Submissions by toniscales (Lost Girl)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I am very critical of my own work but I tend to love intensely, and writing is an emotional release and catharsis I can't seem to resist.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Dec 2014 4:34am
21st Dec 2014 4:34am
Amelia
She's run out of things to live for.
Teacups and shoes,
a hint of collarbone
through his shirt.
All day, the taste of longing
in her mouth.
Waiting for him to pass,
to giggle hot like a schoolgirl.
By midnight the world's diminished
to lights caressing the tollway.
Signposts that sing of a desperate paradise,
his cologne scraping the car's interior.
How she yearns in places
her body cannot reach.
Desire crackling the dash,
slicing the night like a scar.
The skyline sutured and frayed,
his...
Teacups and shoes,
a hint of collarbone
through his shirt.
All day, the taste of longing
in her mouth.
Waiting for him to pass,
to giggle hot like a schoolgirl.
By midnight the world's diminished
to lights caressing the tollway.
Signposts that sing of a desperate paradise,
his cologne scraping the car's interior.
How she yearns in places
her body cannot reach.
Desire crackling the dash,
slicing the night like a scar.
The skyline sutured and frayed,
his...
1066 reads
10 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Dec 2014 4:31am
21st Dec 2014 4:31am
Minerva
She is
the book falling open to November,
sweet hidden wickedness of rhododendron,
her mouth a tuberose, pale.
Sucking.
She swells upon the eaves.
They touch at her thighs
to feel the texture of acrylics,
something frail, transitory,
beautiful.
She walks the beach in August,
sudden music out of nowhere,
houseflies and hypodermics,
the shadows that rustle
behind shower curtains.
Her need to be compelling is painful,
something purple and waxen,
a delicate blush.
Still, she writes the way ...
the book falling open to November,
sweet hidden wickedness of rhododendron,
her mouth a tuberose, pale.
Sucking.
She swells upon the eaves.
They touch at her thighs
to feel the texture of acrylics,
something frail, transitory,
beautiful.
She walks the beach in August,
sudden music out of nowhere,
houseflies and hypodermics,
the shadows that rustle
behind shower curtains.
Her need to be compelling is painful,
something purple and waxen,
a delicate blush.
Still, she writes the way ...
830 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Dec 2014 8:23pm
20th Dec 2014 8:23pm
Charlotte
a lost girl poem
He meets her the way
her father would.
In darkness, edges blurred,
not quite real.
Her hands fidget hot
at the sides of her dress,
those swollen cremations
of cakes, thighs, moonlight.
If only his face
held a sex, she thinks,
she might impale herself
upon it, content.
The splintering of silk
occurs when she´s turned away.
Later, at the barge, she senses
the quiet tang of the wind,
the boats that linger
disjointed at their ropes,
aching for shores
without...
He meets her the way
her father would.
In darkness, edges blurred,
not quite real.
Her hands fidget hot
at the sides of her dress,
those swollen cremations
of cakes, thighs, moonlight.
If only his face
held a sex, she thinks,
she might impale herself
upon it, content.
The splintering of silk
occurs when she´s turned away.
Later, at the barge, she senses
the quiet tang of the wind,
the boats that linger
disjointed at their ropes,
aching for shores
without...
736 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Dec 2014 7:59pm
20th Dec 2014 7:59pm
Teaching an Angel to Use Her Wings
(Written for Guardian Demon’s “Commission” competition)
for David Gahan
I am a dancer, candles lit,
pills gone. Alone with that voice.
Biblical. Intravenous.
I've danced this way since I was thirteen
in my mother's purloined negligee.
Blood and rhythm
a Bosch-like garden of delights.
Electroshock in my bedroom.
I pirouetted like a graceful,
dead thing. All rabid-spider
majesty. Writhing to haunted
vocal cords while nectar
and vinyl rainstorms
filled my hands.
Fatherless and hungry,
the...
for David Gahan
I am a dancer, candles lit,
pills gone. Alone with that voice.
Biblical. Intravenous.
I've danced this way since I was thirteen
in my mother's purloined negligee.
Blood and rhythm
a Bosch-like garden of delights.
Electroshock in my bedroom.
I pirouetted like a graceful,
dead thing. All rabid-spider
majesty. Writhing to haunted
vocal cords while nectar
and vinyl rainstorms
filled my hands.
