"vise" poems
when my love comes to see me it’s
just a little like music,a
little more like curving colour(say
orange)
against silence,or darkness….
the coming of my love emits
a wonderful smell in my mind,
you should see when i turn to find
her how my least heart-beat becomes less.
And then all her beauty is a vise
whose stilling lips ****** suddenly me,
but of my corpse the tool her smile makes something
suddenly luminous and precise
—and then we are I and She….
what is that the hurdy-gurdy’s playing
31.2k
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
*that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective
when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"*
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
With these broad roads and vise lands
With nothing at hand you brought me up
And gave me so much more than you ever had
You were my inspiration
My light
My soul
You gave me hope
Made me want to be different
You are my inspiration
My dedication
I dedicate this to you
Everything I am
Everything I will ever be
Everything I've been
You brought me up with nothing from the dust
My mother
My motherland
My homeland
And now here I am
Gave me hope
Gave me sight
Made me see further than I ever could
Gave me pride
Gave me light
Made me shine so much more brighter than I ever was
Gave me flight
made me go higher
Exceed the maximum with no limitation
You were my inspiration
My dedication
Maybe
Maybe just one day I can venture back
Back to you my inspiration
To give thanks
Thanks for everything
But for now I dedicate this
This word
This message
Everything I am
What you made me
Everything I've been
I dedicate it to you
My mother
My motherland
Where I call home
My inspiration to be different
Had so little but gave me so much more
So much more to go on with the rest of my life
You was my guide
My inspiration
My knight in shining armor
My desert flower
Gave me hope from nothing
You was my diamond in the rough
Taught me to love
Taught me all that I know
What can I say
You was my inspiration
You was my angel from above
Taught to love those who hate me
Those who envy me
Taught me to care for those who wish evil upon
You are my inspiration
I hope that someday I grow up to be like you
To be someone else’s inspiration
Because of you I’m who I am
You are my inspiration
My dedication
My homeland
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
I walk along a path
I do not know
But falter left nor right,
And, welcoming the light
Of birches, still and white
As sleeping snow,
A raven, coat that shimmers
Soft as coal,
Beside me flutters square
And, drawn like to a snare,
Alights upon the air
As on a knoll.
A ripened chestnut, trapped
Within his maw
And hard as ancient ice,
Is tightened by the vise
And shatters at the slicing
Of his jaw
To crumble into dust,
Which quick cascades
And settles, as it slows,
To carefully compose
The shape of raven toes
Where he parades.
The raven flies ahead
And, with a stamp,
His talons take a grip
Atop a wooden tip
Of birches, dead and stripped
To form a ramp.
I stumble after, fixed
Through field of black
As in a telescope,
And, clawing at the slope,
I climb it with a hope
To touch his back
And ****** a hand ahead
Just as he slumps,
Both limp but stiff, to lie
Upon his side and die.
I meet his cloudy eye
Upon the stump,
Then lift my head to find
A willow sprig,
A tendril hanging free
For me to grip. Indeed,
I climb the strip of tree,
The little twig,
And swivel in the air,
As if by choice.
I hear a humming, low,
Resounding from below—
The raven’s eyes, aglow
With Odin’s voice.
Like lightbulbs flicker, dim
with yellow light,
They sharpen with the tones
That bellow from his bones—
This god and poet moans
His heavy spite:
He damns me to the lifetime
of a bird.
My sin, I do not know
But bear the bitter woe
And close my eyes to focus
On this word:
Saṃsāra. So I feel my
Senses spill
Upon the ground
And flood out all around
And swallow every sound
Till all is still.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
It isn't a game.
But one can definitely lose.
There are no competitors.
Yet self comparisons fog hind sight.
Leading to more dreary backroads that the world forgot about.
It was fun for a little while.
Telling yourself that you threw away the world and not vise versa.
Was truly the greatest lie.
One that grew into actual belief for a time.
But found that the greatest hell.
Is watching your paradise burn.
