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Lay this poet down
When the time arrives
In a field of fresh cut words
On a bed of softened rhyme

Feel free to cover me
From my head down to my feet
In a poetic form to keep me warm
Perhaps a blanket of allegory

Place a silken sonnet pillow
Underneath my weary head
In a field of fresh cut words
On top a rhyming bed
The table was set.
The morning was fine.
The world lay reflected
in two glasses of wine.

An empty plate
reflected sunshine,
The morning compressed
in two glasses of wine.

What did she see
in undulations of wine?
Were the shapes a portent?
Was there a design?

Were the glasses a mirror
or shadowy sign?
Perhaps they were more
than just glasses of wine.

She and a friend
sat down to dine.
Their reflections drank deeply
from two glasses of wine.
This was inspired by a gorgeous photo that I wish I could post on HP.
Here's the link on Instagram.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BGgWsniDIxR/?taken-by=candacesmithphoto
 Jul 2015 Gerry Newnham
N Paul
Introduction
There they stood; keeping silent company.
Yet of His face, wept searing electricity.

To the lovers of life*
Here they stand, keeping silent company.
No utterance dealt; yet clear in both their minds
A single, brilliant truth:

He longs for her with a savage delight.
And it cries from every fibre, exalting!
It is in the bearing of his eye;
Rifling through her tender flesh
In search of what he knows, from voices ages old, is there:
That her heart will beat for no other as it beats for him right now;
That in this moment, their Souls are bared
To each other’s glares- naked, and blemished, and cowering-
Yet his eyes remain fixed and sure:

And for this, she loves him.

For they have seen each other for the First of Times,
Truly! And as with many the Ancient Laws unfurled,
They stand aware, in lack of ever being taught,
Aware with every atom, every straining tendon tight
That their time's so very short.

And so they drink… wordless
To each other, to their youth, and to their bodies
Shining like never before in the noonday air
Garbed in cloth that snaps and furls around their waists.

They imbibe with electric eyes,
Eyes that are new born to this world of light
And come out screaming, living, and sensitive
For lack of ever being touched.
They revel in their new-found joy;
Pouring from Her figure,
Of Her sleek, supple waist and the arch of her back,
Bristling with delight,
Of His strong hands and easy smile,
That spoke of laughter scattered
Across countless campfires of summers past.

Their light does burn intense as any fire,
And when their brimming anticipation
Overspills its crimson chalice
The silence shall SHATTER.
To find peace again in each other's arms.
Fumbling in sweet darkness-

Of heavy lids, of earthy flesh,
With lips embraced...

In ravenous finality.
If the world was mine, we'd all be naked.
No one would wear any clothes.
Just wander about, completely exposed, with nothing to hide and nowhere to hide it.
Clothes are the outward expression of insecurities.
Insecurity is a breed of clothing, a way of cowering and hiding.
If the world was mine, we'd all be secure.
No one would be insecure.
Just wander about, completely exposed, with nothing to hide and nowhere to hide it.
Insecurity is an excuse to justify a lie.
Lies keep us from becoming what we should be, because we lie to ourselves.
If the world was mine, we'd all be honest.
Because we'd be secure and naked.
This might not make sense, but it does to me, and I really like this poem. Also, the titleshould catch a few eyes.
Naked

Found naked on the streets,
cuffs on my hands and feet.
They wouldn't give me any clothes,
couldn't even pick my own **** nose.
Walked naked to the police station,
two miles of total frustration.
One hour of pure hell,
I'm hot, sticky and I really smell.
People laughing from their front yard,
I looked like an unstable ******.
***** bouncing left to right,
my big ***** should be held every night.
***** flopping up and down,
not even sure the name of the town.
They don't even give me reason,
maybe it's naked man in street season.
Police station filled with reporters,
my ***** has never been shorter.
Hundreds of flashes before my eyes,
I see my mom, nervous as she cries.
I was arrested for **** street sleeping,
millions of people are now peeping.
I got booked and thrown in the slammer,
somebody please, hit my head with a hammer.
They actually even threw away the key,
how dare they do this to someone like me.
Don't they know who I am,
this must be some kind of sham.
I'm only the most famous man in America,
not some cheap imitation replica.
I hope no one gives me an Allen *****,
then I won't know what to do.
No phone call or allowed any bail,
looks like I'm stuck in this ****** jail.
After a week I was finally let go,
I was the star of some sick reality show.

— The End —