all of a sudden passion suddenly

[WickedEve]

Deceptive suicidal shade,
smooth-pocked with perversion,
skin should not shed when it is frayed.

He would rather love her with his blade,
every surface and deep version
of her suicidal shade.

There is need for skin to be flayed,
with no blood-love aversion.
She will not shed when she is frayed.

Less lovely when it falls decayed,
he removes it for the diversion
of her unaccepted shade.

Shown to her, so as to persuade --
bring on skin-deep conversion --
that she is perfectly frayed.

And not until she is swayed,
with more perversity than aspersion,
will she wear the suicidal shade
he would not let her shed when frayed.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Sing those songs I love
sure you know the ones
golden oldies maybe
now, oh and wear red
I love red and yellow,
green's ok but not black.
Far too sombre, so that's
it all really, Don't forget
will you?
When I'm gone.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

kissing as three

you'd think
it would be more
complicated
but somehow
if you just
lean up
lean in
you're there, harmonic
and multiplied
by six,
one plus
two plus
three.

 

[WickedEve]

The name could have been Constance
when I leaned over her stone,
mouth open,

spilling Hugo
over her days and years.

"Who was she?"

Nannie Goff.

All movement had fallen
from her bones, and we wondered why
she was there
in nowhere's soil.

Water,
encroaching and swift,
soon to unearth her in summer
of some year --

leaching Nannie,
bit by bit,
from her dirty bed, where a little

of us reached her,
as we fell through the sin sifter.

 

[normal jean]

the last man

In the likely event
ofeventual nuclear winter
I hope the History Channel
has prepared you.

Are you ready to live
underground, in a cave
revert to something like
prehistory, when no one
really gave much thought

to pumping oil or squeezing
tar from gooey sands
in the name of shoving dollars
into the greedy oil man's hands.

Maybe it won't be so bad
if we can conquer starvation
by living on what's left to grow
on bleak and barren lands

and the never ending chill
will bring the wearing of fur
back into fashion, but I'll admit
that something in my soul
longs for that ancient silence

the kind of quiet that echoes
from the absolute lack
of human violence.

 

[sassynyc]

but I'll admit
that something in my soul
longs for that ancient silence

the kind of quiet that echoes
from the absolute lack
of human violence.
__________________

These final lines in the poem sound not so much like she is suggesting there wouldn't be any violence, but that the absence of violence is something she pines for. We've all had hope, at some point, for things that could never be. It doesn't stop the heart from wanting what it wants.

 

[Angeline]

Just a reminder folks that this is one of the very few threads here reserved strictly for poetry. Comments and reviews on poems read here should be posted in the "To Keep the Review Thread Clean and Other Chit Chat" thread (or any other chit chatty thread).

In the words of the thread starter, the late smithpeter (here 03sp):

similar to the old, "writing live" thread.
Poems written with no time restrictions but
complete ASAP, submitted and then regretted.
no copy pasted, no mushrooms on the pizza.
no rewriting!
Like life. It's sudden. It's all passion.

 

[normal jean]

Poetry gives me permission-
to dream, to want to care
to cry, to be a frog, a crow
a sigh

poetry gives me-
a way to be me
when I can find no other way
to say what I
really want to say
but often I find
that I come come to a loss
of words; I am mute
cannot sing, or soothe
or tease, or lie

poetry gives me a way
out of my cave and guides
me into the light, whether
I want to see it or not,

poetry is an interpretation
of my interpretation
of truth and what lies
outside our human lines

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Fingernails pick at prison walls,
shell crumbling piece by piece
I join her sometimes
we hum with no words,
half remembered songs
they say I might recall
soon.
It's just a visit
I'd like to go more
a safe and warm womb
The place of just before sleep
of forgetting
never remembering again
the words.

 

[WickedEve]

We understand nary a word --
their burial tongues thicken
the horribly human air.

We are whores,
in these lightless days.
Name us Desire or Sylvia. Dress us
in scant clothing -- no complaints,
not anymore.

Really,
we only longed for a little
death-modesty --

even kept a pair
or two
in a shoebox,
in the car.

 

[champagne1982]

We understand nary a word --
their burial tongues thicken
the horribly human air.

We are whores,
in these lightless days.
Name us Desire or Sylvia. Dress us
in scant clothing -- no complaints,
not anymore.

Really,
we only longed for a little
death-modesty --

even kept a pair
or two
in a shoebox,
in the car.

I thought she meant a pair
of sling-back spikes
or maybe a comfortable
pair of plain brown mules

Instead I find a pretty wisp
of knotty lace all tatted
and torn mixed with ashes

rattling around with the bones.

 

[WickedEve]

In the corner it hangs,
like a shriveled testicle -- boxer's
speed bag. He was a man,
when he punched,

and that stint in Germany.
Occupied their beer gardens,
oh, toy soldier.

Tin troops, dented in the dirt,
find their way into boxes
and heaven.

Cellar room is black now
with old fire. I show him
where Uncle slept.

"And over there,
television, rabbit ears.
He would scream at fighters
on channel nine."

We came for the sledgehammer,
and he hauls it out into the light,
with my singed and forgettable memories.

 

[normal jean]

the difference between pride and self esteem

I tried to be full of myself,
but I have holes
and am leaking all over
my hardwood floors

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Compare me to my computer desk,
messy not a thing in place,
dominated by received media
best consigned to a recycling bin

 

[PandoraGlitters]

. . . . .

 

[UnderYourSpell]

No-one can be born with a mean streak
can they?
someone must have installed bitterness,
some slight
some double edged sword.
If so where does this lead?
Ad Infinitum?
Cain and Able?

 

[WickedEve]

We are beyond,
and gravel roads are the remedy
for our blind condition.
Those lights yonder,

on sloped horizons --
Blue Ridge cats,
arched black,
back to back --
there is no poetry

(not enough)
for how halos die
on nowhere. Headlights dim out

and all is sky.
We had forgotten these stars.
Overwhelmed,
we are again blinded.

 

[WickedEve]

We are some kind of beautiful...
and evening rain
comes through. The drive
down train and cloud roads
becomes real,

suddenly -- not in length of time
from one curve
to another, far side of the valley,

but in a moment,
swift as shutter release,
before freight cars vanish
over the trestle.

 

[WickedEve]

Street lanterns burn,
just as we hit Bashaw,
lighting shop panes
and "come back tomorrow" signs.

Motor stirs valley beyond -- Grottoes
sleeps no more. We rev
fence posts
and dried blood barns.

"Spook the star!"
We like to imagine there's,
at least, a glowy crescent,
cowering beneath creek beds.

 

[WickedEve]

No, darling, a bad fuck
would be in a clearing, with only night
draped over us, like mosquito netting --

West Nile fevers. And you thought
your motion machine
gave me these tremors.

But my mouth
as an inverted cogwheel --
that would be a very bad fuck.

 

[WickedEve]

Driving The Run

I spy something red,
fur gelled with temptation. Modern crows
understand speed and metal of asphalt
but can't resist -- not until
a moment before tires.
Jesus didn't hang on yellow.

I spy something --
wood nailed to wood,
this way and that.
Three crosses
(two plain and pine)
on a hill,
down the road,
from where black birds dine on something spied.

The Run seems endless
but so does stillness of red,
the agony of yellow.

 

[WickedEve]

The deer came back --
shadow eaters
beneath my tree.

They came over fence,
through low grass.
They came for night apples.

Their escape was soft.
We watched. Then
they were gone.

I can feel a hint of Autumn
coming through the window,
as I write this most important thing
that is really quite small:

I should have fled,
in the darkness,
like a shadow.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Your anger falls, not like an axe
to decapitate
but insidiously taking my confidence.
Breaking down all that
was good in my life.
Leaving me insecure
unsure.
Your laughter rises to the sky
your friends all love you
and I creep behind
always in your shadow.

 

[Lady Reiha]

Dang Ley Huy.

The ocean breeze that surrounds us,
is all, but a fragrant dream in my mind.
My eyes tear up in empty sorrow,
I miss your touch, your feel, your taste.

Why did you have to go?
To the moon, the clouds above?
Why couldn't you just stay a little while?
In my dreams.......


A distant memory,
of our Sunflower dreams.
Dancing in a way,
Flowers do.

Angel wings suspend from your back,
in beauty and awe of your supple skin.
Your strawberry kisses.
Will always be remembered.

 

[loststar]

favorite dress hangs from my tits
as he finshes his finshing
my home is unrecognizeable
his nesting making us better

favorite movie plays back
on our new tv
wide, shiny, sharp
he has earned this

favorite blanket wrapped around me
it is cold here
our airconditioning artic
keeping us comfortable

he looks for cars
on his new laptop
for we will need another one soon
when he comes home

we remember poverty
it scares him
yet i am not afraid,
of that kind of poverty

I am starved in another way
fearful of what has already been denied
almost shameful that it is all the suffering I endure