all of a sudden passion suddenly

[vampiredust]

Loss

Think of it this way:
Imagine riding on a donkey
to take a message
to the other side of town,

not knowing it was dead
when you started the journey
and the person whom
you were supposed to give

the message moved away,
leaving no forwarding address
just a feedbag for the carcass
rotting outside.

 

[RhymeFairy]

annaswirls

it is okay
you don't have to like my grocery list either
but it works
it works
it works for me
putting down the record
like animal tracks in the mud
see? and here is where they met
scuffled and went their separate ways
hmm look
I think this one has a limp
see how her back paw kind of drags

I need to buy new hardware for the bedroom drapes
put it on the list it is okay

your list


drags, like animal cracker
paws. off baby, down!
come sniff 'n
scratch'me, like
you mean it.

hunched down, four paws
prance. tail swipes
send singeing
nail biting
rakes. from nipping
meowing howls
to spanked kitty
jowls. come kitty kitty
come.





~~ thanks Anna
... trying to write and maybe ... it's happening. sorry to impose.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Sara inherited
her granmother's ankles
"bloody tree trunks"
her mother said
who hadn't

boots helped
but she dreaded
summer sandals and
beach-bare feet

other girls her age
went to dances
their feet barely contained
in gossamer straps
while hers bulged
obsenely

she dispaired
knowing nothing
could achieve
a trim, slim ankle
until she met Joe
who only looked
in her eyes.

 

[tungtied2u]

Sara inherited
her granmother's ankles
"bloody tree trunks"
her mother said
who hadn't

boots helped
but she dreaded
summer sandals and
beach-bare feet

other girls her age
went to dances
their feet barely contained
in gossamer straps
while hers bulged
obsenely

she dispaired
knowing nothing
could achieve
a trim, slim ankle
until she met Joe
who only looked
in her eyes.

Lovely Tess...

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Lovely Tess...

Thank you tt2u.

 

[Angeline]

The outrage on mama's face
could stop the clouds from wailing
for I've parted ways with my galoshes
not ten yards from the door.

I don't need rain in spite
of earth's cracked skin so thirsty
for spring it could drink up a river
for mama's frown threatens all
the storm I can face.
She could pour at any moment,
scowling from our kitchen window,
my mama, the gargoyle Minerva
of Whitehorse Avenue.

Put those back on. Now!

So I do, but being her girl,
her sly and stoic daughter,
I dispatch them again
not a block later,
not a street too soon.

Her threats expire
in the late-March wind. I advance,
in my fashionable slosh,
grade eight's Little Miss Sunshine.

 

[sellthecookie]

Sara inherited
her granmother's ankles
"bloody tree trunks"
her mother said
who hadn't

boots helped
but she dreaded
summer sandals and
beach-bare feet

other girls her age
went to dances
their feet barely contained
in gossamer straps
while hers bulged
obsenely

she dispaired
knowing nothing
could achieve
a trim, slim ankle
until she met Joe
who only looked
in her eyes.

kudos.. i hope all women meet their Joe.

 

[RhymeFairy]

icky green shrubs, shoulder around
taking over, pathway to curb. single digit
lines with their detestable dinginess,
an eyesore every sixteen feet and on.

being brought up on a farm,
I long for

plush meadows, a carpet of luxury
for tired woe-begotten toes. to dig
barefoot in silken dirt. a sodding
of nourishment. a band-aid
to this depleted desert soul.

replenishing my love
for outdoors I see,
long reaching trees, tulips in bloom
and birds circling, nesting
in the rafters. where playing
jump the bale is not
just a long distance memory.

waking up each morn to ride out
catch the sunrise coming up
over clear baby blue skies.
skies, that just beg one
to take flight and ride, let go
of everything, except
that feeling
of oneness with the earth
and sky. to be free and feel
the witching wind, grab your hat
and pull your hair. while you let loose
and laugh with pure enjoyment.
an adrenaline rush for the moment.
a prayer, a ceremony
of oneness and freedom.


..

 

[vampiredust]

icky green shrubs, shoulder around
taking over, pathway to curb. single digit
lines with their detestable dinginess,
an eyesore every sixteen feet and on.

being brought up on a farm,
I long for

plush meadows, a carpet of luxury
for tired woe-begotten toes. to dig
barefoot in silken dirt. a sodding
of nourishment. a band-aid
to this depleted desert soul.

replenishing my love
for outdoors I see,
long reaching trees, tulips in bloom
and birds circling, nesting
in the rafters. where playing
jump the bale is not
just a long distance memory.

waking up each morn to ride out
catch the sunrise coming up
over clear baby blue skies.
skies, that just beg one
to take flight and ride, let go
of everything, except
that feeling
of oneness with the earth
and sky. to be free and feel
the witching wind, grab your hat
and pull your hair. while you let loose
and laugh with pure enjoyment.
an adrenaline rush for the moment.
a prayer, a ceremony
of oneness and freedom.


..

this is fabulous, RF

 

[vampiredust]

The Zookeepers Dream

This is what zookeepers dream of.
Crocodiles sleep in beds, making love
to other men's wives.
Iguana faced babies wail at maids
warming milk in microwavable wombs.

Giraffes drive wasp taxis, Gorillas
police the streets. Sharks hang around
street corners pimping seahorses.
Horses and cattle march the streets
during their lunch hour, before returning

to the offices. Underneath the bridges
are the Lions and Cheetahs, warming paws
on burning barrels. Zookeepers hum tunes
from films in their stomachs.

Born Free is their favourite.

 

[sellthecookie]

Table of Contents

Sometimes I Get Sad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1
About This Whole Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9
Of Staring at Your Webcam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15
Watching Your Form . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Blur in Delay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Strangled Motion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37
Struggling for Real-Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Because There’s So Much That Don’t Get Spoken . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
And Not Enough Ears Either . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
And You Say You Don’t Want . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .64
Any . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Of Those Easy-to-Whip-Up Recipes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Because You Can’t Stand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .83
Boredom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Yet We End Up Talking Nonsense All The Same . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Because We Know . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .104
We’ll Strike Oil Someday . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
And, Always, At The Back of My Mind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .115
There’s This— . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
This Heady Hope to Catch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Your Blink that Refuse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
To Register . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .132
In The Stingy Screen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
When All We Need is Real-Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

[darkerdreamer]

Table of Contents

Sometimes I Get Sad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1
About This Whole Business . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .9
Of Staring at Your Webcam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15
Watching Your Form . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Blur in Delay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Strangled Motion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .37
Struggling for Real-Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Because There’s So Much That Don’t Get Spoken . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
And Not Enough Ears Either . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
And You Say You Don’t Want . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .64
Any . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Of Those Easy-to-Whip-Up Recipes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Because You Can’t Stand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .83
Boredom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Yet We End Up Talking Nonsense All The Same . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Because We Know . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .104
We’ll Strike Oil Someday . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
And, Always, At The Back of My Mind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .115
There’s This— . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
This Heady Hope to Catch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Your Blink that Refuse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
To Register . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .132
In The Stingy Screen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
When All We Need is Real-Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I honestly think this is genius. The best part (IMHO) is the missing page number for "When All We Need is Real-Love". My mind naturally tries to decipher this so I have to ask: was there a specific reason for the page numbers you chose?

 

[tungtied2u]

sunshine spring day
warm breeze, golden rays
(did I say, my friend had
his hand blown away)

trees in full bloom
as lovers take rooms
(one took her lover's
wifes life with a knife)

rebirth and renewal
nature puts shame to jewels
( but when one dies too young,
she tarnishes some)

each year the scars fade
beneath green grassy glades
( but the ones on my skin
started weeping again)

so pardon my lack of enthusiam
for the annual magic show
my eyes can't convince my heart
to ignore the things I know

 

[vampiredust]

You Are Here

Underneath a soup can
shelter, women stir
donkey broth. Traffic
lights blink repeatedly

with its stink, ants
clamber down spoon
trees, every vista
in the town backing

away to observe
it being spoon fed
to a couple of travellers
on the way to El Dorado,

the townsfolk gold
hearts turning to coal,
remembering a man
who passed through

a while back, carrying
a child in his stomach
but was still malnourished.

 

[wildsweetone]

It's under your nose

I watch you and realise
you have no idea for what you search
when you sprint to work, hurrying
to check out the latest date offer
on your advertisement. You might think

you know, some woman
who will give you all you want and more
and who will expect nothing in return
(like hell) though you know you really do want to give
everything to another. What is it that keeps
those second chances from becoming thirds?

It isn't your smooth tongue
because words have no idea how to slip from you
and I'm certain it's not your charm
because you ran out of charm years ago. Perhaps

it is that you realise you're aging
and not timeless like the brass clock
or the wooden carved chest your parents covet,

aging and realise there is no return
to the second that just passed or the one
that is here, right now.

 

[vampiredust]

In the timber yard

Termites were always spoken
in a hushed breath, given their mystical
(according to the staff's understanding)
ability to chew up ark-length boards

of teak, mahogany and pine
sitting in the giant warehouse.
I never saw any whenever I went with Dad
to pick up some timber for the boat,

always scouring some poorly lit corner
for a trace of an iron-red abdomen.
Perhaps that is what the security guards
saw at night - trails of blood dismantling

each shelf, followed by the vapour of gas
and the smell of burning. Nature's assassins.

 

[champagne1982]

it begins with the single strike
finger to key and then it proceeds
no two meanings alike
no two hearts with the same needs
unless you speak of two lovers
their wants never far from centre
the playground of bed, under covers
both heavy and cozy bidding them enter
into the midst of this wanton flame
.
.
.
(fiddle, it's descended into trite and cliche. I'll try again, later)

 

[darkerdreamer]

min i mal,
the
an i mal
inside
craves
l e s s.
crim i nal,
the
ma chine
inside
is
d y i n g.

 

[sellthecookie]

I honestly think this is genius. The best part (IMHO) is the missing page number for "When All We Need is Real-Love". My mind naturally tries to decipher this so I have to ask: was there a specific reason for the page numbers you chose?

thanks,

im sure there were reasons for some, (but not all) of the numbers, but i cant remember them all.

sometimes i get sad is 1 because i feel alone, all by myself
while boredom, gets 88, for double infinity,
and hope is on page 123, just because, there's progression
and well, i was gonna put Real-Love on page 143, but it would already be corny, so i just let the dots trail on.

oh darn you for making me explain the poem!
peace

 

[vampiredust]

The Old Pylons

The old pylons
on the London to Brighton
line never catch anybody's
eye. They sit beside a part
of cornered off track,

watching nettles spring up
in the spaces between rusty
rails. There are no insects
to keep these neighbours
occupied.

This is the way everything
grows old, watching
those things we have known
for most of our lives
become part of a landscape

becoming redundant, edging
ever closer towards things
that only the microscopic
have enjoyed, lifting off
the shadows we once lived in.

 

[vampiredust]

Angels & Demons

Angels fell last night,
bruising rows of houses.
I caught one, holding
its wire body in my palm.

It said nothing,
not even when I squashed
it, wanting to see if they
were immortal.

Thunder greeted me
in the morning,
I ate lightning for breakfast.

I still don't know the answer.

 

[champagne1982]

The Thaw

It's almost time for you to leave
and I can't say as I'll be sad
to see you go. You've out-warmed
your welcome and left me chill.

You're going will expose the dirt
you've been covering up
all these months. I wish
you could take it all with you

instead of leaving this for me
to clean up. It's not fair,
that I should remember you
slipping away in the rain. I like

rain and you just make
me cold and muddy in its fall.
Leave now, before I wish
you'd stayed. Regrets

are for summer months
when I have time to reflect
on how much I need
your touch to comfort me.

 

[4degrees]

my belly warms like
i swallowed a lit match,
it didn't go out as it went down
but rather, ignited my core
and again, i burn
with this man-to-man
passion
the air intake is quick
during the surge of
basement style industrial
ambiance
fuckthrust
stripdown
to the bone
see my soul, naked to you
the real me loving the real
you
turns anything thats gray
to omnipotant greens
i say it all the same
because this thing will never change.

 

[sellthecookie]

iris


no one takes note
of the oil slicks
on the gas station floor
these days. they're bright,
and rainbow loud, and
hyperactive, uncensored
performance art, up close,
but so what? they like
to gawk at trees instead,
trapped cats, bad weather,
telephone lines, and computers.
whatever that doesn't stare
back. like petrol prices
shooting up, and loose
change is not good enough
anymore.

still
last night i dipped
my index into the greasy
pool, and tasted a bit. it
can be manna
too.

 

[vampiredust]

Whirr

For the last few minutes,
sunlight has been restricted
to entering only a couple
of gaps between a crumpled
blanket and blackout blinds
on my windowsill. Shadows
are rationed, limited to a pair
of helicopter blades
on the ceiling made by a light
fitting. Keys start to turn
in the front door.
I wait for the whirr.