https://www.instagram.com/wired_poet?igsi=MWM1eGU3ZjJ4MHFoeg%3D%3D&utm_source=qr

I write about love, friendship, distance, memory and the things we usually leave unsaid.
Recently started posting some pieces on @wired_poet and would genuinely love honest feedback from other writers here.
Feel free to drop your page too.

Im quit new to this so I'd love as much feedback as possible! I'd like to share two very short poems Iv made.

MY DELICIOUS DANCE

Wow how stunning you look today

I'll take you home so that we may become something beautiful

As we dance

Your warm auroma sizzles

Your soft touch flows

Your familiar taste melts on my toung

Time and care has crafted your perfection

Wow Campino

This meal looks like a beautiful sunrise

Smells like my favorite place

And tastes like familiarity

How did you make this?

I simply danced to the thought of you

My love

ITS OK WITH YOU

The constant scream of the crickets outside are the hands that hold me above an ocean of sleep

For hours they refuse to let go

And in that moment I throw all of my hate at them

But one night as the crickets scream

I lie next to her

Our bodies close

We wouldn't have it any other way

And I

Filled to the brim with

The love from her heartbeat

The warmth from her breath

And the familiarity of her smell

Now the crickets hold me in a pool or extacy for one moment longer

And I hope they never let go

Hum a tune to put me to rest
Because it is sleep I most detest
Draw yourself near me
That my eyes may grow weary
You bring me peace of mind
And it is no where that I can find
One such as you

I have been in the grips of shadows in my own mind.

Haven't we all.

I speak of the whispers under the screams.

Haven't we all.

Guilty of what I can and cannot control.

What I have and have not done.

Presented with peace,

Dragged by terror.

The light too high to reach,

The tunnel too deep to see.

The urge to care.

The reality of nothing.

The captivating voice, that could only be yours: Ordinary bee's nectar

Inhaling it is stronger than drugs,
It’s seeping through my finger tips,
Masks could never prevent the bug,
As it moves through your eyes and out your lips,

There’s no protection for you or me,
The type of feeling that comes naturally,
And once it takes ahold of your mind,
We’re both in trouble, nowhere to hide,

Because the more you take, I’m inclined to give,
There no words to describe when the serotonin hits,
And now we’re both tripping over the high,
You couldn’t save me even if you tried.

You over there
Come here
Stand right there
Take my hand

I lead, you follow
Now let’s sway to the rhythm
Back and forth
Left and right

The music transports us
To another time and place

Trusting one another
Feeling of touch and pull
Twisting and turning
Downward dip
Pressed against each other

Moving like a wild river
But in sync
Together as one
Navigating the floor

Like moving chess pieces
Around the board

Smiling, laughing, gazing
Intended silence

Romantic, messy, poised
Sensual, beautiful

Until the music
Slowly drifts to silence

Forevermore

The sun undressing itself in the morning showing all of it’s colours, myself being a stalking figure is to be ashamed to be even worthy set my eyes on such as like a flour shedding its own flesh for a new. I am not worthy of such sights nor even worthy of these they call binoculars. But the mind tempt from conveying my flesh and eyes apart from each other. Of which I cannot contain such elegance and beauty.

I want to blame you for what you've done to yourself.
A dessert to celebrate my abandonment.

Yet my mumbled prayers sag with resentment.
I don't know a Father who does not provide for His children.

