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Old 09-16-2017, 02:24 PM   #26
GuiltyPleasure
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Unrequited

An invitation
to a clandestine
dinner at a restaurant
of his choice.
It is out of the way,
off the tourist beaten track,
quietly discrete where
intimate couples often meet.

He did not suggest it should lead
to anything more than
good food and pleasant
conversation but, as I watch
him sip wine, break the bread
roll and take the first buttery bite,
I find myself hoping.
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Old 09-17-2017, 09:40 PM   #27
Tzara
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Sommelier

I don't take. I offer,
and if you want me

to grasp, I need to know
that your politeness

over the salad course,
and the soup (which we both thought

too salty) was a kind of semaphore
flagging me that I should

invite you back
to my place or invite

myself to yours.
Please let me know more clearly

because I want to properly
chill the right wine.
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Old 11-13-2017, 02:13 PM   #28
GuiltyPleasure
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History

You're not lost
because
you were never found
and now
it's too late
to prove your
existence.
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Old 11-13-2017, 03:45 PM   #29
Epmd607
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Sometimes I sit and mourn
a dozen or so lovers of the lost art form,
and I won't weep for wasted hours, anymore
spend time safekeeping, poems nor lovers
nor bother with "deep-sworn" vows to meter
which I've no intention of keeping
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Old 12-01-2017, 03:28 PM   #30
GuiltyPleasure
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Night flight

Snow-bound city,
night bright with reflections
yet I never saw your face
next to me on the crowded
shuttle, our conversation small,
mundane but your deep voice
still seduces.

Hotel rooms scarce, you offer
yours and I wanted to, with
all the implications in that honey.

In the anonymous atmosphere
of international travel I could
have. We had scant seconds
while the bus paused but I
took your proffered hand....
and shook it instead of grasping
some casual sex.
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Old 02-22-2018, 01:32 AM   #31
todski28
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I spoke my words
with the right kind of smug
arrogant arsehole that drips
with sexuality
the right kind of
come here
let me whisper something
that resembles a mirror to your own volition

taught you that lust
is always salty and sweet
tastes of debuchery and surrender
it tastes like you on me
and its sound is beyond human
even now I feel tingles as my flesh responds
to the memories

if you were to turn out my pockets
searching for that tell tale bulge
they would contain
a litany of sordid lines
some lint
and some memories

i never meant to take them
but it seems you stuffed them in my pants
when I was distracted
by you melting
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Old 02-22-2018, 06:00 PM   #32
JCSTREET
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The sadness in their eyes

The sadness in their eyes

By JCSTREET/cel © 2018
all rights reserved

I have seen the sadness in
Their eyes as night
draws in, seen
the slump of shoulder downcast mien the
giving up and

I have touched and murmured
loving words to
salve the drear that
night brings in and

more……………….

I have felt the tears and
closed my eyes to think
was I one too
who failed to yield and give, who as
Lycidas
drowning
clung on in hope
that rage would turn to placid
re-acceptance of my suit, was I

with Martha
the dark, grey eminence of her
dream, I
think
not too much because t’was done before
she succumbed to the drear
of waiting for Godot as though
t’were night eternal to be recked, through
all this bitter strife and Pam who

parted from me with a sad smile and
held me
tightly with her warmth
wafting up into the
ether of my secret life and
I cried, I
cried as I cry still, I had
gone to another’s shallow sickness

gone to ills
iatrogenic in their slow seepage, in their
slow enervation of the heart, in their
slow destruction of another, so

I have
felt these tears in two regards, as giver
of these plangent drops and
yielding lamb, I

have seen the sadness in their eyes as candle-light
infuses love with
new respect, with
new respect as night draws in and
all is meant to be soft to
walk on cat feet to
amble over tumbling smiles and
the giggles that we once knew more but
even now seem meet, replete
as we are with sighing

and
yes, and

I have seen how they become stony these women and
feel the waves that once enchanted them
now abrade and
rob them of their nature the
slow swish of seashell shriving comber
rolling over and over the stony curves of us
sere, sea-salt sucking out life from limb these
rhythmic abrasions
which in their exquisite and relentless
Chinese-nesssssssssssssssss

grind down our will and
make us yield to the raw writ from
Mr McCawber and Associates, in
return for certain considerations you shall…………..

