Meeting
Dogs take new friends abruptly and by smell,
Cats' meetings are neat, tactual, caressive.
Monkeys exchange their fleas before they speak.
Snakes, no doubt, coil by coil reach mutual knowledge.
We then, at first encounter, should be silent;
Not court the cortex but the epidermis;
Not work from inside out but outside in;
Discover each other's flesh, its scent and texture;
Familiarize the sinews and the nerve-ends,
The hands, the hair - before the inept lips open.
Instead of which we are resonant, explicit.
Our words like windows intercept our meaning.
Our four eyes fence and flinch and awkwardly
Wince into shadow, slide oblique to ambush.
Hands stir, retract. The pulse is insulated.
Blood is turned inwards, lonely; skin unhappy ...
While always under all, but interrupted,
Antennae stretch ... waver ... and almost ... touch.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
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Never
Suddenly, desperately
I thought, "No, never
In millions of minutes
Can I for one second
Calm-leaving my own self
Like clothes on a chair-back
And quietly opening
The door of one house
(No, not one of all millions)
Of blood, flesh and brain,
Climb the nerve-stair and look
From the tower, from the windows
Of eyes not my own: ...
No, never, no, never!"
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wanting
She can't help it
The wanting of him
A simple glimpse
Across a crowd
She hides her smile
As her imagination
Goes
Into
Overdrive
Goosebumps rise
Along her flesh
Somewhere deep
A quickening begins
Her heartbeat accelerates
Her blood warms and
Begins to pulsate
As she
Holds on
Always
Yearning
Wondering
If he kissed her
Would she moan
As his mouth consumed her
Enslaved her
As his hands touched her
Caressed her flesh
His nearness makes it difficult to breathe
All of her wishes
To melt into him
Reach out and
Touch
A glimpse of her
Across a room
Leaves
Him
Wanting
Wanting to
Reach out and touch
To hold her face in his hands
Brush the tip of his thumb
Across her soft lips
Caress her skin
Let his hand travel
Travel
Across her throat
Feel her pulse
As it glides
To the back of her head
Grab a fist full of raven hair
Tilt her head back
Look into her languid eyes
Her parted lips
And trace kisses along her flesh
As she forgets
How to breathe
Their wanting of each other
Is hidden well
In the ease and flow
Of a crowded room
Maybe neither knowing
Neither certain
Both aware of the other
Both
Wanting.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Old Hands And Old Eyes....
old hands unbutton
the blouse of the day.
old hands make coffee,
open the dusty blinds.
old hands wash a few dishes,
make breakfast for the dogs...
old hands feed the stray cat,
make toast and wait.
old eyes caress the sunlight
as if an old friend.
old eyes see the work,
yet stop, to touch the morning.
old eyes kiss the trees,
the squirrels, and distant mountains.
old eyes ache with longing,
and amazement.
old hands and old eyes
begin the journey anew.
listening intently for the footfall,
for another candle, a hoe.
for the scent of nearness,
perhaps only remembered.
old hands and old eyes,
take the plow, the hammer,
and the nails....
old hands and old eyes,
waiting for love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Music
This shape without space,
This pattern without stuff,
This stream without dimension
Surrounds us, flows through us,
But leaves no mark.
This message without meaning,
These tears without eyes
This laughter without lips
Speaks to us but does not
Disclose its clue.
These waves without sea
Surge over us, smooth us.
These hands without fingers
Close-hold us, caress us.
These wings without birds
Strong-lift us, would carry us
If only the one thread broke.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I mean you
Yes you, I have always meant you
Because you do not just go away
This time
Of my lonely hour you come like
A persistent dream that does not
Leave me, I ask
Why?
Yes, you, I have always meant you,
I know
It is not enough to say the words
You like to hear
I understand
It makes the difference when you
Touch my hand
Kiss my lips
Slide your hands in my pants
And feel me
There
I know more shall be demanded
When I say the words
You do not want them
You need me
In this hour of loneliness
Yes, you, I mean you
My love
I will hold you still even if
I am dead
Even if my spirit does not know what
Flesh is all about
Yes, you, I have always meant you
I cannot touch you now,
Let me whisper then
The words you want to hear
This time
It is not my mouth that will speak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don Juan
Under the lips and limbs, the embraces, faces,
Under the sharp circumference, the brightness,
Under the fence of shadows,
Is something I am seeking;
Under the faces a face,
Under the new an old or a not-yet-come-to;
Under the voices a peace.
