"visually" poems
A beauty you are out and within
Insatiable desire to write poetry on your skin
Your body my canvas feel my gentle brush
Writing ******* with my ****** touch
Cinnamon lips I love your tone
Soft and silky to the bone
Finding words..be my guide
As we connect I come inside
Filling each other..there's no strain
Steady my thoughts I must maintain
Watching my penmanship using a steady stroke
I start hallucinating from my mental smoke
Sends me into a frenzied flow
I'll find my pace..go on a roll
My words soak in as you taste
My emotions invade your inner space
Down from your toes..Up to your eyes
Writing Haikus between your thighs
Poetry on your body every inch
You start writhing from my Scorpion pinch
Sinfully venomous my words forever sink
Into your skin my poetic tattoo ink
As you lay naked I visually feast
Every line of your body a masterpiece..
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
I hesitate to show him the truth.
The words I write may never reach his eyes
I am afraid of the torture after rejection.
These feelings cannot be denied,
my poems will never cease to exist
even if i erased these heavy thoughts I typed
burned them alive
the memories of us will float around endlessly
somewhere, out of my reach.
If he sees himself in mirrors
in a monotone and meaningless way
he will not anymore
because reflections of him
lie not only visually in images,
such as projections on clear glass
but in others who admire him too.
We become who we love eventually
Admiration for someone else
makes us melt
covering past pages of who were before.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
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
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
To cook something beautiful
You need a few unsightly ingredients.
Like to make a cake
You need flour and baking soda
Baking powder, sugar, and a hint of salt
Water and eggs.
They aren't appealing to look at
By themselves
Or even when mixed together.
But when handled right,
And with a little time
Love and care
An oven and a spatula
You conform them into exactly the right shape
And those unsightly ingredients become
A tasty treat,
But what's a cake without frosting?
It's something bigger than what it was.
It's a combination
The frosting makes it more
Visually appealing,
It masks the overly cooked
Side.
Some air pockets from
An inexperienced
Or careless chef.
It's masks imperfections.
You can't force a cake to become perfect.
It needs time,
it needs love,
it needs care.
Dare I say it again,
It needs time,
It needs love,
It needs care.
When the cake
Gets those, and is left alone
To bake,
To think about what it's job is,
To not just be beautiful
Covered in frosting
But without it as well,
You'll have the best ****
Cake you've ever made.
It won't be over done on one side
Or the other,
It won't have air bubbles,
It'll glisten and gleam,
And be pristine.
You'll have a cake
Beautiful
On the inside and out.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Music provides a blanket of background noise,
As you sit, in a velveteen chair, legs parted, hands on your knees,
I stand between them, silhouetted against flashing gold lights,
I stare down into your upturned face & slowly begin to undress.
Piece by piece my clothing drops to the floor at your feet,
Pooling around my clear, stiletto heels.
Your eyes too drop down, lingering on my *******
My skin, soft & sun kissed, shimmers golden in the soft light.
I turn slowly, allowing every curve of my body to be illuminated,
The arch of my back, the contour of my hip & the arc of my buttocks
Your eyes trace down my thighs, now spread & back up,
As I bend, & reveal my inner most secrets to you.
My sweet opening that promises so much pleasure,
Just inches from your lips & your tongue & your pleasure.
Slowly I slide to my knees, down on all fours, face to the floor,
Inviting you to enter me, visually, take me with your eyes,
I turn to meet your groin & I watch with interest,
As I play with my ****** at the stirring that may come.
