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Jack Jenkins Apr 2016
Being held in your embrace,
Your head against my chest.
How could you wonder why,
I love this so so much?

It's gentle security against the:
Mind that claws itself every day,
People sparring against our hope,
Tumultuous times this life gives.

An act of love, of friendship,
Compassion and closeness.
You are my companion,
A joy unrivalled in my life.

Everything said here,
Is captured in a perfect act:
Our arms wrapping around,
Bodies pressed together.

Your hugs. My hugs.
//On her//
Anne J Oct 2018
Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.
I did this about two weeks ago, as the poem you gotta send in order to the join the site. I hope y'all liked it. Does this count as a Halloween story?
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
To hell and back again on a floating wreckage of love.
Your voice calls like sirens from a far off shore,
inviting me to care once more in a land unknown;
to a paradise where only love can live again.

My heart is swept up in your whisper.
It carries my thoughts on a prayer of silent hope.
Your soft breeze caresses and warms my frozen heart,
lovingly holding and healing my broken soul.

This new wind has taken me to your shores
Like silk wrapping me in soft acceptance
bandaging my fractured existence,
I bask in the warmth of your sun.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit

give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration

so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction

more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying

speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them
Oct. 6, 2015
4:30am
Manhattan Island
zebra Aug 2016
we met one night
hearts of fire
kisses sweet
passions dire

out came rope
and string we found
white gauze wrapping
honey ***** bound

kisses hot
mouths like butter
i tied her hard
her eyes did flutter

ankles to arms
head to feet
she started to sweat
her joints did meet

stressed and pink
i love her so
she looked up
and started to glow

oh you mean man
she said you brute
hurt me baby
am i not cute

i slapped her hard
on the face and the ***
bit her feet
she quaked and gasped

i used her mouth
oh she ****** and ******
and licked with lust
and then got ******

i love her ***
it was really fun
we loved and cumed
i am her sun

kisses torrid
i ate her like pie
for her love
i would gladly die

i tied her and bended
she arched and she folded
crushed her to pieces
and then re-mouldered

she cried and begged
oh i adore
and hollered and squealed
give me some more

all in a swirl
eyes crossed and diffused
bent out of shape
and begged to be used

love turned to passion
and passion to madness
i did terrible things
she kissed me with gladness

we consumed each other
let out all that we feel
couldn't help our selves
and thats how we heal

out came rope
and string we found
white gauze wrapping
honey ***** bound
L B Aug 2018
Bent
Near to breaking
by her burden
of fruit, swollen with seed
In that thrashing by wind
Bearing down on the sun
in her labor—
of  Need
to bear
the pain
to bring
her yield
to his hands—
her harvest
of warm juicy softness


Gone—
the upright
reach of untouchable spring
When stems, stern and smooth
wore a lace-beaded bodice of bloom
of coral chiffon
First leaves
a scarf
with a fringe of lime green
wrapping her gifted and lean
to the buzzing

She was lighter than dew
to the amateur insects
smeared with her

Her only accessory--
a robin
They had left
as evidence
they had ravaged
its song


Now broken and leaking
more damage endured  
Ripe fruit in rough hands
He leans against limbs
by his weight sternly pressed  
so suffused in the fragrance
of peach intoxicants
which he will have--
with ever-deeper shove
of his seed
He is lost to his lust
He is forcing his need
to sink his steak
into another year's beauty

asserting his claim over and over again
of that lost and ancient bounty
Many edits 8-16-18.
Steve Page Nov 2016
Christmas can be a time
when families get together:
Young children scream, wine glasses gleam,
both ready for M&S dinner.

TV's in the corner
rerunning Home Alone,
Heart radio's in the kitchen,
Chris Rea's driving home,
again.

Toddlers find the wrapping
more engaging than the Duplo
Teen couples find the company
less of interest than their own.

The dog's confused and excited
with so many different sources
of scratches and pats, he can't relax,
his whining is remorseless.