Am I a darkness all your flames must light?
A mirror all your eyes must look into -
That dares not yet reflect the neutral sky,
The empty eye of the sky?
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing To Gein
Cold and silent, soiled face I will wash it all away,
With my love,
Thats all shes ever needed, from me
Its my time, to mother,
One of my own in my life,
I am so alone, left with no one
In my life, Im so alone
Life submissiveness,
Hypnotizing the ignorant a little boys best friends always his mother,
At least thats what she said,
Life of a simple man,
Taught that everyone else is dirty,
And their love is meaningless,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Im just a soiled dirty boy,
Sheltered life innocence,
Insulated memories, spark reflections of my head,
Duality in my consciousness,
Caught in the war of hemispheres,
Between the love lost in my head,
Mommy do you still live inside of me,
Im so lost in my life without any guiding,
Protected me my whole life from everything,
Nailed shut the doors to the shrine,
To screen your dead eyes from me and my sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Deliver the remains from her womb of earth,
Prep the rack and tie up for new loves rebirth,
Covert understanding of novice surgery,
Ill focus concentration and only take just what I need
For sickness Im masticating,
Dancing and masturbating,
Celebrate in fields of night with skin upon my face
If I soak my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I wash my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I drench myself in others blood am I sick,
If I bathe myself in others blood
Blame mother for the sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Dance and masturbate in night light by myself..
Nothing is left for me to gain theyre coming to take me far away,
Chorus
Life of a simple man taught that everyone else is dirty and love is meaningless
Im so soiled
Soiled
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Drying of Hair.
Jane's mother gave you both
a towel from the airing cupboard
after you had been caught
in the rain
running from the church porch
to the parsonage
and then she went off
to carry on
with her pie making
and Jane took you
along the hallway
to her bedroom
and opened the door
and after you had entered
she closed the door
with a soft click
and you both stood there
in the quiet room
rubbing you heads
with the towels
pushing away
the wetness
from your hair
and you smelt the room
the smell of polish
the lavender scent
the smell
of fresh linen
and smell of the flowers
outside caught still
in the rain
and Jane said
You are only here
because she trusts you
she seems to see through
people's veneer
and weighs them
in the scales
in her mind
and you stood still
rubbing your hair
looking at her
the way she had
the towel in her hands
over her hair
the hair all messed up
and she having
that sparkle in her eyes
like the first spear
of the sunshine
pushing through
the window at dawn
and she gazed at you
with her eyes
like polished marbles
and her words
hung there
on the air
like musical notes
on an invisible stave
and you said
I'm glad she trusts me on
just the one look
and Jane smiled
and kissed your lips
her flesh on yours
and the pressing
of skin on skin
and she gently
moved away
and pointed to the sky
and said
Looks like more rain
and you just nodded
wanting her to kiss you
once again.
poem by Terry Collett
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Suffocation
Last night I had the weirdest dream
I dreamt that I was lying in bed
With this girl whose hair was
As black as the night and as
Thick as a forest,
And her hair, her hair was
Smothering me
Or at least, I thought it was
Her hair,
Until I noticed it was her hands
Running over my face,
My lips
My eyes
My cheeks.
