- Status
Sabina_Tolchovsky
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 26, 2005
- Posts
- 488
1.5
Inheritance
polished wax oak
fingernail aged lines
rough brown horse
leather seat stretched
and torn in two places
a needed replacement
the disruption of our history
one tack at a time
to the core of stained cotton filling
a hundred years
back and forth
hold me in these arms
wondering how many tears you have seen
to rock with creaking springs
that have sung their song
over hardwood floors
for every babe that came before me
Inheritance
polished wax oak
fingernail aged lines
rough brown horse
leather seat stretched
and torn in two places
a needed replacement
the disruption of our history
one tack at a time
to the core of stained cotton filling
a hundred years
back and forth
hold me in these arms
wondering how many tears you have seen
to rock with creaking springs
that have sung their song
over hardwood floors
for every babe that came before me
DeepAsleep
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2004
- Posts
- 774
2-1 Free time
I fell asleep with my half-bearded
face in a poetry anthology
that calls itself a bible.
fancy that I like d.a. levy's poems.
poems about concrete and
post-script angels in my head
I slept between words dedicated
to fucking or something edgy
like that.
I was drunk and snored into the
page, i drooled in my book
it felt like highschool study hall
all over again and I woke up
wondering why sleeping on
such soft ideas
gave me a stiff neck.
~R
I fell asleep with my half-bearded
face in a poetry anthology
that calls itself a bible.
fancy that I like d.a. levy's poems.
poems about concrete and
post-script angels in my head
I slept between words dedicated
to fucking or something edgy
like that.
I was drunk and snored into the
page, i drooled in my book
it felt like highschool study hall
all over again and I woke up
wondering why sleeping on
such soft ideas
gave me a stiff neck.
~R
G
Guest
Guest
1-9 Breathe Easy
Pink flowers on the Japanese Elm
made a mistake of early show
it snowed the very next day
Ice glazed the branches
crystal sculptures outside my window
a pretty winter picture
They froze their little
buds off. I can't help but grin
This spring, no hay fever
I will breathe while they remain
unadorned, dead, dead, dead!
Pink flowers on the Japanese Elm
made a mistake of early show
it snowed the very next day
Ice glazed the branches
crystal sculptures outside my window
a pretty winter picture
They froze their little
buds off. I can't help but grin
This spring, no hay fever
I will breathe while they remain
unadorned, dead, dead, dead!
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
1-9
shibboleth
i never hear you speak
of how it all went downhill
after the wall anymore,
how everything made sense
when enemies were enemies,
and you knew the hand
stabbing you in the back
as if there was an age
of chivalry, just a duck hunt
season ago, as if a hat and coat,
or cloak and dagger, was the
mark of Abel, and anything else
the stigma of Cain
i never hear you speak
like that, but sink your broken
flesh into the swallowing mud
of your too comfortable chair,
and snarls have been translated
into sighs
for better or for worse
is all just semantics, rocks
or hard places, hell or hades,
but the fact remains
i never hear you speak
anymore
shibboleth
i never hear you speak
of how it all went downhill
after the wall anymore,
how everything made sense
when enemies were enemies,
and you knew the hand
stabbing you in the back
as if there was an age
of chivalry, just a duck hunt
season ago, as if a hat and coat,
or cloak and dagger, was the
mark of Abel, and anything else
the stigma of Cain
i never hear you speak
like that, but sink your broken
flesh into the swallowing mud
of your too comfortable chair,
and snarls have been translated
into sighs
for better or for worse
is all just semantics, rocks
or hard places, hell or hades,
but the fact remains
i never hear you speak
anymore
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
1-9 only the best of everything
Spenser digs to the bottom of the box
in search of colorful animals and stars
hidden among plain beads.
He unfastens necklaces to salvage
the most beautiful flowers for my wrist.
With a twist of the pipe cleaner
he presents his gift.
It is not much,
only the best of everything
he could find.
This is to say I will not scratch
through your stones
pecking gravel for something
tossed aside.
I already have the best
of everything,
then again, so do you.
Spenser digs to the bottom of the box
in search of colorful animals and stars
hidden among plain beads.
