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If you've ever had the pleasure of kissing a poet, you'd know just how adventurous they taste

The saltiness of the seven seas mixed with the sweetness of the stars

They taste like tsunamis and high tide

Like black holes and supernovas

Like flowers and forest fires

They taste like heaven with a dash of hell

Like a tall drink of inspiration and a shot of death

They taste like late nights and early mornings

Like old night-time and burnt toast

They taste like new experiences


Yes, if you've ever had the pleasure of kissing a poet , you'd know just how much you crave for more
September Roses May 2018
Hot chocolate no longer tastes like chocolate

Tea gets me as drunk as wine

I get about as high on cannabis as I would rosemerry or thyme

The clocks in my house have stopped ticking

Though I never stop to check

There's a litter of stray kittens, outside my door, on the front step

Although time has stopped passing
And the gods have fallen asleep

I still find myself laughing
That I've wept to much to weep
Ive had a few people wonder.
Its limbo
sara Aug 2018
I'll see what I can make
out of the leftovers I have.
Although, it's never too long
until the milk turns bad,

until a love turns sour
in an online second;
since, an online minute
wastes a real-life hour.

But in a snap-shot moment,
I can find life for weeks
on my stash of sugar truths,
until I forget to eat;

forget to breathe;
'til I don't even need to sleep
because the lovehearts on my photos
sing such soft melodies.

And despite the fact
that often I can't sit at ease,
somehow this perfect madness
always tastes so bittersweet.
a poem about the addictive nature of social media
Alyssa Underwood Apr 2017
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure, diving in
tastes such rejuvenation as can't
be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5

~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot
Jesse stillwater Dec 2018
It was Winter 1st
   not long ago,
the longest night
lay bare next to me
    like a dream
     that passes
        silently,  
     then recurs —
hearing the silence
   whisper softly
as a colorless echo

      Withal —
    the shortest
    yesterdays,
half light minutes,
grey wintry mood
     moments,
  without hope
   of blue sky
impending lightly:

      Alone,..
   even a glass
      half full
under a solstice
     full moon,
  is only a glass
     partly full
  of moonlight

Twice as much
       silence
still leaves you
   half empty;
  and every tear
tastes the same
     in winter


Jesse stillwater — winter 2018
Thank you for reading, wherever you may be
Alyssa Underwood May 2016
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure, diving in
tastes such rejuvenation as can't
be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5


~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot

Repost
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure, diving in
tastes such rejuvenation as can't
be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5


~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot
Universal Thrum Feb 2018
There’s a halo
Over the horizon
Where the wind blows
Up into the mountains
Yea she’s sweet though
Baby’s got them honey bones
I get a taste of
the sunrise on her breath oh
Mmm mmm mmm mmm
It tastes like starting over
Mmm mmm mmm mmm
Awake from golden slumber

As she whispers
feel me from the inside
go deeper
tell me that I feel alright
yea she's sweet though
Baby's got them honey bones
yea she's sweet though
Baby's got them honey bones

In the end,
nothing really matters
https://soundcloud.com/universalthrum/ft-zak-newkirk
Cné Aug 2017
As our dew points match, lead me out into the open moonlight
Then take my hand and come with me to share this glorious night

Sin smiling Angels look down on us in the night's cocoon
Safely sheltered beneath his broad shoulders our bodies completely attune

Her pale skin denied The moonbeams as I eclipses them above her
Shivering to the cadence of the night with the moonlight as a ******

The cool night air hasn't chilled her warm summer lips
The stars reflected in our eyes, each shimmering thoughts a kiss

Ethereal night mist rises from our slowly moving bodies
His warmth tastes of golden light, dancing to simple melodies

Shimmering in dusk's glow the rapture subsides in a glistening shudder
Splendorous waves of euphoric flood, as we complete each other as lovers
to the tune of AC/DC "Touch Too Much"
thank you Palmer for the dance
https://hellopoetry.com/palmer/
sara Jul 2014
the ***** tastes like
an untamed firework
which attacks my throat
but I like it

