Fission Love.Hook line used
For fission love;

A half-life of one
Un-chivalrous night.

Replication reaction
Then a meltdown;

Volatile emotion
Overheats.

-Someday we'll find
Fusion.

The TastingMmmm...I taste you in this fine wine,
with hints of the same fine line
I must walk with care.

Be it hand in hand or glass in hand,
either way knowing where I stand
along this path.

My fingers graze your rounded lip,
thirsting for a quenching sip
of rich complexity.

All once so tightly sealed within,
gradually begins to open,
releasing beautifully.

Holding strong on delicate limbs,
balanced and full, despite our whims;
or because of them.

Each delectable, intricate flavor
is given pause to be savored
in a timeless moment.

So deliciously bold, ripe and earthy;
yet playfully coy, cloaked in subtlety
and seasoned intensity.

We swirl in a t

Falling In Love.Glaciers of nitroglycerin
Stampede in an inch
And crush the bass drum
In my rhythmic organs.

This creeping volley;
An ethereal blanket-
Like an armless embrace
With a black hole.

Melancholy water
Out-pours reflection
And cinnamon lilies
Of such uncertainty.

Descending like honey
Into that warm abyss.

The Shoes Not Taken (A Parody)Two roads (sort of) diverged

(well, there's no fork or
junction, per se- it's a
single lane that's just
confusing)

Neither suited to bare
feet
-one is cobbled with
boredom
-the other littered by
obscenity

(perhaps I should have
worn shoes before I left
the house)

End of Many PartsI often found myself staring up at nights, finding the images and faces in the designs of the bland paint that decorated the room. My imagination would run wild, nothing to hold it back as I thought of the many things that gave me drive and focus. Inspiration is not what it once was.

My muse now gone, so long has it been since I had a fresh idea and keen sense about me to write the words that once came so natural, so fluid on pages I never numbered. No count of words could match that feeling of writing with such pure emotion that was the inspiration you once gave me. Has it really been so long? How many days have passed me by and my wor

You are not an islandI have been alone. This man is an island.
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,

Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.

To Pee, or not to Pee?To pee, or not to pee: That is the question:
Wether tis better for the wise to wait
and pee inside a toilet,
or to take immediate action against the urinal urge
by the dropping of trow to end it. To pee, to leak,
to piss...and by a piss to say we end
the pelvic aching flesh is heir to.
Tis a relief often to be wished. To pee, to wizz,
to hold no more. But in that sweet release
who knows what peeps may show?
When we stand pissing in the field what eyes might spy.
Ay, there's the rub that makes conflict of such simple a problem...

Poem for Ted HughesHow handsome the man,
he stands on shorelines
on both sides of the Atlantic.

Each trick he tries
is with a pen and not a wand
and each poem is a bomb.

Translator of the foreign page
and what he sees
on a walk or boat journey.

Each fleeting flirtation
had him more removed
from that damaged poet
at his homestead.

Reaper in the ShadowsI am the dust in the gathering light,
Heard in the drop of morning rain,
Looming within the rose bud,
A speck in night's velvet wake.

I whisper louder than Zephyr,
Sing with a voice that's croaked,
You hear me beneath the screams,
Of fears Silence cloaked.

As warm as Love's confusion,
As cold as the other's heart.
The shady, cunning warrior,
Who tears the world apart.

You'll find me drowned in water,
Buried deep in desert sand.
Unseen like the wisp of vapor,
That came from no man's land.

Freed to be caged forever,
In an endless labyrinthian maze.
Where each dead end is my escape,
And waxed wings are set ablaze.

Don't Be Afraid, But I'm AsianI saw you starring at me for a while.
Allow me to answer the question you’ve wanted to ask during that period of time,
But didn’t have the courage to approach me with (I bet you’ve been hanging out with too many cats)

Yes I am Asian. But no I am not a math whiz.

No, I have not surgically put a computer chip in my brain.
(Though if that actually worked, it’d be awesome like… that’s fucking awesome awesome)

I have yet to try eating dog, I hear, however, it tastes like beef.
What a cow one must be to eat such a being!
I’ve always been one to question the beliefs of my race.

BeautyOnce upon a dream there was a boy
who whispered metaphors into his blankets
in the dead of the night. he pǝuɹnʇ them
over and twisted them and s t r e t c h e d them
searching for the melody that would define him.
what he didn't know is that his ears were traitors;
they rejected every rhyme without a trace of shame
and never allowed him to realize that his melodies
were real music, were beauty and love woven
into delicate threads; he only heard cacophony.
night after night he struggled and agonized
never satisfied with any combination of notes
always concluding that he was inferior to the world.
on the other side of the fence, close and far away
a girl with with stars in her eyes cried; her tears
were of the purest silver, the plainest pain.
she cried for verses lost to the valley of her strife
for missed opportunities and bro/ken hearts of iron.
their paths strayed along the leafy jungle of time
l i t t e r e

