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Fearless.
Untamed.

Her hair
falls not in flawless curls
around a porcelain face.

No.
It flows into the hungry wind
a lion's mane.

Her laugh
tinkles not like
so many silver bells.

No.
It crashes and bubbles
an ocean tide.

Her desires
hide not under the glass
of an innocent exterior.

No.
They smolder on the surface of her skin.
Volatile fires
by turn gentle flames
or blazing infernoes.

To be a wild girl
is both a gift and a curse.
To feel everything
from love to hate
at the base of your throat and the
heart of your soul.
To be both feared and wanted
by strong and weak men.
To live one's life
searching for one
whose heart is strong enough
to run alongside someone so free.
She sat
A broken China doll
Spurting
Where she meant to
Sing.

Hold her hand
Bite your tongue
And
Remind her
That you're
Hers.
A M Mar 2014
"Let's party!"

Gleaming pearls,
Swirling skirts,
Tinkles of laughter
and shouts of joy.

Feet move fast
Words fly freely
Everyone here
is having a good time!

Ornately decorated,
Empty inside.
This is inspired by the 1920's. I wanted to write about the extravagant parties and lifestyle of the Gatsby era, but how everyone was fundamentally unhappy. It's funny how these things never change.
BOUCHE-MIGNONNE lived in the mill,
Past the vineyards shady,
Where the sun shone on a rill
Jewelled like a lady.

Proud the stream with lily-bud,
Gay with glancing swallow;
Swift its trillion-footed flood
Winding ways to follow;

Coy and still when flying wheel
Rested from its labour;
Singing when it ground the meal,
Gay as lute or tabor.

'Bouche-Mignonne,' it called, when red
In the dawn were glowing
Eaves and mill-wheel, 'leave thy bed;
Hark to me a-flowing!'

Bouche-Mignonne awoke, and quick
Glossy tresses braided.
Curious sunbeams clustered thick;
Vines her casement shaded

Deep with leaves and blossoms white
Of the morning-glory,
Shaking all their banners bright
From the mill-eaves hoary.

Swallows turned their glossy throats,
Timorous, uncertain,
When, to hear their matin notes,
Peeped she thro' her curtain.

Shook the mill-stream sweet and clear
With its silvery laughter;
Shook the mill, from flooring sere
Up to oaken rafter.

'Bouche-Mignonne!' it cried, 'come down;
Other flowers are stirring:
Pierre, with fingers strong and brown,
Sets the wheel a-birring.'

Bouche-Mignonne her distaff plies
Where the willows shiver;
Round the mossy mill-wheel flies;
Dragon-flies, a-quiver,

Flash athwart the lily-beds,
Pierce the dry reeds' thicket;
Where the yellow sunlight treads,
Chants the friendly cricket.

Butterflies about her skim-
Pouf! their simple fancies
In the willow shadows dim
Take her eyes for pansies.

Buzzing comes a velvet bee;
Sagely it supposes
Those red lips beneath the tree
Are two crimson roses.

Laughs the mill-stream wise and bright-
It is not so simple;
Knew it, since she first saw light,
Every blush and dimple.

'Bouche-Mignonne!' it laughing cries,
'Pierre as bee is silly;
Thinks two morning stars thine eyes,
And thy neck a lily.'

Bouche-Mignonne, when shadows crept
From the vine-dark hollows,
When the mossy mill-wheel slept,
Curved the airy swallows,

When the lilies closed white lids
Over golden fancies,
Homeward drove her goats and kids.
Bright the gay moon dances

With her light and silver feet,
On the mill-stream flowing;
Come a thousand perfumes sweet,
Dewy buds are blowing;

Comes an owl and greyly flits,
Jewel-eyed and hooting,
Past the green tree where she sits;
Nightingales are fluting;

Soft the wind as rustling silk
On a courtly lady;
Tinkles down the flowing milk;
Huge and still and shady

Stands the mill-wheel, resting still
From its loving labour.
Dances on the tireless rill,
Gay as lute or tabor;

'Bouche-Mignonne!' it laughing cries,
'Do not blush and tremble;
If the night has ears and eyes,
I'll for thee dissemble;

'Loud and clear and sweet I'll sing
On my far way straying;
I will hide the whispered thing
Pierre to thee is saying.

