all of a sudden passion suddenly

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Soul free in Arrivals

*

I read a book
that claimed
jetlag
was but the time it takes
for one's soul
to catch up
with the Boeing
lumbering
like Jonah's whale
across the seas


*
 
perks said:
Now I will dream
of bright red skins
indented with teeth

saving my life
one day at a
bite
And I will dream
of smooth cheeks turned red
by toothy grin, the sin
of knowing this pleasure
licked clean.
 
annaswirls said:
in the future
i will come back
bringing apples picked from trees,
pre-processed, uncooked

I will remind them
why they have teeth
and there will be no turning back
Apples paired
and skinless hang
in a heart-shaped frame.
Succulent feast but
all I ask is a nipple.
 
darkmaas said:
*

I read a book
that claimed
jetlag
was but the time it takes
for one's soul
to catch up
with the Boeing
lumbering
like Jonah's whale
across the seas


*

I've never had jetlag
though I've crossed time zones
and anyway I've been on jets
that lumber but really
can you lumber in the ocean
if you're a whale? Not that any
of this is relevent but what
else can I do until you finish
your lunch and we can discuss
your jetlag and the lag
of my poetry
because my imagination
is lumbering across dimensions
of recollection. It's a foggy day
in my wordscape and they won't
board my flight until your lunch
concludes, so I'll just sit here
in the waiting room and think
about airplanes and scrimshaw.
 
PS
I found coffee
that's better than Starbucks
which you will protest
vehemently because you know
how you always doth protest
too much, but it is and you
haven't had it, but I've had both
and it is better and the particular
type I am drinking now
is Organic Turkish Roast,
a name I suspect will excite
you vaguely or maybe even
explicitly, maybe move you
to a poem so titled, which will
have nothing to do with coffee
but contain one obscure
reference to Salome.
 
Still waiting while your lunch is underway
and listless rain is dropping on the deck,
and I chairbound because I said I'd stay
and yes I gladly do so, what the heck
because I'm watching branches bend their wrists
and purple lupine leaning in the breeze
and I have things to do, I'm making lists,
apples and court dates and the way I'll please
my lover, kiss his sore knee, make him smile.
The day is still a child, I can dream
that soon the sun will come. I'll stay a while,
the sky is brighter now, I'll take my ease
chiaroscuro shadow lighting trees.
 
darkmaas if you don't hurry
your lunching ass to Yahoo
soon we can publish all
this as a chapbook
 
Organic Turkish Roast

Take one Turk
raised on goat's milk
chick pea flour
without any taint
of Pepsi drool.
Remove his pointy slippers
and his feathered hat.
(This is fusion cooking baby)
Apply to spit
and roast till tender.
Save the head for dark Salome
who has a taste
for the odd and oriental.
Enjoy.
 
Last edited:
I love this place
of wordy hurly-burly
brim to the top with friendship.
when it hums with hearts
and mind-inspired words
I sit in awe and watch
the unfolding wishing
I was there as well as here
spinning not wheels
but well placed words.
 
nothing wrong with spinning wheels
in time
they might weave
a tapestry of words
as blue as Chartres

wheels of outrageous fortune
have no power
stronger
than a gentle keystroke

wheels
despite their spinning
are only changing place
here there is no place
but only time
and
from time to time
keystokes
that push the ether
to let fly
the odd
bit of rhyme
 
He dances
In my hazy mind
With fireflies and waves
Of aspirations yet to be fulfilled

And while he chases the moon
Absent-mindedly
Tracing along the lining
Of parachutes and green fields

I wait to catch him
or follow him
To be the thunder
that rolls through his veins
when, at last, he finds that impish dream
That has taken joy in evading him
All his life.
 
Angeline said:
PS
I found coffee
that's better than Starbucks
which you will protest
vehemently because you know
how you always doth protest
too much, but it is and you
haven't had it, but I've had both
and it is better and the particular
type I am drinking now
is Organic Turkish Roast,
a name I suspect will excite
you vaguely or maybe even
explicitly, maybe move you
to a poem so titled, which will
have nothing to do with coffee
but contain one obscure
reference to Salome.


Petes!
Petes!
Major Dickenson's Blend
no reference to dancing veils
but leaps bounds and attten-hut!
buckets better than starbucks

I smell a challenge...
when is the cellar door one up?
 
flyguy69 said:
Apples paired
and skinless hang
in a heart-shaped frame.
Succulent feast but
all I ask is a nipple.


suckled on apples
he grew tall, sweet
his umbilicus, a stem

when breaking teeth
hit bit into the flesh
tearing life to the seed

sometimes when you do not have a plan
it shows, it really
really
shows :rolleyes:
 
My New Treat~

gleaming red
shining bright
tempting me
beyond endurance

wanting
just a lil taste
tis all i ask
well
maybe more
a nibble

i will polish it
make it my own
dally and play with
my wonderful treat
displaying it
upon my magical throne

slow wet licks
soft lil nips
placing it on my
lil wet fairy lips

watching
as the dew drop falls
causing a mystical stream

fruitacious scents
hang heavy in the air
can ya taste it
right
there....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hmm needs some work.
had to write it.
loved the threads direction
so i played with it a lil.. :)