As hot as the desert
And smooth as silk
But pressing down
Pressing me into my pillow
Until I could see nothing
But the pink of her skin
And I thought,
Im gunna die
Those hands are gunna
Kill me
Until I realized really,
It wasn’t hands,
But lips,
Sucking the air from mine
Engulfing my last breath
And drawing it into her being
And I thought, well,
At least lips are
A nice way to go
Until finally I came
To my goddamn senses
And I realized,
I realized it wasn’t her lips
But the words coming
From those sweet lips
That was suffocating me
And it was “I love you”
I was choking on
Not her hair, hands or lips
At all.
poem by Nick Downer
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She Brought Them All Kindly To Her Grave
of course i know what coldness is
apart from something that is cool
when mother died her hands were extremely cold
for my hold
i let them go
there was no sadness
there was that happiness of letting her rest
and giving myself a little space
for tomorrow
when coldness comes again in an empty room
with open windows
i know not what panic shall be
my hands are extremely cold these days
when i kiss them
my lips become frozen
they break like glasses
i cannot speak
there is no way that my tongue shall give in to
words
it cannot face coldness in the mirror
of my face
since you ask and you demand an explanation i open my hands
and i let your hands touch them
i cannot speak i am afraid i will be cruel
you must hold these extreme coldness for a long time
so you can all let them go
like white birds against a dark sky
so you can also experience what happiness
i had when i let go off
mama's fears
when mama closed her eyes
because what was important she knew
need not be said anymore
she brought them all kindly to her grave
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beginning, The
Some day I shall rise and leave my friends
And seek you again through the world's far ends,
You whom I found so fair
(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),
My only god in the days that were.
My eager feet shall find you again,
Though the sullen years and the mark of pain
Have changed you wholly; for I shall know
(How could I forget having loved you so?),
In the sad half-light of evening,
The face that was all my sunrising.
So then at the ends of the earth I'll stand
And hold you fiercely by either hand,
And seeing your age and ashen hair
I'll curse the thing that once you were,
Because it is changed and pale and old
(Lips that were scarlet, hair that was gold!),
And I loved you before you were old and wise,
When the flame of youth was strong in your eyes,
-- And my heart is sick with memories.
poem by Rupert Brooke
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The Beginning
Some day I shall rise and leave my friends
And seek you again through the world's far ends,
You whom I found so fair
(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),
My only god in the days that were.
My eager feet shall find you again,
Though the sullen years and the mark of pain
Have changed you wholly; for I shall know
(How could I forget having loved you so?),
In the sad half-light of evening,
The face that was all my sunrising.
So then at the ends of the earth I'll stand
And hold you fiercely by either hand,
And seeing your age and ashen hair
I'll curse the thing that once you were,
Because it is changed and pale and old
(Lips that were scarlet, hair that was gold!),
And I loved you before you were old and wise,
When the flame of youth was strong in your eyes,
- And my heart is sick with memories.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1906)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Friends.... Old Friends......
Friends… old friends…
One sees how it ends.
A woman looks
Or a man lies,
And the pleasant brooks
And the quiet skies,
Ruined with brawling
And caterwauling,
Enchant no more
As they did before,
And so it ends
With friends.
Friends… old friends…
And what if it ends?
Shall we dare to shirk
What we live to learn?
It has done its work,
It has served its turn;
And, forgive and forget
Or hanker and fret,
We can be no more
As we were before.
When it ends, it ends
With friends.
Friends… old friends…
So it breaks, so it ends.
There let it rest!
It has fought and won,
And is still the best
That either has done.
Each as he stands
The work of its hands
Which shall be more
As he was before?…
What is it ends
With friends?
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Zipper my tongue
notice me not; i am zipper by the fence of
my teeth and close by the lips, protected by two
holes beneath the two big eye balls rap with color
little hair, to feel it shiny tiny cloth of skin to tell
why keep in talking if the heart can't improve
good silent, and why the nose always breathing
when, the same air, feel in the air, would it's not
easy for the ears listen and talk to the wind after
the dawn of silent
sleep my dear heart; let us always open the mouth
and touch the teeth for every silent the tongue will
speak; for each return claps the hands where the pin
is on
what then the little heart tell, when the big blind
mouth says that; the waiting is over for everything is
ready to a harder fight, and win a better glorious
victory, its not the right aim yet, the best shoot it
gain
stop my apology; the same things happen again,
please switch a new beginning for my awesome
heart zipper my tongue forever......
