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Archive for the tag “spoken word poetry”

Open My Mouth

open my mouth PNG

“Open my mouth with yours”,

he whispered,

before her lips parted,

and she slid her soul inside him.

“I have a dirty mouth”,

she whispered in return.

“Then there will always be truth in your kisses”,

he answered.

Before the distance between them was no more.

 

Worlds colliding. 

Stars born then dying. 

Lights fading. 

Fears abating.

Hunger raging.

Salivating.

Lives in need,

Culminating.

Insanity dissipating.

No more anticipating.

Each the other’s cure.       

 

“Open my mouth with yours”,

she whispered,

before their lips parted,

and their souls were at home inside each other. 

“You have a dirty mouth”,

he whispered in return. 

“Then there will always be truth in my kisses”,

she answered. 

Before the distance between them was no more.

 

© 2017 William S. Friday

A Flaw in My Wiring

A Flaw in My Wiring… 

INSTAGRAM a flaw in my wiring PNG

c 2016 William S. Friday

“Two for Moonday”

Two poems, read at the Moonday poetry reading, held at The Little Theater in Los Angeles on Sunday, April 20th, 2014.

They are…

 

“Clean” (formerly titled “Come Flooding Back”), and “Feet for the Callouses”

 

 

“Clean”

 

My hands smell

like dispensered soap

from the bathroom

inside Starbucks

 

Clean

like the hospital room

where my son died

all those years ago.

 

Copyright © 2014 Bill Friday

 

Followed by…

 

“Feet for the Callouses”

 

To trade this now

for another

because parts of now

make me sad

to severe an arm

for the birthmark or

feet for the callouses

 

And deny my senses

for a life of fewer lessons

curse my eyes

for the glasses

or my mouth

for the soap

that washed it out

 

To not have held

the entirety of love

against my chest then

carried it on feet

that have withstood

the weight of imperfection

but continued forward

 

And trade the scars

that gave me beauty

in the infinite tomorrow

for an empty past

of losses unremembered

is a cowardice

for fools.

 

Copyright © 2014 Bill Friday

The Monster

 

 

 

 

 

I sit to write

with coffee

at my side

and in my blood

and sleep

the monster of

my waking dreams

whispers

warm upon my neck.

 

© 2014 Bill Friday

Fifty Shades of Bullshit

bullshit x

Fifty shades of bullshit got your panties in a bunch

fiction in the place of real friction

of wet thighs

and gravel sighs

and a man’s rough hands where you settle for the touch of your own

 

Waste of time between life’s stages

replaced by dog-eared pages where fantasy isn’t real

wax fruit in place of a meal

hot wax on skin like in some video with music and a grainy feel

story never meant to last like you and I once did

 

I have read your kind before

a spider web in place of a door

and spilt perfume to cover the decay of what once passed for your tender soul

cracked and old and dry and dying

and lied to by so many, then so few

now just by you

 

Last look back at a life unfinished

at bodies and minds left diminished

by time, by the past, by struggle against what once convinced us

that we were our last and only

never get lonely partners for life

till I saw light

 

Fifty shades of bullshit got your panties in a bunch

trying to remember what didn’t need reading

pages were never meant for feeling what once was between us

heat in the place of a cold feel, of pulp in the space where you melt cold steel

of my rough hands as they touched what was

my own

 

© 2014 Bill Friday

This work first appeared in the anthology “…and it happened under cover”,  © 2014 Nightwing Publications.  To purchase this book, please visit their website or Amazon.com.

Coffee Mandatory

Coffee Mandatory

Coffee Mandatory

 

Just so you know… I never planned to fall in love.

It started out as nothing more than a relationship of convenience. Like sex for a green card or the wash of a windshield for a couple of bucks at a stop light in Santa Monica. A fucking transaction. No emotion… no feelings. Just a need meeting another need. No romance, no flowers… just the glare of a naked bulb at sunrise, and the grunting of guilty pleasure heard on the other side of a thin kitchen wall.

After a while, like with any illegitimate relationship… and enough lying to yourself in the mirror… eventually you decide that maybe it’s okay to take next step… the public step. A coffee house. The thought was innocent enough in your head, “It’s just a cup of coffee. What could happen?”

Until you get there, and you wonder if this is how they feel in Amsterdam… ordering heroin… in a brothel.

At first, there’s that self-conscious thought that goes, “people don’t really do this in public… do they?” Followed by a second thought that you should just go finish your business in the restroom like the upstanding citizen your parents always thought you’d be. But you stay… you take your seat in the big room with all the other upstanding citizens… and you lose yourself to the overwhelming urge that brought you here in the first place. To take this private need to the next level. So you do. In front of God and everyone… if only God were watching.

I never planned to fall in love.

Years pass, and things go on like always. Public meetings, intimate rendezvous, long mornings after a bad night’s sleep. Every encounter making you sink deeper and deeper into what was such an innocent addiction. Days and nights became the same to you. Multiple jobs, endless hours… and only one thing remains the same. The need. The intense need, the unsatisfied need… the aching need.

Until another comes along.

As the glare of the naked bulb at sunrise still calls after you like a line out of a song by Mumford & Sons, the something new doesn’t call like a selfish bitch… it whispers softly in your ear, like the one that got away. It draws me to a softer place… a darker place, later and later in the night… after the glare of day, and all its distractions, goes away. And unlike the whorishly obvious coffee brothel, it is subtle and almost… caring. And the scars of years are replaced by tender strokes to a raw-rubbed ego. The only thing required in return was to think, and feel… and write. And whatever words came out were good… were accepted. I was accepted.

I never planned to fall in love. Not like this.

More years pass, and things change… drastically. The flutter and surge of my heart, gentle ego stroking… the sideways-smiles-turned-lustful… change. Flutters turn to questions. Surges to pain. The lying, sideways smiles, with their promise of fulfillment… turn to insistence. And whispers turn to ice at the harsh dawning of a new day, when I know it has become… the same.

I look up from the computer. I see the light of morning enter through the fog of early June. “When did this happen?” is all I can say, in a hushed voice, raw from not speaking. I turn my head the other way, toward the kitchen, to the glare of a naked bulb at sunrise…

…just so you know.

 

© 2011-2013 Bill Friday

…here come the words.

here come the words

Now that the end of the “Expats Radio hosted by Bill Friday” era has… with the end of the Mayan Calendar… come and gone (explanatory, revisionist, after-the-fact announcement forthcoming… stay tuned), it’s time to shift the focus of this fine literary e-zine back to its roots.

The written (and spoken) word.

In the wake of being a part of the Amazon.com™ Number One Best-Seller*, “Men in the Company of Women”, I have been advised by those wiser than I that it’s time to let the words out into the light.  Beginning here.  So, kicking off later this week, the blog known as “Bill Friday” will be showcasing the writing of “Bill Friday”.

So for all 38 of my current Friday WordPress Friendlies, stick around.  Because… here come the words.

* for the category “Men’s Anthology” (February 4th – February 18th 2013, at time of posting)

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