Poetry Addict

Regina is addicted to poetry and prose,
she perceives things that nobody knows.

Letting life happen always works for her,
she makes it worth something to endure.

Photos and quotes are left in her wake,
to look at her smile is to feel a quake.

Shadows are more than she thinks,
doors of perceptive minds sync.

More of a thinker than talker,
my new friend Ms. Walker.

Writers Block

If you really want to know her soul vile,
be brave enough to scratch the surface.
Tearz always know how to make her smile,
she could never mind your being debase.

Her sensitivities lay on the bed with a sigh,
she should know they are woeful like mine.
I can cheer up when life starts getting high,
her hugs are soothing and almost feel fine.

She is wondering about a mystery meeting,
what would happen with me fully addicted.
To be a high grade junkie initiated heating,
sleeping in your pores keeps me elevated.

The tattoo on my back shines on your face,
when you’re seeing the new suspension dots.
The directional speed you are inspired to race,
up anything and awaiting your anxious thoughts.

My blood stains on your lips were well worth the fall,
when the soul fails to comply emptiness fills with vacancy.
Time will die and love will fly as you lay at my feet and crawl,
with beauty in the eyes you’re drowning in the stench of my poetry.

You Perfect Monument


I’m writing another poem while all alone sitting,
in the poetry room at City Lights.
I sit for an hour or more reading and writing,
on weekends and or weekday nights.

I gave up on love a long time ago,
there is no more left and or ego.
Until someone appears to be my amigo,
I wear the mask of silence where ever I go.

The confluence of influence manifests with the moment,
in something sometimes called perfect time.
The very best way to be your own monument,
is worship each other with words that rhyme.

 

Rachel Crogger

Ratchel’s eyes are inked and darkening,
her perfectly scared smile is to die for.

She expects the worse or at least nothing,
putting up walls to kick down the door.

Promises really piss her off when faking,
empty dried eyes and disperet cries roar.

Pathetic words of silence waiting for writing,
choke us all with shouting tears ready to pour.

This is how it feels when a new day is coming,
if she likes my poem bad enough maybe I’ll score.

Will Ball

She has the name,
of a gay porno star.
I’ll bet you she lost it,
in the back of a car.

Mirrors are smashed,
deconstructing perception.
What this artist needs,
is a sold out reception.

She creates for some artists,
who have certain needs.
The feeling of victory,
a tower among trees.

So buy her work fast,
before she meets me.
Because when that happens,
she will cost at least x-three

Sarah Jay Oliver

Sarah Jay Oliver,
is a lass from down under.
She makes funny faces,
and talks with thunder.

She is seeking a door,
which she can pass through.
One that is real,
not too good to be true.

She is really quite bright,
and can filter through bullshit.
What ever she does,
is bound to be a big hit.

Laura-Jayne Brown

Laura-Jayne Brown,
lies to herself.
She says she hates passion,
that must be someone else.

Just read her words,
you too will see.
There’s a lioness inside,
waiting to be.

Your conscience is guilty,
for things not yet done.
Here’s a bag of pennies,
let’s go have some fun.

 

Melanie Smith

Smith may be common,
but Melanie is not.
It may be photoshop,
but she looks pretty hot.

Like a Vampiress,
who takes more than souls.
She fills them with strength,
with eyes like bright holes.

But alas she is taken,
damn lucky guy.
The dangerous part of me,
says go ahead try.

An ocean away,
a country too.
I guess I’ll just post this,
and then say adue.

 

Franceska Berube Carrier

Franceska’s hair looks hot when it up,
and you have the groove in your booty.
If I took everything in the world,
you would still have the beauty.

I’d like to invite you back to my lair,
for some desert and a fable.
You go get the whipping cream,
I will clear the table.

If you are at the very end,
I will break through any barrier.
My desire is on a one-way trip,
and you are the Carrier.

Platonic Dimension Domination

Platonic dimensions form true and false perceptions,
of a super-dark and something symmetrical Universe,
throwing caution to the wind and vanishing inclinations,
letting them do their thing from now till the next verse.

Scribing the flow of words that are coming from within,
with the distant dark thoughts of my inner other voice,
it feels so good to finally get them out it must be a sin,
using the double entendre will glow the aether choice.

If there is such a thing as love at the very first sighting,
why doesn’t it happen all the time with everyone you see?
if everyone was in love there would be nothing but fighting,
to my favorites gods i pray that it never happens to me.

Please do me the honor of doing the hard thinking for you,
it’s shouldn’t be that hard because of the ailing,
i am already doing most of the hard work for you too,
and as a reward give me the pain of all of my fault failing,

The pleasant kind of of good fortune rarely swings my way,
when they do they bring along a bag of brand new tragedy,
the shoes in which i’m walking are all tattered and warn away,
show your emotions and a feeding frenzy begins to get steady.