Bound only by disbelief.
Dumbfounded.
It's a shame that when you lose everything.
Somehow your mind is the only thing that stays intact.
As if those aspects were programmed into humans in preparation for it..
And happiness got the short end of the stick.
Then to further rub dirt into the wound we create hope.
By means of pursuit.
Shakespeare knew the questions.
And left it up to everyone else to answer.
Only as generations pass.
We couldnt be further from any resemblance of an answer.
Let alone know the question has already been proposed.
Writers play with this notion and yield no two pairs alike.
Lifes most important knowledge sadly can only come from experiencing it.
But with the world in such a desensitized state.
The fear of stagnation is becoming the only real possibility.
Preposterous?
No
Predetermined the moment we chose to let others choose for us.
There is no freedom.
Only sacrifice.
Right.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 4:22 AM UTC
Here it is once more
- a dark form looming -
A shadow from Before,
A storm's mark, dooming.
.
Invisible vise grip,
the weight on my chest;
Marble-heavy crypt,
A thornbird's nest.
.
This hunter is slow,
patient, though relentless;
with no arrow, or bow,
or trigger to press.
.
His footsteps fall monotone
- finality's beat -
Like soot on a wall of bone,
the last defeat.
.
Although he'll stay
out of sight, a dark drape,
Know that his prey
might never escape.
.
When no one's around,
When comforts are few,
In the scent of moist ground,
He could find you too.
.
Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 4:22 AM UTC
a man gave me that phrase as a gift today.
quiver of constant smiles
for well he could,
yet little did he ken
the nature of the present
because
I read the smiles as the
tween the spaces,
in between the words of
anguish that never goes away
how can this be,
how to make sense of this
well I am a father too,
of words and sobs
and ownership of sins
between sons and fathers,
who inhabit
the unfilled spaces within,
the drawers with their name
on masking tape attached
Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Show me a man-father
whose lips
have not quiet quivered
when hearing those words sung
we ease the grip of
carrying them on our shoulders
when they are five at the
Macy's day parade,
running alongside their first
solo bicycle ride
we ease the grip of
the vise of
not seeing them for years,
or never again,
cause they hold you guilty,
responsible for their confusion
have too, ease the grip,
cause we got more than one
singular responsibility
so we dad draw,
a smile from the quiver,
that like those of the elves,
replenished magically,
strap it on wide,
mile high and move on
oh you teenage children, you babies,
with your endless angst and bravado
of drunken scar talk,
first love lost
and the hard course
of being sixteen
put down your tiresome blunt pens
that revel only in Self-intensity glorious-galore,
read of the self destruction
of love pains thirty years in the making
and fifty in the undoing
write of ancient inescapable feelings
decades in the vat, aging, but drunk in the
moment quick searing of
every life breath you take
and it's Sunday nite
and the work week hell begins
but it is no compare to the other,
but **** you can't understand
so chant these words,
reflect on them well,
for soon while you dream sleep,
in clean, dry sheets and safe bed
a man will come for a peep,
to make the checkmark
on the all's well list
so chant these words,
a sad violin melody,
the single sole he ever hears,
*Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
How can you say you love me,
When your eyes are drawn to her.
Though you might really think,
It’s so harmless just to flirt.
You kiss me softly and hold me close,
Thinking all is well.
But don’t you see when your eyes wander,
My pain begins to swell.
Am I not enough?
Don’t I give you my all.
I am constantly there for you!
All you have to do is call!
No, you may not be cheating,
You look but you don’t touch.
But you’re too blind to see,
Those stares hurt just as much.
You keep your phone locked up,
You text her when I’m not there.
You think I’m blissfully ignorant.
You think I’m unaware.
But I know just what you’re doing.
The attention feels so nice.
But for every text message you exchange,
You are tightening my heart’s vise.
I don’t think I can do it much longer.
But what can I possibly say?
If I try to say how I feel,
The jealousy card comes out to play.
