A Trip To The Flicks
Turning the corner he saw her,
a dark shadow swathed in fur
wrapped tightly around her
svelte form.
She let a smile slowly drizzle
on ruby red lips and approached,
while he gathered up
his thoughts.
There, in the moonlight
she let her coat gape a little,
and his eyes were transfixed
on white flesh.
Reaching him she held back
just enough to be tempting,
while he noticed all
she wasn't wearing.
His hands slid under her black coat,
touching her naked silkiness
while she trembled
from the cold.
James watched from his cinema seat
his vanilla ice dripping
his mind concentrating
on the scene.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Related quotes
White Hat White Coat
To the late doug whalan.... from your daughter.....
White hat white coat and greying in hair
he would dance around the dance floor with plenty of flair
White hat white coat black pants to boot
the men would all say 'silly old coot'
Whitehat white coat and a big friendly smile
when he went to a dance he'd dress in style
White hat white coat and a beat in his feet
it's of to the dance and people to meet
White hat white coat and a scotch on the rocks he'd love to dance
and the men would all mock
White hat white coat asleep at the wheel
he's danced all night 'boy i know how he feels'
White hat white coat have been put to the test
it's time to go home for a well earned rest
White hat white coat clean shirt and socks too
he's all geard up and ready for round two
White hat white coat so tired and run down
close your eyes and dream of your nights on the town
White hat white coat you've seen better days
your torn around the edges and your starting to fray
White hat white coat the time's come for us to part
but always remember ' i love you with all my heart '
poem by Debbie Gregory
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Sell Me A Coat
La la la la la la la la la la la la la
A winters day, a bitter snowflake on my face
My summer girl takes little backward steps away
Jack frost took her hand and left me, jack frost aint so cool
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
And when she smiles, the ice forgets to melt away
Not like before, her smile was warming yesterday
See the trees like silver candy, feel my icy hand
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
See my eyes, my window pane
See my tears like gentle rain
Thats the memory of a summer day
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
Sell me a coat with buttons of silver
Sell me a coat thats red or gold
Sell me a coat with little patch pockets
Sell me a coat cause I feel cold
La la la la la la
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pink Coat
The pink coat
She put on when it was cold
The pink coat
That was hung up when she was home
The pink coat
That kept her warm
The pink coat
That witnessed her first cut
The pink coat
She wore when she was crying
The pink coat
That knew her plans
The pink coat
That saw what happened
The pink coat
She had on when she walked in front of that truck
The pink coat
That witnessed it all
The pink coat
Had no one to keep warm, now
The pink coat
That wanted to tell everyone the truth about her
Just;
The pink coat
poem by Alyssa Ray
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Janice and You and Shared Love.
Janice met you
as you walked
across the bombsite
from the New Kent Road
to Meadow Row
you watched
as she trod
carefully over
bricks and stones
some half buried
under the settled
earth and mixed brick
her hands held out
like some tight-rope walker
and she saw you
and smiled
and said
Gran said I can come out
if I'm with you
so I came looking for you
and here you are
yes
you said
my usual place
amongst many
she stopped
where the ground
was even
and held her hands
in front of her
holding a small bag
you looked at her
in her red beret
and grey coat
her black shoes
and white socks
and she said
where are we going?
you looked at her bag
and said
what's in the bag?
a small handkerchief
and purse
with six pence
and a penny
and a bar of chocolate
we can share
she said
where are we going?
she repeated
where do you
want to go?
Waterloo
to watch the trains?
she said
I know you like them
ok
you said
and you both
headed back
to the bus stop
on the New Kent Road
and stood there
waiting for the bus
she in her red beret
and coat
and you
in your jeans
and pullover
with the wiggly pattern
and she opened
her bag
and took out
the bar of chocolate
and broke it
in two
one for her
and one for you
wrapped in
its silver paper
and purple cover
just like two grown ups
each giving
to their lover.
poem by Terry Collett
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The scar of an old wound
It foretells a heavy rain and a drizzle peeps through the shattered window,
A notion pushes me to step into the market place
And have a sip, a cheap glass of wine.
It's torn my coat but never mind,
Who looks or sees?
I am in old age now.
It's cold when I go to the street
And the boredom is more than that.
