no winners left

they say War Will Die
left bleeding
on the side of the street;

dust on blind men’s blades,
still warm and
lips in sneers

They want to sing rosy cheeked
kids to sleep before
darkness reaches them

and the scent of steel still
on their tongues as they
lick their way up her
thighs to drink to life, to

shut out the swords, the spears,
the coughed blood and
the – he didn’t make it…

They greedily gulp
humid warmth, suck
parted lips, tasting freedom and

See the trenches in her softness
There are no
winners left

..woo hoo it’s One Shot Wednesday again and the wonderful Adam Dustus will be your host tonight…write a poem and join us or just jump over to read what some fine poets brought to the table..sign up opens at 5 pm EST


don’t move so fast

i wonder if you can,
if you stand in the rain,
if you stop to move,
just allow

drippy drops
licking your ear
’til you hear
water’s whispering

want, can you tell
the shape
of what flows
cool & damp
on your skin, feel ’em
sing of spring, notice
what key they’re in, taste

thursday rain pear-sweet
on summer-soft tongues

knowing you know,
by the sparks in your eyes,
water-wet trees breathing sighs,
bent low, pressing their lips
into squishy earth,
quietly rooted

with stillness-wrapped wings watching
wantonly seeds give birth

…just a quiet spring moment…

intentional fallacy

instead of
playing soccer versus palm trees,
romping like baby turtles over white-washed sand,
get wet  in “love me ocean” arms

instead of
drinking your azure blue treasures
and drowning splish-splash in your boyish smile

life hit me
like an avalanche
one-fifty miles per hour
oxygenated suffocation
before we crash


haven’t linked up with Galen’s friday flash 55 for a while – but today i managed to say it in 55 words… 

>you were Aragorn

>i called you Shakespeare, that’s roughly
what your name translates to.
we met in Munich for the weekend
some time after dead end summer love
‘cos letters never bridged the winter.

small village and you didn’t fit in,
dreamer, vagabond and Tolkien fan,
we sat talking books for hours,
smoking Camel, walking barefoot,
laughing summer into wings, glued tight to
country lanes and bloomed between
black printed sheets, Tubular bells and the
all-knowing smiles of small town gossip.
for a long time, i met no one
who could kiss like you.

we had no money and the room, we spent
the night was small, electric waves were
creeping up the walls like roaches.
i sometimes wondered how it would have
been, whispered rhymes into my ears while
tossing me towards the Shire. but you were
Aragorn and you had promised
not to touch me,

so nothing happened, yet everything changed,
i got lost in the eyes of the prince,
and for a long time didn’t find the exit.

this poem was inspired by some memories, hitting me like a rocket when reading Anton Gourman’s poem “In July 2003”

>street summer


it was one of those street summers
when the heat of a perspiring city
robs you of your mind and glues
you to the pavements, when tons of
ice cream drip from children’s lips
and mingle with the lingering dust
on sun baked concrete.

we danced the fountains with
wet hair as i watched cheeky freckles
bloom – dots of love in your sunburnt
face; braille to be decoded
with my finger tips. your white shirt
was nothing but business and your
lips, smooth liquid in a thirsty land.

i sucked your coolness
on a planet of our own, touched only
peripherally by the barking of
summer-odd dogs and a mad, yearning
violin, played by the Darth Vaders on
the corners of our carefree now,
just when the rain set in and with the heat,

it swallowed our fountains, made your
freckles fade pale and cleaned damp
asphalt from the burning traces of your
salty lips on my neck.

This poem is my response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. The prompt was shot by photographer JackAZ, featured today on One Shoot Photography Sunday.


>your steps on the floor
make me count minutes,
heartbeats and years, gone by
like rush hour trains. fighting sleep
and listening to your late night
sound – the music, microwave
and beeping of your phone.

i peel out of bed like
an orange to sleepwalk upstairs
where you smell of metal, pizza
and the lavish warmth of youth,
kiss your astonished smile and
just hold you close for a while.
next morning

i will read on facebook,
there’s nothing better than
returning late & tired from a
hard day’s work and sleepy mom
creeps out of bed just so, to kiss
and say she loves you.. and nine
of your cool friends will have
pressed the “like” button


>hunting words to fit a viscous,
fragile mood – fragmented sky and
messy clouds, we’re tastin’

ink, touch my skin – tornado,
cobweb or a twinkling eye, the
artist’s brush, wet oil, alone – we
fly, dark dancer on an empty

stage, crave, make ’em love us, no
regret, so tear my flesh, press heavy
on my soul and move
inside the turbine of my breath

these verse will win us, tear
our seam and spark; ejaculate
into our heart, splash torrents, lust-
washed cries, we scream the words
that toss and flood our aisles –
whitewater – clingin’, squirmin’ – short

of breath we close this bleeding gap
of unreached stars
to shattered smallprint
amongst rumpled sheets

A special request of all tweeting readers…we are in the running for a Shorty Award over at One Stop Poetry…only some days left to go. So if you tweet, please tweet a vote for us in the #art category…matter of fact, go HERE and vote for…
@OneStopPoetry in #art because…(you must give a reason) we create community in art, we promote youth poetry or whatever you think we do well…

i’m linking up with One Stop Poetry – come and join us, meet some fantastic people over there, dive deep and get breathlessly poetic. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST