Long poem by
Chris D. Aechtner | Details |
A Cardinal darts past, and I cannot quite discern if it chirps out of nervousness
towards the impending storm.
If so, the twittering of cell phones sound far more nerve-wracking --
portable typewriters encased in the soul-less facade of laissez faire;
of keeping track, of minding the flocks.
Yes, everyone is a poet these days, tapping away on miniature, plastic typewriters,
typing away the next narrative filled with prose pretending to be free verse.
Whether the majority is truly poetic or not, Frankenstorm surely is poetic;
named after Mary Shelley's, Frankenstein.
The poetic justice of it all amongst a tragedy of broken necks and drownings,
for the Shelleys were the epitome of Romanticism --
not of ritualistic bouquets bought from the florist who sells porn on the sly,
or of waxy chocolate made by children in clandestine factories built from the bricks
of Mao's dreams of anthills and selling short the power stemming from another poet
turned arms dealer.
No, the romance for life itself; to become poetry as poetry turns into us.
To find mystery in everyday moments; to distil this mystery, offer it to the reader,
so that the reader becomes drunken, swooning in a stupor towards worlds
that are 1,000,000 light years away.
Frankenstorm, the Haunting of Shelleys, lashes out at the dead poetry of today;
at the empty, listlessly inane, lazy poetry of today.
The brightest stars are falling into a void, turning away from the very essence
they so wish to express....only because they want to be unique, to be original,
to carve their own niche into the Jack O' Lanterns of a Hallowe'en quickly turning into cheap, dollar store decorations.
They still have hope. They still have hope, even if many further detach themselves
from their emotions with another dose of prescription pills meant to pacify;
meant to reign in the emotional beasts of imagination, until only zombies preserved in formaldehyde, remain.
I can literally feel the Haunting of Shelleys ask wot has become of us.
It used to be about work ethic and soul - one had to kick, tear, bite, simply to publish
a pamphlet that might be read by 10 people.
Nowadays, everyone is a supposed poet. A few clicks, 'submit', and people from all
over the world can read cotton-candy couplets, or a free verse rendition of another grocery list.
But we must embolster this with:
"They are only beginning; they need to express themselves;
they just don't care."
I don't want to be told about the pain, the tragedy, the beauty, the love.
I want to be shown.
I want to feel it.
I want to feel it squeeze my gray matter into a bitter-sweet drink;
I want to feel it go down.
I want to feel it warm up my heart, grip my stomach until the bottom falls out
and I am left careening down a shaft in an elevator with a broken pulley and rusted-through brakes, and just when I think the end has come, the elevator bursts through
a bottom which is actually the ceiling of a world now turned upside-down --
and by the time I right myself, have read the last line, there is still a remaining mysterious periphery of the cats that reside in the corner of my eyes;
purring, waiting until I come back to re-read that particular poem,
for it is so tantalizing, I want to come back to it over and over again
for the remainder of my years.
Storms will always come and go,
but I sensed the metaphorical message of the Frankenstorm very strongly.
Yet this doesn't mean that I will turn the message into fruition.
But I will certainly attempt to do so.
Within my delirium, I will continue to try distilling the intangible
into a drunken tangibility; even for the sake of simply trying.
And as I ponder, as I witness the present decay of humanity,
witness the state of today's poetry, I can only wonder how many more
Hauntings of Shelleys are possibly already brewing.
October 31st, 2012
My thoughts go out to those caught in the path of Frankenstorm 2012.
Such events move me very deeply.
*I have already posted this prose in a blog, because at the time,
the character-count exceeded the limit of poem posts.
Long poem by
Richard D Seal | Details |
Warning: Mature themes, though at the time.
Recollections of a Reckless Youth
Walking On Air.
