb 8
I lay down
your creamy expanse
unto the marble surface,
as if milk made love with
the stars in the galaxies.

I write you out
as pleasant simmer
of pulverized charcoal
and bloated glycerine.

I splatter and spread
fine dusts of Carica
in temperate motion
to touch the sleek edges
of the vanilla branches
on your person.

I hold and dip
my feathery digit
amongst rose water
to grasp the flowers
that frames your face,
like light morganites
that hail from the west.

I cast you off
as the blue sea engulfs
the life from the waters
where life swims with
stable beginnings
and whirlwinds of stories.

I finish you
by letting molten pearls
lither your dark onyx orbs,
surrounded by your lakes of gelatinous almond,
like shooting comets
finding rest on land,
as lightning's faint and close
but never quite touch.

I made you
with intrinsic detail and rawness
to give you the life
that you may never have.
may these words show its own form of art.

090219; 07:29 --- revison due to incompleteness from original file
Afia Jul 2018
A shaft from the golden sun,
reclined peacefully in my lap.
The amber gleam reflected back,
and gently baked the solemn land.
An ardent whisper furnished the woods
with a viridescent scent that woke up the woods.
Silver songs of sleek streams,
chased the lullabies away;
gently.
Ancient tress cuddled the wind,
their leaves clapped in sheer bliss
The broken winged white eyed bulbul,
warbled hymns to lift the curse.
Scarlet tainted vintage letters resting in the rustic mailbox,
await your tender touch; while they chant for a past long gone.
But lily livered clouds,
they have turned your courage into a yellow illusion.
So now defy the toxic words and the errors you made,
A different person inside your skin, long ago, burned our hearts on the hateful flames.
I look for answers in Nature.
ryn Aug 2014
Sigh! It's so boring! Life's but a loop
Wish I could run with a circus troupe
Or maybe join a rock climbing group
Why doesn't 'coup' sound exactly like 'coop'
'Coop' rhymes with 'soup' which is 'coup' with an 'S'
I'm late, in hot soup! What a mess!

Work...work... Gotta get to work. I'm late
Aww man...did you really have to lock the gate??
Splendid, terrific, this is just great!
Who the heck puked on this floor made of slate

I'm out and it's pouring now. The rain will wash it away
Sht! It's pouring and I'm stranded, no brolly. Yay...!

Stranded...thank goodness I have music
Choose shuffle and then click
Through my plugs, stream out N'Sync
I know... I know... I know what you must think

I think I have to think of something
Take shelter for now is what I'm thinking

Or maybe I should call in sick
No...no... It's the last day of the week
A taxi! A taxi I should seek!

A taxi would quicken my pace
If I can get one in the first place
If only I hadn't sold... I still had my bike
My head wouldn't potentially be on a pike

Miss my bike, her knobby tyres, she was my Winona Ryder
Sensuous and sleek, my Yamaha with jet black fender
Ride a bike, must wear shoes. Much safer

Love my shoes, I own more than a dozen
Nails need trimm... Oh look! A ******* raven!

No... a crow... Well, some bird stranded like me
Can't fly on wet feathers seeking refuge under a tree

Wait a second! Where was I?
Oh nails! Trimming tonight, I must try
Clean fingernails, everyone likes
***! I'm still stranded! Yikes!

Brave the rain, walk briskly, no time to waste
Move quickly, go on...make haste!

Care not for getting wet
Go now! Ready...get set...
Awgh! Didn't zip up my bag
This just adds on to my lag

ZIPP!
TRIP!

Tripped over a stone
No one saw, luckily I'm alone!

Gee... I have 21 bags, perhaps too many for a guy
Must go jogging tonight, next week or maybe next July
Oh shoot, shoelace's undone...now I've got to tie
Text message in on my phone, volume set on high

Work just texted, asking so many questions
Among which - "Have you submitted last week's requisitions?"
Why do we text when we can talk
People don't meet anymore, on Facebook they rock

Hmm beginning to hate Facebook but I still do check
Woohoo! Found a coin by the grass verged track
Oh ten cents, well it's still money
I'll save it, it'll come in handy
Perfect! Now I'm wet
Because of the coin I tried to get

Hmm...where was I again?
Gosh my mind's like a derailed train
One of those days I guess I'll remain...
A...

