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JudithThe moon was bright, the sun fresh dead,
When Judith o'er my doorstep tread;
When sulked the sky and slept the birds,
Earth's ceiling lit with stars in herds.
She gave a kiss- "It felt as two"
I told her in a charming woo.
She gentle smiled and granted me
The pleasure of her mirth to see.
We took of wine, with modest sips,
Then, soft, drank from each other's lips.
A cautious touch, a chaste embrace;
The curving of her spine to trace.
Fair Judith shared with me her dreams-
"I'll make them true, though hard it seems."
Then laughed she, loud, at my expense,
Still, gentle lovers were we hence;
For when the birds sang once again,
Our hearts were nevermore the same.
Obsessed, like little animals inside my headObsessed, like little animals inside my head
Keep scratching summer's lair off the rubbled walls,
Covering them with mud paint, soaked in mourning gowns.
Today the zoo is closed; the gentle beasts roam free.
My coveted lamb is dead; slain, in a strange wolf's paws.
The agnus Dei, privy to the good of God,
Unknown to dangling fruits of centred garden trees;
Not long still spared of Eden's bloody treasury.
If ever it returned to me, the bitter hope's mahogany
And ivory dreams of lakes with bottoms brown and still.
But no use dwelling on past visions in this wake;
Death swift takes her due, inclemens in extremis.
Sick, like lepers juggling dainty with unkempt limbs,
I'll lick my wounds in unlush forrests' orangeries.
When dull, the morning fingers seep into my skullWhen dull, the morning fingers seep into my skull-
When bright, the tentacles of light spur tickles unto me,
I know the new of day is come
And drafted throws me in the onset tide
Of poignant coffee cups and stark-dry bread;
The rearing drops of sweat on heavy gears
And flattened wheels, pushed through the cunning holes
Of asphalt Flemish roads.
When weak the sun bears down, wearied,
Unto dewdrops; hinges of diffusing light,
I know the night is done
And eye's rest must cede to the rallied bright.
No quarter given to the outworn mind,
Whilst limbs, stretched over lengthy hours' labour,
Drag along the yearning fibre;
Fabric torn and worn again.
HappinessHappiness is not a gift,
But the well earned treasure of life's brigands;
Not to be waited for, but claimed unrelenting.
One seizes it, or never sees
The brightest white of true ivory,
But just the maligned veil of withered teeth.
In barren hearts of fools I call my friendsIn barren hearts of fools I call my friends,
An unrich flower grows; a farmer's rose,
That blooms whichever way air traffic sends
This steerless seed, adrift without repose.
Their lands be arid, acres reft of life;
A dried up desert, nemesis to growth;
Still grows that poppy, overcome all strife
With enemies all other life does loathe.
And though the daffodils might mock its leaves,
The noble rose resent its nimble throne,
No haughty flower has its red outshone;
Cause while these bourgeois plants, uptight, tide well
Inside their wealthy master's garden cell,
All these will wither, wealthy care deprived.
Tis blood alone that moves blunt men alongBut bitter blood has bloody strife undone.
Though wise men may peruse their speech and pursue peace,
Tis blood alone that moves blunt men along.
The time to take the stage and act has come.
In favour of this war, speak out and force a move
Upon this coward's hand; this state of slaves.
The strong alone shall rise to stand next day
And pay respects to deaths, though well deserved,
Of servants who've their superiors served.
None but the old can claim the idle right;
They, who've already surrendered their part in life.
All others - all - must partake in this strife.
As old men squander timeAs old men squander time in parlours stuffed with dust
And books writ by a withered hand,
New blood creeps through abandoned corridors
That charges our present world as is unjust.
Their youth rejuvenates the paper hearts of those
Reigned by the scribbles of a different time.
As old men learn again to act and walk,
Their mouths are rid of habits old and talk verbose.
Their hearths rekindled, flames arise to former warmth
Again to drive out coldness from this land
And work the rusty wheels of industry.
With fingers locked and arms clutched tight, they face the tide
And though their keen of sight may well corrode,
No salt shall scrape at their vitality.