'Bouche-Mignonne, good night, good night!
Every silver hour
I will toss my lilies white
'Gainst thy maiden bower.'
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
---- 2023 youtube I wonder if, and lo': The Planets
A grand background orchestra, mental direct
there, you hav it, too, listen, a few times,
just in the mood, to listen
maybe as you get, that it starts at Mars,
begin as we
think we
Read this at your pace the writer advised,
and I did, a couple of times,
like long stuck records…
To Holst, an offered libation,
to all the minds whose words
are music as big as any mind
limited by my unknowing,
only
using, the truth, music, leading after words,
through ever away,
silent for a now,
or so,
from the Sun, past the fragment,
the single lump at the core,
of the process,
Ash as
Icarus, and Hermes, speedy messenger,
such as see thee, hold the knowledge holy,

watch, see, the wandering planets Holst,
might have seen today,
looking through my eyes,
wordless, right on, so far, as we

agree, there
is power in the mind that writes and reads
music,
power alloted some in blind feel,
power exuding from an ever in times past,

lasting ever tones thinning, spreading, patterning
perfected harmonies unexpected
yet
taken as granted, felt, in passion y sympassion,
same sound,

my once known wind, my bass oboe player,
acquaintance, who called me by name,
accusing me, subtly of not knowing,
there is a forest of low stature,
and there are missions there,
where if you pray,
they feed you twinkies… I recall, between
Venus and busy laughing Earth,

I remember Mars is next,
I am ready, I went into the dark kitchen,
back of the Mission on Fourth Street,
across from an Electra Records Billboard…

ifery approaches, Holst has not gotten me to Mars,
I am pulling in an experience, from a mission,
on Fourth Street, in a mindtimespace shared,

as of yet, by a few, who will know the place,
the ******* Mission, the one
with the Joker who used rats,
to get a startle response,

and at exactly the wrong place, for men with
certain
kinds of sure thing reactions, to diabolic attacks.

2023, approaching Mars with Lou Holtz, I thum thum
thummin wearin' my Razorback hat,
Inter Planatary Hwy 71, to Joplin,
ur in my realm.

Bass every thing slow creep slow, seep as sludge,
to the edge, and look beyond,
this is it, this is the Earth,
we shall survive!

We slay the unbelievers and fake it til we make it,
right, kids?

---------- longhair music, epicyc-lical as neckties,
to male tipped stacking schema for *****,
or stones,
or crystaline tones accompanying the heating up
of life's core cargo cult's last load,

Holst, bass trombones,
here, is the dance of little devils with a mind to make
a difference
in the depths of ever after,
up to now,
I had forgotten the piccolo parts, and the French horns,
and the joy of the big parade,
marching off
to war explore the unknown
for exploitations as per the underling theme,
go forth
subdue the Earth, and conquer all who refuse, to say
this is the way,
this is the good old way,

war
glory and honor, earn the urim'nthummin'n'human
inhumainity, we, the chosen warrior beings,
messengers of differing mocking gods of ****** mud
beyond the final river,
every slogger knows, forever, there remains
one more
river to cross, a final thread to tie to you, listener,

Holtz, still in the background, a journey, what price
each player plays in this, orchestration shared,
as I read, I wrote, as I hoped, I did,

and I remain, giddily glad… my side won the war
I lost.

Peace came, unbidden, apparently,
a deep breath, and harp strings,

this is the future from any ever before, now
to know
this is common, not so rare, as even the idea,
not so long ago,
first radio mono performance,
what child lay in the crib and heard this,
through the grand horn of Gram's Gramma phone.
Y''ello,
toldja, ai ain't no Injunsaint. Pretend, then,
right, ai and mai-y grandma

can piece together some occassional lessons, given us,
she in her time telling me in mine,sssince ever about
I was forty-nine, or so, she told me she was an orphan,
and had no family knowledge, past begins
at the last common thread,
to a native american epic,

when the old deluder, Satan, act, attached
to law and order and rectangular resettlement
of wilderness liberated from savages and beasts…
pawn, both steps, dare… help the Macedonians
and take Uncle Tom wit'cha, whicha oughtn't had
never the less, young wombed men, did tend
to become aspirational, after becoming
inspired read-up young wombed men, hot
to seek adventure, teachin' young'n's, out west.

indistanct depth Holst at the kettle drumms softerafter
- the silent version has a different light show
--- circa 1880's, not historically long ago, most places.
This character,
qwerty guy's friend, has kin as close as my Uncle Cebe'n'me,
who died at Wounded Knee, where my liege republic,
honored some two dozen rapid fire cannon supported
avengers of The Seventh Cav!
And in their hearts,
if not their lips,
was the march in time to Garry Owen. Their families
must be proud.

And that's a shame. We were taught to grant worth
to a medal signifying honor brought to the liege, in victory.

Peace passes that, music makes bubbles, we revisit,
replay the gramma phone version,
some scratchy
real realizing strings singing chimes and harps
of ages past
unveiling, hiding nothing knowing freedom is a sense,
you know
you do not own it,
you do not make it up, it is free. The idea

I had, approached as
hunter
in pursuit, steady as she blows,

leave us hap as may be at a triumph of joyous
curious
dancing twinkle noise amusing being a muse used,
enter tained, and voiced by bass
then tinkles
thin thin thin then Zildjian  K-bang!

