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© Rachel Adler
He's singing the song
And I'm listening carefully to the words
As though he were speaking them to me.
His eyes are glaring at me and I wonder
If he realizes they're burning my flesh through
And I wish he would just say those few words
Make me fly higher than a helium balloon
And then burst at the sight of his heart.
I wonder if he knows the extent of his power-
My heart has become enslaved by his
And I fear I can no longer survive
If I do not stay locked within the chains of his soul.
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© Rachel Adler
It is now-
I can loose myself in the sunset
And never return the same.
The sky, set on fire with colours of love-
The heat, the passion.
And if I look deep enough
Where the grey suddenly melts into pink
I find pictures of you.
You're transforming the sky - growing-
Somehow, you had to be there uninvited
As the day fades deeper into night
Not to let me forget
The shades of blue that are between us,
The lightest pink that lies within us
And the hazy purple lying before us,
Connecting us and forming us into one.
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© Rachel Adler
I miss you so much
And I just want to be able
To wish you here
In an instant, you, appearing
Like magic before my eyes.
From the morning glory to the starry nights,
I see your face before me
In glassy images of memories log gone.
There is nothing, there is no torture
Like this is.
If I could just let go-
If the words could just escape
From the chains of my mouth.
But my throat hurts-
Pain rooted deep in through my heart
And my hands are holding on so tight
And I know I'll never send this letter
And I'm scared I'll never speak my feelings
And I'm terrified you'll never know the truth.
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© Jana R. DeWalt
Every night before I drift into a long, lonely slumber
I longingly gaze at your picture
Smudging the frame with my sweet, sad kisses
I hug the picture to myself
In the hopes that for just a moment
I can feel that you are right here with me,
Instead of hundreds of miles away
As I drift to sleep I envision
How it would feel to hold you close to me
The sound of you heart beat-playing like a sweet lullaby
Contenting me to sleep
As I feel whispers of your breath,
Lingering warmly upon my neck
It is here, within the confines of my dreams
You come to me and we fly to another plane
Getting lost in one another
Spirituality and sensuality slowly intoxicating our senses
Then the sun filters in through the curtains
Shattering the nights silky illusions
Reality nudging me to realize you are no longer next to me
As I come crashing back to a conscious state of mind
Time refusing to tell me-
When fate will choose to place you within my reach
So alone I lay wait-Resting my thoughts upon these satin sheets
Wondering when our bodies, hearts, and souls will finally be able to bond
With the slow, sensual, greeting of our lips
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Sweet Embraces
© Jana R. DeWalt
He envelopes me with his warmth and sensitivity
Enchanting me with his intoxicating poetry and prose
Fearlessly unraveling my complexities
His open mind embracing me- in my entirety
He has made love to me many times
Yet he has never felt my naked flesh upon his own
For it is with his heart and soul he touches me
His sweet words silhouetting the contours of my body
My parched mind drinking in his thoughts faster than he can think them
His enlightened spirit exuding a breathtaking brilliance
That exceeds the limits of mere physical beauty
Without hesitation
I expose my naked misery to him
He-having the insight to see
beyond the emotional wreckage
To the beauty carefully hidden behind my misery
Allowing the mask to finally fall from my face
As the tender light of vulnerability
casts itself Upon my fair skin
Nocturnal creatures of the night are we
Together we take flight-souls intertwined
Daring to discover
What in the darkness lies
Knowing we are always connected
Even as we sleep and slumber
Even as I sit here and write of him
In poetic praise
I sense my beloved is nestled comfortably
Inside my soul
His feelings for me like a current
Running through my spirit
And onto these adoring lines of prose
My love spilling over this page
And saturating-my beloved�s soul
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Erotic Undercurrents
© Jana R. DeWalt
I shave my legs to a satiny finish
Smoothing aromatic oils
over my naked body
My fair skin
creamy and supple
Sadly reflecting that there is no one
To caress the contours,
Of my sensuous form
I brush my long black tresses
Lacquered to a shiny perfection
Sadly reflecting that my long hair will trace soft outlines
On no ones shoulders, but my own
Incense permeates my senses
Enigma plays softly in the background
Kissing my auditory senses with erotic undercurrents
Inviting visual images of lovers in the rain
Making me crave
the scent of the sun on a man�s skin
The feel of his callused hands
caressing my bare back
Yearning to feel
the weight of a man on top of me
As he lowers his lips to mine
Mere thoughts mixed with sensory accessories
And a little imagination
My soul thirsty for another
Yet I am left to quench my own thirst
Drinking from my own pitcher
And dehydrating my soul
Behind the veils of isolation and solitude
I have grown resilient and strong
Yet it is not enough to free me
From the grips of loneliness
I crave a kindred spirit
A man who can lift the veils that disguise my vulnerability
As he partakes of my flesh, partakes of my soul....