          *
S CA  TTE  RB RA  I    N
And I'm still NOT AT WORK!!!! But at least I'm 10 cents richer!
matt d mattson Oct 2018
When it rains
I like to go running
In the cold dull November
In the late afternoon
When the sun is low
The fields and forrest are empty
And the whole world is inside
Pretending not to care


When it rains I imagine that I'm a fish
Sleek and wet and strong
Gliding through a cold wet world
I imagine that I'm the animal that I am
Without a pretense
Without an expectation beyond the physicality of the ambient conditions
I am an animal in the world
Surviving, breathing, being

I look at my damp slick hands
and the mist that comes from my heaving breath as I pump my legs, through the mud in the dim forest,
As I splash through the puddles and the streams,
And think to myself I'd swim the river itself if I had to.

When it rains
I imagine I'm the animal that I am
Running through the world unmoved
Strong and fierce and more alive
knowing that the world could **** me
If I laid down.

When it rains
The world doesn't care
It doesn't care even when it's sunny
But when it rains,
I remember

I'm the animal that I am
Running in the cold wet world
SelinaSharday Feb 2018
As quiet, sleek and sophisticated as they are.
Cats speak volumes
In meow tunes..to the nation of humans.
In the space they consume...
   Cats speaks..uniquely thank you's in cat chat hues..
Colored as  colorful as the rainbows...
loving to hide where nobody knows
Cats walk with confidences,, able to leap high over fences..
Able to hold their own.. able to freely roam..
A cat can cruise in packs..... or walk solo as a matter of fact.
They don't need man to tell them they are royal
you can see this in their stroll.
Deep down in their being.. so noble,, mankind is blessed to behold..

The animal kingdom fashioned purposefully..
Striking divinity blessing mankind usefully.
Needed generously..Well now if your
sharing space with a cat do it graciously.
Being gentle feline Angels..even when naughty enough to scold.
A cat has a unique role...Even with their pampered attitudes..
If your cats is giving you attitude and acting rude.
There's logic behind those actions and moods..
Get yourself on over to cats school and learn cats 101.
Figure out the madness causing this sadness.

Don't be a quitter.. never hit him/her...
Do no harm.. Or heavens bells will ring a alarm.
Know your attending heavenly royalty keep your blessings flowing.
Cats walk and move softly gently with grace...
Your blessed when a cats in your place.
Show them love..don't bring about disgrace.
Proverbs 12:10 A righteous man regards the life of his animal.
By HeavensRosePoet aka selinarose!
pets, animals life lessons..being kind to creatures of all kinds
SEYI KING Feb 2017
ARROW

I am as a slave
To an errand I cannot wave
Where I go,  I cannot say
But where I am, I cannot stay
There is a face behind this string
And even he I cannot see
But once he pulls, I obey
For then I am finally free

First they lay me down for years
Amongst steel that is sharp and thick
But then the day draws near
Bearing foes with stones and sticks
Though I am small, I am fast and sleek
I don't fray my path is strict
At first sight, I am nothing to fear
At first strike, I am a lot to bear

Without a doubt I bring despair
Often leave them deep in grouch
Pain I caused, beyond repair
I felt his rage by how he pouts
We both clinging to his life
See him fight with all his might
As he drips onto my head
I fade away at my journey's end


SEYI KING
Matt Shaw Jun 2017
tendrils swirl from me and collapse
licks of lazy flame lap at the ether
for now, i feel defeated
doused by the dream-killing waters of eden.

no law says my body will find its cove,
only its cure
i want to dock my vessel in your shore
the fine and smooth skin of your sands
feel the ecstasy of your thin blonde hair running over my face,
hold onto your hands.

*** you in my sleek and emotional way
put pure desire in you, watch my fire in you
one weekend we'll have our earthly heaven
but for now,
i am a lonely boat.
Kim Essary Aug 2018
The image of beauty is what our eyes see, however the arrainment of truth comes from within.
We can makeup our face and wear perfect attire,
At the end of the day it's a pure heart you desire.
The rose of so many colors  so beautiful to the eyes
As you reach down to touch  it,  beauty is it's disguise .
Covered down it's long sleek stem, sharp thorns await your touch.
Things and people of this world aren't always as they appear as you see the rose is to your touch.
As we read our children a fairytale , painting a picture as this,
Once upon a time, not long ago, was once or never to be.
Though we painted their eyes a picture of what we wanted them to see.
Our choice of reading how is it we make our choice, seemingly from the title , the cover of the book is most.
It's not until we go beyond what our eyes can see that we decide our interest in what we read. So you see , the rose of beautiful colors , the fairy tales of whats not will ever be , the book you judge by it's cover, until you look inside , beyond what your eyes can see, you never know the truth of the beauty from within .
©kimmied1105
Simple truth of the saying never judge a book by it's cover, the same message applies to everything
Laying around
about the dorm room
Bored
Looking for quick
Stupid cash
We came upon a listing
My roommate and I
in the local paper
Artist models needed
No experience necessary
That was key

