Story of The Hour

Power Slut

2011-05-23T12:14:00.000-04:00

She knelt weeping for the loss
Lustful for the gain of
Virginal ravishment, She knew not
The tenderness of purity
Soiled by those sent to protect, She wept
Forsaking the ideology of true loves kiss
Noticing the flaws
Groping for the simplicity to feel
Thrusting she moaned
Calculating she arched coldly
Her gaze never wavered
Wondering

3;5;7

2011-01-15T06:05:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow was Rain
the Lark upon his breast
Trivial songs beckoned the storms to gather.

Ciao You Palpitating Nuisance

2010-11-06T10:39:00.001-04:00

Flutter.
Skip.
Murmur.

Reaching not to soothe but to yank.
Rest be still.
Tired of your musings and trivial delights.
It is maddening what pleasure you take in his brow, smile, and fingertips.

Be still. Or I shall squash you.
You laugh at my utterances of forbearance.
Like jello I knead you and like playdoh you squeeze betwixt my limbs.

Smatterings now Skipping now Muttering.
Quiet, I wish not to hear your beatings o'Hollow drum.
Peaceful endings and not a racing stream of thoughts.
Anxiety, is not mistress here. Independent of the thumping.

I declare I will tear you out and offer you to the sun.
Wither away and let me be.
Memory knows best. My mind must win.
But you sneak upon me.
Struggling I must rise and battle.

My body not yours. Aren't you a limb. So be like a mouse.
Mutter those sweet nothings into the gates of despair.
I shall rule here.
I will rip you into pieces and lay as shards of glass.
Denying the roosting of eloquence of blood.

Ciao you palpitating nuisance.

She is like a Lion in Winter

2010-09-26T10:09:00.005-04:00

Pacing in her gilded cage her thoughts travel towards her future liberation. Longing to roam the plains and taste the sun dried raisins of the East. Too long she has been comforted by what belongs to others; She is like a Lion in Winter.

Her menacing gaze scours the window as an eagle soars, jealously she furrows her brow and contemplates breaching her decorative jail; She is like a Lion in Winter.

Willful and rebellious against the domestic nature of her sex, she searches for the key to unlock her impending despair. Trapped by the contrived ideas of pleasure, painfully she invokes the wrath of the keeper; She is like a Lion in Winter.

Expectation chains her worse than the collar around her neck, she loosens the girdle along her loins hoping to extract the necessary penitence due to a mild suggestion of minding cubs or tempering her obstinate tongue; She is like a Lion in Winter.

Destined to rule but threatened in her attempts and is loaned about as a prized jewel; She is like a Lion in Winter.

A creature who scorns the knobbly fist of control. Derision swells her lips and she shakes her mane at the medium travesty of mediocre, forever looking toward succession; She is like a Lion in Winter.

Unable to bend too the unnecessary she aims to score among the secure and calm. Yet censure mocks and flits; creating the most harrowing of public utterances. Friendships quail in site of such adversity; She is like a Lion in Winter.

Tenuously straining at the reigns and achingly confident in her stature. Clawing at the stale air, resentful of the tame fare. Unsuited for the benign and illustrious quest for moderate beginnings; She is like a Lion in Winter.

Have a care for her temper for like a banshee it can be invoked. Growling her acceptance she careless rakes the ground in regard to her timeless need for adventure for; She is like a Lion in Winter.

A Girl Wants

2010-07-26T18:44:00.003-04:00

Exhilarating emotions of a roller coaster gripping the inner folds of her inner being.

Whip lashed as she uncontrollably clenches. Gasps. Clenches. Gags.

A scarlet of a whisper escapes her tenuously parted lips.

Her tongue trembling travels to catch the excess savoring each morsel.

Stretching her joints defacing the bruising of the previous actions.

Aching with the query of release. Satisfaction.

Thoroughly scanning her body, searching for the tender moment of completion.

A sigh ruffled the thinly laced silence.

Unfurling from the safe harbor, wiggling to caress the ease.

Ooh.

A sea of delight as she purrs.

Chocolat.

the Lady pukes her Heart

2010-07-05T06:47:00.004-04:00

In retrospect, the Lady failed herself. Letting her dreamy idealism conflict with the reality of sorrow.

Charmed she was to fall for his enigmatic nature. Purposefully ignorant that he wasn't Angel or Edward.

He isn't Mr. Darcy.

Yet, still the Lady fought and wished earnestly to give the benefit of doubt so consumed with knowing they weren't ill-fated.

But soul mates.

Perhaps the peaceful countenance she felt was the haphazard haze of consistent bruising of regret, adoration, agony, relief.

Lust or Love. Or was it a meeting on the metaphysical to transcend into the bedding of the physical?

He knows not who the Lady was. What they do. Who view whats. She knows him not.

Delighting in the clouded mystery.

The Lady was so eager to give her heart and wait for the wind to return.

Still awashed in the short sighted memories that are benign based upon the severity of the circumstances.

Now slightly crushed and her human nature is ruined.

Merely a phantom of the former being.

The Lady's awakening still slumbers.

Under the Radar

2009-12-22T11:23:00.000-05:00

He has a beauty that flies under the radar.
Mahogany skin thats almost to dark and never light enough.
Ebony eyes that grasp the betrayal.
He's a calm force that barges in the mundane and demands change.
The timbre in his voice fills with scorn for the emptiness.
His beauty flies under the radar.
He falls constantly yet his muscles bulge from the pressure of walking the line.
He rarely cries.
His smile is fleeting.
He absorbs the world for all its worth and reaches for its soul.
He chuckles. He smirks. He laughs boisteriously.
His beauty flies under the radar.
Always for the people.
Believing in a certain justice.
He isnt a god.
A man. Only a man.
Lithe as a tiger.
His strength lies within his strength.
Flawlessly he projects his flaws.
He isnt God.
He loves.
He cunningly raises his brow and wipes the sweat of trust.
His beauty flies under the radar.

First Rejection

2009-08-21T00:13:00.002-04:00

Ok so I entered some of my poetry into random magaznines, etc. I got my first rejection:

Dear 87PageS,

We are sorry to let you know we won’t be using your work in Sweet. Please recognize that the work that appears in any literary magazine is a matter of taste. Thank you for submitting and please keep writing.

Sincerely,
The Editors

---------------------------------------------

I'm a bit confused... what is a matter of taste? Did they mean like it's up to them. If that is it. Understandable. If they mean my poetry is tasteless than. IDK

- But I'm not discouraged just baffled...

Ciao

Tepid

2009-08-14T21:42:00.000-04:00

I never wanted it to end this way.
I don't remember wishing for death.
I hated all of it.
For what it stood for.
Favortism. Jealousy. Golden. Envy.
I didn't ask for death. Just to run away.
Heartless and evil you said.
I flinched.
I could smell the loatheness and it scalded my touch as I reached for your shoulder.
This isn't pretend. I didn't mean the words.
The glare within your eyes promised retribution.
Who are we. How did this become. Was it under false pretenses we laughed and joked.
Sincere affections posioned with sibiling rivalry.

A Paradigm Shift

2009-07-28T17:34:00.004-04:00

Explanation of the Title
:::Paradigm Shift is a popular, or perhaps, not so popular shift or transformation of the way we Humans perceive events, people, environment, and life altogether. It can be a national or international shift, and could have dramatic effects -- whether positive or negative -- on the way we live our lives today and in the future.::

STOP

Repeat that one more time
Repeat that again
till you feel your
spirit is cleansed
Come out of the closet
but keep space in between

AND

Repeat that one more time
Repeat it over and over again
till your mouth is dry
till your heart palpitates with uneasiness
(is it good?)
Look me in the eyes
but keep your fingers still

ANSWER

Does it feel good
To be victorious
Does it feel good
To be supreme

OR

are you claiming you're done
and its lost its power
shriveled into nothingness
You can't imagine how striking it feels
as it raises and whispers against my skin
Repeat it
Once
Twice
Thrice

KEEP

Does it radiate inside you?
Is the heat cool to the touch?
Repeat it again and again
Are you sickened yet?
or still in bliss?

