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Don't stop! The most popular and best Red poems are below this new poems list.

green and red river by campbell, mal
THE RED HEADED LIZARD 2 by Stephen, Alayande
THE RED DAY by Mwero, Nzongi
SHE BLED , RED INK COLLABORATION BEV SMITH IAN A GUYLER by Smith, Bev
RED INK by Guyler, Ian
RED INK by Smith, Bev
Call Me Red by Fernandes, Sherwin
Red Nose Day by Snyder, Troy s4o2u0l
Love's red dye by Ngoma, Thabang
The lady in the li'l red frock by suze, suze

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The Best Red Poems

Details | Red Poem | |

STRAWBERRY

STRAWBERRY

Can you feel the warmness of the sun, 
reflecting off the red tones of my hair.
The sun touching the edge of my toes!
My seasons true nature ignited by a layer of flares.

Can you feel the stars shine for me at night?
While the moon beams a color of envy.
Can you see me lost underneath the crimson tide in the clouds.
Some where out there my eyes wonder for you.

Can you feel the fresh bruise in my strawberry heart?
As it bleeds every day just for you!
Wondering if life can ever be sweet like sugar and glue.
Crying under the night and its skies is how it would seem.
Lost in a midnight red field in a forever dream.

Can you feel the texture of my wounds?
They feel rugged like rocky mountain sour berries.
Covered in daiquiri as I drown under the rivers current.
Attracting canaries to enjoy my wild strawberries.

Can you feel the wings of my broken dreams?
Here I am falling off the cliff and the feeling of love.
Abandoned like a batch of strawberries for its flaws.

Do you see me standing with a sad look.
Can I show you all them hammer hits I took.
That will be the end of story, to my book.
How my strawberries have beauty that you over looked.

by; p.d.

More great poems below...


Details | Red Poem | |

In the Sun's Last Glow

On her terrace where she once had viewed a crimson field, she stands recalling heroes who were battling their foe. She still can feel the terror! How her poor heart reeled thinking of her lover fighting on the field below, with others on that plain bathed red as the sun dipped low. The brave men lie in caskets which now are concealed beneath a plain that ran with blood, where bright irises now grow. She thinks of her own strong brave man, draped in white and sealed forever in a casket too. He was her Romeo. The sorrow flooding her she had never thought to know. She looks down from her terrace with a heart that won’t be healed. The mighty dead now lie in grassy fields. . . and lo! Around the graves are swords, which are green blades revealed with *purple flags that softly wave as a May wind starts to blow and she is bathed in red again, there in the sun’s last glow. * Purple flags refer to the name of the purple iris that resembles a flag

Details | Red Poem | |

Roses Roses Roses


                                In all her glory, dawn has burst forth,
                          With a slight glow of early morning brightness 
                          I sit in the bower, listening to birds in concert 
                             And admire wonderful, Rosebuds unfold,  
                                    Revealing a beautiful red rose
                      With a precision wisp of light prancing around them 
                         Emitting a velvety feeling, so tempting to touch 
                                      Long green stems, prickles,
                              Full of scallop trim leaflets all in green,
                                         With brown thin veins 
                                    Around the red velvet leaves, 
                                   Music playing on cool fresh air 
                           Coursing through the whispering leaves 
                       Sweet aroma of moist dew and rose perfumes 
                                   Floating gently on the breeze  
                    Gives me an intense curiosity to embrace the rose
                                  Just the sight of the red roses
                                        Reminds me to breath
By: Eve Roper 12/17/2014
Contest: Roses Roses Roses 
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose

Details | Red Poem | |

Ode to the Redwood

I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way


Details | Red Poem | |

Isle of Bast

Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels 
on a fast, frigid tide -
events that transpired outside 
the confines of rhyme,
instead, unfolding exactly 
as they were meant to.

I had never before seen
so many shades of gray.
This monochromatic splendor
was awe-inspiring,
within an absence of sunshine
that was perfectly fitting,
instead of being bleak and bleary.

The smell of salt and seaweed
awoke deep within me 
something dormant and eternal - 
a surging desire to flush
stagnant disease
from out of my blood
with an inverted force of pride.

Salty blood and water
coming together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.

