Tag: love

Go, please, just go

Stick with it…get to the end.

Waiting, like a man at the gallows

I wait and wait, and watch your desperate dance

The chance to leave this place I seek

But this is not my choice, but yours

And time ticks slow as cold seeps in

My coat pulled tight ‘gainst coming night

That perfect refuge still evades

And so you lead me to the dark

On and on, beyond the vale

of day and dusk and all that’s bright

A merry dance, and I must give

My all to follow where I’m sought

I try to fight against the pull

Insisting our time has run out

And beg, please free me from this duty

As slumber calls me slowly home

Just over here, you beckon me

As helpless I can not refuse

This is my lot, my place to be

I beg my dog, please do your poos

AB

Deepest Blue

My weekly dose of drivel

Alone she stands, a beacon, calling loud into the night

And to her warm embrace she beckons, drawing in with love and light,

Her warmth and tender words, they promise rest and fretless sleep

Through crashing waves, and razor rocks they flood into her keep

Her eyes as dark as deepest seas, upon which they once sailed

Her pallid skin, her blood red lips, the cross on which impailed

They pledge their love and service for the promise of life’s rest

And at last find solace in the embrace of her breast

Until the end of days, beneath the waves, they serve the throne

Lost to the world and those they left that toil the sun, alone

And in her wake they trail as slow she gathers for her store

Until their memories have faded, and at last they are no more

AB

Time

My weekly dose of drivel

She slips her hand, soft, into his and tender does suggest

that had she known him years ago then all would now be best

Sweet promises that seek to mend the things that cause such rot

With shallow smile he nods, and lies, for he believes her not

Like knotted roots, the tangled web of thoughts run deep and wide

And in the dark he chooses what she seeks to coldly hide

For these things make us who we are, and stoic he persists

Lives the ruin he will not give up, that blinds like winter’s mists

Queen of the tides

Something a bit different today

She slips beneath the silver spray, and into Neptune’s cold embrace

A tidy pile left in the sand, and not a thing left out of place

The rancid rot of time, well hid, laid bare where lovers hands caress

And in the waves, they tumble, she succumbs to false confess

She counts the life she lived, the lovers lost, and feels the dark

Until his siren beckons, turn away, and to his call she harks

And setting sun lights up the crashing waves like fire’s embers

She looks, forlorn, as hand in hand he leads, but she remembers

But it’s too late, their vows are said, she reigns and rules alone

In inky depths, her seaweed crown on bleached white, flesh stripped bone

A bottle of hope sat on the shelf – Room 101

Just something about bleached anus’

This is in response to M’s fabulous prompts which you can see here. These used to be 101 words. Sometimes they still are. Sometimes not. They are often snippets, occasionally unfinished and sometimes simply the beginnings of something for another time. Mostly though they are just whatever the words inspire.

“Another,” Balthazar demanded, and slammed his glass on the bar top. His wings bristled, and the dim light glinted on the tips of his horns as he looked around the room. Small wisps of smoke drifted from his nostrils and his thin lips curled up in a sneer, revealing his sharp, white teeth.

A tall, pale faced creature with skin like dirty snow wandered across, his deep blue eyes flashed as he poured a thick, dark liquid into the waiting glass.

“Long day?” He asked. The barkeep pushed the cork back into the bottle, wiped the bar top habitually, and then flicked the cloth so that it sat across his shoulder.

Balthazar snarled and downed the drink, again loudly demanding a refill.

“You sure about that?” Asked the tall, pale creature. “This stuff don’t come cheap you know, and ….”

“Another!” Balthazar roared.

The glass was quickly filled, and then filled once more. The rage in Balthazar’s eyes dimmed slightly with each consumed glass, and by the time he had finished two more he placed the empty vessel quietly.

“Yes,” he said, letting out a long deep sigh.

“Yes, what?” the bar keep asked puzzled, as he offered the bottle once more.

