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Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
Oh, how I delight in the taste
     of my lover’s scent
     as she cries out my name!
In my arms, a slender orchid
     worshiped to soft placidity,
     she murmurs
     do I still yearn for my virginity?  
And I whisper, my love,
     ten thousand times
     ten thousand times, no.

For what we tender feel in lost virginity
     is not for lost virginity alone
Not for a shred of skin or a drop of blood;
     what human being mourns this?
That small ***** we feel
     is the eternal mortality
     of all lost first experiences.
Then let us thank the Gods they spare us,
     for now,    
     our last virginity.

Think now upon the family and friends
     we have lost
     to disease or hunger, to time
     or accident, to addiction or war.  
How shall we remember them
     if not their names?
How shall we speak of them?
Will you remember me?
     Or shall I become as dust in this temple?

Loudly, all my loves, hear me,
      come now with me!
Let us leave this temple for a time,
     walk with me to my secret garden
     where we shall remove these robes
     and look upon one another
     with the gift of acceptance
     and where
     we shall place flowers in our hair.  

Where we shall hold hands
     and walk a bit farther
     to the river and bathe one another
     in the moonlight.
Then let us return here to celebrate
     the memory of the fallen
     as the Gods intended.
Let us remember the names,
     let us speak the names and lest we forget,
cry out their names.
A tribute to Sappho
Steven Fried  Sep 2013
Swan Lake
Steven Fried Sep 2013
Swan Lake
Crystal clear lagoon
Slow glide and procreate
The serene placidity humm
Last Song
ionized  Feb 2012
ionized Feb 2012
This weekend, something has awakened inside of me. This weekend I have lost my fear. I have fasted and been patient- I have enjoyed the company of my friends and enhanced in their sadness, their happiness, their contributions to the feeling of “whole”. I have seen human nature and kept to myself. I know that throughout all suffering I always have the peace of myself to return to, the inner quiet that speaks to me at night and envelopes me and tells me it will all be okay. There is beauty in the system, the system that lacks courage and strength, where cowards reside, there is also fault. Excellence and prodigious truth lie within nature, tranquility, the placidity and enjoyment of pedestrian life. Over complication does nothing to enhance life or living, and the creation of problematic situations is meaningless in any circumstance. To live and live in the lives of others is where true value lies, and I am settled, I am content.
LuLu  Apr 2015
LuLu Apr 2015
A silence that deafens
Echoes through the chill of the night
A single rose without meaning
Her petals wither and die

Lyrics without music
Screaming to sing for the song
Quietly it stumbles
Never recovering from the fall

A heart that is broken
Cries through the darkest of days
For without love, it is frozen
Into the abyss it shall fade

Those who lack faith
Can never see the silver lining of the cloud
They fall from grace without warning
Their spirits never to be found

Find something to believe in
This world is far too cold to be alone
Don't be a lion without courage
For your sins, you can always atone
Nathan Young  Feb 2014
Nathan Young Feb 2014
Flies buzz around the still room
like dogs chasing cars.
An old crone is heard nagging beyond the door,
"Don't you think you're leaving to one of them bars!"

Light hasn't entered the room in days;
the dark green curtains have all been closed.
The old lady began banging against the wood,
"You still need to clip my toes!"

The room reeked of cigarette smell.
A half-burnt one existed within the ash tray.
Weeping could be heard from the other side.
"Honey, open up. Don't leave me astray.."

Next to the lime-green chair where he lay,
a dried up pen could be seen leaving his hand.
One scribbled note stood out upon the lamp table.
"Can you get off your *** and fix the **** TV stand?!"

            I have loved you for sixty-three years, sixty of which we've been married and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but during these past couple of years, you've become heartless. You've changed and it saddens me entirely. You're not the woman I fell in love with all those years ago, but rather this ghost that preys on the misfortune of others. Maybe it was all the radiation treatment the doctors performed or perhaps the endless drugs they made you take to numb the pain, but regardless of the mental distortion you now face, I can no longer bear it. I love you, Matilda, but it breaks my heart to see you like this. I'm sorry, but this is indeed goodbye.

The soundlessness lasted for weeks
except for the one shot that ran.
Nothing living remained in that room,
ending the life of that one old man.
Skadi Snow Apr 2014
There is this moment.

After hectic hours in the daylight.
The view minutes after the landscape
was painted in the splashing colors of sunset.

Before some people fall asleep
Or break out in an insane serenity
Caused by the feeling of being incognito
Under the invisibility cloak of the night.

There is a moment of placidity.
When the last rays of sunlight
Battle with the first stars
For the ******* of the sky.
When the shadows grow longer
And blur between light and darkness.

When the surroundings are dim-lit
I am the most alive.
The silence makes me hear.
The monochrome paints make me see.

I step out of the penumbra
And vanish in the outlines of the world.
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.

And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.

Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.

Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.

We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.

But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears
(C) Wilfred Owen
AG  Dec 2014
Coastal Placidity
AG Dec 2014
I dream of tangerine skies
And endless seascapes,
Seamlessly mended by yellow threads-
Prepared to be veiled
By crushed blue velvet.
New England is gorgeous through out the year.
Ever changing, colorful and scenery that's drinkable. But I gotta say I'd love one more summer sunset this year. :P
Ilia Talalai Dec 2013
i remember that first night

how desperately you craved
to feel my lips against yours.

how worried you were when i refrained
from surrendering to your deep inhalations.

thoughts of uncertainty clouded your confidence
while your sense of comfort waned and ebbed
as my will held like a cliffside
against the ocean of your lust.

let me calm your worried mind now darling

it was not for lack of desire
that i held my lips pursed.

it was not detachment
that held my hands shy
of a passionate embrace.

i was lost in the shear comfort
of your presence.

your warm hands on my chest
felt as though they had been there
my whole life.

the weight of your leg across my hips,
so familiar that i was left confused by
the brevity of our acquaintance compared
to the depth i could see so clearly
in your glistening eyes.

it was in adoration for this precious moment that
i held myself satiated.

it was this same feeling that held me in fear
that our first kiss would not be the
electric explosion of beginnings
that we would hope to fuel our infatuation,

but that you would feel dissatisfied by the same ease
and placidity i felt.

i kissed you
in that way i felt i had for years and
with that practiced knowing hand
i pulled your lips in close.

they sang a story so old and meaningful
that i found a joy akin to returning home.
and since then

every moment shared,
every touch experienced,
every kiss given and
every kiss received
is a small unravelling of a truth that
i had long since forgotten:
that home is where the heart is.
and you have mine
K Balachandran Mar 2017
A regal white heron,
a bird of passage
that had followed
it's beloved dream
a long, long distance,
sits quiet unmoving,
atop a flowered lemon tree
on the bank of a tranquil pond
that wasn't known to it before.

Fish, enjoying freedom,all along
play meddling it's reflection
as if daring the heron to act
by trying to catch it's attention.

The crowned heron,
more placid than the pond
on the wings of an elating thought
resumes journey chasing it's dream.
Timothy Brown  May 2013
Timothy Brown May 2013
Rippling outward till the waves stop.
Dropped from a 5ft 10" skyscraper with a plop.

Perfect circles in precession,
stretching into regression
The placidity is eerie
as it returns with no sign of it's companion

The next one cast did a flip flop
across the liquid table top.

Those ripples again.
As if this lake had a brain,
it feigns space to detain
the stone and share knowledge arcane.  

The last one I decided to swap
I traded the lake's ripples for ones in my pocket.

Its a reason to return to the lake
The reason behind the pebble's wake
Scientifically, I know the make.
How is done, now why is at the stake.
© May 24th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.

— The End —