The Gap, Australia

#6025 Feb 3, 2013
Thoughts cannot breathe
Until you give them life.
But it is only in imagination
That you'll hear its voice.

The written word lacks life,
But comes alive in thoughts.
You create the image with words
And the reader sees them in life.

Rememberance of



Past,learn from it
Present,here and now
Future,can be anything
Reflections of my life......

The Gap, Australia

#6026 Feb 3, 2013
My eyes envision us
Our time together
I was bewitched
By your words,

Alluring, erotic, loving
Sundown to Sunset...

When the wind starts howling
I can hear your voice
Sending your precious love
Soon to join me-

To partake in a ritual
Of making love
A love we have known
Dreaming of this day

I tremble at the thought
Of your touch
The gentleness of it
How I cry for the urgency

We disrobe one another
Are eyes are content
Joyfully approving
What we see

Our bodies touch
Our hunger explodes...
I awaken from this passion
Wild is the wind

The Gap, Australia

#6027 Feb 3, 2013
Having no keen ear
for the vagrant yammering
of weathered old soothsayers;
heart sought peace in
a home consecrated,
where a pure water-way
roared with fortitude past
crumbling towers of preconception,
where integrity reflected
past and present honestly,
and where forgiveness overcame
an onerous list of blunders

Bombarded daily
by bell-cranks and the
declamatory babble of celebrity
seekers seeking success as
an act of revenge,
where a dais
above all others would
fulfill some twisted dream
of being worshiped by those who
adore flesh and bone enigmas rising and
falling in entertainments constantly
disposable cycle

(And they're all joined together in a mad delusional dance)

True seekers attempt to decipher allegories,
ingesting the significance briefly
with strong iron ears,
the counterfeit,
searching for truth,
hoping to rediscover excellence
somewhere expressed with a fervency
learned from foolish failures vindicated in honor

And where in the hopefulness of finding
new direction; wisdom discovers
replications of failure
the sins
and foolish choices of (wo)men
undermining integrity because what they’ve
done has not returned to them what they desired

(Society pressures everyone
with mythic winds and paradoxes
impregnated with platitudes and the chesty
blabbing of instigators and talking heads)

It was quite clear
(mulling these things)
that we inhabited a planet being
downtrodden by the sophistry of henchmen,
harbingers of doom, political gibberish,
celebrity questers, megalomania,
puppet masters, puppets,
substance abuse
and dishonor

Today there was little
leeway for yowling ninnies, or
those who hated for the sake of hating,
or those whose negativity
dictated personal policy,
soundness wanted less
perplexed undertakings
where honor,
excellence, and Love
prepared the garden
for another impendent harvest

The Gap, Australia

#6028 Feb 3, 2013
I trace the edge of your brow,
these fingers tamed in the chase
for your skin.
all those frays and strands, our life
ebbs away.

I am leaving you
in the drifting
calm of a silent shore.

Remember my love,
when it was whipped by the wind
and at the peak of my innocent screams

you melted me into a dozen sunsets.

A fond farewell in a copper-plated

Keep my spirit
between the thousand lines of stories
burrowed into your frown.

All those sapphire nights, bitter days;
I lower my hand
for a solemn end.....


{leave my mess
to sink.}

The Gap, Australia

#6029 Feb 3, 2013
I'd like to be somewhere the sun sets like napalm
on a copper plate of ocean

There are motor galleys beating through that
mirrored sea

Minarets mounting and remounting twenty hills,

In billboards and temples to the lost, fading and
rising in an incense haze

The streets go nameless save by the light that

Through the telephone wire - and the colour of the
orchids -

You can't buy boots to save your life but a
billion pairs of slippers

And on corners draped in damask silk, a prayer to

You squint to see propellors drone through a
mustard sky.

And the women are as inscrutable as prophecy, and
motion is a puzzle,

Drawing breath from fume to fume, rank and sticky
with humanity,

And panting serpentine on cut-price pedals

Over a bridge kneeling in mire, sweating people
from its crumble-steps,

It's gasoline everywhere to be seen; and the
greasy squeeze of markets

Gives you pause enough to peel skin from tacked-on

To clap a hand to the cheek; a mosquito city

Sucking from the veins a potent humour.

And I want to be immersed under all that rumbling

Dredge out a groove in the muck and effluent of

Lay me down like an axle........