He unfastens necklaces to salvage
the most beautiful flowers for my wrist.
With a twist of the pipe cleaner
he presents his gift.
It is not much,
only the best of everything
he could find.
This is to say I will not scratch
through your stones
pecking gravel for something
tossed aside.
I already have the best
of everything,
then again, so do you.
Last edited:
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
1:9
Red Gutters (-hipshoot)
They walk in the gutters
mud to ankles, heads
under great coats of blue
and grey. Days of rain
where pain is hunger
and black orbs watch
holes appear in the back
of bodies bent at odd angles
in the middle of the road.
They run - too young,
too old, just right
but wrong anyway. Run
and then no more,
for brick walls bar
their flight and sense
is lost when direction
denies the useful, challenges
the sickly and beats
fighters to a pulp
that runs red
in gutters.
Red Gutters (-hipshoot)
They walk in the gutters
mud to ankles, heads
under great coats of blue
and grey. Days of rain
where pain is hunger
and black orbs watch
holes appear in the back
of bodies bent at odd angles
in the middle of the road.
They run - too young,
too old, just right
but wrong anyway. Run
and then no more,
for brick walls bar
their flight and sense
is lost when direction
denies the useful, challenges
the sickly and beats
fighters to a pulp
that runs red
in gutters.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2002
- Posts
- 7,671
1-10
Birdsong
Down at the lookout
a new world opens
its draperies upon
a different Shangri-La.
This paradise of birch
seducing redwinged
song from throats
so delicate, yet
practiced, at making
beautiful noises.
Perch upon the reed
and with the wind,
find a melody
in nature my voice
can sing along to.
This light, blue
brilliance, shines
on the stage to coax
a finer performance.
Birdsong
Down at the lookout
a new world opens
its draperies upon
a different Shangri-La.
This paradise of birch
seducing redwinged
song from throats
so delicate, yet
practiced, at making
beautiful noises.
Perch upon the reed
and with the wind,
find a melody
in nature my voice
can sing along to.
This light, blue
brilliance, shines
on the stage to coax
a finer performance.
sandspike
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 20, 2002
- Posts
- 413
Wobbly Boxes 1-10
in the late eighties.
or was it early nineties
time as important as the job
I sold wobbly boxes,
nearly a year of....
hitting a 2x4 stud
'she's a good one'
my first was on a Sunday
simply because we were open,
sometimes a man has to
take something home
my last a double wide
Sheetrock interior, cedar
lined closets dishwasher ready,
fireplace and memories
on the corner wall
in between those two occasions
the time wasn't that important.
.....................important at all
in the late eighties.
or was it early nineties
time as important as the job
I sold wobbly boxes,
nearly a year of....
hitting a 2x4 stud
'she's a good one'
my first was on a Sunday
simply because we were open,
sometimes a man has to
take something home
my last a double wide
Sheetrock interior, cedar
lined closets dishwasher ready,
fireplace and memories
on the corner wall
in between those two occasions
the time wasn't that important.
.....................important at all
Selena_Kitt
heartbroken
- Joined
- Jan 25, 2004
- Posts
- 12,336
1:10 Death Rolls
In the jaws
of a crocodile,
doing death rolls,
everything knotted low
in my belly,
like whorling snakes.
There are razor blades
just to feel something,
the image of a car
sailing off a bridge,
a cliff,
into an embankment wall
on the expressway.
I want to die.
Strip me bare.
Hang me from a hook.
Let this body rot
and fall away.
I am becoming.
Dying into something.
I don’t need
your hands on me.
I don’t want
your righteous sword.
You don’t need
to save me
from myself.
Just sit here.
Breathe with me
in the darkness
and wail
at the wall.
In the jaws
of a crocodile,
doing death rolls,
everything knotted low
in my belly,
like whorling snakes.
There are razor blades
just to feel something,
the image of a car
sailing off a bridge,
a cliff,
into an embankment wall
on the expressway.
I want to die.
Strip me bare.
Hang me from a hook.
Let this body rot
and fall away.
I am becoming.
Dying into something.
I don’t need
your hands on me.
I don’t want
your righteous sword.
You don’t need
to save me
from myself.
Just sit here.
Breathe with me
in the darkness
and wail
at the wall.
G
Guest
Guest
1-10 Non-Stick
Power, telephone
college tuition
carnotesandcreditcards
bills
bills, bills
Her peppered bacon pops in the pan
hook the tines, spear the pig
How can she can eat it?
Vegetarian and carnivore
I tell myself, the fat seasons
the cast iron for cornbread
"Is it done yet?"
arms around my waist
open lip, wet kiss
nip between shoulder blades
she sighs
I shiver
"It won't be if you keep that up."
Down the front
Shea butter soft hands
she sighs again
Breakfast can wait
A little of her makes my world
less sticky
Power, telephone
college tuition
carnotesandcreditcards
bills
bills, bills
Her peppered bacon pops in the pan
hook the tines, spear the pig
How can she can eat it?
Vegetarian and carnivore
I tell myself, the fat seasons
the cast iron for cornbread
"Is it done yet?"
arms around my waist
open lip, wet kiss
nip between shoulder blades
she sighs
I shiver
"It won't be if you keep that up."
Down the front
Shea butter soft hands
she sighs again
Breakfast can wait
A little of her makes my world
less sticky
Last edited by a moderator:
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,049
Down for The Count 1-10
On the precipice
of flu, I'm heavy
with the verge
of nausea there is
a warning click down
at the base of my esophagus
bad things can happen
anytime now and I feel
sleep calling
not cuddly, hug-a-pillow
blissdrift, but caught
in the teeth of the undertoad,
buh-bye consciousness now
just hissing just a little
because it can before
it
drags
me
down
to
that foggy swamp of goosebump,
nightmare sweats,waves slamming
my temple, my eyes are closing
I'm almost out
would you please hold this
green balloon that
used to be
my head,
Timmy? I have to
take a little nap
now.
On the precipice
of flu, I'm heavy
with the verge
of nausea there is
a warning click down
at the base of my esophagus
bad things can happen
anytime now and I feel
sleep calling
not cuddly, hug-a-pillow
blissdrift, but caught
in the teeth of the undertoad,
buh-bye consciousness now
just hissing just a little
because it can before
it
drags
me
down
to
that foggy swamp of goosebump,
nightmare sweats,waves slamming
my temple, my eyes are closing
I'm almost out
would you please hold this
green balloon that
used to be
my head,
Timmy? I have to
take a little nap
now.
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
1-10 Method To The Madness
She paints
blue ballpoint tattoos
across my arm, feigns grafitti
monograms in honor of
hours that die every day,
but that gets no parade.
What is it now, the year of the monkey,
or the platypus, perhaps? she sings.
Yes, sings, every syllable a note,
it's just the way the sounds roll. Fearless,
deliquent in their own right, consicous of
purpose, the only way she knows speech.
She paints blue
ballerina notions
across my mind's scenery,
silly little swirls I will never forget,
projectile seeds in the wind, always with
such an alien purpose, the only way
she knows reason.
There's a method to the madness,
a certain melody in a lost super harmony
that I'll probably scout and sharpen my years
for years to come to identify,
but until then,
she paints
blue ballbount pen tattoos,
and plant white lilies in my window
although she knows they won't last
a winter. There's a method
to that madness too, but I'll leave that
for another day.
One enigma at the time.
She paints
blue ballpoint tattoos
across my arm, feigns grafitti
monograms in honor of
hours that die every day,
but that gets no parade.
What is it now, the year of the monkey,
or the platypus, perhaps? she sings.
Yes, sings, every syllable a note,
it's just the way the sounds roll. Fearless,
deliquent in their own right, consicous of
purpose, the only way she knows speech.
She paints blue
ballerina notions
across my mind's scenery,
silly little swirls I will never forget,
projectile seeds in the wind, always with
such an alien purpose, the only way
she knows reason.
There's a method to the madness,
a certain melody in a lost super harmony
that I'll probably scout and sharpen my years
for years to come to identify,
but until then,
she paints
blue ballbount pen tattoos,
and plant white lilies in my window
although she knows they won't last
a winter. There's a method
to that madness too, but I'll leave that
for another day.
One enigma at the time.
flyguy69
Arch Angel
- Joined
- Oct 29, 2003
- Posts
- 2,661
Fly 1:8
He may have sold art, but not
enough. Too eager steps echoing.
As she collected her canvasses he said
It’s all I’ve ever done.
Later she saw him in Duluth, Rockin’
the Oldies on Kool One Oh One Seven. His new skin
bagged at the corners. He was not surprised
at who fucked who and who
got a show in Door County, but cried
over texture and tension and tricking
the mind’s eye. The gallery’s
a cell phone store now, she said.
He only wanted to know
what they had on the walls.
He may have sold art, but not
enough. Too eager steps echoing.
As she collected her canvasses he said
It’s all I’ve ever done.
Later she saw him in Duluth, Rockin’
the Oldies on Kool One Oh One Seven. His new skin
bagged at the corners. He was not surprised
at who fucked who and who
got a show in Door County, but cried
over texture and tension and tricking
the mind’s eye. The gallery’s
a cell phone store now, she said.
He only wanted to know
what they had on the walls.
DeepAsleep
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2004
- Posts
- 774
2-2 Behind Door Number f, with Chris, Cris and Keylana
Keylana is shaking
the door is
shaking her arms
is shaking
"I got the cancer and
the manic bipolar,
I got cancer
let me go
out let me out"
They pulled two rigs
from her
bra she
shakes
the door her teeth
methamphetamines old friends
I can't stop laughing
screw's looking at
me funny thru the window
Keylana has cancer has
the manic bipolar won't shake
the door off
its hinges
trying not
to forget
any detail
they took away my pen
my watch my earring
my wallet my checkbook
my pen, they took away
my pen
i can't remember enough
without it.
Glasses
makeshift mirror lookin
out slot in door
see if dinner gonna come
down the hall
won't wanna eat it
anyway I bet sandwiches
fishsticks oj
brownies
"Door, fuck's the number
on the door? Time is it,
time is it wanna know what
time is it, don't want no
dinner want door number
on the door get outta here
cancer, got cancer got the
cancer in me,
got the
took my
rigs got cancer,
can I have a bible?"
Cris sez
"Ol' Keylana she get
religious
on a comedown"
Chris sez
"no goddam sprinkles
on the brownies
sprinkles is cheap
tv dinner cheap
no-sprinkle brownies"
Keylana shakes
the door all
goddam night for two hours
two hours is all
goddam night
when no one sez shit
shut up
she's something to watch
the manic bipolar cancer
floor show
not a brick wall not a cold
door not a huge lock
not a brownie with no sprinkles
when you got cancer
and the manic bi
polar and no more rigs
metal doorslams iron
door cold doorstones
shakes I think
I am getting the shakes
the cancer
and the manic
bi
polar
too.
three of us
chris cris and me
stomach to floor
up on elbows
heads together
girls at slumber party
singing Journey songs
out the slot
into the hallway
until Keylana sez
we're makin her fuckin
head split cancer
and i tell her
"you're as cold as ice"
but she don't get it
somone makes my
bail
but they'll
be there til tuesday
fuckin dead presidents
makin em stay til
tuesday makin em
wait
on my way out the door
I see it's not a number
but
the letter
f.
"It's f,
Key. Key? f. Door f."
"Fuckin' f door, door
fuckin' f, 'kay Ross
'kay, tell 'em to let me out
ross, door f, don't forget
door f."
i forgot to ask
the time.
~R
Yay, first time in a jail cell. 2/18/06
Keylana is shaking
the door is
shaking her arms
is shaking
"I got the cancer and
the manic bipolar,
I got cancer
let me go
out let me out"
They pulled two rigs
from her
bra she
shakes
the door her teeth
methamphetamines old friends
I can't stop laughing
screw's looking at
me funny thru the window
Keylana has cancer has
the manic bipolar won't shake
the door off
its hinges
trying not
to forget
any detail
they took away my pen
my watch my earring
my wallet my checkbook
my pen, they took away
my pen
i can't remember enough
without it.
Glasses
makeshift mirror lookin
out slot in door
see if dinner gonna come
down the hall
won't wanna eat it
anyway I bet sandwiches
fishsticks oj
brownies
"Door, fuck's the number
on the door? Time is it,
time is it wanna know what
time is it, don't want no
dinner want door number
on the door get outta here
cancer, got cancer got the
cancer in me,
got the
took my
rigs got cancer,
can I have a bible?"
Cris sez
"Ol' Keylana she get
religious
on a comedown"
Chris sez
"no goddam sprinkles
on the brownies
sprinkles is cheap
tv dinner cheap
no-sprinkle brownies"
Keylana shakes
the door all
goddam night for two hours
two hours is all
goddam night
when no one sez shit
shut up
she's something to watch
the manic bipolar cancer
floor show
not a brick wall not a cold
door not a huge lock
not a brownie with no sprinkles
when you got cancer
and the manic bi
polar and no more rigs
metal doorslams iron
door cold doorstones
shakes I think
I am getting the shakes
the cancer
and the manic
bi
polar
too.
three of us
chris cris and me
stomach to floor
up on elbows
heads together
girls at slumber party
singing Journey songs
out the slot
into the hallway
until Keylana sez
we're makin her fuckin
head split cancer
and i tell her
"you're as cold as ice"
but she don't get it
somone makes my
bail
but they'll
be there til tuesday
fuckin dead presidents
makin em stay til
tuesday makin em
wait
on my way out the door
I see it's not a number
but
the letter
f.
"It's f,
Key. Key? f. Door f."
"Fuckin' f door, door
fuckin' f, 'kay Ross
'kay, tell 'em to let me out
ross, door f, don't forget
door f."
i forgot to ask
the time.
~R
Yay, first time in a jail cell. 2/18/06
Last edited:
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,850
1-10
catching up with life
on the up and up
with my half full cup
a fluid feeling
smooth and consuming
settles in like a spectre
of obvious magnitude
despite its transparency
saying to me
that he is alone
as i drift closer to my
polar opposite
but in truth
i'll never leave him
even when
he thinks i have.
catching up with life
on the up and up
with my half full cup
a fluid feeling
smooth and consuming
settles in like a spectre
of obvious magnitude
despite its transparency
saying to me
that he is alone
as i drift closer to my
polar opposite
but in truth
i'll never leave him
even when
he thinks i have.
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
1-10 Meeting Beth Kingsley edit 3
Today we lit silent candles
and she told me Jennifer, everyone
loves a rainbow but we, we live on one.
I imagine her dressing this morning.
Maybe she searched for the memory
of color on lips and crown as she twisted
grey hair up into loose curls,
maybe she didn't.
I search for pins or clips
but nothing seems to hold the pieces up.
I know how you pull the colors apart.
Really, do we have a choice? Her fingers twist
the fringes of an imaginary rope, frayed.
I feel her hesitate on the crooked stairs
to the beach. The angle is steep,
the distance between
steps is unpredictable.
They are late for the perfect lighting
but she stops at the bottom
and captures pink angels in sunset reflections.
We understand the mathematics
of how colors hide in the white, and yet still
believe the magic, don't you?
She echoes the last hymn,
"Why oh why can't I?"
and since no one can think
of a reason, she flies on,
grabs the crest like the handle of a purse
and pulls the rainbow up, up from
the restrictions of the land
until it becomes the circular halo
it was always meant to be.
Today we lit silent candles
and she told me Jennifer, everyone
loves a rainbow but we, we live on one.
I imagine her dressing this morning.
Maybe she searched for the memory
of color on lips and crown as she twisted
grey hair up into loose curls,
maybe she didn't.
I search for pins or clips
but nothing seems to hold the pieces up.
I know how you pull the colors apart.
Really, do we have a choice? Her fingers twist
the fringes of an imaginary rope, frayed.
I feel her hesitate on the crooked stairs
to the beach. The angle is steep,
the distance between
steps is unpredictable.
They are late for the perfect lighting
but she stops at the bottom
and captures pink angels in sunset reflections.
We understand the mathematics
of how colors hide in the white, and yet still
believe the magic, don't you?
