Submissions by Betty
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction Well. Isn't THAT special.
EROTIC POEM
Published
30th Jun 2013 12:54pm
30th Jun 2013 12:54pm
atavistic
something about the endless ache
causes me to slip back in time
not a few days or weeks,
but back through the
lizard part of my brain,
to some primordial ooze
where a version of me,
something pre-feral,
has flopped on land
for the first time seeking
to eat
to breathe
to fuck
as I hitch across the land,
body dripping
with instinct and
the fecund taste
of need
something catches my eye
and my mind pants,
as you slide to me taking in
(teeth and nails and hungry eyes) ...
causes me to slip back in time
not a few days or weeks,
but back through the
lizard part of my brain,
to some primordial ooze
where a version of me,
something pre-feral,
has flopped on land
for the first time seeking
to eat
to breathe
to fuck
as I hitch across the land,
body dripping
with instinct and
the fecund taste
of need
something catches my eye
and my mind pants,
as you slide to me taking in
(teeth and nails and hungry eyes) ...
883 reads
9 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Jun 2013 12:43pm
20th Jun 2013 12:43pm
picture of you
Any jackass with a cock can call himself a man;
but the essence of man
is more than a shot in the dark;
a drip of white lust.
(Though, that is quite nice
in the right hands.)
Man is folds in a curtain,
more revealed as it's pulled back
from the pane,
and the essence of it,
of pure masculinity,
needs no
definition.
But were it to require one,
were someone to demand
man be clearly defined,
I'd bark laughter,
throw away the pen,
pick up a brush
and
...
but the essence of man
is more than a shot in the dark;
a drip of white lust.
(Though, that is quite nice
in the right hands.)
Man is folds in a curtain,
more revealed as it's pulled back
from the pane,
and the essence of it,
of pure masculinity,
needs no
definition.
But were it to require one,
were someone to demand
man be clearly defined,
I'd bark laughter,
throw away the pen,
pick up a brush
and
...
1171 reads
17 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th May 2013 3:43pm
19th May 2013 3:43pm
Flatulent grave-visits
I have gas,
and being a petty creature,
I want to fart on your grave.
I buy an $8 coffee from the
strip-mall coffee shop
and grab a seat outdoors,
the lone patron of the sidewalk cafe.
My eyes close behind
oversized sunglasses,
and I let my mind drift to:
My land, hard rain, deep hole, heavy load
Shoulders aching, neck cramped
Sobs of exertion, the meaty thud of each shovel-full
Then showered, sharply accessorized,
signing the deed to the strip-mall man
taking the check,
the Tarmac...
and being a petty creature,
I want to fart on your grave.
I buy an $8 coffee from the
strip-mall coffee shop
and grab a seat outdoors,
the lone patron of the sidewalk cafe.
My eyes close behind
oversized sunglasses,
and I let my mind drift to:
My land, hard rain, deep hole, heavy load
Shoulders aching, neck cramped
Sobs of exertion, the meaty thud of each shovel-full
Then showered, sharply accessorized,
signing the deed to the strip-mall man
taking the check,
the Tarmac...
718 reads
8 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th May 2013 3:38pm
19th May 2013 3:38pm
A damn fine boo-boo
It was a good one as far as boo-boos went;
a gnarly, ragged-edge circle with the
center scraped dirty by the road,
and it earned me a trip to
the kitchen, squalling
hopping foot-to-foot
No, no, no, it's hurts
it hurts,
it huuurrts
Grams, a pro at wrangling little girls
held my arm over the sink,
inciting my hysteria by
pulling out the brown bottle
of peroxide
Look away, she said.
It won't hurt so bad
if you don't look...
a gnarly, ragged-edge circle with the
center scraped dirty by the road,
and it earned me a trip to
the kitchen, squalling
hopping foot-to-foot
No, no, no, it's hurts
it hurts,
it huuurrts
Grams, a pro at wrangling little girls
held my arm over the sink,
inciting my hysteria by
pulling out the brown bottle
of peroxide
Look away, she said.
It won't hurt so bad
if you don't look...
567 reads
4 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
14th May 2013 11:10pm
14th May 2013 11:10pm
Aural sex
Heat haze shimmers around my legs,
the soles of my shoes
melt into the tarmac
as the Boeing at the end of the runway
punches it.
Fists clenched,
chest heaving,
I dare the fucker
to knock me down
as it barrels closer,
faster,
an unstoppable
object forcing my
peripheral vision to widen
as I become a
speck
before its vastness.
It hits 250,
255,
260,
the nose lifts
just before it hits,
engines roar like a full-body slam
as it rears over me. ...
the soles of my shoes
melt into the tarmac
as the Boeing at the end of the runway
punches it.
Fists clenched,
chest heaving,
I dare the fucker
to knock me down
as it barrels closer,
faster,
an unstoppable
object forcing my
peripheral vision to widen
as I become a
speck
before its vastness.
It hits 250,
255,
260,
the nose lifts
just before it hits,
engines roar like a full-body slam
as it rears over me. ...
817 reads
14 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
5th May 2013 5:12am
5th May 2013 5:12am
Until the sun takes a flaming shit
I think I need to take better care of myself,
because I want to be the last person on earth.
Pretty ambitious, if I do say so myself.
The sun will burn out in, oh,
four, five billion years;
but in a mere three billion years,
the oceans will boil up in a swan song;
a final cloudy testament that
we ... were here.
I need to be here when that happens.
We left a mark beyond the landfills,
deeper than the filth and the scourges
More than a mark,
I think we left some
strange pocket of exhale,
a litany of unsaid...
because I want to be the last person on earth.
Pretty ambitious, if I do say so myself.
The sun will burn out in, oh,
four, five billion years;
but in a mere three billion years,
the oceans will boil up in a swan song;
a final cloudy testament that
we ... were here.
I need to be here when that happens.
We left a mark beyond the landfills,
deeper than the filth and the scourges
More than a mark,
I think we left some
strange pocket of exhale,
a litany of unsaid...
795 reads
10 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
30th Apr 2013 4:22am
30th Apr 2013 4:22am
Love letters
I kept a scrap of paper in my pocket today
so that I wouldn’t forget the clarity
of the moment
I read your love letter
I was on the back porch,
drinking coffee,
feet propped up on a deck chair,
one smooth leg peeking
out from my lace-trimmed
gold satin
robe
I was thinking of you,
thinking of me,
wanting you
(the way I do)
thinking became too much
of a challenge,
and there wasn’t much of it happening
as I tried to adjust to the stunned
reclamation of my body
as it centered around
your desire...
so that I wouldn’t forget the clarity
of the moment
I read your love letter
I was on the back porch,
drinking coffee,
feet propped up on a deck chair,
one smooth leg peeking
out from my lace-trimmed
gold satin
robe
I was thinking of you,
thinking of me,
wanting you
(the way I do)
thinking became too much
of a challenge,
and there wasn’t much of it happening
as I tried to adjust to the stunned
reclamation of my body
as it centered around
your desire...
843 reads
18 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Betty