My roots pull out easily from this soggy Earth.
Mark my grave next to yours.

``` "The good ol' days" You grew up back then and you would say, oh, those were the good ol' days, perhaps remembering something you and your friends did that you think no one else does nowadays,

Or, maybe, you're thinking of how harder things seemed to be back then,

it all starts with a single thought, an idea, you look out and see how the world is moving lately, and then you feel it, a certain memory touching a part of you that you haven't thought about in so long, something from the past that was a part of how you grew up,

oh, those were the good ol' days you say to yourself,

we had it better back then you think, and these kids nowadays don't even know,

there are less things today that are remotely like all those things from back then,

and now all kinds of thoughts flood in as you pull out your smartphone and search for when the sun still rose in the east and set in the west, before the magnetic poles shifted, you look at images of when the seas were still blue and the marine life within were still beautiful and serene and not this unable to eat toxic amalgamation of lovecraftian shapes and horrors,

you see pictures of green forests and snow capped mountains, before the droughts turned trees into kindling and set the world on fire, before the greenhouse gases melted all the snow and ice,

today you would be hard pressed to find snow beyond your freezer, you show the kids and tell them, imagine this all over the ground, inches deep, falling from the sky, so much of it that you could play with it, you could make balls with it and throw them, you could create fake men with enough of it, and back then, enough trees were still around where you didn't need a permit to break off a branch, so you could use some for the arms, you could go to the fridge and without thinking, use a carrot
for its nose and coal for its eyes, so much of those things existed back then,

the kids just shake their heads, they say that's crazy, and you just tell them, what do you know, you're just kids, but you know, those were the good ol's days.

I look forward to sitting down with you, writing you notes that I'll never send and you'll never read.

Stapling pages to the end of our story. Printed in USA. FIVE STAR SOUVENIRS, INC.

The Woman I wish I knew,
whose skin is pale and pure, like flakes of snow.
Her jet black hair flicks in the wind
like the work of a great calligrapher —
as black as beneath her eyes.

Her eyes pierce my heart
with their amber glow —
matching the ember of her cigarette;
leaving ash upon her clothes,
that appear poorly sewn —
as if she sewed it all on her own.

I met her standing on an iron bridge
on a bitter misty morning.
I saw her gazing down —
with a smile, that brought light
to this grey, moody place.
A smile as if she knows something —
that nobody else does.

She talked to me:
about what she could have;
about what she should have.
She listened, closer than
anyone ever has before.

I ask what's next for her,
then with her delicate red lips
she takes a drag,
exhaling in a puckered fashion —
like a poppy blooming.

With a sudden calm she utters:
"There is somewhere I must go,
somewhere far —
somewhere unknown —
somewhere we all go."

I ask: "What is this place?"
The Woman looks at me —
with a faint strange pity,
she says:
"You'll see."

The Woman takes one more
drag of her cigarette;
stubbing it out underfoot,
as she walks away.
I watch as her silhouette fades —
swallowed by the mist.

The Woman I wish I knew.
I didn't even ask her name.
I wonder —
I wonder if she made it to that far away place.

I am a turd mite on the back of the festering ass of the multiverse. Welcome to never going home, feathers and wax, and heart attacks.

Dont even read this shit
I plucked every word out the garbage
Cant find the G in the clit
N my dick so small it fits in ink cartridges

Tried to start a hustle
But got robbed by a pimp
Went to cop some weed
Got sold oregano instead of hemp

Five foot 8 i stand
Fat as fuck, cuz i eat everything i can
You may call me stan
But momma told me, im the muthafuckin’ man

None of them are deal breakers
The older I get war takes over
Whatever the person brings pray be fitting

Self on request I'll have all of you in one sitting
Spike the digestion clear we are all gluttons
Coast is clear seaside seductive and bare

Sandy under the tree of denial near shore strike edge
What species of Devil soul revolves mercilessly within

Mine is the eyes for sight
corrupted by oncoming ice

Crabs beat false armored chests
in the last of autumn's breath

Madness comes as maiden swings 
placing merit in spontaneiety
Piece of me manifests but tides eat it all back

Bark of the tree sparks a chat
Under nourished mut peels it back

Unloved heart
Somewhere lost in the bough

A hole dug out passage in the sand
Down to leviathan

Ride it, believing and reaping downward 
Look what you become
Lost and aimless seething

The older I get the more I become war
Absurdity lifts me, heavy vultures approach
Hounds howl and bark hoarse near the lapping

A hammer pounds that is my brain the crash of the waves
The virtuous merged and fused with the depraved
You crawl upon the ice and stand in the flurry
