Submissions by shebegazingblue
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I do believe that's what the poetry is for.
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
19th May 2013 11:22pm
19th May 2013 11:22pm
Like this.
This.
And that you love me.
Even just that you are.
That you see softness and then it is.
That you lay down and I sleep.
That you are happy and so I am.
You are.
And that you love me.
Like this.
And that you love me.
Even just that you are.
That you see softness and then it is.
That you lay down and I sleep.
That you are happy and so I am.
You are.
And that you love me.
Like this.
751 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Apr 2013 7:27am
6th Apr 2013 7:27am
Leaning Over
Filling me up until my hands shake on the ends of these thin arms.
Wrap themselves around the body they belong to
in a slow coil like thievery
and untold stories full with sin.
The bones, they bend
so hand over shoulder
ghost white skin
lay on top and weave under;
these bones with a place for my forehead to rest,
these lips mutter prayer as they lean into nest.
Wrap themselves around the body they belong to
in a slow coil like thievery
and untold stories full with sin.
The bones, they bend
so hand over shoulder
ghost white skin
lay on top and weave under;
these bones with a place for my forehead to rest,
these lips mutter prayer as they lean into nest.
569 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Mar 2013 3:10am
28th Mar 2013 3:10am
A love story
Misery. The woman is a curse.
She who loves with fierce loyalty
but cannot be loved for long.
Everything. The man is simply everything.
He is grace and glory, a gentleman with goodness
far above her disaster.
But the stars, they spoke.
So he loved her. It was beautiful.
So she loved him. It was beautiful.
They began a romance with words that sang between them,
bonding souls before bodies.
He loved her.
She loved him.
And they loved like the stars did shine.
Then he began to know her.
The pieces. The...
She who loves with fierce loyalty
but cannot be loved for long.
Everything. The man is simply everything.
He is grace and glory, a gentleman with goodness
far above her disaster.
But the stars, they spoke.
So he loved her. It was beautiful.
So she loved him. It was beautiful.
They began a romance with words that sang between them,
bonding souls before bodies.
He loved her.
She loved him.
And they loved like the stars did shine.
Then he began to know her.
The pieces. The...
770 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Feb 2013 7:50pm
18th Feb 2013 7:50pm
Vodka on Ice
Exhale.
Long awaited and so in control of .....
All.
I read it.
It reads me right back.
Random music on
but
not
much
else.
His words speak heat.
He gives me language in degrees
that stick to my skin
like humid summer time, beg for some relief soon Jesus please...
Vodka sweating.
She sweating thinking of he.
He sweating thinking of she.
We sweating thinking of we.
Scent of flowers on table has
no chance against scent of her
on table.
On floor.
On bed.
On he.
On
and on
and...
Long awaited and so in control of .....
All.
I read it.
It reads me right back.
Random music on
but
not
much
else.
His words speak heat.
He gives me language in degrees
that stick to my skin
like humid summer time, beg for some relief soon Jesus please...
Vodka sweating.
She sweating thinking of he.
He sweating thinking of she.
We sweating thinking of we.
Scent of flowers on table has
no chance against scent of her
on table.
On floor.
On bed.
On he.
On
and on
and...
734 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
17th Feb 2013 8:19pm
17th Feb 2013 8:19pm
Vodka on Ice
Exhale long awaited and so in control of .....
All.
I read it.
It reads me right back.
Random music on
but
not
much
else.
His words speak heat.
He gives me language in degrees
that stick to my skin
like humid summer time beg for some relief soon Jesus please...
Vodka sweating.
She sweating thinking of he.
He sweating thinking of she.
We sweating thinking of we.
Scent of flowers on table has
no chance against scent of her
on table.
On floor.
On bed.
On he.
On
and on
and...
All.
I read it.
It reads me right back.
Random music on
but
not
much
else.
His words speak heat.
He gives me language in degrees
that stick to my skin
like humid summer time beg for some relief soon Jesus please...
Vodka sweating.
She sweating thinking of he.
He sweating thinking of she.
We sweating thinking of we.
Scent of flowers on table has
no chance against scent of her
on table.
On floor.
On bed.
On he.
On
and on
and...
639 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
16th Feb 2013 7:01pm
16th Feb 2013 7:01pm
Morning
No matter the vibrant or rain soaked things
happening outside my window
or between the space
where floor
doesn't quite
meet door,
I linger in my own soft breeze.
As I be breezing,
I be fluttering.
My lips be muttering.
My poetry stuttering
desires I keep
just for you.
happening outside my window
or between the space
where floor
doesn't quite
meet door,
I linger in my own soft breeze.
As I be breezing,
I be fluttering.
My lips be muttering.
My poetry stuttering
desires I keep
just for you.
835 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Feb 2013 4:45am
6th Feb 2013 4:45am
I remember him standing.
I remember him standing.
In a corner of warm woods and cold concrete.
His surroundings speak of him as clearly as he does,
Gemini by design.
design by Gemini.
I remember him standing.
Sneakers on.
Speakers on.
Jeans and a t-shirt incognito not working
against his inherent sex appeal,
when they hang perfectly off his rock edges and rugged cliffs.
Leaving no hope for low-key.
I, writing
but distracted by his aura and his energy.
I've been captured and he’s not even looking at me.
I want him to look at me, ...
In a corner of warm woods and cold concrete.
His surroundings speak of him as clearly as he does,
Gemini by design.
design by Gemini.
I remember him standing.
Sneakers on.
Speakers on.