She echoes the last hymn,
"Why oh why can't I?"
and since no one can think
of a reason, she flies on,
grabs the crest like the handle of a purse
and pulls the rainbow up, up from
the restrictions of the land
until it becomes the circular halo
it was always meant to be.
Last edited:
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
1:10
.
.
.
.
water falls
water falls -
in the sky
painted rain
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
water falls
water falls -
in the sky
painted rain
.
.
.
.
1 - 10
its all because I was watching this Catholic nun
she was doing her `help the homeless` charity bit
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
plus the fact was dear readers, I so needed to cum
on her face and wimple my sperm I wanted to spit
its all because I was watching this Catholic nun
standing erect before her she was struck dumb
I asked her some questions while gazing at her tit
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
her replies she made from the barrel of a huge gun
she asked, "Why are you such a perverted twit?"
its all because I was watching this Catholic nun
yes, that was my reply, "I liked Catholic nuns!"
so this nun cocked her gun and aimed at my bits!
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
alas there was to be no religious anal fun
I was so freaked I turned and ran lickety split
its all because I was watching this Catholic nun
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
she was doing her `help the homeless` charity bit
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
plus the fact was dear readers, I so needed to cum
on her face and wimple my sperm I wanted to spit
its all because I was watching this Catholic nun
standing erect before her she was struck dumb
I asked her some questions while gazing at her tit
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
her replies she made from the barrel of a huge gun
she asked, "Why are you such a perverted twit?"
its all because I was watching this Catholic nun
yes, that was my reply, "I liked Catholic nuns!"
so this nun cocked her gun and aimed at my bits!
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
alas there was to be no religious anal fun
I was so freaked I turned and ran lickety split
its all because I was watching this Catholic nun
I was curious to find out if she had a holy sexy bum
Last edited:
DeepAsleep
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2004
- Posts
- 774
2-3 Sunday don't mean a thing moonlady
Sunday doesn't mean as much
as it used to
ain't the day it used
to be not sacred anymore
not the thrill of knowing you are
mine
day long mine after
saturday night
love making
(didn't we make love?)
slow and fast and young
(we did, didn't we?)
Sunday morning is not you
beside me, just pillows i
throw my arm over
no smell of you
the sometimes stink
early waking breath
not me writing poems
for your morning mouth
little conic comic
mis matched breasts
horse hips
rolling free on
mattress prairies
over hills of rumpled
sheets shaking with stretching
bundled up slide onto your side
put that big ass on me
clutch my hand to your chest
press my hand into the wide
flat place between your
too-small tits
no Sunday morning ignoring
flaws
self invented stupid
flaws i never cared
about not the snoring or the
wagon train of regrets you use
to measure every moment
not your mess
(i love your mess
it kills me, i love
you)
not the fat you hate
with breathing
you're built like statues of
moongoddesses
and just as crazy as the moon
i'll be your poet
the moon's poet
alone Sunday morning
worshipping new moon skies
moon set early
no more rolled eyes
at getting called Ishtar
by my foolish mouth
stupid mouth stupid
poems
about you that
early morning moon goddess
with all night coffee
breath i can't lie on
an elbow see anything
but the wall
Sunday doesn't mean as much
as it used to
ain't the day it used
to be not sacred anymore
not the thrill of knowing you are
mine
day long mine after
saturday night
love making
(didn't we make love?)
slow and fast and young
(we did, didn't we?)
Sunday morning is not you
beside me, just pillows i
throw my arm over
no smell of you
the sometimes stink
early waking breath
not me writing poems
for your morning mouth
little conic comic
mis matched breasts
horse hips
rolling free on
mattress prairies
over hills of rumpled
sheets shaking with stretching
bundled up slide onto your side
put that big ass on me
clutch my hand to your chest
press my hand into the wide
flat place between your
too-small tits
no Sunday morning ignoring
flaws
self invented stupid
flaws i never cared
about not the snoring or the
wagon train of regrets you use
to measure every moment
not your mess
(i love your mess
it kills me, i love
you)
not the fat you hate
with breathing
you're built like statues of
moongoddesses
and just as crazy as the moon
i'll be your poet
the moon's poet
alone Sunday morning
worshipping new moon skies
moon set early
no more rolled eyes
at getting called Ishtar
by my foolish mouth
stupid mouth stupid
poems
about you that
early morning moon goddess
with all night coffee
breath i can't lie on
an elbow see anything
but the wall
Last edited:
Selena_Kitt
heartbroken
- Joined
- Jan 25, 2004
- Posts
- 12,336
1:11 Underneath
Pissed off.
