- Status
V
vampiredust
Guest
Phenomenon
Craters are formed
from stars dropping
into a glass of milk.
A god wipes off
crumbs. Avalanche.
Craters are formed
from stars dropping
into a glass of milk.
A god wipes off
crumbs. Avalanche.
so sad so sad so very sad
my hearts a flame and died
the popping of the popcorn shrimp
jumbo sized deep fried
she said she truely loved me
to her holding hand I tied
she kissed me with an open mouth
might have known she lied
now she sings of her freedoms
and in my shadows I hide
so I see end of things in everything
and watch the bitter tide
my hearts a flame and died
the popping of the popcorn shrimp
jumbo sized deep fried
she said she truely loved me
to her holding hand I tied
she kissed me with an open mouth
might have known she lied
now she sings of her freedoms
and in my shadows I hide
so I see end of things in everything
and watch the bitter tide
V
vampiredust
Guest
Salmon Farm
We are governed by tides
who let us out of our cages
at precise intervals to watch
us fight in a bullring of ice.
They stand with their clipboards,
measuring how quickly we slip,
the angle blood flows, who dies
and who hobbles back for mercy.
No-one has told me who they are,
whether they have a life outside
the ring or if they are just angels
with alabaster wings, repenting
for sins we don't know about.
I don't know the answers, I am just
a fish.
We are governed by tides
who let us out of our cages
at precise intervals to watch
us fight in a bullring of ice.
They stand with their clipboards,
measuring how quickly we slip,
the angle blood flows, who dies
and who hobbles back for mercy.
No-one has told me who they are,
whether they have a life outside
the ring or if they are just angels
with alabaster wings, repenting
for sins we don't know about.
I don't know the answers, I am just
a fish.
V
vampiredust
Guest
Reflection
He reads verse
because he thinks it's easier than prose
(he thinks it grates the back of his throat)
He likes the fly
in his prune and leek broth
(he thinks it's cool)
He hangs around the underground
but never buys any tickets
(he likes to stop and stare)
He never buys clothes
but always reads fashion magazines
(says prayers to Armani)
He never travels
on airplanes or trams
(he hates their decor)
He ignores the cold
(even when its strangling him)
He reads verse
because he thinks it's easier than prose
(he thinks it grates the back of his throat)
He likes the fly
in his prune and leek broth
(he thinks it's cool)
He hangs around the underground
but never buys any tickets
(he likes to stop and stare)
He never buys clothes
but always reads fashion magazines
(says prayers to Armani)
He never travels
on airplanes or trams
(he hates their decor)
He ignores the cold
(even when its strangling him)
MinorMonster
Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 7, 2006
- Posts
- 40
droning dialog monolog,
audio book trot-a-plot
in earphones
a scrap newspaper
in hands and eyes,
autonomous of intention,
trailing text
a boisterous bellow
cackle converstion
behind my back
in a crossfire of story
I lost them all
pause, curse, mutter
retrace, rewind,
pump up the volume,
close your eyes,
wrap one melody
- only one -
around your mind
audio book trot-a-plot
in earphones
a scrap newspaper
in hands and eyes,
autonomous of intention,
trailing text
a boisterous bellow
cackle converstion
behind my back
in a crossfire of story
I lost them all
pause, curse, mutter
retrace, rewind,
pump up the volume,
close your eyes,
wrap one melody
- only one -
around your mind
V
vampiredust
Guest
Gulls mew like lost kittens
as I walk along the promenade
watching waves crash
into the piers' steel legs,
slowly breaking apart muscle
and bone hidden from view.
If I had my camera with me,
I would have taken a photo
of its movement, a perfect
replica of life itself. I have
not seen its opposite yet,
there is only roughness
and I am still waiting
for the smooth.
as I walk along the promenade
watching waves crash
into the piers' steel legs,
slowly breaking apart muscle
and bone hidden from view.
If I had my camera with me,
I would have taken a photo
of its movement, a perfect
replica of life itself. I have
not seen its opposite yet,
there is only roughness
and I am still waiting
for the smooth.
FifthFlower
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 13, 2006
- Posts
- 488
His Fault
Her boyfriend saw her spread her knees
To show another guy
What's up her skirt. A simple tease
Could make another cry.
"It's all your fault," she calmly said,
"I have my rights, you know."
The others laugh. His face turns red.
It's time for him to go.
The lady said, "Don't call me bitch.
I've had enough of you."
She flies away. "She's such a witch!
"She's gone. I'm glad we're through."
Hot blame gets done without regret.