Fatherless and hungry,
the...
629 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Dec 2014 12:01pm
20th Dec 2014 12:01pm
White Extractions
I’ve been dreaming lately
of car wrecks, your mouth.
That dark space where my spine
curves, starved. Wanting.
She’s murdered by the mortality
of objects but this ache never dies.
To be good at her hands,
be beautiful. Loved.
I pray in parking lots,
lick my lips at the sky.
Once, a hot surge of blood
pulsed through my snow-white dress.
My forearms brushing the sides
of my breasts, cradling and cupping,
pushing them together.
The valley of darkness there.
of car wrecks, your mouth.
That dark space where my spine
curves, starved. Wanting.
She’s murdered by the mortality
of objects but this ache never dies.
To be good at her hands,
be beautiful. Loved.
I pray in parking lots,
lick my lips at the sky.
Once, a hot surge of blood
pulsed through my snow-white dress.
My forearms brushing the sides
of my breasts, cradling and cupping,
pushing them together.
The valley of darkness there.
833 reads
5 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
20th Dec 2014 11:53am
20th Dec 2014 11:53am
The End of Innocence
And maybe it goes something like this.
The saint on the dresser,
her doe eyes beckoning.
The green of the walls gone too pale.
A sound like thunder
in the kitchen.
The crash of pots and pans.
This thing inside you, squirming
to be let out. The way it tastes
like rain. A suggestion of blue.
Your mother's rhinestone brooch
wrapped in browning lace and hidden
in the drawer. Bones in the corsets
flattening your spine,
children laughing in the yard
and suddenly you’re crying
into the dark of...
The saint on the dresser,
her doe eyes beckoning.
The green of the walls gone too pale.
A sound like thunder
in the kitchen.
The crash of pots and pans.
This thing inside you, squirming
to be let out. The way it tastes
like rain. A suggestion of blue.
Your mother's rhinestone brooch
wrapped in browning lace and hidden
in the drawer. Bones in the corsets
flattening your spine,
children laughing in the yard
and suddenly you’re crying
into the dark of...
708 reads
4 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Dec 2014 00:36am
20th Dec 2014 00:36am
Forcing the Saints
This fever, my body aches with it.
Slowly murdered by your killer smile,
I wanted your hands on me.
Knowing it was impossible,
shutting my eyes against
that sudden rush of need.
She burns and yearns. Nothing can sate her.
The music of her loneliness like a wet necklace
the sky goddess hung. Haunting. Slippery.
She's drunk on sensual nuances. The swish
of silk sweeping past the calf, slithering
her toes into a pair of pantyhose.
The slow-burning awareness of the body.
Her desire swells, luminous. Shivering.
She's...
Slowly murdered by your killer smile,
I wanted your hands on me.
Knowing it was impossible,
shutting my eyes against
that sudden rush of need.
She burns and yearns. Nothing can sate her.
The music of her loneliness like a wet necklace
the sky goddess hung. Haunting. Slippery.
She's drunk on sensual nuances. The swish
of silk sweeping past the calf, slithering
her toes into a pair of pantyhose.
The slow-burning awareness of the body.
Her desire swells, luminous. Shivering.
She's...
672 reads
3 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
19th Dec 2014 3:57pm
19th Dec 2014 3:57pm
Journal of a Grief
I.
I want every part of you to fit within me.
You were going to be late for an appointment.
Sunlight constricted everything.
The shock of your face
as if I never truly remembered it.
I dropped on one knee in dampened grass
while you grabbed my hair
and eased your world into me.
The effortless arousal at your command
to take you into me,
pushing,
pulling.
Something so natural,
I wept as you fed me.
II.
I have not showered in three days.
Haven't brushed my teeth.
Today I found a picture of...
I want every part of you to fit within me.
You were going to be late for an appointment.
Sunlight constricted everything.
The shock of your face
as if I never truly remembered it.
I dropped on one knee in dampened grass
while you grabbed my hair
and eased your world into me.
The effortless arousal at your command
to take you into me,
pushing,
pulling.
Something so natural,
I wept as you fed me.
II.
I have not showered in three days.
Haven't brushed my teeth.
Today I found a picture of...