Christmas can be a time
when families are missed,
the parcel made last post
winging off to little sis.

Skype will come in handy
to laugh across the miles,
the screen will mask the tears
and focus on the smiles.

Gran will talk of Christmas past
when everyone was home
'Cept in Gulf War 1 when Uncle John
went away, ....

Christmas can be a time
when budgets get stretched tight,
cash pressures get to breaking point
and prompt senseless fights.

Some focus on opportunity
to spend some gilt-free money,
the only prayers are for extra hours
and a faster tesco trolley.

For others it's simply ' Yuletide'
an excessive celebration,
a winter feast, all you can eat,
give in to all temptation.

Most focus on the family,
even more on the gifts;
there's little time for Jesus
assigned amongst the myths.

Some do remember Jesus
from half forgotten carols,
they know there's something more
than donkeys and angel heralds.

For there He is in the middle,
noticed once in a while;
it's His birthday, but all He's getting
is a half-hearted song and a smile.

He's no longer a babe in a manger,
He's now a resurrected King,
waiting for those who would worship
to stand and welcome Him in.

Whatever your experience of Christmas
you can come just as you are,
His love is unconditional
He'll accept you warts and all.

So come on!
It’s a season to celebrate!
To dance, to sing and to shout!
Your Saviour invites you to join Him,
so when you sing this Christmas,
BELT it out.
http://redeemerlondon.org/about/
Written for our Christmas Carol concert Dec 2016.
avalon Jan 2018
is
      speaking in french, wrapping our tongues around foreign
                                                         ­                                flavors and vowels,
          intertwining with each other,
                                                                ­ whispering
                                                      ­                                  mon amour,
                                                                ­                                my
        love love love love love love
    
what  
                           her hair and his eyes, gold liquidated, pooling
              in glass orbs and strings,


      shards and pools colliding and cascading

love
                          is this truth?
                she takes his hand and mind
       all at the same time and they both cry



what
is
love?
Kara Jean Jun 2016
I sit in the steaming hot water naked and vulnerable, both mentally and physically  to blemishes accumulated on me.
The mental thoughts race back and forth between  my eyes playing and rewinding  back through mistakes I have made.
Remembering the wrong paths that dramatically  changed my history.
As the water rises I feel the anxiety inside my chest making me hyperventilate profusely.
I close my eyes plunging my face into the water, feeling my hair floating over me.
Staying under as I feel the anguish of the misconceptions of my life fall off of me.
coming up as if awakening from the dead, while ceaselessly  stepping out of the ***** water leaving it behind.
I peer into the mirror inhaling the air surrounding.
Slowly wrapping my arms tightly around my body, letting the women in the mirror know I except her.
Telling her I will always love and fight for her.
Gabriel burnS Jul 2018
I felt it crumbling
I felt it falling with the rain
The invisible
I felt it falling
Bits and pieces
Shreds and ribbons
The clothing of my wings
As God unpacked the wraps with haste
Like a restless child
Tearing down the gift
Together with the wrapping

I felt it falling
Scorching on the skin
Of frail reveries
Soaking wet I felt the taste
Of gasoline
And drowned the rain
Into my eyelids
Father Christmas came and slipped
through the cracks
of my poorly constructed home
so quickly
and quietly
that I hardly marked the date.

I suppose it's my fault
for spending so much time
listening to angsty
drums and guitars
scream my name
that I can no longer hear
his voice in the tear
of wrapping paper
and Mr. Crosby's tunes.

But I caught a glimpse,
between the blinking
of red and white
on my tree,
when my mother smiled
as I opened my new suede shoes.

He's out there, hiding,
that *******:
old man Christmas.
Hiding and trying
to make me change,
make me surrender
my joy to the jaded
state of adulthood.

