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LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

all of a sudden passion suddenly

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something like the college boy scenerio
rating a room of women
of who they would fuckI sit instead
grouping women into categories

who he would have fucked
who he would have loved
who he would have worshipped

I wonder if she did the same
and put me into a box when she saw the new girl name
girl heels girl words girl charm thrown into plastic crates
like behind the customer service counter
sorted by department
severed parts tosseed

you writeing any poetry?
he asked

no not really

too much on your mind?
hmm maybe not enough

sorting through discarded bins
trying to stir up something dig into old scar tissue sensitivity
but it is gone
nothing

except residual jealousy
wondering who a dead man would be fucking
if he were here today?
I am glad it wouldn't be you.
I would have had to kill him myself.
 
Never bet on the sky, just the weather

It's blue runs into tomorrow,
enjambing over office roofs
church-steep on its journey
to overtake dusk. This is madness,
I know, but perhaps it'll slip
it a fiver to ensure its yellow halo
beats the velvet field covering
the city like that old magician's
trick where a tablecloth is pulled
and everything stays still. Still
never happens when rain
crashes through a cellophane
barrier and crosses the finish line.
Expect the unexpected, a cliched
man said once. I prefer
weather. It understands math
(and god)
 
Smoking

The man upstairs is smoking.
I can tell because I can smell
it even when the windows
are closed. Each particle
lingers like an unwanted guest
in the shutters of my lungs,
sending a telegram to the other
particles, inviting them to come
downstairs. Perhaps his body
is a walking humidor, spreading
his tobacco perfume around
the city. Perhaps he is a religious
man and thinks it is his duty
to convert us to his new calling,
so that we can spread our dirt
and filth and call it clean.
 
trains I remember

and they were always headed up the grade
towards Saluda. My brother and I
saved our nickels to place on the tracks
because there was something hysterical
about seeing old Georges face flattened
and stretched. The coins seemed to hold
the warmth in their new flat condition
for years after their boxcar mutilation.

My favorite memories though, were of hobos
and there were many, we would find them
resting beneath the crepe myrtle trees
in summertime, waiting for the southbound
towards Spartanburg. I wrote a poem
about one of them. he had been a soldier
who loved a nurse and I never thought
to ask him why he said "loved" in the past tense.

Maybe it was something a ten year old
just wouldnt or couldnt understand.
we often stole food from mama's kitchen
to feed those scruffy lost men. I wished
even then that I could save them
though I didnt know from what
I would have been saving them from.
 
look at this one

We never spam,
it isn't nice.
Next time please think
about it twice.
We aren't trying
to be mean,
but them's the rules.

Signed,
Angeline
 
Last edited by a moderator:
I try to keep distracted from entering
the dark room where death dwells in corners
my mind has other ideas and wanders
forgetful of lessons learned. It strays
led by base needs, fueled by rationale
disciplined into self-deception

my only recourse is to revisit regret
see myself divided into past and present
stand graveside and stare into the abyss
which claimed hopes born of naivety
trust trampled under life's missteps
and a soul sacrificed at the alter fear
 
Grandmother's Caretaker

The junction box of her heart
had been sealed shut. Electricity
kicked like a hare at its tin walls
before scuttling off down a pipe,
past the remains of her organs
boxed like museum exhibits.
Nobody spotted the man working
in the watchtower of her skull:
plotting not to reroute power
for life support, but to dig a tunnel
in the sunken chamber of her
womb and snatch the last nest
of valuables still there;still hard
at work repairing its broken wings.
 
Nightingale

Clouds sag like a train
of oxen. Their carried
weight of several tons
of rain is held up. No
matter. A minor delay.
The deserted railroad
sings to itself. A lone
nightingale makes its
nest in an abandoned
train station, ten miles
ahead. It's song drills
deep into the earth,
slowly being absorbed
like water soaking into
skin.
 
Directions

Amputated voices squabble
for space in the black box
lying between a doll’s

motionless body and a trunk
split at the seam. Squashed
amongst elongated vowels

and syllables is my own,
trying to stand on a soap
box and shout for directions

to anywhere but here. I
swallowed our only compass
a dislocated throat told me.
 
I thought I saw a Spanish sunrise once

A slumbering dog
of a morning watches
the sky empty a coat

of rain. Wary of siesta,
it retreats behind
curtains of mountain,

eager for the blackboard
of night, the sharpening
of dreams.
 
Let me

She was your great love
through lifetimes
heartache after star-crossed
heartache woven
among magic
moments

too fleeting

too deep
to breathe

drowning
and glad of it

Let me be your great joy!
this lifetime
orgasm after Divinely-ordained
orgasm woven
among magick
poems

let me captivate
and inspire
let me infuse your desire

let my arms feel like home
let my smile warm your heart
let me show you great love

lasting
joyous love

let me!




~Syn :kiss:
 
This is beutiful!

normal jean said:
and they were always headed up the grade
towards Saluda. My brother and I
saved our nickels to place on the tracks
because there was something hysterical
about seeing old Georges face flattened
and stretched. The coins seemed to hold
the warmth in their new flat condition
for years after their boxcar mutilation.

My favorite memories though, were of hobos
and there were many, we would find them
resting beneath the crepe myrtle trees
in summertime, waiting for the southbound
towards Spartanburg. I wrote a poem
about one of them. he had been a soldier
who loved a nurse and I never thought
to ask him why he said "loved" in the past tense.

Maybe it was something a ten year old
just wouldnt or couldnt understand.
we often stole food from mama's kitchen
to feed those scruffy lost men. I wished
even then that I could save them
though I didnt know from what
I would have been saving them from.
Click to expand...


the tracks ran past Grandma's house. This brought a lot back. thank you my lovely! :rose:

:kiss: Syn
 
dinosaur skin, colores imagined
he puts sunshine in the ground
(surely even then things reflected up)

when my bones lie at his feet
how does he fill in the flesh
moulded clay recalls love softness or excess?
will he judge my height by the size of the stride,
depth of footprints my words
leave on his memory
 
good lord that is awful
footprints on his memory! hahahhah!!1


but damn it is it how they figure those things out isnt it?
thank goodness the grammer police stay away from this thread
mistakes are what it is about
rock and roll baby

new halloween costume per day
elvis, johnny rotten go diego go and yes
we have a dancing banana
if you want to make it yourself
 
haiku for her birthday

her breath and the rain:
they should both be running down
the back of my neck.

~

in nebraska in
september
wheat whisper simple
truth: "while i live,
winter will never come."

he trees say that here
there is shelter and
if you listen to the silence
of a cornfield shorn of
summer's green pride,
God will tell you secrets
about stillness
that would shame anyone
with the good sense to
stop.

when the sky stretches blue.
when empty says, "is" into
the bowl of your ear where
all the day's strangers
have left pieces of themselves
like car-keys on counters,
like spare change,
like prayers,
there.

there.

listen:
I have no shapes within me
that will fill the holes in your chest.
I have no ideas that you will not find small,
but if you give me time,
I will build you anything you want,
listen:
silence echoes.
if you hear it once,
it will confront you, again,
dopplering out and back,
listen:
any stone can cripple a pond,
listen:
God has told me a secret.
I haven't the breath
to repeat it.
 
in the shadow of the guillotine

I live!

because my love
shares life with me.
I live.

my joy is ecstasy!
my pain, more intense.
my sorrow, deeper.

because my love
shares life with me,
I live.

but a shadow looms
too near some days
for comfort

because my love
shares life with me
I live.

I live!
in the shadow of the guillotine
of her love

She is his true love
as he is mine
He is mine.

He loves me, but ...
his soul has been hers
for lives across time

They parted ways
at her request
remain friends at his

his hope lives
with her
his body lives
with me

because my love
shares life with me.
I live

in the shadow of the guillotine
of her love
 
Hello!

Many Feathers said:
Been a while, but enjoyed this one very much.
Click to expand...

Brillinat to see you! and thanks for the comment. don't feel my poetry is strong enough to submit yet, but here it lies.

Blessings!

Syn :kiss:
 
Lol...

Syndra Lynn said:
Brillinat to see you! and thanks for the comment. don't feel my poetry is strong enough to submit yet, but here it lies.

Blessings!

Syn :kiss:
Click to expand...


You really wanna "see" me, go to "Tub Party".

But your writing always has been good kiddo...you should submit.
 
Your greatest pain
allowed my greatest joy
and your greatest joy
would cause my greatest pain.

poetic paradox, no?
but, it is how we began
a web of poetry, flirtation
and friendship

such an innocent start!
lusty words
no more
than afternoon fantasies

comfort rose quickly
with trust
tender words
confidences shared

baring our souls
over time
exposing our truths
to kindred strangers

sharing more
sharing all
knowing compassion

knowing security
each in our own
relationship
a thousand miles apart

then unexpectedly
she fractured your life
and opened my door

with great courage
I crossed the threshold
to what I hoped would be
us

security fled
leaving a wake of emotions
we had to learn to navigate
gently, tenderly, together

you
trying to discover
life beyond her love

me
trying to help you
find your smile

reaching deep inside
for a confidence not mine
and finding strength
in my independence

and the irrepressible smile
of my own greatest joy

we travel this road
together
growing into us

into our own love
unique
and stable
in its own way

I know she can still break me

but she can't break our bond
because I own my own place now
in your heart

whatever waters
we have yet to learn
to navigate
we'll do it

gently, tenderly, together

that is security
uniquely different
from any I have known
 
Row

Their argument spilled out into the dark
like words from a split-open receiver.
Each syllable wrestled with a vowel
on the empty pavement, until someone
picked them up, put them inside
a paper bag and made them dance
for their supper.
 
My neighbour smuggled poems once

He smuggled weather
across the border, where
it being deemed foreign,
was outlawed. Rain
was locked in tulip stems,
lightning in the core
of a rose. One time,
the shipment nearly didn't
make it. A crate of cloud
hidden under cauliflowers
spilled out in an accident.
Guards sniffed like dogs
around the truck,
nobody spotting thunder
streaming out, eager
for us to slip out and make
a run for it.
 
very fucking cool
take this all the way

vampiredust said:
My neighbour smuggled poems once

He smuggled weather
across the border, where
it being deemed foreign,
was outlawed. Rain
was locked in tulip stems,
lightning in the core
of a rose. One time,
the shipment nearly didn't
make it. A crate of cloud
hidden under cauliflowers
spilled out in an accident.
Guards sniffed like dogs
around the truck,
nobody spotting thunder
streaming out, eager
for us to slip out and make
a run for it.
Click to expand...
 
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