Sunday, July 28, 2013

Peace, Love & Poetry


 
As the morning sun kisses the tip of the horizon, I am reminded you are Zion's new dawning.
And for your sake I will not keep silent;
as impassioned rifts of energy tear thru me, splitting me
n2 wisdom.
Now my vision is clearer 2c u r exceptional.

 
And as the day mixes within the night
causing midnight and midday somewhere in the middle;
we agree to meet with methods and melodies that produce the morning
 
dew.

 

Snap snap as my hands clap...
exposing poetic expos inking with inkling as I clue u in with examples as I feed u samples of poetic snippets…

 
U make me squeeze my thighs together with your verse.
Unrehearsed metaphors invade my sugar walls.
It’s all I can do to keep still.

 
Fingering my…
similes…
until I come…
closer to the sensational tingling you bring when you lyrically lick my syllables.
Blissfully rhythmical when I grind my clitoral cortex up against your intelligent word play.
I appreciate that you take the time to tease my mind’s frame… make me say your name…
 
 


 
I see you came to play as you painted a pretty picture... that I will mentally frame... and sexually color with disdain...
I maintain my composure, while erecting thoughts to make you spill your sweet metaphors;
as I use my figurative language to spread between your lines, reading from left to right... horizontally.

 
I lay my syntax real close, almost touching and teasing you until u are climatic.
Having u implementing an implosion of mental and sexual sins...
and before I am finish I will ask...
do you want me to begin again?!?

 
Shay & KFarrell
Wordsfromourpen
 

Sunday, July 7, 2013

ISLAND FANTASY


 
Feeling high, like extra fly; free like a tropical breeze.
Thinking of things like glazed pineapples and sipping on
coconut crème.
My heart flutters like the lovely swing of butterfly wings,
cuz I’m in love with the finest man with a Cuban tan.
Wanna take his hand and do an island dance
n2 the last hour of the night,
like right before sunrise.
 
Then we’ll close our eyes & I’ll
rest my head on his chest & he’ll
rest his thigh over my hip & we’ll
slip into a beautiful slumber
until another forever begins.
 
© 2013 Impresse

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Writer's Block


Writer's Block

Lately I have been wanting to write. 
But the words just will not come. 
Feels like something is suffocating my cerebellum; 
to the point where I'm dizzy. 
Because you see, writing is like breathing for me. 
And if I needed a transfusion I would probably die, 
because I bleed poetry. 
It is so exasperating trying to set my thoughts free, 
So many ideas, concepts and theories trapped in my mind... 
damn, I need to write. 

I'm desperate to scribe my mental text into manuscript. 
I'm tired of pacing, concentrating, waiting on my muse to visit me. 
The state of my ability to create is at a critical stage. 
My heart rate quickens, my pulse weakens & 
I think I might flat line if I don't come up with some type of composition. 

See, I'm a poet. So lyrics have intertwined themselves into my central nervous system; 
so not to write, is to die. 
And I am feigning for some spoken word 
wishing I could shoot it into my veins like a good drug 
and get so high that I'd be saved from the despair 
of staring at blank sheets while they stare back at me: 
expecting my words to write themselves. 

Writer's block has me vexed. 
I always thought it was a myth until it hit me, 
Now I'm tripping; 
expecting the paper to tell my pen what to say. 
So actually I'm battling principalities; 
searching, even rehearsing my old stuff. 
You know its messed up when ur lyrical appetite leaves you 
hungry for words and u can’t even get a meal. 

But I know I can feel it, 
the lyrics 
boiling in the pit of my stomach 
waiting for me to spit them up. 
But I'm frustrated, feels like my brain's been castrated, 
because still no words will come to me. 
So now desperation has me up at 3 in the morning 
thinking about who I should call to relieve this stress. 
But, I digress it will be a fruitless enterprise. 
I need my cipher opened, not my thighs. 
I need a lyrical dick to penetrate my mind 
and climb inside my vision until I'm filled with rhythm enough 
for me to bust 
open 
and words start flowin' and no matter how tight I squeeze my 
thoughts together 
I can't stop the poetry from coming all over the paper. 
And the aftershock's got my pen shaking and my arm aching 
from the intense friction between my left and right brain 
communicating their word mission. 

And I know I can feel it, 
the lyrics, boiling in the pit of my stomach 
waiting for me to spit them up. 
But still no words will come to me 
and I got this going insane feeling inside of me. 
I'm skimming the surface of my creativity 
can't get deep enough to be free of this impending insanity. 
I'm panicking 
preparing for a head-on 
collision with creativity 
I hope it hits me 
like a mack-truck 
but for now 
I'm still waiting 
making friends with writer's block...


(c) Impresse