I rise up instead, to my knees, cupping my ******* blowing,
On my now ***** ******* & my eyes reach yours,
And time & space hold for us, as we join together, for a second,
Before I lean in, my breath on your cheek & I whisper,
That's £20 please.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
I can be you, or I can be them
I can be she, or I can be him
but why be a con artist of someone else
like a shadow to my best friend, when I
can be my own person, a unique creation
created in the image of God but representin my own reflection
because I don't wanna see you, them, she, or him in the mirror
I wanna see me through my own eyes, 20/20 vision, but clearer
but the more I conform, the image of someone else draws nearer
and I begin to lose sight of myself, look back in the mirror, and see myself in the rear
a shadow to another figure, a copy of a personality
livin' out another person's dreamed out reality
copying what they think, and succumbing to conformity
but that ain't me....
what you see visually and how I appear physically
is what makes me comfortable, that's why I'm an independent, politically
I don't follow the norms and rules of what's most accepted socially
the only commandments I live by are the ones given Biblically
I ain't the best saint though, I mean I do sin every day
but the only one I wanna copy is Jesus Christ, in every possible way
on the other hand, Satan is out there,
trynna tempt me on how to act and even what words I say
he's out offering me drinks, but I reply, "I'm okay"
cause I don't care if "everyone else is doin' it"
I just live how I like to live, that's what makes me a true non-conformist
I dress how I wish and not because it's in style
I keep my hair big, I do whatever makes me smile
I'm not trynna impress you or fit into your clique
I don't give women pick-up lines and act like I'm slick
I'm me, just me, no facades, just real
and if you can't accept that, then move forward but don't steal
the things that make me special, from my poems to my appeal
so don't try to change me and keep my uniqueness concealed
I could care less about your thoughts and any of your judgements
I refuse to give your words power, I can make your points become pointless
I'm not trynna be harsh, I just love to be different
I wanna be an original and keep my vibe realistic
not a second you, but a first me, no counterfeit
I try to keep up with what God said in Matt 26
verse 41, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak
so pray not to give into temptation and stay on your feet
I encourage us to keep our standards and what makes us unique
and accept anyone else who doesn't wanna repeat
everything you say, and everything you do
sometimes it's the people that are different that come off the most true
because they're not sayin or actin' in ways that you approve
they're given you their honest opinion, you should keep them closest to you
don't conform, forget what people want you to be
just be yourself, not a copy of reality TV.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
It's difficult to explain and hard for you to understand, but maybe you'll see. I visually perceive you, I felt a good feeling inside. Like a hope to the mess I go through. You're one of the most infrequent things that can make me endeavor a smile. It takes an abundance amount of energy to even arouse and commence moving. You're my motivation to keep going.
I like you for many reasons
Immensely colossal and minute. They're amazing because they're amazing to me. I like you not because of your qualities. I like you for the things you do that brings something special to my life. I like you that you care for me and push me to do better. I like you just because I do. Because now In the deepest part of my heart, a place where there was nothing before, there is something now...You
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
Where did it start but by one little cry,
one mother's love, one day she will die
Trees grace the land, the water at peace
Visually astounding, pleasant at ease
The lake was open for summer time fun
Camp Crystal Lake where it begun
A boy and his mother greeted each soul,
welcome my friends enjoy it all.
The torment started, it lasted all season,
they beheaded his mother for all the wrong reasons
Emboldened with fury, deep in the lake
drowned by cowards, feeling no shame
Each year they returned, hearing stories of the camp
the man in the mask, machete in hand
Not believing the myth, what shadows do lurk
no hearts will be pounding, only their blood will spurt
Pre-marital *** upstairs in the cabin
rolling blunts on couch, look out, he's coming
Naked in the shower, Alice did fall,
ice pick in hand, no scream or no crawl
Squeezing your eyes out or smashing your face
Ask all of the counselors at Camp Crystal Lake
One hundred and fifty more victims will fall
This is my place, you are not welcome at all
Mother, I love you, through all of the pain
Hide behind my mask, my machete does reign.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
My cravings
Drenched
Seeking deeper taste
Of you
Insatiable desire
At the centre
Of my heart
To write poetry
On your chiseled body
Your moans
Send me on frenzied flow
Sinfully voracious
Visually I feast
Your naked hide
Every curve of your body
Purest form of masterpiece
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 7:46 AM UTC
My heart is pumping
So fast you can visually see my chest thumping
The only sound I hear is a heart beat
Lately I haven't been able to eat
Uncontrollable shaking
Rude awakenings
Uncomfortable thoughts
Distraughts
Staying up late caused by PTSD
I am trying to get better, can’t you see?