I was young, I was fair, I was walking on air
For tonight was the night of the dance
To the girls I would chat about this about that
In the hope of a one night romance
As I walked through the door I surveyed all before
And saw, what words can’t express
She was there, she was fair, she was walking on air
As I ogled her little black dress
Then to my surprise, she fluttered her eyes
And I took this to be a good sign
If I played my cards right and she did not take flight
Maybe in an hour she’d be mine
We were getting on fine as I spun out my line
Thought, with drink or two I would ply
She went on about maths and explained all the graphs
As I mumbled dumb yeahs bye and bye
But I soon found the path to making her laugh
And she had, the sweetest of giggles
Which I did not mind cause my eyes they did find
She had the most wonderful jiggles
Took her hand with a tug, on the floor cut a rug
How her hips, she swayed so in time
As we rocked Mony Mony she proved was no phoney
Her moves, I thought were divine
How I longed to hold her, to kiss her pale shoulder
To have her if just for one night
To my will reduce her, to be her seducer
And love her till cold mornings light
Could it be right it was love at first sight
That drew me to this little Miss
Cause I could not part from the strains in my heart
That were giving my senses such bliss
Then out of the dark, he came like a shark
His blonde hair, fluffy and bright
He moved with such grace, had a pretty face
His teeth, all gleaming and white
Was her that he blamed as the woman he claimed
And was clear, she was going to sack me
Was it me dancing, me Fred Astaire prancing ?
P--lease, don’t say it’s me acne
I stood on his shoe and the air it turned blue
With words here I cannot repeat
The bouncers he knew and out me they threw
With a bumperty bump down the street
Kicked out on my ass, I was walking on glass
And the road home was lonely and cold
There’d be no sweet nuffins or hedgerow stuffing’s
And no warm bosom to hold
So I’d walked half a mile, still found no smile
Realising I had lost my cred
I lit ‘nother smoke, swore at some bloke
When thoughts, they entered my head
Could justice be sweeter, if one day I meet her
Discover, to he who waits
That she had slumped him, finally dumped him
As he told her he was Master Bates
Be something she’s fond, something like James Bond
And I doubt I would see her to thank her
Come to think of it, he’s also a twit
That Bond, he’s just ’nother w****r
Now hang on a tick and stop being a p***k
Don’t wallow in your own despair
You know she’s not thick and you’ll need a new trick
If this woman your going to snare
Now the cogs they did whirl how to capture this girl
For she was all over my mind
Of this sweet conundrum, the answer would come
Of that, I was sure I would find
As my key hit door I was happy once more
With words, I cannot express
I’d made a good start, into her heart
Now to get her, out of that dress
I was young, I was fair, I was walking on air
For next week was the night of the dance
To the girls I would chat about this about that
And who knows, might have ’nother chance.
As I walked through the door, it was her that I saw
And our eyes, they met with a knowing
Though she was unaware and I could not declare
The plan I was carefully sowing
Just as I’d contrived the bozo arrived
And he started to push me around
With a thump and a whack and an almighty crack
I found myself flat on the ground
Kicked out on my ass, I was sitting in glass
When a figure was stood by my side
It was my piece of skirt and she asked was I hurt
Oh, the joy, I hardly could hide
I swiped off the mud while she wiped off the blood
And decided to home I’d escort her
My plan had worked out and I now had no doubt
That I, had finally caught her
We cut through the park but there would be no lark
Not with, my new lady fair
And all the folk swore we defied Newton’s law
As sailed along, walking on air.
Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |
What I wanted !- What I got !
I wanted so much from you Moneca, my Dear,
your heart, passion, soul, your love without fear.
I always knew- for me – it wasn’t in you to give,
to accept me, consider me - with this I have to live.
I also knew, that for you, I am just above nothing,
nothing in the way of a man you’d be desiring
and in your heart, your soul – for me there is no fire
no flames to ignite – except for my funeral pyre.
I know, that somehow, I will have to let you go.
How to do so ?, I have to tell you, I do not know
for you are burned so deeply into this old heart.
To set free, get you out of me, I know not were to start.
You set fires, and lights flashing under me.
You opened my eyes once more, to let me see
and grow – now it feels, you have set me free
and with me, no longer want to be.
I remember the very first time I took you to dance,
A spontaneous act I thought might lead to romance.
That moment, experience clearly stated “ not a chance ”.
From the first, many moments that could have been, lost
for me, it has been of heartbreaking, horrendous cost.
For it has all come to not, nothing has come to fruition
as my beliefs, my desires – all lived without intuition.
I though I knew and had an understanding of you.
I wanted so much for my love to be, so you too
could get passed all that life, fate, karma never gave
and to know Moneca, that with me to the grave,
you will be special, all ways and always in my mind.
A lady like you – I am not likely to ever again find.
I live with all my failures and with your indifference.
I live with the regret that I was unable to fill all
the empty spaces in your life with what you needed.
I am sorry that I had no frame or reference,
no mentor, no higher power upon which to call.
I am sorry that I had not seen, had not heeded
your messages, lived up to be the man you looked for
and truly sorry, I am now on the outside of your door.
I truly wish Moneca, that I had made you feel special,
that I would have been able to have brought you through
and past all that has been the forces that closed you up.
I am truly sorry that you never would see in me
the capacity for being the man you wanted me to be.
I can not extricate you from my thoughts, my mind.
It seems you have been in my heart for all of time,
having permeated my life today and all my lives gone,
by the way, seems to be the lyrics of my melancholy song.
I was totally locked into you from the first time we met,
the day your beauty’s graced these eyes and yet
five years slipped by, with but a few words, and now
I feel, my time has run out, my life’s clock has stopped
ticking, you have let it run down and I do not know how to rejuvenate, rewind, bring back time that was dropped.
I am sorry that I did not give to you, all that I wanted
to share with you, all that this life of mine could offer.
I know Moneca, as long as I hang on to the memories,
the experiences I have enjoyed with you, my soul will die,
a little with the passing of each and every day,
until there is nothing left, as you and I fade away,
being nothing more then names in my books of history,
and the waning light, in the emptiness of that great night
that becomes loss, the eraser of this life and consciousness
You know Moneca, I will love you until end days,
be your friend, carry you within my heart always,
toughing my soul until we step from this plane
and onto others, and as pure light, us twain
shall travel as great waves, as sonic vibrations
through, to all unknown dimensions
that surround us, you being a part of me.
This I tell you Monica, for it will be - for all eternity !
These scraps, these specks, these flakes of my thought,
my feelings Moneca, are at an end, this is all I’ve got !
I apologize for anything written that may not
represent all the facts or some truth.
I realize that you may perceive me as uncouth.
Know my Dear, that I will no longer bore or trouble you.
B. J. “A” 2
January 18th 2009
Long poem by
James Kelley | Details |
For every step I take toward the sun,
the spark that lit the fire inside me dwindles.
History slated on unforgiving stone erodes;
A weakly chiseled dream.
But I will remember it all,
and tongues shall breed these words
and hold them with intent.
Oh, how we have fallen!
Mighty and meek alike.
We were once just, and strong.
But greatness has cast down it's
poisoned banquet and corrupted hearts
that once bled for glory.
It is with a bitter tongue I speak these words!
Remember the reason we set foot outside
of our city gates.
Remember the certainty in your hearts;
that we men would give people hope!
Hope for life without malice.
Hope for a life of freedom!
A chance for prosperity!
...but what prosperity have we given?
Short of the bountiful throng of arrows that have captured
the eyes of this land and left it's people in fear?
Does a just King rule with the might of fear?!
Or does a King rule with compassion?
I ask you men,
you loyal few.
What would you have me do?
Would you have me slaughter this woman;
this beautiful princess of her people and take her
home as a prize for conquest merely because her
husband was the one that stood in the way?
Is her beauty the cost of her life?
She has wronged not one of us,
and yet you Brakkdus scoff at the thought of
her surviving her King. Why?
Here I thought men of honor followed me,
I thought men of courage swung my blades!
And, yet you fear this woman who could no
sooner do you harm than your own from the
bed that you left her in!
