all of a sudden passion suddenly
- Thread starter The Poets
- Start date
Lyricalli
Strange Little Bug
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2014
- Posts
- 4,373
I still think of all the things
monumental to minute
that aligned to form the path
to this improbability
crashing like waves against rocks
of reality
and I contemplate the rate of erosion
My eyes scan a hazy horizon
storm clouds rise
refusing formations my memories demand
persisting in futility
the sun has turned his back
and will not shine today
If I could cross the distance
more complicated than mathematics
I would seek the heat that warms my skin
longing for parting gloom
monumental to minute
that aligned to form the path
to this improbability
crashing like waves against rocks
of reality
and I contemplate the rate of erosion
My eyes scan a hazy horizon
storm clouds rise
refusing formations my memories demand
persisting in futility
the sun has turned his back
and will not shine today
If I could cross the distance
more complicated than mathematics
I would seek the heat that warms my skin
longing for parting gloom
RubiDia
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 15, 2017
- Posts
- 661
My Grandpa's Boobs
His teeth retrace their steps a moment at a time
She stole the show but doesn't know he isn't far behind
Her dress impresses less impressive guests she finds addressing
Laid to rest inside a bluebird's nest and blessed to be a blessing
His teeth retrace their steps a moment at a time
She stole the show but doesn't know he isn't far behind
Her dress impresses less impressive guests she finds addressing
Laid to rest inside a bluebird's nest and blessed to be a blessing
i feel as if ive lost everything
and still you want to take even this
i hurt
more than
you will ever know because i am small
when it comes to talk of emotion
i dont know how to let it out
so it hangs in the lost silences of our last
hangup
you think its just you alone
that I am able to pick up
move on as if
all in
was a metaphor
to spread thighs
to open doors to promises
as if all i was doing was playing one last tune
on one more lousy juke box
while the smoke machine
blurred reality
bent naked to my ministrations
an orchestra i wielded out an opus
then fled the stage, fled the country
leaving you with an echo
well fuck you
because parts of me are carved in grisly detail
you hurt and you ache
and that leaves me
the siilent rock
ready for the warm splash
as you dash your own brains out
long after your hurt is gone
i will still be stained
in your blood
with no way to wash it off
and still you want to take even this
i hurt
more than
you will ever know because i am small
when it comes to talk of emotion
i dont know how to let it out
so it hangs in the lost silences of our last
hangup
you think its just you alone
that I am able to pick up
move on as if
all in
was a metaphor
to spread thighs
to open doors to promises
as if all i was doing was playing one last tune
on one more lousy juke box
while the smoke machine
blurred reality
bent naked to my ministrations
an orchestra i wielded out an opus
then fled the stage, fled the country
leaving you with an echo
well fuck you
because parts of me are carved in grisly detail
you hurt and you ache
and that leaves me
the siilent rock
ready for the warm splash
as you dash your own brains out
long after your hurt is gone
i will still be stained
in your blood
with no way to wash it off
I was never more
than nothing to begin with
or was I more than I thought I was
or am I less than I though I could be
or
should be?
a fuck tonne of heavy questions
that reverb echoes
like the dull thud of body blows
one of them will eventually hit my liver
sink me in a miasma
of pain
and toxins
but I already de-toxes that
maybe I should go on a health kick
get some muscles back
or
go to the old seedy bars
and see if loose women
and skinned knuckles will thrill
the way they did in my youth
I'm living on the fumes
of old times
and I'm running out of gas
looking in the mirror
and laughing
because I saw him
at my brothers wedding
and he was so small and insignificant
the terror of my youth
the thing that his under my bed
and chased me into a psych ward
into the bars in the first place
into the boxing ring
where I put my teeth up for wager
betting that his black belt only covered an inch of his ass
and if he wasn't man enough to cover the rest
well I would be wearing his story
as a badge of honour
sling round the camp fire
am so I could be strong
but what is strength
what is being a man
where is the emotion in
a slow death choking on the decisions made
out of stubbourbess
does it make you lazy,
all this constant praise?
lol to that one,
how can I see the praise when I'm to busy
slashing open old wounds
so that they can drink
than nothing to begin with
or was I more than I thought I was
or am I less than I though I could be
or
should be?
a fuck tonne of heavy questions
that reverb echoes
like the dull thud of body blows
one of them will eventually hit my liver
sink me in a miasma
of pain
and toxins
but I already de-toxes that
maybe I should go on a health kick
get some muscles back
or
go to the old seedy bars
and see if loose women
and skinned knuckles will thrill
the way they did in my youth
I'm living on the fumes
of old times
and I'm running out of gas
looking in the mirror
and laughing
because I saw him
at my brothers wedding
and he was so small and insignificant
the terror of my youth
the thing that his under my bed
and chased me into a psych ward
into the bars in the first place
into the boxing ring
where I put my teeth up for wager
betting that his black belt only covered an inch of his ass
and if he wasn't man enough to cover the rest
well I would be wearing his story
as a badge of honour
sling round the camp fire
am so I could be strong
but what is strength
what is being a man
where is the emotion in
a slow death choking on the decisions made
out of stubbourbess
does it make you lazy,
all this constant praise?
lol to that one,
how can I see the praise when I'm to busy
slashing open old wounds
so that they can drink
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,049
Forgive me.