____
Yes. Loaded. RIP
Jasmine Hermione Jul 2013
Cool stream trickles, tinkles by,
Dappled sunlight through the trees,
Oak, Ash, Silver Birch and Pine.
Tiny silver fishes swimming
The water giggles and rushes,
down the great mountainside,
I am calm.

The earth is damp and sweet,
The air full of birdsong and bluebells' scent.
I listen, I hear, I howl at the sun.
Clovers and daisies surround me,
And on the pebble bank, beach,
The soft rounded stones are warm.
They comfort me.
Brycical Jun 2015
Drifting....
waning, wandering away from myself....
              electric pine and turquoise eyes unfold,
       greeting me,
    a jade leopard winks with those eyes,
an inside joke
in the new moon darkness lighting the room.....

I watch myself levitate into conscious caverns
  in my gray matter canyon
wind tinkles and chimes
( ( ( ( v i b r a t i n g ) ) ) )
the moist,              fleshy rocks...
          memories of sativa green Canada echo--
a family of strangers
      humming, buzzzing & drumming rhythms
tattooing heartbeat sigils onto each other
            amidst a sonic amethyst campfire
          moonbeam embers glow
        indigo guitar strings sing hymns
     swaying and swimming in cuddle puddles--
   a new age baptism.

                             My wings shimmer,
                         visions simmer and chill
             the darkness returns
            left with myself again
        I flight right into another lightbub storm
     as trebble trouble words rain bows of colors
  atop white lilies reaching for stained-glass clouds.


              Distantly, native flutes flourish
       like rippling water rises slowly
                         into incandescent tides...
                      sweet, filagreed foam tickling-
                 washing
                bubbles popping over pores.
           and I rejoice!
         a homecoming for an ocean's drop rejoined--
                         rejuvenated!
                           berserk bongos bump 'n thump
                              a raucous rumpus of blissful voices
                              vicariously lift my visage into everyone
                                   at once!
                                  astral silhouette forms cajole and conjoin and
                                         we     laugh        ourselves      into ******!

And for a fleeting moment...
I reminded of the celestial infinity
that surrounds us,
where time isn't measured in promises
and trees aren't groomed to be currency.
Here, I remember the why of my existence,
only to momentarily forget,
upon opening my eyes,
until delicate deja vu echoes intermittently remind me
once in a while.
I was in a trance when I wrote this
Familys ******* can ya hear em?
Uncle larry's probaly gonna puke dont get near him.
I kinda ****** up sight.
Someone get Bobby Joe outthe street cause ya know he aint bright.

Christmas kinda blows around here.
So toss me a bottle and crack a beer.
Hey did anyone know how the tree caught fire?
No sweetie uncle Stan  isnt a down on his luck actor.
He's really a drug dealer and habitual liar.

Is egg nog supposed to have chunks.
No baby it's  not cool that your 13 on facebook asking
for pic's of shirtless hunks.

Great it's time to sit down to dinner
Yes sure is great Father O Malley showed up.
Who better to chasethe boys and drink up the whiskey
screaming at the hat rack it's a sinner.


Um it's hard to make snow Angels  on the concrete.
No your son isnt spoiled.
He's just wearing more than i make month with his
seven thousand dollar sneakers on his feet.

Grandma it's kiss  under the mistletoe   no  tongue.
Ya think grandpa would have slowed on the cigs after getting put in the iron lung.

Great a blizzard has snowed us all in. yippie im bunking  with Little Tommy tinkles  thats the way the holiday goes.
I think freezing to death doesnt sound so bad.
Lord how Christmas blows.
Kinda simple and sweet  yes im a grinch.
Enough said.
Del Maximo Mar 2014
wind was sweeping darkness
clouds cluttered the horizon
in all directions
encircling clear, midnight sky
foreshadowing the full moon
shiny, twinkly things beamed brightly
in pollution’s absence
mulberry, guava and palm
swayed in silhouette
dancing to wind chime songs
soft clacks, tinkles and bongs
fragrant breezes carried ocean
like a sweet smelling memory
gently stirring the stillness
© 03/26/14
Your lips on my lips your heart on my heart
Tinkles like a moment to remember forever
My sweetheart you are so beautifully so smart
I carry along your gorgeous curves and figure

Let me appreciate all landmarks of your beauty
Step by step I submit myself for your grandeur
Still I do not know how to be in line to be free
Come and take me in arms as just my real savior

My sweetheart be symbol of beauty of universe
My eyes have captured you as my clear sight
As a couple we definitely are strange and diverse
Open up like a bottle of wine to make me bright

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dave Bosworth Mar 2013
how to take back things said
like words,
but red

