You are my obsession,
undulating waves of fixation
that can’t be restrained.
What I know of you
I have learned through osmosis,
the taste of ozone I crave
like breathing air.
It is always raining here.
I am nothing more than precipitation
slipping down the surface of
your skin.
Something completely different and extraordinary.
Comments closed here.
he tried to give me
the kiss of eternity,
like a parched flower
he thought i need his shower,
but i don’t.
i felt my warm skin
against the cold wall,
as he pushed me deeper
to surrender my all,
but i don’t.
i sank, scratched my nails
against his back,
he tried to stop me
with a full-blown smack,
but i don’t.
before he gave
another strong blow,
i kicked hard
his tummy’s below,
yes, i do.
before my eardrums
cracked in his screams,
i pulled his gun’s trigger
and ended his dreams,
yes, i do.
for i am a woman
who doesn’t have a man,
but i won’t let anyone
to strip me to undone,
yes, i am.
now, ask me
if i am guilty,
of killing a monster
who could’ve killed me,
yes, i am.
—
View original post 101 more words
Assemble a poem around me
paint me on your canvas
lift me up on whispers
released into your dreams
the embodiment of want
inescapable taboo
let me be the rhythm of
your beating heart.
art by Sarah Trefny
I want to be a marble faun at the foot of the fountain in the heart of the market of the town where life swarms. Instead I sit on the steps of that fountain squinting at the antsy rustling around me, grabbing my bottle tighter.
I have since recently fallen in love with that marginally overweight businessman gulping from his pocket flask while waiting for his tram because I love the expression of fear in his face that I know so well. I love even more the posh secretary smoking nervously, stomping her stilettos on the sidewalk, because she leaves her package of cigarettes on the bench for me every day of her working week.
The rest I majestically ignore. The same straying dog meets me at eight with a mouth full of hedonistic laughter and throws his meager body against mine to get the night shiver out of our bones.
Originally posted at Dithyrambs and Ditties
His mother named him Carlos, such a strange name for a Welshman. Perhaps she loved Spain. I said goodbye by a bed near a window deep with winter.
Muscadine
Summers heavy cloak hung
over fields of Goldenrod,
their long limbs reaching
out to mesh with spiky
leaves that sheltered
bundles of marmalade florets.
Their invasion of the meadow
met with merciless machetes
that hacked through unwelcome
invaders who hadn’t the courtesy to
extend a pleasant fragrance.
The trail led to an arbor nestled
in a stand of trees to a brook
trickling lightly through a trellis
where never ending appendages
wound and weaved through a
dense clusters of bulbous
translucent nipples
clinging tenaciously to their host.
The scent of peppery earth stung
our nostrils and attracted white tail deer
that ravaged the vines of their treasure.
The old man snaked a garden hose through
the lattice to frighten them, a guise that
worked only to frighten astonished lovers
lingering at fertile ground, a sacred rendezvous.
Soon the clammy dragons of summer
breathed their fiery breath and
the skin of the luminous fruit burst
with the sweetest nectar and the old man
declared them ripe and ready to harvest
by means known only to himself
and his son.
Ruptured with a pestle and filtered
they were processed by their secret method
and stored in ceramic jars.
Sweet and crisp, underdeveloped
but heady and pleasant.
Rarely did my father materialize
from his travels once I had been
delivered for the summer,
somehow harvesting the grapes
invoked his presence like a lark at dawn.
vitis rotundifolia
Summer scatters her shades
in daring colors of red and green
asymmetrical patterns splayed
over fledgling birds taking wing
above silent fields and the late blooms
of lilac and deep blush of peony
still clinging to a bowing trellis.
A flicker of burnished copper feathers
dripping with the weight of dew
flit above sighing wheat fields bending
a breath of life before summer flew
her stalks shrouded in crusty leaves
tender stems beaten to the soil
in need of assurance, a promise of rebirth.
kabegami art
Something lovely by Maxima
Comments closed here, please see the original.
Can you imagine
A day without sun?
A night without moon?
A tree without leaf?
An ocean without water?
Unimaginable!
And that’s exactly
How I am without you!
For I really can’t imagine
Life without our love;
And me,
Without you!
I am in Paris,
I think I am dreaming.
It is before daybreak and
a man waits beneath a
street light.
A melancholy smile
that does not reach
our eyes passes
through us.
I am the anonymous
memory of a red rose.
He is between lovers,
roaming the city streets at night,
sinking into eyes deep
as the river Seine,
the kind one might find
just before drowning.
Iteso Ru: Evening In Paris
In this field of wildflowers
I recognize the clouds
angels without halos
to weigh them down
Pablo Neruda – Carnal Apple
I can still feel the brush of
your amaranth hands cold as
a winter breath.
In rainstorms I glimpse you in
lightening streaks outside vaporous windows.
Your steps come and go down hollow halls
still echoing with sorrow.
So you may see what is left of me your eyes
are etched in my mind.
We wanted to be more than a memory
or displaced shadows of bodies in
wastelands that dismembered us,
scattered us like flowers.
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
Poetry, Visual Arts, Music and IT Tech
Notes on Seeing, Reading & Writing, Living & Loving in The North
This is the only time I feel alive
different times, different thoughts
Jumbled Mumbled Words
✪ Enjoy The Journey!
Viele Bilder, wenig Worte!!
Its all about us
A serial novel exploring medicine and morality in the Victorian Era.