RhymeFairy~
 
he calls me
sweet
heart
colors me pink
buds and rose lips
tastes me like caviar
tongue dipped right innto jar

says
darling
you must rest

tempts me
subliminally
with visionsn of insectsand flowers
tentacles and dew drops
and baby I play along
I play along

all along just wanting to fall down to my knees
bastard just shut up with those pretty words
and delivate ribbons
just let me be down dirty
let us use words without metaphor
I do not want a plum
I want the head of your cock
in my mouth, summer ripe

I do not want nibbles I want
bites not soft breeze
hot breath


seduce me like a poet
but fuck me like a whore


and in the morning
I will tie my virginal bows
and maiden collar
and we can start again
at the top button
 
seduce me like a poet
but fuck me like a whore


here it comes
again
a hard drive
compulsion
to fling some
passion
at the one
who does
just
does me justly
just like that,
verbal articulations
sexy smoldering
poetics
that prime me
then he fucks me
with all that rhyme-y
black and blue
ism
and there i go,
saying,
passion me baby..again...
 
darkmaas said:
Take one Turk
raised on goat's milk
chick pea flour
without any taint
of Pepsi drool.
Remove his pointy slippers
and his feathered hat.
(This is fusion cooking baby)
Apply to spit
and roast till tender.
Save the head for dark Salome
who has a taste
for the odd and oriental.
Enjoy.

I purchased my pound
of flesh today baby, had me
an Organic Ethiopian spiced
with a little Country Nut.

Oh

I couldn't wait
such was my thirst.
This was no slow drip,
I had to grind it
automatically. Good
to the last drop.
 
darkmaas said:
nothing wrong with spinning wheels
in time
they might weave
a tapestry of words
as blue as Chartres

wheels of outrageous fortune
have no power
stronger
than a gentle keystroke

wheels
despite their spinning
are only changing place
here there is no place
but only time
and
from time to time
keystokes
that push the ether
to let fly
the odd
bit of rhyme

There will be time
for words tapped clack
of bone on bone, the jazz
of it measured in coffee spoons.

We are coyotes
up too early, baying
even while the moon
is in retreat, past seven
veils slipped to the floor
and all so sweet,
the more of it,
the more.
 
Roasted Ethiopian

Angeline wrote:
I purchased my pound
of flesh today baby, had me
an Organic Ethiopian spiced
with a little Country Nut.

Oh

I couldn't wait
such was my thirst.
This was no slow drip,
I had to grind it
automatically. Good
to the last drop.


I have to draw the line
at roasting Ethiopians
even if they are untouched
by Monsanto's charms

After the fool Italians
who could dare
use such a dry and acid bean
even sweetened
for espresso

*
 
breakfast

I spoon focus into his applesauce
and dissolve compulsion in a cup of juice
then wash away panic with a diet coke
we walk hand in hand into our day
into this world that is not sure
what to make
of us
 
Sahara's Mart

[SIZE=-1](an acrostic) [/SIZE]


Toes on the carpets
Hands in the Suns
Eyes closed in mystery
Swaying like the winds

Always I wonder darkly
Never with hot intent
Days End nods peace
So I watch my sins.

Other people beguile
For tunes they hear,
Tickling my mind's eye
In clay bottomed bins.

More distractions tear my heart
Every dusk at Sahara's mart.
 
JUDO said:
[SIZE=-1](an acrostic) [/SIZE]


Toes on the carpets
Hands in the Suns
Eyes closed in mystery
Swaying like the winds

Always I wonder darkly
Never with hot intent
Days End nods peace
So I watch my sins.

Other people beguile
For tunes they hear,
Tickling my mind's eye
In clay bottomed bins.

More distractions tear my heart
Every dusk at Sahara's mart.

Take that, my priestess of inspiration. :kiss:

Acrostic

Midcoast and the harbors
Yield, nature roars, the blue gray
Mossed with foam and shell
And in the cedars, singularity
Inching in stubborn fingers,
No shriek of horn, no blink.
Echo of gulls, crowcalls, footsteps.
 
plauged
unafraid and
remaining unchanged
swinging from a rope
while hyper
activities take place
intense
and unrelenting
gripping my
throat and
loving my pulse
feeling my ups
and downs along
with the inner
lambskin that seems
to hold me
together
piece me together
puzzling my own
needing a pocket webster's
and a handful of beans
and some burning rock
streaking across the
nights blackness
to wish for you on.
 
Tathagata said:
There on the bathroom wall
someone had written
"Except Jesus'
in black indelible marker

I wonder if Jesus would correct his spelling?
or just love him anyway

I went back to my desk
and got a red marker
and wrote above it
" Everybody had a great time at the party..."

I wonder if Jesus would laugh at that?

Lenny Bruce said
what if Jesus
and Moses came back,
stood behind the pews
of St Patrick's Cathedral,
and looked
at the stained glass,
fine wood and stonework,
bejeweled gold crosses

and then stepped outside

to old men begging
for change and children
shivering thin.

Lenny Bruce said nigger
is just a word until
you say it to a child.

I think Jesus went
to another party.

:)
 
he sends my images into concrete fantasy
keeps me spinning, moving
lest I harden, crack

this patchwork stitch
threads my textures into one
cloth for touching, polishing
rubbing him down dry

blotter paper
carbon dating
mitochondrial
genetics

these things he spins with the gravel
and waits for me to set

places me on shelf for carnal inspiration
artistic expiration

afraid to say
it is pink he desires
pink

sigh

I can get used to pink
 
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