Balthazar placed a hand over the glass and shook his head.

“Long day. You asked me if it had been a long day. Yes, yes it has. Really long.”

The barkeep nodded and placed the bottle back on the shelf behind him as Balthazar continued.

“It’s people you see,” he said, the wisps of smoke now gone and the fire in his eyes dimmed. “You know how it is with them right?” He didn’t, however, wait to find out whether the barkeep did, or did not, know how it was with people and continued. “Every day I get up, clean my horns, sharpen my teeth and ensure that my skin suit is clean and presentable. I’m never late, I stay late, and I give my very best efforts. You know what that gets me?” He asked.

A wide mouthed, bat like creature with ears where its eyes ought to be and eyes where its ears ought to be settled on the bar next to him and looked him up and down. It then caught the attention of the barkeep and asked for two vodka martinis to be delivered to table seven.

“You know how it is with people right?” Balthazar asked it, “you know how they are I’m sure.”

The bat like animal flashed a smile with its ear-eyes and gave Balthazar what he took be a confirmatory nod, and flittered off towards the back of the room where what appeared to be a couple of snakes were having a loud disagreement over the existential power of apple imagery in medieval architecture.

“You see, he knows,” Balthazar said, “he knows what they’re like.”

The barkeep was used to this sort of thing, he tended to see it a lot as the week wore on. First thing Monday morning everyone was filled with the optimism of the week ahead, the potential for pain and suffering, the chance to make a real difference and bring proper misery and sadness. But by Wednesday he could see the doubt seeping in as the long hours took their toll. By Friday the stark reality would dawn on them and they would flock to the bar after work with a pocket full of silver and a big old dose of reality.

“People,” the barkeep said knowingly.

“Exactly!” Proclaimed Balthazar. “See, you get it too. There is nothing that we can do to them that they probably haven’t already done to each other.” He seemed invigorated in finding someone who understood his plight. “Do you know, that just this morning I was doing some anal stretching on a school teacher from California, and do you knwo what she said?”

The barkeep shook his head.

“Bleach. She asked for bleach. Said she wanted to look her best and was wondering if she might be able to put a picture of it it on the ‘gram becasue she was pretty sure none of her friends would believe it.” Balthazar took a deep breath to compose himself, visibly shaking. “Do you know how hard it is to find bleachg down here?” He continued. “But even when I did find some it really wasn’t as if it was my idea, so where’s the joy in that. I had intended to start with gaping and progreess from there. I mean most people finish at gaping, so I set a high bar, professionally speaking. But I just couldn’t relly get into it. She stole all the pleasure from it. Left me with this horrible empty feeling right in the pit of my stomach.”

“That’s out of order,” said the barkeep as he signalled the bat like creature to fetch the drinks for table seven.

“Damn right it is, I had to desecrate a couple of yoga teachers to try and make myself feel better about things, but sometimes even defiled yoga teachers aren’t enough to make you feel good.”

“So what did you do?” The barkeep asked as Balthazar motioned to his empty glass once more.

“2 million likes for a bleached stretched anus,” Balthazar replied, his shoulders slumped and his eyes dark with disappointment. “Two million. I swear, we really should have just left them to it. They dont take anything seriously, and nothing we can do can make it any worse up here…fuck them all.”

LOVE

Another from the drafts that I cant really remember writing…I should refine it and make it rhyme properly…but I cannot be arsed.

I would kiss your lips a thousand times

But god, just imagine the chafing

and they’d get really scabby

and you’d get quite crabby

And you’d need lip creams and balm and look awful

___

So I’ll shout your name from the roof tops 

But not late, we have neighbours you know

Though I could likely fall

So perhaps I’ll just call

Out your name from the top bedroom window

___

Hey I could climb the worlds highest mountain

Swim deep oceans to declare our passion

But heights scare me to bits

And cold water is shit

Is there anything else that’s in fashion?

