- Status
eagleyez
going up
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2003
- Posts
- 22,879
sad goodbye to the sweet Frenchman
blacksmith hands tossed you in Acadian
haystacks before the exodus led you
to shipwrecked Solomon camoflauge and killing sunburn,
as kamakazes pierced that suicide sky
and back home the sisters lit novenas
and Europe danced as the Pacific coughed
a bloody remembrance you held like a nail in your
bloody shoe-
the grace and whithaired smile-
coal blue eyes and the little girl
showing me as I sat, the legacy of
days gone and then come home again.
she says you cant talk
wont eat
have taken to bed.
9 decades under the veil
and the tearful gathering from close
and from so far-
i will rest in your chairs
and drive the blue car
say some kind of prayer
and keep it to myself tonight.
a kiss on the cheek
and a wish
for sleep.
blacksmith hands tossed you in Acadian
haystacks before the exodus led you
to shipwrecked Solomon camoflauge and killing sunburn,
as kamakazes pierced that suicide sky
and back home the sisters lit novenas
and Europe danced as the Pacific coughed
a bloody remembrance you held like a nail in your
bloody shoe-
the grace and whithaired smile-
coal blue eyes and the little girl
showing me as I sat, the legacy of
days gone and then come home again.
she says you cant talk
wont eat
have taken to bed.
9 decades under the veil
and the tearful gathering from close
and from so far-
i will rest in your chairs
and drive the blue car
say some kind of prayer
and keep it to myself tonight.
a kiss on the cheek
and a wish
for sleep.
Maria2394
Corgi Lover!
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2002
- Posts
- 2,958
a porcupine poem
I was on my way to nowhere
and sadly, I was late. You know
my obsession with roadkill, by now
so I will share a metaphor, or two.
( for angeline)
The traffic on the overpass was taking much too long
so patiently I sat caressing my steering wheel
oh, the feel of leather, in such oppressing weather
it is sticky but I'm not picky
when there is so much fun to be found
along the roadside, puffy with bloat, I thought I saw
a poem!! but alas, it was a porcupine
laid out flat on it's back side. Oh, had it been a poem
perhaps, I might have stopped to rescue
but it was a creature, with an interesting feature
somewhat unlike a few of my own.
I dreamt I had a body rotund, and jabbed ungodly
full of quills, and each quill was apoem
and each poem had a spine of it's own
unknown to me, the pain of separation
I will half-heartedly admit, I wanted to jerk those quills
(both mine and those of the dead porcupine)
and read the messages carved in tiny letters.
BUt jerking those poem quills, setting them free
is just as hard for the dead porcupine, as it has always been
for me, and those poems they stick, they gouge and they grow
and they pile up like roadkill, with nowhere to go.
I try to set mine free, but each time so far,
they have come back to me, they rejab themselves deeply
into unthickened skin, daring me, tauntine me
Lets see you submit US again
but I will, pull each and every quill, lodged with the idea
of eternity
near my protective breast, I have guarded them
but now, no more! The road is hot, it swells with season
shrinks with reason and cracks with no purpose at all.
and it has been three days since I crossed that ragged bridge
and the porcupine is fit for standing now
with a little help from me, but I just can't stand the smell
I am sorry, little porcupine, I cannot free you
from your roadside death, I cannot free your from your quills
as I can't seem to free myself from mine, but I have something
you ran out of-
and that, my friend in perpetual decay,
is time
I was on my way to nowhere
and sadly, I was late. You know
my obsession with roadkill, by now
so I will share a metaphor, or two.
( for angeline)
The traffic on the overpass was taking much too long
so patiently I sat caressing my steering wheel
oh, the feel of leather, in such oppressing weather
it is sticky but I'm not picky
when there is so much fun to be found
along the roadside, puffy with bloat, I thought I saw
a poem!! but alas, it was a porcupine
laid out flat on it's back side. Oh, had it been a poem
perhaps, I might have stopped to rescue
but it was a creature, with an interesting feature
somewhat unlike a few of my own.
I dreamt I had a body rotund, and jabbed ungodly
full of quills, and each quill was apoem
and each poem had a spine of it's own
unknown to me, the pain of separation
I will half-heartedly admit, I wanted to jerk those quills
(both mine and those of the dead porcupine)
and read the messages carved in tiny letters.
