Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
WS Warner Nov 2013
Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.


Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.

Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner
To Eileen
Christian Bixler Nov 2014
I sit and hear the desert wind, sand hissing past,
winging by on the deserts breath. The moon hangs
still above the earth, enshrined in vaults of darkest
black, an infinity of stars to frost the sky. I sit here,
on the shifting crest of a tall and windswept dune,
contemplating the majesty of starry sky, and the silence
of the desert winds. My mind empty, wanders, and I
seem to hear, in the howling of the desert wind, the yipping
cries of jackals, and a strain of music, faint and thin, riding, on
the whisper of the desert winds. I look and see, a palace, light
shining from many windows, and colored pennants, whipping
in the desert breeze, spices seeming, rich and dry, waft around
me, caught, in the twisting zephyrs of the deserts breath. I stare, and
slowly, the sounds of the palace reach my ears, women laughing, singing, and the lilting tones of music strange and wonderful, lift me
from the desert sand, and set me forward, stumbling from fatigue and
thirst, towards that place of light and sound, a refuge surely from the
stinging sands, and the whispering voice of the desert, dry in its susurrations, as an empty skull, bleached and hollow, sockets set to the
contemplation of the desert winds, dessicated remnant of mortal man, till wind and sand consign it to the deserts breath. I stumble forwards, eyes locked on that vision held before me, and I, with all remaining strength and speed, run towards that deserts dream, and in my folly, I
strive for speed, even exceeding the desert wind. At last I halt, and in my weariness, stumble against a mighty gate, set with gold and jade and onyx, moonstone high, and amber low. I set my hands to wondrous gate, but lo! the gates are fast and strong. They do not yield to the feeble push of weary traveler, nor to the entreaty of dry and sand parched throat, imploring it to stand aside. I fall at last, defeated, and thought, to die here, before these gates of opulent splendour, would not be so tragic a fate, as the deaths of thousands, lost as I in the immeasurable vastness of the desert sands. But yea! There in the darkness of night as I made my peace with God and his angels and consigned myself to the inevitable fate of eternal rest, that near unnoticed, the gates swung voicelessly open, and through it I inhaled weakly, the scents of anise and cumin and cinnamon and allspice, all mixed with the intoxicating perfume of the daughters of the desert, scented waters and mulled wine. I reeled, dazed by the glory of light and sound and scent. I was lifted then by gentle hands, soft and cool, with the featherlight touch of sweet virginity. I fell, spinning, into the cool dark of grey oblivion. I awaken, rested, in the dark. Birdsong wafts in through arched windows. Below, I can hear the women singing, talking, as their needles clack in unrelenting harmony. And yet, this all seems to fade, to become less real. I listen harder, and yet, I hear instead of the singing harmony of before, the lonely song of the desert wind, faint and yet as if it had ever been, and this all some fantasy, imagined dream more true than life? I open my eyes. I lie there, back pressed to chill stone, jutting up into the heavens. The scents of man dissipate and are gone, replaced by the dry and whispering aura of the lonely desert, faint sage upon the wind. I close my eyes. falling, I slide to the cold sands and lie there, waiting only for death to take me, that I might once more approach that vision of holy beauty that awaits those that live and die in piety, and with the grace of heaven. A hand touches my shoulder. I do not look up. The hand remains, insistent in its immovability. I rise, slowly, turning, so I might see my unknown companion, with me, in the heart of the windsept sands of the great expanse. A man stands there, robed in white, black veil obscuring all save for dark eyes, set deep in his weathered brow, like jewels of onyx, set in a dark and seasoned stone, left to the desert, in years gone by. "Come. It is time" The man whispers through the desert wind. He beckons me, fingers set with jewels and stones, gold thread belts his waist. He turns and walks silently, out, towards the eastern sky. I follow him, seeming vision of guidance, sent to set my feet on the path of life. I follow him and yet, gradually he fades and is gone, vanished, beside a weathered stone, lonely in the great expanse. I fall to my knees, head bowed, strength gone from soul and body. I hear dimly through the haze of weary enervation, even as death enshrouds me, the trickle of falling water. I lift my eyes. water pools before me, gift of life, sent by spirit of guiding thirst. I drink and life within me lifts its head, water streams down wind partched throat, and even as I fall into cool oblivion, knowing that that vison of heaven awaits me, water soothes me, as I fall at last into darkness, and the shining vision of heaven around me, I close my eyes, darkness enshrouding, as I perish beneath the moon and frosted sky.
I am in awe of the infinite possibilities and horizons of the imagination.
WS Warner Sep 2011
The night becomes you -
hair coiffed in fashion
illuminated eyes reveal attraction,
the scent of body oil
pervasive,
ambient music evolves
persuasive
savory rhetoric,
cabernet erodes my inhibition
no contrition, turn the ignition.