A flash of bright red 
digging in the sand beside me.
My child is wearing the only
vibrant colour to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches
her enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame.

My own fire burns in my eyes.
I had unconsciously dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
as a chameleon --
an illusion thicker than clouds,
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.

I look over at my daughter
who is wearing a wide smile of wonder,
for she has not ever seen the ocean before.
She can see the chameleon
walking alongside her in the frothy surf.
Together, we collect shiny stones and shells,
our pants rolled-up to the knee
as we wade through waves.

I wonder if people onshore
can only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon is more
noticeable than I had thought,
while we watch sea-birds
cover the steep cliffs
in a blanket of black and white feathers.




~(2012 North Sea Remix)~






.

More great poems below...


Details | Red Poem | |

Rhapsody in Red

When morning breaks in shades of wine...
  with claret skies to blush the dawn...
     I will stretch and yawn, and thank the night
           for this polished, dappled day
 
I will wait until the sun is high, and dew upon the rose is dry
I'll have my cup, .. with toast and jam...
then, make escape, ..........for the quest begins,
                                                              to seek my small reward

It happens slowly...
          gathering reason from an untamed mind
            up into the meadow where the brambles climb
              twisted and tangled, through the burgandy vines
               deftly my fingers, while probing the maze
                will reach for wild berries.....warm from the day
thumping their goodness, one after one
into the bucket, dented and worn
A search through thorns, a prick on my thumb
      till my back is ripe, and wet in the sun
           
Finger painting my faded old jeans
  Knowing my cheeks are flushing in pink
    Sucking sweet juice from two crimson thumbs
         Who cares a lick, of the thorns or a bee?

I am a bee, buzzing serenity...
     plucking small bits of reason and sanity
           taking home goodness in a battered tin pail
              feeling alive, on this wild-flowered hill
             

Tonight's sweet delight, is warm berry cobbler, 
  oozing with goodness of juicy red gems
    staining my tongue, and turning lips scarlet
      dripping like blood drops onto my chin
          
Yet never as splendid, or tasting as fine, 
    as warmed by my smile, straight from the vine

       Picking red berries, and freeing my mind
                                      *   *
                                            * *
                                       *      *
                                                  *
                                             *   
           under clouds tinged vermilion
               and a red crimson sun
                  




_____________________________________
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: "Colours"
 5/4/13

Details | Red Poem | |

Slow Movin Tights

I'm in me bath here, with a box of red cheer, 
yeah a box of red cheer, beer's too bloody dear.
Me mind's wanderin twixt big tits and riches, 
bein able to scratch at what itches, 
without scratchin the bum out your britches.
 
If they think you got what, 
they'd rather they'd got, 
mate, hang onto your hat, 
they'll bloody take that. 

That girl in black tights, so jam-packed with delights, 
nights full of delights in them slow movin tights. 
She's not, like Jacko reckons, a whore.
Wouldn't lie on me bare wooden floor.
Christ, I did nothin to get to be poor.
 
And you can't pay what's due
so your creditors sue? 
Funny old world, not half.
But good for a laugh.
 
I can't help but hear next door's shoutin and tears,
all their shoutin and tears, I can hear em from here, 
through the stem of me glass on the wall. 
Pray to God he don't hit her at all. 
I'm half pissed and spliffed and I never could brawl.
 
But I stand in the queue, 
for a place in the zoo. 
Heard you shouldn't have pride.
They wouldn't have lied.
 
A party's upstairs but I can't breathe their airs.
I won't breathe their airs, them there upstairs.
So I fill the bathroom with me smoke.
All those girls shaggin some other bloke.
I just lie here and soak and suck on me toke.
 
What's it like not to do
what your needs need you to, 
to beg borrow or steal, 
to make it come real? 

I hear downstairs' soul hit his lavatory bowl.
That porcelain bowl gets the whole of his soul, 
as I wring out the bladder of red.
All the sweetest of girls, Jacko said, 
have big whites to their eyes that aint never've bled.
 
There aint nothin so nice 
as those whitest of whites.
On rich girls with sweet arses
in slow movin tights.