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013
ShamusDeyo Feb 2015
Ice Tinkles in Cocktail Glasses,
At a Washington Hotel Lobby
A Senator Brags about his Hobby
It costs a lot of Upkeep to Maintain
Racing Stock, Ah but Bridled & Reined
Its Worth It, says the Chair of the FDA
Committee Over Sight to the Rep From
The  Pharmaceuticals Association
As they Head to the Corner to whisper

The Engineer At Major Automotive
Tells them what he Sees for new Parts
They are off tolerance But in the Chart
It Shows only 3% Fatality, and It saves cash
After the Discussion to table it for Now
They break out the Bonuses for saving Money

Dark Souls Cast Dark Shadows in Life
With No Respect For Honesty or Right
Can't they see in a Flash, they fly into the Abyss
For all their Money..... On a Carpet of Cash
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
rachel g Feb 2013
I want to smoke a cigarette.

I want--
to lean against a doorway, my converse shoelaces brushing against the brick.
to stare up at an overcast sky and know that gray doesn't always need a slow, mournful soundtrack. to feel the paper between my fingers and on my lips and take a deep,
deep
drag.


I want
to empty my lungs of everything they have and watch it all curl, wispy and insubstantial--
watch it disappear into the bustle of moving cars as the coffee shop door tinkles while people in pretty scarves and
pea coats and
black-rimmed glasses
with fingerless gloves
and nose piercings
and black tights covering skinny legs
hold hands and exchange knowing smiles and
enter behind me,
and cold, February ocean wind lifts the tips of my hair.

I want to taste it--those few minutes of isolated reflection. It'd be like meditation beneath an awning on a city street.
Teaspoons *****
Cups rattle
Water gushes
Cans pop
Steam shrieks
Laughter tinkles
Voices rise
Over the top
Fridges buzz
Bacon sizzles
Coffee drips
As gossip spreads
Tea brews
Cakes devoured
Oranges juiced
Knives shred
Papers rustle
Scones rise
Eyebrows lift
Voices fall
Toast crisps
Eggs bubble
Soup warms
One and all

The surface noise
Always concerned
With etiquette
And propriety
But underneath
Can be found
The sounds of
Café society
My sweetheart let's talk from lips to lips
As beauty quenches thirst and just sips
Wine of love is ordained to get all the tips
Love believes in beauty for frequent trips

Your beautiful cheeks take all from me
Springly provides graces as charity to see
In togetherness we are not alone but we
Praise of you does not require any plea

Forget about all come in my arms for solace
My heart tinkles when you move pace to pace
I am charmed and enthralled by your grace
My eyes remain fixed on your beautiful face

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
This is not for substance
Depth, not pragmatic at all
emotional ******* when mentally I'm Lance Armstrong, wit blue ball

But wit *****,I mean thoughts, as I Tom Cruz through life, so an apology
Id owe myself if not against my policy
Cuz "I'm sorry" like Scientology

Don't make sense so astrology
Can try to map out my stars
I just hope Lady Luck shows up Before Chris brown, and she sees stars

What can I say, I can really charm
Like lucky charms I march mellow
I like girls who still say&count; their chubby bunnys...no marsh mellows

If I lost u there ....just mellow
like yellow,pop songs whorin out hello
So of course forced ******* lately seems endorsed ...pudding pop, jello

Can't be trusted bad enough kids aren't safe anywhere ...gone
I even over react at subway when my sons asked if he wants a foot long

I already know this is foolish
But the rule is ...the real fool is
Those schooled by the useless
at least I know I'm stupid

Taking it out of context, no contest
Your honor....Honest
That was the first time I promise
I hardly ever try to hit on prom kids

Wit tight grips to poke a Bonnet
Off the bun from poccohontis
When findin the island of *****
Oops "He Broke her *******"

That blood soaks on a sausage
....Just another day at the office
Where we process the obnoxious
til the world is my Hospice

A no knowledge college for knowledge to abolish the need
To be correct politically&bree;;
seeds Thatll bleed to succeed

Sp our goal, of bringing awareness
To the shortages pendin
As extinction of bent bananas grow
Straight, it's time to help bendin

bananas, but whats bananas is
ignoring real issues latched
To Muslim hate talks,instigated
Infiltrated so u won't go snap

When they send more of our kids to war, so if u hate, like they ask
When propaganda props the jenga, NVM...wait..look! Kim kardashian ***

That needs a cardigan...plaid
"Drugs drugs drugs! which are bad"
Ask your mom who made u at prom
Or ask your alcoholic abusive dad

Who thinks Itampons a small iPad
Where Dark and red bleeds
quoted Moses"a wifes rags a bonus, So like me  "part the Red Sea"