And plug in to the engine of the world.

The Gap, Australia

#6030 Feb 3, 2013
A right-handed man can do no wrong when he swings from the left, a low blow - sneaky, hidden, subterranean digs beneath the scales of skin and burrows down and you become convinced of these memetic mimicries and desires wage war in your chest cage, solemnly the hands part, and whisper turns to silence.

Once and firstly when and where, then heavy - now- still heavy. Instead of untangling this rivered jungle, ecosystem of regrets, decay, and forgetfulness - it is gone now - it is pure now - it is sweet and life is light now - will it sting to see the end credits slide down like tears, my once-upon-a-winter's-night hand that held mine warm -

Now let us dream beyond the infantile passions - beyond the clawings for a grain, a drop, a copper penny - fall away now, all you whisperers and torturers - fall away now, sun in sky, Optimism toeing up a ladder - she is ripe for a fall - she is due to cry - and so i whisper - i SCREAM i SCREAM -

Live down here on these Plain plains, these mellow meadows amongst these stoic flowers nodding neither yay or nay - and then now -I go - to inhabit Sunday day - a quiet and calming cave.

The Gap, Australia

#6031 Feb 3, 2013
I am transient

My darling Paper Town

I am but a wisp of cloud

Blown about by angerily whispering winds

Something seeming virginal

For when I am touched,

I disappear

I am the scent of roses and blood

A scent of betrayal of trust

The smell which keeps you awake

Swooning with feverish nightmares and flashes of


I alone allow you to sleep

I am the taste of strawberry wine,

Which stained the lips of the woman you loved

The night you first met

I am the hunger, devouring your mind

Seeking the answers, killing your soul

I crave naught but the truth, though you won’t

enjoy it

I eat away at the most delicate pieces of your


I alone will allow you to rest

I am the god that played on your fears,

Wasted you away,

Killed your children,

Starved your wives,

Sent your sons to war

The Gap, Australia

#6032 Feb 3, 2013
Climbing to the top,
I dont think it matters
mind is kind a empty,
scream until it splatters.

Go across the street
for something better to eat
not the vegetable kind,
not the edible kind.

I said I went across the street
for somethin better to eat
except the food was called
my soul between my head and my feet.

You see I dont know what the story is,
locked inside where glory is,
come and bring your fighting gloves
or peace we does like morning doves.

I need some gatorade,
or was it time to say that
I just need my life today.

Either way, Im bruisin,
cruisin, goin vertical
hooked into these lines
call it an umbilical...

chord, floors,
doors that lead to
filthy chores
doors that lead to filthy wars.

I just need to be me,
he or whatever it is
I'm supposed to be
what it is im supposed to see out...

searching pacing hating waiting
drowning swimming falling flying
crushing grinding removing binding
doping toking poking pushing....

Flowing ticking fearing picking
burning sticky wretched itching
puking pacing loving scratching
burning churning flipping learning....

Dancing prancing climbing turning
ecstatic freaking dramatic peaking
numbing dumbing chilling flipping
nodding plodding sitting sinking....

Sedating degrading fading dazing
pounding soaring sleeping boring
slipping failing wailing ailing
screaming yelling cursing craving.

The Gap, Australia

#6033 Feb 3, 2013
I told her she'a
dash of scarlet
and the sad smile of victory,
flame controlled to
wax and wheat,

to cut
the underbrush
nagging the crops to
death, and I'm in

the land must go feverish
before it breaks
and a later good morning
from the cracks.

The Gap, Australia

#6034 Feb 3, 2013
Going to shift the script now because I wanna touch her..... and they forced me to learn that want and need are not each other and "happens" even less so now the Little Lost Boy watches impassive from an wayrd-angle perch and questions, what use alethetic modeling when the goal was concealment?

Call it NOT. Concepts are oppression by "is", "no right" "the world" and at 09:40 late for the bus and I'm the first to admit to horrifically no one.

I AM HUNGRY and spurting come across the veils and layers of her while she is gravity unmoved like before like later but I have an "is" to make and ever what is raw-chanced into Being is there some way I can get into it?

Look at my mind while she is smiling and call me back to training I am not a piston rod...... I CAN MAKE a piston rod, but again the cum on the belly on the sheets in her hair in my own mouth shows the detached observer that goals of the flesh are well, let's just call it flexibility for now and file it away for more detailed analysis after we're finally all dead together.

Now I render myself into easily processed sections, now I contain myself in clearly labelled shapes, now I go about the work of others.

"We must make excuses for our horrifically inaccurate linguistics...

...by saying that it is a beautiful thing about the world"

Now mature into the abject failure of our interface with it, tug lustfully on our 'need' for absolutes, that there IS an absolute undistorted reality, dripping and waking wet pussy in response to our caress

The mirror sees my root chakra stuffed all full of toxic cruft and half-terminated correspondences, collage, and the artistic composition of all of their faces in the shapes they'd never make all of their bodies in the shapes they'd never take. So I hang my hat and start the day's work.

I cover this up while you look over here, now revealing that while I cover where you were looking you turn to see a new mystery which distracts you from me shuffling the first thing back under the second thing's cover forever and ever and ever and ever veils upon veils beneath veils upon veils

The Gap, Australia

#6035 Feb 3, 2013
Disappointed in the social criticism of these
defunct stereotypes,

"Everything is worthless compared to us"

Ripping at the bites—claws breaking down the point
of essence

(a being well dressed all in white)

Explaining it all to the edge of reason

No more illusion and the façade of it all fades

Until you’re left with a gray-scale sediment

Pick the opacity, add a drop shadow,

These are your new choices of analysis now it’s
all stripped down to the core

Lava hardening over the exoskeleton

Making a fossil of society out of ideologies lost
in the sand

and a non-stop clock tick tocking to your off beat

Play prelude number one,

A nocturne of infinity; luminosity in a cave

Lighting up the way to an

All-nighter, down-payment, take-us-or-leave-us

They call her Brooklyn; it's the place she sleeps
around in

Tumbling down a slide of freshly laundered sheets

They smell like mountain fresh

Or meadow sweet;

Sin laced fabric covering the new bed she wakes up

a marionette doll lying on the sunken ice of a

and the musky grip it all roots of a

tree filtering through her ribs, catching a

two-four-five beat of a heart;

quench her words

there's nothing left to say—

(it's a turmoil she'll never be able to explain).

The Gap, Australia

#6036 Feb 3, 2013
Not touching was killing him.


A little more everyday.

Inch by inch by inch.

And there was nothing that he could do about it.

Ultimately, it wasn’t his decision. He had no control over the way that she felt, how she chose to express—or, more to the point, not express—her feelings. If she didn’t feel this—this longing that seemed to hover between them, what could he do? He had spoken with straight-fury and nothing had been heard.

It didn’t make things easier.

It didn’t stop the fact that he cared about her desperately.

Didn’t change that being near her was—he didn’t even have words for it. Like everything else in this predicament, there were no words to adequately verbalize what was in his head. All he knew was that he longed and he felt and he needed.

And that he was existing in a liminality so absolute that there was little chance for anything else.

As he watched them interact, standing so closely that a single step would cause them to touch, to change, to melt into something else, he realized that their closeness, their similarity, was more likely to metamorphosis into something sublime before he would ever even be allowed to touch.

And wasn’t that just terribly ironic?

Of course, it was a rhetorical question.

No answer needed or expected.

…though, it’d be nice to get one eventually.

But, in their own way, they would make sense. Be happy. Become petra.

The likelihood of it actually happening, though, wasn’t very high.

He said that he didn’t like girls in “that way”—and how sixth grade was that phraseology?—but the way that they moved and didn’t—quite—touch spoke of something that he wasn’t ready to face.

There was something akin to desire there, he could see it, feel it, hear it buzzing in his head in the dark.

Yet he would never do anything about it because they were mated and she was something that he wasn’t supposed to want because that was what his programming demanded. And she would never allow anything to occur since that would mean, in her mind, the dissolution of their coupleness.

And he thought that they were both too concerned by what a society that manages to make the most natural of things into something obscene thought of such a grouping.

If they needed each other, if it was to become something that didn’t fit into a pat-societal-box, who cared? If they were happy—as happy as could be, he supposed—then what harm was there to be had?

They were, each, too much for a single person to understand and console. Why shouldn’t there be a way for them to be all of that to each other?

As if it were all that simple. But there was no reason that it had to be difficult either.

Continued >>>>

The Gap, Australia

#6037 Feb 3, 2013

>>>>>>...... . Things were different now.

There had been a subtle shift in how she treated him.

…and it was worrying him.

He had heard that tone before, seen that same shift in deference before. And, while it usually preceded some sort of romantic attachment, those were things that had never ended well for her. It may have been what he wanted—only, he would have never phrased it “romantic” because he didn’t think that’s how this sorta of thing actually worked in a successful way—waited as her feelings waxed and waned and she argued with herself about his attachment, that his mate had signed-off on this, was willing to accept the plurality of the potential, that there was nothing wrong in having that flexibility of mind.

But that tone.

It’s wonderful.

He’d heard it before. Never been on the receiving end of it. Pretty certain that any desire for those words—that expression of quietly-pleased-awe—to be directed at him had been out of want for recognition. To know that his work moved her as much as others. To know that in some strange way that she loved him too.

…having it directed towards him now?


That wasn’t what he wanted from her at all. He wanted their friendship—Hadn’t that been what he kept harping on about? That she thought love was all about overwhelming emotion and passion, which it was, but that friendship was what it had to be based upon?—wanted it to be something that was as important to her as it was to him. For her to feel like she’d found Home in some way.

That love was love. It was an infinite resource that didn’t have to be doled out in drips and drabs. That love could be felt with the same intensity for everyone. That love didn’t differentiate. That other things twisted love into certain societal conceptions.

And now this new twist.

She always seemed to want what she couldn’t have. And, when she did have it, she didn’t want it anymore. He thought, sometimes, that maybe that’s what he was to her—something ultimately unattainable for a variety of reasons.

But, maybe, now she was realizing that there was the possibility.

And that scared her.

Hell, it scared him.

None of them were ready for the actuality of this fusion coming to fruition.

But, there wasn’t any way to be ready. No way to prepare.

They were all going to have to hold their breaths and just jump.


Be willing to try.

Because, ultimately, love was love was love.

The Gap, Australia

#6038 Feb 4, 2013
I've dreamed of you so much that you're losing
your reality.

Is it already too late for me to embrace your
living and breathing body

and to kiss that mouth which is the birthplace of
that voice so dear to me?

I've dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown
accustomed to lying crossed upon my own chest in a
desperate attempt to encircle your shadow, might
not be able to unfold again to embrace the
contours of your body.

And coming face-to-face with the actual
incarnation of what has haunted me and ruled me
and dominated my life for so many days and years

might very well turn me into a shadow.

Oh equilibriums of the emotional scales!

I've dreamed of you so much that it might be too
late for me to ever wake up again.

I sleep on my feet, body confronting all the usual
phenomena of life and love, and yet when it comes
to you,

the only being on the planet who matters to me now,

I can no more touch your face and lips than I can
those of the next random passerby.

I've dreamed of you so much, have walked and
talked and slept so much with your phantom
presence that perhaps the only thing left for me
to do now

is to become a phantom among phantoms, a shadow a
hundred times more shadowy

than that shadow which moves and will go on moving,

stepping lightly and joyfully across the sundial
of your life.

The Gap, Australia

#6039 Feb 4, 2013

In a corner agile incest
Circles the virginity of a little dress.

In a corner the sky turned over
To the spines of the storm leaves white balls behind.

In the brightest corner of every eye
We're expecting the fish of anguish.

In a corner the car of summer
Immobile glorious and forever.

In the light of youth
Lamps lit very late.

The first one shows its breasts
that red insects are killing.

The Gap, Australia

#6040 Feb 4, 2013
I speak to you across cities
I speak to you across plains

My mouth is upon your pillow

Both faces of the walls come meeting
My voice discovering you

I speak to you of eternity

O cities memories of cities
Cities wrapped in our desires

Cities come early cities come lately
Cities strong and cities secret

Plundered of their master's builders
All their thinkers all their ghosts

Fields pattern of emerald
Bright living surviving

The harvest of the sky over our earth
Feeds my voice I dream and weep

I laugh and dream among the flames
Among the clusters of the sun

And over my body your body spreads
The sheet of it's bright mirror.

Level 6

Since: Apr 12

Location hidden

#6041 Feb 4, 2013
What about some new poets coming on this thread.

“Raising hell since 1989”

Level 6

Since: Jul 12

Location hidden

#6042 Feb 4, 2013
She digs her heels into his back
as he bends at his knees in worship to her
She whips him hard and leaves scars for all the world to see
He walks around with his head hung low
there's no other place for him to go
She's the only one who knows
what gets him up and ready to go
It's a pity that a man can be stripped away of his masculinity
and a wonder that a woman can have so much control
She says she wants it now
and upon her demand he does as she commands
Handcuffs and chains get the blood pumping
Scratches and screamin get the adrenaline rushing
So caught up in the x-rated moment
A slap across the face and a lash to the bottom
Notice me dear friends- this isn't abuse
For some crazy people this is the definition of pleasure
A melting high and an "end of life" fear
Combine it together for an exquisitely erotic experience that won't be forgotten

The Gap, Australia

#6043 Feb 7, 2013
Make it real.
Make it gritty.
Make me believe,
That this is the truth,
That you’ll never leave.
Scratch my belly,
Kisses on my navel,
Moonlight in your eyes,
Full of passion,
Let me know
That this is real,
Not some fevered dream,
Can’t handle it any more,
Flesh to flesh on fire,
As the ice freezes to the frame,
Criss-cross in delicate patterns,
Like the veins across your hands,
Like the cobwebs,
Above our heads as we hide in the abandoned,
Live in the forbidden.
And I gently wipe the tears from your cheeks,
Kiss your forehead,
Whisper, what’s wrong?
And I love you so much,
Can’t let you go,
Can’t let you know,
As the edges grow dimmer,
As they fade and shimmer,
I’m not real,
You aren’t, too,
There’s no life about us,
Nothing is true.
Not your soft caress,
Not my strong promise,
An artist’s mind,
An author’s wish,
We don’t exist,
How could our love,
Not break free of this realm?
As the dawn rises,
I cry freely in your arms,
Known they have moved on,
The sun is our funeral pyre,
As they waken,
From this fevered dream.

The Gap, Australia

#6044 Feb 7, 2013
Gentle morning light filtered through their apartment window. It was her day off, and he was a "kept man," so they were permitted to lounge a bit longer.

When she had woken, she had without thought curled into his warm body, and the movement had woken him. He lazily pulled his fingers through her tangled hair, taking care not to pull. She rested on his chest and they gazed into each other's eyes, neither inclined to get out from under the quilt and greet the winter morning.

She traced the outline of his eye patch.

"Stop that," he gently scolded.

"I can't believe you sleep in that damn thing."

"Why not? If you saw the scars in the middle of the night, you'd have nightmares for the rest of your life."

"I would not." Still she traced it, her fingers light on his cheek. But she allowed him to cling to the crutch of his eye patch. She would permit his weakness in this one thing, his vanity and his fear of the past. She could grant him that much.

When he had returned from the North, finally returned to her, a Corporal, they knew that nothing had changed. Neither their feelings, nor the laws against fraternization.

So he declined re-enlistment and retired. His duty to the country was as paid off as it was going to be, and now, he spent his time making up the years lost, away from his love.

So she would grant him the eye patch, since he was willing to push aside the rest of his guilt, and stay with her.

"You have beautiful eyes," he suddenly said. "Such an unusual shade of brown. A mahogany, really. Almost as though there were some red in them."

She smiled. "Are you saying they look Ishvalin?"

He looked thoughtfully down at her. "You know what? I think you could have some Ishvalin blood in you." She cocked her eyebrow at him. "That wouldn't be a bad thing. They are a sturdy people. You know, that would explain your stubbornness too. You're steadfast."

"I think being raised by my father might have more to do with that than a fraction of ancestral blood." She reached up, this time tracing the cheek and brow around his good eye. "What about you? See how dark your eyes are? How they narrow? I think you might be related to somebody from Xing."

He smiled. "I could be the descendant of a prince." She laughed, her body gently shaking on top of his. "What? Are you making fun of me?"

"No," she whispered. "I think your eye is beautiful."

His expression turned wistful. "Eye. Not eyes, anymore."

"You're beautiful." She ran her hand through his hair, traced his jaw, followed the muscles down his arms.

"If I'm beautiful, what does that make a gorgeous woman like you?"

She traced her hand around to his lips, laid a finger across them, and he fell silent.......


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