No, Princess Xavia shall survive her King
and remain here with her people.
I refuse to conquer the land of a tyrant,
only to settle for it's fallen ruler's morality!
If that does not befit you, then surely I am not your King.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved
Princess Xavia's Response
I stand with humility before such valor
My people have borne
the burden of swords and arrows,
they are silent with fear and trembling before you
Which would be yours
to burden them with once again
yet you offer them freedom
and me my life...when you could shame not only me
but those who are entrusted to me
I would prefer to fall upon the blades of your men
than to become flesh passed amongst them
the destiny of a woman
who has became the chattel of a lost victory
My blood be shed before such shame
be cast upon me
Yet you.... you have offered me back my Kingdom
and restored my name
Gallant your soul in the shadow of such a night
beneath the dark stars
where only the flames of a burnt, ashen city
provide any warmth for my grieving people
You have offered them hope
through a frail vessel such as myself,
such honor is seldom written upon the hearts of men
in days such as these
Your compassion is a light in this darkness
these times inscribed with blood
such is this age,
when the voice of stones speak more gently
than the hearts of men
Dark are these days and black is the moon
of these nights,
in these lost reveries we journey through
dreams that have become nightmares
Yet strength has arisen in one man,
a leader who throws light back
at the fallen stars
granting the nights a moment of solace
for your honor has returned hope
a light stronger than blaze of the midday sun
And as I take back my broken people
we shall take refuge in your kindness and in that light of lights
shall we rebuild this Kingdom,
our sanguine ties shall bind us
and we will rise.
I gratefully accept my life
returned to me through your kind hands
And secretly, within a whisper
it is my prayer
that when I look upon your countenance
and the time comes
that I shall gaze into your eyes again
it shall be as the queen you have restored
to her throne and to her people
and who keeps quietly within the space between her heartbeats
and the hope that she will share her throne
should you find her efforts and her heart
(c) Katherine Wyatt 2013
Long poem by
William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |
Memories And Melanie .
My youngest Daughter
Taking a stroll, this day, through the pages of time.
Time that has passed into history, a history that is yours and mine.
That history, my Dear, are the memories, and the thoughts of a time
when a little of you, your life, your excitement was mine
to live in, to delight in, to give to, to participate in,
in that great adventure of a developing little Girl.
A little Girl, who needed so much more in her world,
much more than this poor excuse for a dad, gave.
Sadness to the grave, will I be, for all that I let slip by,
slip out of sight, never touched by the hands of this old man.
So much that never became a gleam in my eye.
Now, what never was, will never be !,
lost forever !, never to feel, never to see !
As I sit here, empty and alone, with me
and my memories, speaking in fleeting whispers,
in words, in word pictures that project
the history of my family, as I tried to protect,
with my life, as I see it before me, in ten thousand
three hundred photo stories that lay upon two thousand,
seven hundred pages of words and pictures that explain,
project, enlighten and give life to the thoughts and pain,
of those memories, those experiences, these photos,
to anyone who will, one day, get to see, in painful sight,
that compares not, to the pain felt, as you took flight,
a flight that is never to soar from this little soul, this beautiful Being,
this Girl Child of mine who’s name sings out in Melanie,
to tunes that I my never hear the sweet sounds of her melody.
Melanie, bound up, unable to be set free of the chains
that weigh her down, keep her from turning around, claims
her fragile soul, keeps it in a place, on a plane where her wings
are unable to spread, to soar, carry her spirit above experience and sings.
The songs I would love to hear before I go,
These sights I would love to see, a world to know
is that my Daughter’s wings spread to show
that my analysis, my understandings will flow
out of my thoughts and to believe that one day, it will be so !
In the meantime
You slip in and out of my sight
like a wisp of wind, caught by the light,
like smoke waves, particles of dust floating by,
like ghosts in the sky brushing past the corner of my eye,
lightly touching my lips with a Daughterly, kiss
– oh, how this, I will surly will miss –
then off again like a whirlwind, to escape,
- my heart, my soul, my spirit, this doth rape –
to the life of a teenage Girl, blown by the wind
– for this Mr. Mom, it seems a sin –
to the four corners of this world, life’s experience,
and I wonder what will be your dance ?,
and if you will ever know the essence of true romance ?