You can't undo the past.
The rain has started. "You'll get wet."
It's best to leave here fast.
I liked your poem, lobomao! Just taking the idea in a different direction.lobomao said:
Her boyfriend saw her spread her knees
To show another guy
What's up her skirt. A simple tease
Could make another cry.
"It's all your fault," she calmly said,
"I have my rights, you know."
The others laugh. His face turns red.
It's time for him to go.
The lady said, "Don't call me bitch.
I've had enough of you."
She flies away. "She's such a witch!
"She's gone. I'm glad we're through."
Hot blame gets done without regret.
You can't undo the past.
The rain has started. "You'll get wet."
It's best to leave here fast.
V
vampiredust
Guest
After The Flood
After the flood, you wandered through
the city, hoping to find something
to take apart and rebuild. But everything
was like it was before, as if someone
had created an archive of the city
and placed everything inside, restoring
it once the last of the floodwater
had receded. Walking past a boarded
up cellar, you thought you heard voices
calling you. But that was only the wind
teasing you through the cracks. Lamp
-posts ignored you, postboxes scowled.
When you came home that day, you took
apart your torso, placing your arms and legs
on your desk. You wanted someone to fix
you, so you could see what wasn't ticking.
After the flood, you wandered through
the city, hoping to find something
to take apart and rebuild. But everything
was like it was before, as if someone
had created an archive of the city
and placed everything inside, restoring
it once the last of the floodwater
had receded. Walking past a boarded
up cellar, you thought you heard voices
calling you. But that was only the wind
teasing you through the cracks. Lamp
-posts ignored you, postboxes scowled.
When you came home that day, you took
apart your torso, placing your arms and legs
on your desk. You wanted someone to fix
you, so you could see what wasn't ticking.
tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
I see him in the window at the mall
sitting at a table among the ravages
of the food court, as the coyotes pass
in packs on the prowl, pre-holiday feast
he has the look of one too many winters
the signal fires which used to dance
in his eyes inviting and hopeful, flicker
smothered from trail dust of the herds
hair once vibrant as waves of summer wheat
now lies shocked and shorn, as if harvested
by some manic day laborer, uneven unkempt
allowed to remain fallow far too long
the pallor of impending storm has drained
the color from his skin, the crevices
which cross his countenance suggest
he has suffered more than his fair share
of silent nights and solitary mornings, presented
in the uncertainty of this season, where ice
and cold are seen as welcome, only by those
who have a safe refuge to give them shelter
sitting at a table among the ravages
of the food court, as the coyotes pass
in packs on the prowl, pre-holiday feast
he has the look of one too many winters
the signal fires which used to dance
in his eyes inviting and hopeful, flicker
smothered from trail dust of the herds
hair once vibrant as waves of summer wheat
now lies shocked and shorn, as if harvested
by some manic day laborer, uneven unkempt
allowed to remain fallow far too long
the pallor of impending storm has drained
the color from his skin, the crevices
which cross his countenance suggest
he has suffered more than his fair share
of silent nights and solitary mornings, presented
in the uncertainty of this season, where ice
and cold are seen as welcome, only by those
who have a safe refuge to give them shelter
V
vampiredust
Guest
Blood
Blood retains memory
the way a piece of wood
has archived 1000 generations
of memory in its knots and whorls.
Even when it has dried up,
the memory is still there,
absorbed by oxygen atoms,
giving the air a familiar smell:
not of roses or of that pail
of water you might have carried,
but of those you kept hidden
in drawers, away from your parents
eyes: his letters, sealed not with a kiss,
but with a drop of blood concealed
in the wax-seal - his memory
waiting to be breathed in by your lungs,
so you would feel it swirling inside,
a locket giving you warmth even when
there was none.
Blood retains memory
the way a piece of wood
has archived 1000 generations
of memory in its knots and whorls.
Even when it has dried up,
the memory is still there,
absorbed by oxygen atoms,
giving the air a familiar smell:
not of roses or of that pail
of water you might have carried,
but of those you kept hidden
in drawers, away from your parents
eyes: his letters, sealed not with a kiss,
but with a drop of blood concealed
in the wax-seal - his memory
waiting to be breathed in by your lungs,
so you would feel it swirling inside,
a locket giving you warmth even when
there was none.
V
vampiredust
Guest
Because this is Christmas
there are always symbols familiar to us:
the Christmas trees in the square
standing tall and taut like skyscrapers,
the grotto in the department stores
handing out gifts to children
who are only there because their parents
said so, and who smile at the camera
out of politeness,
the lights of the cranes outside,
glowing like lit cigarettes, furnishing
the cold with artificial warmth,
like the fake wreaths spraypainted
in gold and silver,
because someone thought
it was festive.