Will need are secure like cures
the government assures us do not
Really Exist like seniors ****, that
firmly sits, and not hip drop

implying the governments got
secrets but dont ask me ****
Cause wit metaphors, I'm never sure  
Maybe the govt has saggy ****

Some dictions descriptions givin has restriction or depiction's
equivocal, so ones vision of religion
Is another's flashback circumcision  

To an unforgiven rabbis hasty snip
No one Asked "may we strip"
The turtle neck ******* on your slim
priest teasing baby ****

But written permission maybe fit
When a baby's **** and crazy ****
Is so uncivil to fiddle and whittle the little middle, above my skittles it sits

And the initial riddle is, riddle this
What Is sprinkled with ****
And Often tinkles to spit ..
Full of wrinkles, it tickles... The hint?

If she swallowed and followed the
nutrients that hallows out ....
Ud still have wrinkles but it helps to single out,who's single⁢'s about

Time2see my psychologist who yells I need help...(yells) I need help!"
She said her head, lead her to bed
And said her brains dead &melts;

And to blame for her frame of mind
Is the frame of mine, it's the kind
That very rarely has thoughts that carry any logic&scare;; me but I'm

Just daring and not caring but im
sharing the mind of jerry
Where clowns fill towns with slide whistle sounds&priests; that marry

Donald trump And Carrie
Whos news was very scary
as Carrie had to carry a Kanye west hilter hybrid and Arbitrary

Is how arbitrary and arm pit hair be
Armed with hairy Italian yarn
That they wear as bare, but armed
Is bare **** arms that like bear arms

Bears a bears hair where arms
Are usually bare but bears harmed
Is how the thick hair I wear, where it's layered, but not the ****

Hair that impairs where my palms  
Look like they grow two beards
But it's not like i would blow deers
maybe Bambi...who knows were

Not gettin hypothetical to go near
How endearing a dear is it's queer as for my hairy palms I wrote them
Ahem, Dear palms: be calm I'm here

And I'm so sorry u resemble the
Essential pieces that are detrimental
For trump hair that trump wears but
His is authentic ******* Assembled

By the youngest child laborer, paid
less than the condoms for rapin her
So embezzle on levels of unethical
Devils black *** ...and kettle...sure

Let's move on to...Ernie, hey it's Bert
I don't discriminate
Support abortion, or the portion
supportin orphans who's cure

Is particular and par with a ****
Who's testicular inhibitors
Make him a prematurely Shirley
So surely he's early in visitors

So to recap the crap hid in were
Child labour jokes great!
Abortion, psychotic neurotic topics
******* that'll fill in ya, all the hate

Oh wait wait wait...Can't forget ****
Or what I call a bill Cosby date
Afternoon delight? You'll sleep past moon and right to the drowsy awake

State... Wait.. are u a ****? Great!
I never ***** one of those
That's enough Cosby dialogue
It's dyin off, so I'm signin off vogue

Strike a pose, like a ****** my
***** bled all up my skirt in
My ****** like I was al bundy,
****** as a ted bundy surgeon

So uncomfortable like twerkin
When you see 12 yr old butts
That makes me want to be free of
tv, but it makes r Kelly want to ***

So go hug or **** a tree
He'll, **** two, have a treesome
this abuse of my speechs freedom
Must stand alone cause these dumb

Words.. This world.. needs none
cheeses of diseases...egregious,
The weedless, read this,&say; Jesus
Is he nuts? It's Needless,

deep pits, of pre-mixed, ***-*****
Three ****... Please fix
demons *****, from a **** bleedin
Fresh out yeast infected sheep *****

Where we sit&read; this,
praise Jesus Allah and people
Cause were all just quirky, evil
Good, obnoxious naive deceitful

******* with **** smells that equal
Even if not the same
We all bleed, breed and feel pain
And love a good line of *******

No wait , ****, sometimes my brain
Can't contain the stupid
Do models use the same fingers to ******* that use to puke wit?

I know.... I'm ****** useless
An abused ego bruised nuisance
Like **** pics sent to fit chicks
When they want rich pics, so do this

Take pics of a receipt that u slip
From the machine you use, if
You really wanna know, if they'll
Blow whats in the pic u send, do it

Cause she'll blow all that u fit
In the pic u send her I'm sure
And if your still reading this,
Im meanin this,u need help..a cure

Mental stability, tranquility, and
The ability, to stop the instability
Convoluted, polluted, and stupid
Literature, it can cause infertility

And psychotic, psychosomatic,
Psychosis, voodoo and neurosis
poetry roaches Eye halitosis,
To erode the road wit your soul if

You ****-inue, reading soulless
Ambivalence, so belligerent
That insolence so Insignificant
Is magnificent,

