Submissions by runningturtle87
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
If it's not intimate, what's the point?......................
EROTIC POEM
Published
12th Jul 2012 4:36am
12th Jul 2012 4:36am
Baiting
Indelicacies
of nibbled
trepidations
are not the kind
of fruit I toss
or bath
with false flirtations.
Much milder words
are meant
for those
whose eyes
are not so wild,
but with your orbs
rolled back to clench
and lips to bite beguiled,
the chance that this
is chance alone
and not some
woo-filled thrust
is probably much
the same for you
that flutters
near to bust.
So, care be taken
stepping up
and calling
to the bluff,
for if the seas
are salted here
the...
of nibbled
trepidations
are not the kind
of fruit I toss
or bath
with false flirtations.
Much milder words
are meant
for those
whose eyes
are not so wild,
but with your orbs
rolled back to clench
and lips to bite beguiled,
the chance that this
is chance alone
and not some
woo-filled thrust
is probably much
the same for you
that flutters
near to bust.
So, care be taken
stepping up
and calling
to the bluff,
for if the seas
are salted here
the...
848 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
11th Jul 2012 1:18pm
11th Jul 2012 1:18pm
Playful Rhapsody
Far from being
unapproachable
in the sandbox
of life,
I tunnel
beneath,
hoping to meet
the eager fingers
of others
who,
in their fiery breath,
are frantic
also
to feel
and taste
and smear
the wet sand
along their brows
as furrows dug
become the dens
of those
who would become
the bearers
of a growing
new mythology
of being,
a borderless quest
of intimate behaviors
and telling stories,
revealed
in the legend
of our play.
runningturtle87
unapproachable
in the sandbox
of life,
I tunnel
beneath,
hoping to meet
the eager fingers
of others
who,
in their fiery breath,
are frantic
also
to feel
and taste
and smear
the wet sand
along their brows
as furrows dug
become the dens
of those
who would become
the bearers
of a growing
new mythology
of being,
a borderless quest
of intimate behaviors
and telling stories,
revealed
in the legend
of our play.
runningturtle87
608 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
11th Jul 2012 1:07pm
11th Jul 2012 1:07pm
Dissolution
From moment
to moment,
I cannot
remember a thing
that has happened
to me
over the course
of six decades;
can't paint
what I see,
can't draw
what is right
in front
of me,
and all I sense
is what is
right there,
taking
and talking
and being
nakedly handed
to me
by the sensuous being
of the unbridled
inner-eye
of the all seeing;
the way
that I feel
without the abstractions
of expectations
and rituals,
and all I know,
is that
in this...
to moment,
I cannot
remember a thing
that has happened
to me
over the course
of six decades;
can't paint
what I see,
can't draw
what is right
in front
of me,
and all I sense
is what is
right there,
taking
and talking
and being
nakedly handed
to me
by the sensuous being
of the unbridled
inner-eye
of the all seeing;
the way
that I feel
without the abstractions
of expectations
and rituals,
and all I know,
is that
in this...
669 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
11th Jul 2012 3:10am
11th Jul 2012 3:10am
Ravaged
To meet
the savaged
inner prisoner
living deep within,
the heart must stand
the ruthless forces,
broken rocks and skin.
No small task
to delve so fallen,
no shy shielded dove,
for to know
the beast locked inward
bares a lust's
unbridled soul.
runningturtle87
the savaged
inner prisoner
living deep within,
the heart must stand
the ruthless forces,
broken rocks and skin.
No small task
to delve so fallen,
no shy shielded dove,
for to know
the beast locked inward
bares a lust's
unbridled soul.
runningturtle87
791 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Jul 2012 2:50am
11th Jul 2012 2:50am
The Petrified Forest
One hitchhiker
yields another
in the galaxy's guide,
for forty-two
the answer rings,
and all the idiots hide.
Never do
the questions quit,
nor do
the answers bring,
but round
and round
insurance calls
for emptiness
the bride
doth ride
and wears
the wedding ring.
Lest the meaning
here belongs
to only those
gone stone,
those movie
mashup songs
abound
and never do
go home.
My meaning clear
then given plain
and left
upon the table's
vast...
yields another
in the galaxy's guide,
for forty-two
the answer rings,
and all the idiots hide.
Never do
the questions quit,
nor do
the answers bring,
but round
and round
insurance calls
for emptiness
the bride
doth ride
and wears
the wedding ring.
Lest the meaning
here belongs
to only those
gone stone,
those movie
mashup songs
abound
and never do
go home.
My meaning clear
then given plain
and left
upon the table's
vast...
543 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
10th Jul 2012 5:22pm
10th Jul 2012 5:22pm
Nailed
Nailed is such a crude expression when all's said and done;
it means that you're a hammer and your job's not really fun.
I don't want to bonk or poke or prod in any way;
just to have a moment of that little tay to tay.
To take in all the grandeur that's so meant to be surreal,
the tidal wave and Milky Way are really no big deal.
The universe can be reversed and all of it repealed,
if only when I meet my match it's with a kiss so sealed.
To take it in and smell the juncture of the living flesh,
to know the seeping melody of holy Venkatesh,
to...
it means that you're a hammer and your job's not really fun.
I don't want to bonk or poke or prod in any way;
just to have a moment of that little tay to tay.
To take in all the grandeur that's so meant to be surreal,
the tidal wave and Milky Way are really no big deal.
The universe can be reversed and all of it repealed,
if only when I meet my match it's with a kiss so sealed.
