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Trevor Gates Jul 2013
The Obsidian Theater XV.



Welcome to my nightmare
Welcome to my show
The audience awaits your praise
And your stage light glow

My, my, it’s been too long.

[Walks across stage; light follows. Curtains pulled]

Where have all of you been?

[Audience laughter]

Oh, forgive me, that’s not the right question
To ask

Where have we been?

That’s more fitting


Where


Sipping Champagne with Bing Crosby among undead poets
With a casket made for two
“Brother can you spare a dime?”
He said,
“Lift me from this tribal paradigm.”

And

For many days I wandered the wilderness in the threads of
My carnivalesque grandfather
Ripping and tearing in the clinging trees
Hands of branches
Groping and pulling the garments off my body

In the middle of the Serbian wilderness was The Manor
Draped in dead trees and blackened ice

The valet stood at the gate in prime condition
Waiting

But for who?

“Why, you sir.” He told me, guiding me through the entrance, to the front door.

And inside were wonders to be held by the
muster of my weakened eyes

Ladybug dancers tossing their legs up to *****-tonk fanfare
Swirling magicians pulling rabbits and naked men from the shadows

Allegorical usurpers coated in a filmy residue of
Herzog dreams
And
Lynch fantasies

Perpetuated by my longing
My lost soul
My parched thirst
My growling stomach
My throbbing manhood
My forgotten affliction
And severed diction

A man slivering into the skin of a woman
A Lady donning the cowl of a man

Skins shivering with afterglow effects

And dreams woven by old witches with intestinal thread

It was eloquent darkness in the belly of the manor
Fit for a King of Devilish glamor

Brothers of Grimm
And
Sisters of Mercy

Told from the pages

From the books

Of frozen Gods
And forgotten Titans

These are the happenings of a great story
Fiction or not
You may tell it
And believe what you will

It doesn’t matter as long as it is strongly retold

From the lips of another

The wandering bard
Or
The pub crawling drunkard
To
The enamored *****
And
Bookworm report
It needs
To be shared
To others
Even impaired
To celebrate
Gasp
Giggle
Scare
Love
Soothe
Disrupt

My impeccable, capable
Hands-down sensational
Tour de force
Troupe
A la mode


Cherries on top of whipped screams and drinks
Juggling heads and animals over coals of fire
Give them a show
Give them a feat
Give them something to remember
Give them something to crawl back to
Give them a performance that will beckon the applause
For years to come
Show your audience
And readers love
And
Sorrow
The likes of which
Cannot be equaled
Or even compared to
Lesser
Congregations
Of silly-billy pud muffins
And their
Street-smart guff

Let the institution of your mind become a corporal being
Teasing and pleasing those eager and waiting eyes
Staring up at you with
Wanting
Drooling
Wanting
Begging
Wanting
Affections

Don’t you want to see a show worth seeing?

[Audience cheers; laughs and applauds]

Watch a movie worth seeing?

Read a book worth reading?

How do you come by this?

Create what you’ve always wanted to see, read, watch and say.

Those performers
Once peasants and beggars

Stood up from the grime and ridicule of the trash and rose above the
Plateau
To conquer their hearts

Look and see!

Those people balancing and singing with fluffy dogs
Magicians and warlocks summoning spirits to dance among stars
Poets on stage reading mixed words to nodding peers
Directors blocking actors on stage with unparalleled enthusiasm
All these creatures of the ubiquitous night
Gather and produce
The whim of their lives

But many of these masters
These

Unknowing

Are

The bus boys cleaning up after your meal
The mother alone at home with the kids
The unsociable man on the park bench
The frigid girl in the corner of the classroom
The nervous boy wandering the circus
The stern librarian in Brooklyn
The blogger in the studio apartment
The hard working abroad student on a farm
The homeless man cradling a dying dog
The celebrity chasing photographer
The undergraduate tutor
The ignored substitute teacher
The bullied Muslim student
The underprivileged south side coach
The Turkish cab driver


More and more

These warrior poets and victims to racial slurs
Commonwealth bigotry
Ghetto endorsements
Faulty criticisms

From hosting countries

And sheltered, over-privileged, disillusioned

Politicians

Bureaucrats

Religious figures

Dogs of War

Angels of retribution

Demons of industry

Ghosts of the hours and days past
To sympathize and cry for the world
Thrown into invisible and subtle chaos
Like an ocean littered with the blades of
Broken glass
The sludge toxic waste mixed in molten lava over craters of dead bodies
Or
The sand dust covering the thousands of bodies in the earth

So



What teams won the World Series?
Which movie star dates who?
What’s the latest trending diet?
What new pop sensation has been manufactured?
What new insult can talk show hosts say?
Is there someone new to blame for all the bad things in the world?