Our cold breath absorbs these images
the way water retains memory,
storing them in a hidden chrysalis,
which is never thawed out.
It is permanent, and never turns
to water, to be returned to the earth
and give life something that might
need it.
That is Christmas.
there are always symbols familiar to us:
the Christmas trees in the square
standing tall and taut like skyscrapers,
the grotto in the department stores
handing out gifts to children
who are only there because their parents
said so, and who smile at the camera
out of politeness,
the lights of the cranes outside,
glowing like lit cigarettes, furnishing
the cold with artificial warmth,
like the fake wreaths spraypainted
in gold and silver,
because someone thought
it was festive.
Our cold breath absorbs these images
the way water retains memory,
storing them in a hidden chrysalis,
which is never thawed out.
It is permanent, and never turns
to water, to be returned to the earth
and give life something that might
need it.
That is Christmas.
RhymeFairy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 24, 2005
- Posts
- 8,719
you do not want my words, for they
are to volatile to express outloud.
for the world
to hear
actually grasp
that I want you. just you.
to awaken with every morning
to help carry your load when all
seems lost. to love you
appreciate every lil smile
word, whisper that escapes those
thin lil lips
those two curves of half moons
that show and share with me the light
that shines from every flower, tree
and brook that streams down
icy mountains gaze
upon adam and eve
as they truly were meant to be.
no leaves, just hot spring water
pouring, caressing every curve. splashing
across his tiny nipples as she leans in
to partake of his earthy offering.
taking and giving
sharing and loving
respecting all this world has to offer
only,
I am not allowed to say it.
I cannot honestly even think it.
long in the dark
I have stayed, wishing
worshipping
knowing it is all for naught.
stupid snake ...
are to volatile to express outloud.
for the world
to hear
actually grasp
that I want you. just you.
to awaken with every morning
to help carry your load when all
seems lost. to love you
appreciate every lil smile
word, whisper that escapes those
thin lil lips
those two curves of half moons
that show and share with me the light
that shines from every flower, tree
and brook that streams down
icy mountains gaze
upon adam and eve
as they truly were meant to be.
no leaves, just hot spring water
pouring, caressing every curve. splashing
across his tiny nipples as she leans in
to partake of his earthy offering.
taking and giving
sharing and loving
respecting all this world has to offer
only,
I am not allowed to say it.
I cannot honestly even think it.
long in the dark
I have stayed, wishing
worshipping
knowing it is all for naught.
stupid snake ...
V
vampiredust
Guest
The Immaculate Conception
They found her buried deep down
a fox hole, wrapped in a blanket
of deer bones and cut reeds.
There were no three kings that night
nor a bright star in the sky,
just the setting sun, which hung
like a violet lantern above the fields.
The cows started to move as she
was slowly pulled out, becoming
silhouettes as a nativity set
was being built.
They found her buried deep down
a fox hole, wrapped in a blanket
of deer bones and cut reeds.
There were no three kings that night
nor a bright star in the sky,
just the setting sun, which hung
like a violet lantern above the fields.
The cows started to move as she
was slowly pulled out, becoming
silhouettes as a nativity set
was being built.
FifthFlower
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 13, 2006
- Posts
- 488
Looking for a Sign
The miracle of Chanukah:
The light burned on eight days
Although they had but fuel for one—
And Antiochus was undone—
Such proved that what they had begun
Was good. Who knows God’s ways?
The miracle of Chanukah:
The light burned on eight days
Although they had but fuel for one—
And Antiochus was undone—
Such proved that what they had begun
Was good. Who knows God’s ways?
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,646
In the Polio Parking Lot
Big teeth and long limp hair
laid on skeleton bones, image
a Munch ornament, brushy, flared.
She's damn intelligent,
that's for sure. But. But, sexy?
Grandmother pure? Oh, yes,
she's sexy. Count icons who're sure
she loved them. Then drop
double D and strum, double sure.
It's its own chord, dimwit.
Its own chord.
It's a chord. Sure.
Big teeth and long limp hair
laid on skeleton bones, image
a Munch ornament, brushy, flared.
She's damn intelligent,
that's for sure. But. But, sexy?
Grandmother pure? Oh, yes,
she's sexy. Count icons who're sure
she loved them. Then drop
double D and strum, double sure.
It's its own chord, dimwit.
