HOT SUMMER NIGHTS For The Mature: What I Should've Said...
By Flexwriters Of PoetryHot Summer Nights with Crimson Chaos
This blog is Rate MA for Mature Audience Only
With Your Host:
Crimson Chaos
Hello you wonderful poets
Welcome to Hot Summer Nights
Let us begin with:
What I should have said…
How often have you stepped away from a moment
in a relationship and think back
I didn’t say enough… or I should have said…
Precious time gone, heart unspoken
Well today it is time to take it there!
Now is your chance to have your say!
Let
your heart have it’s say!
Here are a few things to start you off!
What I should have said…
When I looked into your eyes
My voice stopped
My heart quickened
All I could do
Was stand there
Unspoken
Vocal communication broken
Holding on to the moment
Hoping you would see
The depth in which you touch me
The spirit that you awakened
You captured me
And I couldn’t say it
I expected you to read my mind
As the words were there
Lingering
Frozen in time
But you didn’t
You didn’t…read my mind
And now it may be too late
To correct the mistake
All because
What I should have said was…
In that moment that you held my eyes
In that moment when you held my heart
But silence fell from lips
I should have…
I should have…
But I didn’t
I sit here with the reminder
Of your hand on my skin
Your voice in my head
Your smile in my eyes
I needed you
Like the rain needs the clouds
You complete me
But…
I didn’t say it
So now my bed lays empty
My arms untouched
The phone doesn’t ring
I should have said
You alone hold the key
And if you’re reading
this
What I should have said is...
I love you
But I
didn’t
© Crimson Chaos Poetry
What is it you should have said?
Now is your time to have your say it!
Open your hearts, whether it is passion or love
And spill that ink!
To help you get started
Picture Inspirations
Courtosy
of
www.photobucket.com
#1
#2
#3
Now it's time to Flex that ink ...
However you bring it, my good People... We
MUST Keep it within the Boundaries of FCN's Curtesy of Respect!
*Any poetry or pictures that exceed the boundaries *
*may be subject to removal by blog site managers without notice.*
I
would like you to meet
Blue Eyes/Billie
http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=351666775&blogId=537898171
&
Christopher
http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=177386943&blogId=537927246
I hope you ALL read this Because you are.....A Poet in our Midst!
By Todd CarterSet down your pens and close your eyes!
Forget for a moment...punctuation....spelling....grammar....!
Forget the box of rules so many stodgy, lifeless intellects, …..cling to....
so as not to float away on wings of uniqueness...and free thought,
to a land of the unfamiliar...
Look around you
Describe for me your table...and don't tell me it's square!
Tell me of its rich textures
Describe for me its soul (in your own language)
as you slowly run your fingers across its, Dark like the night.....Velvety smooth..... Hard and rock like,
Man made and commonplace....Imported and rare....Monument to my family and friends,
….Uniqueness...
The next time you are outside and!.....
You look to the night sky and!....
see stars for the millionth time and!...
pay no attention to and!.....
take them for granted and!...
STOP!!!!
I need you to BLINK!!
I need you take a mental snapshot with your eyes, now closed.... so Hot and Indelible.....Boring so
Deep in Your Mind and Soul.....with Your Own Thoughts …. NOW, so Profound that You will
Describe This Moment in so Much Detail that You and I …..Together, NOW in a world of Your
Creation...
…..We shall NEVER forget!....
Please don't just call it a star!
Tell me what you feel.....
Tell me how when you looked up!....
you realized for the first time!.....
In your moment of profound clarity!
For the first time Ever...You felt alive!
SHOW ME!!!!
You are a Poet in Our Midst.....
I Need You to Inspire Me with Feelings, not mere words, of this Magnificent Portrait of Blinding
Beauty, So Bright, So Vast, that to read.... to feel your Poetic Thoughts....Your Verbal Rocket Fuel
would Carry My Soul to the Outer Reaches of What is Known!
Let me smell your rose! Make me pause between your verse....make me want to close my eyes and
Inhale deeply....My senses now filled, now immersed within your vibrant red's! Petals so soft and
fragile that to stare at too long.... would cause her God given beauty to wilt! Envelop my room with the
scent of Spring!
Reveal your diamond trapped within the choking coal!...
Its glistening facets...it's sparkling radiance!...
Twist my hungry mind into a pretzel!...
And release me inside your intricate labyrinth!...
…....There is no, Wrong Poetry!....
There is no Can't!!!
That abbreviated ('t) stands for Tags along, trying to Trap you in a world of (mis)fortune Tellers, Telling
you To be Timid and Never Try! Tricking you into believing the definition of Things have already been
completely Told!....
It is Tragic!
Can't is merely...CAN...with baggage!
You
C reate
A lter
N ever settle for ordinary
Because you are!
A Poet in our Midst.........
Copyright 2010 Todd C All Rights Reserved
Blues Fest
By SassySue King
Johnny Winter
strumming guitar
clapping hands
in big tent
streets closed
city echoes blues music
sweat, beer and cigarettes
waft
through the air
strumming guitar
hands a clapping
more water to ease lips’ salt
humidity a wool blanket
bearing down
fibers go up nose
and stifle
bobbling heads
jiggling of butts –
first one side then the other
dancing in rhythm
to the music
guitar strums
hands clap
vibrating tent
stomping feet
rain forecast
not a drop
people jam packed
like berries in the jar
singing the blues
hands clapping
feet stomping
vendors hawk wares
drone of the crowd
strumming guitar
clapping hands
pic and poem SassySue King 6 Aug 2011
Follow (an old nugget that resurfaced and has been reworked).
By Michael Wayne Holland
The sons of mothers do not comprehend. "Don't whisper such abhorrence!" So, they stray into pale fleshy lips that pout, preen, and persuade, as the blue suits with white veneers climb their pious soapboxes, spewing filth, cajoling the masses to follow, follow, follow, where scorpions lurk, and cobwebs bind, antennae waving, eight legs clapping in unison. After all, what's wrong with wise mature men preaching the gospel, singing sanctified songs, seducing young lads, claiming consent? Sixteen year olds, hormones raging, no taller than five foot eight, a first opportunity to uncover forbidden glances in nodding dusky shadows. Repulsive grins whisper and coo, beckoning: “Trust me. Trust me. And, we'll fly to Italy in a bat's eye. Board my personal jet with worn treasure, and copper stains”, even if there is no truth to speak of. And the boys craving for attention, love, touch, respond naturally to their call. They avail and follow, follow, follow, into depth's misery, forgetting to anticipate the enemy. Instead those boys welcome monstrous villains, absorbing spiteful venom senselessly. Only the boys cannot discern a merciless monster from a devoted comrade, so they seek the sanctity of shore and follow, follow, follow, the wicked pied piper who guides these callow boy-scouts to that nefarious point just past the tide where the indifferent undertow pulls fiercely, where folly criticizes and obliterates naiveté. They follow, follow, follow, never discerning, just trusting blindly, propelled to futures unfathomed, where bitter night scurries across bewitched skin. And so they adhere, once again, with lips pursed, never divulging heathen truths. clinging to the gluttons into dusty silhouettes and ghost worlds gray.
The Whistling Pines
By Todd CarterThe Whistling Pines
Deep in the heart of the northern woods
where chieftains and bears and wolves once stood
I closed my eyes and expanded my mind
and heard the chants through the whistling pines
A message so deeply profound, it tingles the skin
a transforming healing from the woodland wind
Textures and colors and sounds as yet, undefined
and I shared a communion with the whistling pines
I inhaled deeply all her grandeur, all her unrest, her silent cries for peace
and I felt her fatigue as she replenished the earth from what man has fleeced
I was reminded of a frontier, once vast and unconfined
but progress is erasing the whistling pines
Technicolor is merely an electronic scheme
To offset the reality of Mother Earths dream
Lines from the matrix, that poisons over time
I learned the truth from the whistling pines
You can't smell the forest on a high def screen
You can't taste her fruits, or feel her sheen
and if we aren't careful , we'll be left behind
without the shelter of the whistling pines
copyright 2010 Todd C. All Rights Reserved
Gray Roots
By shallimarRose Poet/Lyricist
She was only a baby when she was left in the supermarket,
maybe 10 or 11 months old. Left to be put into the
system. The orphanage where she was placed was just
a nunnery where none were without
sin.
Her big brown eyes cried questions that were
only answered in evasions circumstance.
Later she was placed in foster care where she went from foster to
foster looking for a place to call home.
She found herself constantly watching the other school children,
looking in the eyes of each mother'd
child. Longing to know why hers chose to
leave. She questioned her own worth. And what of her
father? was he around? Did he even know of her
exsistance? Unresolved questions that plagued her heart
and soul.
Its not easy being a teenager with no idea who you are, or even WHY you are. Running from herself she hit the streets at fourteen, and grew up way too soon. She came of age in the dimley lit motel room on the eastside of nowhere. He smelled of wine and stale cigars and when he left she curled up into a ball in the middle of the floor and wept... A scene reverberated again and again over several years... but tonight? Tonight she sits alone in the lobby of a Main Street hotel watching as the children from the local highscool check in for PromNight. Silently a tear of regret falls from hardened eyes and she wonders.
Would things have been different if it hadn't been for her
gray roots??
bj smith
aka shallimarRose
Tears With Wine
By Tarringo Vaughan
Tears With Wine
In the corner of this dimmed room sits a crumpled
half torn memory of a love I cried goodbye. Faded edges
ripped in pieces just barely brushing the splinters
of an old hardwood floor as I remember
the day you left me.
We sat there that day/in the middle of a empty restaurant
studying our own silence within a distant stare
knowing the next few moments would be hard
and unfair.
I remember the sky outside painted in a corduroy blue
as I couldn’t bare myself to turn my face
to look at you.
I knew it was over the moment fate shattered
the path we walked together, the moment the ground
we walked on and believed in became tattooed with too many
ruptures and cracks to keep our love balanced.
We once shared a comfort welded inside an unbreakable
shelter of love and that day we witnessed it shatter
silently as our hearts stuttered goodbye.
I walked away only hearing your eyes watch me leave
as I surrendered to a new kind of loneliness;
a resurrected feeling of losing something and someone
that was promised to last forever. But there are no promises
in this world. As I let you go that day, I realized
that every moment we spent was necessary and precious
for present and future healing because love
can be both intoxicating and revealing; it can lift you up
and within the same breaths can drown you
leaving you barely floating, a suffocated feeling.
So here I sit today, in another corner of this same dimmed
room celebrating each kiss, each dance and each embrace
we shared as I sip to the reflection of a face
renewed
I have become a stronger soul ready to give my hand
again and ready to share my importance
because I no longer cry for what was lost, I cry in joy
for what will become. I’ll take these tears with wine.
©2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan
Therapy (Before and After)
By Michael Wayne HollandAfter:
Therapy
Sitting there in your sleek, black suit you appear so serious, eyes transfixed on the garbage pouring from my lips, venomous secrets that had been lying dormant.
I give a sideways glance, then scrutinize your mystic gaze, as tears begin to well. My cheeks burn as I taste bitter salt and flush:
embarrassment, humiliation shame.
The cat is out of the bag. A river beset with blackened ravines and hostile truths come spilling, surging, like a boisterous hurricane, squashing malevolent self-loathing and pitiful cries in silent anguish. Words magically become phrases, and develop into acrid accusations. ! feel somehow buoyant, losing at least ten pounds of mental deadwood and sewage. Turning to confront your unwavering look, I am suddenly floating in a silky, tranquil sea:
is that vibrant concern? Do you sincerely care? Are you even listening?
I’m muttering gibberish again. Scarlet truths seek an outlet, stuffing the room with complex adjectives. Thank God there is no derisive mirror; I must appear an unruly mess:
self-conscious, exhausted, nervous.
I return to your stare, as a delicate smile emanates from the ice queen. You are affected. You comprehend what was previously covert. It isn't my imagination playing lamenting tricks. Brisk fantasies take flight, fleeing my mind like rats from a slow, sinking barge.
“He hurt me. He hurt me.” I testify without perjury. “He hurt me.”
Before:
Therapy
Sitting there in your sleek, black suit You appear so serious Eyes transfixed on the garbage pouring from my lips Venomous secrets that had been lying dormant I give a sideways glance Then, I catch your gaze Tears begin to well up My face burns I taste salt and I blush Embarrassment Shame Humiliation The cat is out of the bag Somehow I feel at least five pounds lighter Your steely look Is that concern? Do you really care? Are you even listening? Gibberish again Scarlet truths seek an outlet Filling the room with complex adjectives Thank God there is no mirror I must look a mess Self-conscious and nervous I return to your stare A soft smile from the ice queen You are affected It isn't my imagination Dark fantasies have taken flight Fleeing my mind like rats from a sinking ship He hurt me He hurt me I said it again He hurt me
One
By Bobby BansalI know this body of mine, these possessions are not mine
These thoughts, these desires and dreams are old dust on my soul
Dare with me to lose everything as we walk naked as One
~ Bobby Bansal
Nowhere But Here
By Tarringo Vaughan
Nowhere But Here
My trust was torn and wrecked when I met you;
I was a dark image roaming the torrential downpour
of sudden heartbreak; a lost soul/
left behind
in puddles of emotional abandonment.
I was the face of a hitchhiker drifting on the outskirts of obscurity
when you saved me
There you were shining down upon me
through the splashing rain
of heartache
and pain.
It was you who injected my body with shivering warmth
through the touch of your smile
and the study of your fingertips which gently
traced the outline of my hearts new discovery.
I was just shattered pieces to you/ scattered
across the wet landscape of a muddied loneliness/drifting
into the skies of a unrecognizable darkness afraid to be seen;
afraid to apologize to my own reflection until you saw
the man in me and now within your embrace, numbness, I
no longer feel because
it is nowhere but here
that I can be recognized as more than a drowning anger
nowhere but here
does the demons of the past disappear
and vanish from this mind of tormented fear
nowhere but here
can I escape the captivity of emotional insanity
reclaiming love’s vanity
and it is nowhere but here,
in your arms, that I can feel whole again
as I breathe through the gaze of your eyes
where a new vision of healing begins.
©2008
© 2010 Revision
Tarringo T VaughanTop Authors
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