Details | Red Poem | |

Crimson Awakening

Breathtaking is the color of a crimson sky
A scattering of light across the horizon
When the sun is setting low on the edge of the world
The red-orange swirls from the sunset’s glow
A vibrant hue splashed across the heavens
Displaying shades of peacefulness

Mesmerizing is the color of a roaring fire
The flames which dance like they’re alive 
And heat the air on a cold autumn night 
Or provide ambiance for a lover’s embrace 
Crackling in the hearth of a shadowy room 
Radiating shades of intensity 

Seductive is the color of strong attraction 
When discovering the secrets of a lover
Who takes your breath away with just a glance
And desire is revealed upon your cheeks
In an uncontrollable obsession
Unveiling shades of heated passion

Stimulating is the color of “seeing red” 
The righteous anger which stirs us to move 
Revealing the thoughts that we’ve held inside
Showing an emotion which makes us human
Finding a common ground, or learning to give in
Releasing shades of compromise

Dismal are the colors of black and grey 
The colors of life in these ordinary days 
While searching for the beauty in skies
And in fire, and passion, and indignation
Colors which let your heart awaken
To the crimson colors of inspiration


Sanguine is the flow of crimson blood  
Life which courses through our veins 
And that which poured out from the side 
Of a gentle man so wrongly accused 
The man who died so I could live 
Offering the colors of infinite love 


 


Details | Red Poem | |

RED ANGEL

RED  ANGEL

I see the fire in your eyes!
This Red Angel, who's not human, intriguing with lies.
Pointing to the path that leads to paradise.
Ending Revelations with violence, breaking every inch of ice.

Blazing wings like the sunset over a field of corn.
A row of roses with rubies sharper than a thorn.
A devious smile covering up a set of horns.
Diluting me with images, since the day I was born.

Goose bumps when your essence is near.
I linger and shiver my lips with fear.
A slithery hypnotic tongue, the Red Angel wipes away my tear.
Holding the reddish key, whispering the word. "FREEDOM!"Into my ear.

Like the crimson tide lifting me from drowning at his request. 
I find my heart pondering deeper and deeper within my chest.
Blessed with the curse of 'death' when my demons are depressed.
I'm still smiling to the sweet surrender of your breath.

A halo exploding like the fur of a volcano filled with lava.
Allowing the angel's advocate around~like a tree of strawberry guava.
Swallowing my own drops of red blood from my own saliva.
Living like the dead after a full bottle of vodka.

I beg for mercy at the Red Angels cow like feet.
Collapsing with sweat in his sweet eternal heat.
Gasping for the fresh air to avoid the smell of rotten meat.
I see the aura of an angel with his fangs ready to feast  and eat.

Falling into a daze towards the red picket fence.
My Red House engraved with flames, after my feeling where condense.
My soul tormented by goodness at evils expense.
Flowing with every feeling including God's given sixth sense...

 By; P.D.

((( Merry X- Mass Everyone)))

Details | Red Poem | |

Wall Street

      

Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery. 

Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.   

With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance. 
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice". 
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. 
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes. 
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.

Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down. 

With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation. 

The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro. 

Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.  
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope. 

 
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them.  A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world.  No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies. 


In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.  
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated.  The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.


So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.   
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.  

Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................

We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind. 

She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.  
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda.  One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers. 

Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.  
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal. 


Brush of destiny sweepstakes,  allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.  

The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter. 

 
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.  
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire. 

How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war.  How dare all of us. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch.  Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it. 
Painted red for all to see. 
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand. 



Details | Red Poem | |

Red Roses Fade To Black

Red velvet petals, only I, seduce,
With hidden danger under the disguise,
My fingers feeling shyly, I reduce,
Thorns sharpen, ready, waiting the unwise.

Before me, bleeding poison, I assume,
This flower withered, shriveled the entire,
A dark extracted substance, the perfume,
No beauty, only sorrow, I admire.

Withdrawn I wept lamenting the depart,
A rosebud, crimson, youthful, I erased,
A lifeless flower, never I impart,
nor taken with affection, I embraced.







Written by Kelly Deschler  October 23rd, 2014





Details | Red Poem | |

My Tricycle -

~My Tricycle~

Christmas  eve,
I could not help but peek.

There it was, a blue and pinkish bike.
With streamers all for me...

A ride, I wanted to feel inside.
A surprise, I ruined for my eyes.
The joy I felt, a naughty kid like me could not hide.

Running back into my room, jumping with glee. 

Waiting and waiting...............................................

Christmas day, comes to life.
I'm all excited.. With the biggest grin...
Mommy walks me to my bike.
My grin slowly fades away.
A red tricycle, I start to cry.

I did not understand, why my older sister got the pretty bike.
My Christmas, ruined by a ruby red tricycle.

Mommies, hug did not comfort me.
I cried all night, and asked my daddy'
"How can this be?"
"It's not fair!"
"it's not fair!"

Daddy, had only one response..
"Sweetie, soon you will see."

New Years Eve**

I sit near the windowpane.
Staring at my sister ride her blue pinkish bike.
Even the streamers were laughing at me.

Night fall comes around..
It's cold and everyone is asleep.

I sneak my way into the barn. 
I stare at it~
My sisters bike!
The smile on my face, I still can't erase.
"This bike will be mine tonight."

I grab the bike by the handles bars.
I walk the bike under the stars. 

Two hours pass, and still I can't operate the pedals.
Finally I remove my shoes, and reach the pedals with my toes.
I'm off into the night, than suddenly I fell upon them rocks.
If only I waited for that push from daddy's hands.

:To Be Continued:


Lesson not learned,
My scars all accounted for.


Details | Red Poem | |

Apple Pickin' Time

Come an' pick yerself an apple,

Come an' pick a heapin' load;

Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel

An' a couple fer the road.


There's a dozen different sizes,

Pink an' yella, red 'r lime,

Shades that match the pale sunrises

Of the apple pickin' time.


Go an' make an apple pie,

Make it thirty miles high,

Then you'll be in apple heaven

Till the day you up an' die.


Come an' pick yerself an apple,

Come an' pick a heapin' load;

Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel

An' a couple fer the road;


Some for Gran and Uncle Pete,

An' a few fer fighting crime;

'Cause the fella down the street

Knows it's apple pickin' time.

Details | Red Poem | |

Crayon of Bright Red

Red is the crayon that I love to use.
So vivid and bright without any abuse.
 
I color so lively and make each stroke count.
Even making the water red in the fount.

In my pictures the hair on everyone's head.
Yes you guessed it, they're all a bright colored red!

The seasons of summer and winter and fall.
I color them all red without any appall.

So if you're an artist you plainly can see.
Everything will be red if you depend on me.

If you've heard like me, as it's often been said,
That "Passionate people always love red!"

Details | Red Poem | |

Hard Wet Quick Sex

-------------------------------Hard Wet Quick Sex-------------------------------------

  Silver shadow eyes
legs twin tower 
thin
nylon caress
then bend.

Taste red 
see, 
breathe what rests between 
fresh bouquet 
lust
plus a little rough within
testing him
by way of thighs.

Immoral moment here, 
ripping kissing
one hundred fifteen degrees
S.I.N.
bent knees 
print panties pulled to the side
stretched.

Wet sex
heartbeat overdrive...
double climax
sticky
never felt more alive. , 



****Towel Please...

Details | Red Poem | |

Blossoms on the Snow

(A Kyrielle Sonnet)

The tree stood trembling; red drops spilled
one Christmas day where one was killed.
Sweet daughter they would not see grow
left crimson blossoms on the snow.

What horror that their girl could be
slain senselessly beneath that tree
where every spring she loved to go
and blossoms fell, but not on snow.

The tree of which she’d grown so fond
dropped pearl white petals on a pond.
Oh, that it still were long ago
before were blossoms on the snow!

The tree stood trembling; red drops spilled
like cherry blossoms on the snow.

Andrea Dietrich
For Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever 
Contest sponsored by Constance La France 
~a Rambling Poet~

Details | Red Poem | |

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless. 
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger. 
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death! 	
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive. 
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”

Details | Red Poem | |

Blood Lust

Dark red lips trace your neck, trailing down your chest
I can’t control my lust once I’ve caught the scent of you

Your smooth flesh burns where my chilled lips brush
Your heat steaming off into the winter night… it wants you too.

But you are only mine as you pull me tight against you
Your warmth is for my body alone.

I belong to someone and you are going to show me who
As your hand covers my red lips, stifling my moan

Pin me against the window pane, 
Digging into my flesh.