BUt jerking those poem quills, setting them free
is just as hard for the dead porcupine, as it has always been
for me, and those poems they stick, they gouge and they grow
and they pile up like roadkill, with nowhere to go.
I try to set mine free, but each time so far,
they have come back to me, they rejab themselves deeply
into unthickened skin, daring me, tauntine me
Lets see you submit US again
but I will, pull each and every quill, lodged with the idea
of eternity
near my protective breast, I have guarded them
but now, no more! The road is hot, it swells with season
shrinks with reason and cracks with no purpose at all.
and it has been three days since I crossed that ragged bridge
and the porcupine is fit for standing now
with a little help from me, but I just can't stand the smell
I am sorry, little porcupine, I cannot free you
from your roadside death, I cannot free your from your quills
as I can't seem to free myself from mine, but I have something
you ran out of-
and that, my friend in perpetual decay,
is time
WickedEve
save an apple, eat eve
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2001
- Posts
- 11,470
Summer cools golden while you're away--
last love you scripted on your palm,
short of Brando over the wires.
There will be no rune beneath my skirt,
needled and cast across my tender side.
That curve of ardor is for devotion gaze.
Twenty-five days without anticipation
of October's odyssey.
Lust shots, whispered amour
await you. Yes, I'll adore
and never reveal those quiet moments
when I accept the way of us.
last love you scripted on your palm,
short of Brando over the wires.
There will be no rune beneath my skirt,
needled and cast across my tender side.
That curve of ardor is for devotion gaze.
Twenty-five days without anticipation
of October's odyssey.
Lust shots, whispered amour
await you. Yes, I'll adore
and never reveal those quiet moments
when I accept the way of us.
BlueskyBeauty
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2004
- Posts
- 586
Re: gift of blades
subtle as a hurricane,
blowing minds
(among other things)
shattering glass,
loosening hinges.
leaving a mark
stage 5 no less.
lipsticksunset1984 said:
subtle as a hurricane,
blowing minds
(among other things)
shattering glass,
loosening hinges.
leaving a mark
stage 5 no less.
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
riding the afternoon shuttle
sdrawkcab
i see
houses hills clouds chlorophyll
collapse
shrink in on top of one another
around a black hole
chasing our heels
speeding north
just a step behind
suddenly
deceleration accelerates
my pulse my panic
closer it is closer
our tail end already
skimming the event horizon
and the predator
tugs hungrily
at our desperate momentum
already gnawing the last coaches
into a pulp of steel
seat cushions
screams and battered bodies
before the greedy swallow
slower we flee slower
closer it comes closer
i am next
any time now
time will stretch and walls will close in
creaking tin groaning plastic
shattering projectile shards of window
to bury a first glimpse
of tearing pain in my flesh
and let the roaring of nothingness in
just before a snapped loose bench
gives in to gravity
tearing through my astonished torso
on it's way to nirvana
and i finally abide
let go
let me
and this doomed machine
become one
ready for inferno
i am not afraid
i am not afraid
i am not
it is time
we are still
we have lost
with a familiar hiss
doors swing open
to let the feeble minded
run in vain
but not me
i am not afraid
i am ready
doors close
and the humble few
serene
dignifies
docile even
remains
to await the fall
there it is
momentum
movement
but still north
we flee again
hills still gets sucked into that void
shrink drown disappear
but we flee
what devil's design is this?
the darkness still stalking our heels
a cat playing it's prey for mere fearlust
feeding on our desperate polarisation
surrender and hopeless hope
station after station
i am not ready
i am afraid
houses still collapse
just out of sight
sdrawkcab
i see
houses hills clouds chlorophyll
collapse
shrink in on top of one another
around a black hole
chasing our heels
speeding north
just a step behind
suddenly
deceleration accelerates
my pulse my panic
closer it is closer
our tail end already
skimming the event horizon
and the predator
tugs hungrily
at our desperate momentum
already gnawing the last coaches
into a pulp of steel
seat cushions
screams and battered bodies
before the greedy swallow
slower we flee slower
closer it comes closer
i am next
any time now
time will stretch and walls will close in
creaking tin groaning plastic
shattering projectile shards of window
to bury a first glimpse
of tearing pain in my flesh
and let the roaring of nothingness in
just before a snapped loose bench
gives in to gravity
tearing through my astonished torso
on it's way to nirvana
and i finally abide
let go
let me
and this doomed machine
become one
ready for inferno
i am not afraid
i am not afraid
i am not
it is time
we are still
we have lost
with a familiar hiss
doors swing open
to let the feeble minded
run in vain
but not me
i am not afraid
i am ready
doors close
and the humble few
serene
dignifies
docile even
remains
to await the fall
there it is
momentum
movement
but still north
we flee again
hills still gets sucked into that void
shrink drown disappear
but we flee
what devil's design is this?