The night becomes you -
you wear it well  
an amalgam,
ardor and insouciance -
redefining glamour,
ephemeral moments
dial down the sunlight,
I am slain - voice and accent
weave their spell;
black dust coat, white hat,
a pair of posh boots
they live to tell.

The night becomes you
rhyme scheme -  lyrical poetry
sophisticated venue, table for two
ensconced, the
leather lounge,
similitude within difference;
undulation - cadences of
counterpoint -
poise and peril of duality
we inhabit the floor.
Postprandial, conversation extempore;
machinations of intoxicating discourse,
I could drink your words -
artistic milieu- beguiling imagery,
sonant susurrations
penetrate my being.

The night becomes you -
theoretical locutions
phrasing depth and humor,
undiluted amour, tensions resolve
frame by frame,
solidify the affair
and validate the rumor
subsumed in sequence, pulsating,
igniting the sapid interior flame
silver screen ending,
effusive reviews
two hearts collide and form one;
the cherub's arrow finds its aim.

©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
annh  May 2020
Susurrations
annh May 2020
Whispering
t r a i l s
of light-glazed ephemera
w      a      f      t
from plain to hills;

*G i l d e d*
grams of silken
f+r+a+g+m+e+n+t+s
warm with pine
and noon.

Sunlight
p i t t e r - p a t t e r s ,
D a N c E  S t E p P i N g
the length
of a polo field.

‘Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that
I love - that makes life and nature harmonise.’
- George Eliot
Cody Edwards Feb 2010
A thousand god-eating plates in a summer wind
Listen, china-white, to the audible inaudible that flanks
The paint-chip, earth-red bridges. Susurrations weave
Through grass with spider fingers; following curves in seashells
As a voluble electric screen who Speaks as dew and taste.
Water is depth beyond what can be acquainted with memory
Or fancy. Watches turn delicate, May-lace and wedding night
Music: Vertical, Veiled, Very. Dust in the stream lisps
Headily to shore, rests by a forgotten child’s shoe,
Bronzes it like mother’s finger and burns like daybreak.
© Cody Edwards 2010
Sue Dunhym Nov 2010
The intricacies
Of my mind percolated
When you said my name.

I turned and embraced
But your eyes did not return.
A tad sensitive.

I spoke as I wished.
You produced dopamine,
For another.

Revolution reigns.
Only my mind's susurrations
Sees the love you suggest.

I hope not foolish
Ideas of contemplation
Prevent your heart idea.
copyright of  TP Flusk
Atoosa  Dec 2016
Lucid Dreams
Atoosa Dec 2016
Cryptic dreams awaken the mind
Telling more than I want to know
Hinting at emotions undefined
The glint of rough gems to be mined

Possible rapture threatens contentment
Disturbing the balance and the flow
Turbulence enters the calm of the present
Subconscious susurrations could prove prescient

The painstakingly built façade stays intact
But the lingering dream won’t go
No use denying its deep impact
As it cajoles me to think and act
Do you dare to let your dreams guide you?
Amanda  Feb 2014
Ribboned & Tied
Amanda Feb 2014
Ever had a daydream that is so very lovely?