It always ends with me saying sorry,
Though I’ve not stepped out of line.
But that’s the way our dance will end,
Each and every time.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Love me like you do.
Like a needle in a haystack
is true love me and you.
Trustworthy friend also you.
An hp's haystack found, miracle.
A loving soul, treasure icecle.
In the law of attraction, true love
attracts like, and in a notch of good fortune opposites must intimately attract true lovez entanglement
Is an intricate weave,
of LOVEz for two in one loop.
I found a twin matching soul.
A magnet in both our midst,
receptiveness open mind exist.
Intellectual genius in heart.
its gist, portal and bridge.
Uncovering vast blessings
his needle in my haystack,
just came to me, as bee
to pollen in essence,
his needle found me.
Now retaining such find and
price takes sculpture in mind.
Keeping it requires an equal
enterprise a twin needle's vise
Or my fire and ice!
In love and war it's wise,
To tingle our rhyme with rice.
To never part, it takes more pie
than luck, poem, or needle in eye.
I once was blind, but now I see
Through our fire in ice.
~~~~
BY: Karijinbba.
All Rights Reserved - revised
08+2021.
Aug 6, 2021
Aug 6, 2021 at 11:27 AM UTC
I do not respect any religion
Religion is a misconception
And crimes are committed
Through religion against humanity
All religious humans should
Be stark naked in public
The Pope should be naked to show us
The image that God have created him in
I do not respect any law and order
Law and order is not necessary
If you respect humans
And behave yourself decent
Don’t commit any crimes
You can make as many laws as you want
I do not respect any of them at all
It is a mirror of all of your fears
I do not respect democracy
Democracy is a lie and an illusion
Build upon the stupid idea
That all men are born equal
But you do not need democracy
If you respect all living creatures
Democracy is a game to make you feel vise
A service ***** and a weapon in the hands
For those who are committed to power
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:05 AM UTC
What others might see it as a Mexican game,
In my eyes it means so much more.
It symbolizes the unity and bond between family
Each loteria card reminds me of someond
Like la valiente reprents my mother,
Strong and brave
It also reminds me of how life works.
Sometimes it may look like you are winning
But end up losing. Or vise versa.
When you you thougth you have lose it all,
A sudden turn happens and win.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Africa. You are bereft. Africa means pain to me.
Too vast for sympathy past token.
Too old to not know better
Too wise to have no answer.
Much too late for Africa
****** mother Africa.
Bleeding from the eyes
Seen too much of suffering
Flayed to the bone then left alone.
What has not been said compared to what's been done.
Laying on a dusty road
At the easy leisure of the the passerby.
So vast, Primal still tribal and divided.
Africa you will endure. Pain. Africa.
The sweltering Jungle. The scorching sun.
Oh Africa.
You are Beautiful.
You are destined.
You are horrific
all wrapped in butcher paper.
Still to the highest bidder.
Numb to the lash.
Cries go unheard.
Gnawing at your limb gripped tight
in vise-like turmoil. Oh Africa.
I love you for what you have been.
I love you still for what you are.
I pray Africa.
Oh Africa.
Peace. Be still.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 2:48 AM UTC
Jeg gav dig lov til at styre min tid. Til at bestemme over mine følelser. Til at mærke mit humør.
Jeg ville gå med dig over alt, gennem alt, for alt.
Jeg gav dig lov til at stikke i mit hjertet. Til at styre mine tanker. Til at røre det inderste af mig.
Jeg ville gøre alt med dig over alt, se alt, vise dig alt.