Its own chord.
It's a chord. Sure.
RhymeFairy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 24, 2005
- Posts
- 8,719
I throw in the towel.
Reap what I sow.
Beg for a glimpse of
golden eyes in the mirrors
reflection.Twin
souls, the answer to nightmares
recovery
is you.
perched on the bed
beside, inside
slick, wet me.
Reap what I sow.
Beg for a glimpse of
golden eyes in the mirrors
reflection.Twin
souls, the answer to nightmares
recovery
is you.
perched on the bed
beside, inside
slick, wet me.
tungtied2u
Not necessary
- Joined
- Apr 7, 2004
- Posts
- 2,704
One gift sits alone under my tree
It isn't from or even for me
I am the custodian for the presentee
I look and ponder what may be inside
this plain brown box which so lonely resides
the secret it holds, the pleasure it hides
in this season of gifting, I wonder what gives
if the reason for the season inside me still lives
or has it been killed from the jabs of life's shivs
but now I recall the birth of a child
to a husband and wife alone in the wild
and the awe and joy inspired by the smile
that shone so bright nothing else was needed
all earthly concerns were at once superceded
as this present her presence demanded was heeded
my present to her has been outside the box
I tell her how she makes my world rock
I answer the call whenever she knocks
we give and receive to each other in measure
a joy far greater than material pleasure
a love that we both will always treasure
It isn't from or even for me
I am the custodian for the presentee
I look and ponder what may be inside
this plain brown box which so lonely resides
the secret it holds, the pleasure it hides
in this season of gifting, I wonder what gives
if the reason for the season inside me still lives
or has it been killed from the jabs of life's shivs
but now I recall the birth of a child
to a husband and wife alone in the wild
and the awe and joy inspired by the smile
that shone so bright nothing else was needed
all earthly concerns were at once superceded
as this present her presence demanded was heeded
my present to her has been outside the box
I tell her how she makes my world rock
I answer the call whenever she knocks
we give and receive to each other in measure
a joy far greater than material pleasure
a love that we both will always treasure
wildsweetone
i am what i am
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2002
- Posts
- 6,809
An Angel
Her bottom lip
trembles, and her eyes
are dead. The stars
have dimmed and even
the bright lights
of the Christmas tree
no longer bring colour
to her cheeks.
Yet there she sits
surrounded by green
and gold, a candle
held in outstretched hands
always ready
to hear my prayers.
Her bottom lip
trembles, and her eyes
are dead. The stars
have dimmed and even
the bright lights
of the Christmas tree
no longer bring colour
to her cheeks.
Yet there she sits
surrounded by green
and gold, a candle
held in outstretched hands
always ready
to hear my prayers.
champagne1982
Dangerous Liaison
- Joined
- Aug 31, 2002
- Posts
- 7,671
I've destroyed my left knee
it hurts like fuck
I've been run over
by a Mack Truck.
The son-of-a-ditch
that chewed off my foot
was buried in a snowbank
and hidden by soot.
It held onto my toe
and shook on my pin
it separated my knee
from my thigh and my shin
Now, I on my crutches
and the puppy, asleep,
will sit here and sigh
and growl as we weep.
it hurts like fuck
I've been run over
by a Mack Truck.
The son-of-a-ditch
that chewed off my foot
was buried in a snowbank
and hidden by soot.
It held onto my toe
and shook on my pin
it separated my knee
from my thigh and my shin
Now, I on my crutches
and the puppy, asleep,
will sit here and sigh
and growl as we weep.
normal jean
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2004
- Posts
- 1,193
champagne1982 said:
awwwww, poor Champ!!!
hugs and kisses for that boo-boo knee
from nicky and sophie ( the kitties)
and binky, and speedy ( the turtles)
and me
RhymeFairy
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 24, 2005
- Posts
- 8,719
I live
in my memories.
caressed to sleep
with each silken brush
of your hand applied to certain
creative areas, I leave be, just
for you. I share sigh and walk
down destines highway
looking forward, detained only
by the mountain springs
spiritual escapades, being played out
subconsciously to the tune
of a teasing hiccuping laughter
that I once splashed and sipped
while love drunk, on you.
.
in my memories.
caressed to sleep
with each silken brush
of your hand applied to certain
creative areas, I leave be, just
for you. I share sigh and walk
down destines highway
looking forward, detained only
by the mountain springs
spiritual escapades, being played out
subconsciously to the tune
of a teasing hiccuping laughter
that I once splashed and sipped
while love drunk, on you.
.
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