- Status
Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
7-5
The one acre lawn is cut like it’s going to war.
The blades have lost their ability to bend
and instead they stab the bottoms of bare feet.
In the middle there is a metal stake. A hydra
with three flower basket heads
each with a trail of petunia hair.
When I look closer I see they are plastic.
A static view that will never grow.
Next door the field is untouched. An oak
shades the grass and wild flowers. Each face
is unique and unaware that character
is often viewed as a blemish. Coloured petals
dot the green like red and white baseball hats
in a crowd. Nothing clashes and everything is to scale.
Here I can smell the earth and see my roots.
This is a garden and I will come again.
The one acre lawn is cut like it’s going to war.
The blades have lost their ability to bend
and instead they stab the bottoms of bare feet.
In the middle there is a metal stake. A hydra
with three flower basket heads
each with a trail of petunia hair.
When I look closer I see they are plastic.
A static view that will never grow.
Next door the field is untouched. An oak
shades the grass and wild flowers. Each face
is unique and unaware that character
is often viewed as a blemish. Coloured petals
dot the green like red and white baseball hats
in a crowd. Nothing clashes and everything is to scale.
Here I can smell the earth and see my roots.
This is a garden and I will come again.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,662
5
A Summer Poem
Another day, another poem.
This gets old, fast. But then
so do I. Get old, I mean—
fast.
.......So I look instead outside.
It's sunny, and that's odd for here.
The sky is blue. I drink some drink.
Here I should say
I think of you
...................but don't, you know.
I think just on this summer day
or don't think. Same thing, anyway.
A Summer Poem
Another day, another poem.
This gets old, fast. But then
so do I. Get old, I mean—
fast.
.......So I look instead outside.
It's sunny, and that's odd for here.
The sky is blue. I drink some drink.
Here I should say
I think of you
...................but don't, you know.
I think just on this summer day
or don't think. Same thing, anyway.
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
10.
Star Tears
The stars are crying
and I want to weep
with them,
to shed tears,
tears that are held up
by a frozen moon.
I remember when they fell
without warning, when I drove
and the road blurred
until it became ascension.
When the numbness scuffed thin,
I wished for death
to take me swift,
to lift me and leave me to cry
like the stars.
Star Tears
The stars are crying
and I want to weep
with them,
to shed tears,
tears that are held up
by a frozen moon.
I remember when they fell
without warning, when I drove
and the road blurred
until it became ascension.
When the numbness scuffed thin,
I wished for death
to take me swift,
to lift me and leave me to cry
like the stars.
Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
7-6
Conversations with the Female Mind
I almost cut a snake in half this morning
with the mower. Even after he escaped
my guilt over what could have been
coiled around my brain. You asked
why I cared. It’s just a snake.
In the end I decided I cared
because I don’t see the point
in being able to see the earth
from the space shuttle (you were confused
as to how we ended up in space)
if we can’t care for the creatures
in our own yards. (No I wasn’t trying
to make you feel guilty about not cutting the grass)
I cared because for that one second he was my snake
and I was his human and together
we are the world. (No I didn’t steal
that from Michael Jackson. Are you laughing
at me!) After I quoted Jacko, you made that face
that says I know everything about you
including how well you lie. (I told you lying
is necessary to the art of writing
so I cannot give it up) But even a liar
knows when to put the truth
on the table. I conceded that I mostly cared
about my near miss with the snake
because his guts would have been all over
the place and it would have been disgusting.
But right after being totally grossed out
came my desire not to end a life.
Conversations with the Female Mind
I almost cut a snake in half this morning
with the mower. Even after he escaped
my guilt over what could have been
coiled around my brain. You asked
why I cared. It’s just a snake.
In the end I decided I cared
because I don’t see the point
in being able to see the earth
from the space shuttle (you were confused
as to how we ended up in space)
if we can’t care for the creatures
in our own yards. (No I wasn’t trying
to make you feel guilty about not cutting the grass)
I cared because for that one second he was my snake
and I was his human and together
we are the world. (No I didn’t steal
that from Michael Jackson. Are you laughing
at me!) After I quoted Jacko, you made that face
that says I know everything about you
including how well you lie. (I told you lying
is necessary to the art of writing
so I cannot give it up) But even a liar
knows when to put the truth
on the table. I conceded that I mostly cared
about my near miss with the snake
because his guts would have been all over
the place and it would have been disgusting.
But right after being totally grossed out
came my desire not to end a life.
Last edited:
V
vampiredust
Guest
7-3
Changing the Fuse
Doubled in night, he reaches
through a playground of wire
on the bedroom floor, eager
to slip on his alter-ego body
and escape to rescue a rare
firefly trapped inside the boiler
room. Deepening the illusion,
life switches off in his head.
Wrestling rivers and knotted
branches, he hacks through
to the other side. Beginning
his final trek, he is oblivious
to the panthers waiting in his
bed, already carving out
territory with his sweat.
Changing the Fuse
Doubled in night, he reaches
through a playground of wire
on the bedroom floor, eager
to slip on his alter-ego body
and escape to rescue a rare
firefly trapped inside the boiler
room. Deepening the illusion,
life switches off in his head.
Wrestling rivers and knotted
branches, he hacks through
to the other side. Beginning
his final trek, he is oblivious
to the panthers waiting in his
bed, already carving out
territory with his sweat.
TheRainMan
black & tan
- Joined
- Nov 15, 2005
- Posts
- 1,497
10-14
.....
.....
Last edited:
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
1-1
(gulp. Here goes.)
What to do with you
When I am next with you I will press
both of my hands flat against your chest.
It will make you real
It will be all I can think of to do.
Gem-precious beast, I love your polished bones,
your earth and steel,
how you divide me. I remember
how I prophesied you, put you
into my sleep. Your arrival is as sudden
as satori; it is
the clap and shout of the monk.
When I am next with you I will take
your heart and mouth up into my hands together
and find the ribbon that stretches between them.
I will uncoil your spine from its helix foundations
stretch a serpent flame from the tip of your cock
to the tip of your tongue.
I will place your fingertips inside me two places
and turn you into a battery cable
run current through you, powered
by the solar heat in my belly.
It will make you real.
It will be all I can think of to do.
(gulp. Here goes.)
What to do with you
When I am next with you I will press
both of my hands flat against your chest.
It will make you real
It will be all I can think of to do.
Gem-precious beast, I love your polished bones,
your earth and steel,
how you divide me. I remember
how I prophesied you, put you
into my sleep. Your arrival is as sudden
as satori; it is
the clap and shout of the monk.
When I am next with you I will take
your heart and mouth up into my hands together
and find the ribbon that stretches between them.
I will uncoil your spine from its helix foundations
stretch a serpent flame from the tip of your cock
to the tip of your tongue.
I will place your fingertips inside me two places
and turn you into a battery cable
run current through you, powered
by the solar heat in my belly.
It will make you real.
It will be all I can think of to do.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,662
6
Staining the Deck
My palms, my calloused knees
rest on its wood. My back is bridge.
I slather spirits on a stage
on which my part is to crawl off
sometime before the end of day.
It is a small part, one I play
just once in every couple years.
The bridge supports, my arms and legs,
should by rights be now replaced.
Fatigued, they barely bear their load,
but soldier on, bear-like and tough.
My thought, because I doubt, I am
now thinking cogito ergo done.
I need a beer, and not just one.
Staining the Deck
My palms, my calloused knees
rest on its wood. My back is bridge.
I slather spirits on a stage
on which my part is to crawl off
sometime before the end of day.
It is a small part, one I play
just once in every couple years.
The bridge supports, my arms and legs,
should by rights be now replaced.
Fatigued, they barely bear their load,
but soldier on, bear-like and tough.
My thought, because I doubt, I am
now thinking cogito ergo done.
I need a beer, and not just one.
Last edited:
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
11.
Giving Away Hugs
She is dressed in winter woollies,
body rounded under the warmth.
Sign held high, her mouth curves
through the bitter wind that bends backs
and crisps white collars.
She offers a fireside,
a step into arms
that will melt away the cold,
a sanctuary that dispels the rats
and dispatches all thought.
For a moment, the sun is caught,
they bathe together
reluctant for the release.