I pray the ravens remain silent nowI pray the ravens remain silent now
And bow their feathered necks to face the clouds;
The winds shall cease to stir the poplar trees,
To rest unmoving in tranquility.
When then this orchestra has played its song,
We will bring down, with pride, his tired limbs
And lift his shoulders from their lifelong strain
As soon, he too, will from this world be gone.
Let then the quartet strike their strings again;
The choral cries fill empty skies
And claim the air that swerves still violently.
Let life on earth its jubilance retain
For each to find or search the while he tries,
Though death does move the wheels of history.
Your death shall build no fortress hereYour death shall build no fortress here,
Where I have underdug the fields
And scattered fearless batter rams.
Your death shall build no fortress here.
We'll flee its path and seek refuge
In forest moss, lush greenery
And climb the high trees, if we must.
Your death shall build no fortress here.
To shun mankind, we'll become birds
To sing each other soothing tunes;
To make forget the howling herd.
Your death shall build no fortress here.
And when we'll die, then let them search;
Collect our souls, they'll find them not.
Far from those wolves, again, we'll perch.
Your death shall build no fortress here.
Love Song for DagmarShes a glutton, shes no kitten; she can stuff her face for Britain
See her sitting in her Citroen, you can spot her from afar.
She is buxom, she is brazen, see her bottom, its amazing,
She is straining at the straplets of her cantilevered bra.
Shes an airship, shes a trawler, still I worship and adore her
Shes a randy landslide riding in her flash French car.
As a goddess, shes the oddest, and shes vulgar and immodest
Shes the empress of breast, she is my sweet Dagmar.
Shes no figment, shes no fragment, shes a fat fridge magnet
and shes sticking like a limpet to that big white door.
You can like it, you can lump it, shes a slattern, shes a strumpet
You can fill her to the limit - shell come begging you for more.
I am smitten, sycophantic; in her panties shes gigantic
As Im straddled, panting, frantic on the pinewood pantry floor.
See her glorious posterior, imperious, superior -
He lays me down & spreads me out on his bed.
He tells me he wants to relieve my stress & help me rest my head.
He runs his fingers through my hair & he kisses my lips,
He takes away the tension by playing with me below my hips.
As my legs are up high in the air,
I feel like I have no worries or cares.
He plays me so hard I let out a slight yell,
& I wonder if something this good will put me in hell.
Some people told me I shouldn't try
Because all you do is make me cry
But I love you to much to let you go
I love you more then you think you know
You tell me that you just don't care
All those times I needed you there
to hold me when i hurt real bad
to dry my tears, and take my sad
you can't understand how i feel inside
when it was over, I just died
All I want is for you to see
is what you really mean to me
Ever since that horrible day
that i heard those words you had to say
I can't stop thinking about you
I want you to know all this is true
Everything you've read
is about the things you've said
I'll never, ever stop tryin'
But I am so sick of Cryin'
April's HouseThe man who would be my lover through April had a daughter.
I showed her Playboys from 1999 and she grabbed at my breasts.
In mid-April my lover's grandmother died in a Michigan hospital.
The night before we had hurried sex on a friend's floor and in his shower.
I lay naked on a dark blue couch watching B list horror movies
with names like Frankenhooker and drank carbonated strawberry wine.
The floor was covered in empty Bacardi bottles and powdered Cheetos
while the bathroom smelled of concentrated bleach and urine.
I could crawl out onto the flat tarry roof through a second story window.
On the fourth of July I sat on the functionless brick chimney and got high.
The roof in South Oakland always reminded me of Mary Poppins.
Vodka coursing through my blood, I danced like a chimney sweep.
A man with bleached hair and long nails filed to a point walked me home.
He said, Margaret, I want you, and I knew I had stayed in a house full of lies.
Can You Accept Me?Can You Accept Me?:
I'll admit I've done my share of things
Of which I know I can never be proud
And I've tried my best to be a better man;
But I guess I can't right now
The mistakes I've made are pretty clear to me
It's not like I can just wipe a 'tat'
The symbols that go all around my body;
And the numbers on my back...