the ***** feels like
the reason behind
all the poems I wrote
but I need it

the ***** is like
glitter set in my veins
which helps me to float
and I love it

the ***** is you
and until you were gone
I just didn't know
we should not mix
cops beating my door
the last strawberry now tastes
sweetest of all
L=== Joel's fault! He drove me to it! Honest!
Gabriel burnS Oct 2018
Tar
I’m not broken
I’m a puzzle not to be solved
I’m a bird of…
Preying on rain…
But the clouds elude my webs
I’m the underside of an antisocial umbrella
What with the moisture-averse lovers nowadays
I shoo them off and twist my spokes
And finally I’m no longer pretending completeness for the sake of my surroundings
Because She comes clad timeless
Comes with the thunder
And She tastes like all or nothing
So as much as this Drama does persist
Your Prisoned Warning tugs at my Cool Shirt
Asking me to take Prudence and desist
In bashing Silence to where it would hurt
Now engraved in Copper I will make Clear:
For all my Writ Plagues I Apologise,
Deep in use plug Buds to that Trumpet's Ear
If Empathy a Letter in disguise
This my Friend's Spy; Deploy to high pursuit
Waving that Placard in belated claim
Which tastes folly less on a nutty boot
And Reprimand stamped on his just Remain.
Such I learned that Friendship's Best takes no Force
I Follow my Heart; Now you Follow yours.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
For Al, who left us, Nov. 22, 2014

With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.

Al,
You ask me when the words come:

With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,

Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for body restoration,
Transpositional for poetic creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.

Al, you ask me from where do the words come:

Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,

The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.

The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.

The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.

The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.

These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here, 
poem aborning!
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied!

Al,  what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
__________
(this poem more than most,
for its birth celebrates
my loss, your loss,
which cannot be exonerated 8/7/18)


__________
written at 4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012

Greenport Harbor, N.Y.
Kenji Apr 4
She walks with grace, and kisses like a seductress.
She handles with poise, and fights like a warrior.
She dances with beauty, and sees with wonder.
She has the eyes of a devilish cat, Cleopatra, a destined goddess.
Luscious lips as she bites them with effortless ease, soft and supple, tastes like cherry.
A dark mysterious demeanor that screams, tell me more.
Skin as soft as silk, toned with honey brown.
Seductive, sultry, sensual, and ****.
Bad, bold, brave, and bewildered.
She is the Taurus woman, a woman to be greatly feared of her undying passion and intense magnitude.
Magnetic and love so soft, it can rip your insides apart till it subsides with hers.
Majestic as the great white horse, flips her mane and looks at you seductively.
Fear not my great ones, we are all just gods in disguise.
Kiss me, touch me, hold me, and **** me.
Brooding with a territorial existence, protective, possessive, and romantic to the touch.
Love me...
As I will love you back, 10 times harder.
The Taurus woman

Sun in Taurus (Stubborn, seductive, sultry, sensual)
Mercury in Taurus (Slow thinkers, common sense speakers, logical, practical)
Really my Lady, such was not my Intent
To be the Bordered Jack who ***** your Consent
Your Basket remains yet much Food was Spent
And yes - the Reason - it's Bottom was Rent
Should we blame the Urchin? That I guess not
The Market was charged in Prunes worth to Sell
Else I peel each Fruit and leave it to Rot
Then shoulder the Rage of not being well
There She is: The only Unforeseen Truth
Distempered with my Touch of Forks and lies
Which I should have learned in her Peeling Youth:
That a Prune once tasted tastes better with the Eye.
All this I learned in a Lesson so Big
That the Grape recovered was born a Fig.
#toniacouch
patty m Jan 2018
Through the Looking glass
Alice stands in all her splendor.
Her hair a curtain of silver rain,
her soft skin aglow in subliminal light.

A compelling fever rises
as Thomas tries different ways to pull
her up in memory
while writing himself into the tale.  
Poor Thomas delirious in his dilemma, he knows
this will be no easy seduction.  
How fiercely urgent his desire rises
as he longs to end our heroine's self-imposed abstinence.  

Hot April morning ambush,
and our intruder has beguiled our sweet Alice
with heated kisses sweeter than ripened fruit.  
A wildness stirs in the bloodstream.  
Now he slowly and lovingly explores her pristine body
as she shivers beneath his delicate strokes
until high trills rise to fevered pitch.

Pleated line of sky
muted corners softly come into focus.

Loathe to let her go,
passion stirs in his depths
slowly now he tastes her secrets,  shares her pleasure.

Tight buds of anticipation tenderly plucked,
his fingers find the stem, a measure of moisture;
Nimble fingered harmonies play pleasure symphonies
accompanied by soft echoes of youthful delight  
Warm and breathless, crystal rainbows paint the inside of her eyelids as she grows sleepy in afterglow.

Soon he's torn away, his pale poet's face conveying pain
received from this  now cool disconcerting beauty;
Though he touched folds and frills of every petal,
his chapter is immediately erased and the
original story reappears.  

She may have slipped down the rabbit hole,
but forever ladylike and pure is our sweet Alice.
Jade Oct 2018
Heart skips
like a warped record,
trembles over scarred vinyl
until "I love you"
tastes incomplete:

(I)                love                 you

I                  (love)               you

I                   love                (you).

My Swan Song mewls off key,
cascades across the
marred terrain of my soul
in a thick lacquer of tears.
Notes flatline
in unison with my
waning pulse
(waning, like the face
of the moon on the night
of my eighteenth birthday).

My breath
resigns to static,
dances in slow decrescendos--
sputters its way
towards nothingness,
slipping rapidly from
my consciousness until
I no longer hold
any recollection of the music
(or the poetry).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Elizabeth Zenk Nov 2018
control is a rich red hue,
control is warm, and deep.
it’s a destructive power,
and a stinging force.
a delicate line
between pain and serenity.

control is a rich red hue,
control tastes metallic.
like a cog in a machine,
and it comes around like clockwork.
a jagged dash
between insanity and knowledge

control is a rich red hue,
control melts like wax.
it evaporates within seconds,
and it dries within moments.
a recalcitrant scratch
between delusion and control
control is the sand dunes left behind once the red lakes dry up.
JV Beaupre May 2016
I. Long ago and far away...

Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.

Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.

The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, "Who wants my sandwich? ****, this first beer tastes good." I won't tell you what he really said. 1962.

At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettio's and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs.  Supper for a month.1962.

Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…” 1963.

I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted:  "All right, you *******, Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry *****. Drop 'em".  Deferred, 1964.

He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness, 1968.

US science jobs  dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968.

The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.

I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. 1972.

A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border, why?
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973.

She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife.  Germany, 1973.

I said, "May be there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew.  Exit to Huntsville, 1974.

II. In the present century....

And what have I learned? Here's advice for the next ones: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Final retirement. 2015.

I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.

I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.

I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.

I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. But I moved on, and came back. There is still problem 12-19 in Becker's mechanics and it still needs solving. 2016 and continuing.

Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.
Deb Jones Jan 30
When I was a little girl
I would sneak off to the store
And buy candy with pennies.
The store clerk knew my mom
He would always give me the full price Candy and accepted my pennies.

That candy tasted like bravery

When I grew up I would sneak
From men I didn’t want to be with
I wouldn’t call them back.
I wouldn’t return the texts or emails.
I told myself it was easier that way.
Now looking back...

Those escapes tastes like cowardice
JS CARIE Jun 2018
To us, time does not belong
And since reality is wrong...
Live with me in legacy
You're so close already
Residing in memory

Only a hearts twinge and without cringe
My pleasuring in teaching to uke  
A warranty insurance for a more creative you

Ill stand on the needle of your thread, fixed and stable without dread

Get ******* and dragged around by your apron strings

Feel the chain around your neck swing as it stings and swings

Be what your tongue tastes when taking all varieties of temperature

Be the brush you use to finish assignments when they get to be too much

As wine deminshes and glass comes clear, take the role of servant, pour countless refill, until you're ready to be bed in achieving complete fulfill

Rest assured, If you feel fear or need a mirror, allow me to transform into reflection to tell you how beautiful everything you wear
and how to me
you are so dear
Chelsea Primera Aug 2017
She wants to become a girl again,
After two divorces, three kids and
pieces of heart blended
into the uneven daily affairs.

She wishes to be innocent once more.
To see the sky through her amber eyes;
To laugh carelessly down a penniless neighborhood;
To recollect the fragrant things she holds dear.

Where is the Anne of Green Gables?
Where is the Alice in Wonderland?
Where are Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy?
Where did the flowers go to die.

She tells me she misses all the sunrise,
Gazing into a blue sunset,
The cooking that tastes no longer loving,
The perfume that smells no longer happy,
The loneliness that is no longer heroic.

She carries on, with her broken wings,
and the birth of a woman's concrete essence.
[sister poem--1|| 8/15/17
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