There a couple goes embracing in the drizzle under one umbrella.
Remember I too have been to that stage,
Yes, I could remember that well.
It's torn my coat but never mind
Who looks or sees?
I am in old age now.
Wine gives warmth to the body
Yet mind could be warmed?
I do not need wine anymore
And I'll be back to my shack.
* One of my native favorite classical songs 'I am in old age now' sung by the Maestro Pandith W.D. Amaradeva
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Cold Drive And A Warm Night-Chapter Two
He watched her take the drink
still warm and she cupped it
with two hands, warming them up.
The hands were thin.
She was not a farm girl
and she averted her eyes when
she looked at him.
The face was small with delicate
features
yet they were strong in their own way.
He wondered how what kind of lover she would be..
He wondered too how she could have
made a wrong turn and gotten here.
There were signs that clearly stated
'no public road'. 'dead end road.'
She noticed his stare and pulled at
her comforter, pulled it up more
around her shoulders.
She looked at him as she did so
noticing if he was noticing, if he was looking.
He noticed her noticing.
But he did not stop looking and she
to his surprize, didn't avert her eyes.
She looked right back, examing his face.
He looked down a bit to see what the comforter
was concealing, what shape her breasts were.
She noticed this too, and blushed.
He grunted, his grunt, satisfied that he had
a good look at her and got up.
He still didn't know what she was doing there
and he would feel uneasy until he find out.
He stood, walked by her and took his coat
from the coat stand, her eyes following him.
He turned pulling the heavy coat on saying.
'I'll be back.'
Have to check and push your car
back onto the road. Otherwise, the wind
will kick up, and by morning it will be buried
and tough to get out.
Another storm coming in.
It'll be cold tonite.'
Her eyes diverted again and she said, 'You will be back?
How long will it take? '
'You'll be ok. You can call me on the spare cell phone
over there. Look up my name, Lonnie.'
She nodded.
He closed the door still disturbed about her sudden arrival.
It was not an accident. He would check her glove compartment
in her rental car, maybe some info there, he thought to himself.
Meantime, Jenny sat up drinking her tea thinking:
'Damn he will find the rental agreement. What else was in the car? '
He'll start to wonder why she was really there. She could see that
he didn't believe her 'lost' story. 'Damn her cell phone was in the car too.
Everything was in the car. Damn her purse too! He had everything.
He wasn't what she expected, younger, sort of bold in the way he
looked at you. He really looked at you. Made her a bit uneasy
but it was different to have someone look at you. I mean he looked
at everything, your eyes, your hair, your body. The man looked.
But flirting aside she knew he'd be back and she would have to explain
why she was really there.
She was safe but it might not be comfortable when he found out.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Ruby The Smart Maltese
Ruby is a Maltese with fur as white as snow,
she walks with Mrs. Cohen and doesn’t mind if it’s cold.
For Ruby has a gorgeous thick hair,
she is very quiet but doesn’t bark in the air.
Mrs. Cohen walks with Ruby wearing black her favorite color,
she once told me Ruby is her child and she is her mother.
Now Mr. Cohen said that Ruby is very smart,
and his words comes from his heart.
The Cohen’s love to walk Ruby when it’s warm,
they are visiting Florida to get away from the cold north.
Ruby will meet a lot of new dog friends down here,
they are enjoying the weather this time of year.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Jane and You and the Hollow Tree.
Jane waited for you
by the narrow road
that led to Linch farm
the water tower visible
against the afternoon sky
of pale blue and white
cold clouds
she was dressed
in a grey coat
and her dark hair
was pinned back
with grips
you noticed
blueness
about her lips
the cold taking toll
wasn't sure
if you would show
she said
the coldness
and such
I said I would
and I say
what I mean
you replied
once you were close to her
she took her hands
out of the coat pockets
and linked her arm
through yours
where shall we go?
she asked
you know it better
around here than I do
you choose
you said
let's go up
the dust track
to the hollow tree
on the way up
to the Downs
she said
ok
you said
and so you walked along
and up the dust track
side by side
and she talked
of the wintery trees
and what birds
there were still about
and how she liked
spring best with the coming
of flowers and birds nesting
and you listened
looking at her
as she spoke
watching her lips move
how when she spoke
her white teeth showed
and now and then
her tongue would show
and it reminded you
of that kiss she gave you
up by Diddling church
as you stood looking
at the grave stones
and she gazed at you
and then kissed
and her tongue
touched yours
and it was like heaven
as if someone
had opened up
your heart
and stuck
their tongue in there
and as you thought
about that kiss
she talked of some girl
of a cowman
who'd got pregnant
and how did that happen?
