Burning the Nail Poetry Challenge – Poet: Nikki Haze

Welcome, one and all, to a challenge catered to inspire the poet’s heart in each of us.  A poem, any length and style, to be written about the chosen theme: Burning the Nail. So, what the heck does that mean? That is where the fun begins.

 

Thank you everyone that participated in our poetry challenge.  The submissions were amazingly diverse and deep, taking our theme in so many different ways. We are in awe of all of you.  We thought that perhaps it was time to give everyone a peek behind the curtain and tell you the story behind BURNING THE NAIL.  So, what does it actually mean? We have no idea.  Sheila’s youngest child came up with it.  It was a favorite lyric substitution to many different songs from lullabies to heavy metal.

“I think I heard it sung for a least a week straight, both whispered quietly while playing to singing loudly with the radio in the car.  The more I heard it, the more it called to me.  What could this really mean? ”

So, now you know the truth. The words of a child; molded and shaped into a series of incredible works of poetry.  Isn’t it amazing what such a simple phrase can be transformed into?

Eternally Grateful,

Sheila Hall and Robert Zimmermann 

Eyes Closed
by Nikki Haze

Eyes closed. My hand follows your words,
over my full breasts, gliding across my stomach.
My pussy is wet, aching.
I spread it open as if to show you.
See?
See how much I want you?

I can make it happen fast,
twisting my clit, fingers thrusting deep.
I don’t want it fast, though.
If you were here, it would be slow…
Wouldn’t it?
Our eyes locked as we made love,
your passion shredding me.

Tears stream down my cheeks onto the bed.
I imagine the weight of your body.

Painfully slow…
Too much
Too good
Too raw.

But I go slow, eyes closed,
tolerating the imagined tenderness of your lips
on my spine,
my shoulder blades.
You hold me in your arms,
enter me from behind.

My room is cool,
but my nipples are hard
because of you;
your poetry,
your friendship,
your loyalty.

These are not my hands
pinching my clit,
grabbing my breasts…
My cunt is pulsing.
Moans fill the empty room.

I’ve never felt so alone.
I’ve never been more consumed.

Through my own lips,
I feel yours,
your breath and mine
picking up as I swallow it down.

Screams fill the air, eyes closed.

Eyes closed

My body shakes,
pleasure slamming through me.
You pull me in closer.
You whisper, but I cannot hear the words.

My body settles. Breathing slows.
I force myself to open my eyes.

Nikki Haze

Nikki Haze is a multi-published erotica author  of over 20 titles.  She write’s about bi-curious and straight characters in decadent situations. Her stories often feature exhibitionism and group sex; usually both at the same time!

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Burning the Nail Poetry Challenge – Poet: Miss Quote

Welcome, one and all, to a challenge catered to inspire the poet’s heart in each of us.  A poem, any length and style, to be written about the chosen theme: Burning the Nail. So, what the heck does that mean? That is where the fun begins.

 

Thank you everyone that participated in our poetry challenge.  The submissions were amazingly diverse and deep, taking our theme in so many different ways. We are in awe of all of you.  We thought that perhaps it was time to give everyone a peek behind the curtain and tell you the story behind BURNING THE NAIL.  So, what does it actually mean? We have no idea.  Sheila’s youngest child came up with it.  It was a favorite lyric substitution to many different songs from lullabies to heavy metal.

“I think I heard it sung for a least a week straight, both whispered quietly while playing to singing loudly with the radio in the car.  The more I heard it, the more it called to me.  What could this really mean? ”

So, now you know the truth. The words of a child; molded and shaped into a series of incredible works of poetry.  Isn’t it amazing what such a simple phrase can be transformed into?

Eternally Grateful,

Sheila Hall and Robert Zimmermann 

From Diamonds To Rocks
by Miss Quote

She has decided to stop treating people like diamonds when there really rocks.
This is what you get like when you go through the hard knocks.
Every woman to herself because she’s all she’s got.
She stops calling them her friends
Because this day they love her, the next day they love her not.
When God makes you fishers of men,
Be aware of the multitude that is still starving.
Her sudden solitude is the quiet before the storm,
Then they rush to her and for every good, there’s a tainted one that comes alone,
Waiting there just to take your joy even before it’s even begun.
But with mistakes, once bitten, twice you become the chosen one.
She leaves nothing left unsaid.
The ones whose words are heavier than any type lead, but sticky to the touch because her actions leave the hungry fed, provide the sleepy with beds and it’s never ever too much.
But people will take all you have to give and still want more.
Then with an epiphany of open doors,
It comes to her like sea shells to the sea shore.
You cannot save those who are destined to perish.
Her adversity unfolds, realizing the difference between telling and being told, selling and being sold, begging and being bold, investing in a property already sold; it all defeats the purpose, worthless like an old blues song without a chorus.
It now makes sense to her why our protective skin is so porous.
Not everyone with a smile is for us.
Come on now. Jesus was betrayed by Judas.
See, she gets it now—evil is attracted to the righteous,
And in life you always want what you can’t have,
Like a cure for AIDS or like a an uneducated black man who needs a raise, or like that morbidly obese woman who wants an athletic wealthy, good looking, god fearing, sincere fun loving gentle man.
Or like when you pray every day for them to send the troops home.
Or even like when you’re broke and you need a payday loan but you owe them already from the last time when they disconnected your phone.
When exactly do you see these things likely to happen?
What was she waiting for?
For her spoken word poetry to start mainstreaming and starving artists to start grubbing, making money, getting record deals plus recognition and not for ghost writing?
I mean really.
Taking over like there’s no telling.
Maybe her push is in her faith in God.
That the desires of her heart will materialize just because.
That’s why I decided to stop treating people like diamonds when they’re really rocks.
I don’t hail up the King Selassie when they’re really not locks.
I will look sexy, but you’ll never see what’s under my frock.
I have done all that I could. That’s why success always knocks.
People it’s God I serve and I’ve come to realize every man, woman and child will get what they deserve.
This is my redemption and my story.
And who God bless, no man curse.
These are the words spoken from a woman who knows her worth.
Like what you heard?
Did you not come here to hear my spoken words?
Then come check me respectfully and I’ll tell you my salary promptly.
Pay me for my diamonds or you can get those rocks….over there…for free.

