- Status
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
1 All Mirrors, Avoided
It was Victoria on TLC
who first sold me--
Trimmed
Eyebrows are Critical.
The bushy top Next Top Model
should be sent home
and women at Target
who skip the tweezer aisle, scorned!
I see every pair
every stray hair
except my own.
I mean really,
who has time
for such vanity.
It was Victoria on TLC
who first sold me--
Trimmed
Eyebrows are Critical.
The bushy top Next Top Model
should be sent home
and women at Target
who skip the tweezer aisle, scorned!
I see every pair
every stray hair
except my own.
I mean really,
who has time
for such vanity.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,856
17-7
my intense
becomes your past tense
what is real seems
to generate fright
not self scared, or ashamed
and inadvertently
in your face
to make you feel
face up to
your own deal
it can't be as offbeat
as mine
letting myself go in
several directions,
my own dictations
scatter here and there too
my truth is known
self anchored far too long
living in fear
there is nothing here
to feel that way about
anymore.
my intense
becomes your past tense
what is real seems
to generate fright
not self scared, or ashamed
and inadvertently
in your face
to make you feel
face up to
your own deal
it can't be as offbeat
as mine
letting myself go in
several directions,
my own dictations
scatter here and there too
my truth is known
self anchored far too long
living in fear
there is nothing here
to feel that way about
anymore.
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
2-1 Commedia
There's a way in
to this victim's spine
thought the defense.
Where did the needle push, no?
No needle but there's something.
Was he a pimp (not unlikely in a club like that)
No.
A groom. (ouch)
on the night before
oh god not the grieving girlfriend.
NOT wearing her wedding gown
But the friend, a thug with a record
(shot 16 times, granted)
He must've said something about a gun.
That's right, the gun, my gun, the flip remarks
of young men in the last gasps of freedom . . .
They are careless then--it is an age of recklessness.
There must be something.
Damn the bullets. These were Men doing their Jobs.
Who keeps us safe, Judge? Some of us have lives to protect
don't we?
And then he paced.
There's a way in
to this victim's spine
thought the defense.
Where did the needle push, no?
No needle but there's something.
Was he a pimp (not unlikely in a club like that)
No.
A groom. (ouch)
on the night before
oh god not the grieving girlfriend.
NOT wearing her wedding gown
But the friend, a thug with a record
(shot 16 times, granted)
He must've said something about a gun.
That's right, the gun, my gun, the flip remarks
of young men in the last gasps of freedom . . .
They are careless then--it is an age of recklessness.
There must be something.
Damn the bullets. These were Men doing their Jobs.
Who keeps us safe, Judge? Some of us have lives to protect
don't we?
And then he paced.
Last edited:
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
2-2 Putting on Shoes
The beginning of the hum is so faint
fracturing at the edge of the air
that your brain hasn't registered
itself separate from its dream
and then the day that comes
presents itself and we rise to it
or we fail. You are on time, love.
Now swell your lungs with morning;
each day is a paper ladder.
The beginning of the hum is so faint
fracturing at the edge of the air
that your brain hasn't registered
itself separate from its dream
and then the day that comes
presents itself and we rise to it
or we fail. You are on time, love.
Now swell your lungs with morning;
each day is a paper ladder.
Last edited:
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,856
17-9
i write of dark color
or lack thereof, and
of angular objects
and of stings and burns
fucking like a fractal
mathematic maniuvers
through a sticky substance
some bodily excretion
indicating intensity
maybe not of the
sexual variety,
either.
i write of dark color
or lack thereof, and
of angular objects
and of stings and burns
fucking like a fractal
mathematic maniuvers
through a sticky substance
some bodily excretion
indicating intensity
maybe not of the
sexual variety,
either.
MeiohSetsuna
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 3, 2008
- Posts
- 750
1-1 Kitty cat
Go little kitty cat;
Run, Run, Run
Lets bathe all day long
in the warm sun, sun sun.
I like to play with my little bell
Mommy tells me that I'll go to hell;
But once again I'm a kitty cat
I gotta run, run, run.
Little mouse, dinner time?
Gotta catch you quick and sleek.
Owwie I smashed into a door.
It's time for me to sleep.
Go little kitty cat;
Run, Run, Run
Lets bathe all day long
in the warm sun, sun sun.
I like to play with my little bell
Mommy tells me that I'll go to hell;
But once again I'm a kitty cat
I gotta run, run, run.
Little mouse, dinner time?
Gotta catch you quick and sleek.
Owwie I smashed into a door.
It's time for me to sleep.
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
again-1
unwritten lines melt into sleep
fingers dream of keys
unwritten lines melt into sleep
fingers dream of keys
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,856
17-10
seventeen and ten
i make my own calendar page
the days to come are
nothing but self will
this is what it will
be like, i fold this thing
like oragami swans
destined only when driven
and i live for this drive
miles of stitched wounds
like train tracks over
desert
my mirage is just
in sight.
seventeen and ten
i make my own calendar page
the days to come are
nothing but self will
this is what it will
be like, i fold this thing
like oragami swans
destined only when driven
and i live for this drive
miles of stitched wounds
like train tracks over
desert
my mirage is just
in sight.
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
2-3 Para Optic
On the way, there are signs
and I scramble them together until they read
Hey mamacita, let's go dancing!
all from a shock of daffodils
bright gowned, lonely for deb's delight
and eyeing the crocuses across the street.
Floral prayers to clouds for warm rain
find sympathy in my ovaries
which thrum for basting.
The eye of the world is opening
taking us in with its big new shine.
On the way, there are signs
and I scramble them together until they read
Hey mamacita, let's go dancing!
all from a shock of daffodils
bright gowned, lonely for deb's delight
and eyeing the crocuses across the street.
Floral prayers to clouds for warm rain
find sympathy in my ovaries
which thrum for basting.
The eye of the world is opening
taking us in with its big new shine.
Last edited:
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
again-2 From the Emily Dickenson challenge eek!!!
The Diagnosis
The mailman appeared the morning
we first heard the alarm.
He came as if nothing had changed--
As if life could just go on.
At first I cursed this measure
of time. Another chance, gone?
Sleepless morning, solitude;
Another unsolved dawn.
Soon I believed he brought the answer,
So desperate for a cure
A breath of promise? Words
of hope? Into each note I tore.
Lies! I know, all self proclaimed.
I will wait no more!
We live the News inside ourselves
The Truth behind our door.
The mail man, he still daily comes,
I do not look for more
Clip coupons, skim the news
Of Peace beyond the cure.
The Diagnosis
The mailman appeared the morning
we first heard the alarm.
He came as if nothing had changed--
As if life could just go on.
At first I cursed this measure
of time. Another chance, gone?
Sleepless morning, solitude;
Another unsolved dawn.
Soon I believed he brought the answer,
So desperate for a cure
A breath of promise? Words
of hope? Into each note I tore.
Lies! I know, all self proclaimed.
I will wait no more!
We live the News inside ourselves
The Truth behind our door.
The mail man, he still daily comes,
I do not look for more
Clip coupons, skim the news
Of Peace beyond the cure.
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
?-1
Rusty
A child said what's metaphor? Throwing poems on the fire. Bible pages of lung flesh sticky came lose and in the smoke we watched the movie of us.
I slapped the chile, tied him up, slathered him with honey and stuck him on a red ant pile.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition out of flesh colored lubricate woven.
In the darkness of the jungle on the eve of the 26th year, some mourned the loss of teen, some mourned the loss of st behind the twenty number.
The child is screaming now in your head in the back round of the first stanza. Which is worse growing old or dying young.
I had a dream that I walked with god in before he was killed on the cross and I had grey hair. I was more proud of my hair then who I walked with.
Or I guess it must be the ability to see one thing in another.
or I guess it must be the ability to make them laugh, cry, grab their crotches in expectation.
The letters come down like matriculated rain, they fall into place and the elephant becomes a couch or a tool to remember. I dismember and you see me as I am inside my mind.
This is masturbation on the paper instead of into paper. You make my ego hard. Out comes little letters but I don't have to clean up.
Your eyes follow, it is realized.
Thank you for your part there's money on the counter. I hope that when you check our philosophy you don't find any of my mustard seeds.
Rusty
A child said what's metaphor? Throwing poems on the fire. Bible pages of lung flesh sticky came lose and in the smoke we watched the movie of us.
I slapped the chile, tied him up, slathered him with honey and stuck him on a red ant pile.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition out of flesh colored lubricate woven.
In the darkness of the jungle on the eve of the 26th year, some mourned the loss of teen, some mourned the loss of st behind the twenty number.
The child is screaming now in your head in the back round of the first stanza. Which is worse growing old or dying young.
I had a dream that I walked with god in before he was killed on the cross and I had grey hair. I was more proud of my hair then who I walked with.
Or I guess it must be the ability to see one thing in another.
or I guess it must be the ability to make them laugh, cry, grab their crotches in expectation.
The letters come down like matriculated rain, they fall into place and the elephant becomes a couch or a tool to remember. I dismember and you see me as I am inside my mind.
This is masturbation on the paper instead of into paper. You make my ego hard. Out comes little letters but I don't have to clean up.
Your eyes follow, it is realized.
Thank you for your part there's money on the counter. I hope that when you check our philosophy you don't find any of my mustard seeds.
Last edited:
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
?-1
Good ones copy, Great ones steal
you can hate me now
i want that, your vomit or the fists I don't care
passion electric play
more dead than awake
the poet's play ground
who has time for such vanity
this mental glue enslaves
it can't be this off beat
He must have said something about the gun
trapped perfection- close enough to dye the surface
your brain hasn't registered
some bodily excretion
Little mouse, dinner time?
fingers dream of keys
the days to come are nothing but self will
all from a shock of daffodils
another unsolved dawn
Rusty
Find your line and in the connection dream. Get lost baby. Go far out for me and find some new meaning. You can hate me now, I want that. Vomit or the fists. Rain on me righteous for taking a drop out of your sea and changing it to what I see.
Good ones copy, Great ones steal
you can hate me now
i want that, your vomit or the fists I don't care
passion electric play
more dead than awake
the poet's play ground
who has time for such vanity
this mental glue enslaves
it can't be this off beat
He must have said something about the gun
trapped perfection- close enough to dye the surface
your brain hasn't registered
some bodily excretion
Little mouse, dinner time?
fingers dream of keys
the days to come are nothing but self will
all from a shock of daffodils
another unsolved dawn
Rusty
Find your line and in the connection dream. Get lost baby. Go far out for me and find some new meaning. You can hate me now, I want that. Vomit or the fists. Rain on me righteous for taking a drop out of your sea and changing it to what I see.
Last edited:
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
?-2
The old man died
in the one bedroom, his life there was of drinking age
a life time of trash bags
stacked up by the cockroach paper curtians
stained underwear and christian news letters
rat shit carpet and bugs grown fat from the 80's
an empty fish tank with white mineral streaks
furniture that doesn't match and more coffee tables than anyone could have a use for
the plant my cousin gave him for christmas is at the right of the door, dead
we spray and spray and the house smells of mold
in the bachelor frig
fuzzy cheese and a book on how to become a new pagan
on the book case
the life of krisna, the masters path, the new testament on tape, an english to sanskrit dictionary, a kid's how to collection, Encylopedia of Letters, a dozen cookbooks with sweet teeth, records by Marvin Gaye, The (older) Jackson 5, Mahalia Jackson, Parlament Funk
We pick up what's let over from his life and stuff it into more bags
some will go to others, some will decompose and become leaves of grass again
old wallets make a map of cards, I trace them in my mind
A picture of the wife who died years before on the vanity
perfume, wigs, combs, church hats with flowers, make up - outlines in dust on the counter
was she the christian? did he switch his faith when she died?
did he ever cry over these totems?
I find a type writer with pages stuck to the inside,
he wrote of beauty, experiance and home - the philapenes.
I find a camcorder still in the box
I find a box of liquor, creatures with big mouths and sharp tails are singing songs about their lost lord
my cousin takes the rum and I take the gin
At first I was afraid to drink it. Would I become the dead man by drinking his sprits? I ask all my friends and they tell me I'm being too poetic
I take a bottle of Whiskey, some unknown brand, to the roof
I take the type writer and the poems
I read and drink till I slump, till the moon begins to worry about me, till I know his words and attempt to make them echo in the lady's crater
will my life end like this? a dirty apartment and no one who knew me interested in my belongings?
this is the old man's afterlife, I pay attention
The old man died
in the one bedroom, his life there was of drinking age
a life time of trash bags
stacked up by the cockroach paper curtians
stained underwear and christian news letters
rat shit carpet and bugs grown fat from the 80's
an empty fish tank with white mineral streaks
furniture that doesn't match and more coffee tables than anyone could have a use for
the plant my cousin gave him for christmas is at the right of the door, dead
we spray and spray and the house smells of mold
in the bachelor frig
fuzzy cheese and a book on how to become a new pagan
on the book case
the life of krisna, the masters path, the new testament on tape, an english to sanskrit dictionary, a kid's how to collection, Encylopedia of Letters, a dozen cookbooks with sweet teeth, records by Marvin Gaye, The (older) Jackson 5, Mahalia Jackson, Parlament Funk
We pick up what's let over from his life and stuff it into more bags
some will go to others, some will decompose and become leaves of grass again
old wallets make a map of cards, I trace them in my mind
A picture of the wife who died years before on the vanity
perfume, wigs, combs, church hats with flowers, make up - outlines in dust on the counter
was she the christian? did he switch his faith when she died?
did he ever cry over these totems?
I find a type writer with pages stuck to the inside,
he wrote of beauty, experiance and home - the philapenes.
I find a camcorder still in the box
I find a box of liquor, creatures with big mouths and sharp tails are singing songs about their lost lord
my cousin takes the rum and I take the gin
At first I was afraid to drink it. Would I become the dead man by drinking his sprits? I ask all my friends and they tell me I'm being too poetic
I take a bottle of Whiskey, some unknown brand, to the roof
I take the type writer and the poems
I read and drink till I slump, till the moon begins to worry about me, till I know his words and attempt to make them echo in the lady's crater
will my life end like this? a dirty apartment and no one who knew me interested in my belongings?
this is the old man's afterlife, I pay attention
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
2-4 Responsibility in Advertising
Why in green days does the impulse develop,
or not, the decision to slow before the curve
to squelch that slap and bite a lip in bitter mood?
A seed drinks its flavor from the tree.
How can anyone expect peace
from a blood-nursed infant?
A curse rises from each
ripped limb.
Yet this war ships in,
pipes profit out
and pretends
no one will smell
or count carnage.
Why in green days does the impulse develop,
or not, the decision to slow before the curve
to squelch that slap and bite a lip in bitter mood?
A seed drinks its flavor from the tree.
How can anyone expect peace
from a blood-nursed infant?
A curse rises from each
ripped limb.
Yet this war ships in,
pipes profit out
and pretends
no one will smell
or count carnage.
Last edited:
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,856
17-11
my muse
nothing more than
masturbation
the sensation
lessens every time
i come
the lesson every
time
unlearned
stroking my way to
a point of poetry
imagining another
here with me
a possibility of
future
human interaction
in tact and fact of life
this life of solo
goes only so
far
my muse
nothing more than
masturbation
the sensation
lessens every time
i come
the lesson every
time
unlearned
stroking my way to
a point of poetry
imagining another
here with me
a possibility of
future
human interaction
in tact and fact of life
this life of solo
goes only so
far
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,856
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
again-3
eye gaze melted mahogany
opened from milk induced daze
he catches my hazel
and his face changes, brightens
god, how to describe this feeling,
as he awakens
and lips curl into a smile around my breast
tongue still latched on
hands holding this softness
sustenance, this peaceful
all is right with the world
this delerium of connection
like no other this simple smile
this innocent belief that mother
will always be there close eye sleep
no words but breath
sweet warm
eye gaze melted mahogany
opened from milk induced daze
he catches my hazel
and his face changes, brightens
god, how to describe this feeling,
as he awakens
and lips curl into a smile around my breast
tongue still latched on
hands holding this softness
sustenance, this peaceful
all is right with the world
this delerium of connection
like no other this simple smile
this innocent belief that mother
will always be there close eye sleep
no words but breath
sweet warm
PandoraGlitters
Sandy Survivor
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2007
- Posts
- 2,457
2-5 Homecoming
The lip of shell opens and there is a bubble
guiding me to your entrance.
I fold myself into a tiny
paper crane so that I can squeeze past
crab clawed guards
into the opalescent room
under the crusts of armor
and I am surprised
by the small animal
that blinks with your eyes
and thinks with your words. If
I were an enemy, I would unfold
and cut with my thin edge
into your jelly heart.
But I am not an enemy. I love
you, improbably, despite
past battles. I wrap around you
like a paper cloak, confident
the wax of my worthiness
will save me from absorption.
The lip of shell opens and there is a bubble
guiding me to your entrance.