I have seen the sadness in their eyes when they
wish to love but cannot, when they
wish to hope and hope they can
but cannot, when they
hope to wish but
cannot

I have seen the light first limn then
glim then
with a last flicker essay
as final as the last
breath, how we

hold others in our thrall, how we
dictate the terms of each day’s pain, how we
cause puppet to dance in a tizzy, how we
enlightened as we be drive home
the lesson that
we wish
the sad, grey eyes to know, how we
smirk, yes

I have seen the sadness of their eyes

-30-
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“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

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Old 02-26-2018, 05:29 AM   #33
todski28
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Tried to hack at the clinging vines
tangled as plaited hair
brunette strands wound together
in still solitude

rain clouds weep
their jaded tears
wounded by abandoned dreams
puffy like swollen eyes

she grows wild amidst the thorns
brambles rip at fingers
her breath sighs out forlorn
unfolds unfurls to stroke the secrets
that cast her from my reach

forgotten lines
shattered kisses
i will always touch the rain
with gentle caress
because now she is the sky
and I

I am just a man

a man
hacking at brambles
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Old 03-01-2018, 07:40 PM   #34
JCSTREET
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there's an empire of dirt best seen through
owl sized eyes
oh the things that scurry and hide beneath
a hunters moon

some haunting images in this poem, todski

You don't need a 'k' in nervous tics, unless you really meant ticks (the kind that give one Lyme (Connecticut) Disease. Such ticks might well be nervous, scurrying under a hunters moon
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“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

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Old 03-01-2018, 07:44 PM   #35
JCSTREET
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"There’s a bitter
autumnal taste
twixt teeth and cheek,
tongue and numbness.

YESSSSSSS - the real McCoy (so many putative derivations for this Prohibition expression). I've highlighted a few lines that make my innards scrunch up and my teeth suddenly sense that high iron taste.

This is fully professional and eminently publishable in little mags, such as RATTLE

Bolshoi (pronounced 'balSHOI) horosho, gospodina
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“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

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Old 03-05-2018, 07:02 PM   #36
JCSTREET
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First verse is strongest
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“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

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Old 03-07-2018, 12:50 AM   #37
todski28
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Quote:
Originally Posted by JCSTREET View Post
there's an empire of dirt best seen through
owl sized eyes
oh the things that scurry and hide beneath
a hunters moon

some haunting images in this poem, todski

You don't need a 'k' in nervous tics, unless you really meant ticks (the kind that give one Lyme (Connecticut) Disease. Such ticks might well be nervous, scurrying under a hunters moon
Thanks jc, bit of coke and you think your in love sometimes, thanks for the spell checker, will fix it now, wasnt thinking of actual ticks.
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Old 03-08-2018, 07:04 PM   #38
JCSTREET
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You're very quick and versatile
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Old 03-08-2018, 07:05 PM   #39
JCSTREET
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just a distant memory but point taken
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“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them and women are afraid that men will kill them.” — Margaret Atwood

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Old 03-08-2018, 07:18 PM   #40
JCSTREET
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Branded

YOU'VE BRANDED ME AND

By JCStreet (c) 2006, 2018


well you know it, no
surgery will excise these sear lines
on and under, these
keloids both subtle and deep, no
amount

none

will excise these when

tears come home to roost as sun
falls into thistle Hell I say

"It is only the wind"

"It is only a grain of sand, lately of the far bleak places"

"It is only a mote in my eye"

but it is not
not that at all, it is

a salt-sere shore seen by a slow swimmer and
mermaids
may delay his plod or
sharks
nibble at resolve; when the trains cry at night I

feel their mournwhistle the
mournwhistle that takes me, takes me
to the place where I would be with her, where I
would be

with her

shape-shifter, changeling, sorceress

all and more and less so
why not let it be, why not just
let it be

but you have branded me
deeper than moon-mounts sharper
than Venus you hold

the whip but not
the whip hand, yet I

moan in bed for the sear slice of it the
still
unshriven flesh I

fall fitfully into
dreams of high hot iron, sharp and sharps
to the heart

and my soul

it fills up with these ?s and exclamation marks but I have not
exclamation, explanation, explication, I have only

momentary excitements
expecting to wake to her to
wake to her life, sometimes

in the night I
watch for the rising chest, watch
for the heartbeat, she can
become so still I worry

so still

you have branded me in places only God
remembers

and I have learned not these things that
God knows

We have rolled the wheels together the
big iron wheels that we rolled as children