My expectations !, expeditions and adventures into
your thoughts, desires, dreams and in a direction you
may guide yourself into a future I am unable to see,
nor one in which you will confide in me.
I am truly sorry Melanie, that any of what might be
good in me, I did not give, to make live within you
all that is within you, that sometimes I do
not see in my state of blindness.
This, to you I must confess !!!
These things, my Dear, I look for, hope will be,
- but cannot seem to see – may never set you free.
These, the thoughts of You, even if the sight
is brief, the numbers few and far between
– in your hasty retreat, flight
from any close encounter –
brings a warm glow of light
to the long, empty days I’ve seen
and helps makes my life a little sounder,
bringing to an otherwise gloomy life, rife
with so much unnecessary, pointless strife,
thoughts and feelings that carry me through my days
and long, long nights of wonder, what will be your ways ?
Shine on my Beauty !!!
B. J. “A ” 2
November 6th 2001`
Long poem by
Richard Lamoureux | Details |
Sebastian looked at the moon, the source of his inspiration. When the Moon appeared in its silvery glory, he was profoundly moved to write. Sadly he could only write during a full moon. This was a problem which perplexed him. He had waited many days for the full Moon to appear so that he could put his plan into action.
When Sebastian would write a poem during the full Moon his readers would be moved to tears. His prose had wooed many a young heart, his songs had been sung to princesses. Countless women had named their children in honor of him. His words were distilled romance with power beyond the comprehension of ordinary men. The problem however was that Sebastian was unable to meet the demand. Strong men would beg for but a few lines to capture their true loves heart. Without the Moon, when Sebastian would try to write it felt like his tongue was wrapped around his hand. Nothing flowed little made sense, he was like an inexperienced teen unfamiliar with the ways of love. How Sebastian longed for the Moon during those long nights.
So here he was with his enchanted pen in hand, at the end of the pen was a golden strand. Sebastian went out to capture the Moon. He swung the pen in large loops over his head releasing it with tremendous force. The pen hurtled towards its target the tip of the fountain pen struck the centre of the Moon sinking deep into its surface. Sebastian pulled with all his might each movement of his hand brought his prize closer and closer. As the moon came closer there was no evidence it was increasing in size. Once the moon was in hand it fit perfectly in his pocket. Sebastian felt gleeful as he carried the Moon into his home, everything was going according to his plan.
Once inside he removed the Moon from his pocket and bathed in it's other worldly light. As Sebastian dislodged his pen from the surface it began to drip with the Moon's tears. Magnificent lines beyond anything he had ever hoped. Songs, poems, prose, the mysteries of the ages flowing onto his pages day after day year after year. His home overflowed with his treasures, the realization of his poetic dreams.
Still he had no joy, no one knocked on his door. Lovers could not walk in the Moonlight, wolves couldn't bay at the Moon. Romance was no longer in the air. The night was a thing to be feared. Sailors could not find their ways home, if they did their lovers no longer waited for their return. Some refer to this as the Dark Ages. Art creativity had all but dissapeared. The Oceans stood still with no Moon to guide the tides. Meanwhile Sebastian continued to write.
The Moon asked to see the Ocean so Sebastian took it for a walk. As they walked along a lonely secluded beach the Moon began to increase in size. The Moon summoned the Ocean to it's rescue. A huge wave came up on shore plucking the moon from Sebastian's hand. As the Moon was floating out to Sea Sebastian swam out to reclaim his treasure. Sebastian jumped on the Moon as a gigantic hand like wave tossed the Moon back into space. As the moon traveled back to its home it became larger and larger brightening the nights sky. Lovers came out to kiss captivated by the silvery glow. If they look close they can see a man with a fountain pen held in his hand. Wolves cry for him as they bay at the moon.
