Posts Tagged ‘poetry’
Tuesday, June 14, 2011 9:21:22 PM
Tuesday, June 14, 2011 9:21:22 PM
blue covered breaths in the stillness, no sounds
all that keeps me from feeling as if i’ve died – gone to Heaven
is the gentle pressure of your fingers, barely tracing
the lines that make my body separate from yours
else we’d never know having become one in a tangle
a new machine incapable of stopping, perpetually advancing
moving at a steady pace toward the ecstasy of forever
all the blueness that illuminates the entire world surrounding
drowning inside a room of inescapable unity with you
your flesh like warm water swallows my arms and legs
upside down and turned away from the isolating outside
we are eternal in this one endless place – blue as the cool sky
calm as the deep grass underneath our form, our smoothness
will you renew yourself with me, baptise ourselves inside joy
can we exist outside the binds of expectation in endless
quiet perception of us as a single being in slow motion
Tuesday, June 14, 2011 9:33:16 PM
“Renounce”
Thank you, “Frank” for playing this word game with me. *wink*
10:20 PM 4/12/2011
kneeling before this altar of flesh – dressed in the finery of fingers
draped over each section of silken, luxurious skin
my breathing in slow motion – inhaling velvety hairs
a mouth opens to confess – lips dripping communion wine
bitter blood – tainted with sin & seduction
into each soft fold – cascading over the roundness of a breast
the hollow of a navel
this bodily temple of desire
I will not renounce the religion of your body
your soft golden gaze
enchanted by the rhythmic thrumming of your tiny moans
escaping as prayers from the lips of the damned
into the air, small souls rising to Heaven
turned away like ash falling to the Earth
surrendering to the damnation of my lust
10:32 PM 4/12/2011
Posted in "Best of ...", @jstcallmefrank, poetry | 
Tags: life, poetry, slutty slutterson, Twitter | 
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haunted dream
Another quicky, free style poem.
Saturday, February 19, 2011 10:15:29 PM
it is calling your name, this thing of darkness
amidst the flowers, funeral finery and fillegree
this voice emerges from hollows, from corners
it whispers to you with the smell of rotted leaves
mildew on it’s soft breath on your neck
can you hear her, whistling wind
through the trees outside but holding on
tight to your skirts – turning, turning, turning round you look for her
down haunted halls, in quiet rooms
through smudged, tearful eyes you look
“here i am” she says
you see nothing but deep black waters
unstirred by a hundred years of silence
“i’m waiting” she says
you can feel her here, like a cold hand on your ankle
stretch away, lips contorted into shrieks
but a throat, cut with invisible wire and unable to speak
you moan silently as she calls to you from below
“here i am” she says
“here i am”
“here i am”
Saturday, February 19, 2011 10:22:21 PM
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Sunday, December 05, 2010 8:21:38 PM
who is content with their art –
a fool filling himself with delusion
failing to see perfection can never be attained
what lover leaves a bed still warm with passion –
one who is cooled the moment after fullfillment
with the ice of their own isolation
search for a paradise in the eyes of a stranger
find yourself inadequate, desolate
one who cannot feel love
for one who cannot give love
8:24:36 PM
8:49:07 PM
such a misleading innocense
lit inside his eyes like blue flames
a smile, slight and sly
leading only to vicious submissions
frosted fingers burned down every inch
skin peeled back to bear tensed muscle
hairs prickled with anticipation
his gasp, one of surrender & of guilt
but i, poor i did not anticipate
the disease that spread through blood
leaked into the heart to devour
by means of his very conscious conspiracy
such a misleading innocense …
8:55:08 PM
It’s been a year since death frosted over my soul just enough …
It’s been about a year since I have written any thing, period (other than work emails). I think that at times FMS has totally stolen my pleasure, which used to be immense, in writing and reading. Now, it’s hard to concentrate and hard to work up any coherent thoughts to write. It would be today, this weekend rather when I have both not taken my usual seizure meds and also my “pain” meds (dr perscriped Cymbalta for pain) that I feel an odd, friendly melancholy and wistful feeling of missing something. Enough that it has inspired me to try to write a little before bed.
Molly Gart
it’s a nameless, faceless thing
isn’t Molly Gart – this loss of sense
this loss of You in the mists
again you feel like ghost sheets
ruffed under my fingers when i find
there’s no bones beneath
Molly – have you loved any one
have you ever felt your heart beat?
i have scarcely heard you breathing
since before moss grew on your breast,
since frost over took you there
and since dead leaves covered your hair
can i kiss you one time before i
loose the sense of my body too,
like you have dear? or have we both
become like fly wings dried and crushed
swept away with so much dirt and dust
Molly Gart?
wither like a rose and dry like Earth,
dear Molly, he’s in Heaven with the fish
swim like a feather in blue dreams of sleep
drown like a girl in blood, so cold she
cannot weep, Molly
Well there’s for free styling alright. I actually kind of like it for being totally free association instanity. I should try sleeping. Maybe I should make a doll and name her Molly Gart.
- k