Beware of these places

the Dark switch
late in seasons
Corners, stairs, elevators
The bar, the park
the end of the route
Dirty streets where there is darkness

Beware of these places
Beware of these places

You're not allowed to laugh out loud
I have good dress
Beware

Here people bad professions
They have their oceans
death suggests the future
And every night, every night mocking them

Beware of these places

� Fading Colours 2003

Quote

Le papillon de nuit

Fragile cr�ature
Poudr�e d�espoir et de r�ve
Voletant vers une tr�ve
Le temps d�un murmure

Papillon de papier
Aux ailes tach�es
D�encre et de larmes
D��clats d��me

Petite chose
Un peu morose
Ton sourire s��tiole
Ma p�tite bestiole

Un regard vers lui
Une �tincelle
Chassant la nuit
Tu t��merveilles

Etre timide
Te voil� h�sitant
Les yeux humides
Et l�c�ur battant

Mais comment cueillir
Sans le faire fuir
Le c�ur d�un ami
Dangereux pari

Voleras-tu
Jusqu�� la flamme
T�y br�leras-tu

� ptitjo 2014
read her here http://ptitjo.deviantart.com/

English Translation

The Moth

Fragile creature
Powdered hope of dreams
Fluttering to a truce
Time for a whisper

Paper Butterfly
Wings stained
Ink and tears
In bursts of soul

little thing
A bit sluggish
Your smile is fading
My little beast

A glance at him
a spark
Chasing the night
You astonish

Being shy
Now you are reluctant
Eyes moist
And heart beating

But how to pick
Without scaring
The heart of a friend
dangerous gamble

Will fly you
Until the flame
You will burn yourself

Quote

Lies of Love

Misery
is not beautiful
only in poetry
will words of suffering
and love combine
form a union
of something somehow
divine

When the ink
runs dry
the beauty
dies
and all I see
is the distortion
as I twist in my
confounded contortion

I believed
in the greatest of
lies


� Sarah Hartman 2011
see/read her here - http://hartbeatsphotography.deviantart.com/
Quote

lost and found

Some days i hear your voice
between in silence
You are absent ,but
i'm still with you

You've become borrowed presence
a habit,a constant subject
mine stable value

Try to forget
but something happens
my life in an order
my heart in a disorder

I borrow you truth
to pay the lies
Oh i wish i could deny you
like you did. . .


by lajeunefilletllamer � 2014
read her here - http://lajeunefilletllamer.deviantart.com/
Quote

mark will disappear from my skin
as if the paint chip off a fingernail
and you are gone
as if in a journey
to no avail the three sisters weeping
summon your hands
send kisses from your mouth
faith
hope
love
their confidence
could encompass the earth
yet
I know
that you do not return

Poswiatowska Quote

conversation piece

�what we don�t want to say
is what keeps us awake at night�
someone scribbled, betweens teeny stars
and a pot smoking skull, on the wall
of a bathroom stall -

i have been meaning to tell you about
the ache; about how i hate postscriptums,
and confined spaces and goodbyes;
to talk of this urge to walk away,
before the dust settles in my eyes, before
the thinning ice we stand on fully melts.

what i have been telling you
is that i no longer sleep at night.


Sophie, May 2014
read her here - http://wordeea.deviantart.com/

. night sea .



* http://www.flirt4free.com/forums * Quote

Lesbos

Viciousness in the kitchen!
The potatoes hiss.
It is all Hollywood, windowless,
The fluorescent light wincing on and off like a terrible migraine,
Coy paper strips for doors
Stage curtains, a widow's frizz.
And I, love, am a pathological liar,
And my chi1d look at her, face down on the floor,
Little unstrung puppet, kicking to disappear
Why she is schizophrenic,
Her face is red and white, a panic,
You have stuck her kittens outside your window
In a sort of cement well
Where they crap and puke and cry and she can't hear.
You say you can't stand her,
The bastard's a girl.
You who have blown your tubes like a bad radio
Clear of voices and history, the staticky
Noise of the new.
You say I should drown the kittens. Their smell!
You say I should drown my girl.
She'll cut her throat at ten if she's mad at two.
The baby smiles, fat snail,
From the polished lozenges of orange linoleum.
You could eat him. He's a boy.
You say your husband is just no good to you.
His Jew-Mama guards his sweet sex like a pearl.
You have one baby, I have two.
I should sit on a rock off Cornwall and comb my hair.
I should wear tiger pants, I should have an affair.
We should meet in another life, we should meet in air,
Me and you.

Meanwhile there's a stink of fat and baby crap.
I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.
The smog of cooking, the smog of hell
Floats our heads, two venemous opposites,
Our bones, our hair.
I call you Orphan, orphan. You are ill.
The sun gives you ulcers, the wind gives you T.B.
Once you were beautiful.
In New York, in Hollywood, the men said: "Through?
Gee baby, you are rare."
You acted, acted for the thrill.
The impotent husband slumps out for a coffee.
I try to keep him in,
An old pole for the lightning,
The acid baths, the skyfuls off of you.
He lumps it down the plastic cobbled hill,
F1ogged trolley. The sparks are blue.
The blue sparks spill,
Splitting like quartz into a million bits.

O jewel! O valuable!
That night the moon
Dragged its b1ood bag, sick
Animal
Up over the harbor lights.
And then grew normal,
Hard and apart and white.
The scale-sheen on the sand scared me to death.
We kept picking up handfuls, loving it,
Working it like dough, a mulatto body,
The silk grits.
A dog picked up your doggy husband. He went on.

Now I am silent, hate
Up to my neck,
Thick, thick.
I do not speak.
I am packing the hard potatoes like good clothes,
I am packing the babies,
I am packing the sick cats.
O vase of acid,
It is love you are full of. You know who you hate.
He is hugging his ball and chain down by the gate
That opens to the sea
Where it drives in, white and black,
Then spews it back.
Every day you fill him with soul-stuff, like a pitcher.
You are so exhausted.
Your voice my ear-ring,
Flapping and sucking, b1ood-loving bat.
That is that. That is that.
You peer from the door,
Sad hag. "Every woman's a whore.
I can't communicate."

I see your cute decor
Close on you like the fis't of a baby
Or an anemone, that sea
Sweetheart, that kleptomaniac.
I am still raw.
I say I may be back.
You know what lies are for.

Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.

- Sylvia Plath

. lilitu .



http://www.flirt4free.com/forums
Quote

for the three or four of you who occasionally visit this thread ... there is a revolution occurring on twitter, Farcebook, blog sites, TubeYou� and my favorite residence deviantArt ... i was mailed this by a total stranger this morning on TubeYou� ... enjoy one of the many new developments happening to the world of poetry ...




http://www.flirt4free.com Quote

. weave and spin .

light and shade and hue
my flurry dance of gesture
remembering you

� stolen from Amanda's list 2014


* inevitable musique *



http://www.flirt4free.com Quote

paintings for the flood

golden taste of your skin against my lips
the bitter breeds from the wounds and melodies
I've been fooled, always never want to question
now you're here like a route to take me anywhere I need to be

flood flood, the holes of my life with your word
"flood flood, the holes of my life with your words"

oh! I wanna watch you wreck all the paintings in my house as you run down my wall "Holes in my life"
wash away these things I never needed, these papers and these clothes "Holes in my life"
(..with your words..)

inside my chest beats an insect heart
its legs will kick, its wings will start
to pull away from the rest of me? and better things like golden state?
and I've been fooled, before you, I was so unsure I let life ruin me

and .. flood flood, the holes of my life with your word

oh! I wanna watch you wreck all the paintings in my house as you run down my wall (holes of my life)
wash away these things I never needed, these papers and these clothes (holes of my life)

oh! I wanna watch you wreck all the paintings in my house as you run down my wall (holes of my life)
wash away these things I never needed, these papers and these clothes (holes of my life)

� Richard Walters 2013




http://www.flirt4free.com/forums Quote

.

I stalk your words
yes, those silly
little things you scribble
down in the margins
of your dreams, and
even more so
those corporeal chains
of script that bind
your tongue fast to
the roof of your mouth.

I stalk your words
and I prey on those
who dare decipher
how the graphite tail
of your thoughts
hooks letters together.
I promise I'll be
close at hand
when they staunchly
sink their barbs
into the marrow of
your mind and
suck you dry.

� 2014 by SeptemberSkies2298
read her here - http://septemberskies2298.deviantart.com/

* blue ermin loop� where deception is not the only art http://www.flirt4free.com/forums * Quote

I don't fear you not missing me


you can cut me out of your life

but,
my pen is a sword,
my words are glass.

they will cut your skin

and your pretty face will have a
harder time telling pretty lies.