A Malignant indignant, piglet, in a
predicament, that approaches
As I ******* my immaculate *****
So swallow this osmosis

insufficient like what I've written  or Tuberculosis, and oh ****!
The oppositions mission is fixing
The risen conditions, to position

***** induced, goblin puke
Gobblin through, all of the usual
Til I'm suitable for cubicles made of pharmaceuticals ...indubitable

Now I'm awful like waffles, made in a
bra full, of a mucus' nostril
putrid puke with stomach fluids,, a used ****** u chew in brothel

It's a cross between a re-run
Of *******'delinquence&bee; dung
Don't think Im gd ppls than be one

And my wise parting words
Are not the rise of farting nerds
Or pretentious self righteousness
Of those dry and artsy jerks
Shadow Dragon Oct 2018
Love bites
for the dark
intertwining with the pure.
Forgive me for I have sinned.
bruised touches
that rock back
and forth.

Save the innocent
or let them feed on unholy blood.
Let them taste metal
in the finest state.
Let them lick off
any left overs
that are both sweet and wet.

Turn them around,
show them new paths
that they can learn to love.
It's not life that deserves love
it's the after thought.
It's the mellow dark
that tinkles and pounds the heart.

Let yourself go,
and show others to do so.
Bite down,
caress and kiss
the mother of death.
For she has risen
and shown a way.

I let you in on my secret.
I told you half spoken truths
that twist with lies.
Because a broken doll
plays pretty until she falls
or drowns for that matter.
Only seven to go, what do you know?
Kripi Aug 2013
You will love the way
I think about you

For Me
You are that wight
At the time of blight
Who thinks unique
Apply the new technique

Who will never let me afraid
From the sharpness of blade

For Me
You are that jewel
Which I love to wear everyday
You are that bell
Which tinkles in my ear everyday

For Me
You are the glimpse of hope
In the full dark
You are that scope
Which i would never wanna lose

For Me
You are the incitement
You are the alignment
You are the enlightenment
You are the achievement


*You are the inducement
Whom i love
For whom i live
There is no end of our love!
douglas chesa Feb 2012
I see the rigours of time
Etched on your sulky face
Though the sun's fingers caress
The brow of your ambitions
Nostalgia tinkles solemn bells
Of dreams maimed and cobwebbed
By time's blunt knife
I see you mourn

Life is molten wax that congeals
With a caress of the air
Life is a wagon swaggering downhill
A liberating spasms
Of wee wet dreams...
I see you mourn

I see your determination thawing
Like white icicles on white winter window pane
I see your patience wane in pain
Like dry cakes of mud in the African sun
I see your conscience rot and ooze
Black brackish slimy rot
Tomorrow they will declare you
A disaster no-go-area zone
I see you mourn

Emotions thunder, tempers glow
And voice a shrill mingle with unknown
Raucous whispers of the gods of doom
This world has been terribly nice to you
I see you whimper like a miserable dog
That has lost its tail
Brother you have lost your tale
I see you mourn.


-dougwa-
The Flipped Word Dec 2013
Slipping off the luscious ivory 
Tumbling fingers melting to nature's symphony 
A dip here, a hustle there 
The strings bent in their own misery 
But a gentle uprising, still beginning 
Coursing
            Burning
                      Waiting 
The pulsing anger in the soulful sound 
Ebbing away gently to be bound 
By the shackles of self, isolated limitations 
Flowing reflectively in its melodious imitations 
A broken heart looking for solace
 But finding music instead 
Tinkles hopefully
                          Chiming
                                    Turning 
Realizing that it's too soon to be dead...
VENUS62 Jul 2014
In the distance I hear your anklets chime
With your every step as they  rhyme
The soft tinkles of your green glass bangles
Puts my being in twists and tangles

In front of the mirror you come sit
un turning leisurely your earrings
Unawares, baby you begin to play
music on my heart strings

As you smile, I gaze with fascination
In the mirror, your rendition
Bidding good night, your eyes close
Leaving me to admire, your beauty in repose

You turn and place a kiss on my cheek right
Holding the promise of a stormy night
The battering rains will drench
the earth and in turn quench
The fires that in my heart you lit the first time
When I heard your anklet’s chime
Written from a man's perspective.
Kevin Triolo Jun 2012
Growing in trees
        Life
Tinkles out
in every
        Leaf
The tips of branches
reaching out
just to
       Reach.



© 2012
I still just can't forget the burning of garden in spring
Would I be able to get someone to interpret my dream
My vision carries all the pain of my life to bring in string
Beams of light pave way for my eternal little life stream

Love is not ordinary wine be taken from a shop of wine
It carries the essence and fragrance of hand of beloved
Lover in sheer trance cries that you are mine, you are mine
And in intoxication takes the entire bottle by opening lid

The priest deals with exterior while sophist deals interior
Love is what tinkles in clean heart and is not sunburst
Faith is matter of heart hence remains eternal and superior
Surface be damaged while remains intact the submersed

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Gold
Amanda Dec 2013
It is shocking, bewildering when someone special kisses your skin with their fingertips.

