Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
My body and mind are at war
two beings occupying the same skin

the diverged desire firing bullets into the heart
creating a cacophony of chaos within me

One--
******* the jar of peanut butter
hidden by the blanket of dark sky
hugging the fridge like a newborn
caressing the chocolate bar wrapper

Two--
crouched over
crying in the shower
pinching my skin until bright pink, hot
with anger

trying to resurrect myself into someone more holy
trying to starve
out the monster within

only to find myself back on the bathroom tile singing gospel songs into the toilet bowl.

a cyclical strom
that will not stop raging

like a perverted lover
always, somehow
dragging you back home.
Dead Rose One Jun 2015
Lush is the quietude
of the late Saturday afternoon,
rich are the silencing sounds,
as variegated as the shades of greens
of a man-seeded, nature-patchworked lawn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JUNE 2015
Azurel Oct 2018
Soft melodies of the deep sea echo
Moonlight dances on my pretty scales
And icy bubbles whirl under my vest
Through my slippery hair
And down into my lungs to clear the way for overflowing foam
Laughter splashes behind my lips as my anticipation rises
Waiting for a night of twisted fairy-tales and uncalled for surprises.

Shimmering bodies swarm in spirals
Grinding in unison with the waves crashing at the surface
We're anxious for overflowing foam and hidden treasures
Purple light pierces the dark like shards of crystals
Casting a ghostly shade on bulbous faces
Pressure rises as each wave surges
Whirlpools of hot breath suffocate our gills
But the sidelines are shallow
And stragglers float motionless

Hair like seaweed at the nape of his neck
Unbuttoned linen soaked and dripping
Her hollow eyes glow green
Like the jelly orbs of a fish under florescent lights
She’s pressed against a boy who has hooks for fins
Searching for the parts that are edible
Tender, Scale-less, Slippery
Nothing wrong with being the catch of the day
Right?

Bubbles rise and pop as the last melodies drown
Schools of us are begging for shiny hooks and bad decisions
A handsome boy has been smiling all the while
He’s caught in a fisherman’s net
Craving salty lips and the spell to make him a man
But fisherman don't care for little mermaids
With hearts like sea glass and no hidden treasures to steal

Sweaty fins splash and cheer
The fishbowl shatters
Sea glass spills out onto sand
We squirm and flop onto land
Gasping without air to breathe
As our mouths and ***** thoughts dry in the sun
Leaving behind fresh meat without mouths to feed.

Rainbow confetti was stuck in the grooves of my scales
Wet clothes left on the floor of a steamy bathroom
Gasping and moaning into tile
With the face of a handsome stranger
Because this meat shouldn't go to waste
And I'm drunken with desperation
For overflowing foam, jewels, and shiny hooks
But I'm just another fish in the sea
Tumbling in the waves with my rainbow confetti scales.
A school dance
This silk is eager for damp skin.
It clings greedily to the peaks of
your topography, obscuring, like
fog, only the depressions.
I am a basin filled with fluid,
eager to capsize,
to spill out over this tile floor
like so much vanilla bath water.
At your heat, I boil.
I billow out from beneath
cream and sugar taffeta
with the whispered sigh of
softly hissing steam and
in tendrils, my tempestuous
mist and moisture form
settles lightly into your
crevices.
Alice Wilde Oct 2017
She was a wilting flower,
Delicately fading
Into the depth of her sorrow.

Her eyes-pooled gossamer stars
Falling from constellation webs.
Bouncing on the tile before losing shape
In the atmosphere.

My soul was swallowed into
Her sorrow,
And stayed there.

And when I held her,
It was like trying to hold on to refracted light.
Traveler Jun 2013
I was turned on by a Toaster, she tanned my bread to gold
In time she ejected me, it was her natural Toaster role...
I fell for her sister, a Deep Fryer in despair, my lust began to boil
I had to come up for some air...
I ran off with a Can Opener, she could even sharpen knives,
She opened up a can of *** whip, she could never be my wife!
I met a **** Freezer, but her heart was cold as ice, I was bitten by her frosty ways
Once bitten, never twice...
I made my way across the tile to an Oven quite unique
All her features were well displayed, on this EZ Baking Freak!
She cooked me on the surface, yet burnt me deep within
I guess my culinary skills were lacking in the end...
So now I date a Spatula safely from the heat
She flips a mean burger and french fries by the heap!
Truth is I'm a Poet
Who simply likes to eat!
Traveler Tim
Camilla Green Nov 2018
"Hello, hallway, linoleum tile,
I can't really see you but
I hope you're there."

Green spiders crawl through my smoked-up veins,
their spindles weave their webs of red
under eyelids gravitating towards sleep.

Retinal film flashes; each blink is an
unprocessed, scared, broken reel.