The guy on the phone was chirpy
He lived
Close by in Oakland
He gave us directions to where
He would pick the two of us up
We
Would take the bus
He would be in a station wagon
Beige

He met us sure enough
Old
Old as the ******* sea
Formal suit and tie
Maybe a hat
We drove back to the apartment
And entered
First my roommate
And then myself

A ****** yellowed set of rooms
Where we will be heading to the right
To the kitchen
I’ve noticed the battered ***** *****
Mattress
Also
To the right
Stains and an attached clamp lamp
A single stark bulb

We were greeted by an even chirpier young lady
She was like a baby Joan Jett
All rocker black and leather
Sleek hair slicked back
She seemed somehow to like
really really old men

She took over and reached
for the plastic folder
She handed it to us
“You need to look at this before we go on
This is what we do”

Obediently, we cracked it open
and peered inside
Bent over we studied
Sticky plastic pages
Of brightly faced girls
Page
After
Page
Smiling with awkward innocence
No bright eyes nor youthful effanescance
No desire
Nothing wet
Except their palms with thoughts of escape
And 100 dollars

I only remember the girls whose makeup faded around the neck to betray
the true color of their flesh
Not flushed at all with sticky expectation
They left no impression in their nakedness
Ghosts
Shades
They should have been in class or doing something else

But our Joan!
Joan was a star.
Her photos were full of sass and delight
She was more than happy
to show you her ******
Over and over and over
She said
Actually
it’s a club
The guys pay a monthly fee
And they come here and shoot
In the apartment or maybe outside
They cannot touch.
There is no *******.
Mostly they shoot
Me.

Alone.
A Pixie Star.
This was were that old man’s money was.

I don’t remember what she told us
What she used to do before
this had to be a moment
A rather short moment
She would move along because
This kink was overstuffed with
impotence
and ineptitude.
Kink that might be easier to deal
With
On a properly lit stage
Or a quiet motel room with the shades drawn
Cash up front.

But for now
She was the enterprise.
And what would he do without her?
We three giggled and guffawed
in the little kitchenette.
We weren’t game for the arrangement.
She knew that.
But she liked to talk.
Men like that are pathetic.

Seriously why would we do this?
All those faces in the book!
Four on a page
Excitedly, we thought that we recognized
One or two
I know her!
Look I know her! I’ve seen her
in the Poli-Sci Building!
I’m sure we did not know any of them.

The mattress.
I could not fathom what happened on that thing.
I don’t want to know.
I had to look the other way as we left.
Did he perform
Abortions?
With hangers and kitchenware
Can ******* be that messy?
Just opening your legs?

We said goodbye to her!
She was wonderful.
She would sparkle forever.
Joan Jett!
Piling back into this hoarder’s
station wagon amongst
the musty boxes and newspapers
strewn all over the backseat with us
He drove
to the bus stop
A waste of his time
Disgruntled
Failure

He asked
How should this ad read
so that
this doesn’t happen again?
We offered no suggestions.
It had been fun
However idiotic.
I don’t remember
how long it was that
we kept our bus trip
secret.
Matt Shaw Jun 2017
what if the dusty taste of straw
could waft up the Appalachians and roll down
American highways
in a little red car?

what if the cute, expectant start! of a young dog
could be bundled up and tucked in the pocket,
and brought against the cheek,
for when times get rough?

what if there was an elixir to melt worlds (starting with the mind
then... trickling down to your heart)
and remind them to gaze in awe
at the fine twenty-something girl, sleek and blonde and so ****
long legs flashing, one from behind the other as she walks
coy little smile on her face
well i can only think of only two places in the world
that elixir exists, i've seen it

what if i saw you again?

what would i even *say...
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