the darkness still stalking our heels
a cat playing it's prey for mere fearlust
feeding on our desperate polarisation
surrender and hopeless hope
station after station
i am not ready
i am afraid
houses still collapse
just out of sight
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,057
Heaven is
no stress and a deck
where you can smell autumn
beginning with the death of fear
worry melts down the drain
that works and smiles
begin in the routine
of commute and sweet normalcy
reflected in your calm eyes
the return of wry orchestrated
to background thwack
the boys of summer
at the last dance swagger
steal bases as night falls
into our hands like a home
sweet gift
no stress and a deck
where you can smell autumn
beginning with the death of fear
worry melts down the drain
that works and smiles
begin in the routine
of commute and sweet normalcy
reflected in your calm eyes
the return of wry orchestrated
to background thwack
the boys of summer
at the last dance swagger
steal bases as night falls
into our hands like a home
sweet gift
eagleyez
going up
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2003
- Posts
- 22,879
the cavalcade of woodsmoke above mindvalleys-
the turning north wind rustles maples and beech and fir and spruce and dogwood and the weeping willow dancers in the pale autumn light.
further down the lavender river shimmers as drifwood and first frost hints at itself- drifting elegantly in a historical parade,
the Atlantic salmon turns upriver
with no regrets,
only promises to keep-
and ancient goals to realize-
While the Albino Osprey dives and splashes-
the foil that makes the river move, the engine of the fall.
(played out endlessly as gifts of clarity in the nick of time.)
the turning north wind rustles maples and beech and fir and spruce and dogwood and the weeping willow dancers in the pale autumn light.
further down the lavender river shimmers as drifwood and first frost hints at itself- drifting elegantly in a historical parade,
the Atlantic salmon turns upriver
with no regrets,
only promises to keep-
and ancient goals to realize-
While the Albino Osprey dives and splashes-
the foil that makes the river move, the engine of the fall.
(played out endlessly as gifts of clarity in the nick of time.)
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
you realise
don't you
that the juice
you suck
out of my marrow
and the narrow
strip of blue
that is my focus
leaves me hollow
a shattered shell
of man
to follow meely
in the electrified
aftermath
of your
steps
you know
of course you know
that when you wrap
those lips
around my throbbing
imagination
i am trapped
in cramped incarceration
content in confidement
and this dreary
thin duration
don't you
that the juice
you suck
out of my marrow
and the narrow
strip of blue
that is my focus
leaves me hollow
a shattered shell
of man
to follow meely
in the electrified
aftermath
of your
steps
you know
of course you know
that when you wrap
those lips
around my throbbing
imagination
i am trapped
in cramped incarceration
content in confidement
and this dreary
thin duration
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,057
Stop kissing Beatles!
Daddy's voice decrees it,
but his stern tone
can't obscure the laughter
threatening to reveal itself.
Girl giggles escape,
tumble down narrow stairs
and climb on the couch.
Not a sofa or davenport;
it's not that kind of house.
It's more a frayed cabbage-rose
runner on the staircase
kind of place,
where Mrs. Silvestri's lasagne,
made fresh Thursday, lingers
over the weekend, whispers
cheesy garlic memories.
Upstairs two heads press, conspire,
one freckled and with hair
that same Daddy red
lapped down shoulders,
the other a pale schtetl throwback
dipped behind a dark veil.
Stop kissing Beatles?
But there are dozens more,
striding across posters,
running for trains, cavorting
as moptops do, singing
I Wanna Hold Your Hand.
Ringo's head is tilted
in that kind quizzical smile
behind the Ludwig kit.
John's bowed posture
is unbowed by the small tear
near his neck, the piece of tape
holding him to the wall.