striking them
with rods
shrieking as we capered but

those wheels diverged for a time in November

as the year fell to its last wish and all the big dark
drew in

those Karmic wheels diverged forever and
that changed me

but change should mean not to wince and sing
on Hopkins' "age-old anvil", yet

it has not

You have branded me as a child
hurling triangles into the sun

sear-flesh, I smell
the meat of it and the scars eat

at what was once the pure heart, perhaps
only for a moment, perhaps

what once was

and I see you in your moods
old and young
lined and carefree
ageless and aging
loving and bitter
warring and peace-making
healing and hurting, yet

all you asked was
a little, all
you asked was a touch, all you asked
was a smile, all
you asked

we joined our hands together and
ran through the woods
laughing and gay

tumbled and pummelled
in limerant fugue

we joined our hands together for
moments but

sometimes
the fingers slipped
tipsy in a plummet
toppled and tumbled, sometimes
our fingers

still waters run deep
blood is thicker than water
a stitch in time saves a lot of aggravation provided it's biodegradeable

how we learn and learn

You have branded me with complexity
out of a pure heart
branded me
with a moue
with a closed eyes pursed lips funny kiss
with a glance
a voice on the phone from the charnel house

perhaps a missive in the AM
or two, you have

you know you have, I

trace the lines of limerance
through skin and bone
to remember

I framed you in a lens and caught snippets
young and old
shallow and deep
lovely

When the throat constricts I reach, I
reach out, reach out
knowing there is no one there
when my throat constricts, when I
reach out there is
no-one and someone
someone and no-one

dancing on Jupiter is a cold business it
saps the breath it seems
too large to compass somehow even
one day at a time

we have places, places
of the heart, we have
places, places of the soul, we
have places

but we have chaos too and it is that
high hot iron
which opaques

which dulls the transparent view of the limerant day, which
dulls the clarity of the snow, which
dulls the sharp high joy of the dogs, which
sees darkly, but we

have places of the soul and they wait, they
just watch and wait, they just
wait and watch

infinitely
patient even as patience
tumbles in the night at the fall of a candle that

self fulfilling prophecy
not seen but
fulfilled apparently, or

perhaps not, it is
not possible yet to know but
perhaps

wudda, cudda, shudda, armies
mass to reverse
the wheel, the wheel but it

rolls on
remorseless
all-knowing
patient in its slow gyre

we are only farthest from the spirit
when we need it most after all, only farthest in the Fall
to despair and when we

do NOT need the spirit we know, we
know it is there, it
has crept up mischievously and imbued us, love

and attachment, freedom
and dependence these
yins and yangs so fathomless yet

that is all there is except
for everything else

You have branded me in clear light and through
glass darkly, you have
you know you have

branded me with a soul-strike that lingers and
will not be still it
tickles still it
burns still it
limns, limitlessly limmers, lingers you have

you know you have and yet

I will make the wrong choice again, I will
again
and again

make the wrong choice the

unresolved child
plays and weeps, runs
and hides

cries out when there is no one there, cries out
too when there is someone but
only for a moment

I like to shake my rattle but my rattle
has been taken away, I was
careless with my rattle and
it has been taken away

no ringing telephone in the night no
missives from the Muse, no

limerant glimmers, no

sweet snow scrunched squeakily, you have you
know you have

Fortunes of war, scars
are the brands of the warrior but
not all scars are well-won, the warrior

can be so silly at times becoming
mindful
just when the slice of no mind
would be apt, just when

battle should be joyfully joined, just when
there are songs to be sung, just when

the battle is for the heart and innocent
of blows, the battle
should be an entertainment a
dance of clear minds
joyfully simple
a game that ends

tumbling down snowsoft hills kicking
windblown ricks of autumn leaves, that ends

even as hearts soften and linger, even as
night draws us closer in, even as
we seek each others' warmth and heal, even as

and you have
you know you have
branded me with these

memories, branded me
with the clear distance of your reach
earth-spanning

the clear distance of you

we played quantum physics together being
in more than one place
at the same time

another conundrum

you have branded me
with the lassitude of a slow Sunday
spent in your arms while you
spent yours in mine

and we talked of Neptune quincunx

and other things my

skin is an Akashic record
of the heart you left in me, the
healing and distancing

that to be done to be
undone to be
done

you have
you know you have and it is a new year the poet
has shape-shifted his stance

moved his pen from breast to breast, heart to
heart though

not from soul to soul, Ah!
we remember

Sending you poems from the past did
not gladden you but today
I write for you, you have

you know you have

-30-
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