Our senses are grounded in philosophy whether you know it or not,
don’t be the one to undo the fun with all of your lieing about fear,
a single correlation does not define a definitive causation of rot,
your cerebral booze provides no hide space in the aetherssphere.

i love you like a sister and haven’t spoken to mother or brother in years.
miracles don’t know how to find me and i’m not quite sure what they are,
i sometime wish i wasn’t already dead so at least i could enjoy the tears,
exercising raw power against someones will is no way to begin or go far.

Haven’t you ever sensed you were thrown right into,
a ‘can’t do anything right’ column and in the unbelievable,
”there is something wrong with everything you do’ row,
that goes on row after row in bold typed repeatedly.

Because you really enjoy it when you tell me no man,
satiate your primary ego without me and alone at sea,
unless you are invited and know how to do it like a fan,
please cease and desist trying to enjoy dominating me.

my kingdom is crumbling after being burned to a singe,
i am more than damaged and say yes to most everything,
my emotions are warped or gone to the corner to cringe,
thoughts of kissing anyone makes my stomach turn and fling.

Getting back up after a fall without the aid of a hand or flowers,
most everyone around here would rather see me flat on my back,
thermodynamical thought waves bring transition transmission powers,
complex & simple is what i desire & require for the next two- way track.

Velvety Blind Bay Visions

Your dreaming blind visions are now mine,
you make ink stains disappear with a wish,
pulsating against empty walls of our time,
intermittently dumb and electric like jellyfish.

huge steamboat windows beaten by foamy billows,
your aether eclipses the moon with sulfuric vapors,
rushing crowds of wicked brides come in multitude,
we’re deliriously greedy for cheer feasts and fears.

velvety lips will ravenously kiss lavishly everywhere,
ancient shadows of vague fears plod along darkness,
frantic steps chase each other down the damp alleys,
confused filthy drunkards are all revelries from afarless.

your furtive moans of laughter will fade away the fog,
it darkened outside when your gaze was realized,
you drink in my rain when our eyes are glazed,
naked skins energize the storm in our skys.

thousands of chills awaken the burn inside,
arrogant hands strike the damp caresses,
my infected mind is now of your flesh,
pieces of the evenings torn dresses.

rocked by tremulous midnights and lazy waves,
your scent satiates the SF bay,
while turning tugboats into silk float raves,
pale fragments of opal decay,
in their very own reflection of graves.

the sea will grow shallow as a cup,
our livid dawn will soak it up.



From the siren across the sea:

Sogno.
Cieche visioni.
Macchie d’inchiostro scompaiono, a tratti, sulle pareti, e pulsano a intermittenza,
mute ed elettriche come meduse.
Dalla finestra, enormi battelli sbattuti da
onde schiumose e lune eclissate dentro vapori sulfurei.
Accorrono in folla le spose maledette, ebbre e ingorde,
a rallegrare feste, a banchettare, ovunque a elargire baci famelici con labbra di velluto.

Sagome incerte di antiche paure arrancano nel buio e passi veloci si inseguono nei vicoli midi.
Da lontano, confusi bagordi di lerci ubriaconi, risate furtive e gemiti si perdono nella nebbia.
E fuori, fuori dove? A occhi chiusi bevo la pioggia.
L’energia del temporale sulla pelle nuda, percorsa da mille scosse.
Carezze di mani arroganti risvegliano il bruciore del tuo marchio infetto nella mia carne iva, e i morsi delle sere trascorse.
Intanto la notte, cullata dai futti molli e tremolanti,
annega nella Baia, dove galleggiano profumi di seta e pallidi
frammenti di opale si dissolvono nel proprio riflesso.
Dall’altra parte del mare, un’alba livida si impregna di noi.

*****************************************************************

Dreaming.
Blind visions.
Ink stains disappear, at times, against the walls and pulsate, intermittently,
dumb and electric like jellyfish. From the window,
huge steamboats beaten by foamy billows and moons eclipsed into sulfuric vapors.
Rushing crowds of wicked brides come in multitude, delirious and greedy, to cheer feasts, nd banquet, and lavish ravenous kisses everywhere, with their velvety lips.

Vague shadows of ancient fears plod along in the dark and frantic steps chase each other own the damp alleys. From afar, confused revelries of filthy drunkards, furtive laughter nd moans fade in the fog.
And outside, outside wre? With my eyes closed, I drink the rain.

The energy of the storm all over my naked skin, struck by thousands of chills. Caresses of arrogant hands awaken the burn of your infected mark in my bare flesh, and the bites of passed evenings.

Meanwhile the night, rocked by lazy and tremulous waves, drowns into the Bay, where they float scents of silk, and pale fragments of opal dissolve in their very own reflection.

On the other side of the sea, a livid dawn is soaked with us.

Sarah Higdon

The unbearable likeness of being Sarah,
is searching through painting Higdon.
Something for which is beyond the Sahara,
walking like a strumpet to her new kingdom.

She couldn’t kill a mockingbird,
or bury Angela’s long lost ashes.
Trying to find just the right word,
separate from eyes of the masses.