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© C.E. Chaffin
I saw rattlesnakes mating in the arroyo,
tangled like hoses,
braided like black ropes,
defenseless in the grip of love.
Indians say
this sight grants second sight;
Yet when I saw my victimhood
cold and rusted from fear,
cupped like a cross of iron
in the hollow above my sternum,
I wanted to pluck my eyes out
for not deceiving me.
Self-knowledge is a dangerous thing
and can�t be granted by a single vision.
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© C.E. Chaffin
Everyone has their peculiar price
not quantifiable in currency.
When the hypodermic�s hollow spike
grazed your vein, you confessed yours.
It was not exorbitant
so I withheld the truth serum
and you returned to the television,
dreaming of a Winnebago
and a vacation to Palm Springs
before a strange voice woke you:
"My sheep hear my voice
and my voice is on TV."
This could have been interesting,
but since television outpacifies Christ
(who in his humility must approve),
you lost track of the whole thing
and fell asleep in your recliner.
If you want another antidote for boredom
try making the familiar strange--
as if you brushed against
your own clothes in a dark closet
like lost pages without a spine.
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© C.E. Chaffin
To stand for something,
to protest abortion or the destruction of wetlands,
to support the preservation of historic buildings
or the return of condors to the wild
fulfills our passion for goodness
more than tolerance,
an mere exercise in manners,
not even a virtue, more like ignoring
someone�s body odor in an elevator.
Who can say with a straight face,
"I understand and accept what you are doing
even though I find it detestable?"
Moral passion is not an oxymoron.
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© Krista Brotzel
Maybe the world would be a better place,
If we had no eyes to see out of.
For without sight, we could not see
our differences.
Maybe there would be no hatred,
If we had no ears to hear it.
For without being able to hear hatred
there would be no point in voicing it.
Maybe there would be no prejudice,
If we had no mouths to speak it.
For without mouths we could not
voice our unreasonable racism.
Maybe someday there'll be no racism,
Without losing out to accomplish that.
Would it take for us to lose our sight,
our sound, and our voices
just so we can all feel equal?
Maybe someday there will be no hatred,
The day when we can look at someone
and see only a person,
Nothing more, nothing less
No matter what.
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© Krista Brotzel
Shaking as I move towards it,
The sounds of rushing water,
sound like screams of terror to me,
Remembering that day.
The rapid water, the tree we hit,
My own screams ringing in my ears,
The weeds that cut my hands,
as I reached in fear for them.
The rocks scratching me,
the cuts on my arms,
that were never noticed.
The hole in the boat,
that no one ever saw.
My fear of that place,
that I've never gone back to,
that no one understands.
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.
© Krista Brotzel
When I look in the mirror,
I do not see what you see.
You tell me I am beautiful,
and you love to look at me.
I look at myself
and all I can see
is the child I once was
and told I was ugly.
I don't see a pretty girl,
I only see me,
which to me will never be
someone I'd call pretty.
I believe it for a moment,
but then it disappears,
after all the names I got called
all those hurtful years.
I just can't think
that I'm more than I once was,
Can't think
that I could really be enough.
Looks are not important
at least they're not supposed to be
but so many people judge by them
not me, but they judged me.
I want to believe it
believe what you say
but I can't
cuz I'll never forget those days.
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.
© Allison Russo
Right before my eyes
you took my love from me
How could you not have seen
that he was everything to me?
You played your little game,
and he fell right into your trap.
Did you think I wouldn't care?
That I wouldn't want him back?
Now I look at you with scorn,
You, who I used to call my friend.
I never really thought,
this is how our friendship would end...
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© Pam Tabor
I have found the
definition of beauty
in your touch.
Learned the pronounciation
of each syllable
while being held in your gaze.
I have celebrated in the
graceful way the word
rolls off of your tongue
onto my skin,
in the sweet lilt of
it's utterance
carried on the warm whispers
of your breath to my ear.
I am proficient in many languages,
but none are as lovely
or more explicit as this
one word you have
illustrated so skillfully to me
night after night and
day after day,
difinitive and complete.
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.([email protected])
© Pam Tabor
I've adorned you
with the many fashions
of love so many times.
You wear each piece
like the robes of royalty,
cavorting about with
all the grace of the
angels we each entertain unaware.
You slip so modestly
into each piece,
folding your wings carefully;
tucking them behind you---
unobtrusive in your dance.
The many complexions of
your adornment take on
the color we each imagine
heaven to be.
The face of a God we've
all pretended to know
crosses your features
when you look at me
and I'm closer to heaven
than I'll ever be...
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.([email protected])
© Pam Tabor
I used to dream of tornadoes every night.
"A sign of unresolved conflict."
my Father the holy wizard would solemnly advise.
We have traveled the yellow brick road together,
skipping along, singing songs
of rainbows and bad witches
dressed up like poor mountain folk,
leaving our Kansas far behind.
