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Janette Jan 2013
"Run your pulse across my tongue  
Pour your love into me  
I thirst for you"......


  

Veils of gossamer silk
Spin in shades of night
Submissive acquiescence
Smoulders bare feet ...



Iridescence dances in captivated eyes,
Lips full
Releasing,
Breath
Licking the shimmer-gleam,
Anointing skin
Ravishing enchantment...


He trembles her heat
Scorching flesh wrapped bone;
Joining fantasies played against silky thighs
Arousing,
Capturing her allure;
Seductively
Manipulating the tenderness of her need ...



Night drips beauty from a silvern moon,
Nakedness meets
Open desire
Firm against softness
His lips seeking,
Tasting
Vanilla tears
Melting on his tongue like snowflakes
Touching passion's fire...


Fingertip moments
Pulsing rhythms;
Aching depths craving
Urgency
Sinking into moist folds
Undulating movements
Swollen, locked around a flowing pearl...


Mesmerising connections sparkle,
Thrusts
Gasp breathlessly,
Arching into body quivers;
Nails claw the spine
Symbolic...


She is
Weakness to his will........
On your exhale alone...I am one with you...where dreams and reality collide....... J
He truly loved the purple sun, descending from the hills,
The ways through the woods, the singing blackbird
And the joys of green.

Sombre was his dwelling in the shadows of the tree
And his face undefiled.
God, a tender flame, spoke to his heart:
Oh son of man!

Silently his step turned to the city in the evening;
A mysterious complaint fell from his lips:
“I shall become a horseman.”

But bush and beast did follow his ways
To the pale people’s house and garden at dusk,
And his murderer sought after him.

Spring and summer and – oh so beautiful – the fall
Of the righteous. His silent steps
Passed by the dark rooms of the dreamers.

At night he and his star dwelled alone.
He saw the snow fall on bare branches
And in the murky doorway the assassin’s shadow.
Silvern sank the unborne’s head.
Janette Aug 2012
Only a distance in time, a slow drift, a free-fall,
To where the curve of the crescent moon ribbons ebon hours together,
And silvern ache dips in moon-silken pools;
Where the poetry of spooned tongues, impart a lasting call,
where he hushes me in the sway of stars,
Drowning my heartbeat in the breath of swollen whispers;
His musky scent, alluring
Melting those hidden places aching for the heat of his touch...



I taste the stir of conversation across my skin;
A silence settles there,
In the cool drifts of its tone, I sense the pulse in his throat,
I feel it thrum, so fragile through veins crowded with the
Stained glass shards of his scent;
My heart draws to the rhythm of his love; and
I am pressed against the quilt of his breath,
Soft.....softly.....a fleeting touch
Skitters in rapid succession around the curve of my neck, where
His lips whisper want in moist seduction...


Here in the freckled light his hips teach me,
Rocking me to the sighs of angels, heated flames of fragrant, vanilla foreplay,
Burn uncontrollably with such undying desire;
Folding my breath inside his hands; all smoke and violets,
Stolen moments;
Needing him, like blood, desiring only him to brim the indulgence,
Swallow it as sorrow and birth it as fire between my hungry thighs, as I beg his ******* to expose me;
Hushing my lips with the fire of his mouth, and the
Slide of his tongue from throat to breast,
His hands pressed upon my skin in urgent exploration,
Spreading me on an altar of rainbows...



Where he Loves me deep and dark in the owl light,
And I tremble, as the wet of want unleashes in the handcuffs of his voice,
Whispering blindfolds of lavender satin around my eyes,
Urging me to braille his body with my tongue's tip
My hungry mouth a mere vessel,
Waiting with wonder, agape for the fill of his adoration;
Soul touching, silk soft fingers, heart caressing the hours;
As we torture the gazing moon, pooling lakes of creamery soft,
Pillowing silken pleasures; breathing paradise upon the fragile blooms
Seared crimson into my veins...



Naked in his arms, heated emotions trickle down,
In a pour of tangled need; in the cradle of collapsed sighs,
Fingers tracing pleasure, lips swollen pouty with desire,
Drag of tongues forging serpentine trails,
Whispered things never heard before;
And like the sky I spread for him, the ink of us
Pouring lavender velvet...two bodies melting into the voice of one,
Chained in moans, in primal kisses that beg arched worship
Kissed raw in the silver scorch, of moonlights rapture,
Where moondust meets skin......

