Ma Cherie
Ma Cherie
15 hours ago

I was born a writer see,
an I feel it like a bone,
an I have so many stories yet,
and some skills I've yet to hone,

An I intend on writing long,
until my eyes no longer see,
an I intend to tell you here,
until my soul is free,

I am but a poet true,
with a story yet to live,
an so I will tell in words I share,
an my everything I give,

To the craft that we all
share in here,
in the Poetry an lines,
an for the faces of a people here,
in a light that ever-shines,

From those lovely shiny silver souls,
with such understanding hearts,
and yes such very brilliant minds,
an like poetry in flesh you know,
well it really takes all kinds,

Of such different types of people,
in those "classes" so they say,
yeah I am but a poet true,
and I'm glad I am today.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Just thoughts. ; ) ❤❤❤ x -Ma love you all muah! Still in moving chaos ;/ LOL
#poetry   #poet   #life   #down   #write   #tilltheend  
Sean Scribbles
Sean Scribbles
21 hours ago

I love this

The stillness of a cabin just before it's inhabitants, arise to make the coffee and consume the cakes

Like a breakfast mess of scrambled eggs, so I am mixed, and stirred by this, the stillness found within this place

Like a body of water, asleep at last

Or a wooded edge on a logging trail, finally left to be and pass

So I am also alive and well, inside of these hemlock boards

And for but a moments time at peace

In a place where I can forget my more modern sensibilities

And be taken back to a different time and a different place, where the woods still held their persuasive sway

A power over me

How they'd cast a spell upon my mind, most every time, when I was not as tall as these

Outside and near a different cabin, built of and by my father's hand

But now, as I look out through the window here, it's there I see

Out back, by a semi circle cleared of trees

The stillness of this new good morning, in a cabin where I did not expected to be at ease

(:
#poem   #poet   #woods   #trees   #tired   #cabin   #forest   #scribbles   #sean   #stillness  
Matthew Goff
Matthew Goff
22 hours ago

Let’s imagine summer girls in golden clothes
O how many of them dressed up like soft fires!
Black streets will melt under a trace of warm steps
While passersby offer sun-buttons and light-drenched smiles

Today, in lovely flames, many females now flooded
Celebrating in slow strides, the yellow-dances
Wandering aimlessly with wild winds in their hair,
A choir of sunbeams off their tongues flash the air
While, singing they begin a most tranquil street-fair

© Matthew Goff

#poem   #poetry   #poet   #poems   #poets  
Styles
Styles
1 day ago

Spread your passage of desire;
              Warm me with you heat,
              melt me with your fire.
              For  I am what you seek,
              you are what I desire.

#love   #poem   #poetry   #poet   #passion   #sex   #bdsm   #horny  
Styles
Styles
1 day ago

I am the pleasure that hides behind your walls,
seeping deep into your mind
like that of a woven fabric,
I am more comfort than habit,
your instinct is to need me,
like  the bite of something rabid,
you have to have it.
I am the light do your darkest
fantasies run rampant
like pigs in blanket
you want but you
won't have it
I am that desire
pressed firmly against the walls
of your empress of hotter than fire
holding back your wildfire
until your will, is a satire
and you melt into me
like molten matter
that rain drops
we weather
the peaks
of our
climax

#love   #poem   #poetry   #poet   #romance   #sex   #pleasure  
Styles
Styles
1 day ago

Dip me
in your depths,
let me ravage you,
the way opposites do,
attract the positives out of you
and extract the negative attitude
got your reaching new altitudes
So hard, I stretching your latitude
on the beach, in the nude
the way we relate,
its all relative
no matter how you view.

#poem   #poetry   #poet   #happy   #sex   #beach   #pleasure   #horny  
Styles
Styles
1 day ago

The warmth
inside your crevice
makes me rock hard
as I unearth your depths
peeling back layers
searching your peaks
in sight of your crests
our chest abreast
so close I can
taste the warmth
on your breathe

#love   #poem   #poetry   #poet   #passion   #romance   #sex   #sexy   #quick  
Styles
Styles
1 day ago

Slowly unfold,
as you fold into me.
Two explosions that explode
imploding our senses with sensory overload
too intersections that intersect invisible
connected through connectivity
magnetized magnetically
galvanized genetically
when energized
this pleasure is derived
riveting her visibly
I convulse as you implode
Extinguishing our misery
With pleasure beyond measure
Thirst quenched physically
satisfied, apparently.

im·plo·sion
#love   #poem   #poet   #sad   #life   #happy   #sex   #orgasm   #pleasure   #horny  
Matthew Goff
Matthew Goff
1 day ago

Let’s imagine summer girls in golden clothes
O how many of them dressed up like soft fires!
Black streets will melt under a trace of warm steps
While passersby offer sun-buttons and light-drenched smiles

Today, in lovely flames, many females now flooded
Celebrating in slow strides, the yellow-dances
Wandering aimlessly with wild winds in their hair,
A choir of sunbeams off their tongues flash the air
While, singing they begin a most tranquil street-fair

© Matthew Goff

#poem   #poetry   #poet   #poems   #writing   #poets  
Mercury Chap
Mercury Chap
1 day ago

A lot many times,
Constantly,
Innumerably,
Perpetually,
I am too handicapped to write
A sentence
Or
Two... words, one word, three words, four words...
Like a poet. I am too unconfident or inconfident or disconfident or... Is it unconfident? No, yes, no. Yes.
I am too broke, mentally, exhausted reserve of words, letters and alphabets that I am not native to, but are mine since I was born and my real language is lost amongst the chaos of my broken English. I can't be a good writer like this.
I can't be a poet, I am a person merely aware of a few things in life and can't express it clearly so I think vague poetry helps, even though I write it I can't interpret someone else's poems.
I am not qualified to be a poet. I haven't written 200 sonnets or a 1000 poems on various themes of life, not qualified to write poems on all stages of Human Development. I have only written a 100 poems... Actually, 150. But you can think it's 100.
I am not a poet. I am not old, I am not famous. I am not dead. Why should I be called a poet?
I am just a person who is expressing oneself, I shouldn't get so haughty and give myself a designation. Yet.
Let me grow old and decay in time, so when the earth swallows me up, provided people know me then by luck or chance, I might become a poet. I might.
I am not a poet.
But then, who IS poet?

#poet   #life   #real   #exhaustion   #express  
 
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