Somewhere among them
and the crowd of Georges
and Pauls, and the space
between the bunk beds
is the reassuring scent
of Grace's tomato gravy.
The night emanates safety
and rustles, settling
the small yellow room
face down into pillows
curled within quilts
that almost muffle
the murmurs of innocence.
Daddy's voice decrees it,
but his stern tone
can't obscure the laughter
threatening to reveal itself.
Girl giggles escape,
tumble down narrow stairs
and climb on the couch.
Not a sofa or davenport;
it's not that kind of house.
It's more a frayed cabbage-rose
runner on the staircase
kind of place,
where Mrs. Silvestri's lasagne,
made fresh Thursday, lingers
over the weekend, whispers
cheesy garlic memories.
Upstairs two heads press, conspire,
one freckled and with hair
that same Daddy red
lapped down shoulders,
the other a pale schtetl throwback
dipped behind a dark veil.
Stop kissing Beatles?
But there are dozens more,
striding across posters,
running for trains, cavorting
as moptops do, singing
I Wanna Hold Your Hand.
Ringo's head is tilted
in that kind quizzical smile
behind the Ludwig kit.
John's bowed posture
is unbowed by the small tear
near his neck, the piece of tape
holding him to the wall.
Somewhere among them
and the crowd of Georges
and Pauls, and the space
between the bunk beds
is the reassuring scent
of Grace's tomato gravy.
The night emanates safety
and rustles, settling
the small yellow room
face down into pillows
curled within quilts
that almost muffle
the murmurs of innocence.
G
Guest
Guest
~
A fierce strut down highway 9
rundown black boots
hit the road,
heal to toe
pounding the wet asphalt dry.
Cars roar by,
spraying hydro-cool,
but the calm sizzles,
on livid faces.
Miles and miles of kicking rocks
thinking of what was left behind
Get past it, quasi-philospher
take it to the in inside,
turn it around,
let the after burn
whisper lessons for life.
A fierce strut down highway 9
rundown black boots
hit the road,
heal to toe
pounding the wet asphalt dry.
Cars roar by,
spraying hydro-cool,
but the calm sizzles,
on livid faces.
Miles and miles of kicking rocks
thinking of what was left behind
Get past it, quasi-philospher
take it to the in inside,
turn it around,
let the after burn
whisper lessons for life.
eagleyez
going up
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2003
- Posts
- 22,879
a dry song
The wagons rolling
The wheels deceiving
We fly on forward
But which way are they spinning
You speak of phases
I shop for glasses
the Pawn shop window
Beckons as we pass it.
You and me
We been thinkin again
You and me
We been out to pasture
The grass is green
And it synthesizes energy
More than wev'e ever known
We walk along imaginary beaches
We speak of things that are far out of our reach
And as we hit the dirt we notice-
The mortars have all shifted fire.
You and me we been thinkin again
You and me we been out to pasture
The grass is green and it
Synthesizes energy
More than wev'e ever known
More than wev'e ever known.
The wagons rolling
The wheels deceiving
We fly on forward
But which way are they spinning
You speak of phases
I shop for glasses
the Pawn shop window
Beckons as we pass it.
You and me
We been thinkin again
You and me
We been out to pasture
The grass is green
And it synthesizes energy
More than wev'e ever known
We walk along imaginary beaches
We speak of things that are far out of our reach
And as we hit the dirt we notice-
The mortars have all shifted fire.
You and me we been thinkin again
You and me we been out to pasture
The grass is green and it
Synthesizes energy
More than wev'e ever known
More than wev'e ever known.
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,057
It's autumn, almost. A dragonfly
just zipped past the window,
but the leaves look a little crispy.
One bush has a gold eyebrow,
the maple is beginning to streak
red and apples are sagging, falling.
I see you bobbing by Men's Sweaters,
a baseball cap moving down aisles.
I try on grey cords, flannel lined jeans.
You smile, ageless male impatience
shading your eyes. See you in the car.
Tomorrow
we'll pick wildflowers for the vases,
arrange more of this life,
watch the leaves fall.
just zipped past the window,
but the leaves look a little crispy.
One bush has a gold eyebrow,
the maple is beginning to streak
red and apples are sagging, falling.
I see you bobbing by Men's Sweaters,
a baseball cap moving down aisles.