(you won't forget about me,
believe it)


� dreamlandtheories 2014
read her here - http://dreamlandtheories.deviantart.com/

http://www.flirt4free.com/forums
Quote

Fallen

prove to me where your loyalties lie
what sayeth you, oh traitor of my heart?
where are the gilded words spilling out of your mouth
and the dreams you stole from the divine to give to me?
how far from Olympia you have fallen and
you can't even refer yourself as a disgraced god nor angel bygone
just another stick in the mud to kick around
another damn dog lying down

forgive me, oh master sir
where are my manners?
even kings who lost the crown
have reasons to be feared
but there is no throne
only one angry woman
and a man paying her karma

pretty seconds I have wasted on you
the tendrils of delicate emotions you broke
dear captain, you broke this ship hard upon the rocks
but you will not get me to drown in your petty little pond
you advisers did warn you never liked to listen
some people have it in them to be the ones who always fail
what you were wanting, I do not know
but you won't have a chance for it

forgive me, oh master sir
where are my manners?
even kings who lost the crown
have reasons to be feared
but there is no throne
only one angry woman
and a man paying her karma

sweet, sweet, love of mine
where, oh where, did you go?
come back to me, please my dear friend
I am not finished tearing you down

because every action must have a reward
and yours will be no different, though ha! what a prize
you've got it! you've got it! oh, no you don't
a loser like you with stupid for a brain, yeah right
you better pray you won't see me again

forgive me, oh master sir
where are my manners?
even kings who lost the crown
have reasons to be feared
but there is no throne
only one angry woman
and a man paying her karma

by dreamlandtheories � 2013
read her here - http://dreamlandtheories.deviantart.com/

http://www.flirt4free.com/forums
Quote

. allegory .

1. the expression by means of symbolic fictional figures and actions of truths or generalizations about human existence; also : an instance (as in a story or painting) of such expression


Moi: (in lecture) We are all art. Art is gesture ... whether plastic, choreographic, verbal, or the unwritten notes of sounds on air and ear ... gesture. ... It is not the solid object that these gestures produce but the emotive gestures themselves which are the art. What remains is just a product.


la Fille: I'm assuming that if my cat just pissed right in front of me on the rug he is telling me he has a urinary issue?

la Fille: im back. Im sober. I aint happy. load of crap. I should have stayed home and watched the paint peel

Moi: just got in about an hour ago

bar

manager's wife conversations drunk couldn't walk home taken away woke up in strange bed nice apartment she had bad breath left quietly lost for ten minutes got home wasn't naked

les Filles: I could never write poetry

Moi: we are all poetry


� found fluttering in a gray-light gutter on folded fool-scrap with the letters AMANDA written in cracked uneven Caffeine Fix� lipstick along an edge


. musique .




http://www.flirt4free.com/forums

Quote

the forums still do not allow Polish character sets or i would include the work in polish

--- english translation

. why did i wash my breasts .

why did I wash my breasts
and comb apart each hair
in the narrow mirror
empty are my hands
and bed

� Halina Poswiatowska 1967

Background on this work ... a visual artist on dA created a self-portrait inspired by this poetry; she is an acquaintance and friend there ... the image itself is moving ... as her photography often is ... and the poetry of her inspiration is as concise and point focused as the imagery. it is meaningful to me this morning.

see her works here - http://rapidheartmovement.deviantart.com/

there is no music in my heart today


http://www.flirt4free.com/forums Quote

I love Rimbe so very much. She's such a unique creature. Her words captivate and entrance me, like I envision her hair to do as well. Mesmerized constantly by her knowledge and wit I often daydream about laying with her, smelling her sweet scent and touching her life scarred shell. I want it more than anything. Her praises lift me every day, her insults strike my soul and teach me to be better, and only serves to drive me closer to her sexually. My luv, Rimbe, that is for you Quote

. sounds of galveston .

experimented in every form
to find myself pushed more forlorn
seashells forc'd by my own hand stretch wide
impossibilities i can't hide.

sand blows harsh scours every surface bared
tears at thighs breasts cunt my precious hair
seashell furrows deeper into heart
what i once was i've razed torn apart.

tide rise
polished smoothed stone
glisten green
foamed lace
salted shape
sun sheen
pitted bone
seashell � pride.

� found blown tight into crevasses of bleached drift wood, each shred with the carbon imprint Amanda 2014



for Amy


http://www.flirt4free.com/forums

Quote

. wet .


The theme runs through her, like her b1ood. After thirty years she had seen it toss, felt its power, been swept away over and over; spun whirlpools of what it was that became her sole song of longing. The salt tang of it on her tongue, the slow run of it down her body under baking suns, She had walked in frozen wastes of it; vast iced, crevasse cut, millennial sheets of denial. The pink and red crystal indentations of her bare feet on ancient latticed ices, preserved as passage.

Rivers of it offered up in panting showers of shaded subtle-lit forest where she might strip, strip all of her outer dryness away and become it; just one more rope swing jump, slow entry into those deep ponds of invitation, all this and even more. Thirty years and the peak rose on the surfed wave of her.

