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neth jones Nov 4
in pursuit of you                          
i put myself in harms way
something ‘teethy’  entered my bloodstream
and  flooded   i hoped for the best

we crashed   and meddled   and crashed
again
a fixed ache  we were yanked back to
chairs, tables, sofas, beds
bending to the shapes and endurance levels
sounding off of their abilities to aid our act
          even thrown over washings machines
tatting against their vibrations
tossed about in bathrooms                                      
our clothing pulled from us outdoors
risking winter exposure
                                    dragged to the gritty pavement
and hurled against solid public art
all very much in tune                                            
        with natures ludic intentions
           and without a mote of embarrassment
                                               on our part
june 23

extracted bit -

shot through the seasons together
we thrashed about in the snow - in the night -
in the sick freeze of the city -
the trash -
quiet deafened and jarringly loud after the pubs let out
Two ancient eagles often meet
free and high, celebration dancing our death spiral or mating dance.

Flying over this weeping willow forest lands we found
Our white willow tree bark healing properties own
salicylic acid relieving pains and inflammations.  

Our beautiful pendular branches, the weeping willow trees of us, symbols of fertility are; out willow trees grow best by side roads by body of water rivers lakes, or ponds. And us special eagles, mate by the sea.

And like us our willows of life attract scary snakes, but also birds bees butterflies, cocoons moths many diverse birds make a home in us. Our willow trees seem to hide a fertil sadness within.

In our roots, creatures find habitat restauration erosion control and perfect ******* growth of 6 to 8 inches length.

Our willow trees filter poisons grows quickly and live longer with a human touch like ours.

Our weeping willow tree established root systems decontaminating water and soil.

Raindrops drip down our leaves. My weeping is called pillow P**y willow tree.

When our weeping tree grows largest it casts a grave size shadow and a family member goes supernovae or so it's written.

Thank you my weeping willow tree, sweet poet mine for placing baby blankets under our weeping willow tree.

Your invitation uncovered accepted loved and cherished eternally.

To the one poet Sonnet 75 my
True love, this one honors the day my smile captured thine heart, my weeping willow my everything beloved.
~~~
Inspired by a tree of life planted in my honor once upon a time.
~~~

By: Mr And Mrs Andrews
https://youtube.com/shorts/_Jn499wTp1A?si=EixykCTh7LFS_ybg
neth jones Jun 2023
i've a plundering urge
to whom it is absurd,
                     the black teeth
                     the blood scribes
                     the woe, the whither,
                                               the word
i felt seen   from afar
telescoped warmth  cups my right shoulder
and i expand from shrivel   in your forgiving light
are you my soilmate ?

for you i prepare scents   beading from my most sweaty regions
       a moist sporing    emits in nifty allium spritzes
i stammer to a standing position
                          and exercise my full height

sporting,
           i swing and tap an annihilated aluminum bat
              sounding out my specific code of fidelations
                   resonation through the ground
                     and suddenly you are near
                    receiving the humming
                  up the souls of your doughy bare feet
                         you shiver

i prance wildly and perfect kilter in my hips
i offer to preen you
i present you with a pyramid of spittle balloons
i **** myself a little
i sink my teeth into your side    (it's not 'your jam'
    but we recover the mood)
i give chase to you for you to be chased
and it's a wild kind of keen fun
         and you are a madcap display of laughter and wide smiles
and   within     i feel a gordian nest  
         of some lust manoeuvre 
(maybe we can copulate face-to-face ?)

pondering scars     wounds that were much deserved
the white meat    the bright stars    delivered

who is rude to the rule       of what is ours ?  
i knew you
magnesium burn    and unwholesomely dauntless
  bold   your portfolio always within an easy reach
your passionate simmering might    you branded my eye
and now we're similar    mites in a feather
simian partners surveying territory needs

and then you’re gone again
        vanished

       and we are distant minds that strike the hour together
                                like before
between our signals I am met with cross chatter
my hemispheres bicker
and retorting memories barrage
        refunding the past
    and taking you away from me

i am a mating dunce once more
             i shrivel
Kyrie Hajashi Apr 2021
Green violins and caramel wings
My heart shivers as the cricket call
For his love in midnight wings.

The cold moon sings a silver anthem
In tune with the cricket's howl
For his love who's writing this poem.

The front door is open
waiting for love to peek
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2020
Let men burn stars out from innocuous lightyears pulled through the vortex

Like needle and thread, sown by centuries of sparked, graceful union

(Their strength and vigor found in the cross-stitching)

And ever gently unfolding like outer reach, like inner *****

In the garden of our senses, flowing with milk and honey, by means of forethought or afterglow

One thought of ecstasy, one thought of infinite parable taking new light to bed

The sacred beams bending to form a crescent, a lunula of utmost happiness
Clair de Lune: Light of the moon.
Rose Who Knows Jan 2020
I hear the call of the animals
through the darkness
their piercing need

Searching

Searching

For one another
in the black
stony night.
Literally wrote this as I heard animals calling out to one another in the night
Jenish Dec 2019
stern King of days and
sensuous Queen of nights
of Heavenly kingdoms
mating in the sky  
staring above is not wise -
as they may get shy
Chris Mar 2019
The bait is set.
All I do is wait...
For someone to bite,
Waist deep in water, still not wet.
I will go hungry again...tonight.

Wonder what's wrong, the world's unfair.
So many fish in rivers and lakes...
Wonder, Why me? look down in despair,
The fish is all plastic, the scales are all fake.

The rod is tense.
All I do is pull....
All I want is flesh....
The pain is intense...
The fish is a fool.
I am a living proof that a sociopath can write poetry ( not self-diagnosed, so ******* with that) :)
Sharon Talbot Aug 2018
The faded beauty,
a desiccated blush
Still seen by you and me
was evidence of
a scarlet flush.

But the season is over
And the mating done.
Splendor still hovers
Until the two are one.

But who are we to stand and gawk,
Though they rest in shade and know us not?

Their hour is spent in the maiden sun,
And we arrive after the race is won.

Stoop low to gather useless information
about magnetism and procreation.
We are nothing more than nature's shields
And the guardians of whatever she yields.
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