A teen jumps out of his school bus His face red with a bruise, He makes his way towards his house. Exhausted of his unfair life, He limps as he climbs the stairs. Ten years go by The two meet in a foreign land, Bruised, broken and alone. Their eyes lock in an eternal duel, In a quiet a lane of a bustling city. Sixty years later A lady gazes towards the horizon, Reminiscing her younger times. As nostalgia plays on the background, She looks at her husband and smiles.
All Rights Reserved. I finally tried to follow the new pattern, as done by many well-known poets of my generation, the pattern of no rhymes. Although, I must say it was not easy for me, you see I am old school and I like poetry with rhyme.
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So, I repeated one rhyming line throughout the entire poem just for my satisfaction. Sorry for being selfish and I hope you like it. Kathleen M Jul Anne J Oct Lady of the Pink Fan. Lady of the pale pink fan Who's covered in the faded blossoms of your clan I'd like to see you move away from the brown tree So I can touch your kimono as I go on one knee.
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I hope you like. Just realized that this is the first positive poem I've done Anya Jul Acrostic poem that correlates with another. Ashley Chapman Jul Love you for it Pressesd tenderly, your carnal flower opens, its butterfly released, hovers like a hummingbird drinking from the bill. My mind crowds, with niggling neurotic inanities; yours with manic dreams where bed-wetting criminals in cages beg to be freed, before better spaces overtake.
You, murmuring desire for me. I can't wait to answer. It is late, late morning, and we are all half asleep. And these, dearest of fancies, are just some, with which to penetrate your mind, as you have mine: the energy of my yielding tenderness, inviting you to complete me, as I spread for you with desire.
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Much later, those daring looks you have, the way you walk our stage: your beautiful elongated face, those quick-fire arousing eyes, your sultry self-assuredness, your pre-possessing self. I could talk about your couple, of generosity, reaching up, beyond mere comprehension: of the fact that I like Gwen his love gift for you, me ; but actually, in truth, I prefer to take this moment to make love to you; to say how wrapped I am, folded in your limbs, in our mingling sweat; how with your joy, you touch my desires, into yours, so they flow, run rather: honeysuckle from your blessed nymphae.
You love my smell, you say, and I dream of gathering you in pheromones, of drugging you, of intoxicating you, so once again you will find me, take me, have me. Entice you once more like a creature from its shell: Come!
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And as we do, I quail, speaking sweet nothings of appreciation; from full lips, your sounds return, the hypnotic rhythm of your breath: I engorge and in our labyrinth, - the maiden and the bull - we consume ourselves. There, Sweet Lentiform, you did it, you got me rolling in flesh, lusting after your intimate parts, wanting you in bed as I know you must have me: pulling me on you, kissing and biting; my arousal in your palm, pops, as you run a curved finger over my nethers. Anything to see you standing in all your pearly naked glory! Beautiful long-haired, skin tight, upright, wise, gorgeously wild, woman Graff Jan Battle Maiden.
Like a Valkyrie she walked past me with death on her breath.
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All power and confidence, she passes on to face this monster in the darkness. She moved like a ballet dancer rushing in and striking him in the place where his scale skin was thin. Fire and fury bare skin scorching forcing her to retreat but only for a solitary second. Claws cutting, tail swinging, scales scraping, scratches stinging. The ground running with the blood of both combatants. One arm a ragged mess of jagged flesh. One dragon eye destroyed while sulphur and smoke choked the breath from her parched throat. Xavier Paolo Josh Mandreza Mar TheMystiqueTrail Sep Bubbles of sound that augur a new life.
Who said sound is a vibration that travels at a bizarre speed?
https://yoku-nemureru.com/wp-content/spyware/3130-smartphone-tracker.php I saw it softly floating ensconced in bubbles to a celestial gravity that pulls them up to the realm of idyllic bliss. Sound nestles in its heart a mesmeric glow of music ordained to play the salute note to augur the birth of a new hankering. Josiah Israel Jan Knight and Dame. I love the medieval Ballad kind of poem. Alfred Lord Tennyson was my inspiration for this style :D. Lazhar Bouazzi Jul Night in Carthage. Vast, so vast is the night - vast as the memory of an English prairie, and an emmer-haired maiden he'd walked to the ferry on a summery day.
Vast, so vast is a night masquerading as a want of sight. William Allen Jan The Beacon, Part I. The whirring of the beacon drummed low and steady The light burning its way through the night That light, oh how brightly it shone For it stayed lit to guide the mariner home. That beacon, fueled by love contested the sun and its brilliant shine. For it stayed lit to guide the mariner home.
This is part IV of a ten-part series titled "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss" This particular piece came at a point of self-reflection that I had and so that emotion bled into this work rather freely. King Panda Mar Lux Falls Jul 4. Iron Maiden. Warmth is welts, sweat and tears.
Forbidden sleep, I cry and beg for relief. I find solace in a cold bath And pray for cooler weather. The cold is screaming bones, stiff and keeping me drowned in bed.
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