To take it in and smell the juncture of the living flesh,
to know the seeping melody of holy Venkatesh,
to...
760 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
10th Jul 2012 12:27pm
10th Jul 2012 12:27pm
Flirting, Just Right
Flirtatious teasing
is an art form
of approaching
the brink
of release,
not simply
walking right up
to the tip
and biting it off,
but rather
contemplating
in a measured way
the sensitive nature
of being
in close proximity,
of delicately relating
on a thousand different levels,
lip and fingertip,
moisture and mouth,
indication and intention,
with tintinnabulations
of cilia trembling
barely touching
emotional ploys
that ever so indirectly
hover ever so tauntingly
about and above...
is an art form
of approaching
the brink
of release,
not simply
walking right up
to the tip
and biting it off,
but rather
contemplating
in a measured way
the sensitive nature
of being
in close proximity,
of delicately relating
on a thousand different levels,
lip and fingertip,
moisture and mouth,
indication and intention,
with tintinnabulations
of cilia trembling
barely touching
emotional ploys
that ever so indirectly
hover ever so tauntingly
about and above...
1059 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
10th Jul 2012 2:47am
10th Jul 2012 2:47am
SteampunXXX
Whiling, whirling wheels and weather,
flecks of copper, bronze, and tin,
layered lace and threads of leather,
where to start and where begin?
Timely pieces, pointed badness,
techno boot and straddled sadness,
make the look that saddles gladness,
here the gear that spins in madness.
How then this, My Tasty Treat,
flourished heart-lot tempered neat,
with every angle in repose,
every sector all disclosed?
When the daguerreotype is done
with poised fixation, and sepia gun,
when all have had their praise and won,
I'll lock...
flecks of copper, bronze, and tin,
layered lace and threads of leather,
where to start and where begin?
Timely pieces, pointed badness,
techno boot and straddled sadness,
make the look that saddles gladness,
here the gear that spins in madness.
How then this, My Tasty Treat,
flourished heart-lot tempered neat,
with every angle in repose,
every sector all disclosed?
When the daguerreotype is done
with poised fixation, and sepia gun,
when all have had their praise and won,
I'll lock...
665 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
10th Jul 2012 2:01am
10th Jul 2012 2:01am
Why Do I Constantly Make Up New Words
I seem to be
the kind
of person
who is always
first
to check out a book
that has been
at the library
for ten years
but still remains
unplucked
from its space
amongst the limbered spines
that have a familiar calling.
That this is my fortune,
destiny, fate, or dharma
is of no consequential
value to me;
I'm simply unpacking
the stairwell
of cosmic distillations
that swarm
about me
as I reroute the carousal
of understanding
and intersect the vision
of my curiosity ...
the kind
of person
who is always
first
to check out a book
that has been
at the library
for ten years
but still remains
unplucked
from its space
amongst the limbered spines
that have a familiar calling.
That this is my fortune,
destiny, fate, or dharma
is of no consequential
value to me;
I'm simply unpacking
the stairwell
of cosmic distillations
that swarm
about me
as I reroute the carousal
of understanding
and intersect the vision
of my curiosity ...
583 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
9th Jul 2012 11:37am
9th Jul 2012 11:37am
Bookends
He leaned over
just far enough
to see
and yet not be seen,
and the conversation
went on,
even with his listening in.
And, as he paid attention,
a girl
with a camera
was snapping away
and taking his soul
in his pretense
not to be eavesdropping,
which he was
with every sensitivity,
and the security officer
saw the whole
photography thing blindly,
unaware
as a thief
backed
out the rear entrance
to a waiting car
that got busted
by the surveilling police.
runningturtle87
just far enough
to see
and yet not be seen,
and the conversation
went on,
even with his listening in.
And, as he paid attention,
a girl
with a camera
was snapping away
and taking his soul
in his pretense
not to be eavesdropping,
which he was
with every sensitivity,
and the security officer
saw the whole
photography thing blindly,
unaware
as a thief
backed
out the rear entrance
to a waiting car
that got busted
by the surveilling police.
runningturtle87
666 reads
0 Comments
ANGER POEM
Published
9th Jul 2012 11:21am
9th Jul 2012 11:21am
With a sign on her forehead
Let's just get it fucking out there;
the cost of being is higher than death.
It's the constantly putting yourself out there,
having to endure rejection,
having to work at being understood,
never really quite knowing,
only hoping, and that seeming so fruitless,
and then, too, no one really ultimately
and really completely understanding
because of parallax, and their not being you
and the insanity of metaphor
and not really being able to say how it is
and constantly only being able to indicate
and reference and imply and point it out
like...
the cost of being is higher than death.
It's the constantly putting yourself out there,
having to endure rejection,
having to work at being understood,
never really quite knowing,
only hoping, and that seeming so fruitless,
and then, too, no one really ultimately
and really completely understanding
because of parallax, and their not being you
and the insanity of metaphor
and not really being able to say how it is
and constantly only being able to indicate
and reference and imply and point it out
like...
639 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Jul 2012 9:29pm
8th Jul 2012 9:29pm
Space
What was outer
becomes reflective,
and what was inner
becomes projective.
Soon, inner and outer,
projective and reflective
are mirrored
in their sameness,
and what was is,
and there is
no space.
runningturtle87
becomes reflective,
and what was inner
becomes projective.
Soon, inner and outer,
projective and reflective
are mirrored
in their sameness,
and what was is,
and there is
no space.
runningturtle87
748 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by runningturtle87
