all of a sudden passion suddenly

[normal jean]

The Closest

I will ever get to being the Hulk
are my cupric-green palms
and mossy hue that inhabits
the underside of my fingernails.

Somewhat lovely, I will admit
had I been a martian, perhaps
I could come to grips with my color,
but a lowly human does not fare well

when people see nothing but green
regardless where they look.


( i learned to sweat copper at work this week, the green is a ref to the copper dust interacting with my own body to turn my skin green I did not change the poem in this edit thing.)

 

[annaswirls]

Depression has feet
and they are all wedged
against my doors. Two
feet at the back, two more
in front and I have given up
on removing them or
persuading them to leave.

this reminds me of Alice
growing inside the march hare's house.

break down the wall, Miss Jean
or least invite me in for tea

 

[annaswirls]

color color color if I type it enough times tap tap tapping my toes my ruby toes maybe I will find myself home
home with a poem about color in my left hand
baton in the right
spining rire

I worry too much about being psychoanalyzed by my color choices.

blue is always safe.

what I really want is salt and pepper hair
hazel eyes
please pass the boyfriend over take turns
in adoration

no

amber
bock

drink one down and the poem will flow.

pink

I need

 

[RhymeFairy]

I smell
his skin
his taste has inherited a place, deep inside
where smoldering eruptions go off
at the mere hint
of that intoxicating, minxy charm. Like a bell
rung, I prance to attention
ears flicking
tail prancing
body motions swirling, in waves
wanting a taste
a morsel of his
flesh to
hold me
over. Till the dinner bell rings
and I with my ball of yarn
tumble to that tantalizing
aroma
of my mate, my
one ....


....

grrrrrrr

missed you guys ~~~

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I smell
his skin
his taste has inherited a place, deep inside
where smoldering eruptions go off
at the mere hint
of that intoxicating, minxy charm. Like a bell
rung, I prance to attention
ears flicking
tail prancing
body motions swirling, in waves
wanting a taste
a morsel of his
flesh to
hold me
over. Till the dinner bell rings
and I with my ball of yarn
tumble to that tantalizing
aroma
of my mate, my
one ....


....

grrrrrrr

missed you guys ~~~

Nice one, RF, you didn't lose your muse. Welcome back.

 

[RhymeFairy]

Nice one, RF, you didn't lose your muse. Welcome back.

Mmhhmm, don't I know it



my muse sits
there. Everyday.
A silent churning to come play.
Come
enjoy the sun. Wither in this pens
passion, take from every word what
the emotion ... runs like a river
a deer
jumping through the pine, just catch
a mere glimpse
a feeling that "I saw
it" didn't I ... but then again, he enjoys my
punishment


of no
words
no memory,
of a past littered with gum drops
all colors blend, making one.
Yellow.
A sun
joy,

in this moment. A heartfelt love
that I saw the rainbow, after
the rain pelted down
blistering our skin while leaving
large boulders, to block
my view. Yes, he tempts me. He
goads and promises more,
while spanking an already welted ass
to jump through the hoop
for the prize ...


...

Thank you Tess. No prize winner here but the joy, in the swiping of the dotted I's and crossing of the T's .. That's the love, of the write, yumm, lol ~~ xoxoxoxo

 

[annaswirls]

Amber

Bock over ice
we tease, join in
ants trapped in resin
turns the tiger eye inward
clinks ring on glass

more ice!

 

[darkerdreamer]

In the end the universe was empty,
an amalgamation of nothingness
spiraling towards the deepest, most frozen
borders of known space.

As the sun burns out everyone takes a moment,
we reflect on times wasted,
seconds that escaped open fingers and empty palms.
We yearn for moments.

A supernova distracts our rumination over shouldawoulda,
front row seats to the universe on fire
with opera glasses like microscopes
is an easy distraction.

 

[vampiredust]

Pereiras Dam, Portugal 2005

Drought has turned it into a bed
of hooves. Clouds have not ran
like horses in months. Birds
pick at the gaps, miners digging

for seams of undiscovered metals.
Farms turn to waste, animals
start to resemble their stuffed
counterparts. The farmers' wives

drop plumb-lines into the empty
wells of their lives. Buckets clang
with the sound of lost hope,
each note clambering up the sides

like animals desperate to taste
air thick with dissatisfaction.

 

[tungtied2u]

Doubt

captive of contradictions
frozen by fears and self doubt
who do You see in the mirror
if anyone

reflections unending
too many paths to contemplate
dead ends abound
surround you

the past haunts the future
the present makes pretenses
the sum of the parts
is paralyzing

in another time
the answer would have been hopeful
now, distortion subverts logic
tick tocking

into eternity twisting tumultuously
a Gordian knot without answer
slowly tightening strangling
towards a last gasp

 

[annaswirls]

life with a toddler
is a glue stick in the dryer

 

[tungtied2u]

i am afraid, each night i am
visited by an unwelcome thought,
incessant and increasingly too familiar
what began as a whisper, has catapulted
into a crescendo, unable to ignore
even more difficult to dissuade

he knows my track record,
tallies the score, and finds me wanting.
i want him gone. he agrees. he assures me
he will find a way, to even the score
put me out of my misery
win/ win, what could be fairer ?
he knows me better than i care to admit

 

[annaswirls]

never


predict the spin
on the trigger status
chin chopper chin chopper
never try to estimate the town tower evevation
left wing depository crinkles with celophane
and rough shod sodder
never assume the words that are hers
are hers flywheel grease and still born cinders
tell me differently tell me differently
never explain

 

[tungtied2u]

O’dark thirty,
he sits, slouched in the rocker,
tkaes another drag of death,
words spew forth smoke rises
confused ans convoluted,
as he gazes out from the porch
through the dewdrops veiling his eyes
silence, stillness
in hs heart he hopes when the end comes
it will be lke this
calm, peaceful
with a scent simlar to the magnolias
which lie just beyond his reach
infused with white blosssms
and the promise of early morning birdsong
welcoming hiim to a new beginnin

too many days have dawned like this
bitter sweet like coffee
consmed with the longing for company
and comfort, warm and mwelcoming
with remebrances of soft felsh pressed
into his body, arms embracing
holding promise and puepose
how he is enfolded by emptinss
the joints stiffen, but from age
not arousal, absent so long
now only a vague meory, devoid
of substance, hollow and without warmth

he has a freind he wishes was more,
but their future seems lost to futility
and frustration, for him, she loves another
he finds himself one again the center
of a paradox, the right heart in the wrong body
a soft chocalate center covered withcarbuncles
where evenn the taste cannot overcome te appearnace

cruel joke, knwoing he holds within
the sweetness sought by so many
he aches to be savored, swirled b tongues
lost in pleasure, drip slowly down
and become absorbed inrto another
appreciatd for his unique offerings
admired for the complex qualities
time has blended and bound togther

but his label has been lost
dust instead incicates only age
and not quality, he has become pigeonholed
and plced in an obsuce corner
wondring if the next day
he will be discarded of discovered
uncorked or undone

 

[tungtied2u]

help me
i am screaming
(inside)

no one hears

look
can't you see

these silent tears

catch me
i am falling

from the weight of isolation

stop me
before i shatter

amidst heartaches desolation​

 

[annaswirls]

I lied
I am not a patient woman

sly nipplesneaks out
from elastic
power up the communication box
kick in the tight rope
arms extended
'
man on the corner
sits on his walker chair
watches waves
birds
shit the porch
feather stuck and

trip the high wire
I am coming
I lied
I do not have patience
move

 

[annaswirls]

during coffee

he tells me
if the color of your soul on Tuesday
resembles the blood of vena cava
if sliced
would we not bleed until death

I straighten my bra strap
which has peeked from my sleeveless
and figure that is close enough to art
for fucking purposes

 

[vampiredust]

I nearly forgot
how easy it is to fly.

A flea market, Cumbria.
Years ago I spotted
a remote control Red Baron.

I wasn't interested
in buying it, but father
insisted on telling me
how to negotiate.

He couldn't see
what it represented,
couldn't see my legs
lifting off the ground
with every word he spoke.

He should have seen
the signs, how everything
he did made me unfurl
my wings, head towards
a distant sun; one he never
believed existed.

 

[RhymeFairy]

feet treading, softly walking across
linoleum. sun kissed skin, peaking
thoughts - drift, as soft egg treading, cycles
through another round
another wispy hair, flares out. morning

desire - makes herself known. No pancakes
today. Just, soft rain falling while flaky biscuits
bake. He lies in bed, unknowing
unaware. Gentle snores snapping
down the hall. Telling her, he
sleeps, awaking - her fire. She has traveled

that path, felt those webbed fingers
fidget down. Traveled every pore, awaking
her body like notes to music
a symphony of strings, horns and drums

drums
so many drums - enough to raise
the dead and make her beg for another
moment, in his embrace, in his
body of movement. Caressing every curve
as he bends her
every memory. Leaving her bare,
of thought. Bare of need, bare

to the core. Just a hiccup
happenstance, where breakfast met lunch
and need, met love ....


...


jus' keep swimming, lol ~~~ Trying not to get rusty. We have to write, when the need arises, no matter what the thought eh ... ( sometimes they seem to get away from us )

Happy writing my friends .. ~

 

[RhymeFairy]

arched heal flexed
as mouthy mumbles turn to
soft kisses - trailing up
his thigh. finger turns
taunting his member. making
him squirm, squealing out
names. places to

forage. Faking a fumble, turning
bending - pretzel like
she mounts and rides. rough
shot over her domain. demanding
retribution. too long
too much as jam turns
to juice, pudding
flows. both
take, tumble
make
a whole. one to another
a vowel
of forever
is muttered out ....


....

 

[tungtied2u]

i return to my roots,
mother nature, soft underfoot,
soil steams from freshly fallen rain
moist air thick
with the scent of forgiveness
It beckons me to sit, absorb
the stillness and certainty
that comes from ages of constancy

i pause, solitary at a waterfall's foot,
as cascades pound a primal beat
against boulders huddled like monks
in bowed obeisance to the inevitability
of elemental erosion with time's passage,
feel their essence exposed,
see it washed downstream,
to feed and nurture generations to come

 

[vampiredust]

The Statues in Trafalgar Square Wander

Filmic, this morning
laced with starlings
squabbling over trash
and pigeons dressing

paving slabs in lime,
covering up thumbprint
sized whorls of gum.
Verdigris statues watch,

wander how much better
their life might have been
had they chosen the route
of flesh instead of stone:

Perhaps slumped in a pink
cocktail somewhere in Vegas,
hookers wrapped around
each shoulder like feather

boas. Not this ordinariness,
tasting the copper air,
watching tourists gather you
for their albums, reduced

to pixels; the past rushed
away like a patient on the verge
of collapse, body blue
like the final tinges of hope.

 

[vampiredust]

Vegas in Summer

Storm drains choke
with heat, dogs lie
on porches batting
flies. Children walk

past, preferring
to watch mountains
driven mad by the sight
of horses galloping

over them. The Strip,
with its sherbet skyline,
becomes a mirage;
palm trees wrinkle

like old ladies. Out
in the Mojave, dew
forms roadways
on the surfaces of cacti.

The city moves closer
to them at night,
wanting knowledge
of escape routes.

 

[WickedEve]

"Call me Tuesday Poem,"
stirred me, like an unfurled
wind. She, subdued

inside the fettering cage, was lovely
in her bird pain.
I called her small wednesday poem, incapable

of great wingspan.
Flying toward me, only then
will she be bold enough
for Tuesday.

 

[vampiredust]

Tattoo

The first prick
is the one you remember
the most, the needle
pulsing like a lion with its teeth
sunk in a gazelle's neck.

Except that your skin
is the gazelle and the buzzing
thing is the lion carving
pictures that wrinkle and fade.

No wonder you leave the place
carefully, pressing the wound
as if it were a child who has just
broken its first bone.

You want this to last.