It is like everything that they ever wished to say is said, whispered right into your soul.

Dissolving, permeating slowly through the layers and walls you have built.

And when your fingertips dances across it, in that instant, the world's momentum ceases.
Time metaphorically tinkles backwards and there you are.

With him.

Your head blissfully at the crook of his neck. One hand laced with his.

And that's when you know.

Your heart is his.

And his heart is yours.
Helios Rietberg Dec 2011
These days the moon seems unnaturally bright
Its amber angels bashing eyelids towards me
and how the snow litters the ground to the southern valley
mirroring the sky––

The glittering ocean of white speckles
Tickling our noses as we quietly pass them by
treading the moonlight frost for moments
and letting them thaw in our footsteps

The fleet-footed page boy of the ascent rivers
Glimmering by like a star-lit heaven
sidelines of the arena we watched together
as the planets guided our way

Freer than ever from the rising corals
Hovering in the midst of our winter day
lining our worlds and their fading corpses
crests in our never ending stories

Dawn breaks too early in the silent north
Its frozen statues flashing merry tinkles at me
heading alone outward for some lighter horizon
whispering every step–––
© Helios Rietberg, December 2011
Humanity has just gone down to dogs
Fake people are fake in their actions
Less speeches with more monologues
Third class packets, classical captions

No difference between right and,wrong
Prudence is a commodity of just all fools
Toads come up with ***** shrilling song
Humans are nothing but just useless tools

Tricks have taken over sincerity in trade
What ever is sold is ******* in entirety
Blood relations cut like sharp blunt blades
Man is in chains but apparently seem free

Revolution is mandatory it is call of  the day
Justice should take over all sham mannerism
Still hope tinkles with beam of light as a ray
Spring is ready to surpass the yellow autumn

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Louis Pollard Jun 2011
My spoon tinkles
and finds sanctity in the mug.
I toss a dollar to the waitress

and smile at her on my way out.
Nothing.
Nothing but the blank face
I always get from that *****.
I don't know why I bother

going back to that place.
As I leave, I hurt a little
and realise that
it's the only home I have.

What a ******* sorry state of affairs.
I leave the diner and turn up my collar.
The rain spots my glasses
but I'm not sure if I care.

**** could be a lot worse.
Part three of fifteen.
Tricia Trout Oct 2010
My fists tightly clenched,
I'm standing in front of the mirror.
I'm glaring at my reflection,
Hating the girl I see.
I watch the tears trail down my cheeks.
I stare into my own eyes,
Letting the anger build,
Letting it festeer inside me.
I let out a cry of rage,
And my left fist hits the mirror,
Right where my reflected face is.
The glass shatters and tinkles as it hits the counter.
I pull my arm back and swing again,
Ignoring the shards embedded in my knuckles.
More glass breaks, sprinkling onto the countertop.
There's blood now, trickling down my wrist.
I see it but don't heed it.
My reflection is broken,
Scattered into a thousand pieces.
Just looking into my ruined relfection,
Jaggedly repeated,
I let out a hoarse cry
And drop to my knees.
I put my hands on the top of my head,
One over the other,
And bend over my knees,
Crying openly,
My sobs echoing throughout the bathroom.
I can feel the damp warmth of my blood
Seeping onto my hair and scalp.
My cries become louder,
Turning in to high, keening wails.
There are bits of mirror beneath my knees,
Biting into my skin and drawing more blood.
I squeeze my eyes shut,
Not wanting to see the pieces of glass,
Sparkling coldly in the artificial light.
I've never actually hit a mirror, but I've come close. I have broken a bus window however...
Alin Nov 2015
you can’t do this when you do this for that
I said

she was Folding

oh so hurriedly!
all the time
in that
Eraserhead style

brr!

only to be replaced
for the next

only to be replaced
for the next

which is not here yet
and will never be

you can’t do this when you do this for that
I said

like a chorus to her verse
of each of these layers
she blindly holds
as if in her hands

with a duh! and a ****!
my layers against hers’
finally she hears!

and at once
transforms
to
her dress
socks
shirt
*******
blouse

one by one

by
my song

such a hard hit
only once
tinkles
now as a mantra
in her head

unfolding

all her
hidden
layers
slowly
and  patiently

I am fine you know
having just one
everyday still is a different day
by the light
I shine

takes a bit of courage maybe
but she will  learn
someday
and
on that
heartfelt day

she will
be
an  earnest
puppet
like me

and sing
just as I say

you can’t do this when you do this for that
The sky rising up from the sea
something in me?

