all of a sudden passion suddenly

[vampiredust]

Earrings

Earrings are like men,
they squirm and clamp
on things soft and delicate

 

[Maria2394]

the pecans hidden away
in the shoe box
a few weeks before Thanksgiving
were not withered
inside, they had not shut down
given up, or withdrawn
become depressed or died

the buttery texture of thier flesh
as I chewed them
seemed ironic, sad in fact
such hard shells, defiance held captive
the meat withstands, it survives!
but what does it mean, to the nut
in the scheme of all things grand
be hard....and defiant
youre still hidden away in shoe boxes
and eaten by arrogant women

 

[vampiredust]

The Scarf

It lies half open
on the bed,
a twisted grey
squid chomping
on an empty Muji
bag. Perhaps
I should throw
it back in the sea,
suffocating
as it feels waves
untangle it thread
by thread.

 

[wildsweetone]

...

I watch for your words
suckle the syllables
lick the length of your lines
and swallow your breaks
until all that is left
is the end.

 

[Guest]

It's been a crazy winter,
snow and more snow.
It's a penetrating cold that goes
to the bone.

Next to you, the ice melts.
I get caught in your rain;
find I'm soluble, soul saturated,
lightsome for a moment.

Then I need more, touch your skin, slide
through your pores and go deep.
Hearts interlace, seem to beat infinite,

but that's not true. It never is.
It's all ephemeral. It's all aborted.
I leave the womb-like happiness
and run down your leg.

Now I'm confused, it's winter again.

I freeze.

 

[vampiredust]

Terminology

There are words
that cannot be defined.
Think of them
as luggage in transit,
on their way
to places azure-blue,
far away
from the description
of the holiday brochure
and the greyness
of your lips.

 

[Guest]

I think I met lust once

I can find her
in coffee shops, in bars.
Exchanging numbers
are never necessary
if ever I need her again.

All I have to do is recall
a strawberry blonde,
jet black, or a brunette.

Whatever
the color of hair doesn't matter;
it was her smile,
honeyed and pleased.

Then vividly, she'd come back.
So would the scent of skin,
warm, tanning in tropical sun.
Sand and in coconut oil,
clinging.

Sex and sex, drunken sex,
ahhhhh the crazy-wild sex.
Passion burnt, she'd whisper my name
again.

Her kisses lit a Molotov cocktail
that still to this day, blows me way.

 

[SeattleRain]

if I love you so much why is it every time I sit to write
you come up
and I want to let my disappointment flow out finger first
with I had a harder cover
maybe carmel corn crunch

it is ridiculous
this is ridiculous to be writing it here
like some teen agers diary
who cares who cares
even her own children drop the book
lock in key
into the box with hand croched pillow cases
still in wedding paper packages
waiting for that time
that time
that special time

no no I will not write like the polished silver
I will not write ike the sofa under the slip cover
I will not refer to the plastic
over
the
new rug

they are all so typical
but then again, so are we
you me and everyone we know
all of our secrets are the same
yet we whisper
soft

discretion
dont tell anyone my secrets
lets pretend
they are mine

 

[SeattleRain]

just do it do it write write something for god's sake
take a minute to sit still and let the weeks crash into your back with all their momentum
and lord is the anethetic wearing off

self scolding
your imagination is much more inspirational
reality is spots on panties
read in sensory braille of the day's events
of how foul can you get
demanding to live it live it live it
I did not see your one true thing
it must be all my lies croswind the scene I cannot discriminate

maybe this
he was the one who found what he was seeking
and dove in without introduction
without mercy in the attack pleaseure between teeth

maybe it was your glasses
they were new
no one has ever worn them
I remember you putting them on as wel left
together.

I saw you glance over to see what kind of car I drive
and wondered why the hell would you want to know that


lord my imagination i sso much more of an inapiration
than these water drop moments
stuck on the bottom of the pan
pressed right onto the hot element
barely time to hiss

 

[vampiredust]

Poem

The calligraphy of snow
is best viewed between
the hours of 2 - 2.30 a.m.
Then, you can see beaded
snowflakes droop and lurch

as they form ornate sentences
describing the exact process
of how a snowflake is created.
Flash photography is not
recommended since this may

disturb the work of these [sic]
craftsmen and may, inadvertently,
help create a stalactite, or worse,
a blizzard. There are no health
or safety warnings attached,

I should point out. I must
point out.
-------------
p.s never write poetry when slightly intoxicated

 

[Maria2394]

no one but me

empty nest is better and worse
than I expected it to be
but I didnt expect to feel so alone
when given what I thought I craved
time to write, to think, to sleep
with no one kicking my covers

no one but me

I am discovering that I dont care
too much for me
and somehow its no surprise
to wake in the morning
expecting to see the sun
but even it doesnt want
to rise

when theres no one here,
but me

 

[vampiredust]

You

You leave the house
after breaking up with him,
passing trees rattling
with this morning's rain,
a gang of rooks jeering
as the bus soaks your dress,
newspapers occupied,
unable to help.

You make your way
to the train station
and step on a train,
unable to determine
where to go or what
the purpose is. A man
gives you directions

but you dismiss him
as a drunk and don't give
any change. At the other
end, waves skim the surface
of the sea, submarines
waiting to fire torpedoes
at the pier.

You walk to the end
and throw all your memories
of him into the water,
letting the sea froth
before regurgitating it
as a pearl

to be found by the man
next door.

 

[SeattleRain]

still I dream in color and always
it is you there
with thta half laugh
always almost tipping your chair
you lean into it
lean into it and I want to be standing beside you
staring straight ahead
and feel that lean
your body against mine
as the train pulls forward

I forget
tonight
I dont need to hide that flush
that advertises the secrets of my capilaries
pulse for the surface
I forget that I want you to see it


on the bus I practiced my silent sneeze
and missed everything

 

[SeattleRain]

beads come from rods
melted and snapped
torch and silver heated organic growth
what will I do with her
I am afraid to write love songs but this woman
this woman pushes open the trap door
with her shoulder
buys her boots already worn in

makes me lunch of lettuce and
ham coffee strong

look I am afraid to write her love songs
she perfection
goes to bed early
she, perfection
there is glass in her kitchen cabinets
I try to remember every item
run tit through my head like sheep counting pine nuts and oatmeal boxes
to help me (not)fall
in love

 

[vampiredust]

Attic

There is always one thing
you leave behind whenever
you move house. In my case,
it was an attic.

It could never be packed
away, wrapped in bubble-wrap
and cushioned between a sofa
and two china throats.

So I handed over the spare keys
to the full moon and let it
occupy that space I used to live
when I was fleeing cowboys,

pitching my tee pee between
an old punching bag and a moth
eaten dressmaker's model,
hammering the pegs in the smoking

jacket of the insulation.
I would watch stars stutter
as they flew over the roof tiles,
make a wish and climb down,

shutting the eye of the house,
blocking its tears slowly wetting
the floorboards, flooding everything
that had been built in its gut.

 

[vampiredust]

Unspoken Words

We keep them in our pockets,
pressed tightly against denim
and cotton, voices muffled
against the slow drone of iPod
and mobile phone.

Sometimes we'll rummage
for one and rip off part of an ear,
chewing its peppermint skin
for hours on end to release
the words trapped in greenish oil,

needing to fill the missing gaps
for a sentence that should, perhaps,
have been said a long time ago
and which has only crept back
after seeing something familiar:

lipstick, hair, skin, cheeks, a tear.
This is the way they work.

 

[vampiredust]

Stars

They lie, cheat, steal,
but no-one complains.
Whenever we make a
wish (after doing the
proper procedure)

nothing happens.
They take our words
and make castles
with them. Forget
getting something back.

But don't be surprised.

These are the same people
who taught God, remember?

 

[SeattleRain]

keeper
this is ripe with possibility packed with terrific phrases and images

Attic

There is always one thing
you leave behind whenever
you move house. In my case,
it was an attic.

It could never be packed
away, wrapped in bubble-wrap
and cushioned between a sofa
and two china throats.

So I handed over the spare keys
to the full moon and let it
occupy that space I used to live
when I was fleeing cowboys,

pitching my tee pee between
an old punching bag and a moth
eaten dressmaker's model,
hammering the pegs in the smoking

jacket of the insulation.
I would watch stars stutter
as they flew over the roof tiles,
make a wish and climb down,

shutting the eye of the house,
blocking its tears slowly wetting
the floorboards, flooding everything
that had been built in its gut.

 

[vampiredust]

Stomach Ache

My stomach
has been twisted
into a sinew
folded over thrice,

a pretzel creaking
as its brown skin
slowly breaks,
leaving only a bitter

husk, wasting
the rest away.

 

[vampiredust]

Houses

Every house I have lived
in has had a short life:

The first suffered a fire,
mice and storms, bruising
its cotton coloured walls.

The second nearly collapsed
from noise, as trains blew
their trumpets.

The third became thin
and was nearly snatched
by the wind, the Chinese
losing the auction

for its emaciated state,
intending to make it into
sails for a Chinese junk.

And now, my fourth
is slowly becoming flooded
by tears occupying
its gut.

Expect to see it on the news,
halfway across the North Sea,
its furniture stretched
like sails, its occupants blowing
to make it travel faster

as a couple of sea serpents
chase a trail of unopened envelopes
in its wake.

 

[normal jean]

no coffee alarm

early, as of late
I crave coffee before dawn
not the taste, I abhor it
but the aroma. It is
more an essence of you
awake and alive,
muddling about the house
it makes me feel secure
the smell of your meduim roast grind
strikes me as a blanket that consumes
me with a promise of safety
until you consume it; leave me sleeping
to go about your day

 

[vampiredust]

Hoover

The hoover whines
outside my door
like a dog locked
outside, wanting

to get inside.
I can feel its paws
scratching the wood,
removing a slither

of paintwork.
There is no dust
for you to catch,
I want to tell it

but that might be
too late and I might
end up like everyone
else who's played:

swallowed, coughed
up and chased.

 

[vampiredust]

Sea Wall

There is a thick concrete wall
wrapped around the harbor,
delicate in places as a cotton
screen, where the sea
undresses in privacy,

far away from sailboats
bopping on waves to peek
at a flash of thigh or breast.
Some days you can watch
its weak point - a pair of giant's

hinges - fold up, catching
the only public view of the sea:
a hoplite sheathed in armor,
waiting for the battle call.

 

[vampiredust]

Nails

Mother's nails are sometimes
cracked, as if a Blacksmith
crept into her bedroom

and broke them on his forge.
You can see traces of his
handiwork if you look carefully,

a leftover shaving, cutting
through a layer of newly
formed nail, always leaving
its mark.

 

[Guest]

Designer suits, black on black,
custom fit; gawd damn,
she wears them well and I just know
it's all a disguise.

The lady is really a whore.
She's not afraid
to say fuck,
moan satisfied sex words.

She doesn't care the walls
are paper. She claws them
open like she does a man's back.

With those lips, she's got to swallow
or at least, that's what I imagine
while she blots away double-thick
latte foam from her chin.

Smiling, catching me watching her;
she doesn't have to guess.
She knows what's on my mind,

It's her.