The Right One

No longer present despite the
press of pliable flesh.
A multiverse of outcomes
expands before my mind.
Primed for impact,
a cotton-cloth barrier is all
that stands between
pulsing passion and penetration.

With legs entwined in
tangled sheets of coastal blue,
she is a mermaid underwater;
the ebb and flow, her desire.
Her hair is an auburn fan resting
upon the pillowcase.
Lying bare to the world, she smiles;
apprehension applied as eyeliner.

“What are you thinking?”
she asks as I back away;
retreating into the safety of myself.
I match her smile, and
refrain from the true answer:
“You’re not the right one.”

by Erik Shinker

As Long As You Do

I began as
the fluttering in your stomach,
conjured by intimate touch, but
soon the sentiment attached at the sight
began to curdle.
I became as
a festering boil on the skin of your existence;
a regretted reminder of
wasted affections.
It doesn’t matter what
you think of me;
as long as you do.

by Erik Shinker

Glimpses

Heartfelt palpitations at the
thought of your smile.
Each morning wakes in
anticipation of seeing you
for the first time.

Creating excuses to come into contact;
these glimpses, though brief,
engulf me in expectation of when I
might build the courage to ask.

Because, as was once
sung in a Savage Garden:
oh, I want you,
I don’t know if I need you, but
oh I’d die to find out.

by Erik Shinker

Torn

An expectation, placed by
society, community, culture.
When did partnership become a
prerequisite for happiness?

Loneliness is a leaden blanket, smothering
any thought of additional companionship.
Having been a self-professed romantic for
such a long time, have I finally come to see
the truth?

Physical urges are what they are and,
in the wake their expulsion,
when the sweat has dried and the
words we repeated in rapture
dissolve into air, our lust is only
replaced by regret and
guilt.

Is this all I would reap? Momentary
ecstasy and what remains for the duration.
Am I simply impatient,
immature, and
arrested in my development?

by Erik Shinker

You Sometimes Can Tell

(In the style of “You Never Can Tell” by Chuck Berry)

It was a teenage wedding, and
the old folks tried to wish them well.
You could see that Pierre held little love for mademoiselle
And now the young monsieur and pregnant madame
have rung the chapel bell

“C’est la vie”, say the old folks
It goes to show you sometimes can tell

They could barely afford an apartment,
stop me if you’ve heard this tale.
The coolerator was empty but
for condiments and scraps that were stale
When Pierre couldn’t find work, he’d hit his gal, the baby would yell

“C’est la vie”, say the old folks
It goes to show you sometimes can tell

That always crying baby, boy
Did her shrieks blast
Diapers, baby food, clothes
their little money didn’t last.
They’d lament the time before their daughter,
In their own personal hell

“C’est la vie”, say the old folks
It goes to show you sometimes can tell

They had a broke-down Honda civic, rusty red ‘83
With their constant fights they
didn’t make their first anniversary
It was then that Pierre was divorced by the lovely mademoiselle

“C’est la vie”, say the old folks
It goes to show you sometimes can tell

They had a teenage wedding, and
the old folks tried to wish them well.
You could see that Pierre held little love for mademoiselle
but now the separated monsieur and madame
have unrung that tarnished bell

“C’est la vie”, say the old folks
It goes to show you sometimes can tell

by Erik Shinker

Reblog: THERE IS COMING A DAY

Please visit Darell’s blog for more incredible poetry.

darellphilip's Blog

I can’t breathe when you look at me like I’m a piece of….

I can’t breathe each time you cross over the other side of the road clutching your handbag tight

I can’t breathe when the security guard follows me around more than anyone else who has come to shop

I can’t breathe when I have the qualification but my shade brings disqualification from the position


I can’t breathe when:

My very existence is denied

My darkness I cannot hide

First Class i’m not permitted to ride

In the shadeless I cannot confide


A lamb to the slaughter am I

Your knee pressed on my throat leaves me wondering why

You hate me so much that my hopes, dreams and spirit must die

But then I remember this is not how the story ends

For there is coming a day my Saviour will come with healing in His wings

His…

View original post 26 more words

Up to This Point

I can recall the first time I saw you
leaving, the first
glimpse of your auburn mane; I
hoped you would be here, just for
the chance to speak with you.

Then you began to come through that
door routinely, sending silent smiles and
greetings of a genial, if surface, nature.

As time passed, I pined and poemed after you;
an ideal image with no validity.
My gut would clench, palms perspire,
tongue swell at the thought of your attention;
I craved for even the briefest exchange.

I finally inquired,
offering myself to you in an awkward way;
a coward unable to commit.
I left the choice in your hands;
how could I hold
your decision against you?

I recall these things, and with time
they lose their luster;
but now I have your attention
and, up to this point, I
had thought it a blessing.
Now, I’m not so sure.

by Erik Shinker

Open Eyes

We stand together with open eyes;
but that isn’t enough.
We need to continue this difficult conversation.
We are all bound by our
common humanity.

We no longer get to turn a blind eye.
African Americans in our country wake up to this
every day
and they don’t get the
luxury of looking away;
neither do we.

by Erik Shinker

If you would like to donate to help the recovery of Lake Street businesses who were victims of the rioting, please visit welovelakestreet.com

For more ways to support Racial Justice, this article has a large list that is a great resource.

Double Standard

My words are just pointless noise,
meaningless when not directed
at the horrors that surround.

A blue, double standard
flies high in the face of
equality, empathy, and justice.
Protections make the prosecution of
the police more difficult;
they have acknowledged this, but
done nothing.

How can we not hold the enforcers of
our laws doubly accountable for breaking them?
Why is the burden of justification when force is applied
so much lower?
This is systemic, so how can we
trust the system when it is
built to protect the police and not
its citizens?

by Erik Shinker

If you would like to donate to help the recovery of Lake Street businesses who were victims of the rioting, please visit welovelakestreet.com

For more ways to support Racial Justice, this article has a large list that is a great resource.