CONTROL

Repeat it again
Don't keep it bubbled inside
Does it burn like the core of the earth
The magnitude of it all
and
will you run and hide when it gets old
Or will you always take pride in calling me

Nigger.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

No Foreclosure In Sight

2009-07-13T00:23:00.005-04:00

I wanna feel like Apple Green & Lilac's and have that "He Went To Jared's" enthusiasm but it's really from Tiffany because he lavishes me in splendor. Yet he knows my spirit and that I'd condone the diamonds with gold. So he climbs into my soul and wields a fiery temper and my bosom swells at the raising of his brow. Separate. Apart. Never lonely. Resisting to be the yin and yang. Delighting in the mysteries. Daring to delve into the darkness of our eyes. Disliking the urge to subdue my quirks he parts my lips and soothes me to the edge of despair. The tempest raging within surround my very being and he lays his head within my lap. Sitting fireside we smile because there is no foreclosure in sight.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

Pause!

2009-07-11T03:45:00.000-04:00

Ok thanks for viewing my blog.

Just in case you're wondering I did not get a sudden inspiration and popped these out within the last 2 hours.

2 were written today.
-Apple Green & Liliac's
-10=1

The others were written at random times between the months of Jan-May.

To understand the title: "Story of the Hour" visit my other blog and view my original entry.

http://87pages.blogspot.com/2009/02/title.html

I'm a big Kate Chopin fan. I adore Jane Austen. I also love quotes. I also like the dictionary and thesaurus.

I'm in the process of writing a novel or a series of short stories.

I finished my first short screen play (58 pages) however I might make it a feature length. That depends on my dedication.

I'm a poet... I'm a lyricist. I'm a writer. I'm a thinker. My creative juices are flowing constantly. My mind is a web of desire of knowledge.

Don't try to steal my ideas/quotes/written words. I have a lawyer and I will sue. :)

Also, feel free to comment. In the words of E.Badu "I'm a Artist and I'm Sensitive about my Shit" but... feel free to engage me so I can expand my mental capacity.

10=1

2009-07-11T03:40:00.001-04:00

I'm a lyricist. I'm a menage-a-twois of incorporable feelings. I'm a cerebral assassin. Please unshield your mind. As I mentally fuck you over and under and over and under and round and around the mountain time zone. I twittered myself to shock and disbelief as I stewed in the abscess of my mind.

I'm a danger to myself as I pleasure myself. Uttering nothing but the delicious grunts of a mind ill treated by the graphic imagery as the little boys eat each other. Insipid men flaunting their cravats and swindling pounds as they measure their dicks. Tough luck in the world as I dance upon the trapeze wishing it was a pole. Charming my way into her bed as I flounder into the sorry depths of your heart. Flea ridden mortals always reaching with their hands. Smothering the temptation to smother the excitement in his loins.

I am not a temptress. I have no wares. I only desire to end the mechanical engineered beatings of a nonsensical trust. Love gushes and gargles within the throats of the blind. Truth become the necessary evil to disguise the inflammation of two and three and seven lifes.

As I tried to fuck you over. I've fucked myself.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

Apple Green & Lilac's

2009-07-11T03:39:00.001-04:00

If I could make the perfect dude he'd be the split screen side of me. Doing the ain't and bugging the Mic. I'd wrap my arms around him and squeeze the melodrama of my mother out of his sight. If I could write a poem it'd be defining the memory of gargling my Port as it numbs my lid and sparks my tongue.

