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Narrative Poem

YaBienesItzel
YaBienesItzel
Itzel Moctezuma
Strange Creature
United States
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Joined 13th May 2020
Forum Posts: 4

In-Between You And Me

I'm thankful for a lot of things.
I'm thankful to be here at this moment because nothing can change how happy I am for writing this, for all of you. Having a moment with me because I'm sharing this moment, with you. It sounds A bit unique yet, a tad bit Discreet - if you know what I mean. You will only see it because the meaning is behind us both. We can capture any moment together. We can capture the entire World.
The only downfall of it all is that we can't hold onto it with our hands because things don't last forever and eventually, there will be a better opportunity making its way, so please take the time, by allowing something different between you and I and embrace it, While it continues to unfold.
I'm happy today because tomorrow is another day;
Another day that I will live; Another day to Embrace.
It's moments like this that I can just capture with just one click and maybe, with a few words to say.
None of us can control the outcome towards anything yet, we do have a choice; the choice to feel anything towards it.
It's a chance to choose anything. It can be either simple, or tragic but overtime it'll come off a bit misleading, but Hey, perfection doesn't survive because it doesn't exist so just allow it, to smother itself slowly and eventually, You'll forget it.
It is a blessing to continue this Journey and I Love that I get to share it, with all of You because nothing will be more wonderful than sharing Something Beautiful;
To Share all the elements of creativity, or to share something that's driven within' my soul.
I Love it.
I Adore it, and I thank you for allowing me to share this moment.
So remember my words because this is a moment;
A moment, you will all share with me. Nothing can change what was created between you and me. It will live on until the Afterlife because all this Beauty was created from within' these words so eventually, they will live on because we have shared them together.
That's something Beautiful because it stands in - between You and I. And that's the only thing That'll last Forever because blessings never fall apart, even when things collide.
Written by YaBienesItzel (Itzel Moctezuma)
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Grace
Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
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Joined 25th Aug 2011
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YaBienesItzel thank you for your entry.

poetOftragedy
poetOftragedy
Fire of Insight
South Africa
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Joined 13th May 2018
Forum Posts: 58

the black widow

Gather  around and listen while I speak,  
Speak of a black widow with a poison so sweet.
Infecting everyone and pulling them into her web.  
This tale has been told for generation long before I was born.

She's going around and infecting every fool, foolish enough to put his dick into her.
She's at the corner of every street,  
She's in every bar, in every car, in every bed.
Her beauty has made her the shebeen queen.  
She has a Coca-Cola bottle curves, tennis ball cleavage  
And yellow mellow thighs.  
Mini-skirts, long lashes and high heels.  
She is the thing of the night.  
Every man wants to put her hand on her,  
She dances on their laps and whispers to them "let's get out of here".
She spreads her legs wide open and holds nothing back.
If you use a condom she'll  tell you that's not her thing
She wants to feel you flesh to flesh.
Then she has you right there.
Another victim riding her hearse.
It's not her fault she wasn't born this way.  
She was once a beautiful child who feared god.
She was a top student in her class with the highest grades.
She had dreams of being a model and walk the runway.  
But one day coming back from school on her way home.  
When she's just about to take one last corner.  
The last thing she heard was _fotsek sfebe_ (fuck off bitch).  
Then they were all over her, one by one they followed.
ripping deep into her, taking her virginity along with them.  
She cried, she cried out to god but a knife on her neck she was told not to make a sound.  
Blood coming out of her but none of them cared.  
They slashed a scar on her face and told her she won't be wanted by any man.
What seemed like an eternity, while a she was lying there,  
Came by a man, she thought she had found a helping hand.  
But when he saw the state she was in he turned around and ran.  
From that moment on she sore  to take her revenge on every man.  
This is the trilogy of the black widow and this is how it all began.  
  
