Skinny's thread

It's good. Reminds me when I was younger. Your work is pretty good. Keep truckin man

 

hi there
this is lovely so open
so ripe for a chance to tell
with your words.....

love npeace from saff
just spotted this one
i love the line
i rode nameless for a time.....

dont we all and after we are ourselves.......

thank you this was a pleasure to read

 

Tan footprints marking my beige carpet, leading
away from the tub. I follow the trail, thinking of
negligee wrapped round
torso
and
legs.
I think I'm panting.
Zealot, I stand in the hallway,
invite awaited,
nasal hairs full of the smell of fresh
girl.

 

Seeeeeeeexxy! Transporting my mind into different planes, a parallel universe.
Tantalizing fits this perfectly. This is both clear and steamy. *smiles*

 

I'm all dried up tonight
while the pushy rain beats down trees
on the lines of commuters,
and Atlantic gusts
drive good humour home to bed.

I was caught out too,
wet ringlets licking my cheeks and shoulders,
excited puppies meet and greet, while
ankle sponges store up liquid
just in case of sudden drought.

I brought my puddles just inside
and stood to let them grow
but in isolation from fellow weather
they sulked and were subdued.

I'm all dried up tonight,
and new. This, Nature's latest cleansing,
done, now my reward is
warmth, and contented eyelids.

Outside, the gutter floods,
tsunamis rise and fall
as buses dash past. Time for tea.

 

Nugatory effort is the worker's destiny
In this production line of failure.
Ghouls, the emptied vassals of youth, float
High and mighty, with their weapons of
Tongue and glance,
Making us slave behind the furnaces, clutching our
Aching spines for those who have none.
Retirement something left over for the very
End of days.

 

Madelaine
had a doll.
Now plays guitar.

That thing about horses
old news now.

Madelaine sees angels
in the rain.

Sidles past the halfpipe
toes in dust,

glitter nails
chipped but happy.

Madelaine tugs at her sleeves too much.

 

the whole thing is fabulous! it's disjointed, but not; and I love that contradiction... such a great ending too, perfecto... thanks for sharing this!

 

I
blush
as those
three words
trickle
through my teeth.

 

You did not bring
platters of fish
goblets of prophecy
and the sunshine in a box
I wait for.

Caramel cracked and burned
in the atmosphere, great satellites spun
against us. We've disengaged, yet again.

Nothing changes.
In these conversations I notice dirt on my windows
and brush away cobwebs.

Dustsheets are the shroud of our experience.
I'm put away until spring.
Cupboards it is, for us, then
while the City celebrates.

I don't remember much,
of the parts I didn't invent.

Tonight is too cold.

 

The lust she gives to a camera
looks like it's on his pillow
and childhood's back to eat him up
and make him cross.

Stained suit and
he's urban life. Wet dreams on the wagon
soaked up by beer mats
and hidden by the smoke of Bensons.

The girl's in two. Kaleidoscope mirrors
hide her lumps, and he has pints
and roving hands.

Sovereign ring
last Christmas
tap-tap against the glass.
Impatient to be alone
behind the curtain.
Hot breath near his face,
straining.

Past the children's bedtime now.

She'll be watching pop idol,
and her bacardi bottle shrinking.

 

I'm giggle twisted.

I'm clutching guts and belly bloat,
but smiling.

I'm joining this ride,
this rolling story
of desert sand.

My caravan.

Bluster flush and flake cheeks
flatter your kiss:
I'm arousal.

This hide shelter
conceals our celebration,
warms dune nights
in sparking fur.

xxx

 

I see you,
gargoyle,
on the hot tin roof,
hearing bangs and counting tracers.

Reassuring drawl in my ear,
my nervous giggle,
and the itching aftermath.

 

Corrugated conversation,
drowned in pub,
or popstars,
or network crackle.

Sighs carry across skies

and are met with silence,
unintended.

Would that this smile could reach you.

 

That small glitch
in the air,
technological downtime.

Bad clouds.
Bad guns.
Bad overheads.

Left you clutching
flesh and plastic,
lonely, anxious.

Rodents burrow.

Remember
shower sheen
and silk
saliva creases.

Sweaty palm punches
bad clouds.
Denied.

 

A finger points at a minaret
and generations stamp their feet
and maps fall
and mountains with them.

Caterpillar tracks on the cots of spacemen,
flames, and sapphire skies lit briefly
charred clouds burn in mourning,
and the ground rumbles.

Turn back, good man. Leave your children here.
The case you gathered trinkets in before you left,
will lie here and gather dust,
alongside your mother's tears,
until you're judged by melting steel or falling walls.

Blades spread dust on the helmets of soldiers,
around the masked man's politics,
around the meetings of suits and handshakes,
and around our future's beds.

Still sleeping, angel? You have danced too long
under the veil of madness. You watched each stitch
unpick, darkness drip through each dropped turn
and once back home you watched us doze.

This image, and that, stare back at us.
These words empty, this deal unstruck.
Tattoos, inked into nationhood,
left under toenails
and draped along the length of arteries.

 

This two-piece is a flatterer!
It snuggly cups, and clutches firm
your curves, in ivy leaves and pretty.

The lace, when pulled over cream pins,
embraces waist, empassioned,
gently bows and flows, hips flare,
and downward,
where spine divides into tributaries,
back parts,
becomes rump, swaddled in frills.

 

This is rain you're not getting.
They had it in Scotland yesterday. It will not reach you.
Nor will this wind, this northerly knife that dries my skin,
but makes my eyes water and swirl.

These are footsteps you'll never feel falling.
Lost paces, directed, but one-off, for now.
These are fingerprints that I'll tidy up
one-day.

These leaves will be fodder for insects
by the time you return.

This bedraggled pavement, though.
You can have that.
And the skyline, largely stable,
the news doesn't change much day after day.
More dead, more wounded. But then you know that.

 

Gah, I swear all of your latest ones combined seriously choke me up. It's almost too much to bear, it's all so familiar.

-Not Missing Much- what can I say...you built this one up, where the last stanza the climax is strong in its quiet resignation.
I will linger on the last line for awhile.

 

looks like I missed alot of yours!

-the fireworks are of no consequence- I relate to this one, and what can I say, this was exceptional, perfect, stunning, now a new favorite of mine!

that pretty much sums it up.... wow....


-sunset- another that dazzles! every line is utterly wonderful, and while I particularly loved the opening stanza, the flow that unfolds is gorgeous!

-the trouble with textual intercourse- I liked "Bad clouds. Bad guns. Bad overheads." alot, but

that was utterly yummy!

-this one's for Fox- a bit more of a complicated read, but fantastic none-the-less. favorite sections for me were "and maps fall / and mountains with them" as well as the questions you throw in... it really adds personality. "still sleeping, angel?" I love that!

Thanks for sharing these, it's always great to read your work!