She births warmth
and they multiply smiles.
Giving Away Hugs
She is dressed in winter woollies,
body rounded under the warmth.
Sign held high, her mouth curves
through the bitter wind that bends backs
and crisps white collars.
She offers a fireside,
a step into arms
that will melt away the cold,
a sanctuary that dispels the rats
and dispatches all thought.
For a moment, the sun is caught,
they bathe together
reluctant for the release.
She births warmth
and they multiply smiles.
4degrees
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2004
- Posts
- 5,857
13-24
amble down the hot
yellow line on black, like
a dog halfway lost but
smelling faint notions of
a bitch's piss, somehow like
a guiding star, the smell
is stronger than ever before
home at last.
eventually crying is secondary
murder is formost fertility
dig out rows, bold holes to sow
self inflicted fuck me raws
jaws of death scraping vertebre
inverted world of joyful pain
run down by a semi
broken heart, don't let's start
this viscous triangle
misconception and eagle's talons
shred me into bits of sorrow.
amble down the hot
yellow line on black, like
a dog halfway lost but
smelling faint notions of
a bitch's piss, somehow like
a guiding star, the smell
is stronger than ever before
home at last.
eventually crying is secondary
murder is formost fertility
dig out rows, bold holes to sow
self inflicted fuck me raws
jaws of death scraping vertebre
inverted world of joyful pain
run down by a semi
broken heart, don't let's start
this viscous triangle
misconception and eagle's talons
shred me into bits of sorrow.
V
vampiredust
Guest
4
Telephone
She keeps all her memories
inside her telephone.
I can hear them in the
background whenever
we talk, a mass of voices
separated by space-time
and quantum theatrics.
Sometimes she'll let them
out for air, unscrewing
the potato-masher head
and releasing them
onto the kitchen surface.
Not one has escaped
in all the time we've spoken.
They are all smeared
with her scent and my
breath is their chain,
dragging them towards
me whenever one steps
out of line or wants out.
Telephone
She keeps all her memories
inside her telephone.
I can hear them in the
background whenever
we talk, a mass of voices
separated by space-time
and quantum theatrics.
Sometimes she'll let them
out for air, unscrewing
the potato-masher head
and releasing them
onto the kitchen surface.
Not one has escaped
in all the time we've spoken.
They are all smeared
with her scent and my
breath is their chain,
dragging them towards
me whenever one steps
out of line or wants out.
TheRainMan
black & tan
- Joined
- Nov 15, 2005
- Posts
- 1,497
10-15
.....
.....
Last edited:
Sara Crewe
Whatever
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2006
- Posts
- 1,692
7-7
I will walk alone down cement stairways
at 3:00 am with every intention of hurting
any shadows that try to take
what I don’t want to give. I will jump
from planes and accept that impact
might be hard or soft depending on the wind
and whether my time has come. I will
speak to crowds knowing I control
only the order of my words
and that even the gentlest ears
will sit in judgment on everything
I say. I have never been a hero
but people call me brave.
I used to think it was a compliment
but now it seems like an excuse
to leave me tied to the tracks
with the assumption that I will escape
unaided while everyone saves the airhead.
She gets the attention while I rub my wrists
to ease the rope burn
and then while she's carried off
I sit alone, wondering
who’s the stupid one.
I can cross the road on my own
but I would rather hold someone’s hand.
Competence does not equal a robotic nature
where logic wins every round
and emotion is not even invited to the table.
Maybe if there was an absence of bouquets
and applause for everyone I wouldn’t mind
my empty hands but I am human
and I do. Unfortunately for you
and the sake of simplicity I am also female
so when you read this and come to me
with roses and a box of shrink-wrapped compliments
I’ll tell you it’s way too late. I stopped
caring about you yesterday.
I will walk alone down cement stairways
at 3:00 am with every intention of hurting
any shadows that try to take
what I don’t want to give. I will jump
from planes and accept that impact
might be hard or soft depending on the wind
and whether my time has come. I will
speak to crowds knowing I control
only the order of my words
and that even the gentlest ears
will sit in judgment on everything
I say. I have never been a hero
but people call me brave.