 
Written by poetOftragedy
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Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
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Joined 25th Aug 2011
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Thank you for your entry poetOftragedy.

adagio
adagio
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 15th Jan 2019
Forum Posts: 20

Where There Is smoke

It was on the cusp of dusk and a late autumn storm was brewing. A frozen fog hung over the small village of Tarrytown. A village of mostly Dutch ancestry, who had no predilections or immoral behaviors. A village of non-swearing apple pickers and scattered-vendors. It was the autumn of 1791, and as they say… "Frost was on the pumpkins."

The frogs must have had a forewarning as they croaked a melancholia, as if feeling an omen in the wind. The tall shadows of trees like marionettes, bending, being pulled by strings. In the distance the thunder sounded as if nine-pins being bowled over. I had just recently taken residence in the village as a monger of books. Also a haberdashery of linens, button of bones, threads and ivory didoes. Tarrytown was nestled in the Hudson Valley, a few leagues from New York.

The denizens of my mind ran deep at times. Due to having unscrupulous thoughts and acting on them. Evicted, tarred and hustled from my previous venue, due to morality concerns. The constabulary did not take a liking to my idiosyncrasies and masturbating in public. I spent goodly amount of time in the pillory before my departure aloft a log and adorned with feathers. Now, with a new locale, the laudanum and my tea serving me well as I grinned. Intoxicated on lustful yens.

I was in dream-state induced by my fondness of tea, laced with laudanum. Laudanum, a concoction of alcohol and opium. I could feel my cum boil, as I was fine-tuned my cock, as if it were a piano. Masturbating until a blob accentuated. Lately I had been suffering the collywobbles of the stomach and I expected a corruption to flop on the floor. Hopefully, Elsie, would soon bring me chicken broth.

Unaware of the time as the door squeaked to my shop and in walked a gangly stork of a man, as I tugged up my britches. Dressed as if a Puritan Preacher. He was singing, "...and while the lamp holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return." His warble that of a love bird, tweeting its lover. His paleness resembling that of a cadaver, with feet like shovels. Very effeminate, waving his hands and moving as if with conniptions to his trembling legs. His powdered wig askew and he suffering the sneezes. He cut an ugly sight of a man; small of the head, with large ears, that stuck out like wings. He had wide eyes and a snipe nose, like that of a flamingo. It resembled a weather-cock. A small cranium, meant a small mind, so our beliefs. He introduced himself as Ichabod Crane. A peddler of a devise at a fair market bartering price.

He inquired about certain books as my brows raised. Books on curses and poultices and even, "the Good Book." I offered him tea. During the course of the conversation, he told me his fondness for The Lord. That he could exercised "the bad" back to where it came from.

I confessed my lack of obtaining an erection. A hard-on like that of forged steel. Something that would make the women blush.

He told me that it was a time of female hysteria, widely associated with sexual dissatisfaction. From his carpetbag he pulled a small bellow-like contraption, seeming to be enamored by it. Patting it, as if it was the fanny of infant.

Instructing me to lower my britches and bend over. He placed the nipple of the bellows in my anus. In reality, he was puffing and blowing tobacco smoke up my arse. Not that it wasn't a bad feeling, but it was my last ounce of a good chew for later. He was chanting, "I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every satanic power of the enemy, every scepter from hell, and all your fallen companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus."

In a matter of moments, the shop filled with a blue cloud. I heard the mice coughing as I expounded an air-biscuit fart. At the same time my left foot kicked a googly (bounce) with a pebble, striking a mouse. Needless to say, I felt better, as we made a dealing. He leaving, doffing his hat.

*

Steeping another tea and laudanum. Mrs. Elsie Sedgewick, was doing me the pleasure of squeezing her lips about my eight-inch predicament. She the wife of Parson Sedgewick, the village mummer of Psalms. Her ample tits, freed from her bodice. Shaped like gourds and round as mush melons, jiggling a minuet. Her nipples like young figs, her lips and fingers playing my cock as if it was a piccolo.

