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K Balachandran Jan 2016
After dark, energies flow in manners that pleases them most
braided together in lust, two king cobras were seen spiraling up
when darkness like a camouflage sets in thickly around,you're
the  marijuana of my mind, seeking far horizons of pleasure.
I willingly seek oblivion, when pink pointed goosebumps
like tarantula's love bites, results of mating time cruelty
infest all over my body's landscape, signatures of ecstasy.

I feel your lips become, moist, soft, honey from each drips
never enough,for me, is it possible to get inebriated more?
Your sighs and moans speak the vocabulary of a forgotten
ancient language love hurriedly resurrected for us from past,
brevity is the crux of that lingo of erupting jets of desire,
it teaches you to moan in fifty different tones in all;even more?

Your sharpened nails etch cave murals on my itching back
that has the searing taste of blood, in hot hot chilly red.
my taste buds of lust, begs for more and more of it.
You are the marijuana fueling my narcotic flights that land
in your misty land, enveloping my senses as a whole.
"The night is still young, hear what the darkness whispers"
I hear you speak like an oracle, on things about to happen.
Meredith Ann Jan 15
and in these moments,
of feeling lost enough,
i find myself turning to the tones that narrate my adolescence,
the ones I know every small shade to.

the way the tongue dipped to form those kiwi sounds,
brings on peace like childhood nostalgia,
dripping in rich indigo and sparkling lavender.

i crawl inside of them,
rewatching the story a thousand times over,
feeling the anticipation of the tide's rise and fall,
deep down in my soul.

As whispers of aristocracy,
teenage anarchy,
broken lovers,
and reeling nights,

take me home to my heart,
and I feel known.
david mungoshi Mar 2016
your coming in with the rising sun
in soft morning light and glistening dew
made me think life could be  a huge smile
and that nothing about you could be a trifle

conversation with you was like lyrical poetry
full of measured tones and profound emotion
words are wholesome food when one is enamoured
you sip their oozing nectar at every sugary pause

your voice was like a heavenly harp magically played
by expert fingers dancing to an inspired melody
that only i and they could hear, and cherish like a dream
thus see me now with my face still ravaged by possibilities

but alas, you decided to take your leave with the dying day
and i knew my bewilderment would last the stretch of eternity
you walked away into the twilight and never once looked back
those who go away with the setting sun do not always rise with it
Chris Feb 2018
Maple leaf dreams
scattered about the lawn
Pathways hidden
beneath blankets of decaying sorrow

I wander, eyes closed
for to see means to cry
Shadows laugh in deep tones
as my thoughts always fade into you

Northern borders point fingers
and emptiness is their focus
Where I sit, I sit alone, wondering
does the thought of us exist

Broken branches are now my bed,
though sleep is useless
For all I see is you and me
before waking to the reality

That life is for others,
that dreams are merely fiction
and love is just a four letter word
no one cares to shout at me
avalon Nov 2017
conversational   tones too often
tumble into sloppiness, leaving
my words marked with fumble
-d caresses and stuttering half-t
-houghts. i don't leave you with
my leftovers on purpose, they d
-ropped  into my purse when i c
-ame to see you today. a lot of th
-ings drop into  my mind when i
see you. but it's mostly  your wo
-rds. perhaps my only love affair
was with the   letters you placed
under my name. i never wanted
to be beautiful until you wrote o
-f it with a ball point pen;  never
dreamt of living extravagantly u
-ntil you dusted me in spices and
sparks with flecks of ink and the
marks of your fingers. you crafte
-d everything you loved about m
-e. you are the only reason i am e
-xtravagantly in love  with the fle
-cks and sparks under my skin. y
-ou planted whispers beneath my
eyes and called them  dangerous.
but only you      were  dangerous
to                                               ­  me
this is new. this is the breath of winter as it fogs before your eyes, this is disguise, this is the hundred times you laugh before you start to cry.
Meredith Ann Jan 31
Voices are always
much more vivid
after a period of absence from them in my ear.