She had written pornographically of it, yes, it�s quite true of her. Her longings took shape, and peaked repeatedly with a particular partner. She wrote adoringly of hot salted tears, of the copper and iron taste of b1ood; she had written poem after poem of her thirst and need and fucking herself while composing her dismay and frustration, that her special love was lost at sea while she, she had been left to drip her sweat and fluids on a bed.

She had written whimsical verse, creating a love-pun of dancing and flying and sharing sun and smoke on a Washington coast; drifted by breeze and grey salted wood. Feathered in white and black, she and her gull mate reveling and singing to each other beside crashing ocean. She herself, the maddened woman that she had become, the heartless warrior to protect her sisters, her daughters, her lovers, wrote of brave ancient ones. She wove Sappho and prayed with that priestess singer in their endings together on a granite Greek shore. She plucked Ophelia�s own flowers, touching gently while her sister drowned. She tore her hair in the suddenness of circular expanding rain drops forming puddles of her, of lovers immersed and kissing, of fog swept cities where hope of it was there, was present. In each whisper of her deepest driven need; the ocean, the clouds, the sound of it on metal rooftops and cheering itself in melancholic rushes down cheap tin drains.

Thirty years of desert surrounding her and becoming her skin; hurtled always, heart first followed by cunt, that sand and dry clay of blown opposition melted away, melted as she did in repetition after repetition. Significant, yes, but she had never seen the continuity; in denial of that single truth. It was her constant, her single theme tucked neatly beneath her folded panties, farther down than the tear run inks of her hidden love letters.

To mix as one, without suspensions, without delay, without some far too often deceptions, without the hard sand coarseness given to her every day, this then her only theme remains. So many lies and obscured intentions, the patterned sea-foam lace of all whom she had loved; from close enough to feel their breath and smell their scent, or from far away. At thirty years her discovery; she was stained.

Tea, b1ood, juice, wine, the vomit and cum she was engulfed in, the weeping blisters with their amber hardened salvations, the apples and pears she herself had collected and pressed and slurped them licking, always licking, the sauces and rues requiring constant whisking. She regretted none of them, she longed to touch and smell and taste each battled stain. Become me, engulf me, drink and swallow me in your pink mouth running with the saliva that I slurp, drooling, when kissed. These stains of hers, my own; these thirty years of them embraced and laid claim. They are the earned steps of Jefferson Street, of years of whoring herself, of smiles that shine and eyes that flame.

Put me out; lay me in a boat, or on a blanket, or in a car, or on linen sheets, lay me in a street on clouded nights. Push hard, running me down a wall in clear magnifying flows that lay between your thighs and mine. I am only fluid that you expel; she cries to none who ever listen. The roar of her; dammed and diked and held back; channeled and fed to the fodder of her hoped-for; her gated tsunami flood.


She weeps in anger; she is the wet.


� Amanda 2014
- woven - http://fav.me/d7lyqix



http://www.flirt4free.com/forums Quote

. over heard conversation .

skulkey 14 hours ago Professional Digital Artist
i feel like maybe there's a joke in your choice of stinging insect... :O

n-dimensional manifold.
_______________________________________________________
Reply
:iconamanda-graham:
Edit
Amanda-Graham Moments ago Professional Writer

i almost typed "Reply:"

the girl with ... had a wasp

i'm ... not light and beautiful enough for that ... that's how i see it ... someone i loved recently said i was ... but she refused to c2c ... i suppose for her own kept from me reasons and no ... i don't think 'THAT's why ... i don't know why ... my own image of myself ... at odds with realities ...

i was talking tonight with a friend about ... how i form these 'moment or image hooks' for those who have left ... me i guess ... and this girl who wouldn't love me as close to face to face as we were able at this time to get ... for her the hook is vegetables ... i cried tonight thinking of my diet going as it is more and more meatless ... that is my Amy hook ... i have others; my butterflied body that i avoid looking at in mirror'd mornings ... my password set where my cojoined twin has been cut from me ... and i told my friend, that i couldn't remember what her hook had been when we'd last parted ...

the wasp is not suitable to me for some odd "i don't really want to be her" reason ... so ... my horror show stings of the past ... hornets, black shining smooth sharp hornets ... i would place one done in photo-realism with shadows below as it was about to launch attack on me ... my Amy hook so that i won't weep in public over salads.

� Amanda 2014




http://www.flirt4free.com/forums Quote

. s�quelles d'un �tat de fugue .

la petite danse
prenaient le pr�s�ance
la petite mort
et ces cons�quence

� Amanda 2014

. before you speak .




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