On the Moon Sebastian sits all alone with his fountain pen in hand, he fills the pen with his tears. He longs to write the words trapped in his heart yet there is not a page in site. Even if there was there is no one to read his words or to sing his songs. The Moon was once his Muse and then his greatest prize. Now it is his prison for the rest of time.
Long poem by
bahram sediqi | Details |
i dont know who is she i dont know where is she from i dont know what is she doing i dont know where is she leaving but if you saw her please tell her:
youre hair remind me of sunshine*you are perfect but its just fine you are the shimmer of coldest night*date palms feel jealous of your height
the ocean of your eyes is so deep*the color of red roses is a lone from your lips
if being with you is not fair*hang me with a peace of your hair hoping to reach you make me smile*the best wishes for you and your regrets are mine
hoping to reach you make me over come my fears* tell her that her holy voice is like music to my ears
just imagining that you are here*makes my eyes the river of tears tell her that her love is like flood*without her love i prefer to get sink in my blood
tell her that her love had filled my vessels*without her i prefer to cut this vessels tell her that i dream about her every night*tell her that her love makes me fly on night
the heat of her breath is burning my soul*her love wont let me sleep like a night owl
what if getting sink the ocean of her eyes is crime?i will burn in fire till the end of time if reaching her is so cruel*i will dream about her like a fool
her eyes are like ocean not like a pool*i will try to reach her till my lifes glass become full if one day i reach her oasis*i will over come my crisis
this world has always made me screw*theres lots of problems i cant pass through i dont want to know that is my dream is false or true*just tell me will my tall blond dream come true
the reason i dont speak is not shiness*if i approach her i will break my silence if she reach my heart walls*the walls of my castle falls
tell her that her love had destroyed my resistance* tell her that without her i dont want this existance
how can i make my self satisfied with some drink*when her love made my heart to shrink without her i cant sing i cant dance i cant think*if you know her please tell me some thing
shes the only flower of the spring*tell her that my tears are like a spring im asking her from fortune to bring*these rose gardens are her foot print
i can hear her name from canary that sings*im asking fortune to bring her to my ring my only dream has blue eyes*with my dream even hell is nice
oceans feel jealous of her eyes*if sun see her hair it wont rise words are not enough to explain her so they lies*shes price less but treasures have price
shes greater than black holes and hawkings explanation*she had destroyed the borders of my imagination
tell her that my heart is empty of temptation*its filled with best dreams and sensation
you are not lovely you are the meaning of love the perfection*if this whole world is ugly you are the only exception
you are the perfectness you are the heat of the fire*the ocean of your eyes had filled my heart with desire
my heart is burnt with your fire*so the ocean of your eyes should be admired if i said your the highest it can be im a lier*cause you are a million time higher
tell her that me and the night are both lonely*cause shes the best shes the one shes the only tell her that the beauty of her eye brow*is a million time more than rainbow
the wind in her hair has perfect smell*the smell that is alot more than i can tell
Long poem by
Jan Allison | Details |
Look out lads here we come
Couple of wild girls out for fun
Perfect hair and makeup's fine
Brand new perfume, we smell divine
Skin tight jeans, mini skirts and skimpy knickers
Can't wait for the party its theme is 'Tarts and Vicars'
It's Saturday night we're on the pull and we don't have a care
Gosh we look so gorgeous and make a stunning pair
Arrive at the party it is in full swing
Got my eye on a man without a wedding ring
Fella comes up to talk to me, he's an ancient bloke
What is it with the inflated ego of some men folk
'Where have you been all my life
I'll take you home you can be my wife'
I consider my answer carefully and look at him with scorn
Look - for the first ten years mate I wasn't even born
We have a cocktail and then we have another
We are really ‘best mates’ I couldn’t wish for any other
Do some disco dancing we both wiggle and shake our tush
Men swarm like bees round a honey pot, boy they are in a rush
