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 Dec 2017 Peter J
Cné
You
 Dec 2017 Peter J
Cné
You
You've ...
   got me burning
      my mind's wheels turning
                    no matter how hard
                               i've tried
        i always find myself
    tongue tied
mmm tongue tied
              with yours
           my libido soars
          touching you,
touching me
   You're all
         that i see
             lying naked
                     in my bed
           can't get that image
          out of my head
      kiss me,
touch me,
    feel me,
          want me
               i can still
             smell Your scent
      and all my energy's spent
trying really hard
    not to care
          yet i still feel
Your fingers in my hair
      my hair draped
           over Your face
                       it wasn't
              the time or place
       me on top of You
it was all i could do
to not melt
   from the ecstasy
                         i felt
                         kiss You,
                            touch You
                               feel You,
                         want You.
Sunday morning thoughts
 Nov 2017 Peter J
Star BG
Love
 Nov 2017 Peter J
Star BG
The universal language I think is Love.
Love is what fills heart, lungs
and puts feet to action.

The language of love
can be felt with
no voice hitting ear drums.

It plays in the wind
and moves inside pools of eyes.
The language of love heals
by weaving words upon tattered wings
for birds who otherwise wouldn't fly.

Love is the natural language of the soul
and all beings here in earthly form.
 Nov 2017 Peter J
L B
What She Look Like?
  
…Like one
tenderly hushing
water in her lap
Elemental peace
No place to go
No more to be
…Like the ocean
in the background
of a photo on a warm spring day
belying
rage
and the random possible
thrash--

out!

at all guilty ******* in her path
Toss in the next sentient soul
who should happen to pass
within range
who should have seen
who should have known
what a storm could do….

Moody in the aftermath
and sorrier than rain
With the tide in retreat
grumbling excuses
Hiding out waist-deep in dusk’s Merlot
Waiting for night to sleep it off

to heal the rifts
cleanse the shame

Rising
yellow, bright— and

“What the hell happened, here?!”

____


Her hair
a winter’s tragedy of trees
upside down—
No wait— the wind has put her right
to ragged random branches
swaying, wet with intermittent hues
of dark and silver
caught in collar, flying inelegant and free
at the shoulders of the levee
tossed and softening shyly
sagging jaw and nose a stump of tree
All perspective changes…

if you watch a while—

She’ll raise her eyes
into the sunset
to catch an eagle
entering
flight

…and then you might…

___

She looks like—
a pudgy robin
querying grass
mud soaked
that hides the fire of her breast
tugging at a worm
more than half her length
“I will feed them, **** you!
Give it up, you son of a snake!”
_____

...Don’t miss her hour of music though
for anything
Encroaching darkness
from the rooftops
she listens to the hearts she breaks

Remember this in winter
she can give but she will take
it out on February
when you’re longing
for her
Only male robins do the singing; females do the choosing.  

There are very few recent  photos of me.  Thus this poem.
 Nov 2017 Peter J
Cné
Rise and shine, first thing in the morning walking past the mirror.
Avoiding its reflection, not wanting to see its reflective picture.
Kneeling in the shower, hands pressed tightly to her ribs.  
Who is this frightened child?  Does she even exist?  
She took a step back from the world, no one knew she was alive.  
Now she’s grasping at her life, just trying to survive.
A tainted childhood in shame now fragile bones from self abuse,
don’t blame her though, she was only a child confused.  
How did this happen?  When did this begin?  
She seemed so happy, or was that all pretend?  
She had started at 130, or so,
but felt as if she had lost control.
What happened to this dear sweet innocent child?  
Her idea of beauty and perfection had driven her wild.
Minus 25 later she was so close.  
Almost 100 without any clothes.  
No one would touch her, they thought she would break.  
She told herself she was content with that trade.
I was 18.
~
I’m much better now in my adult discipline
eating healthy 3 meals a day purely for consumption.  
Yesterday, I skipped dinner in lieu of drinking wine.
Today at noon, hovering over my breakfast, I resign
Some days I struggle. Some days I am not fine.
But ...
I will eat my breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And paint my pretty pictures.
This was a therapeutic write.
 Nov 2017 Peter J
Cné
How strange, the pull that tugs my heart, toward a distant sea.

How haunting are the sound of sea gulls crying eerily.

The allegory still remains, of timeless waves in life

Turning rock to shifting sands, the sea winds, like a knife.

And yet, amidst the turbulence, serenity and love

The struggle of the sea and shore, that fits so like a glove.

The music breaks my heart in two, this ballad by the bay.

And I shall hold it in my soul, this song we used to play.

I still can hear the rollers as they broke upon the beach.

And even though I’ve gone back home, my memory, they reach.
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