It softly and unexpectedly
ribbons and edges
your vision,
a smile dances & flits on your lips.

The starry universe's susurrations and whispers come to a silent ebb;
only daintily replaced by those
slightly creased and crinkled moments
&
future tick-tocking wishes.

It takes a full moment for it to wisp away.

Sadly, I do not know how long that moment ticks for.

Backwards or forwards?
Hoho, plot twist, hello there!
Monday Blues, nah-uh.
Let's make this week fabulous.
Go.
x
Amanda  Jun 2014
Voids
Amanda Jun 2014
I am not quite sure what to say.
My lips cannot move into the right ways to speak even the wrong words.

The edges, the pockets of my mind is terribly creased.
The dizzying criss-cross of lines and crumples
paint hopelessness
into
tears.

I miss the very susurrations your being makes,
when you were next to me.
Even on sun-dappled days,
I still feel the ghost of your shoulders & elbows nudging mine.

My collarbones still feel the lines of your lips right

                                                               ­                                    t here.
My soul miss and misses yours.
But I do know,
this is
a
void
that
will only
become
space and time
*itself.
Hello there sunshine! I hope you are having a lovely day!
Sigh, I have panda eyes, a numb brain filled with words like Alkanes, Sensorimotor Stage and Montana 1948 and oh, three exams tomorrow.
Let's do this.
x
Evan Stephens Nov 2022
Intent is always blotted
by leaking speech:

words stray from their purpose
like star-bellied clouds

that stumble and fall
into a coffee cup,

burning with morning:
a wet mirror face.

The gutters murmur
with yellow leaf heads,

a branch escapes
from the wood (unwillingly?)

& the morning vaults
over the white creek.

I'm here, I'm here,
the rain is saying -

it stalks me home
after the concert.
still swollen:
      moon in eye
    lips murdered red
      with the crimson of
    maddeningly furious bites
       the crunch of bone
    turning in bed - air and moment
     stopped and in between
       the hounds spread
    darkening rumors,
        dropping once again are
   eyelids from too much
           heaviness of unuttered
     words, unperformed verbs
        seething in between teeth,
   cheek pressed onto crumpled
     ******* from groping in
the dark knowing only its
       frail rescue

    these tiny fingers still
   ache from touching anthropomorphic fires,
        the ears still swollen
  from distinct susurrations like
      o's and h's and their
     sweet campaigns
   my heart's well engorged
     with a whelm of promises

       in the morning there
      will be i and you,
    our love still throbbing
     in the loom of it,
   as we go on leaving -
Tj kwame Apr 2016
The dews of heaven
She downs like the morning
A mellifluous creature, surfed ashore
Myrtle amid thorns; Quiescent
Heart of a royal; highness
Resplendent in garment of sapphire; radiant
The lady gouldian finch
Melodies inspires ataraxia
Beautific as wysteria
It’s her loving heart beaming smiles
Stretches as thousand miles
Incandescent as candle on a hill
Beacon of hope
Oh hear
The susurrations of a Gold-Mantled Rosella .

Tj. kwame
Jo Jan 2014
You think you’re a thunder clap,
But I know
You’re a solar storm
Trapped inside a marble.
I want you
To want me
As much as I want you.
Your body is made of Earth.
Rainwater eyes,
Caraway hair,
Birch skin.

I’d listen to you speak
For hours
Just so we could spend hours
Together.
You speak to stars in susurrations
That roll of your tongue -
I hold them in my palms
And aid their ascension.
Your heart is a hearth
Trying to warm a forest
Covered in snow -
I would help you spread.

People laugh at you
Because you’re a tad askew;
I laugh with you
Because you’re aligned perfectly.
I think I love you sometimes
And I’m scared
Because the sun has no need
To love the moon.
An older poem of mine.  I had a crush once.

— The End —