Miss Quote

Miss Quote is a unique talent! She is many things singer, songwriter, actress, author. Yet, her definition remains rooted in her spoken word persona, -Miss Quote!

Twitter

Burning the Nail Poetry Challenge – Poet: David Duke

Welcome, one and all, to a challenge catered to inspire the poet’s heart in each of us.  A poem, any length and style, to be written about the chosen theme: Burning the Nail. So, what the heck does that mean? That is where the fun begins.

 

Thank you everyone that participated in our poetry challenge.  The submissions were amazingly diverse and deep, taking our theme in so many different ways. We are in awe of all of you.  We thought that perhaps it was time to give everyone a peek behind the curtain and tell you the story behind BURNING THE NAIL.  So, what does it actually mean? We have no idea.  Sheila’s youngest child came up with it.  It was a favorite lyric substitution to many different songs from lullabies to heavy metal.

“I think I heard it sung for a least a week straight, both whispered quietly while playing to singing loudly with the radio in the car.  The more I heard it, the more it called to me.  What could this really mean? ”

So, now you know the truth. The words of a child; molded and shaped into a series of incredible works of poetry.  Isn’t it amazing what such a simple phrase can be transformed into?

Eternally Grateful,

Sheila Hall and Robert Zimmermann 

Desire
by David Duke

can you hear the screams
can you feel the pain
see the blood that pours
barricade your dreams as
the fear takes you into torture
by the burning flame
showing you no mercy
wreaking death
upon your body stripped by
the burning nail on my hand

David Duke

I’m just a normal guy who writes poems in tweets that pop into my head. Started #horrorsquad, a horror fan community, on twitter in early 2012.

Twitter | Blog

Burning the Nail Poetry Challenge – Poet: RunningInHeels

Welcome, one and all, to a challenge catered to inspire the poet’s heart in each of us.  A poem, any length and style, to be written about the chosen theme: Burning the Nail. So, what the heck does that mean? That is where the fun begins.

 

Thank you everyone that participated in our poetry challenge.  The submissions were amazingly diverse and deep, taking our theme in so many different ways. We are in awe of all of you.  We thought that perhaps it was time to give everyone a peek behind the curtain and tell you the story behind BURNING THE NAIL.  So, what does it actually mean? We have no idea.  Sheila’s youngest child came up with it.  It was a favorite lyric substitution to many different songs from lullabies to heavy metal.

“I think I heard it sung for a least a week straight, both whispered quietly while playing to singing loudly with the radio in the car.  The more I heard it, the more it called to me.  What could this really mean? ”

So, now you know the truth. The words of a child; molded and shaped into a series of incredible works of poetry.  Isn’t it amazing what such a simple phrase can be transformed into?

Eternally Grateful,

Sheila Hall and Robert Zimmermann 

Burning the Nails
by RunningInHeels

Burning the nails
Into my soul
Under my feet
Piercing the foul.

Scars of crimson
Up to the knee
Stabs into heart
Nowhere to flee.

Burning the nails
Stabbing in soul
When everything fails
braking the goal.

So scrub off the rust
And heat up the metal
Make `em piercing just
only hurt thy petal.

Burning the nails
While scraping the skin
Along the trails
To passage within.

Burn, burn those nails
Screech, pray, make it last
When morning bails,
Awaked, makes us blast.

RunningInHeels

Twitter

Burning the Nail Poetry Challenge – Poet: Roni Osecap

Welcome, one and all, to a challenge catered to inspire the poet’s heart in each of us.  A poem, any length and style, to be written about the chosen theme: Burning the Nail. So, what the heck does that mean? That is where the fun begins.

 

Thank you everyone that participated in our poetry challenge.  The submissions were amazingly diverse and deep, taking our theme in so many different ways. We are in awe of all of you.  We thought that perhaps it was time to give everyone a peek behind the curtain and tell you the story behind BURNING THE NAIL.  So, what does it actually mean? We have no idea.  Sheila’s youngest child came up with it.  It was a favorite lyric substitution to many different songs from lullabies to heavy metal.

“I think I heard it sung for a least a week straight, both whispered quietly while playing to singing loudly with the radio in the car.  The more I heard it, the more it called to me.  What could this really mean? ”

So, now you know the truth. The words of a child; molded and shaped into a series of incredible works of poetry.  Isn’t it amazing what such a simple phrase can be transformed into?

Eternally Grateful,

Sheila Hall and Robert Zimmermann 

You Thought
by Roni Osecap

You tried to bury me,
throwing me in a hole
of emotional hell.

But I dug myself free
and quelled the flames
of your failed rejection.

You thought the heat of your scorn
would scorch my calloused soul?
I was ready for the pain.

With one last strike,
you thought you beat me down.
And that, was your mistake.

Since taming your careless flame
did you fail to see,
that holding the final nail, was me.

Roni Osecap

The melancholic, the dreamer, a reveller of words and endless thought.

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