hollow

you packed a suitcase

slipped a flower in your hair

and turned to say ‘good bye’

without so much as a tear in your eye.

 

but I must’ve been

the most heartbroken man

you had ever seen.

 

I guess it was in that moment

when you, too, realized

that you didn’t have to be

so goddamn mean.

 

Advertisements

Devlin @ Eyes+Words

 

Well, it has been roughly 2 years or so since I had any of my work [poems] published on another Online Journal. . .So I humbly thank Jacob @ Eyes+Words for accepting one of my poems.

 

And for the little Followers I have, I hope you enjoy “Lightening”!

 

Thank You, Jacob!

 

 

A Beautiful Poem

 

I watched the sun

as it rose from darkness

and slowly crept upon your sleeping face

like a stalking lover

inhibiting you in places

only a woman could phantom [on a man];

 

I cringed with envy

as I watched that same stalking lover

take flight over your chiseled body

while the vast rays of its translucence

pierced your flesh and ravaged your orifices ~

the same orifices my body

sweated upon

licked upon

kissed upon

came upon;

 

how I ached to strangle that stalking lover

with every strength of my hands

with every beat of my heart;

 

I took a step forward

with the intention

of abruptly pulling down the blinds

but the sun suddenly caught

the naked of my glory

into it’s stalking wrath;

 

I bit back my anger then froze

when my lover awoke

his eyes falling upon me

with a grin that echoed for miles:

 

‘goddamn, you’re beautiful,’

 

he flushed

I blushed

 

‘beautiful. . .like a poem.’

 

 

i, Poetry

i, Woman pic 3

he took me to the point

of no return,

tore open my skirt,

ripped the panties

from my bodice

& dragged me

into the river deep

asking through a sensual man’s whir ~

 

                                         ‘how deep is your poetry?’

 

as spools of sodden moist

violated every center of my sanity

gripping the depth of my insanity,

utopia & euphoria

settled

in the holiest temple of my doom;

& there

did I occur to me

that poetry is in the eye

of the beholder

particularly

when I saw my legs

dangling over his bare shoulders;

but it was

in the harden thrusts

of his verses,

the orgasmic taunt

in his stanzas

had I realized the depth

of my own poetry

didn’t matter ~

 

orally

     anally

          vaginally

 

 

 

for I was Poetry

in itself

 

Poemless

fields

of whisky

black

 

under

a sunless day

under

a cloudy sky…

heart is a

cardboard box;

 

forgotten rhythm(s)

& impotent stroke(s)

numb these thoughts

of thoughtlessness;

 

versus are shiftless

stanzas wander

prose(s) indisposed ~

drunk is the poet

 

with a leadless pen in hand

& a tattered notebook

with pages of dirty white

crinkle[ing]

against the wind…

                              scream;

 

in quoted brackets

I am read:

 

[Please Insert Poem Here]