Preparing for a move from this reality,
for the famished ahead roadway.
The almanac of the dead drive spitefully,
while the eyes of god were watching away.

Please give her one more drink,
wait make it at least three.
She likes being tickeled then to think,
where the wild things will be.

This crazy genius is outspoken,
animals know when all else ceases.
When a mirror falls and it is broken,
she loves to look at the shattered pieces.

I was a sailor of the seventh sea,
now my waves are etherwatt made.
The ship I sail is what you see,
my boots are now yours and they’re made of suede.

Lynn Sanchez

Lynn is fed up,
no longer engaging.
The fire in her cup,
is growing and raging.

We all have our twin air,
but we can see yours.
The psychic link that you share,
is out from behind the doors.

There is much more to what we realize,
than what we see with our vision spree.
With our other set of emotional eyes,
there is a twin for us all to a diminished degree.

An eclectic set of senses she has to come by or made,
a big family tree with her very strong branches.
She serves more than food and provides more than shade,
this branch has become a tree that is known everywhere as Sanchez.

Duchess von Meowfrau

The Duchess sez an ephemeral yes,
because she luvs my passionate poems.
The art she seeks comes from geeks,
penetrating and poetic with lyrical moans.

The world at large has her attention,
yearning for enlightenment at the university level,
Writing and thinking her stream to mention,
making them real for her eventual novel.

Observing aesthetics in philosophy boats,
is the travel of the Buddhist mind.
She is a collector and a connoisseur of quotes,
to find the one inside she may then call mine.

When it comes to Facebook friends,
she is the cat’s scratch and meow.
Friends and fans I introduce to you,
the ineffable Miss von Mellowfrau.

 

Lucy J HUEsss

Biodynamics and the thermo one’s two,
a new dimension above the mean.
If I had a cherished number or too,
it would be Lucky Once or Twice 13.

Observational and a neo-reality,
twogether we must emerge,
Having thick and visual accents,
all our winding roads converge.

Take most of the felt colours,
sounds we must together confuse.
Throw her a J stringed strap-on,
you get a blarrin’ new Lucy HUEsss…

 

Lyndall Nugent

Lyndall has a familiar last name and she’s not related to Ted,
she dropped her dryer in the swirling liquid net.
Lucky for us all her head in the clouds is why she didn’t get dead,
she’s a little bit clumsy and a real space cadet.

To her a debate is always between dumb & dumbers,
the movie espouses her probable political view.
Butterflies and baby’s are two of her favorite numbers,
you may as well throw in a niece and nephew or two.

Her small face and large head is because her noggin is in the stars,
who can blame her for that it’s way better than the gutter or the bars.
If she’s read this far she must have a little thing for the far out and a little strange,
her fiance is a lucky man with a very bright future for the length of the range.

Please consider this an engagement present to you two,
I don’t know where you are or what will come to be.
Please be happy to the both of you too,
from the dark little part of me.

February-Fourteen Twenty-Ten

Jules would love a poem,
make it quick and sparkely,
She’s soon to be wed away,
losing the last name Barkeley.

Janelle wants it to be me me me,
she is usually very often right.
Still figuring out what to think of me,
she knows Jules and Jules knows Boatright.

Raven flyes in a different cult circle,
over the Hill and into freelance merge.
A poem she thinks would be lovely,
from the asylem we share with Derge.

Caroline waived me down from around,
like a taxi with the next fare free.
Whatever the cost count me in till downtown,
I am suck free and here too please Heme.

Christina is from the left coast just like me,
sweet and sleek like a porsche carrera.
A makeup virtuoso and still says please,
everyone likes to hear yes from Genarra.

Naina is a mystery the forces at large,
everyone is on stage as a factor.
I rarley do what is expected and think,
if I provide the theory can the math be done by Akter ?

Personal Psychic Wings

Personal psychic landscapes,
sprinkled with red land mines.
Darting and narrowly escapes,
around exploding real minds.

The muse lives at some times,
beside the common man & all.
An intricate balance of rhymes,
the kind that come with a fall.

Emotions are like aether waves,
ebbs with a naturally good flow.
Taking and leaving Plato‘s caves,
with each receding stop and go.

Alone with you on a stormy night,
stranded on the bridge of rings.
Linking death to an immortality,
when we jumped I grew wings.

remix of ‘Muse’ by Regina Walker

Michelle Salas

Michelle has a mountain as a future win,
climb it along side her then be impressed.
You are star fire and ablaze from within,
how did you come to be so damned blessed?

Her profile is revealing she’s a Leo like me,
presumably and maybe so very good in bed.
She’ll make it snappy when it means being happy,
the road trip she’s been dreaming of is just ahead.

In your house I long to be a room stay,
empty and anxiously waiting like a stone.
Waiting in your bed sometime for a day,
it’s unusually nice for days sleeping alone.

As the waves break they bring the new mate,
when you dream walk leave behind malice.
We would love to feel the same way as fate,
trance dancing nude with a feather boa and Salas.