she asked
and you said nothing
but listened on
and then you reached
the hollow tree
and climbed inside
and sat down
looking out
of the hole
in the side
and it felt cosy
in there
like a small home
and she leaned
in against you
and there was silence
and you looked at her
at her eyes
and hair
and how her lips
were parted
and her white teeth
showed and her tongue
waiting to speak
and you wondered
about that kiss again
and whether
it would happen this time
there in the hollow tree
out of sight
of others
and she showed you
tucked between
her small breasts
a small locket
which used to be
her mother's.
poem by Terry Collett
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Ruby The Smart Maltese
Ruby is a Maltese with fur as white as snow,
she walks with Mrs. Cohen and doesn't mind if it's cold.
For Ruby has a gorgeous thick hair,
she is very quiet but doesn't bark in the air.
Mrs. Cohen walks with Ruby wearing black her favorite color,
she once told me Ruby is her child and she is her mother.
Now Mr. Cohen said that Ruby is very smart,
and his words comes from his heart.
The Cohen's love to walk Ruby when it's warm,
they are visiting Florida to get away from the cold north.
Ruby will meet a lot of new dog friends down here,
they are enjoying the weather this time of year.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on January 15,2011
www.suzae.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Naked Ride Home
Just take off your clothes and I'll drive you home I said
Knowing she never could pass on a dare
And knowing it sounded more desperate than reckless or bold
I just put it out there cold, too far gone to care
My eyes on the road, she slid herself down in the seat
And a vision of paradise swung into view
Across those five lanes not one driver glanced over to see
The beauty known only to me, and a big rig or two
On that freeway the light was receding
Her beauty, a sight so misleading
I failed to hear the heart that was beating alone
On the naked ride home
With the trace of a smile and that defiant look in her eye
She hurtled through space in a world of her own
And turning aside my caress spoke of all that she'd not yet done
As if I was the doubting one who would have to be shown
On that freeway the light was receding
Her beauty, a sight so misleading
I failed to hear the heart that was beating alone
On the naked ride home
She gathered her clothes
And ran through the yard in the dark
Up onto the porch like a flash, and inside
Then one room at a time
I watched every light in our house come on
Like the truth that would eventually dawn,
Forcing me to decide
But on that freeway the light was receding
Her beauty, a sight so misleading
I failed to hear the heart that was beating alone
On the naked ride home
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Saturday Morning 1961
Jane climbed off
the Saturday bus to town
her black hair ruffled
by the wind
her eyes
looking over at you
her mother close by
you standing by the wall
having climbed from the bus
a few moments before
your mother stood
and spoke to others
you watched as Jane buttoned up
her coat against the winter cold
her fingers turning blue
then she moved over to you
and said
I saw you by the water tower last night
as we drove by
my father visiting
a parishioner in the village
I was watching the sun
moving beyond the Downs
you said
like some giant moving
away to sleep
she smiled
and surreptitiously
she touched your hand
her mother's head
looking the other way
talking to your mother
of her husband's work
of church or of weather
or whatever
you gazed at Jane's eyes
the turn of head
the smile on lips
the way her hands touched
oh to be with her
away from others
to talk and walk
and capture each moment
with her closeness
but then her mother
moved away to shop
and Jane followed
just behind
and as she walked away
you painted her figure
and beauty
in your mind.
poem by Terry Collett
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Only
Only if you want to, she said,
only if it means to you what
it means to me. The other
members of the choir were
ahead on their way to the next
house for carol singing, the full
moon luminous above, the voices
of others like faraway whispers
of ghosts. She looked at you; her
blue eyes searching every aspect
of you for an answer. Yes, it does,
you replied, your words hanging
around your head like tamed birds.
She smiled and closed her blue eyes
and moved toward you and kissed.