Trying to see the better side of me. I don't really know if it's there but I pay no mind to the indescribable feelings that should be inside when I view the world. I change my time and shuffle the pace edging from the turbulent passion in my eyes.

I'm the flipping side of the coin. I'm the rough edge of the cotton soaked in olive oil to decompress the frizziness of Venus. Tasting the warmth of fudge as it slivers down my spine I gulp in the fresh scent of desperation. Seeing my heart run amok in Berlin, I slouch into the nothingness of Ohio.

If I could create the perfect me it would be the softer humane side of me. Reaching forward to clasp her in my arms I dissolve into a pillar of garlic. Doing wrong. Doing right. Take a bite out of my neck. To moisturize the essence of my soul with a gavel and sea water. Moon Beams and galaxies. If I could form the perfect song the notes would weep apple's of green and lilacs.

Glory.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

Biological Past

2009-07-11T03:16:00.000-04:00

I had something deep and wonderful to say.

I lost it.

I am classist and egregious at times. I have a thing about being from the hood. I was born to be a hood rat, some ghetto broad, some horrible girl. I'm sure of it. I was adopted and saved from a certain damnation. Is that wrong of me to equate living in the projects/hood/ghetto with failure?

I should be trying to understand and help my people. I'm only 22. Can't I have a certain disdain?? Was it taught me? Perhaps subconsciously. I always boast of reading Jane Austen, Edgar Allen Poe, Edith Wharton, Shakespeare, and of the like for fun. Is it because I'm trying to distance my self from my biological past?

But what is my biological past? Currently it's from being born to an alleged drug addicted mother. But I KNOW it is so much more than that. I feel the essence of royalty in my veins. How could I be anything less.

Schlepping in the slums of his world, her world, their world will not complete me. I want to schlep in my world. And schlepping is for fools.

Everyone is disdainful. I don't disdain the actual people. I disdain the lifestyle and circumstances that put us there. I disdain and dislike the eagerness of some to perpetuate a false reality. Your reality is not my reality. I am more. You are more.

Rise up my people. Because I am rising. I don't want to falter because my backbone is curved. My foundation is you and you are my foundation.

I loathe the world we live today. I am a lady, a duchess, a queen, an empress, I'm the stars beyond the galaxy.

Ok so while this turned into an impromptu poem .. I think it details my overarching feelings.

Any questions?

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

Shadows

2009-07-11T03:13:00.001-04:00

I feel so sad.

I'm lost.

I know its not the end of the world.

But we broke up. You broke my heart.

I had your back, defended at every turn.

Why do you make me cry.

I will be strong. In the end I know how it will end.

Did I put you over God? Is this why we aren't complete?

Rejection. I think I've taken it the hardest.

I can't maintain my shine. I just want to uphold the shield.

But I can't.

I'm falling into the shadows.

I'm Broken.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

You're a rhyming stream of consciousness.

2009-07-11T03:11:00.001-04:00

You're a rhyming stream of consciousness.
I'm spent trying to look within your mind.
I constantly wrangle with the truth behind your eyes.
Your deepness smothers my intellect.
It is of no surprise.
The desire I have uncovered is hatred in disguise.
You spit a knowledge of war and peace.
I can barely keep in step.
You're rhyming stream of consciousness undid my very breath.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

LOST

2009-07-11T03:08:00.000-04:00

I dream of a long lost love. I know I've met him because he is the Truth. I feel real. I know he is the Truth. My love has left me but I don't feel blue. I kiss other guys while I lie in bed my heart thinks of him. He kisses other women but his true eye looks within my soul. He is my long lost love.

I knew him back when I was his husband and he was my wife. We are meant to be. Were gonna be back to where we were just like yesterday became today and tomorrow will be forever. I love him. He is the Truth. I am the Truth. I dream of my long lost love. He will find me yonder a stream and I will travel beyond distant lands. We will find us. We will find love. We will find Truth.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.