I try on grey cords, flannel lined jeans.
You smile, ageless male impatience
shading your eyes. See you in the car.
Tomorrow
we'll pick wildflowers for the vases,
arrange more of this life,
watch the leaves fall.
eagleyez
going up
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2003
- Posts
- 22,879
clownpants and
high water cuffs
plaid
after the capsize
reels hooked on underwater
snags beholden by
curious turtles
"hey numbnutss, youve got a fish on"
okie roads okie dokie, and that dead language
laughter
freedom
pedal steel billboards and accidentaly our
waterlog feet
crinkle on shag carpets
id just as soon be in the lavender deep six
the net sunk
but we recoversd
most everythin else,
on slippery stones of moss
we laugh it off
sidesplitting laughter
ribs ached for hours
till we got dry.
high water cuffs
plaid
after the capsize
reels hooked on underwater
snags beholden by
curious turtles
"hey numbnutss, youve got a fish on"
okie roads okie dokie, and that dead language
laughter
freedom
pedal steel billboards and accidentaly our
waterlog feet
crinkle on shag carpets
id just as soon be in the lavender deep six
the net sunk
but we recoversd
most everythin else,
on slippery stones of moss
we laugh it off
sidesplitting laughter
ribs ached for hours
till we got dry.
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
why I don't write poetry anymore
does today count
it feels like it should
I type in braille if it meant
you know
You know
.:.. : . :
:. : .
they become one in my mind
sister
lover
sisters lover
and a strawberry press
sticky syrup strings us along
syrup and stardust and glowing embers
cannot slwwp
sleep when they are still hot
but I would leave them glow
if
well you know
I could peel off the part thati s you
leave all else
behind
does today count
it feels like it should
I type in braille if it meant
you know
You know
.:.. : . :
:. : .
they become one in my mind
sister
lover
sisters lover
and a strawberry press
sticky syrup strings us along
syrup and stardust and glowing embers
cannot slwwp
sleep when they are still hot
but I would leave them glow
if
well you know
I could peel off the part thati s you
leave all else
behind
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
let me tell you this story
because i know if I whisper it to you
my laughter will erase its absurdity and I will not recognize
my
voice
it does not exist
because i know if I whisper it to you
my laughter will erase its absurdity and I will not recognize
my
voice
it does not exist
DeepAsleep
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2004
- Posts
- 774
a headachy night spent cradling a bottle of soda,
and sometimes my forehead.
My steepled fingers have created artificial
wrinkles there, against my skin.
the smoke from my cigarette is getting
into my hair.
Staring at my lap isn't getting me anywhere,
tonight, but I don't mind.
It's a comfortable view.
~~~
which is worse?
the fool,
the fool that follows,
or the fool that remains?
not knowing,
and then knowing,
but not grasping how to change.
~~~
so tired. goodnight, kids.
~D.A.
and sometimes my forehead.
My steepled fingers have created artificial
wrinkles there, against my skin.
the smoke from my cigarette is getting
into my hair.
Staring at my lap isn't getting me anywhere,
tonight, but I don't mind.
It's a comfortable view.
~~~
which is worse?
the fool,
the fool that follows,
or the fool that remains?
not knowing,
and then knowing,
but not grasping how to change.
~~~
so tired. goodnight, kids.
~D.A.
Vampiric_Mirage
Dark Dreamer
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2004
- Posts
- 1,939
Knees curled up
arms clutching myself
desperately
soothingly.
Pain sears through my chest
my stomach
my heart
my soul.
I heave
dry bitterness washes over me
the worst has past
for tonight at least.
tomorrow i know
it will take me over again
in the fetal position
i cry silent tears
and try to pretend I am strong...
arms clutching myself
desperately
soothingly.
Pain sears through my chest
my stomach
my heart
my soul.