Forever the RavenousBeyond the veil hallowed, I am Witches blood & wine;
flame of throne, soothsayer & death, magick seething
Come hither; drink me dark'n divine

Whispers of Night's harvest, ravenous in twilight eerie;
— tongues of Crows in gothic serenade
Poised in wilderness shadowed, I beseech thee:
"O' darkest Love, seek me in decay, dripping from thy lips"
Incantations of the Moon glisten from mine eyes ...
Seraphic-winds undress Demons in the trees;
— dreaming streams o'er Nature's breast
Black-feathered-Priests covet my nocuous splendor
— For I am Winter's nocturne —
a dark-mantra, salivating on the edge of the world
And so she peered into

On the Shores

Dear Child of Mine,

Carefree wisps of hair kiss your salted lips
With the taste of wonder and innocence
Playing on the shores of reminiscence

Red bucket in hand with treasures to find
And Grandmother there ever by your side
Inseparable friends on the shores of time

Where youthful magic appears without end
Memories shimmer upon summer sand
Alive on the shores of Cape May diamonds

Each holding a dream once carried to sea
Returning fulfilled and so you believe
Finding faith on the shores of mystery

I see you there now as my soul takes flight
Dancing in ripples like shadows of light
With the ebb and flow on the shores of life

Dear Child of

Haiku IIIwhite cherry blossoms
melt on frosted window panes -
harbinger of Spring

Haiku Irooted in ideals
cultivating harmony -
majestic bonsai

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In The Night Time.

by ~Dozza88pwns, Feb 5, 2013, 3:47:32 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I kiss infinity
Her lips are full
Of empty

They're not chains
Or pitied shelter
For lost angels

The stars
Are our song
Swept away

291

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In The Night Time.by ~Dozza88pwns

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A view of the stars in unpolluted light inspired me to write this.

You should try looking up sometimes.

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~palesile Feb 25, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

And thennnn suddenly insufficient.

Lol the second you said "us poets," I was like well yip-dee-do let's check out this mutha. Little did I know what I'd find, you spectacular thing you. Considering that the night sky is one of my favorite things in the universe, this touched my heart because it feels exactly like what I've always wished I could explain it as. Took my breath away.

'falls on floor'

~Dozza88pwns Feb 25, 2013 Student Writer

Insufficient? pffft. 'waves hand dismissively' I fell in love with you a few poems ago, lets not undersell yourself

And the night sky is arguably the most romantic thing ever. Call me a giant vagina all you want, but I fall in awe of the universe when I see it through stained glass right above me.

Need some help up?

lawl

~palesile Feb 26, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

I do, I do haha

It doesn't make you a giant vagina! You see it the way it's supposed to be seen. It's a special ability, you know, not everyone has it.

~Dozza88pwns Feb 26, 2013 Student Writer

... I feel thoroughly 'special', trust me haha

You've got it as well I'd say ...

YOU JUST GOTTA BELIEVE 'throws arms in the air'

~palesile Feb 26, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

PRAISE THE LORD HALLELUJAH

~Dozza88pwns Feb 26, 2013 Student Writer

You know, this happens to me more often than what would be considered normal.

I should have been a preacher.

So how long have you been writing for?

~palesile Feb 27, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Hahaha can't tell if that's a good thing or just so unfortunate..

I've been writing since I learned how to write. I dint want to sound like I'm trying to brag but its just always something I was really good at. I remember in fourth grade my teacher liked to have us write stories quite a bit (not just about our day but stories with creative prompts)... I enjoyed it so much. I was always one of the best. And if I wasn't, it fueled me to be better. It stuck with me for all the years I've been alive. I love it a lot.

What about you, sir?

~Dozza88pwns Feb 27, 2013 Student Writer

I got told when I was roughly 10ish that I looked like Lord Byron. I googled him, found that he was not only a poet; but women wanted his babies because of the fact he wrote poetry.

I have been writing ever since. rofl. ;D

Obviously my work resembles something of a beat poet now, but the romantic influences are still there. And now I write and read poetry for the sake of writing and reading it, rather than to impress 10 year old girls.

(1 Reply)

*prettyflour Feb 25, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Hey there,

Prettyflour here on behalf of

with the critique that you requested!

What a beautiful poem! I continue to be a fan a short poetry- just a few words that say a lot.

This poem has lots going for it. The way you've structured it gives it a very visual appeal. The way the words shifts to the right lends a sense of progression without even having to read it. The words themselves are simple and beautiful- you're imagery is lovely!

And I love your inspiration! Not long ago I moved out to the country and light pollution is almost nonexistent around here. I'll never forget how my daughter noticed the difference of the sky/stars. She was fascinated by how bright the stars are... so I find this poem so incredibly relatable.

So nicely done. Great work!

~Dozza88pwns Feb 25, 2013 Student Writer

<3 thank you for your kind kind words

You're going to have to scrape me off the floor, you've flattered me into a pancake with this critique ;D

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In The Night Time.by ~Dozza88pwns

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