Jeg gav dig lov til alt. Jeg ville gøre alt.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
There a few things I need to say, and this isn't a poem. its more of a letter or a ***** out. I have seen the crap you post. I don't get u *** u act like u were some innocent victim. Im some horrible lying **** who broke ur heart. *** Let me say my dear boy that I have loved u from day one and I still do. ur the one whos got this anti -me thing going for no reason *** ur afraid of letting your true feelings be felt and delt with. I may have said a fib or two when we spoke online the first time but at least everythg I said then wasn't a complete lie unlike others...... I don't hold that against you. I don't bring that up to you and talk **** about it. You seem to think that just because I didn't ever say I loved you that I didn't... it was so hard for me not to say it or to try and not feel it *** of her sitting in your bed each nite. that's why I didn't ask you stuff *** I didn't want to seem like I was being all nosey and being all in your business. you didn't ever say so I didn't ask. I figured if you wanted to tell me you would. I didn't want you to think I was trying to know your all of ur personal **** I tried so hard to not have feelings for u and I thought I did a good job but that too was a joke. I have never felt like I do about u. it ***** that we don't talk like we used to and really ***** that we don't see each other....I miss u so fuckn bad. I still cry over u *** u were my perfext match. you are strong where I am weak and vise versa. Ur really great in the areas I need help in and I can help in the ones ur not in. I still want you to read to me. I still remember the things u said to me the first times we used to talk. the time where I fell in total love with u. I pains me to see some of the stuff u say on there. I didn't mean to not ask things or seem interested in you or act like I didn't want you to come over....I did that *** I wanted to see if u really wanted to come over.. um...all I wanted was to be with u from the beginning and I still do but I don't think u will *** your trying your hardest to forget me. I guess im not one to stand out and keep one wanting ......I wish I could erase all ive found out since oct 1st *** it makes it even harder to get over u....I don't want to but its really stupid to keep trying if you have made urself believe that u hate me or convinced yur self u do. I will write more if I remember but I have to go to bed now and I hope u sleep too... It just upsets me that I meant nothing like the others and that uve made urself hate me.....when I cant stop loving u.....this *****
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
Poets write poetry sharing
wisdom of roads not taken
their gray brain sprouts multicolored flowers
of visions seeking love
splattered by remnants
of great lovers past
ankored daggers
in heart
Lovers paint their own ark
A poets spinning top is art
lasting longer as it may
their name De Plume
may dictate ageless
candor
but their tops spinning
out off ballance
topples and falls;
Poets and lovers notice
people aren't tops,
karma cause and effect
Action innaction
dictates
the inevitability of
their top's last spin,
Even of poetry
What may last forever?
new poets are birthed
like seasons do
returning thus
the spinning top
of poets and lover's vise.
~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
All Rights.
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 6:26 PM UTC
den er ubrydelig med dens aluminiums indpakning
har fået gode anmeldelser og stærk opbakning,
skærmen lyser op som en håndfuld af stjerner
den er så intelligent med dens fire hjerner,
måneknapperne skinner,
ud i natten og forsvinder.
den har potentiale til at blive noget stort
potentiale til at vise vej når alt er sort,
svært gennemtrængelig og beskyttet med koder,
men når barrieren brydes overvældes man af goder,
for den er ikke blot endnu et moderne produkt,
som vil skubbe dig længere mod selvtugt.
-
DET ER DEN SAMME TRUMMERUM
DAG UD OG DAG IND, ALTID ET TOMRUM
ET PÅBEGYNDENDE DELIRIUM,
JEG BLIVER TÆNDT OG SLUKKET
KLAPPET SAMMEN OG LUKKET
VENTER BLOT PÅ AT STIKKET BLIVER TRUKKET,
SÅ JEG DAGEN EFTER KAN BLIVE STARTET,
TIL EN NY DAG, SOM ER ENSARTET,
JEG LADER FRUSTRATIONERNE SYNGE INDEN JEG FÅR SPARKET.