Love Is Deep .....
The laying of hands and lips upon a canvas of aching skin....ignites emotions pressed into the palate by fingers painting tender hues and subtle strokes....tracing lines and curves, indelible with passions ink....climactic quivers, paused
upon the tip of tongues, that ride the ebb and flow of cresting waves..... bleeding seductive shades, blanketing our embrace.....feeling your lips so close.....as breath escapes us........ J
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
The moon's virginal silvern lustre
drapes over the navy blue curtains
There is a sacred power that the moon has,
for it is the Left Eye of the goddess, Bast
An Eye of Ra, Great Lady of the East,
She Who Earned a Crown of
the Orisha

Her silverfire grants the felines power
to turn the simple black cat into a
panther at night

As black, swift and silent as a raven's wing
With eyes as green as a meadow in Spring
Stalking the jungle with the darkness
as her cloak

But with darkness dawns a new and bright light
For she is a Orisha with the sun in her heart
For she passes the flame into the herb
shaped like a heart, swept and burning
with violet glow

That burns through every vein of yours
and then you rise,
born again new

Consume that flame, eat Her heart and
she will meet you in the Ancestral
Planes but take great care,
as she grants you her
presence and power
on if you are worthy

Under the glimmering borealis
Flickers of violet and pink and white
becoming moving flames with kisses of blue
that stroke the various crests of clouds
Lights that dance, ride and raise with  
winds of hope and change though
the infinite skies

Hearing murmurs and voices
the wind will blow around you,
a changed spirit
It is then you will know
It is then you will see
That Bast is smiling directly at you

Come and meet the Panthers who molded
the past in order to make sense
and build the future

Come and meet the Panthers who united
the tribes,
turning war to peace

And now here comes the new King
Who knows there is strength in unity
For tribes divided can never stand
And through learning that he possessed
a naively closed mind, scrutinised
the words spoken, not the ones
who were speaking

He was not his father but now with the
Mantle passed, he must learn from
his father's mistakes

Prince T'challa of Wakanda
Son of King T'chaka
Rise from cub to the
Panther on the
protective prowl

Seen worthy of Bast's blessings
carries her Eye that is never blind
He will remember all that his eyes have
scene from his successes and struggles
but also his heart

The Heart of a King
with the fire in his spirit
Sprint o'er the sea towards the horizon
The Black Panther who reigns
over Wakanda

How he stands proudly
with a coat of black
with his heart rooted and mind
conscious of the mistakes of the past,
has his eyes of the sunrise
which has the world and beyond
singing to the Sun, the Moon
and Wakanda's sacred tune
Real late but this poem is one I dedicate to Black Panther Movie.
There is so much I have say about this film, but I'm just gonna summarise my personal opinion of it (Again, it's my personal opinion which I'm entitled to.
No-one better get ****-hurt over it.)

Though I personally found the narrative to be a leaning a little towards the weak side, I can't deny that the representation of African culture and the concept of Afrofuturism was beyond phenomenal. That in itself was a masterpiece. That is what made Black Panther really stand out for me.
I'm very happy and proud that it did so well and for that, Black Panther will always have a special place in my heart.

It took me on an adventure that it's a film that can connect anyone and everyone to their own Motherland. It warmed my heart greatly so much so that anytime I think of it, I can't help but smile.

Yes, yes, I know all about Bastet being an Egyptian Goddess (She's one of my favourites). I know my mythology! Here in the MCU, she becomes one of the Orisha, apart of the African Pantheon of deities.

I needed to write something happier seeing how my Father's Day poem was a tad depressing for me lol.
I wish everyone happiness, love and joy!
Be back soon!
Wakanda Forever! *Lyn does the salutes*
Lyn ***
© 'Eye of Ubasti, Sun of Wakanda' by Lyn-Purcell
i
how like a napping innocent
the song was stolen away
when i my reason bribed
could not find where i belonged.
a patch is made of unrimed rime
and *** by *** it tore away
telling awhile
never will, you may.
i groped. you lingered
you waned. i waited.
when i would
to the solitude of
the rocks have gone
alas!
i found,
the singer of the song.