Nevertheless,
your burnt orange nature was so shocking,
that it was almost painful

And as I grappled with
how I had lived next to it for so long,
I realized that all the shades were wrong,

For when it was just us,
you'd stoop down to my level,
as your rough tones would break into melting amber.

But today was not the case,
as the energy coursing through your throat,
was a bright, blinding tangerine

My name in your mouth seared me,
my ears burned as I listened to you sing,
The pulsating light left me squinting in surprise

Suddenly I've found the motivation to remove myself from you.
For you no longer are the answer to the relaxation I seek,
As I accept that your makeup no longer consists of my cool tones.
acacia Dec 2018
mellow umber skin stitched onto her bones,
wine colored lips stained with a bust --
multiple mauve bruises on her long leg and
holes all inside of her body.

imagining the periwinkle sky as the sun flies into view.

lilac tears and the smell of potpourri,
tell her what to do to make it all feel better.

despondent thoughts and disappointed hopes,
missing hugs from her father,
no lullabies or good night kisses.
no more, "I love you."

mellow umber skin drenched in
dry tears that leave a scar every time.
Battered and broken,
covered in a silk smalt sheet.

lilac tears comfort her as she attempts to fall asleep (again);
she burns herself with her
cardinal coffee mug, hoping it'll make her
wounds feel (i think i might totally be lost) better.
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Some decades back, in actual fact,
Being heard was feared.
Corded phones and dial tones
Were oft routinely cleared;

The worry was a 'wire-tap',
Domestic speech taboo.
The rumor was, in essence, that
If said, the White House knew.

Nowadays, this fear we lack,
And cheerfully obey.
Now we ask, "Hey, wire-tap,
What's the weather like today?"
A poem about technology.
#3 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Anthony Perry Jul 2018
There is something violent about how I see the skin on your body
Its so rich and smooth, almost decadent and unlike you

This observation turns into a premeditation when you touch my cheek
Its almost like i can feel the heat melting off your bones

As I laid you down and slipped a knife underneath your sternum
You whispered something hidden in painful tones like a sharp breath piercing the guttural moans

But I dont need to hear words to know the searing desire steaming from your guts as I replaced them with hot stones

The blood on your finger tips remind me of fresh water on leaves after a storm and your severed head looks like its been through famine, disease, and a damaged city plagued and war torn

Yet there is still beauty in the decayed decadence that is your mutilated corpse

The moonlight drowns in the canal of blood begging for remorse while the insects march and sing a song of things that can only get worse
©anthonyasylum
This is a poem about the need for closeness between two people
L B Oct 2017
Behind the barn in late afternoon
Uncle Ray lifts my brother
to the seat of a harrower
abandoned now
and rusted to this field of family
tilted and monumental
plunging its tines into memory
of broken earth
behind this life of the workhorses they were
My father and my Uncle Ray—talking
Scattered conversation
in hushed tones

...as skyscraping thunderheads
slashed through their heights
by arrows of fire
light the pumpkins
between hay bundles
of time golden
One of my early memories.  I was three.  Between my first and second year,  memory begins for me-- mostly impressions and strong symbols that seem to float without time.  
My grandparents were gone, but my Uncle Ray still worked their small farm in Hatfield, Massachusetts, and we would drive up from the city on Sunday afternoons.  The house itself, was one of the oldest in New England, with the barn attached by a distinctive enclosure, to allow easy access to the animals in heavy snow, like the house described in Ethan Frome.

What's left of the farm is abandoned now. :(
The buildings cannot be torn down-- National Historic Site
There is a marker on the property: "Balise Family Homestead."
Ashley Chapman Oct 2017
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.

Good, and so you ought.

Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.

Millions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world; know how dead, inside, I feel.

You, yes, you:

Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind in here,
In hair, hear her: har, har, har…

A box of lies...

A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.

