tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
*****
Last edited:
writing live
- Thread starter smithpeter
- Start date
TheRainMan
black & tan
- Joined
- Nov 15, 2005
- Posts
- 1,497
Absorbed into a Penny Dreadful
Smoke curling from the pouting lipstick
of bad girls
prints its yellow stain upon my eyes.
I smell Chanel and Lucky Strikes. I want
to sink into the cover
to tour the margins of their world,
their suite of red romance and crime.
I rub my thumbs
on their magic breasts like lamps
to pass through the pulp
to those blondes
in my paperback looking glass
whenever I see them lean on lampposts
in half-buttoned blouses,
knee lifted so the ring of high nylon
chimes with echoes as dark
as the canyons
of their cleavage, shadowed by hint
and invitation to join them in the night.
To forget the shiny dime
of daybreak and let them soak me in
to lick their cheap confection, to swallow
the wild light
of a streetlamp heart and stranger.
Smoke curling from the pouting lipstick
of bad girls
prints its yellow stain upon my eyes.
I smell Chanel and Lucky Strikes. I want
to sink into the cover
to tour the margins of their world,
their suite of red romance and crime.
I rub my thumbs
on their magic breasts like lamps
to pass through the pulp
to those blondes
in my paperback looking glass
whenever I see them lean on lampposts
in half-buttoned blouses,
knee lifted so the ring of high nylon
chimes with echoes as dark
as the canyons
of their cleavage, shadowed by hint
and invitation to join them in the night.
To forget the shiny dime
of daybreak and let them soak me in
to lick their cheap confection, to swallow
the wild light
of a streetlamp heart and stranger.
C
cward2
Guest
This is pretty cool, TheRainManTheRainMan said:
Stella_Omega
No Gentleman
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2005
- Posts
- 39,700
On the folly of writing about dead people;
I'm moon walking, sleep walking, only halfway here
the accents from another time are dinning in my ear
my fingers tap the iambs, I'm counting 'neath my breath
Horns honk in the intersection, scare me half to death
"Comon, bitch, it's two-ohoh five, not three hundred years before!"
but the century is forgotten again, once I'm in the door
last light playing o'er the pages of my new-bought book
the ghostly sound of laughter makes me take a look-
He, in his youth and arrogance, makes a mocking bow
saying "Do you like me? Do you like me even now?"
I'm moon walking, sleep walking, only halfway here
the accents from another time are dinning in my ear
my fingers tap the iambs, I'm counting 'neath my breath
Horns honk in the intersection, scare me half to death
"Comon, bitch, it's two-ohoh five, not three hundred years before!"
but the century is forgotten again, once I'm in the door
last light playing o'er the pages of my new-bought book
the ghostly sound of laughter makes me take a look-
He, in his youth and arrogance, makes a mocking bow
saying "Do you like me? Do you like me even now?"
tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
*****
Last edited:
C
cward2
Guest
I've found truth
not in God but in
a couple of polaroids
stuffed in my jacket
they're not some
tacky display
of bygone customs
that provoke war
or encourage hate
but of you
that figure of
worship
a true God
if any I saw
not in God but in
a couple of polaroids
stuffed in my jacket
they're not some
tacky display
of bygone customs
that provoke war
or encourage hate
but of you
that figure of
worship
a true God
if any I saw
WickedEve
save an apple, eat eve
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2001
- Posts
- 11,470
Come to me in winter, on days
when calm lies in snow, only after
we've knocked the white from shoes,
brushed it from our skin.
Come to me for Christmas,
through drifts,
upon ice,
wrapped in cold and ribbon,
paper that will crumple beneath my bed.
Come to me in frost of night,
where I curl winterless beneath a dream.
Shed your chill, and come
inside me, out of this season.
when calm lies in snow, only after
we've knocked the white from shoes,
brushed it from our skin.
Come to me for Christmas,
through drifts,
upon ice,
wrapped in cold and ribbon,
paper that will crumple beneath my bed.
Come to me in frost of night,
where I curl winterless beneath a dream.
Shed your chill, and come
inside me, out of this season.
flyguy69
Arch Angel
- Joined
- Oct 29, 2003
- Posts
- 2,661
I may not know much, but I know limpid when I see it. Or, at least when I look it up.
WickedEve said:I have "suddenly" poems that I've written recently but haven't posted here--I don't think...
Anyway, I'm not sure what I'm going on about in this poem. I'm sure it's totally profound, though.
a poet leaves home
i'm a flea on a big dog.
i know tip of ear,
the hair,
sparse and fine.
there are fleas on other dogs,
on cats, some
foolish around human ankles.
how can i know my dog
from here
so they can know my dog?
i think he's a big dog,
with four legs
and black nose.
i only think.
i do know hair--
tip of ear hair--
sparse and fine.
You're a smart man and a good looking monkey.
G
Guest
Guest
"There's jam in them there hills"
he says each time we drive
home and pass the snowy crests
we share a still-warm long fresh loaf
he calls "a baggy something."
from the village bakery just open
to the steam and frost
I love him now as never before
and watch his jaw work to
chew the bread he grins
when his eyes meet mine
and I blink away unwelcome tears
that threaten to freeze right there
to remind me to remind me
he's not mine.
he says each time we drive
home and pass the snowy crests
we share a still-warm long fresh loaf
he calls "a baggy something."
from the village bakery just open
to the steam and frost
I love him now as never before
and watch his jaw work to
chew the bread he grins
when his eyes meet mine
and I blink away unwelcome tears
that threaten to freeze right there
to remind me to remind me
he's not mine.
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,049
Tathagata said:
I've drifted to sea 1,000 times,
fought back through currents
to land when I want no more
than the peaceful chill.
Quietude.
Innisfree
is letting go, no more the clinging
to skeletons' hands, bones
kissed in a prayer for grace.
I don't know how I still stand
or why the imprint of this
sad face lingers still
in the mutable sand.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2002
- Posts
- 7,671
A Visit To Gran's House
There it is, the silvery hair,
the dimming eyes and the life
that's been lived behind the brow
creased and folded
almost obsessively
until it fits neatly inside
the credenza in the kitchen.
She looks across the steaming mug
of milk whitened tea, no sugar
to soften the bitter lines
of moued lips that mention
how it was when we
were young and beautiful
and perfect
don't forget how perfect
lives fit the mold.
You understand that this needs
patience to get through.
I really like how pressed
linens feel to sleep on.
No one presses pillow slips
anymore. Why can't she
just ask to have them pressed?
Passive aggression
to keep you repressed
in case, someday,
it works out that you
are content.
There it is, the silvery hair,
the dimming eyes and the life
that's been lived behind the brow
creased and folded
almost obsessively
until it fits neatly inside
the credenza in the kitchen.
She looks across the steaming mug
of milk whitened tea, no sugar
to soften the bitter lines
of moued lips that mention
how it was when we
were young and beautiful
and perfect
don't forget how perfect
lives fit the mold.
You understand that this needs
patience to get through.
I really like how pressed
linens feel to sleep on.
No one presses pillow slips
anymore. Why can't she
just ask to have them pressed?
Passive aggression
to keep you repressed
in case, someday,
it works out that you
are content.
