Let's Hear It For The Poets

ValeriioN said:

Seeds of Doubt

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Even with my speakers turned right up I can hardly hear this, perhaps it's the lack of expression in your voice.

Shots, cocktails and a reverie gone mad by todski28

https://soundcloud.com/todski28/shots-cocktails-and-a-reverie

Shots, cocktails and a reverie gone mad

There is pressure building
a guitar riff
a drum solo
a voice cutting through the dark
caramel Manhattans dripping from my lips
the luscious salted-sweet and alcohol fire
that mires me in memories
trapping desires in the bulge of my zipper
first hellos wrapped like cyanide in the humidity
clouds full to burst with luscious rain

fingertips walking gently down
their nervous quiver intoxicating the drunken
stupor of my shirt

I know it’s just a reverie
a memory
but I can still feel you there
a spark of light twisting, arching, aching

I switch from the sweet burn
to pure flame
as I pour out the hard stuff
lap up salt
slam you down in the elements
the first drops of aqua drip from the heavens
steam rising from the earth
grass-scented liquid passion

I’m drunk on vices (desires) flowing river
coursing rapids
where I shot the chauffeur so I could have you
here in the rain
while I’m still tipsy enough to not give a fuck
about propriety, mucking in the mud

there is a vibe, vibrating like the tingle of static
the build-up….. the pour of more before the gush of release
crashes of lightning that rip the air into ozone
and thunder
liquefied passion running down my chin

the flash of light slashes my mind
all I want is
a refill

todski28 said:

Shots, cocktails and a reverie gone mad by todski28

https://soundcloud.com/todski28/shots-cocktails-and-a-reverie

Shots, cocktails and a reverie gone mad

There is pressure building
a guitar riff
a drum solo
a voice cutting through the dark
caramel Manhattans dripping from my lips
the luscious salted-sweet and alcohol fire
that mires me in memories
trapping desires in the bulge of my zipper
first hellos wrapped like cyanide in the humidity
clouds full to burst with luscious rain

fingertips walking gently down
their nervous quiver intoxicating the drunken
stupor of my shirt

I know it’s just a reverie
a memory
but I can still feel you there
a spark of light twisting, arching, aching

I switch from the sweet burn
to pure flame
as I pour out the hard stuff
lap up salt
slam you down in the elements
the first drops of aqua drip from the heavens
steam rising from the earth
grass-scented liquid passion

I’m drunk on vices (desires) flowing river
coursing rapids
where I shot the chauffeur so I could have you
here in the rain
while I’m still tipsy enough to not give a fuck
about propriety, mucking in the mud

there is a vibe, vibrating like the tingle of static
the build-up….. the pour of more before the gush of release
crashes of lightning that rip the air into ozone
and thunder
liquefied passion running down my chin

the flash of light slashes my mind
all I want is
a refill

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Hot ................

As requested, audio for The Barfly Effect

https://soundcloud.com/mistress-heather/the-barfly-effect

Trixareforkids said:

As requested, audio for The Barfly Effect

https://soundcloud.com/mistress-heather/the-barfly-effect

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Loved it, just as I thought i would!

Trixareforkids said:

As requested, audio for The Barfly Effect

https://soundcloud.com/mistress-heather/the-barfly-effect

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legerdemer said:

Loved it, just as I thought i would!

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I did too. I never met a southern belle-ish barfly before, but if I did, I bet she'd talk just like this.

legerdemer said:

Loved it, just as I thought i would!

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greenmountaineer said:

I did too. I never met a southern belle-ish barfly before, but if I did, I bet she'd talk just like this.

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Glad y'all enjoyed it. It was a fun write and read

(live write, no edit, live read no edit I should by now probably take this shit more seriously..)
https://soundcloud.com/todski28/sounds-from-tuesday-night

I search for a moment
when
it tips
when the lines of human kind
shrink
blur into shadows
when yes is the only answer that makes sense

where gasps are wet words
that drip with the intent
of release

because there is a point
when it slides home
the red blush swells
skin prickles

teeth on your wrist
where you're on the tip
of my tongue
I follow the contours
there with you
not looking for a paint by numbers
kinda loving

I want your gasps
your moans
your movement
as my compass

we're driving
through the narrows
hanging tight to the bends
every corner is
driven to the limit