The real thing, the men, the women, their animals,
Made in the wild, wild desert, in the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea; now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart, My Child, now its imitation.
This comes from my fascination with Philip K. **** and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. In this, his future dystopian vision, androids are retired, a euphemism for terminated, when they have passed their legal age limit after four years. Humans, us, have by now ruined our environment and become enthralled to a false religion, Mercerism , a fabricated make belief, spun by an actor, Al Jerry. The empathy boxes plunge the followers of Mercerism into a shared virtual hallucination. I was also enthralled by Jude Law in AI by Steven Spielberg who gave what I thought was a mesmerising portrait of a *** robot, the ultimate Lothario and so tragically programmed to flaw.

Earlier this year Mercerism was the theme of The Tunnel, an art collective to which I am a participator, through poetry.

Blade Runner, the film, now Blade Runner 49, is based on this dark interpretation of where we could all be headed.
I never cared much for car talk,
But when he speaks, I'm intrigued,
And I don't know why.

Most men speak in tones that imply
I don't know anything,
Can't understand simple machines,
Have never seen an engine block,
And just want to watch as they talk.
But he is genuinely fascinated
With systems and forces,
And wants to share.
His passion consumes me,
And I listen, hoping to learn.

On switchbacking forest roads,
Over potholed washboard,
By steep cliff dropoffs,
My head swims with emergency "what ifs"
But not with him.
He flies over loose gravel
And I squeal with euphoric trust and delight.
He drives twice the posted speed,
And I find myself shamelessly sunk
Into a wet seat.
He pumps the brakes
And I'm bowing to the king,
Brazenly hoping that someday
He'll flip a carnal handbrake turn,
Wondering if he cares enough to show off,
Seduced like so many before me
By oil, rubber, and gasoline.
7/25/18
ryn Aug 2014
Step into my universe
You'll see only words
In my mind, flurry of feathers
Hurricane of riled up birds.

They amass and circulate
Searching to break free
Storm of ink; doesn't abate
Bleed out for no one to see.

Hidden inside my heart
Forbidden words I long to convey
Teach me how to start
With you I foist to play.


Words veiled by silent secrecy,
Cloaked words I long to shout
Bordering the point of heresy
Tabooed words without doubt.

Almost an eternity I've whispered
With care and only hushed tones
Well kept secret undiscovered
Laying quiet under unturned stones.

Thought myself alone when I heard another
One that sings choral to my own
A mournful call that sang together
Grey melodies embodied in skin and bone.

The cravings of my heart
Your words I wish to fill
In my head occupies the biggest part
Our declaration's the only seal.

A vow you and I made
A love we wish to last forever
Dismissing that opportunities evade
Who would need a supporting paper.

Hidden softness within me
Only you can tap and enjoy
The only one that holds the key
Heart and mind meet to employ.


Our hearts, like kings, would've risen
Adorned and bejewelled on their crests
Let us sing in unrehearsed unison
Crowned words we've locked in our chests.



IamMsIves
rhymesmith
Written by Suckers for Rhymes - IamMsIves & Rhymesmith
Axion Prelude Aug 2018
I seethe within what echoes disdain for all things wanting, because I can't seem to keep what's there to begin with

The desire to purge prior prose and start from scratch beseeches my mind to scrawl what dire nuance calls my name, but I don't look it in the eyes

It's my demon; my voice that resonates deep within; the call of all things mired by fate-less whispers of what's more, or right

But I know, it can't be how I desire. What can be will only come when time sets right the means to seek it out; to reach for whatever may be reaching back at me

I can't move forward unless I know for certain what's there would not bring more desolation. I am a coward, but am I human? I ask myself that every waking moment

I crave nothing more than to be normalized and reverberate with twining string of fate that actually calls my name, not the sour tones of dissonance and disdain as before

I crave reality to be my own, rather than reality to own everything I can not

I seek, eternally.. I find nothing but light that touches the surface, but never does the sun actually rise.

