Submissions by Six-Out (Jon Rodgers)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm me. These words, they're me as well. Welcome to my mind.
EROTIC POEM
Published
2nd Jul 2011 10:00am
2nd Jul 2011 10:00am
gasping.smiles
I'll kiss my love down your neck
if you'll let me. just for a moment.
-
a tongue to your lower lip. to catch your breath.
breathe me in. and let your moans whisper into my ear.
babe. I'll bathe you in the beauty you deserve.
my hands on your thighs. and my my lips teasing you
tasting you. tap-dancing my fingers until your voice cries mercy
and you beg me to keep moving.
your hand on mine. my hand [in] you. and my exhale on your lips.
slowly licking away your inhebitions. as my tongue
slides circles on your chest. and your eyes begging me...
if you'll let me. just for a moment.
-
a tongue to your lower lip. to catch your breath.
breathe me in. and let your moans whisper into my ear.
babe. I'll bathe you in the beauty you deserve.
my hands on your thighs. and my my lips teasing you
tasting you. tap-dancing my fingers until your voice cries mercy
and you beg me to keep moving.
your hand on mine. my hand [in] you. and my exhale on your lips.
slowly licking away your inhebitions. as my tongue
slides circles on your chest. and your eyes begging me...
1568 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
2nd Jul 2011 8:21am
2nd Jul 2011 8:21am
motion.pictures
sundays
they take me to your lips.
the way I left them
trembling.
as I stumbled
and my heart felt like
breaking was too meaningless.
so it melted.
the way
I'll never forget
my hands on your face
when the tears seperated my skin
from yours.
and I lied- unknowingly
when I said
everything.
oh, it'll be alright.
and the clouds in your eyes
someone forgot
to pain the silver on
the edges.
as I swallowed hatred
for anything airborn.
and begged the second hand
to freeze
if just briefly
so...
they take me to your lips.
the way I left them
trembling.
as I stumbled
and my heart felt like
breaking was too meaningless.
so it melted.
the way
I'll never forget
my hands on your face
when the tears seperated my skin
from yours.
and I lied- unknowingly
when I said
everything.
oh, it'll be alright.
and the clouds in your eyes
someone forgot
to pain the silver on
the edges.
as I swallowed hatred
for anything airborn.
and begged the second hand
to freeze
if just briefly
so...
4671 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
1st Jul 2011 10:15pm
1st Jul 2011 10:15pm
your own brand of unhappiness.
he spoke like a two tone turntable
two shades short of turmoil.
singing
in off beat beauty
like a pearl- that tries to hard to be white.
when he says that no matter what we eat- drink or steal
we're all going to die the same way.
and it's- it's something like believing the world is going to end
because of our actions. when the skies are standing
on no man made pillars. he tried to teach me
that wishing for the worst is kind of like writing your own epilogue.
so we wished for the universe to collapse upon itself
because feeling...
two shades short of turmoil.
singing
in off beat beauty
like a pearl- that tries to hard to be white.
when he says that no matter what we eat- drink or steal
we're all going to die the same way.
and it's- it's something like believing the world is going to end
because of our actions. when the skies are standing
on no man made pillars. he tried to teach me
that wishing for the worst is kind of like writing your own epilogue.
so we wished for the universe to collapse upon itself
because feeling...
915 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
18th Jun 2011 4:48am
18th Jun 2011 4:48am
there are worse things than being alone.
sometimes I sit outside with
a glass of red wine
and a cigar.
that's when life makes sense.
and I think of
when you asked me about god
and my only reply was
'god doesn't exist
simply because we want him to
so badly'.
and you looked at me
as if I had lost my mind.
and I drank my wine then.
took a drag from the cohiba
and thought about
that
for just a minute.
and came to the conclusion
that you just
had yet to find yours.
so I take a sip, now.
and remember when the beach
was the...
a glass of red wine
and a cigar.
that's when life makes sense.
and I think of
when you asked me about god
and my only reply was
'god doesn't exist
simply because we want him to
so badly'.
and you looked at me
as if I had lost my mind.
and I drank my wine then.
took a drag from the cohiba
and thought about
that
for just a minute.
and came to the conclusion
that you just
had yet to find yours.
so I take a sip, now.
and remember when the beach
was the...
1100 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
16th Jun 2011 3:30am
16th Jun 2011 3:30am
-sympathetic.
for the poets]
and those late nights- midnight dances with an old notebook
a pen that screams sanctuary to reality- if only for a bit
and the few scraps of paper. half written lines, never meant for words
thoughts that break/ an empty trace of logic
-listening to the rain. anything to find a little inspiration. just for tonight.
just for another line. a little more time and another tear to fill one more page
a few more overused emotions to go along with the pain
and another pen- to replace the one worn down. to tell of just one more
wasted life....
and those late nights- midnight dances with an old notebook
a pen that screams sanctuary to reality- if only for a bit
and the few scraps of paper. half written lines, never meant for words
thoughts that break/ an empty trace of logic
-listening to the rain. anything to find a little inspiration. just for tonight.
just for another line. a little more time and another tear to fill one more page
a few more overused emotions to go along with the pain
and another pen- to replace the one worn down. to tell of just one more
wasted life....
809 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
15th Jun 2011 7:46pm
15th Jun 2011 7:46pm
colors.
orange.
it used to speak
like sinatra
on sundays. soft voice
that she let drift
in whispers meant
only for my ears.
when words
tasted opaque
and I felt.
then, I felt.
like a brick
meeting my chest
one beat short of
a chorus.
she aged my hands
like burning paper
when they left the comfort
of her palm.
so I walked.
and then
that was when orange
meant the world
when
the skies
they cried at departure
and stars said
to hell with the night
I sat there.
head in hands...
it used to speak
like sinatra
on sundays. soft voice
that she let drift
in whispers meant
only for my ears.
when words
tasted opaque
and I felt.
then, I felt.
like a brick
meeting my chest
one beat short of
a chorus.
she aged my hands
like burning paper
when they left the comfort
of her palm.
so I walked.
and then
that was when orange
meant the world
when
the skies
they cried at departure
and stars said
to hell with the night
I sat there.
head in hands...
968 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
15th Jun 2011 6:00am
15th Jun 2011 6:00am
a big cliche love poem
it's easy
to write about love, and loss.
emotions just take your hands and words
they fall like rain
to form sentences more cliche
than a metaphor about something falling
like rain.
yea, it's easy to write about heartache
sitting in dark rooms-
with a pen and a notebook.
feeling like a refuge from the 18th century.
because poetry is all about power.
and power simply can not
bleed onto a computer screen. the way that
ink can spread in veins and spots
to form words that mean nothing other than
the fact that you...
to write about love, and loss.
emotions just take your hands and words
they fall like rain
to form sentences more cliche
than a metaphor about something falling
like rain.
yea, it's easy to write about heartache
sitting in dark rooms-
with a pen and a notebook.
feeling like a refuge from the 18th century.
because poetry is all about power.
and power simply can not
bleed onto a computer screen. the way that
ink can spread in veins and spots
to form words that mean nothing other than
the fact that you...
1169 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
10th Jun 2011 2:12am
10th Jun 2011 2:12am
with black on gray.
you are.
thundercloud. operas
beating bass in troubled chords
like water filling cracks
just begging the salt
to set you free.
when ink pours from open wounds.
and your lips beat bad
better than forced rhyme without
a single shred of reason. and your arms
they're tidal waves.
almost. poetic
so I'd listen intently.
because the answer is always in the break.
and words are spraying in muffled colors.
something short of meeting
heart murmers.
with the intent of inviting a purpose.
while I watched your tongue
unwind...
thundercloud. operas
beating bass in troubled chords
like water filling cracks
just begging the salt
to set you free.
when ink pours from open wounds.
and your lips beat bad
better than forced rhyme without
a single shred of reason. and your arms
they're tidal waves.
almost. poetic
so I'd listen intently.
because the answer is always in the break.
and words are spraying in muffled colors.
something short of meeting
heart murmers.
with the intent of inviting a purpose.
while I watched your tongue
unwind...
865 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
9th Jun 2011 2:50pm
9th Jun 2011 2:50pm
until you can't anymore.
it comes around midnight.
that feeling, you know.
the one you get when you realize
someone has stopped loving you.
it's something like that.
when poetry forgot how to help mend the past
and you forgot how to pick up a pen
it all falls into place, leaving the blanks
to stay blank. and you just blame it on apathy
because it's easier than staying awake
in a star.less bedroom.
right around when the liquor stops soothing
and you're left wide eyed in heartache
because the past never gets tired
of ripping.you.apart.
it falls...
that feeling, you know.
the one you get when you realize
someone has stopped loving you.
it's something like that.
when poetry forgot how to help mend the past
and you forgot how to pick up a pen
it all falls into place, leaving the blanks
to stay blank. and you just blame it on apathy
because it's easier than staying awake
in a star.less bedroom.
right around when the liquor stops soothing
and you're left wide eyed in heartache
because the past never gets tired
of ripping.you.apart.
it falls...
781 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
9th Jun 2011 6:48am
9th Jun 2011 6:48am
she spoke silver
she spoke silver
to me
with a tongue that echo.d breaking down.
reflections
like losing ground.
she'd say that stars aren't the only things
worth the shine.
so I made wishes on the words she spit.
when her lips tasted like coal.
back when I still felt I could
stop the world from spinning.
so I'd pen her like some antiqued china-
as if I could break her to pieces.
the way waves and sand were
meant
to create beaches together.
and she spoke in glimmers.
a voice taking tone from hammers
to...
to me
with a tongue that echo.d breaking down.
reflections
like losing ground.
she'd say that stars aren't the only things
worth the shine.
so I made wishes on the words she spit.
when her lips tasted like coal.
back when I still felt I could
stop the world from spinning.
so I'd pen her like some antiqued china-
as if I could break her to pieces.
the way waves and sand were
meant
to create beaches together.
and she spoke in glimmers.
a voice taking tone from hammers
to...
745 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Jun 2011 6:08am
9th Jun 2011 6:08am
Dealer of the Unwanted
when she walked in
I saw the pain dripping from her fingers like
wax
falling off of her like some
burnt up figment of who she
hoped to be
15 years earlier.
feet dragging as she walked across
tile: littered with left over dreams
with a clearance tag marked
over the stars that fell.
when she sold her clock
and gave
up on wishing at eleven eleven.
because words sell for less than
it takes to fly, she said.
so in the presence of ghosts
her skin was more wrinkled than the sheets
she found herself at home...
I saw the pain dripping from her fingers like
wax
falling off of her like some
burnt up figment of who she
hoped to be
15 years earlier.
feet dragging as she walked across
tile: littered with left over dreams
with a clearance tag marked
over the stars that fell.
when she sold her clock
and gave
up on wishing at eleven eleven.
because words sell for less than
it takes to fly, she said.
so in the presence of ghosts
her skin was more wrinkled than the sheets
she found herself at home...
815 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Six-Out (Jon Rodgers)