Let the flavor of me drive your senses insane
Drink from me my thirsty guest.

Rock me, grip me don’t hold back
This is your time to release everything angry in your life.

Make me scream, let me fill up what your world lacks
Feel the waves of our intensity permeate the night.

Then, be merciful after I am taken, and now our burning kiss
After you have bleed me and our lust has taken its course

Discover my true and own yearning motive
And give me my taste of yours…


Details | Red Poem | |

Pandora's Box

you opened your eyes but closed your mind
oblivious to dreams I kept inside
you saw the package but not the treasure
all of those late nights we were together

you spent the passion but saved your heart
keeping those two things far, far apart
nothing ever ventured, nothing ever gained
so good at keeping it all self-contained

you pulled the ribbon opening Pandora's box
you twisted the key in a rusty lock
you wound the toy just a little too tight
leaving in haste when you saw the red light

I thought I had it under control
I could play the game and you'd never know
you were much smarter than I thought
you saw the ruse right from the start

gently, you tried to let me down
distancing me with silent sounds
what you couldn't see--failed to understand
I knew your game but couldn't outrun your plan

you pulled the ribbon opening Pandora's box
you twisted the key in a rusty lock
you wound the toy just a little too tight
leaving in haste when you saw the red light

I could see your future and I wasn't a part
you weren't completely honest when we started
I knew there was another, but not the whole connection
how you had already promised your love and affection

so as we go forward with an uneasy truce
bury what's dead between me and you
no tourniquet will completely ever stop my bleed
you'll say you didn't promise to be what I need

you asked me once if the wound was still deep
you can figure that out in this song if you read
what starts with white lies, ends sadly with truth
it ebbs and then flows with each phase of the moon

you pulled the ribbon opening Pandora's box
you twisted the key in a rusty lock
you wound the toy just a little too tight
leaving in haste when you saw the red light


Details | Red Poem | |

You Haunt Me....

I need
Your arms
Where are you…
Oh how I miss you
In every moment in time
In every pink magnolia blossom
In every red rose bleeding on the vine

I need
To see you
Where are you….
I long for your face
It holds your piercing eyes
In all the sweet red raspberries
tart and tender stains exploding sighs 

I need
To hold you
Where are you…
To touch you…grey smoke
For you haunt me in the skies
In all the shimmers of lighted stars
Riding the wind…an eminent eagle cries

I need
You badly 
Where are you….
In these orange hours
Dawn breaks on the lakeside
I miss you in the sunrise bursting 
While just I alone watched as night died

I cry 
Red tears
Where are you….
Possessor of my heart
I want you in the fruit of blue
That grows unkempt along the shore
The crush of berries shed a purple hue

I truly 
Love you….
Where are you
Oh how you haunt me
Hold me tight before I wake
In all the flowers you bloom in me
In the garden of your tender heart song
Sing of my eyes that pine for your infinity

Details | Red Poem | |

Through Telescope Eyes...Valentine....

My desire is not for chocolates…
                       just for the taste of you
          so sweet on my tongue
(it lingers there as Ghirardelli does)

Do not give me pink stuffed bears 
if your arms will hold me 
                         on these tossed sheets
(embrace me tight and bridge this space)
                  I send (eyes open) 
crimson shed wishes
                       on passion tossed seas
and warm tender kisses
                                 I plead on my knees

Blood red hearts ooze on this page
 Every beat…(feel its rage)
           My heart emits
desperate calls….
                    a whisper on your wind
           (catch it please)

Unearthed flowers are useless…
they wither away
                       into the dust….
(though, calla lilies...if you must)

But you…
                 you are eternal…..

I want no message 
                      bought from hallmark
           (much too sterile)

Spill on pages words from you
            that breathe 
    the breath of life to me

Your heart….it is my reason....

Your soul…
It reflects a sliver satin shatter
                   dusting in my own 
A voice…it seems…
                    I have always known

Reminisce this…
Giggles on the pillow
Hushed morning voices
Precious tender moments
lost inside your eyes

Kiss me awake
                      with all your hunger
           (lips of desire)
           Catch this fire!
Tempt me hotly
                      with your touch
I’m still afraid
                when I feel this much
Make me mindless
               for suspended moments
Scattered within 
                   your dazzling brilliance
Flames of burning
                    tangerine
                             and rich ruby red
(much like the sunset sky)

“Good morning….my valentine…
         and good night…too”
        I will drink red wine
          and dream of you…

In sweet rainbows colors 
if your were mine....