Each man sets his own horizon
which lies on
the
broadsword of the uncut
umbilical.

As much as I see
I see virtual reality
and a veil drawing
over the day.

Voices of reason chattering away
scattering the clouds that
lay over the bay and
spoiling the view, but
you are the muse where
the words from a heart and
the thoughts in a head
come together and
fuse.

The cat
(if there was one)
has gone
the bell tinkles on.

The fine line,
the first line of defence
was,
(when I was a boy)
the old garden fence where
words were batted like
ping pong *****.

Old fences fall and
innovation calls,
the mobile phone
the mobile office
the mobile home
and we're all immobilised
looking surprised.

The sea remains
stains on the bedsheets
***** plates in the sink
washing in the basket
I think
I must make
a move.
shåi Jun 2018
the sleek
cool marble
chills run
down
the stone
delineations
and curvatures
of fine hands
and legs
white and pure

her eyes
blue
a fountain of youth
i wish i could bathe in it
forever

her blank gaze
from vacant
rolling ball
sockets
falls dreamlessly
into the oblivion

tinkles of music
hum and drone
noiselessly
like spoons
clattering to
the unforgiving ground

her cold heart
exposed
as she reclines,
back arched
ever so slightly

she is without
her soul and mind
the marble
her master
keeps her confined-
her own timeless paradigm
a late night release...
Ayesha Apr 2021
This chalice of night
that I carry around
I’ll surrender to you
as a shackled slave
--
Love me an apocalypse
Love me asunder
Your long ebbed serenity
does little to allure me

What is chastity
if not another name
Another anklet tinkling
above the goat’s hooves

the goats, the lambs

So many have you dragged
through the chattering streets
As gazes ***** their skins open
So may have you quietened
--
Love me a massacre
Love me fanatic
My sweet ashen purity
is too frail a goddess

So long have I beautified
this altar that I bear
The blooms now sing
of pleas long dried
And gore sleeps soundly
in cracked stones

A lamb, a lamb follows
Another treads on behind
Carved out of my own bright flesh
Stilled with blades chanting
my name
--
Love me a mayhem
Love me turbulent
The tinkles still linger
long dead the screams

Let them now

Bring on the maidens
and bring on their men
Let begin the ritual
Let spurt out the dark

Let tinkles dance
above ashen blooms
Let lambs be smothered
beneath tumbling stones
Let none be silenced
Let echo the songs

I do not wish for quiet now
--
Love me an apocalypse
Love me asunder
You, a darkness within
I, a crumbling altar
--
This chalice of night
That I carry around
I carved and filled out
my own bright flesh

I do not wish for quiet now

Yet you love me so
You, a darkness within
I, a sacrificial lamb—

(this came off as so emo what the ****)
Julie Anne Lail Feb 2010
I wonder what the hell the world sees
when they look in my direction.
I mean, sure I have a bright personality
but some have seen me fiery and smoldering
and I burn those who stand too close.

I wonder what the hell the world sees
when they look in my direction.
They certainly don’t realize I hide
a much softer side behind each rant.
The fluff and feathers go unhatched in my shell.

I wonder what the hell the world sees
when they look in my direction.
My laugh certainly can draw a stare
as it rumbles up out of my chest
and tinkles to the ground like crystal.

I wonder what the hell the world sees
when they look in my direction
and the rage from forever-hurts flare.
My fire lashes out and tears betray me
as I hope to be secretly strong.

I wonder what the hell the world sees
when they look in my direction
and realize I know I’m not much to look at, at all.
shåi Jul 2019
from binkies to blunts
i watched my world change
around me
like little watercolor swirls
dancing in the sky of my memories

from binkies to blunts
swingsets and playpens
seemed ever so distant
in the rearview of childhood

we traded barbie dolls
into ***** bottles
wondering why
smile lines
seemed so hard to come by

we had always missed the times
when things came easy;
naturally (almost).

from carousels to learning
how *** sells
we began to draw parallels
of who we are and what we should be
the definition of me
never seemed to have
the stability
i had long to see
ever so constantly

from closet doors to liquor stores
feelings became trapped
in the constellations of thoughts
instead of the web of words

i wish to go back
(sometimes)
to the days
with the little teacups
filled with the tinkles
of warmth and laughs
of bliss past.
its been a while ... freed myself from the chain of my thoughts only to find myself at this hour with a sudden need to write- all in one take, no edits
Dominic Clarke Jul 2019
Her eyes glisten as she rabbits
on about how Mars is in its second
alignment, and the moon is
in her corner.

The bell above the door tinkles
as it slams--

Vagaries of fate swoop and
dive, and
he can’t stop thinking
about how beautiful
her lips are
as they move.

— The End —