I used to think it was a compliment
but now it seems like an excuse
to leave me tied to the tracks
with the assumption that I will escape
unaided while everyone saves the airhead.
She gets the attention while I rub my wrists
to ease the rope burn
and then while she's carried off
I sit alone, wondering
who’s the stupid one.
I can cross the road on my own
but I would rather hold someone’s hand.
Competence does not equal a robotic nature
where logic wins every round
and emotion is not even invited to the table.
Maybe if there was an absence of bouquets
and applause for everyone I wouldn’t mind
my empty hands but I am human
and I do. Unfortunately for you
and the sake of simplicity I am also female
so when you read this and come to me
with roses and a box of shrink-wrapped compliments
I’ll tell you it’s way too late. I stopped
caring about you yesterday.
Last edited:
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
1-2
If I end up on meds to deal with the panic attacks this exercise gives me, I'm starting donation fund in Literotica to help pay for them. I'm just sayin'.
Sweetcorn
makes
only one ear. Every stalk
puts all its thought,
its thickness and every wide leaf
toward that single idea. It stretches
toward the beating sun, opening its hands
to drink for the sake of
that single thrust
from the side. Stand
in the row when it's grown
above your head, and you can hear it
wrestling itself larger, forcing the fuse through.
The ears jut toward you
hanging heavy and forward
sheathed in juicy green,
and the tuft of soft blond hair
tempts you to pull,
to open: it's a clean sound
the strip of rough leaves
folded back from pale flesh
thick in the hand, bursting hot
and full of a heartbeat.
Press the new soft flesh
with a fingertip
and watch the juice
drip sweet from your hand.
Corn God.
Oh yes.
If I end up on meds to deal with the panic attacks this exercise gives me, I'm starting donation fund in Literotica to help pay for them. I'm just sayin'.
Sweetcorn
makes
only one ear. Every stalk
puts all its thought,
its thickness and every wide leaf
toward that single idea. It stretches
toward the beating sun, opening its hands
to drink for the sake of
that single thrust
from the side. Stand
in the row when it's grown
above your head, and you can hear it
wrestling itself larger, forcing the fuse through.
The ears jut toward you
hanging heavy and forward
sheathed in juicy green,
and the tuft of soft blond hair
tempts you to pull,
to open: it's a clean sound
the strip of rough leaves
folded back from pale flesh
thick in the hand, bursting hot
and full of a heartbeat.
Press the new soft flesh
with a fingertip
and watch the juice
drip sweet from your hand.
Corn God.
Oh yes.
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,662
7
Some Free Advice on Writing Form Poems for the Avid 30/30ist
Stuck writing thirty poems in thirty days?
Just think of two iambic lines that rhyme—
you're on your way. Yeah. Write a triolet!
Stuck writing thirty poems in thirty days?
Easy way out: two rhymes and you're OK,
you're brilliant, even, way ahead your time.
Struck writhing, writing poems for thirty days?
Hell. Think what two iambic lines can rhyme!
Some Free Advice on Writing Form Poems for the Avid 30/30ist
Stuck writing thirty poems in thirty days?
Just think of two iambic lines that rhyme—
you're on your way. Yeah. Write a triolet!
Stuck writing thirty poems in thirty days?
Easy way out: two rhymes and you're OK,
you're brilliant, even, way ahead your time.
Struck writhing, writing poems for thirty days?
Hell. Think what two iambic lines can rhyme!
Last edited:
tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
4-1
In Flander's Fields
They come to read
They come to listen
Poets, prosers, wannabes
enthusiasts and admirers
They sit perched upon chairs
placed in rows like the furrows
in the surrounding fields,
leaning this way and that,
signaling with their body language
varied purpose and intensity
The words flow forth rich and fragrant,
settle like a fog upon the present,
carry each to different destinations
He is transplanted to the past,
hears her voice echoing
from some foreign place,
sweet sustenance rising like sap,
seeping into the hollows of his soul
too long an empty shell
Now his seed stirs, he sees her
tall, graceful, slender yet voluptuous
Her bounty spilling out, ripe and full
begging to be bitten into, inviting total immersion
Her hair a golden crown , spills like corn silk
about her alabaster shoulders.
As entwines him within her folds,
the heady aroma sets him spinning,
and he wishes the words would last forever
In Flander's Fields
They come to read
They come to listen
Poets, prosers, wannabes
enthusiasts and admirers
They sit perched upon chairs
placed in rows like the furrows
in the surrounding fields,
leaning this way and that,
signaling with their body language
varied purpose and intensity
The words flow forth rich and fragrant,
settle like a fog upon the present,
carry each to different destinations
He is transplanted to the past,
hears her voice echoing
from some foreign place,
sweet sustenance rising like sap,
seeping into the hollows of his soul
too long an empty shell
Now his seed stirs, he sees her
tall, graceful, slender yet voluptuous
Her bounty spilling out, ripe and full
begging to be bitten into, inviting total immersion
Her hair a golden crown , spills like corn silk
about her alabaster shoulders.
As entwines him within her folds,
the heady aroma sets him spinning,
and he wishes the words would last forever
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
12.
Simplicity
They dance barefoot,
clothes seem a necessity
for the cameras.
Smiles bring sunshine to their faces,
both pink of cheek
and mud-caked crackling.
They are happy
eating home grown gardenings,
these creators of land diving
who barter life with tusks
and carry home in their hearts.
Orange sunset backdrops,
white sand and simplicity.
Halo olgeta Vanuatu.
(http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/5172254.stm - i see Rainman saw the same news item that i did.)
Simplicity
They dance barefoot,
clothes seem a necessity
for the cameras.
Smiles bring sunshine to their faces,
both pink of cheek
and mud-caked crackling.
They are happy
eating home grown gardenings,
these creators of land diving
who barter life with tusks
and carry home in their hearts.
Orange sunset backdrops,
white sand and simplicity.
Halo olgeta Vanuatu.
(http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/5172254.stm - i see Rainman saw the same news item that i did.)
V
vampiredust
Guest
5
The last of the pioneers
Clouds move like oxen
across a postcard sky.
Down below, cacti
watch a solitary car
turn off the freeway
and fill up their water
from a mummified tap.
They have brought
no-one as an offering.
An incoming breeze
takes away its regret.
Its slow dripping mourns.
The last of the pioneers
Clouds move like oxen
across a postcard sky.
Down below, cacti
watch a solitary car
turn off the freeway
and fill up their water
from a mummified tap.
They have brought
no-one as an offering.
An incoming breeze
takes away its regret.
Its slow dripping mourns.
tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
4-2
Safari
A man might go his whole life
without finding love, so rare
a beast it is. Lust is a different thing
entirely, tight balls and hungry hips
resulting more often than not with babies
being born ( look around for evidence),
and their petrified, unprepared parents
who spend the rest of their lives trying
to protect and provide for those results
of a moment of primordial passion,
At least if the kids are lucky.
No love is something completely different,
springs at you out of the bushes
when you least expect it. You’re so scared
at first you fight it, until you look it in the eyes.
You see something strangely familiar, which demands
further inspection, like the bottom of a pond
beneath its shimmering surface, draws you in
Before you know it, you are swimming in it,
inhaling, submerging, frolicking
as arms and feet flail sending droplets
irridescent as precious gems flying
in all directions, evidence you have discovered
that rare treasure for which there is no map
Safari
A man might go his whole life
without finding love, so rare
a beast it is. Lust is a different thing
entirely, tight balls and hungry hips
resulting more often than not with babies
being born ( look around for evidence),
and their petrified, unprepared parents
who spend the rest of their lives trying
to protect and provide for those results
of a moment of primordial passion,
At least if the kids are lucky.
No love is something completely different,
springs at you out of the bushes
when you least expect it. You’re so scared
at first you fight it, until you look it in the eyes.
You see something strangely familiar, which demands
further inspection, like the bottom of a pond
beneath its shimmering surface, draws you in
Before you know it, you are swimming in it,
inhaling, submerging, frolicking
as arms and feet flail sending droplets
irridescent as precious gems flying
in all directions, evidence you have discovered
that rare treasure for which there is no map
- Status
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