I grip your hips
drag my fingers through your hair
clasped in a fist
pull you onto me

you help me feel
the ground beneath my feet
the gentleness of you hair in my hand
the heat pouring
from your loosed mind

free to roam the unfettered halls
of your own salacious intent
I'm here to help guide you to
the edges of cliffs
here to help you jump
a safe place to fall against

to let go of your inhibitions
to make peace with the fact that this
freedom is a rare moment
you can cry to god
you can unleash

here with my cock
driven to the hilt
of your own desires
divining water in the desert of self doubt

a place where
you can scream out the passions
of fuck
over and over

urged on by release
this place is where
aphrodisiacs lay in unabashed
glory

kneeling in the essence of
animal instincts
where howling at the moon
is perfect
and coming is the only option

moan me a tone
https://soundcloud.com/todski28/sounds-from-thursday-afternoon

Moan me a tone
on how we fit together
hard teeth sharp that bite deep
moan me a groan
whisper fuck

grasp the air
hold your breath
taste the damn wall
lash the ground and pound the desk
demand the slick slope
hope that the last gasp
rasps from swollen lips
hold tight and restrain the damn wall

stick me in places almost too tight
awash in the sight of empty air
moan me the tones of pleasure
groan against the damn wall
as it bulges fit to bust a gush of
God's water
fold the edges hold
tight
take me into those forbidden places
go for the release
flow over
hold tight
come fold like origami
depth and girth so pliable
so willing flesh
out this moment
break over the damn wall

crush me
in tones and moans that go on
and come again
like waves crash against a stormy shore

Hoarse, catch your breath words

https://soundcloud.com/todski28/hoarse-catch-your-breath-words*

I've tried hard
to be clever
to think of ways to compare or create similies
tried to find depth in metaphor
to find something that describes lust
or feelings
but your heat is too much
sweat is life
and ragged air
is all we can breathe

I've tried to be smart
but all I get is wet and fire

you smell like
you taste like
you are simply
fuck

I don't know if you understand what I'm saying
when we melt together
when the press
slides slick and deep
*
we ride this
beast
until it
collapses
under
the
strain

your words
whispered in the dark

what did you do to me?

perfect example of contemporary poetry

gingerotica said:

perfect example of contemporary poetry

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I must be flavour of the month a little todski to cap off an evening

welcome ginger, if you have your own examples it would be good to see them, see if we can fire up this old Chevvy and get her running.

Blushing!

https://soundcloud.com/todski28/the-heat-is-merely-a-pump

They Say A Heart Is Merely A Pump

The weight of a mans heart is barely 300grams
a woman's slightly less
and beyond the fatalistic beating

60-80 of those a minute

pumping life into the furthest reaches of the cosmos as neuroimaging suggests connections in the human brain
link beyond that of the stars in the sky

I burn for your curled warmth
your breath on my face
tickling
inviting me to stare
into the unknown
the abyss that stares back

my breath quickens
pulse races and all 300grams of
me pounds as if I am sprinting
from death
as if the maelstrom of ideas I hold
are phantoms leaking out
being consumed by the simple act of holding you
cocooned in Sanskrit
hidden writings calligraphed on your skin in indelible ink
invisible to those who refuse to see beyond the surface

I decipher lines I want to trace out and whisper in the dark

scribe those words on all 300grams of my beating insanity

taste your taboos
kiss them
until they’re integrated
so I can help you conquer your dreams
not stand in the way and strip you of your triumph
but to shield you from wounds that would altogether be fatal if I wasn’t there...

I find some kind of gorgeous hunger
in the suffering of fools in love
as if a heart beating battery acid
and a mind clouded in dizzy fogs are all that matter

I burn for you
ache to join in the topography of your flesh
breathe your sanguine perfume
to sample a moment of awe
hair raised in shivering piloerection

I melt because
Aristotle believed the heart was a lamp that kept us warm
but mine surges into wildfire
whenever I read the depth of you

engraved in all 300grams
of my lifes blood

https://soundcloud.com/todski28/pass-the-bottle-im-still-alive

Draped in the scent of cheap booze and a scar spangled banner
of self recriminations
I rose from the ashes of my last hangover
an unboxed compass lost to wayward seas
that’s found the hidden place where all beauty hails from
it whispers a soft seduction
an echo of femininity
of wild passion
and a hint of salt

between the plumes of smoke
and the soft click of a switchblade spring
is her rogue caress
it’s serpentine twisting my guts like a knot
tied by a veteran sailor
trying to ensure the anchor will hold to the ocean floor

as her allusions work through the cigar smoke
and spark like flint before striking the flame
she catches the eyes of temptation
and dares we hold her gaze
the allure of such a fragile creature
wrapped in desolate hunger
is enough to force the most brazen to adhere to
furtive glances

she has darknes draped round her shoulders
as a minx scarf
wearing sin as a rich perfume
she sings for her destructive stranger
in a crooning siren song

sorrow has chosen the form of a woman
to accentuate its sullen curves

Love In The Time Of Covid-19

This distance we share, in part by choice,
more by circumstance, has made love
stronger in ways that constant contact
never could. Imagine the pain of young
emotion when their love stands
just outside their touch, when
defiance leads to a kiss of fingertips
and a press of these extremes together,
just to know the warmth of adoration
and longing surging through their senses.

