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Jeff Gaines Mar 2018
Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback.

Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!

                                Big, Biggest Love,

                                               Jeff Gaines
When I lived in my beautiful cottage by the river, the old house across the street had been converted into a "flophouse", much like what unscrupulous landlords do in the 5 boroughs of NYC. They take a studio and make it a 3 bedroom ... they take a two bedroom and make it a 5 and ... well, you get the picture. The owner of this home had done the same.

SO, being low rent for being crammed into such a small space with others, it attracted ne'er-do-well's and transients ... at best. One morning I awoke to sirens and such invading my normally quiet and peaceful, dead end street. Apparently, a guy had been stabbed to death in the flop house ...

A ****** in my quaint little fishing village?

NO!

But, it was all confirmed by one of the local Police Officers there that was also a pal of mine. He told me that one of the "flops" was actually renting the couch and that another 'tenant" had placed a beer in the fridge for his early morning shakes. When he awoke and found it missing, he saw one of the same brand beside the guy on the couch. Infuriated that the guy took his beer, he repeatedly plunged a 10-inch kitchen knife into the guy in his sleep ... The poor soul never woke up.

What was really sad, was that it all came out somehow that it was NOT his beer and that the stabber's beer had been drunk by the stabber's own female "house guest" while he was asleep. I'm guessing her shakes came earlier than his?

Somehow, I'm reminded here of the W.C. Fields quote:
"Ah, the evils of strong drink!"

Also during that time in my life, I had helped two "friends" that were really struggling ... who, in turn, had then stolen from me ... one opportunistically and the other refusing to pay a large debt after I bought him a used car to help get him back on his feet.

Those frustrating "lessons" and the poor soul on the couch became this piece in my often-hard-to-understand mind. I know that he didn't actually steal the beer, but the parable, as-it-were, remains.
Nigel Finn Oct 2018
I sometimes take words that were first used by others
(I'm About to admit I'm a bit of a crook)
Re-hash and re-use them, and make my own covers-
Stealing little known lines from an eloquent book.

I've stolen from Shakespeare, yanked words off of Yeats,
And pilfered from Plato and Brown;
I've probably swiped stuff off all of the greats,
And many of zero renown.

There's more to be heard in the wise words of Wilde
Or took from a Tennyson line
Or the thinking out loud of an inquisitive child,
Than could spill forth from this pen of mine.

So if I've stolen from you, and perchance have offended,
(Yes- I'm about to steal Shakespeare again)
Just think but this, and all is mended;
Nothing original came from my pen.

Which means that, eventually, all that I've ever done
Will be lost in the shadows of time,
Skipped over, or lost, and simply outdone
By your works original shine.
For the record- I do try and admit to my word thievery when I'm aware of it. So much of it's unconscious though, that I doubt I'll ever know of all the occassions I've done it.
Ilion gray Sep 2018
I remember

The way it was.

One June afternoon
everything in the universe broke.

I was walking down Bushwick ave.
into the hungry concrete;
Below
a Brooklyn Bound L train
slicing through
Earth;

myriads of strident rushing
town cars drifting
Over the streets
Of the patchwork
City;

I turned left down our old block
Madison ave.
nothing could prepare me
for the silent
pulseless
minutes that suffocate
everything breathing

There would be no sound
in the apartment tonight.

No other souls
wrapped in wanting skin.
In my life,
I loved you savagely...

                                        tonight
I'm going to be alone

the concrete has expanded since you left,

The blocks are longer than last summer;

The hours just pass.

what it took to get to the front door
From the corner
in fear of entering our house
After I've lost you.
I come home
where all these memories are stains;

Black streaks left by
Murdered cigarettes.

******* trash bags
full of empty Scotch whiskey bottles;
filled

With Guts,
Blood teeth and pounds of skin
miles of empty dry veins;
Like a river
that God fell into,
these waves of days
Rage

Sometimes I wish
I'd never felt the Sun;
its fingers burning my skin.