I will not.
thelemonpolice Jun 2018
Most people tear open my wrapping,
eager to open their present
but I think you were the first one to ask each time
before gliding your hands along the sides
and gently peeling, taking time
to look me right inside my eyes
and tell me that I was breathtaking.
jane taylor Jun 2016
how i have ached to walk amongst the evergreens
encased by dazzling quaking aspen
in my rocky mountain home

i yearn to fall again while skiing
and catch a wisp of icy sky blue
snow powder crystals
on my tongue
******* feelings
rise and fall
as they melt
and disappear

i long to breathe in your scent
sitting on the peak of wooded ridges
amidst slate colored boulders
sea salt combined with cinnamon
laced with wildflowers
crisply filling my lungs

i hunger to once again
behold again your red rock formations
creating tender hollows
through which timid coral sunsets peer

i crave hiking at dusk
into your jagged emerald forests
and sit wistfully mid the columbine
while darkened sunflowers juxtapose
against the jet black emptiness
enticing the stars
to etch enchanting paintings
on inky cobalt skies

hankering to be at the sundance film festival
coyly peeking into restaurants
covertly spying on the movie stars
on old park city main

itching to experience waiting patiently
for a moose to cross the street
its majesty splashing gingerly
sending chills throughout the galaxy
magnificence abounds

i pine to have memories gently cradle me
like worn out patchwork quilts
warmed by incandescent fires
wrapping me in soft colored canvas
the past craving transformation
by an echo that’s now dim

faintly crying out for
an old familiar artist’s brush
that still lingers
to snag times gone by
and paint the future in

amalgamating the antiquated
with the present
luring in
my destiny

i dream to don my fringed leather jacket
and hear my cowboy boots
fiercely clicking
against charcoal shadowed midnight sidewalks
while i watch the harvest moon

i’m parched too see your autumn chestnut leaves
against the bloodshot auburn sky
as cardinal hues give way to glistening winter
melding into tender spring

your summertime birthing
tingles down my spine
as chartreus aspen leaves
morph to golden bisque
enticing ute country
to blow in
copper colored indian summers
with cherry fragrant wind

yutaahih you were called
by the apaches
their historic essence
somehow ingrained within
my every cell
thirsty to lie enveloped
like a long lost lover
in your rugged western terrain

once having left your presence
i return to you now
my heart flutters
with wild anticipation
to see your precious face again
utah

©2016janetaylor
after a 5 year absence, we are returning to utah at the end of this month
BROKEN WINGS


It happens a lot, It always seems to go on,
My mind rocks back to painful times,
All I can do is cry.
I see the clouds parting, skies opening
I can see Dark Angel emerge from the gray clouds.

I hear him calling out my name
Oh, how I feel so ashamed,
I am feeling more pains,
It is starting to rain,
My fingers are gripping the wet ground.

I could feel the wet dirt turning into the mud as it liquifies
slipping through my fingers.
I'm losing control, I'm feeling faint.
My soul is laying in puddles,
while the rain is pouring heavy down on me.

I'm broken this anyone could see.
My heart is shattered in billions of pieces
my blood is pouring out like ink.
My body feels it is relapsing.
While my scars are somehow fading.

Dark Angel deceivingly welcoming me into his world.
Extending his angelic black wings
wrapping around me, comforting embrace.
He isn't releasing his grip,
I feel now a broken hip.
Because he is dragging me to his darkness below.

I'm horrified, I'm broken, I'm screaming,
But no one could hear me.
Soon all my scars that were fading
Open up all over again.

They are no longer invisible.
All my pains from my broken past,
started making its way back fast.
I feel the pains rushing in my veins like poison.

Dark Angel chained me in a cold dungeon,
Soon he started whispering he anger to me,
he is letting me know he is in full control,
I am forever trapped in darken dreams.

He has broken my beautiful wings.
so I could never fly away from this darkened place,
I'm broken very deep within,
This old pain will always remain.

Poetic Judy Emery © 1984
Copyright © Judy Emery| Year Posted 1984
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