Jeans and a t-shirt incognito not working
against his inherent sex appeal,
when they hang perfectly off his rock edges and rugged cliffs.
Leaving no hope for low-key.
I, writing
but distracted by his aura and his energy.
I've been captured and he’s not even looking at me.
I want him to look at me, ...
604 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Feb 2013 4:15am
6th Feb 2013 4:15am
Water
Some days I soak my feet in your shallow cool water
and my feet are loved.
My toes splash in the puddle left by last night’s rain fall creating a spot of envy burning
on the soft white flesh just above my ankles.
It won't wash away.
The skin that runs the length of ankles to calves,
slightly tanned having been subject to your peace place sun café 7 a.m. good mornings,
is even more desirous of those tiny toes.
It begrudges my feet their puddle love play.
The thighs with which I show my impatience, my nerves, my sexual tension,
part and...
and my feet are loved.
My toes splash in the puddle left by last night’s rain fall creating a spot of envy burning
on the soft white flesh just above my ankles.
It won't wash away.
The skin that runs the length of ankles to calves,
slightly tanned having been subject to your peace place sun café 7 a.m. good mornings,
is even more desirous of those tiny toes.
It begrudges my feet their puddle love play.
The thighs with which I show my impatience, my nerves, my sexual tension,
part and...
747 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
11th Dec 2012 9:22pm
11th Dec 2012 9:22pm
Lucifer Low
This place is low, low,
Lucifer low.
It bores through so deep that the devil might show.
He passes through flames as they gracefully drift
in curved motions like curtains;
the drop,
then the lift.
Over wide open windows, with freedom they flow
on my sweet breezy mood, sweeping fire to and fro.
Thighs catch the light, a glare like new snow
I hiding pieces where hands beg to go.
My cavern cell woman pit,
he pleading to be wet with it
on flesh, while soul in debt with it
falls deeper, begging
one last hit.
Falls deeper,...
Lucifer low.
It bores through so deep that the devil might show.
He passes through flames as they gracefully drift
in curved motions like curtains;
the drop,
then the lift.
Over wide open windows, with freedom they flow
on my sweet breezy mood, sweeping fire to and fro.
Thighs catch the light, a glare like new snow
I hiding pieces where hands beg to go.
My cavern cell woman pit,
he pleading to be wet with it
on flesh, while soul in debt with it
falls deeper, begging
one last hit.
Falls deeper,...
1024 reads
7 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Dec 2012 7:01am
6th Dec 2012 7:01am
Part one of He on a Sunday
It’s the way your weighty silver pen balances on the edge
of this dark grey sofa,
reminding me of your Sunday crossword in that spot
just moments before
on this Sunday morning.
I sit in this moment watching you gain small victories
over the NY Times,
word
by
word.
Puzzling something must live on page and you shake your head
turn up one corner of perfect mouth raising cheek on cheekbone
creating tantalizing smirk.
Glasses.
Sexy.
Unshaven sharp manly jaw lines with salt and pepper I will put on my table any day. ...
of this dark grey sofa,
reminding me of your Sunday crossword in that spot
just moments before
on this Sunday morning.
I sit in this moment watching you gain small victories
over the NY Times,
word
by
word.
Puzzling something must live on page and you shake your head
turn up one corner of perfect mouth raising cheek on cheekbone
creating tantalizing smirk.
Glasses.
Sexy.
Unshaven sharp manly jaw lines with salt and pepper I will put on my table any day. ...
737 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
6th Dec 2012 6:54am
6th Dec 2012 6:54am
That Cello Curve
I close my eyes to see that magnificent curve of woman that runs from hip through waist.
Companion in flesh to cello carved by old knowing hands
of master craftsman
who works alone
in a small room, creating immeasurable beauty.
Contours along which I can wind slowly.
Carved with purpose and time until the lean of their lines
can wail sadness in gut wrenching murderous, murky tones.
Only a half moment before she left lullaby's in my ear,
breathy and sensual.
Now this hand carved woman is dropping
charcoal grey moans into my fire pit burning....
Companion in flesh to cello carved by old knowing hands
of master craftsman
who works alone
in a small room, creating immeasurable beauty.
Contours along which I can wind slowly.
Carved with purpose and time until the lean of their lines
can wail sadness in gut wrenching murderous, murky tones.
Only a half moment before she left lullaby's in my ear,
breathy and sensual.
Now this hand carved woman is dropping
charcoal grey moans into my fire pit burning....
1166 reads
5 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th Dec 2012 6:06pm
5th Dec 2012 6:06pm
Pray for Sunday
Your eyes glowing in city rain sidewalk night speak love to me.
They speak love to me.
Our romance in words bounces off the familiar audio backdrop hum, traffic sounds of downtowns
anywhere.
We could just be anywhere
and it is everywhere
with your kiss hunting eyes glowing on me.
Your eyes glowing and my heart on fire darling.
It's the way you smile coy at me.
The beast I know my man to be.
How they are both equally,
authentically,
He.
I need them both equally,
desperately.
We.
The cadence when...
They speak love to me.
Our romance in words bounces off the familiar audio backdrop hum, traffic sounds of downtowns
anywhere.
We could just be anywhere
and it is everywhere
with your kiss hunting eyes glowing on me.
Your eyes glowing and my heart on fire darling.
It's the way you smile coy at me.
The beast I know my man to be.
How they are both equally,
authentically,
He.
I need them both equally,
desperately.
We.
The cadence when...
676 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by shebegazingblue