My Mother has walked miles in her
precious ruby slippers,
trying to show us the way home.
My sister, the scarecrow, has finally gotten wise
enough to climb down off of her wooden cross
and start her life all over again.
My brother, the King of the Forest, has finally
found the courage to settle down and his
roar is a lot scarier now.
As for me, well, I have begun to feel the
soft fluttering of what seems to be a heart
from somewhere deep inside this empty,
cavernous chest of mine.
As a child, I wanted to live in an emerald city,
wanted to drift off in a big ol' ballon,
high above the mountains of this valley.
I longed to sleep in fields of hypnotizing red flowers
without the dark, twisting visions of
snake-like funnels dancing over the landscape,
tearing apart my childhood.
Now, I can only hope to spend the rest of my life
safe in the arms of my Mother who welcomes me
back home like somebody else's Auntie Em,
I cling to her, in this roaring vortex called life,
chanting some crazy, cinematic mantra,
"There's no place like home, there's no place like home..."
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.([email protected])
© Ron Baron
When daylight fades beyond
the westward heaven's earthly rim,
and darkness covers man's endeavors,
all must time in slumber spend.
Creatures hurrying, scurrying homeward,
seeking burrow, nest, and den,
are finding shelter �til tomorrow
sunrise lights the sky again.
Darkening shadow's reeling eastward,
covering hills and vales and dales,
absorb the last of twilight's colors -
dismal, dull, as grey prevails.
Stellar knives pierce earth's dark shroud;
the curvature illumined by moonlight -
Those who slumber not, both stalk
and become the prey of midnight !
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© Ron Baron
Stellar sequined midnight
spawns the unborn souls
of youth's wild passion:
Para-bodies,
Embryos,
in cyclo-chambers
soundlessly murmur-
"Universal chaos waits
we can't abate
unloved intrusion"-
Copulation's
flooding torrents
population trends
explode !
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.
© Ron Baron
The words I planned to write
and some to say
have now become
another yesterday
Things I started doing
not yet finished
now are ever
gone away
The thoughts I thought
in fleeting moments
not remembered
now forgotten
Could have shaped my destiny
but now are dead
erased for all
eternity
Time I could have captured wisely
now so dearly cherished
gone forever
ever perished
Closer to the journey's end
with haste I must begin,
before I find tomorrow
once again
is yesterday
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© Pearl Mikulski
I watched you today
As you hustled about
I watched heads turn As you passed by
You chatted so sweetly
Brought smiles to each face
I marvel at the tasks
You do so well
It amazes me still
How you've grown
My dear precious child
Into the young woman I see
My heart bursts with pride
At all that you do
I thank God for the pleasure
Of raising you
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.
© Maya Mitchell
Good morning heartache
Thought we said goodbye last night
You wake up right beside me
When the sun's rays hit my eyes and
Stir me in the city's morning.
Funny how you're here and he's not.
Anymore it's as if you're
my only confidante...
and bane.
Pray heart, it's gonna get better.
Pray for you, pray for me.
Where am I now after all this time?
Time
It stopped in a sense then when
I chose to grow up and start
Thinking with my head
Not with you, poor heart.
It's my fault, you know.
I wanted to convince myself I had
moved on,
but I'm exactly where I was
only the baggage has changed.
Start anew, that's what I'll do.
Shed these cloaks
Shed this man
Shed this life
Do what I can
To make myself happy again.
Happy like I was back then.
Where am I now?
I'm on my way.
My heart is the compass.
Pray, heart, for our day.
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.
© Maya Mitchell
The stench of your breath
All heavy with ale
I like it.
The sweet on my lips
All sticky with words You like it.
The span of your palm
All taut, all eager I like it.
The small of my back
All moist with my thoughts
You like it.
The mesh we form
All beautiful, all right
I like it
You like it
We love it tonight.
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.
© E.A.Fichtl
Breathless and blush gone
a cubit's span above the knee,
The brazen messenger alights
With myths and irresistable taunts.
A confluence of chemistry mocks the prophets.
Crawl and scratch. Escape the covert wish;
the inviscid stand of the willing participant.
Like Lear the play is neatly staged
prosceniums discreetly hung.
A phalanx of specters waiting for command
Serve in the usual way.
A Moor or pale androgyne may come
--an eager student always there.
Enhance the algebraic mix!
The trisomic blend personified.
Coy no more and lapping at rapacity's dish,
Howling muzzle sweet from roil,
forages thick-tongued for trill and spasm.
Enthralling rut, presynaptic, heralds
the straining cataract
With bleat and boil.
Tightly bound, unshackled from
resistant litanies by deft fingers,
heave and pull,
a sigh snakes from the wry beatitude;
The shy wish nibbled to defiant exclamation
assumes new rhythms and
enigmatic shriek.
Send some E-mail to: THE AUTHOR of this poem.
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Created October 28 1996
Regularly Updated