Circling the drain my world’s changing,
trying to salvage the best parts.
Naiveté and those soft hearts,
they slide down disintegrating.
The hardest fist is now banging,
this is how sour becomes sweet tarts.
Circling the drain,
a potent aroma’s stinging.
Dingy is how all the growth starts,
everything’s fresh after cleaning.
With focus you’re harshly scrubbing,
circling the drain.
There's this guy, he's tall, wears glasses, brunette, thin,
He's so sweet, always nice and respectful.
The way he crinkles his nose and looks down with a smile,
She could just watch him for a little while.
He blushes ever so slightly when he speaks to her,
As if he's nervous or maybe a little giddy.
She tries to keep her cool, act like she's not phased,
But inside her heart is racing, she's dazed.
His laughter is a symphony, a song in her ears,
Washing away all of her worries and fears.
She loves the way his glasses slide down his nose,
And the way his polite, respectful demeanor shows.
And when he talks, she feels like the only person in the room,
The rest of the world fades into a hazy blur.
She gets lost in his eyes, a beautiful sight,
And the way his gentle, innocent smile shines so bright.
When he finishes, she feels a little weak,
Just savoring the gentle, respectful way he speaks.
I was lost after a night out and
couldn't unlock the screen for directions
you walked to the pub you can't be far just
ease yourself over this railing and
slide down the wall so you can take a
short cut through the car park
cursing all the while but
I know the tube station's nearby
and it must still be open
pushing the On button over and over
swiping this way and that
screaming with rage at this useless device
####ing this and ####ing that
now this isn't the way to the station
and I hear her voice coming through:
- is that you, why did you call me?
are you in trouble?
still the screen is black
- yes I'm just a little lost
- you sound very scared, in fact
it doesn't sound like you at all
Genesis 2
As the dewdrops slide down the tomato
Silent thoughts turn to you
How you love to plant a garden, eat
The fruits, but not a stew
God planted a garden for man
Man was given a command
To tend the grand garden planted
Now what happens to the land
Husband of mine still tries to tend
While scientist still mix
Potions to destroy the whole world
Then earth they can't fix
In the garden, dirt on your hands
You are content again
Out in the heat, sweat on your skin
Will you die out there in pain
Baby swing unused for eight years
Glider has sat dormant since 2019
Dual slides; who was the last one to slide down them?
I do not remember because it has been a while
I congratulate myself on making this play park into a dog park
The dogs use the underside of the slides for shade
They have dug holes around the pool
Now our little dog is making mud pies with his paws
Life requires adventures sometimes
So that we can gain courage all along
I'm telling you, slide down from here
And your troubles will disappear then
Come and try it, it will be interesting
It's better than being alone at home
With your thoughts and being bored
It's good being childish sometimes
Recall the old fun play hide and seek
Than facing the world in matured form
Life so serious when facing the world
My face is grown likely into a full man
But heart feels still when in my twenties
Age is number and is biological too
The younger eat and drink sweets
The older eat meat and drink hard
This makes sense as life grow colder
I miss the time when body get tired
And the mind admit his daydreaming
Now the body is reacting to aching
This is how life is grinding like wheels
While the mind think with complexity.
Soft serenade in a sanctuary of velvet dream
Lovely hues in luminesce blooms dance a meloncholy breeze
Dreamy and surreal
A sanctuary of dewdrops
Slide down a bent branch to redeem
Tranquil turquoise touch rich amber
Leading to a garden grove
Posies sway in an orchestrated ballad
As two bluebirds flutter and float
[]
Young one full of dreams
eyes wide with intrigue
peers from a window
with joy
As grammar sits quiet
threading a needle...
I'm still here
I stepped into the shadows
I haven’t gone away
I didn’t want others to see the face of sorrows
I’m still here
It was so much easier than I could convey
I just didn’t have the words
But I’m still here
The pain was too much to bear
I took time to sit and watch the birds
I had to let my soul repair
However, I am still here
Occasionally, a tear will slide down my face
And I still feel like my heart is on its last beat
But I am still here
Then I try to remember God’s wonderful grace
And tell myself that I am complete
I am still here
I am a child of the Most High
Despite all my failures and my hurt
I will not listen to another lie
This is where I will assert
I am still here
In Loving Memory of Katie Knox
4/15/2025
© Deborah Seale 2025
Seeking Answers from within,
Staring into its reflection,
The projection of my eyes,
Creating what's lying inside,
So that I can enjoy this ride,
As I slide down into you,
Riding along sharing my view,
Excited to see what you do,
With the body you built for me,
Evolving through Adaptability,
Trusting when you couldn't see,
Everything was meant to be,
The good bad and ugly,
All a part of eternity,
Starting from within me,
Questions entered in the query,
Become answers i can see,
Feel and touch in my reality,
Being free to experience,
Dancing with the answers,
Now a truth transfer,
To place here in my heart,
Thankful I can play my part,
Living life like its an art.