Talk dark and handsome man comes and chats to me
I fancy him so much for my breakfast, dinner then my tea
Sadly from his demeanor he bats for the other side
Such a pity about this I could have been his bride
My poor mate is so flat chested her boobs are like fried eggs
She makes up for it in other ways she’s got the most amazing legs
She was wearing her ‘chicken fillets’ stuffed right down her bra
But her wiggling dancing dislodged one oh boy it flew so far
Landed on this gorgeous guy’s lap I think his name was Dennis
By the end of the night they were having fun and playing tonsil tennis
He said he loved his fried eggs he had them every morning
Think my mates pulled I can see a new romance dawning
As my friend and I are propping up the bar,
What is it I spy shining from afar
Something gleaming catches my eye,
Two glistening silver poles, oh we must have a try
Positioned over by the exit wall,
If we have a go we will have a ball
I grab her arm - we didn't need an invite,
Two pole dancing girls what a glorious site
Off come the jeans, of which I have to peel,
Revealing my flesh, so the lads can 'cop a feel'
Shame we didn’t know, we’d have worn our nipple tassels
They really liven up our act and give it razzle dazzle
So, up and down the poles we slide as if to win a prize,
Which to us is really easy because we 'Pole-Da-Cise'
In fact we don't just do it, it's something we both teach,
It has turned my wobbly bum into a well-toned peach.
As we grip around the poles with just our inner thighs,
All the men gather round and drool with staring eyes.
As we hang ourselves upside down and stretch out so far,
It's just pure luck that both of us kept our boobs in our bra,
Then we do the 'starfish' legs spread far and wide,
Definitely not a position if your modesty you wish to hide.
Glad I've got my thong on and my mate her skimpy knickers
Or we'd give an eyeful to the assembled tarts and vicars
The men who now surround us look at us with great surprise
They’re not staring at our bodies but looking at our eyes
Vying for our attention trying to get in on the action
Hoping between one of us is a physical attraction
Phone numbers are passed to us its like the yellow pages
Years since we had attention from men of all ages
You never would believe we were both in the over 60's club
Better head off home for a cocoa and a long soak in the tub
Collaboration poem for 'Girls Night Out' Contest. - Now the contest is closed I have added our names to the title as the contest was judged blind
Sponsored By Darren Watson
~Awarded 1st place~
31st May 2014
Long poem by
Therese Bacha | Details |
~Our Endured Love ~
Today and yesterday I am who I am not asking myself during
my life lived with you,how many times have I lost my energy
morally and physically, my answer everyday every minute every
That was the only way to search for solutions, discover a road
that would prevent us from getting lost again, I ask to allow
your soul remain generous protect me and my heart, walk together
face the sunshine, and seal our lips,
with a kiss.
Give me the whole of you, allow my body never to sleep, awaken
my instinct, allow the nights remain young, before our time is
over, I cant loose you, I prefer to burn alive, your power saves
me, your eyes when inflame they light our candle, and puts off its
flame with your tears, because I love you,
I am willing to vanish, leave my dead body as a gift to be free
from that pain, stare into my eyes, find me attractive, don't
break my heart, my life feels ignored when years ago it was
Today I do not know who I am without you, feelings abandoned
me, I prefer to live with my pain, my soul wouldn't want life without
love in it, which belonged long,
before to you.
We looked at our teary eyes for hours, we needed not to talk, just
hold each other for years to come, as we both cannot live without
one another, that is the power,
of our love.
He took me outside held my face into his strong hands, turned towards
the sun, and kissed my boiling lips. We both melted into each others
arms, kissing under the sunshine, I was marked by a strong reaction
Pulling from his pocket a letter gave it to me still holding me tight
he said,this is my answer to you, please read it.
To My Woman:
You have been very patient because you know how much I love you.
But in the past year I was living in the darkness within me unable to
forgive myself of feeling lonely,even if we were together,I was hiding
under my hood blaming myself of not working hard enough to support
you mentally,I felt I was not good enough for you as a husband,today
I promise you to bond our relationship with hardly no obstacles.
