Thursday, 26 June 2014

Al fresco James WF Roberts

Al fresco

Alfresco espresso
surrounded by a thousand clones
of myself—or am I just a clone, am
I just a wanna be? Is there loving
in my heart? No living in my life—full
moon washes away this squalor.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.
tick tock. Tickticktickticktock!

why are we all so afraid of the ticking,
of the dreaded hands of fate, failing pieces
into place, the descending fate
of our own biological clocks?

Madman on the streets,
feels, sounds, looks so familiar,
wearing my clothes,
though they’re twenty years out
of style. His eyes burn into me
are they mine? He shakes and berates me
my own reflection, begging for trinkets,

“Spare a few coins, for something to eat?” James WF Roberts 



Something borrowed
something loaned.
Something given,
something forgiven
Never spoken of again.
Can feel your gaze
you’re an hour away,
why do you haunt my dream so?

James WF Roberts

Dark Eyes (erotic) James WF Roberts

Dark Eyes
James WF Roberts

Dark eyes
of midnight
your mouth glistens
like wet leather...
Am I your prey tonight?

Lips touch lip
skin consumed by tongue.
Moth to the flame
I am now.

We danced around desire,
a hundred times, just being
near you sets me on fire.
We embrace in the darkness,
your engorged nipples
rubbing against the fabric
of my shirt.
Hands upon my neck
you push me into the wall
your legs like a vice around my waist,
you whisper in my ear, '

Take me here. Take me now'
You are naked to the world,
my jeans around my knees...
You devour my ear, you bite my lobe,
you are such a cruel yet wondrous tease.

In the lamplight I see your flickering grin,
your dark eyes have seduced me,
your probing lips have consumed me once more... 

Thursday, 12 June 2014

The Bird Is Half Empty By Nick Foreman

the bird is half empty

Its 5:30 in the morning
& i don’t want to go back to sleep.
I’m scared ill begin to think about all my troubles.
So as i lie here,
i can hear the birds chirping.

Most believe the birds are singing.
A celebration of being alive
& ready for a new day.
At 5:30 in the morning they just couldn’t wait
to wake & rejoice.
After all
the early bird gets the worm.

But what if these high pitched notes are that of waling rather than singing?

Perhaps the bird hates sunlight.
Perhaps the bird prefers darkness.
Perhaps the bird realizes how shit his life is,
for as the sun rises through the clouds
he remembers how low  D
        the order of power he is.
Darkness allows the bird to exist
without fear or troubles.

Or perhaps the bird is observant
Aware we humans rise when the sun comes out.
And as soon as we wake
The bird begs for attention!
For perhaps the bird is being stalked
or on the run from a killer
& by shouting outside our windows
there’s a glimmer of hope we might look out and help him.

Perhaps the bird is dying.
Every day that bird outside your window,
is a new one.
Different from the day before.
Wouldn’t you wail in pain
or shout your last words if you were dying?

Perhaps the bird is always singing
But we never pay attention.
For it’s only in the morning we realise
because we are selfish
& grumpy from being disrupted
 our precious sleep.

Perhaps we underestimate the bird’s importance
or made a mistake in research.
Perhaps the birds have been awake all night
causing havoc & chaos.
Giving humans something to fix.
Something to repair.
A reason for living.
The birds chirping is just a signal
to all the birds surrounding
that their work for the night is done.
Get some sleep.

I guess it’s just my interpretation of things.
Glass half full half empty kind of thing.

In the Moonlight. James WF Roberts

In the Moonlight.
James WF Roberts

In the moonlight fronds,
we devour the light.
In the twilight cadence
we emerge.

In the dawning birth,
we retreat from the gaze
of all that is—and all that is not.
Crisp—bitter traces
of morning fast camouflage
our body heat. Daylight
floods the innocence of occasion;
with the realities of guilt.

(From Many Truths of an Absurd Nature)

JUNGLE FEVER (an erotic collaboration) Mark Davis and Angel Poet



The tigress crawled
On all fours
Eyes of seduction
Wanting more
Crawling up
Your body so sweet
Licking you up
tonight’s treat
Eating you
Licking slowly
between your
Approaching your tender
Wanting more
Caught in her stare
Her prey
No choice
Let her have her way
Licking preparing
Her feast
Feeding a need
This untamed beast
Laid out for her
To dine
A growl a taste
“Your mine”
Feline body descends
Shivers through him sends
Growls bares her teeth
Leaves him squirming
poetry pic
Your mine tonight
My handsome prey
I’m not done
With you today
Lay back and
Let it be
Let this feline
feast ,on thee
Little nips
Wrap my lips around
Your dick
Tasting your drips
Aaah .. So hard !
Makes me wet
Holding back
“Not Yet”
Slowly descending
Feeling your tip
My juices drip
Rock my hips
As I begin to
devour you !
Descend on me
Take me in
Devour me
A feast of sin
Reaching up
Your breasts I grip
You bend
Bite hard
Scar my lip
Riding hard
Your sex devours
Ravaged lust
Jungle of ours
Claws grip
A shot of pain
Squeezing tight
Prepared to drain
Held tight
Between your thighs
Hunger thirst
There in your eyes
poetry tiger
Roaring now
Must let go
This Jungle Fever
Has me in it’s throes
But need to make
this moment last
Carnage my prey
Eat it slow
Enjoy each bite
As I go
Slow it down
Savor you
Inhale our sex
Can you smell that ?
Can you feel that ?
I’m vibrating wildly
Just for you
Clamping you in tight
In my grip
One last thrust
One last bite
Releasing now
Oh !
so right !
Exploding juices
Hear me roar
This tigress has
Feasted on you
poetry tigeress