They're all reminders of who I used to be
What I used to do and how I used to live
But that man just isn't me anymore;
And I need a chance that only you can give
I guess what I really want to say is that:
I'm trying my hardest to change for better
And I need to know that you can forgive me
And so I'm sending you this letter
If it gets to you, then let me know
Reply to me and tell me clear
Can we still be a family?
Can I hope to have you near?
We've been through hell and I know I've done wrong
I never should have stayed just an angry kid
And now that we have one of our own;
I think I know that I need to quit
So please just give me a second chance
In MemoriamAfter: I set on the walk to home,
By woodland paths; I paced, I paced
But then as the cloak of dark came down,
I nearing my old town- was not braced
For that image of moths, flickering blue-
I stumbled there; reminded of you.
So I spun on my heels in evening gloam,
By autumn leaves I raced, I raced
Away from the moments that rendered in silver,
Cast glamour on the forest face
And stabbed through the shimmer of early dew-
I could have died there, surrounded by you.
The Feelings That LingerThe Feelings That Linger:
The sound of your voice still lingers here
Even though I know you're gone...
And my nights have turned to sleepless days;
They grow worse with every dawn...
You've probably heard this story though
At least a thousand times or more.
But the thing I remember best about her
Is the sound of that closing door...
It was like the end to everything;
A cloud inside my head.
When I came awake on that final night;
I reached for her in bed-
But an empty space was all I got;
There was no one to wipe these tears.
I could scream and cry for many hours;
But it wouldn't chase my fears.
I tried so hard to tell myself
That everything would be alright.
But instead I ended up reminsicing
About her ever-present light...
I'm just so tired of everything;
I wish I didn't have to think...
But maybe you'll hear me one last time;
If I put this down in ink:
We had a life that was beautiful
I love the lazy tangle of her smile
and the danger of her legs
on wet evenings
when the sun refuses to get up
and leaves the dawn to cool its heels
on slick city rooftops and chimneys.
I love how saffron blooms upon her lips
and how she captures silver
on her eyelashes
when the moon rolls itself back over
and leaves the stars to find their way
on balconies and avenues.
I love how her skin tastes like warm thunder
and the answer of her body
on top of mine
when the night stretches long and languid
and promises to turn somersaults
on the pins and needles of my heart.
KissYou don't need to put your hair up
To show you wear a crown
You don't need to paint your face up
To make my walls fall down
You don't need a Wonderbra
To let your sexy shine
You don't need gold or diamonds
To tell the world you're fine
You don't need designer clothes
To prove that you have class
You don't need to know Houdini
To make the magic last
All you need is your sweet love
To be the woman I dream of.
Hell's most hungry beggarAs torches caged with Autumn pillars
And kept beneath an ivory vault;
As falling leaves, caught in the sipping rain,
Your eyes cry rivers of pleased serenity.
Amidst this wintry scenery,
Man hears your laugh- his heart drops cold
And listens closely for the suit
Of a cappella cricket choirs;
He sees you walk a modest distance,
To pursue, dancing miles at length,
Until rasped souls dress lengthy streets.
But like the water never waits
For Hell's most thirsty beggar,
So too do you refuse my hunger.
Parenting for Sex AddictsThe half-day.
We are not those folks that need an occasion to try. And that’s what they call it, too. Trying. As if the very idea of it is taxing. It’s not taxing and we are not those people.
No. We do not go by some magical calendar. Schedules aren’t really our thing in general. That’d be too organized. Too stuffy. Too… I don’t know… too planned. And we’re not the type of people whom plan.
If we could—plan—our lives would be much different. I think. It’s hard to say because this is how we’ve always been.
Our very togetherness is a result of impulse. I’m almost certain that the amount of time it took us to decide to move in together was significantly shorter than the amount of time it took us to remember each other’s names. We might have had our first conversation moments after that first… what I mean to say is we didn’t plan. Because planning would have been much t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More