Through telescope eyes...
My Valentine....

Details | Red Poem | |

still a rose

It's time to get the roses.
It's safe to plant now,
no danger of frost after 
Memorial Day.  Oh,
roses can handle frost
but not temperatures
of last winter that
killed them all. 

It's time to get the roses
for the house,
the roses represent something --
that I am still in the fight,
that the winter did not kill me.
It's about proving something
when there's nothing
left to prove. 

So why do I get the roses
at the garden center?
The selection is meager
really, apparently because
so many got their roses
before Memorial Day without 
regard to frost and mixed
emotions about it all. 

There are the red roses,
the Lincoln Rose, the 
Oklahoma Rose, the Double
Love two tone rose, 
red and white,
a few lavender tea roses,
just one a dusty orange,
funereal in their pots.

There is doubt
about this mission,
can't make up my mind
about the two tones, 
they remind me of fuzzy
wet toilet paper 
surrounded by an eclipsed
red sun in a red tide, 

a bit radical for my blood,
but exciting.
The fresh bloom would be
vibrant no doubt.
A rose of any name 
is still a rose along with 
the prominent Oklahoma Rose 
that gushes a red triumph.

OK, one tea rose, 
one Double Love and one
Oklahoma Rose will be 
the plan with three sacks 
of top soil on the cart
to stand in line 
with the many,
in peace. 



 




Details | Red Poem | |

Hellbound

He's Sick into His own Hands,

The Sink is too Far, The Cats

Saucer is Closer.


He Washes His Hands and Face

As The Cat Laps Contently at 

His Liquid Disdain.


His Face is Red and His Breath

Seems To Leak out of His 

Mouth, in Thick Chokes.


The Mirrors Reflected Image,

Contains Vague Resemblance.

He Smashes it, His Knuckles Bleed.


A Mist Surrounds his Feet, and

Creeps up His Legs, Devouring

Cloth and Skin.


Delirious and Shaking He Allows

It To Envelop His Body Up To

Chest, Below, Just Bone.


The Cat Had Finished it's Meal

Of Bile and Pre-digestion. Their

Gazes Match...

          - Did it's Eyes Just Flicker Red ? -

The Mist hit His Neck, There was

No Pain, Just A Numbing, The 

Pawed Feline, Just Sat, Staring.

          - He Could Hear It... -

He Screamed at it To Stop

Deafening Him With its' 

Relentless Taunting.

          - It Winked... -

The Mist Now Just Below his Nose. 

That Stare... The Extended Glance

Never Broke....It Was Him.

          - Welcoming Him To The Other Side -

                                         - The Mist Consumes Him -





Details | Red Poem | |

Blood of the Poet

Words like blood
pulse through paper veins.

Injected with emotion, 
they spill from the page, 
Staining the reader's hands 
with crimson fervor.

Vibrant and living, 
it seeps through skin
And into mangled hearts --
a sharing of love and torment.

Whether the tremor of sorrow 
or the rage of deepest passion, 
The words remain to bind us.

Details | Red Poem | |

Red lips ...

Hiding into the darkness of the alley
The wetness of the rain 
Soaked upon my skin
My nakedness shows through my cotton dress
My hair drips as the rain drops fall
My breasts are potent with influence
Your hand sweeps across to touch my raised nipple
A budding rose lays within your finger tips
A sudden urgency to kiss my red lips

A silence so aloud there is no crowd
A force as you tear away my cloth from my soul
I throw my head back as you pick me from the ground
My tense leg wrapped around you 
A must as you take a gasp as you enter 
A wildness of the rain a wildness of the act
Nothing to distract as the beating of the rain hits down

Moments of pleasure of once hidden treasure
My breath is forsaken of this making
A pace to hard to disguise
Lighting starts the thunder rides my blood
A love shown through ravishing within
Precious delight reach all magic pulses sing
My scream is cried out 
As red lips are kissed at midnight ...


Sarah Hales