#35

Unfaithful

I shall not worship you,
It is not required...

Take me into you,
Ravage my body,
And devour me fully,
Pierce my soul with your tongue.
Position my body in your direction,
Delicately,

Bite my flesh, and lick the whelps
He has risen on my beating heart.

Slap me, bind me, then
release me, and inhabit
my desires. Liberate
my mind and call it,
Nirvana.

I'm not really sure if this poem will be understood the way I meant for it to be. I was trying to make a reference to religion. The sexual connotations are definitely there, but I'm not sure if there has been enough added for readers to recognize the religious undertones. Help?

#34

Headless Figure

I live in the mist,
blurring your visions
of thoughts that used to be.
Lying upon your clothes, your hair.
Creeping inside your lungs,
stealing the words you so desperately
want to exhale.

This is a part of what I came up with while writing about the angel statue in class. I don't know, its kind of weird but I think it may serve as a stanza in a longer piece. Oh! The title will definitely be changed once the rest has been written. This title was put into place so that I would know what it was when looking through my documents. Any suggestions on the work so far or suggestions on what I could do with it? Title?

#33

Anne's Truest Confession

I smiled and told them,
"Think of all the beauty still left
around you and be happy."
Inside of myself, I was shuddering
from the cold that I felt, within my heart.
I never spilled the black ink
that resides within my veins, instead
I tiptoed them blue, in the hushed
thoughts of concentration.
Captured within those small
walls, I begged for them not
to take me, not to peel the
flesh from my bones.
I allowed Typhus to rape my body,
so that I could thrive in my
eternal home.

This was my attempt at confessional poetry. I like some of it, but I feel that it needs to be developed more. Does anyone have suggestions on how I could do this?

#32

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

~Pablo Neruda

Seriously, this guy was amazing. I could post his poems all day. It's somewhat strange but I find myself comparing this piece with those of Sylvia Plath's. It has that haunting quality to it. It stays with the reader long after it has been read, whispering strange whispers into their minds.

#31

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

I was thinking about changing one of my poems because I was so inspired by this one. I really appreciate the way she uses color to create imagery and hope to accomplish this in my own work.

#30

In a box

Their leathery skin
worn, abused,
with deep gashes
caked in mud

cold and alone
abandoned
left to rot in darkness
Their souls corroded

~ Author Unknown

Love, love, love this! This poem exhibits extraordinary attention to detail. I think we could all learn something from this piece. Comment and tell me what you think about it.

#29

May

by Sara Teasdale

The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.

Ready for the weather of spring. I'm sad that spring break will soon come to an end but at least
I'm able to post this poem in which I love so much.