Offering her tits to me, I accepted, squeezing them gently. Feeling their weight upon my palms and the passions within them. Like waves crashing against my hard dick, my pre-cum crashed, spilling outwards. My inner demons urging me on, mocking me. "Do it, have her. Don’t be a coward. Fuck her until she moans."

Her slobbering cunt juices mingling a puddle as her sighs interlaced with my cries, of laudanum things. Her spittle dripping from my testicles and her chin, as she hummed an old English tune. Like a turkey with a gobble she nibbled a testicle, stretching my scrotum to the max. I'm sure she could feel the rhythm of my pulse, as my cream rose to the top.

Slowing her cock-spittle, she scooted her ass over my face. Spreading her cheeks I heard the whispering hole inviting my kiss as I strummed my tongue to play a sonata on her sweet sphincter. I had prided myself on bringing women to full release by engaging my tongue. Her asshole, like a serpent latched on to my tongue. I owed it to my tobacco and blue brume of smoke.

That night at choir practice as the women in the church balcony sang praise. They bent over the railing with skirts raised. Their voices like roses with smooth tongues, as smoke rose from a few rears.

With Ichabod, walking at a fast pace, and counting his pennies. In the dark of night appeared a headless horseman. As the steed rose up on hind legs, the phantom heaved a jack-o-lantern at Crane. It was a googly.
Written by adagio
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Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
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Joined 25th Aug 2011
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Adagio thank you for your entry.

Ahavati
Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
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Get it On

Ahavati
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Get it On
The first album I ever purchased
with my own pocket money  
was T-Rex, Electric Warrior—  

It was 1971! It was England!  
I'm twelve.  

TWELVE!  
One year from being a teenager  

It's the end of July  
or first of August, who knows—  
it was hot as hell;  
I picked strawberries  
and babysat all summer  
to earn enough money for that album  

Get it on, bang a gong, get it on  
Aowwwwwwww! Yeah, BABY!  
( Remember. . .twelve )  

I get it home, eagerly unwrap. . .  
and. . .it's warped—  
I'm devastated  

So, my father returns it  
( without me )—says he'll go  
at lunchtime from work  

He gets home that evening  
and has sad news;  
ALL the albums were warped  
because he made the clerk check  

What does he purchase  
as a replacement. . .  

as God is my witness. . .  
this is the truth:  







The Partridge Family, Family Album  

The. Partridge. Family.  

W.T.F. was the Partridge Family  
doing in England  
in 1971  

I was so upset  
he returned my money  

Though, I must admit  
David Cassidy grew on me  
but that's a different story  

I was in my early 30's  
when my son, then twelve,  
TWELVE. . .  
wanted a particular 'rap' CD    
YO!  

He worked hard all summer  
doing yard work earning his own money  

I went to purchase it  
on my lunch break the next day  
when record stores still existed  

But contemplated,  
due to certain language  
telling him they were sold out. . .  
getting something a bit milder instead  

Then it hit me  
as an American baseball out of left field. . .  

He ended up getting what he wanted,  
Dr. Dre/Ice Cube Baby!  
I can't remember;  
but, what I do remember—vividly  
is visiting my father that weekend  
looking him dead in the eyes,  
and asking. . .  
Were all those T Rex albums  
really warped. . .  

He just grinned, and said,  
"It's not like you didn't get your money back. . .  
after all, you were only twelve"    

He was a cheeky old bird—  
but wise nonetheless;  
however, I must admit  
this once  
I disagreed with his assessment—  

though, also must confess  
through a strange course of events  
that I have yet to understand. .  .  
I quite forgot about T Rex—  

which, I believe  
was his intent  

dammit  
~

Grace
Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
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Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 14210

Thank you for your entry Ahavati.

souladareatease
souladareatease
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 28th Dec 2012
Forum Posts: 4812

