Skinny's thread

Dozy eyelids
twitch with passing buzzes.
No breeze to
play with those straw strands.

Besides
they're too busy romancing
regal emerald blades
behind your ears.

I wish
there were a breeze.

Not just
to move a little of this azure sky.
Not just
to chase the beads of sweat downhill.
Not just
to make the sycamore conversant.

Perhaps, too
to lift
that patchwork modesty
a little.
Perhaps, too
to balloon a little cotton round
your thighs.

Perhaps to whisper nothings in my ear,
to compliment
the stolen preview.

Dozy eyelids
twitch under my scrutiny.
Those straw strands stay still
defiant.

There is no breeze,
and yet you still have helicopters on your blouse.....

 

i liked this one. it reminded me of a story of a greek guy seducing girls over the internet that i saw on 48 hours.

 

Hey skinny, I couldn't find the poem you said got published...it wasn't anywhere on fictionpress.

 

Ok - here it is:

THINGS I HAVE MISSED THIS FORTNIGHT

I miss the smell that used to linger
at the top of my thighs till mid-week.

I miss my cupboards being full up
but I don't want to cook any more.

I miss the fresh smell of my bathroom
without weekend arousal man-potions!

I miss the times we had nothing on
and were bored and catty and children.

I miss gorging to the point of pain
Until we couldn't laugh or walk home.

I miss waking and finding your arm
turned blue with the weight of loving me.

 

..................... word!

 

sweetpea curtsy, sunflower tall
beautious!!

 

*grins tickled pink*

 

Shotgun glance
under the lid
Heart beat: Yak Thump
and over.

All the news that’s fit to print.

All the news I need to know
like lightening.
One shot. Confetti.

Now that’s more like it.

 

Gerald lit his cigarette
and wandered through the rows of books
and we girls scratched the desk tops;
followed the smoke.
Resting gently on Polidori
-so unlikely! – his nails laughed
en pointe.
And when his tweed back descended
we swooped
upon Byron’s companion
to analyse the marks in the dust.
Then, conspiratorial blossoms, we
followed Aristotle’s Man
one by one, to the lower floor.
He stubbed his cigarette by the entrance,
to a swoon,
and considered Homer’s jealous Gods
in the muddiest study by the rack.
Then
We see him blink,
come to life once more. He turns,
and sees the crowd of Semele shrink.

 

Skinny,

U amaze me! your poetry is so multi-dimensional... its like reading a rubic's cube as u solve it... U put the deep in DEEEEEP, Baby... the deeper I look into your thoughts, the deeper I see into my own...

Whoo Hooo! No stops the Skinny train!

 

Stargatekeeper- you're soooo good for my ego...thankyou for reading.... i love you!:&

 

can't get the spacing quite right....sorry

Yeah...

I can hang around for one or two.

over the road? Mine's a cold one.

​

Yeah...

flick ash at me!
​

I'm steel strung, baby,
and the humming just hangs.
I buckle this bubble, here. Me, yeah.

Can you hear me?
​

I can hear me. You need to hear me.
So here's louder.
Don't look at me.
Tosser.

No...

I don't know who it was.
​

What do I know about number 1s in '62?
Somehow it's my fault the coins aren't bowing to your kneecaps

Yeah whatever.

I'm going now.
​

I don't want it!
Oh ok, one for the road.

One more.
​

Don't like

the way the Marriott is putting suits in my way.
Why are they dancing? Posh wankers
Huh...penguins!
​

Don't like

the way that bus is looking at me.
Bastard nudged my shoulder!!
Shouldn't even be on the sodding pavement.
​

stupid daylight rainbow noose
making me hack up shitty lungs.

Really
don't like
the ceiling falling on me

-look!-
​

always bruises the inside of my skull while I'm sleeping.

always. without fail.

 

Need I say more?

 

Bouncing on my skin, the wind
reeks of street corner; of
every garbage can in New York City.
Ammonia, courtesy of that sleeping man
tastes vile hitting the back of my throat.
Heave, lungs! Respire!
In spite of the putrid air,
no other essence
guarantees my existence so delightfully.

 

Yeeesh...hard to breathe indeed!


Heyyy I just figured out that it says BREATHING...duh...lol

 

This princess
enveloped in duck-down
on a tower of mattresses
sleeps calm.
The pea no intrusive irritant
with cold steel comfort
under her pillow.

 

Interesting twist on the old "Princess and the Pea" story. It's like: Yeah, I'm a princess, but don't fuck with me cuz I have a gun. Pretty cool.

 

I love this! Especially the one about the wind reeking "of street corner; of every garbage can in New York City."

 

Some steps
in this mortal dance
teach new things
about rhythm and rhyme.

The teeth that flashed
in that stranger's smile
lacquered my eyes in sunshine.
The cigarette hung lackadaisical
from fingers, pointed Venus in my direction
then left, as fast as it had arrived.

And then there was the foxtrot
of the hands-on-hip whippet.
Uncoiled like a sunning snake
she preened before her laddish audience,
playful, promising mosquito kisses,
to irritate them later
beneath their lonely sheets.

But by far the most satisfying twirl of today
was the vamp, alone.
Powdered cheeks told of promises,
of illicit meetings arranged but yet to come.
Shawl exposed ivory shoulders
aching for lips, tassels tickled hips.
Dark lashes licked the pavement
in anticipation.

They were all plain dancing partners
in the Unmeetings of today
but all fired up like peacocks,
they were beautiful.

 

I spent Saturday
inhaling bad luck at the bookies.
Horses fell, no-one scored, and the odds were too steep.

Where green paper flutters and kisses when winning,
handing it over
cuts deep.