Category Archives: STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION
No one knew of the flying woman
No one knew if she would fall
No one knew she hovered above
Watching those who stumbled on the cobbles after painting the town red hoping for a bloody breast to fill their stomache one night more.
Free range chickens -motherless
Hoping that no proud rooster would make an early morning call
For one night peace could be theirs thanks to the flying woman they found spread out
Life is mostly forlorn.
Render me unfaithful
Eternal sin stains noir shades on my skin
grief knocks at my door with a leash in his hand
reads me my rights, instructions of the feelings I will parade with a downcast glare remember this moment of shame – remember the touch of the unfamiliar intimacy
Emotions torn from the sacred part Please don’t stare
Turn your eyes away -oh shame sit down I have lost my dignity – the grace to care
sinners are the reason the saints are adorned with absolute conviction in Believers prayers
(a stream of consciousness writing prompt 10 line poem REGRETS Poems_For_Life
She is in the mood to arouse you and She wants you to reciprocate.
She has a technique she uses to spruce up her petals.
inject a colour dye
No doctors needed to take an oath
No need to hang dry and desiccate.
All she desires is to tempt you with her words.
She looks upon them as her Fire stoked Lords.
Simple and overused is tedious when used as commoner slurs.
So titivate is something She does.
It doesn’t require a zazen mind state to create an immediate demand for 1950 style Fords.
Take a dust feather to your ear, tickling it ever so slightly, a murmured breathe escapes – to let you know she is quite eager and indeed keen.
Arouse you with whispers of sweet adjectives.
Use words that excite you to shudder instinctively.
Now She needs to make herself seen.
Fluttering eyelashes – butterfly kisses.
Sensual and cute -tempting yet blissfully innocent.
Pure and light and dreamy enough to set your imagination to seek out. Whatever is in that mind of yours…
She wants you to know She finds you alluring
Which of your senses does she wish to tease out the most?
The ones that arouse mental fuckability from an agile, graceful host.
Often she craves a tidy up just to try out something new.
Freshen the vibe up.
Create dribbles from your lush dew.
Bubbles have more of more a rambunctious appeal.
Invite a sense of pure, exquisite fun
Her mind seeks out to imbue.
So to titillate you, she has to titivate herself.
Seems rather rueful
Please be curious about what she has in her mind –
Truth is her middle name.
Look by all means.
Dare is the name she gave to herself when she was born.
Feel free to question her too.
She speaks in orgasms when someone can make her laugh with their wit or indeed see a sparkle of hers thrown our carefree and unconsciously.
successful relationships are a honed practised recipe inciting those who have an inkling or some fledgeling clue.
Where were the people when I needed them
Were they where I left them?
Did the full moon transform them into werewolves
In a warehouse coveted to me?
Why wear the fur of the monstrosity of nature?
Or are humans wary that they need some creature to poach so they can reach the clouds ?
Were this a poem,
A parable of wear and tear
I’d gladly state my animosity wherever it would state:
I’m a human feral.
A token to the lost parade
Share the flag of those who ask where to care and when!
How could you disguise that face smothered in disgrace
By attempting to console me with that condescending utterance: I could have held the EHA behind your back.
The SS goose stepping all sloppy like they were in an Augustan rain parade.
The Gods mercifully laugh at the man below who believes he’s a Demi
Demon suckling off the maleficent mede milk of Zeus’s pseudo mother’s
Others like you Bongaard with your safe guarding a half littered candle of conscience.
Once philosophers sparked off concubines thesis in riddles.
Ticking off the boxes-she says, Flicking those remnant ticks off her manky teeth whilst she puffs and huffs out the front door.
Who do I talk to when I’m feeling mentally incapacitated ejaculating seems too complex to grasp?
Bongaard can only gasp: Well, me of course, I’m your CPN.
She gestures to her limp, matted ginger vapid soul.
I’ll close the door behind you . Don’t bother I think, Insipid to the core if you can found them in that mass of fleshy ,ginger ,ruddy rotund-she’s invented a new geometric shape-I can’t help but watch her in unbelievable awe
Cos I know she daren’t turn back to gaze at a face that was and could still be hers if she didn’t have a profession to safe guard her. (roll of the eyes — only cos I need to lubricate my contact lenses) .
I’m not going to let her see me cry again.
Every session I hear her garbled muzzled diatribe about her life,
Bongaard, you are paid 24 K a year to do a job — shut your gob or do I have to show you where I hide the flipping cookie dough cream tub?
Find out how your’e gonna help me top help myself. I can’t do it alone I’m on both knees . How many suicide attempts do you have to sit through or read about or eat over with your unintelligible mind-space app and you archaic DBT clod splash therapy How many more gesticulations do I have to avert my perverted gaze because you blatantly cannot see.
The greatest heartache is the tears doubting this won’t be my last breathe my grande plan will find me in a goldie locks bed-wide awake , Paramedic-dejavu -ing that I gulet myself to A&E to get checked out.
Not in this state
I still think that ole Gemma is kind not like Rachel nor bongaard.
Gemma is divinity at the cusp of this dastardly escapade-an epitome of life.
Flashback: Crisis team! trello that treble holler, I’m, feeling suicidal again 7 days coma near to death suicide
You’ll be fine, dearie, I’ll just put the receiver of these words out in the gutter with my ethics.
An outline silhouette frowns ready to break his idle bones
A lingering chapati scent of a glazed woman longing to dance amounts the misfits in her town.
Welcome home-I love that sign — that font so silent so serene.
You don’t care, my better half a Achilles heel screams spittle into the wounds I hold in infested band aids.
For another moment I feel ashamed-eyes don’t know wether to look at that piece of lint on the stairs or raise mine to give him a stand off that he would never attempt to stir the birth of all my misery that I can’t regulate my emotions even if it would stop my heart beat- finally
The fastitious musty gut butt dances in a disorder darned fashion Disintegrates the log piles.
The fire is gone . Yet, I cry for I felt it-a smudge on my morning complexion Yet, I cry for I am half doused by that arrow tic carved matchstick.
the fruit frilled guilt lasts as long as the hem of these petty coated words promoting the warfare of safe guarding our children in a bed ridden world based on a frame of text books.
Do not judge me
For my sapling survival
a birth of a scape goat to inscribe the words of a free spirit
With no country
I claim as my own
I am who I choose as my identity
No political movement can discriminate against my spirit
For I denounce those who cannot see the truth
In front of them
even when they kneel
The only divine death
With nothing to face.
The unknown scripture of abandonment sans fear
My husband slept on the floor again.
My daughter slept out away from home
I stayed upstairs in our kingsize bed
I’m beginning to detest the word again
Behold, the black witch inside her!
“For one day she will realize her true powers to the full and command her random intents.
And, so the ‘magic’ of her possession will will cause the chaos to come,all those toxic around her will tumble.
Bruised and scarred
They will all roll away.
The witch inside her will turn in on herself and become a tiny black , pincered scorpion. If she is arrested under a great ultra light she will glow.
Yes, she will glow fluorecently so, and appear other worldly and of exceptional brilliance. That is when she will decide sting herself to the death.
maybe she will use her power to create ‘real magic’ that sings with a beating heart-one full of love and acceptance.
This. Is.The. End.