Lips to lips, flesh to flesh, no tongues
(at least not then that intrusion of
the mouths) just skin touching skin,
seemingly an outward sign of how
you felt within. She drew you into
her arms; you sensed her breast
beneath her coat, felt her body
touching yours. The kiss ended,
the lovers drew apart, the others
had paused outside another house
to begin their carol singing once again.
She held your hand in hers; electricity
sparkled; down came the soft rain.
poem by Terry Collett
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A Decent Man
a decent man comes out
from a room: black shiny coat
red tie, a diamond pin, a white polo shirt
a well cut hair a la james bond
eyes covered with a reading glass
you get the impression that he is well-read
and trained to the gentleness of a well-bred
progeny, he is cool and calm and
always gives you the sense of
a deep listener
his wisdom flows from his
attentive eyes
keen and ponderous
you think he has no capacity for
sin or mischief
you feel that he is elevated from
the rest of us
but that is not exactly true.
one night, a cold air blows from
the sea and feels his room with
quivers. He has entertained thoughts
about the woman in Bahamas.
Or the girl from Ipanema.
He rings the phone asking for
the name of a woman. Cathy.
He needs a night. He is hot
as a cinder, as an iron rod
red as flame.
and then the woman comes
barely dressed and well scented
luscious lips and abundant bosom.
soft hair and sleepy eyes.
he opens the door and she closes it.
he asks her to undress and dance
before him. and they made love
in front of the mirror by the wall.
the man has assumed the shadow
of a mad dog as he makes
the push and pull until he is
through. At that moment the decent
man has become a mad dog just like
any mad dog with saliva flowing
along the streets of the slums.
for in truth, a decent man is as decent
only as he is dressed under the sun.
As soon as he gets naked inside his room,
this decent man faces the truth of his being.
in the secret of a moonlit night,
the shadow of the decent man
is just this dog, and nothing more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Can Never Get Out Of This
This flesh, its demands, its whims
And caprices,
I despise, this flesh, but how can I
Ever get out of this flesh,
When this flesh is in me,
Wrapped by my skin,
And loved by the senses of my mind
The taste of wet, the whispers I hear,
The smooth touches I feel, the
Sensual sights that I see,
How I promise to be true to
The longings of my pure soul
To pure grace
And sublime wishes, as white as light flinging
Seraphims and Cherubims,
Hands praying in God’s garden,
This flesh
Throbs and thrusts like sin, like demon’s
Favorite poses and twists
This flesh imposes, like these fidgety hands
Arguing again, not wanting to be held,
These hands now ready, willing
For the caprices of my flesh,
These hands shall now touch the secrets of
The night and how my eyes pretend
Not to know,
In such delights, they all now close.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mysterious Visitor
THERE was a sound of hurrying feet,
A tramp on echoing stairs,
There was a rush along the aisles,--
It was the hour of prayers.
And on, like Ocean's midnight wave,
The current rolled along,
When, suddenly, a stranger form
Was seen amidst the throng.
He was a dark and swarthy man,
That uninvited guest;
A faded coat of bottle-green
Was buttoned round his breast.
There was not one among them all
Could say from whence he came;
Nor beardless boy, nor ancient man,
Could tell that stranger's name.
All silent as the sheeted dead,
In spite of sneer and frown,
Fast by a gray-haired senior's side
He sat him boldly down.
There was a look of horror flashed
From out the tutor's eyes;
When all around him rose to pray,
The stranger did not rise!
A murmur broke along the crowd,
The prayer was at an end;
With ringing heels and measured tread,
A hundred forms descend.
Through sounding aisle, o'er grating stair,
The long procession poured,
Till all were gathered on the seats
Around the Commons board.
That fearful stranger! down he sat,
Unasked, yet undismayed;
And on his lip a rising smile
Of scorn or pleasure played.
He took his hat and hung it up,
With slow but earnest air;
He stripped his coat from off his back,
And placed it on a chair.
Then from his nearest neighbor's side
A knife and plate he drew;
And, reaching out his hand again,
He took his teacup too.
How fled the sugar from the bowl
How sunk the azure cream!
They vanished like the shapes that float
Upon a summer's dream.
A long, long draught,--an outstretched hand,--
And crackers, toast, and tea,
They faded from the stranger's touch,
Like dew upon the sea.