poem by Antonio Liao
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Church Sitting
You sat with Jane
in her father's church
the bright morning sun
piercing high windows
pushing colours on flagstone floors
the silence caressed you
her nearness warmed
her ankle socks and sandals
had an innocence of strawberries
her flowered summer dress
rode up to her thighs as she sat
her hands resting on her knees
can you feel that breeze?
she said
cooling isn't it
you sensed it as she spoke
yes I can
you replied
your eyes moved along her thighs
then lifted to her face
as partial sunlight
seemed to show
grace there on skin
and dark black hair
and you watched her lips move
as she spoke and said
I was christened here
and maybe I'll be wed here too
to whom?
you asked
and she looked at you
a thirteen year old boy
then looked away
some birdsong from outside
had caught her ear
and she turned her head
and you gazed
at her neck and jaw
and saw her beauty
in a way you had not before
sunlight catching her
as it had coloured patterns
on flagstone floor
you wanted to reach
and touch her arm
her skin and sense
her pulse of life
that pumped within.
poem by Terry Collett
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Lament Words
let the angel chilled its voice
as they whisper the tiredness heart
of listening, twist every
touch and wiggle the dragon tail
to hold the sis-sling
fire of the gun scattered the land
as the flesh of blood
smell the phantom of death in
each arm of
mercy
a tongue that bleeds of secrecy
brings pain to the wound,
as the eyes looks back to see
the sky that murmur; let the silent lips
return, waiting
the dangles clouds of the sky that brings rain,
oh! Dear ears value every droplet
of open window of
steering words
and push back each blue sky
to lament the guiding
flight
trim the colorful mood,
a special ingredient wash out the shadow of the
past, leaving of what is yesterday
for today is just
an element of living stone of
tomorrow
chop of what blood smell;
listen to the eyes that tell, as you
always come to see the
light of perfection …..
poem by Antonio Liao
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No Difference In Memory - After Reading Li-Young Lee
for Karthik
I am flying.
I am falling.
No difference in memory,
the smell of rose oil in your hair
my body can find even in the dark
its scent upon me when I awaken
is the cup alone I drink.
I shall go on drinking when
you leave before dawn
departing to another life
I cannot live but only steal
from mysterious bankers
who lend but never give.
I am not free of this cup.
I have stolen it to remember
milk and a scent of rose
entangled in black hair.
Put me on any cross then,
one of two thieves beside any
good Christ and I'll be with Him
in any paradise above or below.
When He says, I thirst,
if I can reach with nailed hands,
I will gently touch it to his bruised lips
and say, Take. Drink. Drink it all.
I return this cup to you.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Last Word To Childhood
Ice-cold fear has slowly decreased
As my bones have grown, my height increased.
Though I shiver in snow of dreams, I shall never
Freeze again in a noonday terror.
I shall never break, my sinews crumble
As God-the-headmaster's fingers fumble
At the other side of unopening doors
Which I watch for a hundred thousand years.
I shall never feel my thin blood leak
While darkness stretches a paw to strike
Or Nothing beats an approaching drum
Behind my back in a silent room.
I shall never, alone, meet the end of my world
At the bend of a path, the turn of a wall:
Never, or once more only, and
That will be once and an end of end.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mosquito Coil
Its looking out
From inside
A Christmas bonus
To last forever
You think you"re ready dont you
Its a Mosquito Coil
Where boys and girls
Trying to stop
their heads spinning
A Mosquito Coil
An instant supernova
For beginners
Once you"re in
You cant get out
Dashboard Jesus
Has your number
And please remember me
In your circle of friends
What"s killing you
Is killing me
One fling leads to another
song performed by by Zeromancer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suffering
a word from you
and then you stop
something choppy somewhere
inside your tongue
i like to listen more from you
cut, i am having a hard time,
what is it with you
that wants to hold me
i stop to listen again
some scratching sounds
from your hair
some gnashing from your teeth
i listen stilll cautiously
there are pauses,
you stretch your arms
trying to reach me
i tap my ears
there is this suppression
of meaning and then you finally open
your eyes
tears are falling
i see
your heart is broken and your
mouth haggles for words
your mind grasps for thoughts
for a love that they always
misunderstand. I see.
blood inside your mouth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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