Cheers to silence by Nick Foreman

Cheers to silence by Nick Foreman 

how do you record dialogue
hear the joy pain & sorrow in a voice
understand emotion and language of the world
when you hate people?
when the only voice you hear is yours
reminding you your still alive.

when a disaster happens 
all i can think of
is how long it will take 
for people to stop talking about it.

save me printed word
give company to me & my scotch
in this dark silent room
are you my friend?
i read your pages that wreak
of ash 
& whisky
& i want another taste

While the world is put behind my bedroom door
my saviour is brought by the drunks & lonely men
may we meet & share a drink & talk

Or maybe not 

I'm 26, studying with hopes of being a social worker. Started writing poetry first year out of high school after discovery "the doors".  I'm influenced by the beats. I believe poetry helps analyse and clarify my everyday self inventory and existence.  Nick Foreman. 



He waited for months 
Just for this day 
Had a play date with mistress
She saved the date

She said 
Called to confirm
The time my dear 
And please do not 
Unless you're here

I want you nice
and hard for me
I have a special scene 
"You'll see "

A cuff or two 
Saint Andrews cross 
Awaits you 

So get yourself lubed
With a plug my pet 
my strap on is ready 
I'm so wet ! 

So off to mistress
He will go 
With his best leather thong 
Balls hanging low 

To show mistress
Just how hard & ready he is
To feel the pain 
She inflicts 

He's been bad 
He's Mis behaved 
Needs to feel her pain 
needs punishment 
For his sins 
To cleanse his soul 
Reign him in 

For he has hurt 
A friend he loved 
And needs to wash 
Away the blood 

He cut her open 
And left her to bleed 
But mistress will heal him 
Make him see
 how bad 
a pet
He's been 

She'll spank him 
Tease him 
Fuck him hard
Make him whole 
Not let him cum

But he'll think of her 
When he lets go
He'll scream 
her name 
With every BLOW
Remember how he 

Let someone who 
loved him go to hell
He Fell into another's spell 

But mistress will give 
The penance due 
Make him whole 
Make him bleed 
Until he licks away
Her cream 

But all this time ALL he'll 
is the face of an
He left to bleed


#AngelPoet #Angel #eroticpoetry  #mistress 

Bipolar Nick Foreman

Bipolar paranoia.
On the professor’s deathbed
The priest enlightens:
If you commit to Catholicism
It would surely cure you.
Two learned individuals
Exhausted topic. Cruel torture, cruel resisting.
One is a freak
One is a fraud.
Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke
You once told jokes remember. We both laughed.

The lovers kiss & the demons whip
It’s a lonely equator.
Weeping desire, hopeless choices.
Is it a sin finding solace?
It seems so far away,
From darling children to hopeless ambiguity.

In my most lucid of dreams
Acclaim has almost arrived
But without a doubt her voice is heard
The woman with voodoo eyes
I believe you speak in riddles
A sordid young man with misanthropic views
Do you know that this is rhyming?
Isn’t that what you do?

In her house, I could never sleep in the comfort of blankets
Like the stars undefended
Dawn appeared to strip me bare.
In her house, I gathered dust on fingertips.
Holding hands with the wall
In her house, only I know how cold the floor was.

In my tight blue culture jeans
With my light blue cigarettes
I remove my green army jacket
Like I’m too late for the wrong war.
I stand limp and wounded under a surge of bullets:
How much money have you taken?
Peddling dreams you knew we would buy.
Like a drug dealer
Like a dream peddler
Riding boxcars with your guitar & bundle.
Who daya t’ink youse are?”

As always with romantic inebriation,
I fear your fear.

I wish I could be the hurricane poet.  

The bird sings no matter what the weather brings James Downs

The bird sings no matter what the weather brings
The bird sings no
What the weather brings

He finds a way to say exactly what he wants to say in so few notes

If life were to go
Right now in a whirlwind

He would keep trilling out his sound until he could make it no more

It matters little to
If we do not understand

Because he is really only speaking his soul out across the land

And if we tried to
Do that
Ourselves…people would wonder
Does that person realize we heard them the first twenty times

The bird knows who he
And that is what he says

I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am I am
And so he is
James Downs

Extreme by James Downs

“We’re all going crazy, but some of us are havin’ fun”~~Treme’

Stains up to here and here
A fever marked chart of what
Flushed through and swept some
Of us away for good…more like ill
Walls are spotted with the mark
Of the wave…an evil plague of
Neglect and worse…they didn’t
Care how we got out of town
Row Vs Wade

