Tag Archives: Metaphor

Pack Alpha

Fangs elongated as he drinks
In the air with flared nostrils,
The scent of prey arouses:
His blood … his hunger … his lust

He saunters in her direction,
All around her dulls, she beckons
The air moves to let him stalk:
Her blood … her hunger … her lust

A wolf hunting under the moon
Stars don’t cast her reflection,
Too pure to understand the danger:
His blood … his hunger … his lust

Her attar teases his claws held.
With juvenile naivety he strikes,
Too late he sees truth in a look:
Her blood … her hunger … her lust

She mocks his blind attack,
The wolf recoils within his skin.
Too strong for him, she isn’t prey:
His blood … her hunger … their lust

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Posted by on Wednesday 22nd May, 2013 in Poetry


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Bittersweet Desire

Photography from Something Was Hungry by scott2608

I saw her just before dusk,
She was ripe with seduction,
But it was late, she would last;
Tomorrow I would taste her.

That night my dreams teased me,
With her sweet nectar on my tongue
Her embrace warm and inside her
Our flesh pressed with urgent desires.

She was so wet as I caressed,
Dancing across her skin
Tickling her within, and
Pushing her to virgin limits.

With pleasure I would free her.
The tease built, and lust
Journeyed my every limb,
And dreams fed my desires.

As the sun glanced above the trees,
Casting shadows off to the breeze,
I buzzed, rushing to her fruit;
Her broad curves of seduction.

I approached nervously, as if
I had never tasted taboo fruits,
But suddenly I was a fallen:
Her perfect shape, corrupted

She was not untouched,
Torn open, her nectar lost
No seeds to sow, no flesh
For me to press against.

I comforted her, with gentle hands
But her hurt was baleful
In a sour moment, she was gone,
My bittersweet desire, who?

I saw the fly still in the orange, looking around for something and this idea just came to be. Thanks to Scott for his photo that inspired me to write this piece (hopefully you have enjoyed it).


Posted by on Thursday 21st February, 2013 in Poetry


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Coloured Demise

Covered in black,
Thou are clouded with grey.
Lost in a forest of rainbows
Too blind to see the colours
That paint the canvas of my demise.

The colours of my demise,
They are blindingly beautiful.
One look and you’re hooked,
Drawn to the paper leaves
With the colours of my demise.

Spirals of pastel shades
Cascading over the canvas.
The paint still wet,
Brushes dripping at your feet
Pitter pattering my demise.

Sketched diagrams in blues,
Only to be drawn in green.
The plan for life glows a bright red
Never did it appear mottled
All along shading my demise.

Now the easel frays
Worn by the bristles held tight
No longer stable, no virgin white
Time hath not been kind.
Just kindly colouring my demise.

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Posted by on Tuesday 10th April, 2012 in Poetry


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Man Overboard

By Peter Jones © 2012

I have been lost at sea for years
Grasped in despair to a shred of dignity
The storm was on the precipice of conquest
‘Til a light came out from nowhere.

I was not searching for her
She shone bright and threw me hope
I started to believe in myself again
Not easy pulling oneself back.

The tumultuous waters roared in defiance
Her light still shines for me
Seeing the light, I can start to believe
I am rediscovering me, myself and I.

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Posted by on Friday 30th March, 2012 in Poetry


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