There are, sans doute,
invisible waves of all
differing content in
our daily inhalations.

One only need live
downwind of an Indian
cook, to be alerted, that
there is, a spice, to life.

La joie de vivre need
not be perfumed, nor
does sadness require
dark clouds to survive.

The Bisto Breeze, is for
making, giving, or taking,
It's a sign at the crossroads,
" Slí Eile Another Way ".

ps.

Content means Happy (1)
To be included               (2)


https://www.slieile.ie/

This is not a spam/advert,
it is just to explain the poem.

As I sat outside on this cold winters eve ,
Up to the sky travels my eye
The stars they do hide
But I’m not sure why
Then alone just like me
A snowflake it does glide
It tickles my nose
On its way by
I smile and watch
As it plays in the wind
Then after it’s done
To my cheek it lays rest
And as the tear it became
I heard Andrea’s name

Written by E. M. Rushton
January 2019

I want to bury my face in the musk of your lovely fuzzy belly
I need you to chart my body guided
by your map of kisses
I want your lovers caress's and how
they turn my legs to jelly
I need to hear your fervered breath feel the beat my heart missses

I want to breathe your scent feel your passion as it does rise
I need to show you my flower bloom see how you bid my colours unfold
I want you to plot your kisses course make landfall between my thighs
I need you to feel my ardour burning hot never cold

I want to feel our bodies connect as one burning like bright ash
I need to touch every inch of you
press my skin upon your skin
I want to give you 50 strokes
delivered by my lovers lash
I need you to lock eyes with mine my love, bodies entwined let's begin.


J.C. "honey-tiger" 07/06/2019.

Turn the cup
& read the grounds...
Finish up,
turn the cup -
is it the black pup,
that I've found?
Turn the cup
& read the grounds...

Dorian flirts
and another line
skirts
around the edges
of the picture.

rise, moonbird, rise
let your silver moonbird eyes
scatter the lanterns of the stars
a lullaby sung in colorful galaxies
as the night goes on and on
the Moon itself rises so high
undoes its daylight fetters
wraps its tie-dye colors
in the softened embrace
of a moonbird's feathers

notes of arias in the night
ascend into a sacred hymn
sung by a moonbird's throaty
warbled sound
the Moon's bright face
instills a kiss of light
raises up romantic notes
in the heart of the moonbird's chest
his soliloquy sends yearning
to be held in the arms of God

pampered by
the surrounding planets
wake, moonbird, wake
claim your place in the night's canopy
crown your aqua breastplate
with a luminous star pin
that accents the heart glow inside
by your universal flights
to other sides of the world
and to the dark sands of red
that cover the shores of Mars

There is a tiny island
in the river, enough
big to swing cats if
they could swim out.

I'm imagining it on a
raft foundation in order
to accomodate the rising
river levels in Winter.

Proximate to Mallow
Castle, I will be able to
keep an eye on the auld
deers and the granite bridge.

It is going to be a Grand
Design, Willie Eaton is my
consultant, for the Kevin Mcloud
show, an eye catcher.

I am full of sins
that threaten
to fall from
my collar -
bone

they grip onto
this beam
of my body

these stranded secrets
of the skin,
that have nowhere
to go, nothing to do

except to hold, hold
onto the bar of my collar -
bone

I wish soap would wash away human stain
And polish would glisten a dull man’s kissing
And perfume would make everything smell rosy
And dreams were enough to make this poor lass cozy
Stars could be borrowed when there’s no hope for tomorrow
And eyes were telescopes that looked far beyond sorrow
People were ants that could lift rubber tree plants
When you are small everything looks big
And when you are big everything looks small
I’m not sure happiness lies in either one of them
And if I had it all I wouldn’t have anything