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Kyle M Nov 2012
The Lion Tamer is Bold.
The Lion Tamer is Strong.
The Lion Tamer is Smart.
The Lion Tamer Is Courageous.
                  The Lion Tamer Trust Her Lion Even after been attacked from Lions Before.
The Lion Tamer Knows how to Calm her Lion when Hes In Roar.
The Lion Tamer Tames the Lion in Me.
Nik May 2016
Sometimes I sit and wonder about the past.
I reflect and let it affect my present- my future-
It makes me wonder if I can ever really put it past me.

Sometimes- most times- I sit and think about what you did to me.
I was never this angry until I met you, I had never lost my temper over the slightest of issues.
My anger was locked in a cage, like a lion in a den, away from all walks of life, because it was too ferocious
too loud, too dangerous to let loose.

You made me feel like a lion.

You made me feel like a lion, but told me I was a butterfly.
You were adding extra security to the cage while making me thinking you were trying your hardest to pry it open.
You forced me to believe that you, and only you, could ever love someone like me-
A lion- I mean butterfly.

I refer to you as my ex-girlfriend even though I can still feel your words caress my skin.
Even though every time I see a picture of you or hear your name my heart still skips a beat,
even though it still feels like I'm a lion, trapped in a cage, as if you still have a hold on me.

I still refer to you as an ex-girlfriend even though you never acted like it.
You told our friends that I was frail- too fragile to hold- too hard to love,
But before you, I was gorilla glass- protective and strong,
But you made me feel like a lion and told me I was a butterfly, so my default mode began to play second fiddle.

I don't think I want you back.
I'm starting to find happiness in others,
Solitude only comforts me when I can feel my anger- the lion within me, trying to break free from the cage.
I've met someone who tells me I'm a beautiful,
Someone who is trying to help me break free from the cage without tearing my claws off.
Who lets me know I am a lion, but I could be a butterfly, and that either or is okay.

I hope that whomever you decide is worthy to join the circus you've declared yourself the lion tamer of is strong enough to say no and walk away.
Thomas Conlan Aug 2017
Man, the mountain tamer.
Explains to the erupted how their cores can be corrupted. Disaster avoided he can rejoice, until he hears another voice. Afraid of how their emotional erosion may cause the Earth's explosion. Lost, not just their home, but themselves.

Man, the mountain tamer.
Sweetly shouts serenades to the mounds who seek aid. Blissfully bringing back the molten from back before they knew when. Lava they've learned to live through now erupting from within you. The heart's fatal eruption will be their world's destruction.
duncanwrite Jun 2015
Bluto, the world’s strongest man, could tear bread loaf-sized pieces off a steel-belted tractor tire with his bare hands.

But he could not lift a single smithereen of his sensitive Piscean heart when Lily, the luscious, leggy Leo trapeze artist, left him for steely-eyed Arien Karl, the literate and literary lion tamer.

Horoscopic Circus, Act II

She was a Cancer Dragon. Like catnip to the Piscean Tiger, whose feline DNA was his Achilles heel. Especially when she wore heels. And nylons. The end is nylon, he thought. I love you she said. I love you more he affirmed. And firm he soon became. Then being the ringmaster, she opened her mouth and incinerated him -- as only dragons can….
XXII. TO POSEIDON (7 lines)

(ll. 1-5) I begin to sing about Poseidon, the great god, mover of
the earth and fruitless sea, god of the deep who is also lord of
Helicon and wide Aegae.  A two-fold office the gods allotted you,
O Shaker of the Earth, to be a tamer of horses and a saviour of
ships!

(ll. 6-7) Hail, Poseidon, Holder of the Earth, dark-haired lord!
O blessed one, be kindly in heart and help those who voyage in
ships!
Wesley Teel Nov 2012
You're the leader in our circus.
She the lion tamer,
I the dancer.

At your call she sends the lions in action.
At your call, I let them come.
I take the attacks for foolish action-
I take it all for you.

We do this waltz of love and hate-
Life and death.
I stood in the ring to take them on.
The Lions and their Tamer.

I took them on as you watched us Tango.
Orchestrating the tension and the hate.
Pinning all on me for the sake of your show.
The Ring Master.
Tim Knight May 2015
Somebody put Kylie Minogue on
from the wall mounted touchscreen one-pound-a-go jukebox-
Coldplay would've been better, but I should be so lucky-
and the rising water in the Titanic's engine room of noise
rose to a First Class stateroom chatter and Kate Winslet
and the queue to the bar grew a little longer

and then
you
walked
in
like
a
Sunday
morning
walk,

one long stroll by a river edge or lake side,
through a Westfield, Bluewater Meadowhall
in one long rehearsed map move entrance
dodging standing drinkers and their plus ones in Zara trench coats and Boden shawls,
and you left a wake of wet forest and crumbling beachhead afternoons behind you as you
walked
on
through
the
crowd
to the pool table at the back where you watched
*** after ***
after pint
after ***
after we need more one pound coins to play more pool,
and you went out for **** though you don't smoke yourself
and you looked up into the mist because you're the kind that would find New York Stuart Little big:
mostly building, building, building, window, balcony, bridge, statue and Central Park trees,
and you walked back in with river eyes, your lids moving from cold back to behind-the-fridge, pub-room warm
and they watered a little, Pacific blue sliding over eternal black;
I think she's the kind that needs a lion tamer not an orchestra leader,
but I've only got Petit Filous muscles and I had four raw eggs this morning and I'm still not as strong as I’d like to be,
(put the baton down, Tim)
a River Phoenix younger Harrison Ford stasis, one train wreck ride to remember,
nowhere near the lion tamer you need.

Kylie sings for the fifteenth time in a row,
and the bar is past last orders though cash is pushed under for pints
and you disappeared under bar light
and then into the moonlight
and now I'm sat grieving
the Golden Retriever of The Nutshell
in Bury St Edmunds this evening.
FROM coffeeshoppoems.com
Sobriquet Jul 2017
Sphynx-like they move,
lions in the dark,
where they watch her
through hungy coals set in gaunt faces,
licking their chops for her bones.

But she is a lion tamer,
with no more bones to spare the unfed worries yowling in her peripheral,
and a tinder spark now lives where the dark once crept
to keep their hunger at bay.
Amy Perry Jan 2014
Twelve Olympians, to rule as they choose.
Twelve Olympians, we'll start with Zeus.
God of sky, thunder, lightning, law.
Ruled the Olympians with the justice he saw.
Commonly referred to as the Father.
Next is Poseidon, God of Water.
"A tamer of horses and a saviour of ships,"
Said in one of Homer's hymns.
Next is Hera, Queen of the Gods, and of women.
Giving mothers a carriage, and marriage to men.
Next is Demeter, Goddess of Harvest, giving fertility.
Hades captured her daughter, Persephone, and her virginity.
Then there's Athena, Goddess of Wisdom.
Lept out of Zeus' head, and earned her throne in the kingdom.
Apollo is next, God of Music, Poetry, Light.
Also capable of bringing plague and plight.
Artemis, Goddess of Moon and Hunt, and Apollo's twin.
Guided mothers through childbirth, a sacred ******.
Also, beloved Aphrodite, Goddess of Love.
Lover of Ares, who favored battles and blood.
Only Hephaestus and Aphrodite were wed.
Fire, metalwork, art of sculpture he led.
Also, there's Hermes, a god bringing word.
Among other things, guide to the Underworld.
Finally, there's Hesta, Goddess of the Hearth.
Feeding families and serving the home with warmth.
Twelve Olympians, to rule the sky.
Twelve Olympians, give your memory a try.
Pretty boring, giving educational poems a try. School House Rock, anyone?
tread Mar 2013
5 dollar bill curled like a tunnel
a ****** kicks a toonie kicks a dime
the tunnel is built into the mountain
of my Lonely Planet guidebook to
Barcelona.

the laptop cord slithers above like
a stiffly frozen waterfall. The world
is an okay place.
Raiven Everett Aug 2018
The worst enemies be of the Mind created moments before we silently sit and Ponder our own worth
As our doubts become our despair taking the form of a dragon setting for your destiny to be a fireball
of which we will never be indestructible
doubts make us crumble from inside
As walls begin to form like trenches
From that fireball we lose the drive which sets us to live
Blinding us to flame which holds our misery
Waiting for someone to drive us away from that pain
Never seeing the full potential of self
We become a dragons test dummy
Rather than the tamer
As once said by the one i held dear
We can be the tamer or the dead
The in between is the same feeling of wanting to be dead
So treat that as its own quest
In which you can't see what you have to lose
The sight being so cloudy as happiness drifts by
Open your eyes before the tides of your tears
Wash away all you hold dear
Open your eyes
The sight of happiness may appear
Open your eyes so you become the tamer
Open your eyes
To ride the dragons
To your new adventure
gabby dial Jul 2014
I'm pushing past the looks of disappointment on every ones face
I'm trying to find peace in this ruined place
secretly i'm insane
going through the same roles just to play this game
I have been locked away chained to the front porch with no escape
my demons come through out the day
they say hey
they make me play
I distort their images
because hands on me with faces like that
It makes me not able to breathe
but my demons, these lions they can see
the scars on my skin from the battles within
I am dissociated with this world
stuck on this front porch step.
Joe Satkowski Aug 2013
a planet of nothing in the middle of nowhere
material out of focus
spread the lines farther apart to see more clearly

all that i've ever said to you, to some degree i've meant
and most of what i've chosen not to share with you served a purpose at the time
this was one of the colder winters, anyway

all the radiators broke so we made weapons out of them
and fought amongst one another
so that we could say we tried
Sleepy Sigh Sep 2010
Her trembling hands hover above
The beast. Timidly, her fingers
Brush its hard scales. She presses
A gentle touch to black, then to
White, startled at the coldness and
The responsiveness. It is an animal
Eager to learn a new trick,
Friendly to a new master,
But more paralyzing than a tiger.
It cries to her touch, but does not
Move: it is a poised cobra faced
With a charmer's flute, following
The graceful press of fingertips.
Sounding softly, then louder - a
Cheerful creature is easily led
From its silent cage. Each lively
Cry is compounded now with a
Stronger press. With the force of
Two hands, she reveals its form completely.
Not one beast, but a hive of hundreds,
Each sinuously crawling around her
Wrist - sliding up her sleeves -
Into her ears. Her body rocks, pent
Up in a storm of acceptance.
Bobbing and rising, nearly sinking
She tames the beast. In her
Moment of victory, there is silence.
share, don't steal, blah blah blah

Ughhh, I actually dislike this A LOT.  I'm trying to figure out whether or not I should delete it. Bonus points if you can guess what "the beast" really is. (Though I wrote it so poorly, you probably can't.)
Daughter of Jove, relentless Power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort’ring hour
The Bad affright, afflict the Best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The Proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple Tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When first thy Sire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, designed,
To thee he gave the heav’nly Birth,
And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged Nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore:
What sorrow was, thou bad’st her know,
And from her own she learned to melt at others’ woe.

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleasing Folly’s idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer Friend, the flatt’ring Foe;
By vain Prosperity received,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed.

Wisdom in sable garb arrayed
Immersed in rapt’rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, silent maid
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemn steps attend:
Warm Charity, the gen’ral Friend,
With Justice, to herself severe,
And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

Oh, gently on thy Suppliant’s head,
Dread Goddess, lay thy chast’ning hand!
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Not circled with the vengeful Band
(As by the Impious thou art seen),
With thund’ring voice, and threat’ning mien,
With screaming Horror’s funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic Train be there
To soften, not to wound my heart.
The gen’rous spark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to scan,
What others are, to feel, and know myself a Man.
Devan Ducasse Apr 2017
You held me like never before
You wanted, needed my love
And I could tell

You threw me on top of you
Kissing like the world was about to end
It was new and exciting

Our lips don’t fit perfectly
But why would we care
It was only us in the world

You told me sweet nothings
And forced me to obliged
But I wasn’t going anywhere

You created electricity when you kissed down my neck
And made a sin when you whispered in my ear
But I loved it all

I threw you around like a dog to a bone
You forced orders on me like a tamer to a lion
And baby, I’m in love

I kiss down your neck
And I can feel every hair on me on its end
Waiting for the next move

I’m in love with your legs around me
And ours hips in sync
We didn’t even have to try

I’m in love with your soft skin
And the goosebumps I caused
****, you are so ****

And when you pulled closer
Feeling yourself about to hit
We kept going, never wanting it to end

When you pant beneath me
I hear chimes to our song
And its my new favourite song

You tell me ‘more’
And I can feel my body tremble
From the voice of *** you made

And when its all over
We fall back
Staring at each other

We both know the sins we just made
Two girls isn’t allowed
But thats what made it so much fun
Taylor Smith Apr 2014
I used to write down all my secrets
And put them in envelopes
I addressed them to
"The person who keeps everyone's secrets,
Please hold on to some of mine
Because I'm crushing under the weight that they hold"
But because I never met anyone like that
I just stuffed them away in my underwear drawer,
My sock drawer,
My supplies drawer,
My junk drawer,
But eventually I had so many secrets
I ran out of evelopes and ran out of places to hide them.

You kissed me the same day you told her you loved her
You held my hand when no one was looking
Yet you held her entire body as if you were the pedastool
And she was an idol
Her flawless skin
A reminder that I will never be
Flawless enough for you to want only me

It wasn't until all my secrets came flowing out
Cluttering my heart
That I realised I'm your only secret
Do I keep you up at night
They way you haunt my dreams
Afraid to fall asleep
For fear if I hear you say my name again
Ill fall even harder than before.
I doubt it...
Ive been here enough times to know that
I'm just another girl who's heart you keep in a jar on your night stand
Along with the rest of your collection
Yet I don't feel the need to self harm because these words are already sharp enough to cut me open
People always told me to fight for the ones that I love
And baby id fight for you
But there's no point in it if the competition has already won

My heart became the battle field
***** and bruised
So here I am
Admitting defeated
You may have destroyed my dignity
But I have won my respect
Im as fierce as a lioness
And I don't need to be tamed
I won't jump through anymore fiery hoops
Just in hope that one day you'll love me in return
I'm not gonna be another welcome mat on your front porch
Because you're not welcome to walk all over me
You're not welcome to leave behind the ***** particles of your ****** life and expect me to clean it up
You're not welcome to wear me down and then replace me with someone new
Because eventually i'll get used to sleeping alone
I'll manage to stay out of the coldest corners
While still filling up the bed
Every morning ill regain my strength over a cup of coffee
And I'll pick up my pen
I'll write about us
I'll write about how we weren't a tradedy
Just a season passed and a lesson learned
By the East River and the Bronx
boys sang, stripped to the waist,
along with the wheels, oil, leather and hammers.
Ninety thousand miners working silver from rock
and the children drawing stairways and perspectives.

But none of them slumbered,
none of them wished to be river,
none loved the vast leaves,
none the blue tongue of the shore.

By East River and the Queensboro
boys battled with Industry,
and Jews sold the river faun
the rose of circumcision
and the sky poured, through bridges and rooftops,
herds of bison driven by the wind.

But none would stop,
none of them longed to be cloud,
none searched for ferns
or the tambourine's yellow circuit.

When the moon sails out
pulleys will turn to trouble the sky;
a boundary of needles will fence in memory
and coffins will carry off those who don't work.

New York of mud,
New York of wire and death.
What angel lies hidden in your cheek?
What perfect voice will speak the truth of wheat?
Who the terrible dream of your stained anemones?

Not for a single moment, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
have I ceased to see your beard filled with butterflies,
nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the moon,
nor your thighs of ****** Apollo,
nor your voice like a column of ash;
ancient beautiful as the mist,
who moaned as a bird does
its *** pierced by a nedle.
Enemy of the satyr,
enemy of the vine
and lover of the body under rough cloth.

Not for a single moment, virile beauty
who in mountains of coal, billboards, railroads,
dreamed of being a river of slumbering like a river
with that comrade who would set in your breast
the small grief of an ignorant leopard.

Not for a single moment, Adam of blood, Male,
man alone on the sea, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
because on penthouse roofs,
and gathered together in bars,
emerging in squads from the sewers,
trembling between the legs of chauffeurs
or spinning on dance-floors of absinthe,
the maricas, Walt Whitman, point to you.

Him too! He's one! And they hurl themselves
at your beard luminous and chaste,
blonds from the north, blacks from the sands,
multitudes with howls and gestures,
like cats and like snakes
the maricas, Walt Whitman, maricas,
disordered with tears, flesh for the whip,
for the boot, or the tamer's bite.

Him too! He's one! Stained fingers
point to the shore of your dream,
when a friend eats your apple,
with its slight tang of petrol,
and the sun sings in the navels
of the boys at play beneath bridges.

But you never sough scratched eyes,
nor the darkest swamp where they drown the children,
nor the frozen saliva,
nor the curved wounds like a toad's belly
that maricas bear, in cars and on terraces,
while the moon whips them on terror's street-corners.

You sought a nakedness like a river.
Bull and dream taht would join the wheel to the seaweed,
father of  your agony, camellia of your death,
and moan in the flames of your hidden equator.

For it's right that a man not seek his delight
in the ****** jungle of approaching morning.
The sky has shores where life is avoided
and bodies that should not be echoed by dawn.

Agony, agony, dream, ferment and dream.
This is the world, my friend, agony, agony.
Bodies dissolve beneath city clocks,
war passes weeping with a million grey rats,
the rich give their darlings
little bright dying things,
and life is not noble, or sarcred, or good.

Man can, if he wishes, lead his desire
through a vein of coral or a heavenly ****.
Tomorrow loves will be stones and Time
a breeze that comes slumbering through the branches.

That's why I don't raise my voice, old Walt Whitman,
against the boy who inscribes
the name of a ******* his pillow,
nor the lad who dresses as a bride
in the shadow of the wardrobe,
nor the solitary men in clubs
who drink with disgust prostitution's waters,
nor against the men with the green glance
who love men and burn their lips in silence.
But yes, against you, city maricas,
of tumescent flesh and unclean thought.
Mothers of mud. Harpies. Unsleeping enemies
of Love  that bestows garlands of joy.

Against you forever, you who give boys
drops of foul death with bitter poison.
Against you forever,
Fairies of North America,
Párajos of Havana,
Jotos of Mexico,
Sarasas of Cádiz,
Apios of Seville,
Cancos of Madrid,
Floras of Alicante,
Adelaidas of Portugal.

Maricas of all the world, muderers of doves!
Slaves to women. Their boudoir *******.
Spread in public squares like fevered fans
or ambushed in stiff landscapes of hemlock.

No quarter! Death
flows from your eyes
and heaps grey flowers at the swamp's edge.
No quarter! Look out!!
Let the perplexed, the pure,
the classical, noted, the supplicants
close the gates of the bacchanal to you.

And you, lovely Walt Whitman, sleep on the banks of the Hudson
with your beard towards the pole and your hands open.
Bland clay or snow, your tongue is calling
for comrades to guard your disembodied gazelle.

Sleep: nothing remains.
A dance of walls stirs the praries
and America drown itself in machines and lament.
I long for a fierce wind that from deepest night
shall blow the flowers and letters from the vault where you sleep
and a ***** boy to tell the whites and their gold
that the kingdom of wheat has arrived.
Shawn Oct 2011
i never pegged you for someone
swept up by razzle dazzle,
infatuated with muscle men,
acrobats, and stars.
your view on animal rights,
seemingly discarded,
for an elephant's tricks,
the lion tamer's whip,
the tent apparently blocking out
harsh judging light.

i viewed you as critical,
skeptical of spectacle,
squinting unsure,
behind those black wayfarers,
the image constructed in my mind,
supported by that vintage dress,
the style of your hair,
the music you listened to
on the car ride over,
how can you be satisfied
with this carnival fare?

frivolous displays favoured
over subtle gestures,
superficial appearances favoured
over chemistry,
hollow showman dialogue
echoing over loudspeakers
favoured over a conversation,

perhaps i'm a hypocrite,
your attributes simply skewed,
by my being swept up in the
razzle dazzle spectacle
of you.

(i'll be in the hall of mirrors)
Gypsy May 2014
I became whole
But my body was broken
Ridden with age,
I grabbed my last token

Into the machine
My luck was spent
The scythe to my back
To Hell I was sent

Hell is a hole
Hell is a mountain
Whether you fall
Or whether you found it

You climb and you reach
But the air just gets thinner
You grind at your teeth
But you are the dinner

You fight and you wrythe
But the chains cut you deeper
You find what was lost
And why you can't keep her

I left my soul
In a devil's arcade
'Neath a pile of clubs
Hearts diamond and spades

I tasted the blood
And sulfur and ash
The wine hit my teeth
Like a tamer's quick lash

My body was broken
Whole was I made
When I sold my soul
In the devil's arcade
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2013
Best known for writing such words it scrawled in many languages inked out of hearts of
Poet’s politician’s clergy investment of mind and soul glided over parchment it would open
Doors of wood hinges were heard to creak when wise words were spoken and angry kings could
No longer hold freedom back after words of truth shined forth with wisdom and would not
Be denied by personnel greed and cruelty the very breath of man was infused in such
Documents that had veracity that was uncommon in nature the heights were noted the
Indignity and stupidity and rigidness that would in slave people was forever snapped no bonds
Could hold after the quill responded to such ignorance pleasantries were subscribed to by
Mortal hand that reached beyond uncertainty and touched divine sensibility it wrote on
Personnel levels in the case of widowhood when the dark curtains of loss were drawn and no
Light shined into the soul of the bereaved in the darkness a sister friend’s face slowly emerged
From the murky dark waters that sorrows flood brought in her embrace and understanding the
Quill wrote of a slow growing power a bridge was constructed over the river of nerve and
Exhausting pangs longing for the beloved that was departed but through this single individual
The stitching of healing began its most needed work through another the sharing of faith and
Trust would create a heart that no longer was held in gloom but pierced the heavenly blue
Where the fair one stood in garments of gleaming white of mist and tranquil portions no longer
Was fate alone in play but joyous music the flute the horn the violin drew a picture of a country
Lane there love was once again completed harmony over arched death itself and it was all
Viewed under the greatest banner men ever knew and it is friendship the telling and knowing of
Tears and a shoulder to cry on it gives way to building blocks that create a different life
Widowhood made agreeable while the wound still remains it is a course changer the injured
Now arises a heroine of quiet silent grace a source of strength a viable counter weight to grief’s
Unbearable character the quill surmounts the littleness in people stories are in abundance that
Show both sides of the issue the abyss that selfishness brings but what heights can be reached
By serving others instead of self weights the quill lifts effortlessly weighty matters the line we
Have come through many slings and arrows fits twists and turns the quill runs before as a lion
Tamer it cracks a whip trouble is quickly vanquished there is writing everywhere the quill will
Guide to so many existing ideas that create formidable answers but with this in play the
Intangible restless pull of something beyond reason that must be recognized and dealt with all
Success and pleasure will melt away as the pull of importance that will not give way most of us
Know the undeniable truth that over all that is said above a greater quill writes in perfect
Accord without error not of fleshly hand but spirit that moved on men to state His wishes and
Commands without this writing no one can know true happiness or fulfillment outside of this
Most extraordinary compelling truth but what record there is of such sadness because of failure
To listen to a love story of tremendous drama all pertaining to the highest highs and the lowest
Lows and of one by love just won’t give up on the ones He holds so dear it comes down to this
Reality it still stands true there is a Hell to shun and a heaven to win through all the swirling
Down through time this great weight rests on us all what we decide will be flames or bliss abide
With him who hates you completely or the one who loved you to the point of dying in agony
You are the only one who can complete the story the quill writes love and mercy sadly so many
Show it has little effect the quill writes on sin is death those who practice it will surely die this is
The second death the lake of fire
Janette Oct 2012
I am dream, made flesh!
Cut
from your design
Burning,
Inflamed,
Caressed by your
Love.....




Purrrrrring softly...
Naked heart-print's press upon the tissue
Of trembling thunder;
I bend
Beneath his breath
While he permeates
A rake of glittered stars
Across my skin;
The barrier
Between his tongue and my scent...


Scarlet
He holds me ... liquid,
Framed to his eyes,
Teased
******* hard;
The melt of ice, fed on
The heat of his tongue;
Shedding night's skin
In shades of twilight...



Dark, eyes gaze through mine
Caressing
Silken pleasures;
The moistness of a stolen kiss,
Willing, wet,
Tasting the tender;
Of palpitating curves,
Of Soft thighs, quivering
Moving
Slow enough to
Swallow...


A tigress, unleashed, beneath
Her tamer's trance
I vary my pose,
The audacity of my savage
Innocence
Meets his gaze,
River-wild and dark,
The moment.... opaque


Darkened silk;
The slide,
Palms down,
My skin alive at the burn
As hips gyrate
On the rub
Burning where shadows curve,
Creating the fire of
Hunger...


A writhe of craze
A pause to breathe
To shut hard
The breath of me
As he inhales
Slim ecstasies, skin
Seizures
Immersed in milky secrets
Weak, with love.....
I want the I am....to plant a seed inside your heart, so you will know....so you will always know, without question.....that I simply want.......Always...J
Dominique Aug 2018
I've learned to trace
The curves of your name
Through marks on my skin that were all too straight
And I've rubbed them raw-

Scarlet, aching, throbbing,
Irritated because of how many times I've dug my nails
Into the memory of you carved into my shoulder,
Or my wrist, thigh, hip...

The list goes on, and so do you,
Even when the licks of fire turn tamer, whiter, faded
With time that tries to give me relief but makes me
PANIC
Instead,
Because at least when it's all fresh,
I can hear your voice in my ear
And the cut of your jib is outlined by the cut on my... well, anything.

I want your fingers wrapped around my waist
But in my mind's clouded eye you pull away
Every time, and all I feel is rain drops on amber skin, and the blade grips ever tighter.

Normal girls who cry at night and not at sunset
Have stretch marks guiding their insecurity,
But I bet you've never been to a lido with your parents
After getting a new tattoo of a bitter I'll-never-know's name imprinted on your arm...

And if you have, well, you'll never tell me
Because even though I trace you every time I'm reminded of your seaside green glass eyes
I haven't looked the past in the face

Since the last time you said you'd see me soon.
Trigger Warning
Nora Apr 2017
Irreplaceable you,
Drifting into my world
With so little a care
As the heat of the evening
Turned into a sordid affair

Irreplaceable you,
Riding me gently, tamer
Of heavy waves
Tangled together in shadows --
For you, I’ll always misbehave

Irreplaceable you,
Slipping from my grasp
And into another’s  --
Trembling toward your kiss
Tell me I’m your only lover

Irreplaceable you,
But replaceable me
Left to wilt at the shoreline
While you sailed off to sea.
inspired by Humoresque (1946)
big bright colored flags
draped over the huge circus tent
you’re greeted by a blind gypsy
her arm bones grossly bent

one legged ticket holders
showing people to their seats
magicians doing parlor tricks
and vendors selling treats

a place of lights and noise
jammed pack with circus folk
the one eyed ringmaster yelling
wearing his glittery cloak

the tattooed lady
gold bull ring in her nose
elephants with glazed eyes
dancing on their toes

midgets with multi colored pants
the strongman with handle bar moustache
the lion tamer screaming orders
clowns throwing buckets full of trash

men juggling live cats
then tossing them into the crowd
the snake charmer dying of poison
the audience clapping loud

the fat lady dressed in gold
spinning as fast as a top
across the central circus floor
oh my, I don’t think she can stop!!!

big loud horns blaring left and right
as the clown cars circle the room
the tight rope walker practicing
balancing himself with a broom

the knife thrower’s sitting alone on a bench
drinking the rest of his beer
practicing his daily knife routine
he must be able to throw without fear

the bearded girl is singing a tune
that makes all the young children cry
the fortune teller with her tarot cards
ask a question, she will not lie

the high diver is putting his floaties on
tucking his hair under his swimming cap
the contortionist bending so easily
and sitting in his own bended lap

the trapeze guy is swinging on a chain
upside down with a smile
zombie ballerinas dancing
all in a single file

here comes the human cannonball
his suit is filled with lead
whispering to his faithful friend
and this is what he said;