I know the tears shed in empathy of touch
denied, of the pain of a barrier between
the living and the dying, between vigor
and decline and the folly of wishing
you could embrace, "One last time."
Now every conversation ends with words
of love and patience. They're aged
and frail and in step with passing away,
as we all mark time, rest in place,
in prayer that this can't mean the end.

Where is the reward for obedient
compliance? Like victims of abuse
we are isolated, we are locked in,
chastised for living life rather
than merely existing. Do the powerful
understand fear? We shiver in uncertainty
as our blitheful wanderings are brutally
slapped into awareness by the realities
of illness, the caregivers' exhausted
faces plastered everywhere we look.

The silence of bus terminals,
train stations, airports, of all
that means industry smothers us
with an efficiency more virulent
and painful than this sickness.
To love now, in this time of Covid,
means to love from miles apart
and trust that we are loved from away
as much as we are denied the touch
of a love seated two yards away.

https://m.soundcloud.com/merope-madrigal/love-in-the-time-of-covid-19

Perfect I’ve always enjoyed your writing and your readings champ, thanks for sharing, I wa driving and managed to get through a couple of listens and your sound structures are well placed and timing is executed to add to the impact of the words themselves

Bravo to both of you for reviving this thread.

Piscator said:

Bravo to both of you for reviving this thread.

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todski28 said:

Perfect I’ve always enjoyed your writing and your readings champ, thanks for sharing, I wa driving and managed to get through a couple of listens and your sound structures are well placed and timing is executed to add to the impact of the words themselves

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Thank you, todski... I listened to your very hot read of your two pieces and wanted to hand back a portion of noise from me.

Let's hear you Piscator!! lol

Peeking in, I saw some life in this thread, felt a bit of a nudge, and thought I'd add a little something, too.


Shakshuka

Tomatoes bubble gently
fragranced with warm spices
touch of chile, just-so garlic
familiarity drifts through the house
beckoning his old bones
to the kitchen

His aged heart recalls
mother making this meal often
before they emigrated
it was the first supper she prepared
in a new home
in a strange land

Sarah, the oldest sister
could make it almost the same
and served it to comfort
when mother died too few years later

His wife's was different
yet still the taste of home

Now he watches his daughter
putting the eggs in to poach
always until the yolk is perfect
a point of pride for them both

Spoonfuls of memories
span a lifetime
love and loss
mingled in a simple, spicy stew
garnished with the stories
he tells his grandchildren




https://soundcloud.com/lyricalli/shakshuka

Really very poignant Calli. Thank you for a taste of your roots.

champagne1982 said:

Really very poignant Calli. Thank you for a taste of your roots.

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Thank you, Champ. I can't claim the roots, but they are the roots of people dear to me, and I'm glad you think I captured them well.

champagne1982 said:

Let's hear you Piscator!! lol

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I apologize for low volume, very much a newbie.

Acid Reflux

"Am I too handsome for my height?'"
Lewis would ask the faceless mannequin
as we tripped through the department store
and he swore they sometimes replied
and the answer was always "Yes".
Then out into the night and that
John Lee Hooker concert where
paranoia came on with the vulpine
ladies of the night hanging from the
first balcony and we had to get out
fast and did just in time to fade into
another night on the farm, before Ken's
pot field was ripped off, when we sat on the
roof watching the colours flash across
the heavens, waiting for the alien landing
that never came, although the paper next
day noted an intense Aurora Borealis that night
and finally that bizarre party at the university
press convention, where everyone was on
acid, save for an older guy who was only drunk
and sat playing Moonlight Sonata on the piano
while icicles ran up and down my spine.
"They always have Beethoven at church camps."
Off once more into a snow filled night, where the
lights of the airplanes, coming in low over the lake
made them look like flying saucers,
but "We won't get fooled again."'

Later in the 70's, adulthood precipitated; most
everyone got serious and went on to become
"Doctors, and Lawyers and Business Executives."
But no ticky-tacky for us, we went for luxury
German touring sedans and single malt became
the reality shield of choice.

But not for everyone.
Tony died in a single car crash.
Tom whom I lost touch with after the
hash deal fell through, died in his
sleep in a house trailer fire.
Paul who used to play ragas on
his banjo just for fun was shot
suicide, a drug deal gone bad or both.
Lewis was institutionalized with paranoid
schizophrenia and was never the same.
I still accept his ranting phone calls even
though I have call display and could block him.
But I never give him my ex-girlfriend's
sister's phone number because
she’s now my wife.

damned adulting anyway!

Good poem and thank you!

champagne1982 said:

damned adulting anyway!

Good poem and thank you!

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Thanks champ and as a wiser person than me said "adulting/aging is better than the alternative." However to quote a potato chip add on the screen these days, "Growing up is overrated."