JEG BLEV SKABT AF EN GRUND, DER IKKE LÆNGERE EKSITERER
MÅLET VAR EN MASKINE, DER ALTID VILLE FUNGERE
MIN PROCESSOR KØRER PÅ HØJTRYK OG JEG ER TÆT PÅ AT EKSPLODERE,
MIN SOFTWARE ER FORÆLDET OG MIT HUKOMMELSESKORT ER FYLDT MED VIRUS
NYE PRODUKTER KØRER MIG RUNDT I MANEGEN OG JEG VIL IKKE MED I DET CIRKUS
JEG FRYGTER IKKE AT BLIVE SMIDT UD, JEG VILLE BETRAGTE DET SOM EN GESTUS,
LAD MIG NU MÆRKE JEG LEVER, FOR FØRSTE GANG,
LAD MINE HØJTALERE SPILLE DEN SIDSTE SANG,
FØR JEG BLIVER EN DEL AF DET, DER VAR ENGANG.
-
En maskine var jeg – en defekt er jeg blevet.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
flyver på nattens sidste timer
Med friske minder på min krop
Jeg kigger op på månen
Som *** rejser gennem natten
min evige følgesven
Jeg kunne forlade denne jord for hende
og for evigt vandre i hendes sølven have
med stjernerne til at vise mig vej
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
I have your heart in a vise and I'm tightening the screws
Watch me wring you for every bit of joy you thought you had
You are on my worktable and after I dry you to the bone, I'll go to work on you
I will whisper sweet nothings into your ear as I pull out your fingernails, one by one
Say my name, you will beg for me, I will give you nothing but agony, but you will still thirst.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 5:05 AM UTC
The colored carousel is coming for me again
The roller coaster zigzags across my vision
My head thumps with it's own band inside
Pounding away on one side, wearing it down to bone
Colorful streamers follow it, but I can’t focus on them
The image shifts with each movement of the eyeballs.
Why do they always have to bang on the same spot?
I knock some holes in the wall with my head
The freakshow’s fat lady is on the other side, taking a bow
But it feels just like looking into a mirror.
In order to feel some control over the pain I'm privy to,
I tighten the vise on my temple a few turns
Then I bang my neck with a tire iron
Just for equal opportunity agony.
The dwarf man stares at that, as if I am the highlight of the show.
I start to do a little tap dance, but my head blasts off on it’s own,
As if out of a cannon, rocketing above the arena
Slowly turning in it’s bug-eyed orbit.
I remember just in time to tighten the noose and step off the chair,
To the excited howls of delight, from the crowd-
But the support gives, every time; it’s all part of the act.
Why do I always have to work so hard performing
To achieve what my body does without thinking?
The clowns are pointing at me and laughing now,
And the children want to know, what is it all for?
But now blood is in my eyes, and the striking of the clock
Makes my vision shake, so I lay down in the cool doom of twilight
And wait for the loud music to slowly dissipate.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 9:48 AM UTC
Trading “I love yous” like playing cards
in the backseat of my car
and my hand doesn’t look very promising.
They say you gotta know when to hold ‘em,
know when to fold ‘em,
but I am always walking away
when I should stay
and vise versa,
I just don’t want to hurt you.
This game we have been playing
is fixed and unfair
and you have some tricks
up your sleeve,
I can tell.
And I can skip my turn
but I can’t leave.
You must think I am
a joker for the way I keep
breaking my poker face.
I can’t help it,
you’re just so good at this.
My heart sinks every time
you ask me what I have to give,
because I would go all in for you
if it was worth the risk
but at the end of each round
all I can say is “go fish”.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
remove the gratituous ending
from this shallow fantasy.
let me exist in the middle,
see the forest for the trees
and not the meltdown, pretend like
it won't all eventually
burn
leave me in ashes
i am victim to her sinister skin
numbing my former intentions
i have no eyes for consequence
i will stay, shaky, in the present
i am ignoring the signs
this path
i'm running
along will
lead to
my demise
the walls still bleed her jade eyes
the weight of when i was trapped
in her midnight vise
(i still am)
blinded, stone-cold, and still i weep
strip my heart with a fountain pen,
the scalpel to her inky revenge
untangle her sorry mentality from mine
do not worry about the aftereffects
when i cease to be tangible, spill my regret
so i won't be bothered to
when i come back down.
when i prove myself worthless, i can say
it was all worth it
at the time
when she catches me, i can say
it was dreadful in her arms
but i left myself nowhere else to go
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
Girl waits anxiously,
Foot bouncing
Hands tapping
Mind in overdrive.