I fold myself into a tiny
paper crane so that I can squeeze past
crab clawed guards
into the opalescent room
under the crusts of armor
and I am surprised
by the small animal
that blinks with your eyes
and thinks with your words. If
I were an enemy, I would unfold
and cut with my thin edge
into your jelly heart.
But I am not an enemy. I love
you, improbably, despite
past battles. I wrap around you
like a paper cloak, confident
the wax of my worthiness
will save me from absorption.
.
Things about love?
Or should it be trust?
------------------------------------------
.
Differences in life and death
Some cash
Some friends
Someone to like
To be liked
-----------------
Even the best amongst us
Can sometimes tire of getting up
Punch-drunk from life's beatings
There is a door
Waiting to be opened
-----------------
So in laughter as in death
Life do us part.
Part of you silently screaming
The other as silently dreaming.
Life's labyrinths have no mercy
--------------------------------------
Kids are a blessing
And a sorrow to deep for words
Within the sun shines
Without the wind blows
Empty laughter.
-------------------
Things I dropped
Trust
Love
Hope
If anyone finds them
Return to sender
Things about love?
Or should it be trust?
------------------------------------------
.
Differences in life and death
Some cash
Some friends
Someone to like
To be liked
-----------------
Even the best amongst us
Can sometimes tire of getting up
Punch-drunk from life's beatings
There is a door
Waiting to be opened
-----------------
So in laughter as in death
Life do us part.
Part of you silently screaming
The other as silently dreaming.
Life's labyrinths have no mercy
--------------------------------------
Kids are a blessing
And a sorrow to deep for words
Within the sun shines
Without the wind blows
Empty laughter.
-------------------
Things I dropped
Trust
Love
Hope
If anyone finds them
Return to sender
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,856
17-12
a mind not so
mathematically inclined
but sure liking number words
the magic one is 22
my boots echo against
these wood planks
pace myself to
pace forever
a caged tiger
a nervous disposition
a ravenous appetite
and only a tiny space
a small green corner
of this planet
microscopic
from certain vantage points
but like you and yours
i am in solitary comfort
locked away
sharing the space
with memories
a mind not so
mathematically inclined
but sure liking number words
the magic one is 22
my boots echo against
these wood planks
pace myself to
pace forever
a caged tiger
a nervous disposition
a ravenous appetite
and only a tiny space
a small green corner
of this planet
microscopic
from certain vantage points
but like you and yours
i am in solitary comfort
locked away
sharing the space
with memories
AChild
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2006
- Posts
- 702
?-3
Odds
discomforted by happiness
a fly drowned in the sugar cane sauce
when did heaven switch to
hell in the abundance?
prick my skin to feel that I am alive
the blood gravel frescos,
spit from the purple face
my love, my maker, my father
chains the lever for love to pain
long ago
opium smiles - the black twin suns crescent
eye lashes twiddle
Odds
discomforted by happiness
a fly drowned in the sugar cane sauce
when did heaven switch to
hell in the abundance?
prick my skin to feel that I am alive
the blood gravel frescos,
spit from the purple face
my love, my maker, my father
chains the lever for love to pain
long ago
opium smiles - the black twin suns crescent
eye lashes twiddle
annaswirls
Pointy?
- Joined
- Dec 9, 2003
- Posts
- 7,204
again-4
Last year maybe winter, fall? It happened.
Brassblinds of silence fell cold between mind
and fingertips. Wool blanket wrapped tight and itch
held me in. Held it in.
I can't even say it now
cannot document how you
slammed shut the floodgates of emotional honesty
leaving me mute.
how suddenly it is just too private
how it is none of your business
how it is just too much
to write about
too much to lose
give me a ten year buffer
I will write it in cloudswirl and hailstone exclamation,
you know it's gonna fall. Someone better patch
that roof.
Last year maybe winter, fall? It happened.
Brassblinds of silence fell cold between mind
and fingertips. Wool blanket wrapped tight and itch
held me in. Held it in.
I can't even say it now
cannot document how you
slammed shut the floodgates of emotional honesty
leaving me mute.
how suddenly it is just too private
how it is none of your business
how it is just too much
to write about
too much to lose
give me a ten year buffer
I will write it in cloudswirl and hailstone exclamation,
you know it's gonna fall. Someone better patch
that roof.
Last edited:
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