Ask again you're getting smart.
I will never feel your wetness slide down my cock
Simply because I do not have one.
I will never know your texture beyond 3-4 inches
Simply because my fingers are not long enough.
I can hold you and kiss you,
But I wonder if my longing for you will ever be satisfied.
I can make you cum,
But would it really be me or the toy you hold?
Will I ever have that pride in making you scream?
Can I provide something for you that you can’t receive from a cock?
Do you appreciate it even though we are operating with boundaries?
Say what you will about men,
But at least the equipment is already installed.
Even gay men can fully engulf themselves into another person.
Women are different.
Women must rely on stimulation and imagination.
Although, I feel like my imagination can only carry me so far.
‘I found an explosive quill
down on the streets of New Orleans.’
It’s fun to share who I am and also learn from other writers. There was a discussion on the idea to let yourself get lost inside of another world. I made sure to speak a reminder of the inner child. The one who wasn’t jaded by their transformation as they got a little bit older. Remember to dream visit the sea occasionally. Another poet said ‘Let go of the restrictions of human eyes when you write. Speak to a smile unforgettable and a laugh infectious.’ Which reminded us of children, and how they color outside the lines. Make sure you say it how you want to. Slide down the stairs and destroy the box they try to throw you in. ‘Give yourself to your pen AND your deepest fantasies.’ I took that mantra away with me as I left the writers’s retreat.
Laced with Bald Cypress
my Muse tastes the Big Easy;
A sweet southern heat.
.
i pluck the bud
i latch to it
it's tight
and carry it (with utmost)
into mine
think's loft
resting it front mine
vision
tip'n mine tea
past
mine mawz
it's slide down
mine
gullet
whilst mine frenetic
digits
spill
mine find
White powder is softly falling out there,
And the temperature is getting low,
But I, in my soft fleece, am warm in here.
I hear the sound of those having a scare,
As they slide down their driveways even though,
White powder is softly falling out there.
Cars and trucks are still wrecking everywhere,
For no one knows how to drive in the snow.
But I, in my soft fleece, am warm in here.
The FedEx truck has crashed right over there,
And people rush to the stores even though,
White powder is softly falling out there.
Cars are sliding ‘round and drivers despair.
They call the garage to give them a tow.
But I, in my soft fleece, am warm in here.
Everywhere there is yelling in the air
As chaos comes with the covering snow.
White powder is softly falling out there,
But I, in my soft fleece, am warm in here.
I dial Dad, in early morning.
The youngest of three
in her family, his birth-day twin,
his cousin passed away.
I look at the snow covered branches
as the sun comes up, this side of heaven.
Should my heart be heavy, tears
streaming down?
They’d only freeze at these temperatures,
and slide down the slippery slope
of my steep driveway.
My grand wanted to escape his home,
yesterday, but I couldn’t chance
to end up in a ditch across the street.
He flapped his wings to make an angel
in the snow, but didn’t get enough time
outside; I thought they’d wear him out;
where did childhood go?
I remember the feel of frozen cheeks,
sledding down hills (he so wanted that!);
can’t judge. Each household runs
on its own steam of responsibility,
but, oh, how I wish for him, he could
have stayed out late, slipping and
sliding, agape…how much do kids
miss out today; why can’t they play
outside of virtual reality. Oh, has
Cousin J. been set free to fly
in whatever way her heart desires?
Hope so, and with my mom,
and Aunt J. too; enjoying her rest.
God bless!
Never do we dream of the once-upon-a-somber-song to fade away,
as moments from the milky moon begin to twirl and sway.
A murky mist of miscalculated mystery makes haste,
sneaking its way along the deserted hallways of locked gates,
weakening the rustic joints of porcelain pillars straight down to untouched floors.
Why must it wait for the sun to be its guide?
For in the darkness, love too can be the greatest tide.
Can the curiosity of a claw discover the depths of a divine madness?
Or could these fangs find themselves vehemently festering
in the corners of unwelcome elements?
Let a limb take its quest along the walkway to the endless sea.
Taste the tortured tears crawling down these decaying knees.
Hold unflinchingly to the fire that aches to roar—
do not let it scream, for it conjures for more.
Time can prepare a frozen glass to let little condescensions
slide down an auburn wood.
Yet something about a restless evening
makes an iron fist feloniously curl up,
as if it so sensationally should.
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