___

Ooh a poem would show my devotion

And some flowers and choccies and wine

But you’re quite fat already

And drink lots, take it steady

And your reading age is not much more than nine

___

Oh how I love thee, let me count the ways

Let me woo, swoon and bask in your beauty

(once you’ve put on your make up)

Then perhaps we can make up

Cos I quite like your tits and round booty

 

 

Inevitable

Found this in my drafts. Don’t have a clue what the devil it’s about. Random words mostly I think…

Do your think of him those days

Where dark thoughts senses suffocate

That joy I watched drain from your face

As life and lies cruel whispers told

Your many secrets slow, unfold

Fools promises and could have been’s

you would not keep them from your door

Instead with smile forced on your face

Arms wide you beckoned them inside

Embraced as they to you heart lied

Promises, so sickly sweet

Coarse noose of lies, soft velvet hopes

’till dangling feet dance all alone

Blinded, stumbling, on and on

And hope, and faith, bright eyes now gone

This Great Field

words. mostly…

I remember it quite clearly

Pale sun painting frosted fields

And you at peace, to sadness yields

So many, loved so dearly

…

Butterscotch sweets in kilner jars

Full house, late nights, your Sunday roast

Full ashtrays I recall the most

What was, now framed like painted flowers

…

And years go by, the memories stronger

Each twisted branch still skyward growing

The things you handed down not knowing

That they would linger, loving, longer

…

And so the sequels spring to life

A library of stories new

And every one because of you

Mother, grandma, sister, wife

When time runs short

words. mostly…

When silver threads creak with first frost

And summer thought in mists are lost

I wonder if you’ll count the cost

Or blindly hide from reason

When nights bleed into shortened days

And stars no longer light your way

So willingly you choose to stray

and blindly protest treason

No one to watch, no one to keep

Your candle burning while you sleep

And memories sink into the deep

Lost in the cold, dark freezing

Your stories ink washed from the page

And meekly without pain or rage

The curtain falls on empty stage

At closing of your season

Forever

Dirty. But if you read it out loud in a posh english voice it could almost be poetic I guess…

What once were endless summer days, and tender nights not counted

Sweetest whispers, love unbridled, days drift by embraced

And 69 more ways your soft pink flesh was nightly mounted

And your skin glowed with the blush of love’s seed spilled upon your face

The heart quickened, loins wet, thickened, hair pulled, lost souls intertwined

Gimp mask, red room, 12 inch pseudo love meat, I am yours and you are mine.

So spent, we lay in sheets soiled with the remnants of our love

we fit like trains into a tunnel, like large hand into small glove

And when no lube can dampen, when blue pills can not revive

Will we shuffle from this mortal coil, our passions still alive

Somewhere far beyond these night time stars that we once watched together,

Shall our memories drift slowly into inky black forever

________________________

Oh come on, it’s saturday, why not do something a little different.

The first 2 lines and the last two are kind of sweet I think.

Happy weekend you cheeky monkeys!

Passing

All a bit rhymey but meh, it’ll do

He watches from his window, rain like tears runs down it’s face

Petals fall as summer fades, once golden face now stark and bare

To this cold earth, beneath the sun, they seep into the earth

Beauty lost, like memories, life’s end to once bright birth

From green to gold and amber his life turns with passing seasons

All alone, he waits for something lost, his mind forgets the reasons

Of what was and is no more, faces blur as time slips by

And in a blink like flowers turn to dust, and skies do cry

They mourn for him, the things he once held dear, like him are lost

Like petals, cold, beneath the earth, embraced by winter’s frost

He slips away and fades from thought like breath in winter’s air

When flowers bloom once more nobody knows he is not there.

A limerick just for you. And you. And you, and you, and you.

Enjoy. Or don’t. But secretly do.