What are the things the media has told you?
And
The things it hasn’t?

It’s a
Bitter sweet symphony

A
Crucible for the faceless grins
Pointing fingers everywhere but themselves


Let’s leave the worries to our kids
I’m sure they’ll figure it out.
Allow me to thank my esteemed colleagues: Meryl Streep’s skeleton, Freddie Mercury’s ghost, Doc Hammer, George C. Scott, Doctor Emmett Brown, Marty McFly, Easter Eggs, internet message board administrators, Robert Redford, Aviator sunglasses, Don Cheadle, The Coen Brothers, the Dukes of Hazzard, Billy *** Thorton, Hammerfall, Saxon, Klaxons, Lou Reed, Spike Jonze, Michael Gondry, Guts, Son Goku, Tinkerball ***** force, the Die Nasties, The Iron Maidens, Judas Priestess, The Runaways
And many more I simply don’t have time to mention.

Now Get out of my theater.
Yenson Sep 2018
Listen to the slivering  paths of the Autumn breeze
The coming velvety skies drenched in ink reflecting silver stars
Wave goodbyes to the elusive flawed brown stone with pensive eyes
A heart will gasp years ahead for callousness past shown now in tears
Remember those golden sunsets for now woeful days are never azure
Watery eyes and wrinkled mask lament a time you could have shared
A King's ransom at your feet twined with an  honest heart assured

Hear the whisperings of the mockingbirds and muted cold choruses
Rainbow starlights betrays pots of gold hidden never to be found
Maidens dance retro and the harpist pluck for painters with brushes
By sunkissed shores blends of contrasts joyous in customary ponds
Smiles pure from honeyed caves same when as waxed spears plunges
Save me a place in the delights of Troy and tell Helen to send a sound
Bring me home to peace and love, rescue me from lions in golden cages




Copyright@LaurenceA.19thSept2018Allrightsreserved.
Melanie Apr 2014
Hand softly against your cheek.
Lips pressed to your ear.
The whisper drifts into your consciousness, almost inaudible.
It's a request. A wish. A desire. A quench for passion.
The words tickle your canal as they enter.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up tall.
The speaker does not own these words but rather they own you.
Captivating, filled with desire, a yearning, wanting more.
As they trickle in, you process the slivering snakelike progression of words that just met your ear.
"Kiss me."
The very word "kiss" can set you on fire.
There's something about the word.
The way it's sharp and bold in the beginning...
Yet...electrifying at the end.
It is drawn out, poetic, tongue tying.
If you close your eyes, you can almost envision getting lost in the letters.
First, there's the K.
That crisp, clean K that is proud yet does not boast.
That K cuts like a knife, no not a knife, a kite, it cuts like a kite, soaring high into the sky. Never planning on coming down.
Then, you've got the I.
It stands tall but it's shy and sandwiched in the middle.
It cowers from the past and even more fearful of what is to come.
It is elusive, slightly ****, coy, perhaps even unattainable.
Then you've got the electrifying, alliterative "ss."
Almost as if you're not ready for the word to end, holding, dare I say, clinging onto those last precious letters, dragging out every last sound.
Every last breath has come to this.
"Kiss."
It comes and then goes before you can say it.
Fearful of missing it.
You hang onto that "S" for it is the last thing that ties you to this.
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
Once you've said it, never stop saying it.
Kiss Kiss Kiss.
All good things, though, must go. Then the time comes to let it be.
So then you say,"Kiss me."
L T Winter Apr 2015
Quick-slivering gardens attune to faultering apples.
stand(ing) here alone in the dark
like a head of tack pirouetting away
  to no music - only acrid scruple
    of this being with and not being with,
     one is always alone.