I will burn
from every memory of you.

The total emptiness of this space
where love was put to rest;

The emptiness just stares.

Stealing seconds from shallow pockets of years,
Stealing years,

From this shallow pocket

Of life
Prabhu Iyer Aug 2018
Can daybreak ever
bring darkness home?
The dried kohl is witness:
Aeons old, such a story
has been left behind,
unsaid, unsaid;


Does spring ever bring notice
of the coming fall?
Oh the rains sometimes
bring rumblings
of miffed skies -

Shoots that drop off stalks,
have not all
fallen for nothing,


Was the little window of dreams
illusory?
Laying my head down,
stealing my sleep?

Aeons old, is such a story
that has been left behind,
unsaid, unsaid;
Easily one of the best songs in a Hindi language film of the last decade, 'Ankahee' (Unsaid) is a masterpiece by lyricist Amitabh Bhattacharya:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DR0S-ocAmvo

Notes: Kohl is a dark powder used as eye makeup in the East. Masterful use to describe the kohl-lined eye of a female protagonist viewing the pathos-laden dawn.
multi sumus Aug 2018
Hand upon the
nape
   Sweetened
kisses are taken
  Derobing to reveal
thy beauty.

                        With throat grasped
                           Stealing the taste
                        from your lips
                           Stripping the
                        covering that hides
                        you
.

   Gentle your body
lain upon the pillow
silk and soft be
the binding.

   Marks of
rememberance
remain by subtle
suckings cascading
towards the basal.

                         By hands command
                          your form is cast
                          upon the floor
                         Bound that escape
                          be denied.

                         Nibbles
                        turn to bites leaving
                         soothing bruises as
                         descent is begun
                         unto the nethers
.

Whimpered whispers
echoe as your
suppleness
undulates in rythms
patterning the lappings

Quivering awaiting
such satiation.

                              Muffled screams
                              break the violent
                              silence as your
                               writhing body
                         calls to the lashings

                          In anticipation you
                             quake seeking a
                               reprieve
.

   And with each passing moment your taste grows sweeter still
   Enticing me with every ******

                   Pace quickens!
                    Air thickens!
                   Flesh stiffens!
           A last gasp and then
!...

                  INTERRUPTION

Tongue swirls and
tender kiss upon
the thigh, Soon my love
soon you will find
content and deep are
the sighs from within.

                              Skin swells from
                       the sting, Permission
                      has not been granted
                        for your release and
                         heavy is the breath
                          that escapes
.

And gazing upon
such a vision as the
candlelight refracts
within the salted beads
formed upon the skin.

Hand found nestled
enveloped by the
succulence, Softly
caressing now wetted
and warm.

                         And while savoring
                          your slavery sweat
                           pools beneath
                       reflecting the flames
                          throughout.

                   ­          Quick slip fingers
                            within, Beckoning
                             come hither as
                             thumb rubs firm
                             upon the shroud
                      while palm drips full
                            and overflows
.

The time is near
that your freedom
be found for now
loosened be your
desire.

                       It is now the offering
                              is demanded!
                        Present to me your
                          gift upon this altar
!

   Hands hastened as tips tickle bringing closer the moment
   Moans escalate to howls announcing your forthcoming
   And upon the pinnacle i sit awaiting your arrival

   Unable to contain with body bowed and exhaustive breath, A last cry and...

   Explosions unseen before as flesh trembles in ecstacy


               And i, i am found

Collecting your
essence that my
thirst be quenched.

                         Receiving the sweet
                              amrita as my
                                   libation
.

     And leaning to kiss the tears from your cheek i whisper
                "Once more?"
With a silent nod you agree...


Ahh My Dear, The night is still young, And this is merely the beginning of your pleasures
.
multi sumus   (act I)

Cne' (act II) https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2702803/lovelust-act-ii/

Cne'  love (act III)

multi sumus  **** (act III)
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2869242/****-act-iii/
Francie Lynch Aug 2018
She saw me again, looked my way,
But I wasn't in her eyes.
Yet, I see her everywhere,
Even when she's not there.
How would you handle this.
What does one call this.
If you were sitting as I,
Looking through the throng
Of family and others,
Sitting through the ceremony,
You too would feel the entropy
Of vines tightening on your tongue,
Like ice cream melting in your bowl.
She looked again, I see,
But didn't quite see me.
I will steal away. Steal away.
Jon York Nov 2018
I want to feel your breath
in a slow but speeding
up rhythm as I enter your
body, filling you with my
love.

I want to feel your skin and
the goosebumps on it as you
are reaching that peak of
pleasure and I feel the final  
movements of your your
body under mine which is
almost still.

I want to hold your hand as
you squeeze mine when you
are absolutely satisfied
because your body has told
you so.

I want to see you smile when
you, worn out from making
love to me are being carried
to the shower by me where...

the warmth will sooth us back
to life, warming me like sunlight
and soothing you like rain and
burning  us both with passion
and stealing away the pain.

                                                          ­                    Jon York   2018
Delia Darling Sep 2018
As I stand here, outside my work building
stealing a smoke break
I wonder about God and the universe
and how much happier it makes me feel
to believe in other things

That the sun was a running man
chasing the stars in that endless black
run man
run fast
run free
but freedom only gets you
slipping and sliding in circular leaps
around our earth, almost like
a clumsy mouse in a stationary wheel
and these sneaky stars
always one step ahead at sunrise
or at his heels in sunset

My mom’s a Catholic woman
she won’t believe in the running man
her stars are not stars, no
her stars are rosaries in purses and
priest’s words
taught words
holy words
but holy words are also
human words, are they not?
It never made sense to me
that a person could live their whole life
repenting it

But then again,
my dad used to have me work in our yard,
picking the weeds outside
and he let me treasure them in a vase
he never called them weeds,
they were always
dandy-flowers
wishing flowers
wildflowers
but wild only gets you
believing in the sun and
keeping shrubs in vases
All of which suit me, because

In the lonely nights of endless black,
I have the company of my own stars
and when holy words of weeds fall back
I remember that—
wild humans are only wildflowers
Just some random thoughts induced by an insignificant smoke break
Tea Dec 2013
He is that high, dazed and alive
When you spend hours stealing
Glimpses at the stars
Like keys wrapped around a promise
To free you from these bars
Limitations placed so certainly
On top of you on top of me
I seek my way out
Like a star gazer seeks understanding
I’m planning on playing my hand just right
Putting you next to me
King of hearts at my side
Or maybe you are a joker,
Either way put on your poker face
We have life and space, set no pace
Like untimed steps under
A fall to far

Sing to me a jazzy song
From a time that’s far,
Dance with me
Dance along, move your feet
Make no promise you can’t keep
Just feel it
It’s like freedom but on fire
Like trust without certainty
Acrobat without a wire
Like letting go
A grand release
Like fearlessness
A found voice to speak
Passions pushed blood to cheek
Blushing past shades of pink
Pull you in, close to me
Fearless in you and me
Just fearless
Vicki Kralapp Jun 2013
Love has come to find me in the dark,
    so tender on this summer's day.
Singing like the songbird and meadowlark,
    their song of love so sweet and oh so ***.
Glowing like fireflies at twilight,
    a beacon that's come to guide my way.
It came like a thief in the night,
    stealing this waiting heart away.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
mariamme Aug 2018
speak to me in your heart's voice
the words are your blood
your home, your first love;

the way the words come to life
in the rushing of breath against wind
voice stolen by the air,
mouths open into emptiness.

as bodies on the earth take root
their tongues shape the sounds
of their surrounding colors;

when home is turned to hate,
the air stealing voice and
replacing love with wounds

and bodies traverse the earth again
searching for safety, for a voice
to flow from the breath in their lungs

there is a cheapening of words;
tongues take the shape of fear
replacing the first love with a shade

still words, still voice but not the same.
displacement causes the tongue to take the shape of alien surroundings until the home inside the roof of your mouth, your first love and language, is pushed out into the emptiness and shrinks in favor of communication.
Sam Fickling Nov 2018
Is being bit
by a lion
in a bar
while drunk
& still
persisting,
stealing
a drink
to cover
the wound

(consider
standpoint
of the bold, that
poor adept)

Ignore
bad advice

ignore it.
You held my hart in your hand
and my soul in your mouth,
we watch the moon slip through the dark knight,
A lullaby of blood sticky labels,
reach for the sky,
reach for the sky,
No more dollars,
No more heists,
No more; No more,
Bonnie & Clyde.

Lord won't you save me,
for I've been running all my life,
I've been sinning,
I've been stealing,
and I know that that ain't right,
Lord won't you save me,
won't you teach me right from wrong,
I've been sinning,
I've been stealing,
Lord please take me home.

We sang to the pound of the engine,
you lay your head in my lap,
so sweet so simple,
You toyed with the coins in my pocket,
reach for the sky,
reach for the sky,
No more dollars,
No more heists,
No more; No more,
Bonnie & Clyde.

We danced to the backdrop of yellow fields,
splattered with red confetti,
Shook hands with the devil,
All dressed in rags,
reach for the sky,
reach for the sky,
No more dollars,
No more heists,
No more; No more,
Bonnie & Clyde.

Ten cops,
Camara and a smile,
Photo for a trophy,
V8 Ford full of holes,
reach for the sky,
reach for the sky,
No more dollars,
No more heists,
No more; No more,
Bonnie & Clyde.

Lord won't you save me,
for I've been running all my life, I've been singing,
I've been stealing,
And I know that that ain't right,
Lord won't you save me, 
won't you teach me right from wrong,
I've been sinning,
I've been stealing,
Lord please take me home.
Gospel song  sung by bonnie,
Bonnie's redemption prayer;
but it still all ends in bloodshed.
Francie Lynch Apr 2017
Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll  discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
So,
Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too
.
We all know them by name.
Emma Hill Mar 2017
Genderless with scraped knees and
A lipstick crush on one who bore the same name as me
Uncut brown hair untouched by bleach and
Stealing kisses from my best friend while my parents lied asleep
Lying in the grass with a picture book on faeries
Listening to the wind whistle through our dying trees
Jumping on the bed with my ***** and my bubby
Giggling hand over mouth when my mother called him "hubby"
Daisy chains and he loves me nots
Unbrushed teeth beginning to rot
***** shoes and ***** shoelaces
Visiting imagined places
Pink striped socks and a skirt to mismatch
Waiting for robins eggs to fall or to hatch

O, to be a child and to live within a dream
To lie awake at ten past eight, imagination like a stream
Logan Robertson Jul 2018
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***,
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.

Logan Robertson

7/25/2018
Marrisa Jul 2018
We are strong, correct me if I'm wrong.
We are a work of art with a loving heart.
But once we were pulled apart by those we trusted.
Yes, the same ones that were disgusted
by the mere mention of our names;
the ones who never shared the blame,
whose only aim was to bring us shame.
It was easy to see we did not belong,
to stay would just prolong the torment.
Still, here we are to represent the innocent.
We may have been fragile once, a little too nice..
but that does not justify the slices
staking claim to our bodies,
stealing the territory we took for granted.
There will always be lies planted inside our minds
that are growing into vines, suffocating us..
but it does not justify the inhumane pills taken
to ease the pain that can't help but remain.
The dreams that we dread and run from will come,
but they do not justify the bullet holes in our head,
our wishing to be dead.
There is a way, a reason to survive, to be strong.
But correct me if I'm wrong...
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