If they’d only showed they’d
Cared…at all…we would have
Taken it forwrd…some left in
Disgust at our marginalization
Puttin’ it down to the greed
That guides everything in this
Country…but there was some
Thing even more insidious…
They wanted us to go ahead
And either get out or die…get
Out…or Die…who hell they to
Say our lives are not worth the
Plug nickel they have so little
Spent on us…so you know what

We did it
All ourselves…oh we can’t bring
Back the dead or those who left for
Ever…but we can bring the rest of us
Back…and we’ll show them what true
Gentility means…we help each other
Rebuild our lives…and we’re gonna
Have a second line and dance and
Sing…laugh and bring the water
To a real boil

James Downs
Nine years this August since Hurricane Katrina

Thursday, 5 June 2014

Emotional light Debbie Lee

Emotional light
Debbie Lee
[Partially inspired by listening to Evanescence - My heart is broken]

The vapour of you
disappears amid trembling,
sweet evanescence.

Bright white and intense,
you colour my emotions
with incandescence.

a chemical attraction
of luminescence.

Emotional light Debbie Lee

Emotional light

Debbie Lee
[Partially inspired by listening to Evanescence - My heart is broken]

The vapour of you
disappears amid trembling,
sweet evanescence.

Bright white and intense,
you colour my emotions
with incandescence.

a chemical attraction
of luminescence.

Turmoil Debbie Lee

Turmoil - First Published in Bullying Awareness by Barry Mowles and friends [Print & Online].
(Trigger warning: bullying, depression, suicide)

I’ve heard the ties that bind
seem like vanity.
Heartbroken, I’m consumed
by insanity.

My mind is a series
of sharp dimensions
and unbroken circles
of swirling tensions.

Decaying demons prey
upon me like vultures.
Contradiction abounds;
I’ve lost my taste for sculptures.

Patience is a virtue;
power in a commercial;
pain as clear as crystal;
subdued and artificial.

I face lunacy aware
that the purity of all words
are being forsaken to
human cattle, lost and absurd.

For me, perception relies
on a sense of duality.
Poetry next to science;
beauty begets brutality.

Although my heart is broken,
I pursue another distraction
to ease my mind of sorrow;
lust fuels my action and attraction.

I feel I’m gaining knowledge
that love is just a word for revenge;
some cosmic joke on humans
so we wish and hope for it to end.

I wish the world could change
into a tropical aquarium;
all black hearts would transform
and there’d be no more lack of variation.

But no, my rage has compounded,
I am sunburned yet frigidly cold,
gaping at unsmiling fish blinking
at my sense of suffocation and isolation.

[In Australia, please call 13 11 14 (Lifeline) for confidential telephone crisis support services available 24/7 from a landline, payphone or mobile. Anyone experiencing a personal crisis or thinking about suicide can speak with trained volunteers who are ready to listen, provide support and referrals. In Australia, there is also the Suicide Callback Service on 1300 659 467.]

Hell is other people. James WF Roberts

Hell is other people.
James WF Roberts

Hell is other people.
Misery is love. 
Solitude is heaven.
Salvation—a night full of strangers,
no possibility of future interactions.
No possibility of ever acknowledging
each other passing each other on the street.
Hope is a prison—that only the foolish
condemn themselves to.
Does she really live on love street?
In her eyes—am I just another fresh piece of meat?

Hell is other people.
Misery is love.
Solitude is heaven.
Bourbon dulls the senses,
and cigarettes only remind me
of your kiss.

Raining all night again,
the night’s found an expression
of my frustration…
Hell is other people.
(from Many Truths of an Absurd Nature)


between the third and fourth
glass of wine
we end up
talking about
the kind that come around for quickies
every now and then.
the sixth and seventh
glass of wine
I kind of get jealous
because you started
talking about
raunchy hook ups.
Raunchy hook ups
the kind that go down in McDonalds playpens
just before they stop serving Egg McMuffins.
You know?
raunchy hook ups
the kind that go down in backseats of broken-down jeeps
in abandoned parking lots.
the eighth and ninth
glass of wine
I have to tell you
I don't meant to beat dead horses
or throw salt on snails on rainy days
but I'd rather sit through 100 Easter sermons
than sit around
talking about
And it's not that I hate all Christians,
I just hate Christian,
your ex-boyfriend.
- Black Angel

Panic-attack girl Debbie Lee

Debbie Lee
She ran into bricks,
Sweet and low,

How about 20 milligrams
Of Carbamazepine?
Talking too fast, but
Who would know?

Sweet and oh so low,
She is a panic-attack girl,
Anxious and unfathomable,
Crying, tired and unstable.

For her brain,
She craves silence.
For her life,
She longs for distance.

Without words,
She wants to fly away.
Soaring without anything,

Alone in the song,
Colours now pastel.
She feels battered, war-weary.
Not even a soldier.

Panic-attack girl - First published on the Pink Panther Magazine blog [12 June 2011]