#5682 Jan 21, 2013
Snatching the life out of my words
hearing the whispers coming through
slamming the darkness in my mind
making my mind scream
silent questions resounding in my ears
shivers of the soul.
Cyanide kisses melted to venomous wiches
penetrates to the sap of my limbs
menstral feelings glued to my mental dreamings
annihilating the common or inate streak of my seams
proliferating my evergrowth.
Acid treats invested into sensuous licks
strokes the blood along my monster stick
convulsive movements meshed with manstrubating laughter
molests into my primal skin
poisoning my acts and my deeds.
Cunning was all I ever was
devious is what I am
darkness is all I ever was
marinating in my own piss
content in eating your carnal c unt candy.
#5683 Jan 21, 2013
tastes like honey
tastes like milk and honey
across my lips bliss
feeling hot and horny
across my lips kiss
kind of salty
kind of sweet and salty
across my lips this....
thick-n-creamy, oh, so yummy
a kiss, a taste, of bliss
sticky tongue dances on puss slit
heavy breathing instrumentals
Baby, you taste so fine..
melanin tastes so sweet
and you fit so perfectly
that I rain sweat
from brow to brow
riding you in fluid movements
inspired by the thickness and
the length I feed to you...
I sing your songs of ooh's and aahhh's
and face to face
desire hangs like dew drops
in our sweet breath intermingled
through passionate lover's kiss.
“Just a lil' humor there.....”
Since: Sep 12
OR NOT .... <[;-)
#5684 Jan 21, 2013
Yes, I read your words about all that. Not sure I heard how it all went in Brisbane. Heard the weather is very hot and they are uncomfortable with it. I thought you were in Brisbane with your address there. I post two others from the near area. I really enjoy them both as I do you. I've been looking closer at the area and found some BEAUTIFUL Beach sites. I swear, it's on my bucket list.
Hope your grandparents are well and your sister too.
Hope you are well. I should have responded to the post you made to me, but that other one ... well.
What's stopping you from sending a pic - do stop teasing me ... please.
#5685 Jan 22, 2013
Not sure of what you're talking about again Trish.....I have no idea how you know about my Sister.....because to the best of my recollection I've never mentioned her to you, or my Grandparents either......if I have, maybe you might like to refresh my memory ?
It's been a very hot Summer all along the Eastern seaboard of Australia......only last week irt hit 44c degrees in Sydney....I don't live in Brisbane anymore, I moved to Sydney almost 8 months ago........I'm still using my Pops e-mail provider....but that's about to change....so you see I don't really have anyway to send you anything....as you well know.....because I do not have your e-mail address....and unless I'm mistaken, you do not have my Pop's either.
Just thought I should tidy-up that little bit of mischief, on your behalf......in case anyone here thinks that you and I correspond away from Topix.......naughty girl Trish......as much as you think you might know me...."you don't".....or anything about me, only the things you read here, some true....some not at all true.
However I'm giving you 8 out of 10 for your effort.
Warm Regards, and a Happy New Year.
“*=* Always Thinking *=*”
Since: Nov 12
#5686 Jan 22, 2013
That's just the way she is HN(?)2248
“*=* Always Thinking *=*”
Since: Nov 12
#5687 Jan 22, 2013
No Nadia that as close as i'll ever come!!!
*=* Is there an alarm (bells) ringing?*=*
“Just a lil' humor there.....”
Since: Sep 12
OR NOT .... <[;-)
#5688 Jan 22, 2013
Adrian - You didn't mention anything to me in particular, but you did somewhere put out here that you got a new Harley, you told us how many miles you had put on it in such a short time (can't remember the number) you mentioned you were hanging at the beach. You mentioned your holiday plans to go to Brisbane to be with your grandparents and your sister and that's when I realized you didn't live in Brisbane.
I'm not interested in your personal information and I thought we came to an understanding about what happened back when. I simply just wanted to say hello and put the tiny bit of personal that you had shared public and that had also included what you were wearing.
You are a facinating poster, I watch you and enjoy seeing you in other threads on the occasions to spread the wealth - so to speak.
Have a nice evening.:)
#5690 Jan 22, 2013
::chucks alarm bell at Terry:: Get a dress!
Since: Apr 12
#5691 Jan 22, 2013
Beautifully written. Genius.
#5692 Jan 22, 2013
Refuge is the title of that poem.
Since: Apr 12
#5693 Jan 22, 2013
And written by whom.
Since: Dec 12
#5695 Jan 22, 2013
My bones are cold my love
I beg thee to warm them
Wrap me in your love and energy
Take away the chill
Let me feel the heat of your kisses
The electricity of your touch
Heated breath upon my neck
Make love to me here by the fire
Slow and passionately
Tell me you love me
Over and over again
Touch me in all my most intimate places
Known only by you
Take my breast into your hands
Kiss them softly
Nuzzle yourself gently there
Tangle my hair into your hands
Tug it gently
Tell me that you want me
Tell me again
Gently glide your hands upon my skin
which indulges in the warmth of your touch
Let them find my thighs
As I ask with no shame
For you to enter me
Launch me into ecstasy with the movement of your hips
Passionately I plea for you to warm me with your liquid release
For my bones are cold my love
And I beg thee to warm them
Since: Aug 09
#5696 Jan 22, 2013
I'm feeling slippedge
Since: Dec 12
#5697 Jan 22, 2013
Laura Beth if you are referring to me with regards to your conspiracy theory then I must tell you that you are way off with regards to your ASSumption.
I have been on Topix for eight months. If you doubt that then I suggest you look at the Huntington WV forum and you will see I have been a fixture there for sometime. Since June of 2012 in fact.
Whatever drama that is yours is yours and I wish no part of it. Think what you like, I cannot stop you. However, I think your behavior is childish and that of someone who has a vivid imagination.
#5698 Jan 22, 2013
In the midst of this room
I lie still as they put the IV into the crook of my arm--- I wince.
A rolled up towel is placed beneath my neck, and
A sheet to cover my legs-
I see flies hovering about the overhead light-
As I breathe oxygen from a rubber mask-
The last thing I recall is
Drifting off into another place in time-
Moments later, so it seems
I am sitting in a chair by the window beside,
Overlooking trees dancing to the tune of
A nightingale’s song,
A late spring’s balmy and gentle wind,
Footsteps softly ambling up and down the hall behind me,
Rudely contradicted by the sound cars rushing down the boulevard outside,
The screaming of sirens and people conversing in the room next door-
These voices that could be real or emanating from my mind- although
It is too soon, after the shock that was induced to my brain
To distinguish reality from unreality-
I clearly remember the spoken words
“Right unilateral” and so it seemed that
Mistrust of the world about me and
Conversations echoing and reverberating throughout my mind as
Emanating from some other place in time-
Would tip toe away from the spirit raging war inside my mind-
Trees dancing and birds carrying on with their soprano tune,
That late spring’s breeze being a chorus of some far away lullaby –
Footsteps following closely behind,
And cars rushing down the boulevard outside-
Have now become my only reality as
I have finally awakened from a peaceful slumber,
Returning to earth from my journey to some other realm-
I have regained my sanity-
Walking away from the magnificent view from the picture window before me only to
Return to the familiarity of every day life and as dove would peacefully do,
I lift my wings, though imaginary
Only to soar above the treetops outside
Leaving my tears behind this time to vanish in that river of despair that
I have known for so long as I flee and abandon the tempest of fear this time-
#5699 Jan 22, 2013
To start with, it is good to remember that poetry is made with language.
More than any other literary text, poetry uses the ability of language that is called connotation - the ability of language to say more than one thing at the same time, in the same line, in few words, in a condensed manner.
There is more than one and only one meaning in a poem, poetry is always searching, always hesitating (a “prolonged hesitation between sound and sense”, said Paul Valéry)– always using the connotative characteristics of language.
This is the poetical use of language; we could call it the poetical dimension of language. And it concerns not only the writing of a poem but also (and this is very important) the reading of a poem.(Or listening to a poem.)
And the poetical dimension of language must be kept alive and defended.
Why is that important? I think it is important because it fights all kinds of one-sidedness, all kinds of unilateral thinking. Language and the use of language is a battle-field. All kinds of powers, financial, ideological and political powers are trying all the time to impose their one-dimensional meaning to words, chosen once and for all.
A poetical text, a poem, opens up this unilateral use of language, it is an important act of resistance to those powers that try to abuse language, try to impose their view, their meaning to the words, to the language.
And a poem is also very important because it helps the reader (or the listener) to become a creative user of language.
And that is the ultimate consequence of the poetical dimension of language: It helps to build a democratic community, it helps to build a multi-dimensional society.
#5700 Jan 22, 2013
There is a man who lives in my mirror,
who has profited from the moments of looking at me, and
appears to hold, for his young age, the perverse other side of my dreams.
Years ago it was different. And time has made him someone else.
He gives the impression now of having rejected a lot
and one does not see the beauty that gave him youth.
It seems that where he lives it is cold and has begun to rain.
The man I perceive in the mirror is reserved and reflective
and only sometimes repeats my words as in a deaf echo.
I am saddened that his great passions have furrowed his skin
and have darkened it with solitude, and sad thoughts,
and eyes pockmarked by chicken feet and deep rings.
I am afraid of his looks of resignation and reproach
and his profound nay-saying of being accomplice to joy and the lie.
His tone is made of thoughts and he does not hear my guitar
and each day he looks more like my late father.
He has my father’s face invaded already by sadness.
He does not agree with the dissipation of my work and my days
and he wants me to be more faithful to my house and my dreams.
He compares his world full of reflections
with mine that has no balance, not in joy or sadness,
in truth or lies, in prose or poetry,
and he sees me like a young deer loose among the crags
in a landscape of stones and thorns.
When he passes his hand like a comb through his hair it appears
he would pull out the likeness he shares with me by the roots
and that he no longer wants to have my worldly image
popping up unexpectedly to disturb the richness of
the cloistered solitude he inhabits.
#5701 Jan 22, 2013
but to the keenest of eyes,
a lapse in stitching lies
along border of folk art fracture:
two pheasants in a mating dance
above sunflowers and apricot seeds,
feathers spun in cinnamon gold,
terra cotta, and willow green.
The embroiderer could have
remembered how the gods
deemed perfection only
for themselves, deities who
could do no wrong, and how,
when mortals dared the absolute
they were turned into toads, or trees,
or forever silenced as mountain tarns
in the deepest of woods.
Or, lost in an exquisite world
envied by divine beings,
the artist might have been
so beguiled by the autumn
wind, so moved by the hand
that caressed her cheek, pallid
after words of endearment.
She knows that faultless things
must be hidden from prying eyes,
the heart be quiet, ensconced
in muted fire, while fingers
emblazon figures on ivory faille,
lisle shaping the sounds
of wingéd flight.
#5704 Jan 22, 2013
Because the sounds
were caged within
a voiceless void,
she speaks to me
of joy this morning
with eager gesticulations,
hands darting like sparrows.
Last night, draped
in starched sterile greens,
she clutched at straining bars
under the harsh lights
of an antiseptic cubicle
eerily quiet. It woke
to her small sharp screams.
Her waters broke
as a fuzzy head slid out
with its wet waxy vernix.
Her tears were sounds
scrabbling at the hollow
of my throat, bird wings
brushing against glass panes.
Today we look at each other
across this expanse of clean sheets,
laughter tumbling out of our
quick wrists: splayed fingers,
open palms. Her fingers
touch her heart, circle the air.
I hear the burst of wings.
#5705 Jan 22, 2013
"more exquisite than gold, devoid
of all becoming or passing away ....…”
Wat is invisible, yet so powerful
that no force can withstand it?
A circle of burghers gathered around master guericke and his construction: the vacuum pump
towering on three legs in the room, a perfect
piece, standing there with the obscene grace
of the mantis religiosa. polished brass,
its recipient a glass sphere:
and here too is the sparrow, now beginning to flutter like the flame on a spirit of wine – its air growing ever thinner.
Before the window the yellow plums ripen in the buzzing heat, the grass spreads on the ruins. and on the wall hangs this engraving: old magdeburg.
the unswerving progress of the pendulum clock,
diopter, pedometer, astrolabe; the globe on the table where New Zealand’s dorsal has shortly cut through the great pacific, and as if from afar
the dogged trot of a passing horse and cart....
“That dead sparrow,” whispers one,
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