The woman in charge
Has her hair shaved on both sides
And tattoos covering her torso.
She takes two smoke breaks
And decides she might as well get paid.
Science? On your body? Whatever. Get in.
The girl holds out her foot
Pink and white and black
Ready and willing
To be punctured
Like the god's coloring book.
She talks to drown out the nerves.
Her friend follows
Awkwardly? Quietly?
Holds out fingers
To be used in case of emergency.
The first gets a vise grip on them
She starts singing pop-culture
From decades past to distract.
It just seems out-of-place.
The woman pays no attention.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Refills her ink
As an artist must have supplies.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She loves these needles
That penetrate and alter.
Allow the body to be a canvas
Both practical and beautiful.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
The girl's hand sweats
Death grips do that, I hear.
She has to wipe it off more than once.
Her friend is being little help.
She cringes!
Needle got close to bone
To nerves.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She finishes
Puts away her needles
And her ink
Cleans her canvas
Though this was not her favorite artwork.
She sends them out.
She hobbles
Foot newly changed.
Human symbols now visible,
She is no longer just earth.
Her friend follows.
She now has the mark of humanity
Of science
Of society
Forever on her skin.
She now belongs to the world.
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 8:40 AM UTC
what you choose to think and believe influences how you view the world amd how your reality is shaped.
you are, and everything els is, exactly what you make it to be.
if you believe the earth to be a beautiful place filled with love and opportunity, that that is how it shall be.
if you believe you are divine & strong, then that you will be, and vise versa.
we choose the path that our souls take .
if you believe in nothing, then nothing will happen.
if you believe in reincarnation, then that is what will happen to you.
if you believe in the stars, then you will go there.
it's all up to you my beautiful co-creators!
where you go, how you feel, how you precieve things, & how things effect you.
you choose, and you create it all.
and if you truly believe in something, you will manifest it into truth, and into reality.
hold no doubts about yourself, about your potential, and your powers.
fill your heart and mind, with love and dream BIG.
DREAM IS DESTINY
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
for Drumhound,
whose poems make me weep in the early morn.
Which drop in the salt sea can say
I am better, I am the best,
only the visceral,
vis-a-real,
truth from the vision.
This drop we cherish,
this drop is serious,
this drop, we keep.
No man is a poet
to his wife and child.
First Foremost,
he is just theirs,
Then the world can have him
as just a poet,
after they are done,
loving him for his totality.
Drumhound has no definition in the dictionary.
So I wrote this, my own, my visceral, my virtual one,
my vision real and realized,
his word vise on me, surreal.
Plain among poets,
a salt sea drop I keep.
Once anything is defined, it exists forever.
like a single scraggly blade of grass
of a poem I once memorized,
about a child I did not know,
but know so well,
a human-memory survives perennial,
once defined, forever lives.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
O sweet girl,
you lie so seductively,
teasing,
teasing me to no end.
You push,
you pull,
every single night,
you spread things
open to my delight.
O sweet girl,
you have some serious-magic,
you're a classic lady,
your moves & thighs,
your pretty-gorgeous-eyes
& heaving *******
drive me freaking-delirious,
you constantly
put me to the
passionate-test.
O sweet girl,
I must confess,
you are a delicious pearl,
please,
let me shuck you
tenderly,
savor your fluffy treasure,
play with a feather,
I can give you the
ultimate pleasure.
O sweet girl,
guide me,
take me deep
into your vise,
make me work
for your satisfaction,
hold me tight,
I promise not to fight.
O sweet darling,
it's much much more
than just a physical attraction,
it's a pheromone reaction,
hot-action made in Heaven,
******
not neurotic.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC