Category: poetry

Beast

Grizzly bear ROAR by eidolic

It was my hunt
a quest
to tame the rage filled
bear
coax him into
the warm, soft haven
of my mouth
to taste with
ravenous hunger
the far edges
of my bravery
and desire
when this beast
laps sweetly
at the honey
between my quivering
thighs
it is then that I take
my prey
captured
within the net of
my passion
and in return
I am
conquered
completely
ripped to shreds
then pieced
together
in loving renewal
made better
and more whole
by the healing balm
of keening kisses
and rough,
raping
snuggles
from
my precious
beast

 

Image: Grizzly bear ROAR by eidolic

instructions

awake before dawn
searching for the list
her bullet point set of
instructions
the day cannot
begin
without that list
from him

scrolling through
reading each point
with her lips
not simply her mind
the weight of life
it’s thousand and one
responsibilities
suddenly
pared down into
the manageable mass
of a simple
sheet of paper
a recipe
for a perfect day

years of failed attempts
on memo pads
and fancy notebooks
all intended to simplify
but each
laughing, mocking, humiliating
her
between the lines of
failure and defeat

but with his
authority
a gift she had eagerly
bestowed
these lists created by
him
fill each moment with
a chance
to please
an assignment
to ace
an opportunity
to succeed

she smiles at #8
and reads them
again
then again
filled with the pleasure
of accepting
his will
and surrendering
her own
submitting to the
complete
control
and squirming beneath
the ache of it
obedience is as much
a drug
as power is

and she folds the list
deftly
slipping it sweetly
into her bra
and moves around her
morning
with the sweet kiss
and firm smack
of being loved
properly
by the only person
who’s ever truly
understood

then reciting #1

it’s always
number
one

remember that you are
beautiful
and that
you
are
mine

 

 

third

He guides me
my commander and
collaborator
coaxing the engine within
until it churns with the
mechanical velocity of
rage
fiercely generating a heat
that threatens to consume
not just me
but all of Us
His hands
slow mine
teaching, training
painful pleasure amplified
by anticipation

left to my own devices
my impatience
the reckless ache
of my need
might rip her to
pieces
but bound against my
eager exploration
He controls us both

His whispers in my ear
instructions
which somehow slow my blood
but roar through me
like a freight train
vibrations that pass
through us
both
and reverberate
out
like the hot
stinging
flush
on her body

pressed into her
by Him
filled to an
unimaginable depth
I find My Power
beneath the
forceful demanding presence of
His
and sandwiched
between
D and s
I explore the rich
intoxicating
fullness
of being
wanted by both

of being
the undefinable
third

Secret

 

the dress by butterfly-cool via DeviantArt

Everything feels more intense. My skin responds to every breeze, every brush of an insect wing or blade of grass, every flutter of my dress.

I am more than alive, I am life. The often overwhelming disagreement inside my head silenced.

The simple act of slipping on a dress which means so little to most is an act of exuberance to her. Like unlocking handcuffs that have been worn for a lifetime.

In that dress, she is freedom and flight, grace and mercy, beauty in a form that is so bright, it is almost blinding.

A simple dress settles the distress of forty years held captive in ill-fitting trousers meant to subdue and yet inflate. There is supposed to be power inside those two legged garments.

But in this dress, I feel more powerful than ever before. She is being true to herself. Finally. Permanently.

 

I am her. She is me. We both have a secret.

 

It lies within that dress.

 

 

Image courtesy butterfly-cool via DeviantArt.com

Fallen House

https://i0.wp.com/img10.deviantart.net/3a73/i/2009/038/4/1/fallen_house_by_schneeengel.jpg
Fallen House by schneeengel via DeviantArt.com

Peeking in the windows
Of broken houses
You make your judgments
Assumptions
Based on perception
Instead of knowledge
Marking the walls with the
Graffiti
Of your supposition
No compassion for the souls
Who reside within

You think you know
That your circumstance
Gives you the right
To use
Someone else’s world
To convey
Your twisted message
Fueling the fire inside your heart
With the silence
Of that house
When really
Your muse is screaming
Trapped
Inside

One day you’ll know
How it feels
Some day
Someone will
Throw paint on
Your battered shell
Use YOU
As the
Un-indemnified muse
For their art
One day
That day
Maybe you’ll understand
What it’s like
Inside

A fallen house

Bent

the glassy liquid
between her and I
ripples
with every stone
I throw
desperate to get her
attention
longing to swim to her
but afraid
of the depth
she floats upon
this pebble falls
straight through
the darkness
landing again in my
open hand
time and time
again
until it doesn’t
her eyes rise
to meet me
she is awake
and fear grips me
even harder than before
what will become
of me
when she swims
to the shore
will I be cast out
set afloat upon waters
only she could navigate
or will she take my hand
the liquid between us
not meant to divide
but to wrap around
and unite
she is
my reflection
and she tells me it is time
I must go ashore
for I am not broken
but bent
it is time
to be the bender

Lunar

image
http://www.deviantart.com/art/moon-34321798

Crack open the moon
You’ll find me
Inside
Rubbing the glitter
Of twilight
Into my lips
Combing the shades
Of sunset
From my fur
Dancing to
The song of the
Crickets and frogs
In the grasses
Of lunar ecstacy
Find me
But leave my
Broken moon
Come rescue
This grey girl
From the cold
Hard loneliness
Of winter nights
Howling in the
Dark, or
Frosty spring mornings
Shivering in the
Mist
Let us walk along
The edge of reason
The shores of logic
The bridges over
Rationality
Until
The sultry purple
Sky of dusk
Reminds us
That
Tomorrow
Always comes
And the future
Could be
Far brighter
Than
That feral feeding
Orb
We call
Our moon

Sidewalk Chalk

 

162: Sidewalk Chalk by Lilliva-Dast

 

I poured this concrete
Mixed together
The burden of love
With the sandy
Salt of reason
And the
Soft sweet liquid
Smiles
Of babes who would
Never understand
Otherwise
It churned
Inside me
Until it grew too toxic
To hold in
So
I poured this concrete
Stepped in
Waded out
Until it hardened
All around me
Now
I’ll spend my nights
Coloring pictures
Of what true love is
And lying
About the color
Of the chalk

 

 

Image – 162: Sidewalk Chalk by Lilliva-Dast

Reversion

http://erbphotography.deviantart.com/art/The-Couple-161547410
The Couple by erbphotography

It isn’t simple
Resurrecting love
Indignation becomes
A dull ache of regret
A wearied tremble of
Misunderstood longing
A thick copse of
Bewilderment

Empty branches
Still stretching out
For a future
That was once sketched
In fertile soil
An orchard
Illustrated
By seedlings
Dreaming grandly
Beyond the pots that held
Us

Too many
Harsh winters
Faded that blueprint
Narrowing our landscape
Refusing our achy demands
For that which
Nurtures
That which
The earth itself
Should feed us

If only we could revert
To those beatific
Youths with
Dreams bigger than worries
Lust thicker than monotony
Joy brighter than resentment

No
Reversion can only be
Granted to
More simplistic things
Than love
If you wish to remain
A new plan
Must be formed

Reinvention
Instead of
Reversion
A task that seems beyond
My withered old tree
Roots too tangled
To turn his face to
The rising sun

But as I tug and
Shift to free myself
I feel the heat
And glory of
The sunrise before me
Combined with
The sweet warm
Memories
At my back
And wonder

How long could I
Linger
Between the two?

Could I
Reinvent
Reversion?

Debris

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Sunday-November-22-573987110
Sunday, November 22 by AlexandrinaAna

He woke me. Coated by all that life discarded during the years that I slept. All that time I’d thought I’d died.

He woke me, brushing away all of it. Clearing the death and darkness, beseeching me to show him more. Show him everything. The debris was often belligerent, as I seemed to cling to it in despair. But, beneath the detritus, he quickly found color. Beneath the crumbling wood, he found polished marble. Beneath the flaking mud, he found painted tiles, creating a masterpiece of art and form and beauty.

He woke me, bringing joy and life to the abandoned halls that pleasure had long forgotten. The magic of his love doesn’t seem to know a benediction. The hope within him gleans a future within me that has never before been imagined.

He woke me. And with that debris dislodged and denatured, imagination is not needed to see. The sight of completion is everything in the eyes of a brokedown palace who had only ever hoped to be a home.

He woke me. So that HE might be free.