Crossing The Rubicon

Wards of stoic walls wrap around the perimeter
gryphon sentries set with eagle eyes sporting wings as
ash grey instances of rebellion pass historic memory  
clubs and war-hammers hung, pike and sword  
 
withering vines die outside beneath a window  
 ...and this is where I find myself...  
beholden by the many layers of family guilt   
stuck as vagabond being lifeless to the tree   
 
weary, my mind went off to twelve years ago   
arguing with brothers, fighting off their masculine sides   
too tempted by bullshit they swarmed, believing it cathartic  
kicking me over Longfellow and cracking wise to my pain   
   
there had been whispers, having heard Toms musings   
all of Aunt Louisa's little darlings holed up like baseball players  
turning circles in the kitchen,  as I began to make my entrance  
in wiles gone lame ..................................this had to be the worst  
 
their grins plastic as their minds, we shook in repeal  
we each cast a shadow,  with thoughts to our beloved father  
keeping silent with fact that, last together was with dad  
swimmingly profane was this display, hunkered by a childhood disservice   
 
an accident of birth brought me to their world, they never let me forget  
cutting boards mock me, siblings stutter to talk, not one cared  
as we barely make eye contact, letting in the old hatreds  
we speak disdain dealing with it better as these are loathsome creatures  
 
filing in begins upstairs, we hear footsteps that reach finding seats  
uncles up there sold rivers of sweat piecing this house together  
old men blinking enter slither to corners, huddling electric baseboard heaters  
how many shawls wrapping shoulders does it take to fill a rest home  
 
things we know by shuffling sound, ones home creaks in perfect tongue  
it lets You know by board or by stir , size, place and pace, animal or human  
...and that up there is uncle Julius, knowing in mumbles that muffle through floor  
storied escapades run rampant of that man, times of riding shotgun, times of rum  
 
in the midst of all this piss and vinegar, it was my brothers drink that had my intentions  
one flick of my wrist in which a toxin shall remedy all, my past and future problems  
like circling hyenas set upon carcass their egos bulge barking about when they beat me  
senseless jerks pandering, laugh and look away as I splash my love upon Your fate  
 
no other brothers deserve this fate better than they, as every bottle gets added magic  
service in less than thirty was keeping my mind afire, no one more alive  
I barter a beer flicking open bottle-top,  settling my eyes on each one of them  
a wobbling knee, a swallowing tongue, my cursive handwriting mailing notes  
 
on the loveseat a sigh bores, the heave and tally ho , loss and eyes close  
whilst I giggle victory yet insulate within me, for no other brother notices  
I take another swig savoring, the limp of the other one enticed by a chair  
I stare into what's left of the eyes, as they lilt last of kin, this smile I surrender  
 
finishing my bottled brew an only son brushes past and present  
O pine wooden stairs I climb as king, deliver me unto the light  
doors to other realities open with ease, as locks behind me bolt  
The foul stench rotting in black molded thoughts, suddenly gone  
 
the entrance of the only son was hailed by family and friend  
"how are You?",  "Your father always loved You", "where are Your brothers"  
Shrugs my shoulders know well, as posed grief proclaims from podiums  
prayers laid and incense burned we lay to rest all past sins  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Written by souladareatease
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Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
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Thank you Soul for your entry.

javalini
javalini
Thought Provoker
United States
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THE YEAR I WON THE LOTTO

that was the year I won the lotto
the year the best animal parts fell away
and I emerged, monstrously hairless,
my pale belly hanging
and my dick swinging like a spear

that year I learned to walk upright
and strutted the oily sand in bermuda shorts
and farted without apology
and cocked my hat to one side
and sucked vigorously the teat of righteous consumer glory,
snuggling ever deeper into its perfumed lap of luxury

that year I learned I deserved it all
based on passages from the word of god
and accepted my position of dominion
and killed the fatted corn fed calf
and stuffed my swollen belly with its flesh
while its sweet, hot fat dribbled down my chin
and solidified along the walls of my coronary arteries

that year I had all the young women
or tried to anyway,
buying them fine meals and jewelry
and getting very close to a roll in that magical, youth spun hay
until the wife smelled the truth
and became suddenly self righteous
as though she herself had not wallowed
in the sumptuous spa-like bath of decadence
the gods had so generously provided

that was the year the shit hit the fan,
the year she pulled out all the stops
and hired the better lawyer
and i fell like some sort of doomsday comet
burning through the stratosphere
like a goddamned steaming ball of white hot hell

the year i sold the Cadillac and the condo
and the Arnold Palmer Prestige irons
only to wind up here, watching your fine young butt
flit and waggle behind the bar
and wishing i was still a human being
and not just another tired old chump
worrying over this month's rent
Written by javalini
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Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
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Joined 25th Aug 2011
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Thank you Javalini for your entry.

anvinvil
anvinvil
Anvillan
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 16th Feb 2020
Forum Posts: 31

Brigit, Celtic Goddess...

I stand tall amidst a maelstrom of adversity.
It spins on all sides but my eyes see
every spin of every wind. The thunder, the
flashes threaten but I see only the future.  
I hear the cries, the pleads that whirl about  
me but I only feel now, the moment.  
I rise above the storm to that pillar visible    
to the entire world and it’s people.  
“Hear me my people, I am Brigit,  
Queen of this moment”.  
The vision can only be seen by the    
female heart yearning to be one with destiny.  
Each girl, collecting wild flowers,  
each mother, with child at her breast  
and each matron imparting the    
wisdom of the ages, will see herself    
standing up high. Each see, in Brigit,    
what they want to see in themselves,  
strength, resolve and commitment to    
meet each challenge with courage.  
Women’s strength transcends men’s    
ability to understand. In that moment    
when dragons roar and breathe their  
fire, we’ll step into the inferno    
while men retreat. We’ll slay the    
threat while others cower and hide.  
“Feed on the fear, my sisters.    
Let it fill you with the courage to fight    
and the will to prevail.    
Look to the sky, every year at Imbloc,    
when flowers grow and life renews.  
I will appear on this pillar, to remind    
you, that you are me and I am you,    
that we are one today and forever.  
Be proud, be strong, be true”.
Written by anvinvil (Anvillan)
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anvinvil
anvinvil
Anvillan
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 16th Feb 2020
Forum Posts: 31

Thanks!

hgnichols
hgnichols
Harry Nichols
Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 1st Sep 2018
Forum Posts: 36

Canto I: Appeal

Said the poet in his desperate hour:

A supplication to the gods who feast
upon the pain-varietals of man;
An entertaining tease to pass the time
as ages wilt and rot eternally.
I sing a song that you may slake the thirst,
or rather, give you cause to let it slip
your mind, a willed omission. In repense,
confer upon you something to be told
when you, your greatest cravings cannot sate.
Thus is what I offer greater still
than any fleeting bliss you may derive
from all my fleeting mortal agony.

Though well you know the Earth in final hours,
succumbs, below, to man’s advanced disease,
I doubt you’ve heard of Fe, it’s matron high
and tireless devotee to her kin.
A hidden gem beneath the soot that smears
the earth; the faintest smile of love upon
The face of those that perish bearing young.
What horror could befall this votary wife
and tireless toiler in her family’s name
to cause her to neglect her constant watch
and lead her to this humble bar to drink?
A drunkard wanders near her, beckoning
through slurry tongue and eyes half cocked, for drink--
his plea is met with silence like a grave.
In hanging air, he senses her reply,
begins to set his sights on someone else,
when lifting up her head she thus replies:

Alright, I’ll keep you in your slurry state,
enhance your blurry eyes with further smear
on one condition: carry what I say
and tell the family of the one I held
and buried in the woods surrounding. Lest
my guilt should go untold, their anger stayed
when payment through my heart should rightly pass.
Written by hgnichols (Harry Nichols)
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