“shoot me fast and shoot me high”
“don’t let me fall down hard”
shoot me where you want to”
“but not in the lions yard”

You see the dead girl with the button eyes
With the hair that’s always curled
you never know what’ll happen next at
the
circus
at
the
end
of
the
world
Brittany Wynn Nov 2014
More than one person remembers that day
as hot and tasting of catastrophe
in the flavor of airbag dust and gasoline.
We were talking as you drank your root beer.
Windows down. My shoes off…

4:02.
Your eyes widen
as metal screeches and the revving of engines
winds down, a man wearing sunglasses
yanks on my door, but it protrudes
into the cab. Another man takes you out —
shouts to me to move.  I can’t
find my shoes and my wallet is soaked.
Bystanders flock like they would at a circus
where a lion’s attacked his tamer.
Tears flow more freely than blood.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God, my fault spills
from my bruised lips until finally,
I collapse to the pavement like the fender
of the opposing Mercedes.  

I tried but failed to explain
that swerving the car to save you
meant near-death for me. Only after
regret and responsibility that crushed
my lungs faded, the way mascara dries,
did I acknowledge,
I am here.
Terry O'Leary May 2016
Come join the unraveling circus
quite soon to be passing our way,
with the clowns in a clamor to twerk us -
line up as they lead us astray!

Arriving, the elephant trumpets
agendas of aberrant acts
while the donkeys drool, dunking their crumpets
and twirlers spin, twisting the facts.

The big top’s now open to breezes,
so pundits soar spreading their wings
to convince us to tread the trapezes,
for it's they who'll be pulling the strings.

The merry-go-round’s so amazing
(black horses bound, chasing the cart)
as the brass ring of change wanders wildly
till stealing straight back to the start.

The moldy old model of Ptolemy
(at the hub of this three ring domain)
mixes marvels of magic with alchemy
in the bowels of the mastodon’s brain.

Neglecting the gulls who’ll be eating
stale crumbs that have dropped from the plate,
the vain vulture of virtue’s oft tweeting  
of Circus Land once again great.

The tamer, adorned in fine trumpery
(pate garnished with fiery mane)
has endeavored to wall the ring's boundary,
keep millipede migrants in rein.

The dwarves and their antics are funny
while juggling to balance the books,
so the titans laugh, grappling the money
extracted by hook or by crooks.

The sideshows provide a composite
of fails of the frizzed billionaire,
some disclosing the bones in his closet
caught clutched in the arms of the bear.
    
From towers the trumpet is blowing
fake messages, fetid but full,
but as long as the cattle keep lowing,
he’ll hasten to serve them the bull.

The masses, persuaded to follow,
float foolishly into the fog
overwhelmed by the vapors they swallow,
choked up like the ruff-collared dog.

The snap of the whip as it whooshes
maintains the domains of the dupes
so the cats won’t escape to the bushes,
refusing to hop through the hoops.

With the promise to call out the cavalry,
the hearts of the crowds beat athrob
for in spite of their struggles and rivalry
the Don’s still controlling the mob.

Humbled Empress on *******’s hilarious,
parading her ***** and mules,
with her fabulous tales (mostly spurious)
wagging only the naive and fools.

Mounting ponies in circles, she rode 'em
through lobbies where influence crawls
with her claws clinging tight to the totem
while seals on the banks balanced *****.

Yes, the pack’s still pre-paid by the PAC men,
some wolfing their ways through the maze,
while fey fables are hawked by the packmen
who canvass our eyes with a glaze.

The pretender defender of females
is actu'ly one of the hawks;
secrets hidden in spills of her re-mails
means pillory, stuck in the stocks.

The swine in the central arenas
(immersed in the fat of the throne)
begin dancing like wee ballerinas
’fore pitching the proles a bare bone.

Jesters Cruzo and Bozo, while boozin'
(dealt cards which were ******* by the ****),
ruled “not winning the hand would be losin’
and need for an armed Minuteman.”

Well the ray gun's still loaded and toted
(the gall’ry forbidding all bans)
and the NRA gang’s become bloated
shooting **** in the face of the fans.

One day when the mad house has folded
and sawdust’s been wafted aside,
Human Race will be racing, remolded,
surmounting life’s hurdles in stride.
XXXIII. TO THE DIOSCURI (19 lines)

(ll. 1-17) Bright-eyed Muses, tell of the Tyndaridae, the Sons of
Zeus, glorious children of neat-ankled Leda, Castor the tamer of
horses, and blameless Polydeuces.  When Leda had lain with the
dark-clouded Son of Cronos, she bare them beneath the peak of the
great hill Taygetus, -- children who are delivers of men on earth
and of swift-going ships when stormy gales rage over the ruthless
sea.  Then the shipmen call upon the sons of great Zeus with vows
of white lambs, going to the forepart of the prow; but the strong
wind and the waves of the sea lay the ship under water, until
suddenly these two are seen darting through the air on tawny
wings.  Forthwith they allay the blasts of the cruel winds and
still the waves upon the surface of the white sea: fair signs are
they and deliverance from toil.  And when the shipmen see them
they are glad and have rest from their pain and labour.

(ll. 18-19) Hail, Tyndaridae, riders upon swift horses!  Now I
will remember you and another song also.
Arjun Tyagi Dec 2013
Innumerable aeons ago,
in the unformed valleys,
on the barren land,
two beings were born.
  From the roots of the elm,
and through the earth,
raised as man and woman,
with flesh were they adorned.

Oh what a sight it was,
the first breath of life,
the start of two worlds,
both so deftly intertwined.
  And once formed,
they glanced at each other.
It was beauty infinite,
to their new-formed minds

The man being braver,
took the first step.
Unaccustomed to feet,
he swayed and staggered.
  The woman being gentle,
took the second step.
Reached tentatively to him,
and fell upon the heather.

Both lay upon the grass,
and contemplated the next move.
But of this they were sure,
one they must be from two.
  He stood up weakly again,
pulled her to her feet.
Thus they stood as one,
and trode upon the dew.

Unknown to them,
was a vast unexplored land
to which they hitherto went
walking together always.
  They did not stop,
fearing the giant expanse.
Dark as otherworldly nights,
bright as unseen summer days.

Treading together
they discovered wonders.
About the living land
and more about the other.
  The woman saw more,
as she was observant.
The man learned skills,
for he was stronger.

After many rises and falls,
of the great warm disk,
They arrived at a great cave
near the shores of the blue serpent.
  It welcomed them
with the warmth of endurance.
With sanctuary and a haven,
where they finally laid.

Soon the giant expanse,
parted and poured water.
Sooner, the warm disk,
became even warmer.
  Then trees bared themselves,
and the earth withered.
The breath of the air,
would cause them to shiver.

And through the seasons,
she observed and he learned;
all that they could,
of their serene world.
  He would rise with the sun,
bring berries and fruits.
She would feed them,
and thus life did unfurl.

Now they had all they wanted,
comfort, safety and a home.
As human tendencies go,
they moved to each other.
  He would often see her,
singing to the air.
She would often see him,
in their heavenly slumber together.

Here was a woman,
who could tame beasts.
Here was a woman,
who raised bounty from the earth.
  She would sing and dance,
and the flowers would bloom.
She would sing in the cave,
warming heart and hearth.

Wherever she went,
life would follow.
If there was none,
she would be a new mother.
  Life into trees,
life into bones.
Life she would pour,
whenever she would sing.

And before he knew it,
he could not breathe.
Without her voice,
he became weak.
  And so it went without doubt,
she was the one he wanted.
Much more than his life,
his mate, his Eve.

Ten moons later,
while sitting under a tree.
Said he to her,
his heart with her heals.
  Through emptiness, loneliness,
and through hurt and pain.
Through heat, through cold,
through fall, through rain.

Her voice pierces all,
all gloom and despair.
It sets this man free,
from his flesh-bound lair.
  She brings bounty,
of the earth to their dwelling.
Fruits, nuts and flowers,
oh, so sweet smelling.

Her words are commands,
to beasts and birds alike.
This man before her,
his heart too, she did strike.
  He has waited,
watched, wondered and awed.
The ethereal voice she possesses,
fire from a dragon's maw.

He has watched her,
be one with nature.
He has seen her,
walking hither and tither.
  Her hair shimmers,
in the moon like a blaze.
Cascading falls of black,
his eyes stay fazed.
  She could not be Earthly,
of this he was sure.
Made for a higher meaning,
by her, he was to be allured.
  This was intended,
to flourish and to live
He loved her so, the tamer of beasts,
nothing could take her away from him.

Stay still, like a stone, he said
so this man can caress you.
Let him come closer,
'tis time for what is due.
  And as their lips met,
the withered fall transformed.
Spring came forth,
all dead life morphed.

Unable to keep silent,
God himself came forth.
Planted an immortal orchard,
of Apples before the two betrothed.
  Said he to her then,
we must never go unto the garden.
Defiant, the bearer of life, the woman said,
unwise it is to ignore the fruits laden.

So she passed, having said that
while he was left with his cries.
For what good are pleas and somber begging
to deaf ears and blind eyes?
  And as her toes bore her weight,
she plucked the ripest of the fruit.
Whilst the man's unheard shouts,
all they were to her were moot.

And before his eyes,
his love withered and died.
Disobedience with Deathly price,
the Apple from her fist he pried.
  He savored the juice it spilled,
ecstatic revelry of immediate sorrow.
How could he have walked alone,
in now an unwanted tomorrow.

Thus it came to pass,
that Magna Mater and Pater ceased.
Parents to Kingdoms to come,
the original Sinners before their children-to-be.
  As I sit here and wonder,
of the lovely sin, ancient and arcane.
God pardon me tonight,
For my Eve, I would have done the same..
Onoma Dec 2014
Aureole...Manna's descent like showering
waveforms.
Eyes hungering...upturned, cloven in rapture.
Mouth slants open in a salivary click--
come the incantations...come the
anatomical sway of microcosm.
Intergalactic cynosure, pariah, shaman--
mangy interloper teaching wind to dance!
Tamer of the subconscious...mender of schism!
Anathema to Gaia's Satanic Stewards!
To be sought in the House of Aquarius,
haunting its foundation that it may uphold.
The roads to and fro are as anagrams that
alter with the perceiver.
It is the second look, of what's cross with
what Is...and ever shall be--that gives rise
to disorientation...reincarnation.
O grant dancer of self-evidence, grant your
sundry incantations... yearning for Gaia's heart
of hearts.
Sydney Victoria Dec 2013
Today Is A Quiet Pallette Of Blue Which, In Fact,
Sits Secluded From Every Yellow, Pink, And Red,
It Is Cold And Quiet--Idle As An Afternoon Rain,
Lethargic And Angry, Hard Yet So.. So Silent...

Today Is A Blue Day, It Is Bluer Than My Very Soul,
It Is A Blue Tuesday, Darker Than A Saturday Night,
The Sky Is As Gray As The Sea, But It Is Twinkling,
The Notes It Sings Turquoise As Tropic Waters

Today Is A Soft Baby Blue, Contorted By A Tough Navy,
A Harsh Golden Sunrise Has Turned To A Gray,
The Mush Colored Sky Is Tamer For The Blue Eye,
And The Blue Eye, Is A Window To A Blue Heart
Hmm...
Daytonight Oct 2012
The savage beast was hungry
searching for a prey
with passion to devour
nothing bar his way
until the gentle touch
of a woman soothed his soul
captured his ferocious heart
taking full control.

While she was taming the beast
a strange thing happened to her
while she stilled his breast
he started to purr
which changed her forever
the tamer became tamed
when the beast purred out
the sound of her name.
I remember when the circus first came to town,
The village people eagerly came to see from all around.
Every wild animal on wheels was caged in tow, followed by colorful clad characters on foot sure to give a spectacular show.
I remember when I first entered beneath the great big tent and caught the grand act of the peculiar pink elephant.
Get Your Peanuts, Popcorn, and Hot Dogs Here!  The Concessionaire yells in a hearty cheer.

The taste of cotton candy, the sounds, smells and the sights,
Above me a man balances on a tight rope from a view of an incredible height.
For the kids, clowns twist and shaped balloons in all odd kind of forms,
And stuffed themselves in a tiny car with a toot, toot of a funny sounding horn.
The feathered ladies on horseback perform daring acrobatic stunts, as in place the horses prance and dance in a parade of extraordinary pomp.
All eyes are on the lion tamer in his tails and fancy top hat twirling a chair and cracking a whip at the growl of the big man eating cat.
Tigers jumped through flaming hoops, as human cannonballs towards  the sky their bodies shoot.
Little doggies do flips for their treats as acrobats fly through the air performing death defying feats,
Or what could be more delightful to see than a bear riding a unicycle or perhaps even three?

Finally, comes the grand finale, then soon it is time to go home, the tents have been folded the rides have been loaded the performers and the animals have all gone.
On their parents strong shoulder kids are carried off in their sleep with sweet dreams of, fun rides and toy prizes, and candy apple treats.
Ferris wheels and merry go rounds, the bearded fat lady weighing a hundred pounds.
I remember a ******* a wire, the boy that spits fire a man with his head in the jaws of a tiger.
Reminiscing of the time when the circus first came to town
And the village people eagerly came to see from all around.
RA Dec 2013
So now the knife
has finally drilled through your protections,
like a bird with a diamond beak pecking at wood
again and again, until
it extracts what it was striving towards
the whole time.

You have brought up your reserve shields,
your last line of defense, and who
could blame you?
Not I, though,
like a king protecting his life
by building a fortress and then
living in its safety,
you have seemingly constructed strong walls
shutting the world out, until
I cannot see you, only the fortress and
your warm voice is poorly mimicked
by cold echoes from the stone.

The world thinks
you have locked them out, and yet
such is the image you project,
like a desert mirage,
and I would have sworn it was real, until
you let me come closer
and I touched you.

You are not the coward king, hiding
from the world and all
that might harm you, no. You
are the lion-tamer whose lion
has turned rabid, who locks herself in
and builds walls and will fight
until you are ****** and tired
but unrelenting
until it is safe for you to open the cage
and break down the walls
without your lion hurting those
you hold dear.

You build your concrete walls, you
close everything up and
you narrow them, until
only you and your lion remain
and they look like a coffin.

My wish for you is not
only that you will emerge alive, but that
you will not let this be a coffin
even a temporary one.

Instead
let this be your chrysalis.
I know you are strong enough to battle
and win
and finally emerge, triumphant
resplendent in new colors, maybe
the green-hued rainbow of fading bruises,
but still beautiful.

The walls will come down and you
will slowly reappear,
even stronger and ready
to fly.
December 8, 2013

Follow-up poem to November: hellopoetry.com/poem/november-55/
Lee Dec 2012
So I was walking down the street the other day,
smoking my cigarette,
and enjoying it,
and singing fake songs to myself,
and I walk past a small car,
and it made me stop,
because its strange to see a small car on my street.
Especially a small car painted in bright clown colors,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke and what looks to be clowns.
So I decided to investigate,
and I walked up,
and I tapped on the window,
and as soon as I did all I could hear was screaming and kicking.
I took a step back because
I mean
****,
what if it exploded?
And as the small colorful clown car door opened,
smoke poured out,
billowing and puffing,
very strange smelling smoke of all different colors,
and i began to wonder if it wasn't me who was tripping ball's,
as 1..
no 2..
no 12
huge bug eyed clowns crawled out.
Gawking and hissing and juggling crack pipes.
The first one asked my name.
I lied of course.
You never trust a cracked out clown,
not even with your name.
The second one asked me my age.
I lied of course,
because it's a well known fact crack clowns are pedophiles
and he might have tried to have his way with me
if I told him the truth about my tender young age.
The third asked me for a cigarette.
I gave it to him of course,
out of sheer terror that if I didn't
he might use his circus tricks
to pull a colorful rag out of his ***
and choke me to death with it
and I didn't want that.
The rest of them just kind of stared at me
or screamed
or sniffed my clothing and inspected me.
After a few minutes of all of this
I decided I'd had enough.
Talking with clowns is bad karma anyways,
and I started to walk away
waving politely
but no they weren't done with me yet.
They hog tide me
and covered me in clown make up
and adopted me as there new pet monkey
/clown driver
/lion tamer.
But of course,
when the police found me naked in a trash can at three in the morning a few hours later
still unable to complete whole sentences
they wouldn't believe ( or couldn't understand) a word of it
but I'll tell you,
if you ever see a smoke filled colorful clown car
just walk away.
We know the truth
its ugly, and juggles crack pipes.
This one is from a long time ago. I think i originally wrote it as a text message in middle school.
Miranda Renea Apr 2015
And it suddenly occurred to me,
With a twirl of my purple umbrella
And whirl of raindrops racing to
The ground, that we all look like
Flowers from up high on rainy days.

You see, the sky had told me that
Perception is a silly thing, not unlike
Our planted kin; the dirt our past,
Rooted in memories we seek to sustain;
Drinking Time like water, a Sun tamer.

— The End —