A vet from round our way quite smitten

By felines, especially kittens

He made two into hats

And a load into spats

Then the leftovers made into mittens

Stars

A kinda poem thingy but not about anything wholly inappropriate

I made for you a garden

From the stars I stole from cloudless skies

And deep within earth’s warm embrace

Sprung forth as tears streamed down your face

And quiet you sat in this place

And waited patiently

Each passing day under the skies

With hope, new shoots turned into bloom

And brightly shine when sunset falls

Until the light like beacon calls

These shards of nightfall, heart enthrals

From shadows setting free

And with the seasons turning, living

Pass full circle, gold to green

Hearts warmed by light unwavering

And beauty bright, sweet savouring

Sweet tears of heaven favouring

Forever comforts thee

Each day

Think this could have been better but I need to get the eldest out of bed and go to the tip…Happy Monday!

I tore the pages from the book

that holds the story of our lives

of darker times that might have been

and in their place I wrote these words

my promises to you.

Not to forget each day to live

and love and laugh and treasures mine

to hold most dear and know their worth

and thanks with grateful heart I give

all that I have to you.

When sunset paints with flames of red

the words we wrote on pristine page

We loved though time will pass us by

as stories gather dust upon

life’s shelf where now we lay.

Time and time again, no more

Words and more words and more words still…

Silver wisps of memories

The things that once so brightly shone

Now gone but one alone remains

Which fight the pull of time, refrains

From slipping through soft fingers

Clasped in prayer, in silence lingers

On that vision of her beauty, sweet

Her countenance so kind and meek

And one last time her forehead kisses

Always misses all they were and sunset burns

Like furnace flames

He smiles

And says goodbye

June

Words and more words and more words still…

Time steals the sweetest memories

Those moments where we wished that she’d

Halt in her tracks and carve emotions into stone

Forever monuments to love

Where, in later days we’d celebrate

That which was and now still is

But cruel she marches unrelenting

And halo slips, becomes a noose around the neck

As envy’s eye looks greedily on summers long ago

These barren lands, unfertile soil where only sadness grow

And dreams they whither on the vine as winter steals

The very breath that spoke you name

These lips once red now bare the pale of death’s caress

Eyes closed I fall to his embrace

and beg he take these memories

And cast them into the abyss

These poisoned gifts

Not sure what I was going for here. I started something, inspired by a song, then painted the bathroom so lost my train of thought…

In the dark stripped bare and cold

Drowning in things handed down

These rags, the curses, bloodied lips

Sins of the father, chains that bind

And shadows in the doorway watch.

Each blow, each bruise and words that cut

far deeper into sun bleached bone

than sharpened blade could ever do.

Dark lullaby and icy kiss goodnight

The hooded shame chokes, burns and blinds

But from outside wide smiles deceive

And shackled, shuffle silent by

Fireside

Blah blah blah…Limerick tomorrow I promise…

Your name is always on my lips, the fairest treat

The furnace heat, life’s love, stars intersection

We walk the chapel built of breathless whispers

Spend summer days in golden fields, love’s raw reflection, soft flesh yields

Rush headlong to oblivion, with not a care and no retreat.

And orchards ripe and bursting full, we lay beneath their shade

This promise made, devoured like sweetest fruits, head on my chest

Full moon nights, desires willed, of yearning filled

Are all I need, surrendering to secrets spilled

And winter’s icy fingers wrapped tight around my heart do fade

And now amongst the living do I find a way each day

The path to stay and memories once so lost I cling to dearly

Love’s winding path home leads so very clearly

To the door, and like before, you wait

I close the gate and know that I am home at last,

Turning

Read the word ‘Fluctuate’ somewhere on my reader and it triggered this…

Between the tides he fluctuates

The stir of dreams, the love and hate

seems far too late a pause he takes

And break the silence, then to wait

But echo’s are all that returns

While soul it yearns and passion burns

Like fire, fierce, consumes and turns

Man into cinders, so he learns

To quell the cravings, quiet the hate

Embrace the now, love out of reach

And leaves but footsteps on the beach