  space occupies the potteries in
  the garden as a steady arm of light
  stills in its mouth, a flowering dark.
  it is only 3 o'clock in the morning
   and the heat clambers the wall of
   the vacuously atrabilious moment
  of just plainly existing. the slender
  harlequin of moon, like an old lover
  having its own way with me, a child's
  yelp coming home — the hermetic
  air crushing the light, slivering it
  revealing all the ensconced phantasms
  too commonplace like a fork in the road
that i know, or the wayward metropolitan
  that teems with a concatenation of roads
  and gutters bilious with the squall of day.

  a figure moves entering a warm miasma,
   receiving the star of aloneness,
    vacillating between
  place and         placelessness
   telling this originary of repossessing
       the moon with a hand in my hand,
   pressing a question of where
    have you been all the raging while.
sofolo Aug 2022
The way he held me
How his eyes sparked
When met with mine

My god it threw me
Into a hope
Consuming

But hope is tricky
And slippery
And devouring reason
Committing treason
For a season

Then returning
In the yearning
Of the glance
From a new boy
From a new romance

****.

Phases of the moon
Of the heart
A slivering slice of a crescent
The
Oh dear god
HOPE
Of a new start

LOL.

Just kidding
This new moon
And this new thing
Can’t be seen
In the dark of night
In my limited sight
Black-on-black
It’s all just the same ****
Right?

No way, baby!
Call it a maybe!
Call it a feather
In your hat
On your wing
Just fly into the horizon
Of the hope
Of this new thing

Until the arrow
Of the truth
Enters the marrow
Of your VIP booth
This is not cool
This is ruth…
Listen to me
You idiot
You fool

Remember boy one
Who held you
And flew too close to the sun
He burned you to ash
Then said “goodbye forever
I’m done”
Well, **** me up
That was fun

Then boy two
Who shoved you
Into the abyss
Wait...I’d be remiss
Not to mention
All of that ****** tension
Simmering
Steaming
Boiling
And Gleaming

Like the rays of the moon
Is she full yet?
Nah, it’s too soon
She’s still hiding
In the newness
Of nothing
Of black-on-black
Call me out
I lack a back
Bone to hold up
Any more hope

It’s all rotting now
In bed all day
Jotting down
Memories as if they will save me

Wow.


Okay.
Less saving
Instead
Evaporate me
Into the ether
Into the sun
Into the moon
The end seems far away
So I’ll just bide time
In my cocoon

Dreaming of the day
When she will bloom
Into her fullness
Picturesque
Over the crescent
Of a dune
Alicia Apr 2021
you sear me
a match burning slowly down to its tip
hands like thundershock on bare skin
caressing progressing movements
near grey eyes
goosebumps
shivering
slivering
sliding
grab me by my white cotton shirt
fistfuls of unspeakable passion
I fall deeply
serenity found
on your concrete chest
For my husband Thomas
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
called me in for a consultation,

lean in,” he suggested, with nearly closed eyes,

“see the youthful optimistic predecessor,
the conqueror, who could not be defeated,
his thin images within still resides

the man of firm voice who when he spoke
above the rabble, all fell silent, and when he looked,
all could share his visionary insights and did not hesitate,
saying, we will do and we will listen,
but to follow, just did, wrapped
in your confidence

I want that boy back, smooth skinned, fearless,
do not return him till the shadows have dissipated,
the bruised lines of worry have evaporated,
the hands look unscathed, then raise them in
self-supplication, demanding satisfaction,
then in success, born overhead, marking appreciation,

let us adventure forth, straightening tilting windmills,
punishing renegades and dragons fearful,
saving damsels who waited just for our arrival,
shedding courage upon those who watch us,
cheering and being cheerful

here is your mighty pen,
cut sharp the poems out from the within,
read them slow, winding to now crooked old friends,
who remember everything dear, their youth of no fear,
the best of past, dreaming poems, mist born, fog vapor gone,
of black and waiting white, worthy words all revived

return to me in blazes,
sumptuous colors of derring-do,
I need that child brave, for perhaps
you have not noticed my flaking slivering skin,
the expanding cracks that cross my images,
just like you!

I need you to rebirth you,
I need you to rebirth me!

8/16/19 reflections from a blue glacier
Francie Lynch Apr 2015
I am alone. I am.
The sounds are not naked
Scratchings from outside;
No soft paws scurry in the attic;
The floors beyond are tiled;
The stairs carpeted;
The hinges like cloth;
The curtains drawn against shade;
The phone doesn't ring to vacant voices;
Half-burnt candles would burn
In the whosh of a hallway.
And yet,
I hear you breathe,
Hear the rustle of sleeves;
A light slivering beneath the door.
And I am
Alone.
Patience Aug 2014
slivering smoke
sinking down my throat
sends satisfying shivers
up my spine.

lurking, living
spirals making me
alive with a lightheaded high
creeping behind
my glassy eyes.

your velvet finger's
soft trails linger
deeper than my skin
could let you touch.

it makes me want to save my breath;
to know your kiss
is waiting at the other end.

choices flowing at my feet
i find myself wandering
in a muddy river bend.

i could choose
to make you
my silent surrender
to my ending hunger
of the comfort
you provide.

or i could mess up again
just get addicted
to the way you smile
because of mine
and the way
you send shivers
up my spine.

spinning smoke
exhaled with a jolt
a cough, a sneeze
a retch, i feel
the weak need
to sit down.


*a.r.h
bitter winds bite
a desperate heart

as early darkness
unsheathes winter's
slivering moon

the perfect
celestial sickle
threatens to thresh
exposed digits

wayward trundlers
heaving bulky
sacks of woe

scutter down
the city's
darkest
side streets

making haste
to the only
lighted room
that still
welcomes them

cots boast
lumpy clots
of errant springs
and jagged hooks

grappling the lodger
atop a mattress
in bumpy knots of
institutional green

coughs and snores
cusses and laughter
sighs and tears
all ceaseless
prayers

some mumbled
some shouted
some thought
some roared
some farted
some cried
some sung

speaking mutely of
the weighty day

resenting new
hard memories

hoping for a
dreamless sleep


Friends Shelter
NYC
12/31/08
jbm

Music Selection: Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers: Moanin
unendurable, long and exhausting
are the pains
presumptuous like appeals
from a jaded pulpit
such as they are, are powerless
a passage from a discarded tract
such are these pernicious pains
that swarm in a slivering hiss
upon dark and lurking shadows
aesthetically applauding themselves
as they push here and there
in their wounding commentary
of painful narrative
agonising enough to reduce
the soul to debilitating bouts
of disagreeably damaging experience
with startling exaggerations
that produce disgraceful extortions
upon mind and body
squandering unbearable isolations
fragmenting the cracks
in a delicate structure of personality
uprooting it from a sanctified paradise
providing instead a monstrous, shameful loathing
that makes one choose to become another
other than those unthinking
other than this misery of anguish
other than this pain
deliberately to provoke an anger
the other with ingratiating timidity
or rebellious defiance
favours a rejection of
all resentful obligations
all that is distasteful
all that is not worth carrying out
such as with a contempt
that allows one to escape into an emptiness
of the ridiculous and the impossible
through thoughts to an absurdity of beliefs
through the deserted streets
the neighbourhoods of the lie
pass the filthy inadequacies
of obscene caresses
where one is mocked
by exquisitely satisfying ******
of vicious pains
pains that control behaviour
freedom of movement
time and space
who appear at the corners of the mouth
where lurk sarcastic secrets
now I know in these horrors and torments
that time has stopped in all dimensions
eternity has ceased
Melody Jan 2011
Slivering through the star-covered sky,
Crazing down at you in your sleep,
Telling it's story,
As it's supposed to go,
Hogging your fate,
Otherwise,
Sharing your destiny,
Like you don't exist completely,
Nobody knows your secrets,
But everyone knows your future,
Let the shining moon tell you your flying
Stars.
Jack Oct 2014
And the forest was silent again…

Splintering shadows creep slowly
across the overgrown footpath
frantic fingers slivering in sinister shapes

Slumbering moon beams cloaked,
abaft of a stately oaken veil,
a canopied thorn and branch woven tapestry

Wallowed whispers cling to cavernous winds
pushing chinaberry stalkers deep
under the cover of moss coated roots

When suddenly…

          Underbrush fantasies flourish
          behind vine wreathed curtains,
          on fallen leaf stages of assorted colors

          Foot light fireflies trim the edges
          in panoramic illuminations,
          flickering to tickle every fancy

          Fairies perform pirouettes on tippy toes
          Glistening wings flutter, shimmering to the
          melodic sounds of hedgehog harmonies

          As bullfrog baritones and spider web sopranos,
          sing the sweetest songs in the key of autumn
          bringing smiles to all of the creatures in attendance

When suddenly…

Far away on the eastern horizon
the faintest specklings of amber appear
slipping through the densest drapes

A great horned owl yawns and blinks,
gazing eyes follow the turning head
as he surveys another day in his life

Sounds of scurrying, bristled brush
echo through now glowing limbs
signaling the end of the evening

And the forest is silent again…
Just a little whimsy on a Thursday
unendurable, long and exhausting
are the pains
presumptuous in their plenty
such are these pernicious pains
that swarm in a slivering hiss
upon dark and lurking shadows
aesthetically applauding themselves
as they push here and there
in their wounding commentary
of painful narrative
agonising enough to reduce
the soul to debilitating bouts
of disagreeably damaging experience
with startling exaggerations
that produce disgraceful extortions
upon mind and body
squandering unbearable isolations
fragmenting the cracks
in a delicate structure of personality
uprooting it from a sanctified paradise
providing instead a monstrous, shameful loathing
that makes one choose to become another
other than those unthinking
other than this misery of anguish
other than this pain
deliberately to provoke an anger
the other with ingratiating timidity
or rebellious defiance
favouring a rejection of
all resentful obligations
all that is distasteful
all that is not worth carrying out
such as with a contempt
that allows one to escape into an emptiness
of the ridiculous and the impossible
through thoughts to an absurdity of beliefs
through the deserted streets
the neighbourhoods of the lie
pass the filthy inadequacies
of obscene caresses
where one is mocked
by exquisitely satisfying ******
of vicious pains
pains that control behaviour
freedom of movement
time and space
who appear at corners of the mouth
where lurk sarcastic secrets
now I know in these horrors and torments
that  time has stopped in all dimensions
eternity has ceased
NitaAnn Oct 2013
Death is a dark, cold, house full of malice.
Surrounded by a garden of dead flowers and trees with a deadly disease
With black leaves covering the hateful lawn.
It is the darkest place I've ever seen.
I hear things, snakes, spiders, slivering in the ground
I want to turn away but something keeps me tempted into this scene.
So I keep walking in the twisting darkness, a faint whisper of cold air blowing.
The leaves rustle beneath my feet, swirling in the wind and bleeding on my clothes.
The damp air has turned my tears to ice and the black memories of my past
are now drawn about my shoulders.
I close my eyes.
When I open my eyes I gasp in horror at what is before me in this house of loath.
The room is lightened with red broken hearts.
I am surrounded by bodies with empty eyes
the smell of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke is overwhelming.
It is too much to bear, but as I stare into the darkness,
I force myself to face the darkness inside myself.
I sink down to my knees and sob big, heart wrenching, horrible sobs that shake my entire body. I feel bile rising up into my throat and I ***** until my stomach is as empty as my heart and soul.
Eyes tired
Mouth dry
Heart beats
Death she cries
No emotion
No devotion
No creation
Dead inside
Sweet silent sleep
Awake no more
Bless her heart
Death she greets
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
I was supposed to marry you
Supposed to help you
Supposed to aid you, cure you,
Carry you
Instead I watch you from afar
Watch you through computer-screen sickness
Watch you through *****-madness
Watch you through whiskey-gladness
Watch you through oblivion's sadness
And while you falter in life but not me
I mend your clothes
I sell your merch
I feed your slaves
I feel your worth
All while you falter in life but not me
The years pass by
Like slivering scales
And I'm still in your palm
Tiny ***** limp with slavery's tails
It's only my reflection I fear
A reflection I fear when you're in the room
God-speed to all the times you are and were
God-speed to all those nickel-days
A lifetime of being invisible
You hold what I crave
Mirror image
You falter in life but not me
AC Brooks Feb 2011
In these days of past,
contemplation and unease have consumed my anxious mind.
My puzzled heart at the base of such reflection, stirs.
Confused, bewildered, bemused.
With the pain of the past slivering my hearts now thickened hide, aches to be held.
In your hands I wonder, can I let go of yesterday?
In your hands will my heart be kept?
In your eyes I see loves yearning for itself,
reflecting your caring heart and child like soul; in your eyes I see happiness, contentment.
In your eyes I see my loves love for me.
Still this befuddled being seeks loves reply to pains of past.
I look to you with hope filled eyes.
Your innocent smile, your love filled gaze.
With but a whisper from my loves lips,
loves promise.
Armor falls to flesh and my loves love sets me free.
In your hands my heart will always be.
Nathalie Mar 2018
i have not felt for some time now,
my barricading skills are better than i’d like to admit,
and i cannot remember the last time i stepped outside of them.
i misunderstand the difference between conquering, and suffering
because in one,
you win,
and in the other,
well,
it is easy to be swarmed with grief.
i wore grief like a badge.
but in both,
to conquer you must suffer first in order to know what you are fighting for.
i have yielded nothing but emptiness in my hands as others swung their daggers and swords
scraping my surface as prologue,
then finally slivering down to my bone as epilogue.
but my story is not over,
my barricades are crumbling stone by stone
and maybe my sun will shine again,
but i am a force to be reckoned with because queens will conquer,
and my legacy is just beginning.
midnight thoughts i just needed to write down after some triggering nightmares
Joseph Flores Jun 2018
Once we ran with freedom
Our hearts floating in the sky.
Love fell abundantly.
Drenching you and I.

Boom!
A selfish thunderburst...
Lightning on the scape.
Our love once bedewed...
Gone without a trace.

Sunshine can't conceal...
My swollen cirrius pain.
Nor the slicing breezes...
Slivering the rain.

Life devoid of nature.
Sunbeams lack the reach.
Indoors.
Life in a tiny cell.
Reinforced with steel.
Heavy dungeon door.
Bars made out of tears.

Melodramatic dreams.
Stir an exotic drink.
Making love on my cot.
Beside the stainless sink.

Life without parole.
Without your tender touch.
Love in the first degree.
Now I never see you much.
Will you visit me?

You are my lonely prison...
My emotional cocoon.
Your love a distant thunderburst...
Far beyond the moon.

You are the pin-up girl...
Pasted on my wall.
You are my prison warden...
Life's not fair at all.
Manonsi Oct 2013
I was born –
The horizon leaked me, a slivering line
Choking the azure, circling the Sun
Bleeding light

From his corner,
Colours poured forth: meat pink and red wine
From melted spectres. A solar-shunned
Final fight

I rejoiced
In the silence of it all – the glorious quiet
Of black void, of absence, of the dark
Dark night

Though angels voiced
To souls through holes, singing disquiet
Using stars as windows to mark
Constant sight,

I ignored the heavens.
With a slowly blinking eye
I, Night, moved above the sublunary
Displaying a Borealis here or there
Singing my silence in frosty airs
Living on shadows, breathing earth
I ignored the heavens.

My death arrived
With supple sparks of changing tones
In the fabric of my widowed veil
Sun woke up, made dust to bones
And sliced my sky with a fire sail