708 reads
4 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Dec 2014 3:30pm
19th Dec 2014 3:30pm
Afternoon Service
We bury her in the dark, noisy sanctum
near the air conditioner. The earth
so hard and dry it barely crumbles
beneath your plastic shovel.
Lumps of gray hold her feathers in place,
silk and satin juxtaposed against grime and grit.
They ripple tremulously in the breeze,
mirror the softened trembling of your lips.
Your little hands cannot resist these textures,
tearing at the holes in the stories.
How love cannot save something so fragile,
doomed from the start.
How it won't erase
the black circles under my eyes,
ever...
near the air conditioner. The earth
so hard and dry it barely crumbles
beneath your plastic shovel.
Lumps of gray hold her feathers in place,
silk and satin juxtaposed against grime and grit.
They ripple tremulously in the breeze,
mirror the softened trembling of your lips.
Your little hands cannot resist these textures,
tearing at the holes in the stories.
How love cannot save something so fragile,
doomed from the start.
How it won't erase
the black circles under my eyes,
ever...
664 reads
5 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
19th Dec 2014 6:43am
19th Dec 2014 6:43am
The Book of Jasmine
I want to feed him with my breasts.
I want his tongue darting softly
in my mouth, in and out like the waves
upon the shore. To sit upon his engorged flesh
and love his pain away, my tongue
lapping at his tears.
I want to swallow his past, his fears
while my sex swallows his member,
up and down, side to side, in slow,
deliberate agony. His thick stalk
is slick and glistening with my need,
so deep inside me I can feel
the tight pounding of his testicles.
Sometimes, he lets me behold the wonder
of our bodies joined...
I want his tongue darting softly
in my mouth, in and out like the waves
upon the shore. To sit upon his engorged flesh
and love his pain away, my tongue
lapping at his tears.
I want to swallow his past, his fears
while my sex swallows his member,
up and down, side to side, in slow,
deliberate agony. His thick stalk
is slick and glistening with my need,
so deep inside me I can feel
the tight pounding of his testicles.
Sometimes, he lets me behold the wonder
of our bodies joined...
1073 reads
3 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Dec 2014 6:23am
19th Dec 2014 6:23am
Magnolia
Little Miss Isabel,
I came upon you suddenly,
fresh from autopsy,
flowering with the fetid stink
of the parsimonious medical examiner.
Two moldering arcs of stitches
were embedded in your chest cavity,
twitching to sprout wings.
An embalmer sat sewing
the layer of skin and hair
back onto your tender scalp.
His foot tapped in rhythm
to the local country music station.
I was awestruck
by your singular beauty.
Five year-old magnolia
pinched of petals
in a cruel session of Love-Me-Not,
greasy-cold from moisturizer...
I came upon you suddenly,
fresh from autopsy,
flowering with the fetid stink
of the parsimonious medical examiner.
Two moldering arcs of stitches
were embedded in your chest cavity,
twitching to sprout wings.
An embalmer sat sewing
the layer of skin and hair
back onto your tender scalp.
His foot tapped in rhythm
to the local country music station.
I was awestruck
by your singular beauty.
Five year-old magnolia
pinched of petals
in a cruel session of Love-Me-Not,
greasy-cold from moisturizer...
752 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Dec 2014 2:24am
18th Dec 2014 2:24am
Letter to My Child
You ask if I believe in God.
I think He's left us all alone
like sweaty children in a mall,
searching for our mothers.
But one glance
at your tenderly upturned face,
I can only breathe of white angels,
gossamer reunions,
answers to your silver secrets.
A corsage of light
haloes your head.
All the sweet bouquets
buried in me long ago
you've made blossom,
turn pink once more.
I watch as you soar delicately
through those gates
of mesh and pearls.
Then I kiss you, whisper,
You are God for me.
I think He's left us all alone
like sweaty children in a mall,
searching for our mothers.
But one glance
at your tenderly upturned face,
I can only breathe of white angels,
gossamer reunions,
answers to your silver secrets.
A corsage of light
haloes your head.
All the sweet bouquets
buried in me long ago
you've made blossom,
turn pink once more.
I watch as you soar delicately
through those gates
of mesh and pearls.
Then I kiss you, whisper,
You are God for me.
853 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by toniscales (Lost Girl)