I try to fight the battles that go off in my head
Late at night, before I go to bed
I try to keep moving forward and never look back
Wait, I feel like I’m having a heart attack
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
House party no contact
No glasses no lenses
Isolation got no facts
Rich in hope like them benz's
Old as **** like a bold fax
Reminiscin past tenses
Action done by the fences
Have I come I to my senses?
Need to know, ask for a census
Need my own vote call for elections
Lowkey mind-broke, I need a pension
Need to think about all this affection
****
World cold stone cold
Was told It would be like this
Aint listened to them so I fold
Now I see myself down this own road.
The me everybody used to see, erode
The me anybody could be, be sold
Sadness pull up to my corners, be shown
The one who blew y'all away be blown
Everybody leavin faster than I can say hello
People in this world so shaky like a tremolo.
People don't come and go no more.
You just save up and they go forth.
At least that's my reality
Maybe I am insanity
No sleep till 2 am
You see it visually
Can't rest till these thoughts are at ease.
Life fallin faster than dominos
This time aint as good as pizza
Not even close rate negative 10 toes
No feelings like terminator hasta la vista.
Seen a lot like a barista
More people snakes than cheetah's
Venomous like cobras.
Sad **** I got into.
Me, myself and my sorry ***
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
Some say that it is unfair.
Unfair for the cosmic intoxication that I can feel.
Unfair for the ability to obliterate my surroundings
and sink into her exhilarating aura.
The power to visually experience instrumental weightlessness,
an exuberant eruption of colourful lush masquerading the sky,
the fixative pulse attached to her heart.
Floating above the universe and holding on to all the stars
as I escape in her smile.
Some say that it is unfair.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
It was a dreamer's day that spun me visually undone
in cloudless skies of wild blue, beneath a basking sun
I drove the mountain road, where flowers bloom wildly to the sky
lupines, lilies, of twinkling starry hills
tallest summer grass, wildflower entwined
with deer to rob such beauty blind
with an other worldly view, I climbed and climbed
leaving all darkened, lowly thoughts
so blotted from my mind
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
Agony of the fantasy, so lazily, with no probability
the ecstasy so randomly seen with eyes of atrophy
my heart beats so rapidly for the sake of catastrophe
so i gallantly step on the travesty of the compatibility
i casually see my casualty through eyes of calamity
searching so actively for a canopy of rationality
my mind thinks abnormality is better than conformity
actuality meets versatility or circumstantial amity
thinking elaborately not organically, of reality
a tapestry so naturally put together differently
visually vivid quality is a visible consistency
no commonality, critically crushed by normality
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Foxy pumps
Visually inviting
Stimulus
Leather jeans
Objectively elevating
Yield
Indie jazz
Naturally circuits
Relish
Vivid suspense
Intellectually appeasing
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
Kindred Spirit
(Ode an angel)
Your anatomy is an atom in it's purest form
if I am your moon you are my sun,
unequivocally you are my all.
The sole of you feet
drag sand from other beaches
I am the the owner of an amputated
spirit that you mend with broken kisses.
My kindred spirit.
Idealistically,
the being made from the same mold
when I contemplate you visually
leaves no doubt in my soul.
Physically, lyrically,
metaphorically speaking.
The Caribbean reflects on your face
when sun hits it
giving your Cinnamon complexion
a whole new meaning.
My kindred love.
I am humbled to you have you whole
and you are an angel sans the halo
and your smile makes God himself blush.
You are definitely not of this world
and warmth of your body surpasses
that of the Equator
when I am your scorching fire
you are my log.
My kindred soul.
Your heart is bigger than everything that is
and I would gladly spend
the rest of my life in your lips
undoubtedly, mathematically
an infinity will be it.
Because you are the cure
to my incurable illness
everything that I wanted,
my Earth, my Sun, my all
my kindred spirit.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:13 PM UTC
My tongue is
dripping
with honey
and gold,
my voice is
even sweeter
and richer.
Just imagine my lips.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
Jew harp, Plath hearted, dream seamstress
who sits in the dark.
Who made me live here.