I disappeared, let him reign
Over and over and over again.
This is a favourite of mine. Won the school's poetry contest years ago.
Take wanting for, abandon – and then one will begin.
Who is approaching close enough to devise an entrapment
will not see image clearly: him, as he will offer you a face
and a hand to desolate – put a lacking so you can flinch,
and a hand to brace you from it. Prophesying that a body
and another body cannot be singular. To hypothesize
an effort as a sharp encounter. To be given the world
to know its limits when a border has been reached,
to slowly unravel a form and a shape from the scope
of its representative and bend a spoken dismissal precisely
to generate content. To take wanting for, abandon then,
so you can begin to reserve a function for the body to elope
with and thin into an arbitrary.
     So when you begin from an instruction, reshape a simulation
so your actual body could hold you in for your yearning –
to begin again, so you can abandon a want to remember how
slivering a house is when two cannot be one and does not admit
it so to be true – facing each morning delighted the walls
each moment when together  to untangle, meeting, surprised
that we have still become remainders.
maybella snow Jun 2013
gentle lines surround the lips
crows feet corner the eyes
sliver hairs over come fake dye
forehead dotted with sun spots

growing old
keep it that way
be proud that you made it
you got to get wrinkles
living didn't **** you
embrace your slivering hair
crows feet make your eyes stand out
sliver hair sparkles in the sun
sun spots show you have lived

you did it
you grew old!
C:
book mania Aug 2015
His hands were like snakes

slivering up my back

his voice was like ice

as  cold as it could get

his breath was like a bottle of whiskey

a sickling smell to the air

his eyes pierced into me

like i was his belonging

like i was a library book

like i was his pencil

like i was his girlfriend

i was never his to keep

i was his little puppet


i was his secret,a secret that died with him
cast death to who hears it most reverberating.

he hears it at noon, at sundown, at the
raising light of moon, half-mast set
glaringly through a pond of the word.
he hears it goad through the synagogue,
the pew, the assault of avian,
in the most chilling cold, in the ferocious
water of heat sinking ships to
their metallic deaths.
he heeds it now, fencing thick air
attended by the densest shadow,
he moves with it, its compelling invitation
from darkness to darkness, the faith
of contrition fizzles into the splintered hour,  moves with it, moved by it;
he writes, tottering animal of furious wording; the hill there yonder draped
by heavy cloud, rinsed by rain salting
its *******—

cast death to who feels it most sensuously.

he opens his eyes and darkness is infinite.
he opens the window and no light
lifts, awakens.
these juxtaposition of roads, the feasting
of the lamppost, feeding the wick with
infinitesimal flame, quickening the twinight, the courtyard, the amble of strange populace.
he words the earthenware, the figment of deepest abstract, says her name,
            Martina, he has her gone in
  the ashen hour, the wind that once blew
   spruced stillicide on the roof of this home has dithered away in the inexorable.
he squints to inconsolable brightness
     Martina sheds trembling in her
       eyes ready for ever now,
and then writes as time trickles from
   the ephemeral gush of spigot,
slivering the horizon by the unending stream of the familiar dawn, repeats its hymn, beheading the garden.

   he will not name the end of all,
   he will not count the hours dead
   wearing the hand like a glove,
  a word from stiff dark to flagrant one:
     cast death upon him who knows not.
Michael Hill Jun 2016
swiftly spinning speaking softly
singing shaking swirling shouting
so satisfying so spectacular
so sleepy so sluggish
swaying shriving slowing steady stopped
slowly slivering slipped supine
Evan Stephens Aug 2022
Coifs of lightning disentangle
under a black cloud lattice.

Thunder rustles to rude growl,
bracelets of leaf are trembling.

We're eastbound, hundreds of us
on this loosened buckle

of corrugated silver flash.
The rain attacks the window

in excoriating scrawls
slivering down into a sluice.

Red-shirted woman, run now,
over the yawning pool

that shivers with addition.
Blue-breasted runner, fly,

fly into clay-colored false dusk
that heaves with humid breath.

Escape from this wet hunger
that walks over us so indifferently.

We stumble nightward. Rain laces
our eyes shut. We're alone here.
bluevelvet Oct 2017
you
I remember that picture so clearly.
So why does it matter?
Why does anything matter?
Wouldn't it be great if you could just...
Cut your flesh and dig around to see what you're made of?
To feel the muscles and blood and tendons between your finger tips?
Or to take a bottle of pills and see the light before tasting the depressing feel of a stomach pumped?
Or to lay halfway out of an upside down, burning car? Near death and wishing for a sweet relief.

When do I get that sweet relief?