The beach head desolate

Kindling where the tree was
burnt rope from the old swing
Two axes clinging and sharpening each other in turn

The clash bang of the mortal clock 
Lap lap of impotent ocean

Sway in dead breeze
wandering headless for a century or so
And repeat over through the stump of that bloody beach tree

Risen up inside the oncoming gray black
ride it up storm fall fitting
Passionate Sex with cloud splinter

Off purple arcs climactic 
Fulmination of restless Gods

Mine eyes see autumn gone

I am following the string

On the sole axis it has

When exhausted, I am down

And will retrieve with force

When I am pulled from above

Like turbines in the air

Or wheels on the tracks

I revolve when I am dropped

But only if you hold on

If you let go I will not

If you let go I will fall

Not with any rhythmic spin

Instead I surrender to

Sweet gravity's loving arms

On my way to the hard floor

But if you want to come back

If you want to readdress

I will lie where left before

Waiting to be dropped again

This time with your love and care

Life has its lessons far more than a few

And we learn as we live every day something new

About ourselves and others and the world we live in

Where some have to lose for others to win

In life there is many an up and a down

The financially wealthiest are not always the happiest of people in every town

But it is better to be unhappy and financially wealthy than unhappy and financially poor any day

As money is quite important in truth one can say

But having said this money is not everything

To many financially wealthy people happiness it does not bring

Wise words live today from the days of old

That happiness is a thing that cannot be bought or sold

In a world where some have to lose for others to gain

Life has its lessons as a truism remain.

Francis Duggan

Through the Wringer

He looked at me with his eyes full of love and longing, but now irritation paints his face with a look of disgust and hostility.

His words were once sweet, like syrup coating my tongue—words that were gentle and kind, that caressed my skin softly.

Now his words are glazed with resentment and dripping with venom and vexation.

His once-soft words and gentle voice have turned into sharp, ugly words, telling me to just be with my own kind.

Those words hit me like a slap in the face, but instead of feeling the smack across my cheek, I can feel each one cut through me like a sharpened blade.

The next word landed like a punch right to my gut, blow after blow, but I felt my heart tear instead.

But I can never figure out where all of his rage and anger are coming from.

It’s funny how he put me through the wringer. My skin stayed unbruised, but my insides absorbed the impact, blow after blow, even though it never showed.

The corridor was gray and moist
Players walking up and down trying to maintain swagger in exhaustion
A damp towel drops to the long wooden plank bench
Eyecontact fierce, resistance, curiosity

The limousine snarling in the second lane of the porte cocher
Wheezing as it was almost forty years carrying the arrogance
Through the front door cologned and cocky projecting a face
A laugh and a pun later in the back with daquiri

A fat tick behind the ear you could call a brain
Some wouldn't go that far as the engine was still idling
The front entrance full of human worshippers
With numbered shirts draining them of any life purpose

Failing marker pens and low zombie repetitions of their club anthems
Wailing on and humming trying to outdo the idling limousine
Praying and hoping that the tinted window would crack and
a grace-saving hand would emerge to mark their life valid

Simon Bernard Elliott

I lay you down
On the changing table
And change
The third poopy diaper
This morning.
I just put you in a new onesie
Since you spit up
All over your first one
And my second shirt today.
I’m still so tired from last night
Why do you only sleep well
When your dad isn’t out of town
For the night?
As I slip your clothes back on
I catch you smiling so big.
You’ve decided lately
That you love the feeling
Of getting dressed.
And you just started laughing
A day ago.
Boy, you’re lucky
And so am I
That you’re just
So darn cute.

I find myself out of words trying to translate something that was never meant to fit inside a language
You see they gave us twenty six letters and none of them are enough
I’ve stayed up past 3am trying to arrange them into something worthy of your name
But every poem I finish feels like a painted door on a wall
Beautiful to look at but you still can’t walk through it
You are the kind of person that makes clocks forget their only job
Every second finds a reason to stay a little longer
Like time itself gets greedy and wants more of you too
I’ve been writing drafts of you since before I knew your name
Every version I wrote was close, but close was never going to be enough
But now I know, you’re not a poem. You’re the reason I keep failing to write one.

You are very important
The world bears imprint of your steps
If you send a hale
I will echo your call and ask about the wind
Where you rest, allow me sit at your fire
And I will talk of colored stars
Should you ask for silence
I will let the dawn speak