ii
bend bamboo
to the gusts and gails
that sweep, sweep.
swing back to whirl again
as the winds its fancy bend
so do – ne’er complain.
on windy ludes
so low you bow
after you kissed
the earth below
embrace you the sun.
sing now you violins
the rustles of enchantment
of dancing toes
it’s a mellow melody
… lingers on…

iii
useless are
the wings of birds
if the wide and brimless sky
to them are yet untold.
if none to care
and none to pine
how can a sign
of triumph bare
as birds and sky
as twains do share?

iv
full moon and empty arms
for every setting sun?
i fled thy silvern chatter
of vanished cries
and curling past.
suns have gone now.
and seeking never find.
no moon and empty arms
but when were you
not starbeam
and when not star
not beam.
if you could be
but how!
if you could see
but now!

v
came here, but,
did not tarry long.
a handful of sand
a greedy grip
a clutch, and,
through the fingers slip
till naught is left
but an empty grip.
she is come
know i
when gone.
Liam Jul 2015
ink of sky inhabits her eyes
  essence of serenity almondine
so spanish in silvern adornment
  though her soul is hafnium pierced

a haven for both life and death
  embodiment of artistic expression
openly hooded in earlobe spirituality
  nominally patrician by disposition

my source stirs in futile disarray
  kindred energy infusing the moment
a tree appears on a barren landscape
  devoid of foliage, vivaciously rooting
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
Take    
my hand      
Walk with me      
through dalihian    
fields      

                  Vast
                  gardens
              ­   under the
                   crown of gold light
                   blooms

By            
the lake            
Under trees            
A silvern rope              
swings            

             Hold
             the rope
              swing to pond
               Swim beneath the
              stars

See              
Northern            
Lights dance past            
Strokes of painter's              
brush              

        Blues
          greens, pinks
          Pure   in  beats
          Music    for    our
          eyes

Tears                  
well  up                ­  
and  fall  at                  
the beautiful                
sight                

          Let
        love fly
        on the wings
          of hope and peace
        free

High        
to     the        
world of  dreams        
Ride   the  winds  of      
hope      

       I
        embrace
          hold  hands  with
           my  lost  inner
          child

Face            
towards          
the dark skies            
     Shadows behind              
me            

                                Heart
                          ­        is  now
                                   tender   flame
                                Don't hang,  lantern
                                  Fly
Lanterns poems, my lastest obsession!
I just let the words flow here. And reading it makes me feel so happy.
Like I'm lighting the lanterns of my inner child's dream...
Makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside, it's almost unreal.
Truly. These poems are making me happier. A level of happiness I haven't felt in such a long time. I'm definitely going to do more of these! ^.^
Love you, everyone! Thanks so much for 84 followers!
You're the bomb!
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
Elaenor Aisling Sep 2021
Born to the veil
peeled out like a peach with the old iron knife
rose quartz, slow flesh, thin newness in January air.
His grandmother kept the caul for luck
pressed between the pages of her bible
and the old ways.

His silvern eyes mirrored the tarnished coin his mother slipped in to his fist
at christening.
Droplets of hope, heavy on small lids
and when he lifted them
he saw his first ghost
over the priest’s shoulder,
her gauzy lips grazing his cheek.

His luck was the vaporous three-legged dog that followed him everywhere.
Its dusky warmth on his feet,
the comfort he could not sleep without
for there were too many nights
his dreams had the flavor of ash and mire
and he would wake, panting,
the heat of his fear snatched by the cold nights.

In the village
the girls asked him who they would marry
until he told the raven-haired her sailor floated somewhere in the Atlantic,
the ring he bought her in Portugal
resting on a finger of coral.

The white heather his mother tucked in to his cap
stayed green, even past the dream of her prostrate in the market square—
He warned her against buying apples In autumn,
but in September, he felt the tell-tale jolt of loss,
keen as raven’s wing through cloud
dropped the plough, sprinting through the fields of winter wheat.
His gasps matching hers
the viscous pump of blood through ventricles
one stream running dry.

At the apple stall
the copper eyes of the butcher’s wife
burned holes in his heart
as he watched his mother’s soul
drift from her breast into the ether.
It slipped by his hands, goose down through fingers,
formless, aimless love that would spin itself into grief
the cloak woven from its threads
one he would wear
for the rest of his days.
In Western folklore, children born with cauls (amniotic sac still on) are considered lucky, and sometimes the ability to see ghosts and predict the future.
Thrown like ripples of a star
From a dreamer's somber shade,
I gazed about frisky birds afar
In coats of blue, gold and red,

And they sang: Sky maidens we,
That dost float on high forever
Atop vales, mountains and seas,
Forests, and many a lonely river,

Lets flap our gentle wings and wing
Yonder the land of lofty mountains,
Where dwelleth the mighty King
In halls bedight with silvern fountains

Beneath temples of burnished gold,
Where golden run nectar streams,
Where beauty by any bard yet to be told,
Where leaves dewed by fair sun beams;

In a realm where naught doth ever age,
Where song birds croon loveliest lullabies
In a realm where love is the language
Unto all that walketh – unto all that flies.

And from there we’ll fly nevermore
But mellifluously whisper a paean
To echo golden from shore to shore,
Beauteously through many an eon.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA
             18th/09/2018
Devan Proctor Feb 2012
"how is it you allowed yourself into a place like this?

and she was so likely,
just there,
skimming her fingers over the tall grass

it grew so high and so blue
and so did I

she hummed in the stiff air,
a regal avian,
just silvern silence

I could not answer

“And aren't you so fatigued?
You must be... in a place like this."

                                                                       - I could not answer

her eyes caught the soft
burning of the sky
and dared my lips
to lie

this meadow is
the loudest sanctuary
where its silence
struck all the bones in my body

she cried so softly

                                                                      - "was it your wish to turn?"

were those my tears?
Lyn-Purcell May 2018
I beseech thee to hold up the
silvern lantern

Be thy guiding light and
walk with me into
tomorrow
Lyn-Purcell Nov 2017
Tender is the sun after silvern rain.
Warming is our laughter after sorrow.
Short poem I wrote after listening to a conversation on the bus.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
The  
      moon now  
      floods the snow  
       with a silvern    
                                          kiss       ­                               
In                               ­                   
a robe                                                
the shade of                                              
night trimmed with star                                              
jewels                                                

She
sail­s on
death's white mist
bathed in eldritch
                      days                    

                                                              R­uns
                                                             ­   upon
                                                               the open seas
                                                            ­    of flame and ice
                                                             ­  free


Sweet
musky
  rose from fields
    blooms from Milky
Ways
Five simple Lanterns of the fantastical element.
Words are so beautiful!
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
Lyn-Purcell Dec 2017
Listen as the willows weep
Silvern rain and wounds are deep
Secrets words are put to bed
Where there are many tears to shed
Poem from my journal.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2017
While silence is golden,
our speech is silver
Use at the appropriate time
because they are killer

From a silvern tongue
to glittering silence
Both can be peaceful
as well as defiant
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2017
The lyre of love sings
The flutes of God inspires
The angels of silvern wings
Spindle of dread's pyre

You wear the crown, my sweet
Let stars light up your dreams
Speak true, my parakeet
Spread your wings and soar and
gleam
A lullaby that I wrote. I sang this to a baby and she fell sound asleep
© Lyn Purcell
And what poem might suit thou, love?
When at once I thought of a nonet,
A voice whispered from clouds above,
"Nay, better would be a sonnet."

In a while before thinking twice,
Another sharply pierced mine ear;
"Better would it be in free verse,
Lend no ear unto Shakespeare."

When I thought of one of a kind,
Another said, "better would be a ballad,
And if thou art not mentally blind,
It goes down well while takin' a salad."

Shortly after I'd employed this clue,
Another said, "better would be a limerick
Whilst taking some gin and rotten stew,
To win so fair a maiden that's the trick."

Nay, quoth another, obsolete are all rules,
To neither lend no ear nor Lear,
For he's the chief of the realm of fools,
A crown he holds for many a year.

"Screech no more like a wingless bird,"
Quoth another. "Thy queen's beauty
Is but peerless and thee, blind bard,
Thy quill canst not tell of her beauty?"

At this , I bethought of her raven hair,
Her ivory skin gaily than a silvern moon,
Her eyes that no luster of star doth near,
And I- I fully drowned in a sea of shame.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California, USA.
          10/31/2018
Ain't sure about one till now!!! Loll

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