Without being a coward.

When do I find the one to let me touch the slivering of scales against my skin without being afraid?
To let my body be enough?
When do I get to laugh and carry on without caring about anyone else in the world?
I want to taste the freedom.
To feel it pull me in and cradle me like a soft child.
To tell me that I haven't been enough for others until this moment.
Where I am more than enough and so much more to look forward to.
When is it my turn to be enough for someone
that is so much more than enough
For me?
Loudly clanging came the overnight bell,
Sounding the alarm for all souls to report,
For all souls of goodwill and graciousness,
To conquer the beast that will roam the land.

The crowding of all in the ancient hall,
Located the hall near the ocean shore,
Where built of centuries and secrets untold,
To hear the plan now to conquer the beast.

Yet hours upon hours awaiting the crash,
The crash of blistering fire and hate combined,
Following the slivering, slinking rare beast,
Who will devastate all and **** what is living.

Now sound the alarm and run to each house,
Gathering those who are willing to fight,
Leaving the children and nursemaids behind,
Mounting a front of all fronts now to secure.

Boys give their youth and dreams put aside,
The ancient one coming now full of their pride,
A middle-age crisis they'll leave it this dark day,
In hopes that their union builds walls, not of clay.

At first, all the rumors spread lightly and fast,
The gossip in churches and streets as it spread,
In homes where the family sat silent and still,
While wondering if the sad rumors were true.

But now, gather weapons of mass destruction,
Pointed steadily along the ocean's west coast,
Firmly and fiercely all mounted and true,
For the beast, he is coming to **** and destroy.

Kiss your girlfriends and wives a passion goodbye,
Hold your children to heart and tell them to dream,
Of a better time where the light came softly above,
For the darkening sky will no doubt paint the clouds.

The time it's a killer and a friend be undone,
Either life will triumphant or miserly die,
For the beast doesn't care about anyone thing,
But spread sorrow and fear on a deadening day.
LTJK Jan 2020
shivering, aching,
bleeding words,
slivering, breaking,
realisation hurts.

times i've missed,
cut off tongues.
air as catalyst,
vacant lungs.
i still miss her,
too much,
too often.
Jeffrey Schmitz Dec 2019
From the outset I was cynical
perceiving he feigned dominical.
Deceiving, he reigned as principal
of the high school- ordained invincible.
Father Tully, tall with a big belly
flocked to the jocks
“hungry for their *****”
we potheads did mock
Evading his attention, we outfoxed.
He openly patted their *****
boys from all the classes.

I at sixteen once again in trouble
was sent to his office on the double
- his sacrosanct bubble
just for me and him - an unlikely couple.
He pretended kindness bluffing pardon
but intended vengeance stuffing a hard-on.
His simulating a comforting smile
was just guile churning his bile.
His arm around me in a faux embrace
peering up to his face seeking his grace
I realized this wasn’t my place.
His hand lewdly moved to my buttocks
his countenance drowned to a treacherous frown
his tongue slivering - a lecherous clown.
With his mouth agape
thinking an easy ****
but oddly lulled
that I was expelled.

Jeffrey Schmitz
True life anecdote as a poem.
Seeing — Unseeing
the words drift away
far into the current
of what’s left to say

Passing my cortex
far into the void
where blind recognition
awaits to destroy

Familiar or foreign
once stopped in their tracks
new meaning escapes
with no looking back

The Poet’s eyes squinting
as light filters out
transcendence recaptured
ascendance remounts

Through slivering darkness
a vision appears
and mocking the order
old images clear

Those words once discarded
reform juxtaposed
through eyes resurrected
— released from the flow

(Septa R5: July, 2024)
The sunshine dying to play sunny in California, always ages
The goddess left his side, thawing out in your cove of scenery
Everybody slivering on the grass being greener on the other side
I'm your vinyl on your pin following your peripheral cues on this sepia open sadness like shades
Its little fuchsia sunny on California, always ages
The goddess left his side, only olden beguilement and rooms
Dating your peeling sheen and debating your iceberg cold calls thawing out in your silken-skin
Everybody slivering on your silver linings charting out your bane for vanity

— The End —