Our humor will be included,communicating,understanding,giving,loving
all those together will allow our solid marriage to evolve no matter what
were and what is and what will become. The circumstances of such a
future nothing will be allowed to shake it anymore I promise you that.
When I am with you,we will feel we will heal to seal our love we sleep
we dream we wake up we kiss we hug the bed is warm to sleep our
bodies heat cannot resist to shelter our hands from that heat when
burning lips utter whispers on fire our bodies under the sheets has
too much love. Oh come my love let us share our love like never
before your bodies smell awakens all my existence when
I am with you.
I ran to the bedroom undressed to put on a beautiful sheer night gown
to show him who I am in body and soul both so young our bodies were
crying out begging each other to embrace to share the compassion
through love making yearning for his lips his touch his eyes his voice whispering how much he loves me I was feeling a woman climbing
higher than expected if this is love I am a woman in love.
We lived till old age and never
did we not kiss under the sunshine.
Long poem by
Vee Bdosa | Details |
"Monsieur L'Vampyre Meets the Werewolf"
While walking on the path sublime
accustomed to at times, when I'm
just going neither here nor there--
but be content to only passing time;
from my Chateau near Poitiers,
I happened to a fine display
of cutlery, so very fine,
from sellers merely passing my own way.
Says I, I hadn't time to spare,
and no time then to see his ware,
but could at my chateau tonight--
the man replied, he had a problem there!
He then explains his eyes grow tired--
by dark, his sleep cannot be mired,
so he will send his daughter fair,
o! joy within my days, my heart was fired!
Anticipation all aglow,
I went to where I meant to go,
and purchased I, the finest wine;
then quick I got me back to my chateau!
O! How we laughed the night away!
My choice of wine, she never say,
And then I viewed her cutlery,
and told her I would buy the case this day!
The offer swept her off her feet,
I asked her, "if we be descrete..."
the proposition you must know,
is sharing this cool night, some body heat!
And so led I right up the stair,
as heard I music, ev'rywhere,
or maybe just the mood I be,
and in my private light, such beauty there!
Loved we, then well into the night,
I thought we'd rise with morning light,
and when she feigned into a trance,
I quick set in to make our loving right;
and as I moved a lock of hair,
revealing such of beauty there,
set I my teeth, to make the mark
for not a mark did I see anywhere!
Closed I my eyes, as she concede,
my teeth about to fill my need;
when on my shoulder were a pain--
so sharp--like I have never known indeed!
And in a moment, suddenly
so terrible, a cry there be,
a howling I'd not heard before
so harsh it chilled the very soul of me!
Her skin, once smooth unto my own,
was wrinkled and some hair had grown!
and my own blood be on her chin!
And in this dark we be there all alone!
And as I kept myself afar,
one hand held to my bleeding scar,
another howl of death there be
by someone else, who pushed the door ajar!
Just hairy, vile and in decay
was how they looked to me, the way
a rabid dog, I'd seen before;
and needing blood--as I need ev'ry day!
And carried he, just then I see
a blade from my own cutlery--
I'd just now paid my money down,
now they would use that very knife on me!
Such foaming of the mouths! I knew
there not a thing that I could do
unless I make it cross the room
where waits my derringer with bullets two!
She, groaning as if then she would
but leap on me and make it good!
But stepped I to the other side,
then runned I just as fearful as I could!
Then quickly grabbed it to my hand,
from off the chest, how I had planned,
just as her father camed my way
but steady then I grow, and made my stand!
I volleyed then with no adeau
a silver tip, the first of two;
deep in the heart attacking me,
and how he cried! But fell he as I knew!
But love hath pity if it start,
and love unfinished will not part,
so sank me there, the teeth of me
into her neck and to her very heart.
She fell, and back the same old way,
I'd loved so well that very day,
the fairest of the fair I knew,
and that is just how I would have her stay;
so fired I while she lying weak
into her heart just dark and bleak,
and how I cried the night away--
there are no words I know--to ever speak.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet