Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.
I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
clichés, and repetition; I fall in love
with items that people throw to the wind,
kick around, and step upon.
I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn;
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.
The old man who sits in a rain-gorged gutter,
his fist raised to the sky in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly, beloved wife—
I fall in love with him too.
I fall in love with things that some people deem
as ugly, dirty, morose, and immoral.
The more I fall in love,
the more I love each moment,
including the pain, torture, and misery
that may unfold along the way.
Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I have already found.
If I write down treasonously teetering words,
the reader could assume such words
to be rooted in rage, or a cynical outlook,
when the words are actually birthed from love—
I love every word in existence.
I fall in love with the woman
who is too shy to have a sincere conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be grotesque,
when in fact, she is exquisitely gorgeous.
I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of seaweed
rotting on the shore, and the way her hair smells
baking in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
mesmerized by the essence that the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles, the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat, who, after she watched the moving truck
drive away, slunk around the alley in search of scraps—
over the years, she has proven to be a respectful
and loyal companion (so easy to fall in love with, again and again,
while maintaining the love I already have).
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms
when it shines through the cracked, antique windowpane
that I simply don't want to replace.
And as for the people who believe that it's impossible
for someone such as myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day,
well, I love them too.
2016 Pulse Remix, July 18th, 2016
(original version was written on April 6th, 2012)
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
Different eyes, the same world
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair
---Now listen to the colors, of transformation,
On the day she was born, the wind blew in,
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim
Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names.
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl,
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,
Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman,
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero,
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas tricked and captured,
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over,
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands
Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before the princess,
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
Why I am here in Poetrysoup?
I like a seed carelessly thrown
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow
despite big rough blocks..
words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas
but how can I?
When will I?
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava of emotions.
Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:
'til a shoreline glistens
in the name of hope
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.
Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built
slowly, slowly fell to short.
Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
sleeping poems from my head popped,
teasing and tickling,
unafraid, I bite every challenge
swimming, soaking, diving deep.
Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...
I clamor to learn,
I clamor to move on,
I clamor to sing,
I clamor to run,
I clamor to fly,
I clamor to soar
from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love
I hide behind the mask of metaphors
I tease torrid with personification,
I sassy seduce using alliteration
I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul
Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate,
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression,
this you and I yearn.
Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!
Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.
Finally, my congested suffering heart
today, beats systematically:
gratitude, I can only inhale
smile, I can only show
prayers, I can only blow...
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
Each one is unique
Each one has a style
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015
"How to tame the madness"
As I sit here, with intense dirty desire,
Tonight I think of you (the moon and stars)
To you, I send a redolent saimiri kiss
Read and breathe between fine lewd lines
Perfumed by the colors of the Enticing Equinox
Sensually, I create sweet serendipity
Inviting playful lips
Erotic wind and wild wanderlust
Streams like a river through time
I propose a good potion of wet lube
Take me to the furtive imagination of your soul
Embrace the tan and texture tonight
Touch the summer ripples riding high
Promiscuous and delicate, I advocate lust
A quilt meant for deep and trenchant love
I shut my eyes to feel an Orphic flora floor
Stimulating a hot, sultry siren kettle
On this night the tingle of passion penetrates
A hypnotic talisman that lets me, please
Inviting ----------- You
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015
Daddy never did understand.
That violence doesnt bring comfort.
A lost soul seeking acceptance from a unwelcome hand.
She was silent no one ever knew.
The secrets behind her bruised eyes.
A shocking victem none but all had a clue.
She cried to empty walls never speaking aloud from fear.
A confession of pain and shattred trust.
this is only what angles hear.
Scars selfinflicted are better than that
As she lays a broken shell gazing at the celling.
She questions if others know what will they say.
Doing whatever it takes to stay numb.
Innocence lost a parent should never betray.
The guilt was placed apon the wrong head.
Void of all emotion.
No child should yern to be dead.
At times it gets to uncomfortable so in
another direction we steer.
For at times it's just to painful to stomach.
What only angles hear.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
Hello there, do please come inside- no need to wipe your feet
excuse the mess, I fear you'll find it isn't very neat.
This place is always untidy, victim of my disorder
from old hang-ups to memories, I'll admit I am a hoarder.
In here hanging like mobiles, noisy, at odds with my feelings
are life's little distractions, niggling, swinging from the ceiling.
Careful with your torch, don't shine it underneath the bed
beneath it there is lurking a dark sprouting creeping dread.
Most people couldn't live with it, a disturbing thing to some,
as it cowers in the corner from the things still yet to come.
Tread lightly in the corridor, just mind out where you walk
you'll trip on my anxiety that bobs up like a cork.
The fire is stoked, the hearth is swept and logs stacked in a heap
my warmth to all well tended (well, except when I'm asleep).
Cardboard tubes in disarray, and more you cannot see-
plans I drew up in the past, none ever meant to be.
Mannequin in veil of black, arms raised as if to dance
with all my past relationships that never stood a chance.
This rocking chair, my temper, that sometimes I must sit in
and you'll notice that the varnish of my patience has worn thin.
My sense of humour's in the loft, protected by my hats
seemed like the right place for it, since my friends all think I'm bats.
That one small window by the beam lets my faith's light shine in
I'm sorry it's not brighter, window dirty from past sin.
Still, I can climb and open it to aim my telescope
for somewhere in the darkness lies the faintest glimpse of hope
that keeps me living here in peace and shelters me from sad;
you wonder why I live in here? Well, out there-
its just mad!
For contest 'Inside my head'- sponsor John Lawless
Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2015
```Pirate Bay the Haiku```
pirates fierce and mean
drowning fish, sea to sea
parrots on their butt
```Polly Wants A Cracker```
bloodthirst & brutal
Quartermaster Gone Wild
dirty wings on deck
```Sea World Adventure```
ship crew goes on strike
sailing the Caribbean
wooden leg splashing
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
He has no
longer his own will
Caught in the lion's caves
dark gray clouds closes sunlight
He wants but can not
nothing to lose,
is he a loser?
Thoughts about life
The past, no roses without thorns
Tomorrow will come
He sits on a bench in the park
cold and dirty
a half-full bottle of spirits
This is his life
a day without sunshine
He hears the lions roaring
trying to block out the sound
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2013
I am Tim
I am Tim
Tim I am
I do not like
Do you like
green eggs and ham?
I do not like them,
I do not like
green eggs and ham.
CUT CUT CUT.....That's Dr Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham....now why did I start writing that...Oh I know must have been the 500 times I read it to my 4 year old daughter last weekend...I asked her older sister and two older brothers but no I did read them Dad-I-am!
A father of four and proud of them all
Youngest is still short, my oldest- he's tall
Give to them my time, wouldn't have it any other way
Playing tennis, coaching baseball or driving to ballet
Hard worker, they say, a motor that wont quit
Adapt with a hammer, chain saw or drill bit
Not afraid to get dirty, greasy, smelly or wet
Work sun up to sun down with barely a sweat
My friends are my treasures, I hold them real tight
Each one is special but they all are a delight
If they are ever in need, I'm there in a flash
Bringing comfort, happiness, and the occasional cash
I am quick with the wit and enjoy a good laugh
Not too into vanity, a quick shower no bath
I am a lover of woman and a lover of life
I am married to nature she is a great wife
Grew up rough and tumble, clawing for scraps
Volunteer, mentor, teacher, wore many caps
Wear my heart on my sleeve, shy away from a spat
Tim, Timmy, Timothy...I am who I am and that is that
I am contest
I am male
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2014
(She's Got Cooties)
Bitter every night, she speaks of another man
In dialogues, she rips and shreds my brothers sheets
Her moves are naught more than an exposed wound
Riding dreams with no thought to spare
With eyes, that lie every night,
Even, I believe every word from her prune lips
Silent she auctions words into the breeze
My brother's heart is so brittle, it hurts
She is lying, he's dying, a fool just to feel complete
At this point he believes, she was kidnapped by apes
She's not the kind of wife that sit on a trophy case
Once she removes the makeup, her face is gone
She is gone, gone, gone,
A smile mocking infidelity,
I scream, I want to beat her brains in
My brother begs her to rest, he prays
His wife will wash her dirty mouth
A kiss that hurts as she takes the air away,
Pouring guilt, pretending it's his fault
After every sucker punch this past month
She left while he slept
A wicked in law, with no comparison
Breathing luscious sperm, she's a worm
Vacuuming another man's dream,
She is gone, gone, gone,
A weak link, wasting his time loving her
His heart murdered 19 years ago
My brother holds on to plain dumb hope
In hopes, she might stay longer than 3 days
His dreams are sweet, innocent and failed,
Yet he won't stop dreaming of her loving lips
Heating up to nothing when she's not there
She is gone, gone, gone,
Sometimes I just sit and wonder
What sort of man, sits awake with his eyes shut
Daydreaming of a long life dream
Then I realize if he can dream
Why Can't I
~Trashed #2, sponsor, Broken Wings~
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015
Yesterday, I followed her true invisible form
Colors turning a kaleidoscopic deep and warm
A state of mind, that makes reality feel alive
Stabbing moments that teach how tough it is to survive
And still this dagger is penetrating into my back real slow
Sweeping away the grimace under the rug in a one woman show
Illusive dreams asking for more and more
Sinking with doom, as karma sways through heaven's door
There she keeps her walk on stilts avoiding kismet
Removing every single footprint before sunset
Spending eternity planning the bliss we cannot see
Quenching my confidence, with a moisture that pleasures me
Arching a dirty deed, aiming all fingers that point at me
Spreading her demonic ecstasy, a mass of light weight, we can't see
A giggle-some laugh, I cannot hear
Tainted, in a nefarious way as the night disappears
Delighted, she glistens through the celestial world alone
A whisper of love with an impossible auspicious tone
Epic and exquisite, she works incognito striking whomever she wants
She Is The Enigma!" She Is the Illness~ that forever haunts
A mysterious lady whose perception flows with her own timeless oasis
An Empress is working on her own simplicity basis
My body impervious to react to conflicts that dwell with deep desire
Aggressively my defiant ways will allow her excessive universe to transpire
Like a lily we give in to the beauty of her empress exploding ravenous lust
It's magical and feeds off of the revenge that deepens with thrust
Down in the lilac valley, storming down like a glacier leaving nothing below
We caress we emerge, then we dust off the repellent of her forsaken glow
Leaving us with wounds, when our conflicts ricochet
Impacting us with a rebound when everything bounces back our way
She Springs in like a breeze that dwells and leaves gallivant
Past shadows, swing back with a darker chant
Leaving nothing but a Chinese Aster garden terrace
Her crown, sheer vixen and vigor with Victoria's fantastical lace
Her candle desalinate effect with a gentle glow
Everything to her is an issue with the results that come and go
Karma's punishments sail real slow, against the wind, waged by the zephyr
Rebuilding from the aftermath of, Karma's payback splenetic weather
Close your eyes and feel the consequences we embrace
Secretly every wage comes with reward from our hubris sin
A grasp with no escapes from the repercussion and deeds in our hearts
Doors spillover, in a significant unexplained phenomenal start
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
There was a time when I was young
To share an era that begun
From music to the fashion trend
TV shows and history
Fads and other mysteries
I saw them all as time moved on
From classic pop to rock and roll
Bill Haley and the Elvis craze
And four years in my Air Force phase
But Jitterbug still hung around
The big bands had that unique sound
Time moved on to start the clock
Fellini, Bergman made the mien
And Japan added to the pie
To film The Seven Samurai
Brando, Newman and James Dean
newly captured on the screen
Television's Golden Age
All the programs set the stage
For Gunsmoke and the Twilight Zone
I love Lucy, I married Joan
TV tubes were changed a lot
Wrestling shows were really hot
Mantle, Mays and Robinson
Took baseball to another rung
The coonskin cap and hula hoop
Duck tail hair and snapper soup
I wore one with a thick pomade
And ate the soup that Momma made
My fashion sense left much to judge
As if I had good taste for fudge
Pegged pants with a six inch rise
Ladys skirts were different then
Lengths that came down to their shins
Three inch higher was a sin
Still dirty minds existed then
In Belgium back in 58
I saw an exhibit on that date
The Sputnik with a cute stray dog
was launched so high up in the air
Before the U.S. could get there
Then the race to conquer space
McCarthy hearings, lives destroyed
The Cold War was our only plight
The Commies kept their nukes in check
And Castro entered on the scene
There were no hot wars left to fight
Days still continued as well as night
I share a new millennium
But today the future's not so bright
No more long hand, the laptop's here
Facebook and Twitter have conquered our sphere
The death knell has tolled for how life was then
Rekindle your past and live again
Ralph Sergi February 19, 2015
Decades by Kelly Deschler
Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2015
Listen to poem:
Play rain , play melancholic tunes
Play closely to my ear, I need to hear
I want to listen to Sinatra's toe-tap sounds
As you fall, fall slowly to the ground
outside my great-grandmother's house.
Play rain, Come down and break the silence
Bring puddles to the desert
Puddles far from clear, yet fresh enough
to jump into, to jump in muddy waters
to step within the dormant child
to free the one I'm not from who I am
Play rain, play melancholic tunes
Wash away my present ,So I recall my past
Let me find night's music
as you patter on the old tin roof
like a symphonic flute.
Let me search for who I am , who I was
why, and where
Why do I fight this little girl inside ?
This little girl who screams , who begs,
who yearns to run, to get her white shirt soaking wet
to splish and to splash , to be whom She's meant to be
Daughter of the wild.
Rain , rain, come again
Let those drip drops stream , over my shoulders
All way down my back, and across my thighs.
Let me sail upon your rivers
Holy waters - Dirty Waters
Any water, better than a dry land
where only cactus will survive.
Rain, rain, Let me feel your touch upon my lips
Rub gently against my skin
Let me taste your every trickle
Rebirth in me with all the blowing winds
Cleanse all sweet hypocratic lies, anytime
Tease me with your whisper
Evoke in me the childhood magic
Make it last throughout the years
Rain, rain, pour down your sky light showers
Let them hide away my fears
Fears, tears, Fears...and more tears.
Rain, rain , play and make me smile.
Inspired by Nikko's blog about Rain , Thanks Nikko !
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016
I walk and walk, without talking to anyone,
I walk here and there, to avoid their stares,
their scowls, their “poor lady” pity -
Do they know I used to be pretty?
Now I’m just a dirty nothing, dirty whore,
I walk till I can’t walk anymore.
I have no place to be, no place to go.
I sit for a moment when I find a spot,
a park bench, a doorway,
the outer corner of a parking lot
But someone always comes around
and looks at me with that disdainful frown,
I walk. I walk so I won’t get caught
I walk away looking down at the ground.
I feel so ashamed. There’s nowhere I can hide.
I try, though, I try. I stand in long lines
to find a decent place to sleep for the night,
but decent places are hard to find.
I’d rather lie in the dirt at the downtown park
than fear the rats that nibble in the dark
in bug-infested rooms with urine-stained mattresses.
I eat my food real fast, then hurry on my way,
before some men come around
and try to pressure me to stay.
I live in fear for my life every night,
It’s like a fist that hovers over me, constantly,
Like the fist he used on me that day,
my body beaten; the bruises have faded away.
I walk. I walk, to get away from the pain.
There is a church down on tenth and main,
the crowds come once a week to sing,
I see them, but they don’t speak to me.
One time I went inside, sat in the back,
sat there alone, ignored.
They didn’t even see me leave
as they sang praises to the Lord.
So I sleep in a doorway, in an alley down the street.
I’ve nothing but these filthy clothes,
and the shoes on my feet,
and I’m ok with being dirty, let me stink,
I hope I stink!
Maybe it will keep the stinking men away from me,
so I can try to get some sleep, rest my aching feet.
And then, when daylight comes again,
in the sunshine or the rain
I’ll walk and walk ...
to get away from the pain.
Inspired by Tom's "Being Homeless" contest
Domestic violence is a leading cause of homelessness for women and their children. (nedv.org)
According to VAWnet.org, “Homeless women … are particularly vulnerable to multiple forms of victimization including forced, coerced, or manipulated sexual activity.”
Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2016
I recall a dirty sidewalk
running in front of grandma's house
with bumps and cracks from the roots
of ancient white oaks
Meandering down to the levee
with cane poles and sack lunches
crickets and freshly dug earth worms
Barefoot in careless summers
I recall one low spot
beneath a straggly Chinaberry
filled with pitch-black delta dirt
washed in by summer rains
Shuffling through and digging down
burying our toes
Often now I recall
when the heavens are shrouded in grief
when darkness closes at the edge of vision
I recall a porch light flicking on in the distance
I recall grandma’s trembling soprano calling
calling me back home
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013
Had my heart not shattered into stainless steel shards,
I would have never been severed by a deck of playing cards.
Dealing with the black and red death of fifty two faces,
Shuffling wax coated cards looking for the bloody aces.
In tights worn and wasted, I've been the joker far too long,
Hands on the Kings sword, battles bow to the broken song.
Can I forgive you, for I cannot forget the agony,
A million lies and memories die under breath of me.
Paper cuts drip my poisoned blood in on the wax floor.
Fallen is this house of cards, I cannot stand you anymore.
Faces all they do is laugh at me, mocking my jester grin.
Chiming of these bells on my hat, heart broken harlequin.
Razor blade smile cuts open tear stained scars,
Burns on my palms from trying to reach the stars.
Withering like roses, blown away like ash in the breeze,
Wing clipped angel crawls on the ground with dirty knees.
Arrows hitting the bulls eye, painful piercing pride dies,
When is there ever any good in the saying of goodbyes.
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014
Shades of Poe , Speaketh
Shades of Poe oft run in my veins
dark, dirty little splashing stains
No Raven stirs my battered heart
nor any signs on my astrology chart
Dark mysteries seep in at night
shadowed beings birthing fright
Muffled sounds sent to alarm
evil crying to scare and harm
Then my soul cries out to Poe
help me now , for you must know
Remedy for this sad affliction
a spell to give quick eviction
Reply creeps slowly back to me
close your eyes to sadly see
Darkness that drives men mad
such my heart and soul once had
No cure can by me be so gifted
you need Light to be so uplifted
My words are my aid little as is
answer you seek can only be His
Son of Light only can save you
my darkness left me only that clue!
Robert J. Lindley 10-12-2014
note: Tis' the month the Dark spreads
its evil mists to kids tucked in beds,
scary voices crying muffled shouts,
battles and shadowed little bouts,
goblins, ghouls and witches now abound
imagine such and they are then found!
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014
A clutter of wood and dust and cobwebby corners,
And dappled sun shining through dirty windows;
On his work table a drawing; a project in progress,
And tin cans and jars of nails and screws on shelves.
Tools on hooks waiting for hands that will never come,
I touch the old tools like they were the finest of lace;
And I cannot help thinking, who will want all this,
He was a simple man, my father, and I loved him so.
His death was fast, no one expected him to leave,
In a blink he was gone, and all I have are memories;
I linger there with the dust that floats in the sun,
And I weep and weep for what I have lost this day.
Then, I pick up his pencil and on his paper I write,
I write this poem of pain and it is the beginning;
The beginning of my writing as an adult with soul,
I leave the child, that was me, and become a poet,
Written July 21, 1997 at 11AM
(one hour after my Dad's death)
Entered in the contest, Celebrating My Fav's,
sponsor, Andrea Dietrich
Entered in the contest, Any Poem, #36
(a poem that placed in one of her past centests)
For the contest, A poem written before Poetry Soup,
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
You never have time
for me,” her husband whined
as he dropped his dirty clothes
right there on the floor by the bed.
Trying not to roll her eyes, she gave
this quick response to her disgruntled spouse:
“The kids, chores and mishaps have me spinning,
and you tell me you feel rejected.
To have a blissful home takes two.
Consideration is key.
I’m also missing you!
To be successful
in our bed, take
time OUT of
it. . . for
A Double Etheree written May 27, 2012
for David Williams'
The Three H's Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
Save our children from slavery........
Our beautiful children are forced to hard labor by some of the evil people on earth
And they kill their soul.
Those little hands are holding hard tools instead of holding school books
Those little hands are touching dirty sand instead of their mother's hands
They listen to their evil men called masters instead of their school teachers
Struggling for their bread at infant stage instead for the struggling for their career
Mothers are crying for their children and want to save them from their darkness of future
Many years have been passed but not a single year has been cared for them
Because of our careless leadership our children are still living in slavery
Let us join together and save our little children from the hell of slavery.
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
All rights are reserved @ 2015
Copyright © Ravi Sathasivam | Year Posted 2015
Mardi Gras "The Medieval Story"
On a hot, heavy night in Orleans,
Joan and Jane were seen rubbing chest on chest
An inviting, intimate moment, to undress
Two pretty trimmed tops, eating like dames
They touched in ways, that drove those who make war insane
The secret spilled before the sun sprawled across the floor
Medieval England, banging on iron set doors,
All around men and women, wanting to witness the whiplash
Beads and beads of love, thrown at their feet
Joan' and Jane', having fun in front of, yesterdays courtyard
Sweet acts of flagellation were performed to stimulate the crowd
Screaming, and receiving, intense, brutal lacerations
In the eyes of endless nudity, everything wet in between
Left to right, a secluded society, dance in masquerade
Two men rise and ravage Jane, from hip to hip
Join-in, was a Jouster, and Lord Johnsburg,
They came in a little closer to claim, Joan
Closing, and inflicting as much damage as possible
Crestfallen forces of the unknown, -the audience grows
Remain firm and indulge this wet period of the Middle Ages,
The first crusade held stones in each hand,
Applauding to neck the beauty of friends
A noose hanging high held no head on this day
Yelling to feel the pain perils of anguish,
This was in reality the vassal of Jane
The King, ask to see them on their knees
Before he seeded, sending the Spanish tickler,
Fetching for the finest skin
At her end, Joan, watched Jane, spread like never before
Perfumed skin, rising up in smoke, -Joan's final stroke
Left burning at the Stake, In a Medieval World, from hell
The Siege of Joan and Jane did not end well
A lonely Bard, now sits and sings a sadistic tale,
A tale, of dirty deeds, -a dancing bloody masquerade
Joan and Jane, compensating for the Mardi Gras Parade
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014
There I see him sitting like a dummy.
Asking me for more shots of rummy
Talking about his detox days.
Talking about his poetic ways.
Rhyming my eyes comparing them to the moon.
Whispering lines saying he wants too spoon.
Next thing you know his words start getting deep.
Poeting out words revealing he's the family's black sheep.
His blood shot level was releasing his emotional word.
Dreaming that I was in a bath like a dirty bird.
Intoxicated with a breath so refreshing.
Designing me a thousand passionate ones in the meshing
Falling for his physical and mental temporary drunken state
His sense of intellectual things where hitting me real straight.
Swallowing his words like a forbidden love potion
I excessively indulged him with more alcohol to inspire his motion
Admitting to me that love was his downfall.
For me he fell from the stars and than began to crawl.
Proposing a toast for the sake of love
Rambling how I'm the only one he's dreaming of
Nourishing me with his ocean water of affection
Re-bonding his words for me to be his resurrection
Call me crazy for feeling the connection!
Allowing him to penetrate his poetry in me like an injection.
A character so loving above a 99% liquor proof test.
Romancing me with the disguise that he is the best.
Restraining myself from this drunken poet called my husband
Remembering that he is the one fool I can not stand
In his most charming rhyme he called me his rehab.
By that time I knew it was time to call him a cab.
Reminding him about his Alcoholic Anonymous class.
Now all of a sudden he starts acting like an a$$!
Putting his drunken sober poet mind to sleep.
Anyways tomorrow he will still be the same poetic romantic creep!
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
Silent Lies and Deception
In the silence of murky waters
There slithers oily snakes of the night
Wearing masks of deception
Beware of fools singing with Stalin’s tongue
The KGB shall set you free
Drowning you in the river Volga
The cold water keeping your lips tight
Whilst the silent ones spread their deceits
Lies, lies their dirty little lies
I wonder how their tongues wag and loudly sprout
So righteous, like imams with out a doubt
I call for radio silence
When comes the clique of hate
They say they have none, and
Maybe this is true
They run out at times, spreading it to you
Those who truly have good will and peace
Growing like flowers in a botanical heaven
Never spew the bloody insecticides here on earth
That alters the genes of peace in me and you
Beware of white sheep
That howls like the wolf at the full moon
A wise man knows the meaning of silence
Silent ones simply slither sneaky prose in the night
The Caspian Sea
Holds many ghosts who if not for death
Could tell you many silent tales
Of those with a million smiles and twisted masks
Seekers of the Silent Lies and Deception
Dead Sea and salty tombs
Silent in womb
Notes: The last poems Angel and Devil, about mans ability for both good and evil, I continued the theme here, by describing two repressive regimes, Russian under the likes of Stalin and Putin and the Palestinian one under Arafat. The poem is either incomplete or to be continued in a second poem, as in the end I inferred the Silent one Amina, a story about the repression and hardships of women in India. An excellent book by a great author Fiza Pathan.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Yesterday I dreamed a dream,
that had no end.
You in your white gown, and long, black hair flowing.
You were calling my name.
I heard you, but I couldn't reach you!
And when I say your soul was tainted.
You went out in the night life.
You dressed in your black, evening ball gown.
You danced till the Red Sun came out, over the horizon.
You smiled at me.
A flame in my heart burned red hot!
My knees and hands shook with nerves;
Nerves of love and joy.
I blew you a kiss,
but you turned away!
Oh, please don't turn away from me,
for I would die, if it happened again!
Your beautiful and golden heart showed me the truth.
The truth that every gentleman wants to hear.
I've seen you walk the streets,
in the blue dawn of August.
As I followed you, you stopped and looked at me.
You smiled so beautifully, and my heart fluttered into oblivion!
You walked with your friends and I went my way.
I couldn't find a single trace of you that day.
I cried out "Why did I leave her like this?!"
I looked for you, all over the courtyards and town squares!
Yet no sight of your beauty.
... No sight of your golden heart, that I hold so dear to mine.
Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
Why did I leave... that is the question!
I should have stayed by your side,
till the ends of time.
Yet I had left.
One gloomy and parish midnight.
I came along a road,
and soon found myself in front of a wayward cafe.
Smiling faces all around me.
I spotted a beautiful face that outstood all the other faces around me.
It was yours.
Your face brought me to sanity and I went over too you!
You spotted me and tried to run!
I caught you in the dirty hallway and pulled you in.
Our eyes met and I fell in love once again.
Sanity re-entered my mind, body and soul.
I kissed you and you kissed back.
You held my hand, and we left the cafe and walked down the street.
The street was gloomy, yet we together brightened the dark street.
We went back to the lit up city streets, of the lands filled with smiling faces,
and we fell in love and slept together.
You lay there in my restless arms and I gave you a sweet kiss,
upon your sweet and soft head.
Your dark hair was sweet smelling and felt of silk.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep with you,
there in my arms and we dreamed together
till the morning came and woke me up,
and took you away from my weak and weary arms.
I dreamed a dream of you.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few
Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess,
All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress
On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss
At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words,
Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect,
My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest.
Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude
All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude
Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink
Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice
Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers
Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please
The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease
Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late
Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure
Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure
He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue
Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin
Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue
2nd October 2012
Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest
Copyright © Shaz Cheesman | Year Posted 2012