In a small room inside my head, little dictator
and I lit this place with music, just for you
Where all sounds but songs are dead-headed
Just before they bloom.
Totalitarian angel, rage-filled fragile smoke
who censored my tower of Babel.
Who tamed my very rivers of song
to breathe the moon-tones as vapor, until as a sun
you’d rise to scar these rivers, every single one
wherever you find them, with your face.
No matter how they run.
Paranoid animal with an understandable
aversion to caress and kinetic poetry.
Damsel who births her own dragons
like the fertility of hell, again and again.
Life and love belong to the monsters
the monsters you make of them
but all of them I’d befriend.
and I wonder.
I could chew my pen hand off
snared coyote.
I could swallow my tongue
dancing to dead note barks.
I could visually inhale that sun.
Take in all I can.
To get the eyelid ink spots.
The branded silhouettes
busying my eyes as I sleep
each night as I sleep.
Without this allergy to identity
you could turn this world backwards in me.
That hell of a snow-globe you hold
if only you knew what kind of world you controlled.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
I forgot love is a verb;
Prove your words with the weight of your hands
I know from experience how heavy letters can line up to be
Now show me how love acts while it is silent
How resilient it can be when no one is listening
Trust me I will hear the sound of your trials and errors
The gavel will strike
shaking my heart
Forget butterflies
Seeing is believing
Says the visually impaired young lady of a poet
But if you allow my hands to trace your body of Braille
Maybe I will see the weight of your words
And feel your love becoming
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
A consequence to squeeze off a weapon filled with hollow tips to contradict a slaughter with emotion such a ***** moment .
Now your in juvenile reminiscing 25 to life ***** no parole, no *******
In notebooks a story written visually writing down things that's been a bad decision showing physical entities.
That ***** you shot last night a bad sight you might catch a double charge cause his wife ain't holding back.
It gets to that trying to control a group filled with misfits trying hit **** but you played yourself Mr. Dickens.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:12 AM UTC
Awakening to the infinite of every possibilities end
All the stories that ever could be told
Are accessed once again
Detached from the material
Suddenly the imagination roars
Aequo animo, stillness in the ken
Every lifetime in the nowevermore accounted
Visually, without eyes, the plots are traced
Like wind-borne dandelions in the cosmic meadow
Innumerable beauty, intricate as lace
Understanding George Lucas
And the Galaxy Far Far Away
Imagination plays it out
A second’s eon burning mind forged in sacred space
Traveler of the spirit
Unraveling the theory of strings
The Book of Life within us all
doppia elica
Split the Stream
Opening up all channels
Realities manifesting within the folds
Of Time’s hidden fore-edge paintings
Smiling at the Bold
Honoring the awareness of the peaceful seeker
Before deeper slumber takes hold
One toe before the dream door
There are no walls
There is no floor
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
There's all this talk around me about some profound we that's never found me
They talking a collective we?
One agreed on collectively but conveniently and continuously minus me
Is it the me, myself and I type we? Cause defining a trinity might not unveil anything holy
Or could they be referring to the we that turns to just me when things get a little bit heavy?
That kind of we?
Maybe they mean the we I'm supposed to automatically call family
Even though history will show them as a two faced enemy
Both ones I've picked or have befriended me, eventually it's contempathy from a frienemy
An uninterested we that hardly reciprocates the love that's expected to freely flow from me blindly
What baffles me still is this bloodline we that aren't even aware of me
Or they are aware just unwilling to add me to their we
Coldly my psyche reminds me, "you're nobody's somebody buddy, sorry."
Personally, I say let 'em swing from their positions above and beside me on the family tree
Unfortunately they will always be a part of the conversation when discussing this we
The good, the bad and the ugly represented by said we but projected on me
Now listen closely, I claim to have came to this conclusion organically
There is no we, only me
Nonsense spewed when angry but the me I try to hide visually, the one projecting he doesn't need a we
Cries out for somebody when times get lonely, lies and said I'm my only company
Cause I can not see the we that is meant to be, the we I thought was only a dream of a faded childhood memory
It's not only right in front of me but all around me and already a part of me
I had no idea this door even had a handle for entry with a keyhole much less a key
Apparently it was the skeleton type and had to be pulled out of me
Reality blends with fantasy in the best way, what else is there to say? I've found my we and another reason to be happy
©2023
Jun 22, 2023
Jun 22, 2023 at 2:36 PM UTC
a pleasant anticipation they give to your chafing taste buds
for that taste once sampled is forever craved
their shapes beckon visually to
keen designer minds
and their ancient blessings go back to 2000 B.C.
much later, their nutrients American Indians praised
they give veggie hugs to those most in need
of a psychological boost or a tooth's soft sink
when you sit down to dinner and before you gleams their pale green
a smile might open your mouth for the tasty taste of a .... ....
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Flowers shot in the dark like hearts shot through with darts
Clotting blood in the voice box
Time moving slow as the clock tick tocks
And more bricks are laid
Between me and God
Children smearing on war-paint
Grandmas spitting against the devil's taint
Broken churches, corpse of the saint
Images listless and visually meaningless
In a long array of destructive days
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God
Overlarge toads bellow in the park
Green slimy beings croaking insults in the dark
What they're singing has meaning and the meaning is stark
Rhythmic insults haunting the night like the bark
Bark, bark of a wolf seeking prey
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God
A murderous man has a knife and he stabs
A touring killer with no remorse as he jabs,
Jabs, jabs whilst their blood coats the floor
Serial killer with an unquenchable need for more
Though the police are paid
The case runs cold
More bricks are laid
Between me and God
Chanting children there, with the devil's eyes
Urchins that smell fear, young weavers of lies
They encircle a dog and they throw it with stones
A cold-blooded giggle surrounds the dog's imploring moans
Little demons are made
And more bricks are laid
Between me and God
Are you friend or foe
Rattlesnake or doe
In the night or day
Do you fight or pray?
Curse or hymn
Hate or love
Does it differ?
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
It's been one week,
since I told you,
nothing of importance.
But one week,
since you told me,
anything,
at all.
How soon I forget,
what it's like,
not to be,
at a person's disposal.
How quickly I remember,
that remembering is,
a bother.
Easy folk enjoy easy listening.
A magnet that draws sound.
Vibrations of different magnitudes.
But visually, all the same:
On a large enough body; what proceeds:
A ripple on water's edge.
Beauties and questions evoked.
Memories that hold vehemence.
Open ears that trickle red.
An eye for an eye.
A tooth for a tooth.
A *** for a ***
Sour taste, before I spit.
After all that said,
so it goes:
She is left feeling discontent,
because her friend left her behind.
A friendship no longer pragmatic,
left her detached and unkind.
After one move against her,
inadvertently made her the bad guy.
Assimilated ignorance was transferred,
leaving her with raging eyes.
Now a maniac, but once shy.
It started the day she was betrayed,
and her friend left without goodbye.
Friendship turned into a frivolous demise.
She never thought of compromise.
She will always be left on her own will.
Only living each day with empty glare.
While she sits cynically by her window sill.
Reliving old days, and perfecting her stare.
It's been one week,
since I told myself,
nothing of importance.
But one week,
since I've asked questions,
and have realized that,
in your twenties,
you are partial to saying 'No.'
Implicit No, god-forbid a subtle yes.
You know yourself.
You want to know yourself.
You hope that you know yourself.
And,
In the scheme of it all,
the ***** shopping mall,
the empty alleyways,
**** and trash,
looking down at laced shoes,
transcends society's social boundaries.
Those little moments at the end of the day,
that make you smile,
are the reason you should not become frustrated.
It would be the same,
as letting a long car ride ruin a vacation.
Thinking short-termed has never led to outstanding goals,
only temporary satisfaction.
Life is short,
but it is long enough to learn how to pick battles.
There are far more important things to worry about,
than ill intent with loved ones,
or even strangers.
If someone steps on your shoes,
let it go.
Use that frustration to better yourself,
and when you can,
buy better shoes,
and walk a mile in them.
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 3:03 AM UTC