"Put your hands," he says, "on mine.
Breathe, look into my eyes."

Shaking fingertips touch his; snowflakes
gently collide with sunny ground.

They were afraid to melt,
even though they might want to.
I wish it had been 33°.
Keith Collard Jul 2012
Amanda, what are you staring at?
arms up, eyes closed,
as if to say "wait,
"I lost my phone."

You alright Pandah?,
on your knees, eyes shut,
staring at the tile.
" Im a'right," all mumbled up.

" Pandah, my Pandah."
approaching sirens.
too late for narcane kit,
no sense in trying.

Amanda, Amanda, should have looked
at those pictures instead,
looking from the walls at you--
staring at the ceiling overhead.
L B Jan 2017
If that night could remember
it would call him back
to our Chinese restaurant
to fried rice and steaming tea
to our winter refuge of tile and cushions
60s retro black and white
Chrome legs of lacquered tables
with its mural of
our Great Wall

...winding, distant, wonder

If the snow hadn't muffled all
but our voices
we would not be—

so alone

Only I
felt his arm take its chance
around my shoulder
Guiding warmth
as good excuse as any
to touch

Two miles on foot
An arc in time
In lace of white
to hide— what might....

Below my window
“Good Night”
not enough
for troubadour
singing, pleading, stumbling...

(I worry about his long way home)

...and hardly notice...

How gently Time joins Snow
as if they cannot bare
instead, conspire
Decide the crystals
Send the flakes to sift over him

This loss needs snow
to blur his face
to fade from view....

This— tender let-down from the sky
As only snow can do...

Cover with beauty

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6o6zMPLcXZ8
Lowell, Massachusetts, January, 1970... Love was lost in the storm of war politics, *****, drugs, and grief.  His brother was a priest and chaplain, killed in Vietnam.
Perched upon a corporate throne,

We march into the great unknown

As wasted words of gossip drone

And steel replaces brick and stone.
Soon you find yourself alone

In crowded streets with a global phone,

Doing a random strangers bidding.



A means to an end they say,

As poor men die while rich men play,

When honest work brings modest pay,

And doesn't last 'em through the day

Though profiteers in moral grey 

Flood the airwaves to in turn say,

"Our wealth simply paves  the way,

Tomorrow is your salvation day,

You want peace? Then war is only fitting."



Look and you will see

Money buys democracy,

The Citizens United, see?

If we knew the truth, would we agree?

Those answers are not  going to be

Yes or no but more likely

Maybe, perhaps, or possibly,

Because in reality,

Right and wrong are just kidding.



To those who fret the plagues we face,
Yet believe we can change this place,
Who stifle doubts about the Human Race,
And yearn to be together in this chase,
With subdued pride and envy, in every case,

Seeking common goals to found the base,

May we lay the evil plots to waste,

For evils clients who once stood are now sitting.



The time is now, make a stand
,
Pull our heads out of the sand

Call their bluff with a hidden hand

Of virtue they don’t quite understand,
Defy procedure’s they have planned
,
Unite across the lines that brand,

Refuse all prejudice, none may be accepted.



Some know for they already looked

And the flow of money keeps them booked,

Takes but once to have them hooked,

Setting the table with food uncooked

For others whose foundations shook

Are pitted against the small time crook

Hoping only that we be protected

.

Hark the sounds of rebellious cries

For those that call, they realize

All that lives sure enough dies
But when displeased we close our eyes

To the masters of disguise

Who think their profit justifies

The invisible hand growing in size

While their strings attached go uncorrected



They kept us quiet all the while

Waiting with numbers dialed

To put the innocent to trial

Lining up in single file

To be cast into the same old pile

None willing to lay down their tile,

Casting shadows upon their guile,

The double agent mercantile,

Lobbying candidates to endorse.



All I ask, is to what do we base belief?

Dying children get no relief

Oil poisons the coral reef

Prophecy of the fallen chief

Given a thought but a bit too brief
Together a tree, alone but a leaf
Although it is all who feel the grief

Of our actions consequential course



Corrupted elites discuss our goals

So we continue to dig our holes

To depths that darken souls

Rigging markets to decide our roles

Assumptions made so that greed controls

They draw their graphs till the pencil dulls

Then add a factor, see how that goes

Without even the slightest feeling of remorse



Growth is sacred, but is it moral?

Strengthen reason yet we quarrel

Over falsities of ***** oral

Arrangements like that of floral

Remedies but not doctoral

Blood of fallen lives pastoral

Remind that we’re all mortal

But all thereafter bear the force.



So please tell me at what cost?

In a moments past our objectives lost

Compassion was our hand now tossed

Lines we’ve drawn, lines we’ve crossed

How much dirt can be washed

From our conscience we exhaust

Before shattering glass of fate we sloshed?