I think everything
is a poem.
A tree is not a tree
until Persephone
has left the room
and thin brown fingers
point at a cold sky
or scrape their nails
at my window.
The Earth is my mother
and I am her child
(our reunion is a most
unfortunate metaphor),
but everything is meta
and four colors of ink unite
for sunset or a painting
of it or just the yellow
orange words slipping,
melting into darkness.
I think everything
is a poem.
A tree is not a tree
until Persephone
has left the room
and thin brown fingers
point at a cold sky
or scrape their nails
at my window.
The Earth is my mother
and I am her child
(our reunion is a most
unfortunate metaphor),
but everything is meta
and four colors of ink unite
for sunset or a painting
of it or just the yellow
orange words slipping,
melting into darkness.
Last edited:
#gasp
she broke the rules again
as if they were merely play things
not hard fast concerns that
reign in chaos
but star child of the elements
seems to think rules
are made to be bent
broken and shapes to our will
so that in time
even the rules sparkle
with light
she broke the rules again
as if they were merely play things
not hard fast concerns that
reign in chaos
but star child of the elements
seems to think rules
are made to be bent
broken and shapes to our will
so that in time
even the rules sparkle
with light
she used to shiver after
like a chiuaua in cold weather
shaking from the
epicentre of shockwaves
that wracked her body
and she thought that this was love
I was sad for her
because she was brilliant
a magnesium flame
in the dark
but I was selfish
and didn't know anything more
than the end of my cock
and the thrill of the chase
she cries softly
as I petted her
to sleep
she whispered
you are going to break
something in me
the next time we met
she was ash in my mouth
like a chiuaua in cold weather
shaking from the
epicentre of shockwaves
that wracked her body
and she thought that this was love
I was sad for her
because she was brilliant
a magnesium flame
in the dark
but I was selfish
and didn't know anything more
than the end of my cock
and the thrill of the chase
she cries softly
as I petted her
to sleep
she whispered
you are going to break
something in me
the next time we met
she was ash in my mouth
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,608
My illness
does not let me love you
how I want
to love you. My hands
can no longer touch your skin as subtly
as a butterfly.
I am left now a crow,
loud and brusque and obvious
as a tax return, one due next Sunday,
a thing
about which I can only flail
my still functioning arms
hoping their wild
activity can somehow convey
with each uncoordinated swing
how much I want to say I love you, I love you
I love you.
Even when I hit you in the nose.
does not let me love you
how I want
to love you. My hands
can no longer touch your skin as subtly
as a butterfly.
I am left now a crow,
loud and brusque and obvious
as a tax return, one due next Sunday,
a thing
about which I can only flail
my still functioning arms
hoping their wild
activity can somehow convey
with each uncoordinated swing
how much I want to say I love you, I love you
I love you.
Even when I hit you in the nose.
we were dust in the breeze
drift into town
dirty some sheets
mess up some ladies hung washing
drifting in aimless solitude
always kickibg up dirt
on the outsides
new schools full of curious kids
with their abrasive questions
like sandpaper
on gravel-rash
fear
anger
resentment
my modus operandi
attack
attack them with fists
and feet
spit and teeth
vilest vitriol
until I was bile
in their mouths, the sight of me
made them sick with fear...
because it was easier
than saying goodbye
when the next breeze
came
and we blew out
leaving grit in the teeth
of those we left behind
drift into town
dirty some sheets
mess up some ladies hung washing
drifting in aimless solitude
always kickibg up dirt
on the outsides
new schools full of curious kids
with their abrasive questions
like sandpaper
on gravel-rash
fear
anger
resentment
my modus operandi
attack
attack them with fists
and feet
spit and teeth
vilest vitriol
until I was bile
in their mouths, the sight of me
made them sick with fear...
because it was easier
than saying goodbye
when the next breeze
came
and we blew out
leaving grit in the teeth
of those we left behind
somewhere in the cross fire
I broke my hand
bone crushed
under the weight
I put into fucking him up
stubbourb assbole
after all that spat in teeth of my
anger
and kept on
swinging
so tries with just my left
but it was never going to be enough
so I swallowed my pain
and smashed the bones from my skin
and when he fell
it was
worth ir
I broke my hand
bone crushed
under the weight
I put into fucking him up
stubbourb assbole
after all that spat in teeth of my
anger
and kept on
swinging
so tries with just my left
but it was never going to be enough
so I swallowed my pain
and smashed the bones from my skin
and when he fell
it was
worth ir
and I find myself in this same
process
the making and the pretending to be making
a mind that
revolves around
and
around
and
it won't shut the fuck up
and let me
rest
and I can't motivate myself for anything more than
hollow words
bullshit
splattered about
filligreed fingerpaintings
with all the strength of a wet fart
I dunno any more
if only my strength of conviction
those promises I whispered
with resolution
we're as strong as my back
or as strong as my impulse to
do nothing
cause then
I might be more
than a
pity
more than a failure
more than words
flickering
inside your head
screaming melancholy
and bitter cloves
process
the making and the pretending to be making
a mind that
revolves around
and
around
and
it won't shut the fuck up
and let me
rest
and I can't motivate myself for anything more than
hollow words
bullshit
splattered about
filligreed fingerpaintings
with all the strength of a wet fart
I dunno any more
if only my strength of conviction
those promises I whispered
with resolution
we're as strong as my back
or as strong as my impulse to
do nothing
cause then
I might be more
than a
pity
more than a failure
more than words
flickering
inside your head
screaming melancholy
and bitter cloves
slutindianwife
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2015
- Posts
- 7,439
not sure what this is
not sure what this is
ummmmm
not sure what this is
not sure what this is
ummmmm
not sure what this is
not sure what this is
not sure what this is
ummmmm
not sure what this is
I never was shore
except when waves hit
dragging me like
ripples of sand
wet
and desperate
to fall away
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,608
Sumi-e
You've told me
you can no longer hold a brush
to properly wash
sumi ink over rice paper.
Wrist and fingers
leave you with no control
or not enough control
to outline Mt. Fuji
or a cherry tree in full blossom.
What I see in your hands
is not their tremor,
but their delicacy—
how beautiful your fingers are,
fragile and incalcitrant,
as they interlace with mine,
even though I, in my own hand's weakness,
can no longer quite grip them
firmly enough.
You've told me
you can no longer hold a brush
to properly wash
sumi ink over rice paper.
Wrist and fingers
leave you with no control
or not enough control
to outline Mt. Fuji
or a cherry tree in full blossom.
What I see in your hands
is not their tremor,
but their delicacy—
how beautiful your fingers are,
fragile and incalcitrant,
as they interlace with mine,
even though I, in my own hand's weakness,
can no longer quite grip them
firmly enough.
butters
High on a Hill
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2009
- Posts
- 81,426
wow!!
this entire page this morning blows me away, but this piece ... leaves me with only a stupid word that does it no justice
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,608
Poem for Her Doorstep—
A Milk Bottle with Frozen Cream
Here's the thing: I love to talk
and talk and talk
to you and hold and hold
your hand, your body close
as anything, your body
tight as dreaming
to my long side
because I'm never satisfied
by anyone other than you,
than you, than you,
than you, than you.
Damn. I seem to repeat myself.
A Milk Bottle with Frozen Cream
Here's the thing: I love to talk
and talk and talk
to you and hold and hold
your hand, your body close
as anything, your body
tight as dreaming
to my long side
because I'm never satisfied
by anyone other than you,
than you, than you,
than you, than you.
Damn. I seem to repeat myself.
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,049
You didn't talk much about the war. Maybe
on a weekend afternoon when you and Billy
Bodner were knockin back the Rolling Rock
in the basement, a ball game on the radio,
wisps of conversation might drift upstairs.
I never found any hints in the empty bottles
and cigarette butts by the grimy lawn chairs,
but near the end you opened up to me,
the only child left, the only one you could ever
really talk to anyway. One night a shell hit
in the middle of a group of you; everyone
but you was blown to bits before your eyes.
You were unharmed. Sometimes I think
about the violence you survived, not all
of which struck at wartime and sometimes
about all the secrets you kept, which I now
keep for you as if I'm the last of your eternal
flame, burning strong if not indefinitely.
on a weekend afternoon when you and Billy
Bodner were knockin back the Rolling Rock
in the basement, a ball game on the radio,
wisps of conversation might drift upstairs.
I never found any hints in the empty bottles
and cigarette butts by the grimy lawn chairs,
but near the end you opened up to me,
the only child left, the only one you could ever
really talk to anyway. One night a shell hit
in the middle of a group of you; everyone
but you was blown to bits before your eyes.
You were unharmed. Sometimes I think
about the violence you survived, not all
of which struck at wartime and sometimes
about all the secrets you kept, which I now
keep for you as if I'm the last of your eternal
flame, burning strong if not indefinitely.
Last edited:
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,049
Centerpiece
Papa Jo slips in slow and easy
as a breeze, the bass goes walkin
with the keys then Bean starts
to blow with a low breath weary
years having chipped at the rough
chonk of his blare but he still has
ideas, so he slides soft into notes
like he's playing with soap and bent
as an unanswered question.
Papa Jo shifts to a high hat swing,
wind fits the song with wings. Sweets
comes along to help lift it away, way
back to Basie Days: conversations
told in the language of jazz rhythmatize
what words can't say. I have big eyes:
I'm bathed in the wave, lost
in the smooth of the timeless groove.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfTJEwFUYdU
Papa Jo slips in slow and easy
as a breeze, the bass goes walkin
with the keys then Bean starts
to blow with a low breath weary
years having chipped at the rough
chonk of his blare but he still has
ideas, so he slides soft into notes
like he's playing with soap and bent
as an unanswered question.
Papa Jo shifts to a high hat swing,
wind fits the song with wings. Sweets
comes along to help lift it away, way
back to Basie Days: conversations
told in the language of jazz rhythmatize
what words can't say. I have big eyes:
I'm bathed in the wave, lost
in the smooth of the timeless groove.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfTJEwFUYdU
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,049
The Mattering Thing
I can't explain this:
that you are alive within me
though evidence is clear
enough in the empty bed,
the flotsam of your life
that lingers here, a photo
of Bob Dylan, notes that say
Honey, Baby, Sweetie
that I avoided for two years
to keep the storms
from drowning me.
I can't explain how
you're still saying "But I am
here," proclaiming your love,
telling me when I don't
make sense, even thanking me
for playing Sketches of Spain
because you hear it too. In imagination
anything is possible: breath flows
free, muscle memories return,
the dead revive.
Prudence decrees we not reveal
too much of our inner lives--
too much of this grand fiction,
not that it matters either way
where any of us are, what any
of us can no longer do or have.
In the end it's all just love
which, like energy, sustains.
I can't explain this:
that you are alive within me
though evidence is clear
enough in the empty bed,
the flotsam of your life
that lingers here, a photo
of Bob Dylan, notes that say
Honey, Baby, Sweetie
that I avoided for two years
to keep the storms
from drowning me.
I can't explain how
you're still saying "But I am
here," proclaiming your love,
telling me when I don't
make sense, even thanking me
for playing Sketches of Spain
because you hear it too. In imagination
anything is possible: breath flows
free, muscle memories return,
the dead revive.
Prudence decrees we not reveal
too much of our inner lives--
too much of this grand fiction,
not that it matters either way
where any of us are, what any
of us can no longer do or have.
In the end it's all just love
which, like energy, sustains.
facades become the norm
switching between strangers
and familiars with a simple flit of expression
following behaviour
mimic the image in the mirror
till the reflection is right
I crossed stars over my heart
counting the countenance as if it were
not as heavy as kings ransoms full of fools gold
I convinced myself I was past the point of being loved
or passed the point of needing it
so when I learned
that my nervous system was alive
and pulsing
I was scared of the scarred beat
it coursed
like rocket fuel
I thought all roads led to Rome
but I followed the side streets
slept in the back alleys
had a gutter as a pillow
denied entry in David's camp....
I've maimed and crippled
I've been the damned
so I hoped
that you would hold one last secret for me
that I love
and it hurts
switching between strangers
and familiars with a simple flit of expression
following behaviour
mimic the image in the mirror
till the reflection is right
I crossed stars over my heart
counting the countenance as if it were
not as heavy as kings ransoms full of fools gold
I convinced myself I was past the point of being loved
or passed the point of needing it
so when I learned
that my nervous system was alive
and pulsing
I was scared of the scarred beat
it coursed
like rocket fuel
I thought all roads led to Rome
but I followed the side streets
slept in the back alleys
had a gutter as a pillow
denied entry in David's camp....
I've maimed and crippled
I've been the damned
so I hoped
that you would hold one last secret for me
that I love
and it hurts
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,608
Reach
This fine little bit
of how your body
knits with mine
explains why
I want to knot
your hair
in my agonized
fist. Forgive
me that shy
enthusiasm. I am overcome
by your presence,
and only want
to steady myself.
Especially when I have grasped
too obviously for too much of myself.
This fine little bit
of how your body
knits with mine
explains why
I want to knot
your hair
in my agonized
fist. Forgive
me that shy
enthusiasm. I am overcome
by your presence,
and only want
to steady myself.
Especially when I have grasped
too obviously for too much of myself.
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