Bring me to my own horizon, bring me fate, bring me peace..

I hope..
C X Rutledge Nov 2014
You can't escape the words spoken over you.

Forked tongues and twisted tones drive the nails which splinter the bones.

They've been telling you what you are for you're entire life.

Pronunciation brings forth desolation. They sound out who you are with articulation.

The A's, the E's,  their eye's, their ohhh's,  and then you're used... These words define you.
Wordplay future life
ID
This lack of
Professional identity.
wakes me too soon,
With the dawn moon.

The building tones on a single stone note,
Like blood through ears.
Overlooked, but for the silence
Of time unbooked.

I go stumbling
into a different fame.
Where smaller applause lulls me,
Like crumbling brickwork,
The flashing indented,
Re-invenited,
Like ancient sea rocks,
Soft to the shells of clinging creatures
And the feathers of gulls.
zuMee Jun 2018
Gaping voids attached
at velvet hems reveal
An oscillating, silky shrine
of serpentine appeal

A sacellum of spit
where crimson vipers preach
A sermon dispossessed of words
on biting without teeth

Two lithe reptilian wrestlers
in acrobatic trance
To recompose the primal theme
from the procreating dance

They sway in mirrored unison
as heaven’s gates converge
They twist in tongues of tactile prose
and gustatory tones emerge

In this bacchanal of senses
where feelings taste of spoken sights
The serpents molt beyond their essence
onto planes of new delights

There they share a sounding vision
muscles blink in harmony
Hissing iridescent rhythms
At last, the panting cyclopes

Reach the Art

of seeing eye to whispering eye
through the instrument of speech.
Paul Hansford Aug 2016
The flag, a white crescent and single star
on a field of crimson — kırmızı, not just 'red' —
tells of Islam. The men drinking beer and rakı
at pavement tables, even in Ramadan,
and the short-skirted, bare-armed girls,
parading with bare-faced confidence,
tell of other influences;
but at the appointed hour we hear the call to prayer
from the marble minaret, a slim finger
pointing to the sky beside shining domes
reflecting the vault of heaven.
At five a.m. we hear it faintly through hotel double-glazing,
or at sunset, as a peaceful accompaniment to the spectacle,
and we remember where we are.
But especially at the midday hour,
when the voice of the muezzin echoes
over noisy street or market,
and from another minaret and another
the duet becomes a trio, a quartet
of different melodies, out of tune
with each other but never discordant
(in these tones the word has no meaning),
the faithful are reminded, however busy they may be,
that their God requires something of them.
Then, entering the cool calm of the mosque,
entering the quiet forest of pillars,
feeling through the soles of our bare feet
marble polished by the tread
of generations of worshippers,
fine-grained wood,
the rich softness of crimson carpet,
we luxuriate in the textures as they combine
with the formal floral patterns of the tiles,
the ornate calligraphy of the inscriptions,
the rich colours of the glass,
and we realise that the builders of these mosques
knew what they were doing, so many years ago,
how peace can enter the soul
through the senses.
The letter that looks like a lower-case "i" without the dot and appears here in "kırmızı" and "rakı" is pronounced, in the delightfully phonetic Turkish language, as a kind of "uh", as in "I am writing A [uh] poem" or "I have read THE [thuh] book".
I wish I was in France right now
with that soft accordion singing in the background.
An oil canvas of the town
a slight warm breeze with a magenta and violet sky.
People.
walking around everywhere.
soft tones of everyone's voices from all around are swirling around me like an array of beautiful colors
I want to sit on one of those patios with the great view with you.
Sip our tea, talk for hours.
As long as it was with you.
I paint the love we share in my head like Picasso.
Its beautiful.
I wanna do everything with you.
I wish to stay at that apartment in Paris during the summer one day.
I could see myself with you, living.
I can picture it vividly like a photograph
clean, white, warm, open, and bright.
flawless
Everything is perfect with you.
Im in love with you
I need to be

with you.
written in thoughts of you
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