Then clouds were dark on many a brow,
Fear sat upon their souls,
And, in a bitter agony,
They clasped their buttered rolls.
A whisper trembled through the crowd,
Who could the stranger be?
And some were silent, for they thought
A cannibal was he.
What if the creature should arise,--
For he was stout and tall,--
And swallow down a sophomore,
Coat, crow's-foot, cap, and all!
All sullenly the stranger rose;
They sat in mute despair;
He took his hat from off the peg,
His coat from off the chair.
Four freshmen fainted on the seat,
Six swooned upon the floor;
Yet on the fearful being passed,
And shut the chapel door.
There is full many a starving man,
That walks in bottle green,
But never more that hungry one
In Commons hall was seen.
Yet often at the sunset hour,
When tolls the evening bell,
The freshman lingers on the steps,
That frightful tale to tell.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Moonlight Woman
Her long black hair flowing
Eyes that look through you
Hands that show no labour
A heart that is ever so true
Moonlight Woman
She creeps in the back door
All for a discreet embrace
Her lips are soft and ready
The look of lust on her face
Moonlight Woman
She wants to be held so close
Two giggles you here at night
Such a twisted sort of love
But she makes everything right
Moonlight Woman
poem by Suelynn Walters
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Who Is Mai Iddu
I am a shadow to your eyes can only coat
The sun of your current mind – I caught:
Ice cream turning into sunscreen
I am there to your eyes can only smell and taste
Coconut flakes [like sand-dust on my navel] rest
On your hands to lotion your cliff chin
Miami Beach [I am there at the mimic of your stare]
With simple glance vowed by a promise not to care
The impetuosity of a man brought back to childhood
So beloved that each conception no one understood
I’m there! To your eyes speaking purely in our tongue
Redemption of such action if you only know it’s wrong
Frayed between pity and a job caregivers do
I replied: “Not your wife, sir; I am Mai Iddu.”
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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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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Beware
A shadow lies upon the ground,
a blackness that is so profound.
Against the marble cool and white
reflecting back the bright sunlight.
My eyes are fooled and cant be sure
and see it as an aperture.
A deep dark trench that’s cut into
the marble. This is something new.
My mind denies that this can be
rejects this view immediately.
The brain interprets what is seen
applies cold logic to the scene.
Decides it’s just a shadow cast
by the bright sun and will not last.
Then as the sun moves in the sky
the shadow alters rapidly.
Diminishing and growing small
until it is not there at all.
The sun directly overhead
the shadow has been banished.
Upon the pavement burnished white
a slender column stands upright
Something I did not see before
a new addition perhaps more
Although my eyes were truly fooled
and that my mind has overruled,
The false impression stays with me
I wonder if impossibly.
My mind was wrong and my eyes right
the trench I saw as black as night
might have been reality
that’s only visible to me.
Perhaps those less fortunate.
Realised the truth but far too late
to save themselves before they fell
into that dark and lonely hell.
The toll of folks who disappear
from public view, grows year by year.
Maybe this odd phenomenon
might well explain where they have gone.
As they live trapped in agony
between the worlds that we can see
and other worlds that we cannot.
To gnash their teeth bemoan their lot.
Beware of shadows in the sun
its all too easy having fun
to forget danger can lie
beneath a friendly summer sky.
You too could vanish from men’s sight
and none would ever know your plight.
Held fast between realities
the other worlds that no one sees.
Take care my friends heed what I say
and may you never rue the day
that you dismissed to easily
the danger that you did not see.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Untitled: Figure which has long dwelt in the coolness of sinister stone
Figure which has long dwelt in the coolness of sinister stone
Opens the pale mouth sounding
Round owl's eyes - sounding gold.
Those found the cave of the forest decayed and empty
The shadow of a doe in the rotten branches
At the border of the spring the darkness of his childhood.
Long at the forest border a bird sings your decline
The anxious showers of your brown coat;
The shadow of the owl appears in the rotten branches.
Long at the forest border a bird sings your decline
The anxious showers of your blue coat
The shadow of the mother appears in the spiky grass.
Long at the forest border a bird sings your decline
The anxious showers of your black coat
The shadow of the black horse appears in the mirror of the spring.
poem by Georg Trakl
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