“Fuck you!
And the horse you rode in on!”
but underneath that—
something dropping into my belly,
like my heart
when someone walks away.
Feeling like it goes with them,
pulled in pieces like
stretchy taffy,
snapped back,
beating a funny rhythm in my chest,
too fast and a little afraid.
I always feel like I did something wrong.
Pissed off.
“Fuck you!
And the horse you rode in on!”
but underneath that—
something dropping into my belly,
like my heart
when someone walks away.
Feeling like it goes with them,
pulled in pieces like
stretchy taffy,
snapped back,
beating a funny rhythm in my chest,
too fast and a little afraid.
I always feel like I did something wrong.
sandspike
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 20, 2002
- Posts
- 413
lack of sophistication 1-11
We bought quarts with fake IDs.
Rode out the night searching for
bad girls on country lanes. Colt 45
my beverage of choice. Still tasting
that last inch, thigh warm and as
flat as Kansas.
I usually finished the dregs finding
it more satisfying than the down
stroke on a wilted rose. An act
more like exercise than rite of passage.
My redneck upbringing thus explains
my dislike to scotch and opera.
A youth which never included......
.... indoor activities.
We bought quarts with fake IDs.
Rode out the night searching for
bad girls on country lanes. Colt 45
my beverage of choice. Still tasting
that last inch, thigh warm and as
flat as Kansas.
I usually finished the dregs finding
it more satisfying than the down
stroke on a wilted rose. An act
more like exercise than rite of passage.
My redneck upbringing thus explains
my dislike to scotch and opera.
A youth which never included......
.... indoor activities.
Sabina_Tolchovsky
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 26, 2005
- Posts
- 488
2.1
I will now join the ranks of the poorly disciplined. Here is my poem I penned yesterday and fell asleep with, only to wake up at one minute to midnight where I opted to stay in my warm bed...
levain de raisin
rise up
punch down
scrape
fold layer on layer
building each strand
four dawns feeding
of natural flavor
vine'd wild yeast
& moisture displayed texture
cut to eight
roll-thumb-palm
ring-middle-index
and back again
genetic memory
& damp wood
stretch the surface
of each face
mind your thoughts
roll-thumb-palm
mind your thoughts
ring-middle-index
mind your thoughts
and back
rest
& rise up again
I will now join the ranks of the poorly disciplined. Here is my poem I penned yesterday and fell asleep with, only to wake up at one minute to midnight where I opted to stay in my warm bed...
levain de raisin
rise up
punch down
scrape
fold layer on layer
building each strand
four dawns feeding
of natural flavor
vine'd wild yeast
& moisture displayed texture
cut to eight
roll-thumb-palm
ring-middle-index
and back again
genetic memory
& damp wood
stretch the surface
of each face
mind your thoughts
roll-thumb-palm
mind your thoughts
ring-middle-index
mind your thoughts
and back
rest
& rise up again
eagleyez
going up
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2003
- Posts
- 22,879
2 minus 1 = one
40th hour, no sleep
Busbench
Advertisement for
Influenza or
Rice-a-roni
Memorized
Minsetrone
Bocci Park
But no-
Its Bjorn Borg
"Are You Kidding Me?"
Johhny Mac.
City Lights
Carol Doda
Kurt Gowdy
Was 86'd
The sweet splinter's
Salmon Wader
One Day...
Pitchers and Catchers
Going on 41 hours right? (now)
40th hour, no sleep
Busbench
Advertisement for
Influenza or
Rice-a-roni
Memorized
Minsetrone
Bocci Park
But no-
Its Bjorn Borg
"Are You Kidding Me?"
Johhny Mac.
City Lights
Carol Doda
Kurt Gowdy
Was 86'd
The sweet splinter's
Salmon Wader
One Day...
Pitchers and Catchers
Going on 41 hours right? (now)
- Status
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