Working from the scattered pieces back to the source



It is us who blindly lead the strut

We are the source and nothing but

Whose center point is one giant rut

Where false desires cracked and cut

And the selfish feed an endless gut,

When our culture begins to split and jut,

We might finally ask... It was all for what?
Inspired by the great Bob Dylan. I refer you to the song “It’s Alright Ma’”
the grey
of this tin figure
wet tile
KiraLili Jan 2017
Under the moon on a dark Balkan night
I heard your slippers on the tile
A tingling came over me
As your silken gown touched my skin
Like warm mist in the dusk
Balkan Summer Nights TBT
Jeet Ratadia Jun 2018
Fabricate    the world,
tile                     by tile,
Until the towers sway.

     Overlook the foundations,
     in your                     frenzy;
     cement them another day.
      
           Let the buildings descend;
           frightened            humans,
           their lives        in jeopardy

                They felt         impeccable,
                now are            vulnerable-
                their lives have become tardy.

                               *        *       *
                 the bird soars high above
                 the streets are         empty
                 its screeches                 for
                 we are no                   more
This is a poem that symbolises global warming: we are our own bane.
The poems structure is like a fallen building and the stanza below the Asterix is the foundation (its got a crack in it- : )- )
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Garments stripped from worn bones and weary mind
Feet dragged on tile; hands grasp plastic veil
Stepping into a tub; near swoon divine
A pure, naked self emancipation,
before the squeaking running metalware  
that erases the daily equation.
Dancing, singing tunes of own devices:
Cupid, Shooting Star, Sister Golden Hair
Rocky Mountain High, American Pie
****** bosses gonna kiss ***** here
Astronauts, cowboys, and rockstars meet here
Best yet, the individual is here

Although merely hidden by a curtain,
all for your view is but a damp shadow.
KiraLili Jul 2016
Your side of the beds still warm as I stir
I hear you humming as beans are poured out
Then the whistle of boiled water
My minds eye sees you at the grinder
Short bursts pulverize and I smell the grind
You bring back one cup , I barely hear your bare feet on tile
The black coffee stands out in an all white room
The only other contrast is your tan lines
Cross legged you sit on our bed cup cradled in your hands
No words are spoken as we trade sips back n forth
One kiss for thank You
Pressed black coffee and crisp white sheets
The day begins...
Chasing a statue, and it's getting away.

Waiting for the sun in some desert lands
as the weightless yacht sails through the sands.

My mind has gone rouge
and it's taken me hostage.

Wave to the slaves,
You've nothing better to do.
Give me your mouth,
I've something to show you:

Strobing images flow
to form a sea of subtly,
veracious emotion;
The black and white chequered tile floor,
In a baby's pupil, iris and more.

We are the greatest threats
to the fabric of society:
Terrorists, drug dealers, hackers and poets.
The drones of humanity tremble at the mention of our true profession.
Are they alive
or merely undead?
The difference struggles to comprehend.

Paper bullets fly through the air like locusts
as a torrent of words enfolds upon us.
"Did you think to **** me?
There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to ****.
There is only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof."
Love the feeling as it falls apart;
When the chaos breaks into a line and gives birth to art.
Quotes:
-Line Twenty Four, Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six from V For Vendetta by Alan Moore.
DivineDao Aug 2016
He's been taken from the ocean

As an open shell awaiting to

Breath the brother air

For the first time

Absolutely

Hotter

Bathing in orange

Sunny sparks

Japanese

Brahma

Vishnu

Rudhra

Divine
Mastery

Of a
Long
Breath
Taken in

Divers
Marveling

Extraordinary things

Beauty born out of pain
A black pearl
A blue pearl
Indigo pearl

Trinkling out

Falling down on the cold mosaic floor
In almost erotically humid firenheit
August day emanating with power


Inevitably  ~ as lovers do ~

As fire watched in a slow motion

A desire's voice intense

As those summer tile colours

Are gleaming artistically

Shiny as sweat coat

On the entangled bodies


Waving ~ like oceans do ~
Drops underneath everything
Little Bit May 2017
just a bit of wine
but now i'm lying
flat out in a straight line
face pressed against the cold tile
looking over to catch your smile
because we both know
we'll be here for awhile
and that's just fine
i start to cry
because, ****
it's a beautiful sight
right?

you loving me for me
it's crazy
both of us forever free
to be whoever
we want to be
and we still choose
to stand
side by side
each time.

you know i'm right.
HearseTraffic Apr 23
An endless stream of self-eulogies
crashing onto tile,
like bones conceding to concrete.
The whistle of terminal velocity
harmonizing to a death rattle,
a melody for tired ears.
Written in April 2019
Next page