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east coast steve

Built my own website: Punk Poetry

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would really appreciate some feedback...

 

 

http://norulespress.com/

 

 

 

thanks,

 

Stephen

 

Looks great. One thing though. Could you have the symbol over the 'recent posts' section and have the blog part beside them?

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Looks great. One thing though. Could you have the symbol over the 'recent posts' section and have the blog part beside them?

 

Thanks longan...I'm still tweaking the site as I learn more about adding structure and content.

 

I see what you mean about moving the logo over...I put it on the left with the intention of filling the "white space" with additional cover art as I release more titles. I'm on schedule to have the next volume up and running soon.

 

Thanks again for taking the time to check out the site.

 

 

Steve

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Thanks longan...I'm still tweaking the site as I learn more about adding structure and content.

 

I see what you mean about moving the logo over...I put it on the left with the intention of filling the "white space" with additional cover art as I release more titles. I'm on schedule to have the next volume up and running soon.

 

Thanks again for taking the time to check out the site.

 

 

Steve

 

Ah right, makes since. And great work ;)

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Thanks longan.

 

 

Thinking I'll post up a few just for the hell of it....

 

 

 

 

 

 

Succubus

 

 

 

 

I can feel the

evil

in her subtle movements.

Hear the

anguish

beneath her smoky whispers.

See the

darkness

behind her ivory smile.

 

But,

I can not look away,

or

leave.

 

Blackness wrapped in purest silk.

Skin, smooth like bullet proof glass

that warms to my touch.

 

She knows my

weakness.

 

I’ve chosen my poison,

and drink deep

from

the

well.

 

No regrets.

No turning back.

Only desire

and

release.

 

Until the end

of my

days.

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another ....

 

 

 

 

 

The Well

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the words won’t come

most guys stare at a blank page and wait for it to happen.

 

There’s no inspiration on an empty page for me.

 

But the hands that hold the pen and pad are my salvation.

 

Worn and scarred.

Days of dirt, and nights of blood.

 

Dipped in oceans

and calloused by fire.

 

Smooth against the small of her back

or clenched tight

on her ass.

 

First to fight, and aching to create,

they speak to me in the

silence.

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for the masses...

 

 

 

Kaleidoscope

 

 

 

 

 

 

Are there colors that we fail to see?

Hidden in the dark places,

shadows in our minds.

 

Red

Orange

Yellow

Green

Blue

Indigo

Violet

and all their spawn

fill the world.

 

But is that all there is?

 

I hope not.

 

Others have used this palette for far too long,

and while beautiful things have been created,

I am bored with society’s rainbow.

 

Give me a chance to bleach it from the sky,

and I will paint in hues

that have yet to see the sun.

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another one from the dark places...

 

 

 

 

Dead of Winter

 

 

Untouchable, and unapproachable.

Her cold stare fixed

and unable to see my true intentions.

 

A chrysallis of ice

cannot hide her beauty,

but it insulates her from my

touch.

 

We are seperated by miles,

and yet we share a bed.

 

Days and nights

pass,

wasted,

into the abyss,

as I watch

and

 

wait

 

for the tiny fractures;

signals of the Spring thaw,

that will

release

her warmth

and bind us again

in the Summer of our

love.

 

 

 

 

Steve

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Feeling a bit overwhelmed today...thought I'd share:

 

 

 

S.O.S

 

 

 

I am drowning dry land,

 

in thin air,

 

a thousand feet above sea level.

 

Not a drop of water

 

touches my skin,

 

and still I struggle

 

to catch my

 

breath.

 

 

 

Debt

 

and

 

responsibility

 

hold me under,

 

and refuse

 

to ease their grip,

 

but I will not go down easily.

 

 

 

Fighting rising tides

 

and crashing waves,

 

I snatch quick breaths

 

between the swells,

 

and

 

treasure the fresh air

 

that fills my aching lungs.

 

 

 

These small breaks to the surface

 

are what keep me

 

alive.

 

They grow farther apart

 

and shorter in duration,

 

but

 

I know they will come

 

again,

 

if I am willing to swim strong and hard

 

against the dark currents

 

of

 

suburbia.

 

 

 

 

Steve

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After getting bombed with requests to post submitted poems on the No Rules Press site, I’ve decided it would be cool to give my readers a chance to strut their stuff for all the world to see. I’m going to be putting a punk anthology together, and I'll be selecting thirty of the best to be a part of it. Thought some of you might be interested in taking a shot, so here's the link:

 

http://norulespress.com

 

 

Looking forward to the places you'll take me.

 

 

 

Stephen

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Have been neglecting my creative side for too long...

 

time to begin again.

 

 

 

 

Conception

 

 

 

 

I met a beautiful girl

at a gig in the city.

 

Raven haired and ruby lipped.

Her ivory skin set ablaze

with technicolor tattoos.

 

We talk

and

connect.

 

She asks…

and I tell her…

 

I carry my tattoos on the inside,

revealed only to those of my choosing.

 

Her eyes pull me forward

and the space between us

 

slowly

 

disappears.

 

 

Lips meet

and

she becomes

 

poetry.

 

 

 

 

 

Stephen

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I would loose the counter at the bottom. I don't think its working and is fixed but loose it. It's very dated and instantly puts me off a site. Install analytics if u want to track your traffic

 

The top banner is too big. It forces you to scroll down quite abit to get to some content. Tends to be a big now in web design. People want the content straight away

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Haven't been around in a while....

 

 

 

 

 

Release

 

 

 

There's a wolf in my bedroom closet.

Kept secure

under lock and key,

hidden

from view,

and

forgotten

by his pack.

 

He claws at the door

and fights to escape

on lonely Winter nights when strong drink

stirs

my

soul.

 

I feel for him...

trapped,

and cut off from the forest where he used to run

wild.

 

I am tempted to release him...

to let him tear out my throat

and taste my blood,

to let him return to the dark woods of his past.

 

One turn of the rusted iron key

will change both of our lives

forever,

but only if I am strong enough to

commit.

 

His snarls call to my desire

as the latch swings

free.

 

 

Crimson footprints fall

on virgin snow.

 

His howls echo under a silver moon,

and we are

one

in the shadows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

east coast steve

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