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Austin Sessoms Sep 2012
you are the lit tip
of one cigarette pressed
against another
you are the reason
I burn
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
Hard light and star struck breath
Pinched corners filled with stifled cries
Rash rushed hands in tangled hair
Heart fought racing growing frenzied
Flashing lips tapping tripping touching
Pulling tearing rough handled love
Frantic touches in lost time
Stolen fevered passion crushed together
Harsh rasps gasping in ears of flushed faces
Tight hot lives against the wall
Pitched cries smothered and lost
Falling hands bunched against lush hips
Running lights lingering on glistening cheeks
Sultry lingering brushing back errant hairs
Hands snaking out while looking both ways
Lost in the traffic of people flowing by

cc030711
madameber Jul 13
i have lain here
for nights on end
trying to make sense of the stars

mama never did teach
me how to read
the patterns in the skies,
what reason did i have
to look up
when the fairy lights
we hung
were so pretty
if i wanted constellations
i could take a pen
and map out the spots
on my skin

mama never did teach
me how to dream,
what need could there be
when hers were already
big enough for
the both of us
to share
i could look up
and count the stars
in her night skies
and never worry about
my own

mama never did teach
me how to walk
tall, keep my back up
straight, with her chin
raised high she
looked right past
my crooked posture
and in to
her future,
i stood straight
in her visions,
it was all she needed
to see

i think she tried
i think she gave it
her best
i think she gave her
self better
and i’m still trying to make
sense of the stars
unsure of whose they are
anymore
King Panda Jun 2017
I could not accept you—star
incarnate, carved and swollen
in the trunk of a fustic—

*****-yellowed and preened—risen
and alive I strap my
saddle to your back. My heels
dig to the dark side of

a price yet to be paid—an eye
of a coursing, being scrubbed
into the spots of grain—heat
eaten by earth. Star set.
Star rise.
Star be

livid and leaven


whispers the cowboy
sitting in a lawn chair on the
front porch—his hat falling
off from crowning, bald-headed

tilt. space and all its wonders.
sara Jul 2018
I wipe marker off the board, and
I have a painful tendency of quickly growing bored.
I can't erase the ink-spots lingering
in high-up corners;
to spare the self-defeat, I teach myself how to ignore them.

Ignore the marks, and stains, and pains
pretend I'm wiped clean, all the same
with little left to lose or gain:
I leave them; growth is self-restraint.

Perfection is a non-existent notion,
so they say;
yet, unobtainability is all I can create.
For in my mind, these false ideals make tame desires stray,
and self-destructive pleasure is my antidote to pain.

I think I'm like a little plant
of stunted growth, just seeds to start,
my plantpot made from breaking hearts:
before I grow, I say I can't.
Before we accept something we must first wholeheartedly reject it.
/////
like England winning the world cup lol

////
Joking, I just use humor to mask my emotions x
Dead Rose One Jun 2015
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

rays reveal some bright,
some yellowed spots,
all a potent color palette

resting worry wearied eyes,
untroubled by the gentle fading light's illumination,
that soon will disappear and seal officially,
another week gone by

the lawn,
acting as an ceiling acoustic tile,
absorbing and reflecting
the varied din of disharmonious
natural sounds orchestrated,
an ever present reminder
     that true quiet
is not the absence of noise

I hear
the chill in the air,
insects debating vociferously
their Saturday evening plans,
the waves broom-swishing beach debris,
pretending to be young parents
putting away the children's toys for the eve

the birds speak in Babel multitudes of tongues,
chirps, whistles, clicks and clacks,
then going strangely silent as if all were
praying collectively the afternoon sabbath service,
with an intensity of the silent devotion

this moment, i cannot
well enough communicate,
this trump of light absolutes,
and animal maybes,
that are visually and aurally
presented  in a living surround sound screen,
Dolby, of course,
all a plot of
ease and gentility,
in toto,
sweet serenity

here to cease,
no more tinkering,
leave well enough,
plenty well enough
for Sally and Rebecca, who love the lushness best....

JUNE 2015
King Panda Mar 2017
Slightly, brightly
Amarillo heavens, whispered
Lather,
Lavender clouds, and your
Butterfly belly button
Soapy on the car hood. I
Cast my brain's map wide
And narrow.
I can't make time--one thousand
Years feels like one day; one heart--
A desert of sand while wind
Pushes in violet patterns.
those
Spots on your eyes
Never so warm--cinnamon.
And you know how I'd stir
Your coffee.
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
The blood loses its grip as the dreams of fire flow closer.
Alain’s face fills the gap my heart created with her dying breath.
I’ve lost hope more often than I’ve kept count.
Each moment slipped her away.
Every stranger’s touch faded the fresh memory of her breath upon my cheek.

Her heart was mine to the last moment.
Her blood pumped away wetting the field of battle.
I dreaded each day I woke knowing she was gone.
Time would not heal my wound.
It scarred and built numb spots of deadness.
It made it harder to feel.

I will see her.
I will touch her face in wonderment.
I will kiss the corners of her smile.
May the Mother help me.
Alain is waiting.
And I am looking for her.

cc2011
Hg Jun 2018
i keep on seeing stars
as freckles
on people's faces

i ask them ain't it cool
that you were born
with constellations?

but some have just as
many spots as
insecurities

they think they need
make up to cover up
their galaxies

like one person I know
looks like ice cream
that's been peppered

the dots on her arm
dawn from her grandma
who's a leopard

but she tells me that
she hates them
she calls them imperfections

cause back in school
kids mocked her for
her speckled complexion

some bully
named georgina
used to call her a giraffe

the boys joined in
and even then
her friends began to laugh

internalizing this
as a black hole
inside her mind

though heavenly
her body confidence
never aligned

then a tear streaked down her cheek
she immediately wiped
the meteor

i’d never seen her sad
didn't what to do
so I poked her

poked her face to show
my favorite star
below her eye

told her when we speak
it's like i'm talking
to the sky

and every time she blinks
that freckle vanishes
from sight

so every time she cries
a star goes missing
from the night

shame is taught
to many of us
at such an early age

comparing our looks
to everyone
as if we're made the same

girl you are spectacular
no matter of
heredity

your tears are shooting stars
made of cosmic ice
and chemistry

now i thought that that was clever
but saying that
was DUMB

cause as I'm seeing stars
she says she’s been
seeing someone

yeah Ice Cream's
got a boyfriend
right now he's just away

i should have seen
that coming from
a mile milky way

you wish upon a star
to find someone
that’s wishing too

one day
i’ll meet that one
when i stop wishing for you

i gotta say goodbye
this ain’t the time
this ain’t the space

it just ain't right
that every night
i still will see your face
©Hg
Randi G Dec 2014
You told me that you have
Over one million hair follicles
And I believe you.
I do.
But, if it’s okay, I’ve never counted
To one million before.
I heard it takes a really long time,
But after I count all of the spots
The hair grows out of you,
I want to count all your freckles
And connect them like constellations.
You’re just like the universe to me
And each freckle is a star.
There are lots of stars we can’t
See with the naked eye,
But I want to find those too.
If that’s okay.
I would be Concerned when you clicked your face,
Dotted with Spots hungry Mosquitoes bore
But why must you advertise such sad grace,
Your Promising Suave many Girls adore?
I told you to care for yourself once again
And preserve your Form from such Allergy
Lucky they found it Cute, and cried out: "Ben!
Come play with us. We won't find it Funny."
Don't Worry. They're Serious. Try to Believe
How your Charm treats you Special as you are
Look! Your Windows open. Ready to Give
That One Direction to your Guiding Star.
And this from him: Your Dad's Loving Light shine
Becomes the Best of YOU; His Heart in thine.
#benjdaley
B L Sep 2018
Devilish torment -- her body is my lament.
She crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar my "worst" ferments.
She feeds it as it rots, just to make its wine more bitter...
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum that my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
Its a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish, With a thirst that can't be quenched...
She finds the spots within me, that make even deities flinch.
Their knees crack and crumble, at its all-consuming "nothing"...
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

She, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit...
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
For the past few weeks I noticed Concern
The Fifth Crowned Angel whom I will call Great
For Reasons which my own Mind tried to Learn
And attempt to twist my Clock and my Fate
Soon found your String was cut and justly lost
Thinking one of my Dumb Spots was the Crime
Or perhaps, Prunes, which spent your Meal at cost
Left me with no Change to pay for my Time
Why not? Strangers-by-Instinct I advise
Since this Gadget sponsored the Miracle
Which the Good Solicitor-in-Disguise
Took my Guilty Plans to a Cubicle.
Whichever it was, my Brow genuflect
In Deepest Penance I earn your Respect.
#xlaurenrobsonx
King Panda Sep 2017
I pluck you a crocus
and all life becomes
a legend of the body

a torch-whipped storm
pastel in its fire
buries me in you

when I hand you the stem
a shake
and the yellow stamen

loses its dust

lady lady
forgets its bug
when I place the flower

in your vase

spots wiped black-less
insect no more
lady lady

the inspection of autumn
bulb-less growth
and a string of red

***** and betting its stripes

a tiny mound of dirt
obscured by rotting leaves

the last of you reaching for my hand
CK Baker Feb 13
Dry veins branch the dead gulch
cinder cone set on a marbled tan scape
fanning sands sketch, ephemeral
fossil plates fold under columns of gray

Mountain back steep at the crevasse
sinkhole spots form on parallel nine
sulfur pipe stems from molten ash
aching shrubs and crumbling spines

silt fields cover the foothills
swayback shed at the whipple tree barn
tumbledown shacks form the patchwork
from goat canyon ranch to big bison farm

Salt lake fractured with amber
sickle-bush cut at the bowline knot
half-moon traced by the viper
oxbow streams, and valley grot
T Sep 2018
Walking down the highway all alone....pouring rain.......the feel of loneliness and so much pain
Along she came driving down the road....the car breaks down ...so I wander over to see if I can help....lo and behold it was her as she steps from the car ....the rain it falls I put up my umbrella....to keep her dry
When a Strong gust of wind.....now that fails...I take hold of her ...she is shivering and wet .....we walk towards the house she starts to smile....and we both turn....that look in her eyes and the threatening skies....as I look at her she starts to cry......we both start to talk and at the same time.....baby everything is going to be ok......so as we continued to walk soaked to the bone .....painted smiles upon our faces.......all the pain it disappeared .......without any traces
# for it is our destiny
It was in my dream
CK Baker Apr 2017
willets cull the seawall
snappers rest on grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoon
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade

plovers dance and flutter
handrail frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from the high
noon sun

thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
the rust brown scars

elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above tentaciones

striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand

heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under dusk light cheroot

six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wear

rooster house for marlin
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
rise
on the
perfect
madera bay
Azurel Nov 2018
You used to tell me that beautiful things come from pain and adversity.
Like motherhood, unconditional love, and true stories.
As I stood in the middle of a room painted white,
Staring at the remains of rolling hills burned to black,
I saw you staring back at me.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Shining against your bones
Velvet black
You’ve changed
And changed and changed
Yet your love still remains
Burnt fields like black panther fur
Whiskers are the needles on a compass
Always pointing to the azure sky
You used to sing when I cried
Rolling your r’s over rrolling hills
A haunting melody startling black birds into the night
Feathered constellations against a sliver moon
And lips pressed to my salty cheeks

You told me that your favorite skin tone was chocolate,
As you laid out in the sun hoping to melt. “A quarter black” is what you say when you want to feel proud,
Even as you tell me stories of how your mother was called negrita,
The girl who stood too dark amongst the crowd.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Black like the broken wings of mothers before you
Who had hands with scars from cotton seeds
And blue veins like uprooted trees
Stretching all the way to their tired knees
Burnt fields like black panther fur
You criticize your aging beauty
Speaking in envy of the color gold
Like you are a broken bowl in need of kintsugi
Yet silver snakes still slither
Over the pebbled river beds of your black curls
Dripping down the small of your back
Until they reach the base of your ivory spine
Burnt fields like black panther fur
You criticize your aging beauty
Because you never thought
Cocoa lips and sun spots painted on sculpted clay that never cracks
Could ever look as stunning as it does on you

You told me that it is better to speak my truth then tell pretty lies.
So I told you mine and you cried,
And cried and cried.
But look where we are now,
Standing beside each other with the same eyes,
Just different reflections.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Tongue like a sword set ablaze
Tempered in pools of milk and honey
Blood red sun grazing the tops of your eyelids
Still reminiscent of those in old photographs
Where you saw the little girl you search for in me
Burnt fields like black panther fur
I am sorry I made you cry
But even when our backs are turned
We are still
Black birds singing in the dead of night
Free
Thank you mama for my broken wings.
Inspired by a photograph of a burnt field that I saw in an art gallery. For my mom.
AprilDawn Sep 2015
holiday
mid afternoon
late
summer sun
played
hide and peek
through sky high
leaf umbrellas
we all scrambled
past the picnic table
for the perfect light
to frame
that young face
just right
her smile
is never really
in the shade
we finally found  
some spots
that made the shots
and marked
another day
of family life
minus
you
in any frame
A labor day picnic , trying to move forward with loss, yet  the undertone of sadness  still  peeks around  everyday corners.
Chameleon Aug 2018
I threw that stupid bracelet out the drivers side window as I sat in the parking lot of the liquor store.
I was hoping that someone would come across it and not know it's history.
Maybe it would be found by someone happy, or a little kid who spots the beads spread out on the concrete.
Or maybe it would just get crushed by the tires of a car.
I went inside the store, bought what I came for... And then walked over and picked it up before driving away.
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