I heave
dry bitterness washes over me
the worst has past
for tonight at least.
tomorrow i know
it will take me over again
in the fetal position
i cry silent tears
and try to pretend I am strong...
tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
Tsuname
Floating unsuspecting
The rogue wave comes upon me
Crashing
Grabs me
Rolls me in its grasp
Pulls me under
Tumbling
Breaches breath
Floods lungs and fears
Disorients senses
and sanity
Wraps me in seaweed
Ties me to oceans floor
Sunlight and salvation
Unreachable
A dim diminishing memory
As darkness closes in
Floating unsuspecting
The rogue wave comes upon me
Crashing
Grabs me
Rolls me in its grasp
Pulls me under
Tumbling
Breaches breath
Floods lungs and fears
Disorients senses
and sanity
Wraps me in seaweed
Ties me to oceans floor
Sunlight and salvation
Unreachable
A dim diminishing memory
As darkness closes in
G
Guest
Guest
During Easter,
she buys Cadbury mini eggs,
enough to fill a freezer,
365 fixes for that wicked
chocolate jones of hers.
she buys Cadbury mini eggs,
enough to fill a freezer,
365 fixes for that wicked
chocolate jones of hers.
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
neonurotic said:
During Easter
I hear,
whispered with a delectable tremble
from drooling lips
that mantra
over electronic ether
from apparently anywhere but here...
...of a gluttony Sangreal,
a paradise wrapped in tin foil,
melting to palatable orgasms
on tongues world wide.
But I have never seen
let alone savored the sensation
of this seasonal sensuality,
only witnessed in frustration
you delirium.
Someone, some day, somewhere...
open Heaven's gates, I beg.
For just one fleeing moment,
let me taste a Cadbury egg.
#L
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,057
Chop beef in fine pieces
and sear. Look out window
at mums on deck. Heat broth.
Let boyfriend peel four potatos.
Chop three carrots, an onion,
and two celery stalks.
Add salt, pepper, then stop
to give small boy blistek
for autumn chapped lips.
Smooch boyfriend's smooth lips,
dice tomato and add veggies
to broth. Ask small boy not
to jump on the bed. Peel yam.
Turn heat down.
Bake banana bread.
Light apple cinnamon candle.
Smile.
and sear. Look out window
at mums on deck. Heat broth.
Let boyfriend peel four potatos.
Chop three carrots, an onion,
and two celery stalks.
Add salt, pepper, then stop
to give small boy blistek
for autumn chapped lips.
Smooch boyfriend's smooth lips,
dice tomato and add veggies
to broth. Ask small boy not
to jump on the bed. Peel yam.
Turn heat down.
Bake banana bread.
Light apple cinnamon candle.
Smile.
Liar
now with 17% more class
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2003
- Posts
- 43,715
there is meat
on these bones still
though skin, corroded away
bled through to a vacuum within
that no muscle can fill
and I fill
lungs through filters of soot
arctic blizzard that spreads
permafrost and aliment alike
through my will
and I shoot
clotted bullets radiating
from clamped lips torn apart
and a bludgeon cancerous heart
watch them arch from my scope
dissapear
but still
since I bleed
I am here
(dunno where this came from, better call my therapist...)
on these bones still
though skin, corroded away
bled through to a vacuum within
that no muscle can fill
and I fill
lungs through filters of soot
arctic blizzard that spreads
permafrost and aliment alike
through my will
and I shoot
clotted bullets radiating
from clamped lips torn apart
and a bludgeon cancerous heart
watch them arch from my scope
dissapear
but still
since I bleed
I am here
(dunno where this came from, better call my therapist...)
tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
aching
an eternity of baking
emotion
rising into dnoeness
a oneness
of mixed responses
and impulses
browned and crusted
hardened
to intercept
invasion
repel intrusion
I know what I am
don't poke
don't prod
don't toothpick the inside
I'm hiding
beneath this brittle shell
an eternity of baking
emotion
rising into dnoeness
a oneness
of mixed responses
and impulses
browned and crusted
hardened
to intercept
invasion
repel intrusion
I know what I am
don't poke
don't prod
don't toothpick the inside
I'm hiding
beneath this brittle shell
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,057
Sunset was striated
in the sideview mirror.
It hung like a clotheline
between two pines
in magenta sheets
and gold ropes, shading
into the darkening gray.
I waited in the car.
That bottle of Merlot
you bought
could have painted
another layer
on that graceful demise,
but we drank it instead
just like the day preceding it.
in the sideview mirror.
It hung like a clotheline
between two pines
in magenta sheets
and gold ropes, shading
into the darkening gray.
I waited in the car.
That bottle of Merlot
you bought
could have painted
another layer
on that graceful demise,
but we drank it instead
just like the day preceding it.
- Status
