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kevin wright Feb 8
An arc of embodiment
Decadent perfumed petticoats swirled to order
Power ****** from the sweat of the land
Stone hewn from its very foundations
A spider's web encloses the flowering art

Phoenician helmeted raiders
Roman taxing invaders
Trespassing Gaulish voices
Thumbed rosary transcenders
The dawn of a walled resistance

A Religious pandemic
Storming Carcistes
Razats rebel
Friends denounce their own
A castle evokes revolutionary fever

Ghosts reverberate running the embattlements
Proletarians open the walls
Guardians red and blue
White clergy take the souls
Swords discarded, a tricolore soars

Slaves to the chisel
Open pits for Vulcan to dip his toes
Gothic Cavernous quarried vaults
     in search of Sade’s demons
Stone to shape Provencal style

Dereliction a Maquis delight
Refuging resistance and the persecuted
Destruction and collapse
Artisans and folk revive
Paint brushes to the fore
Transientents page the streets with blood red gold

A coat of arms rings its bell
Lowly hovels now adored
Gaping holes swallow the light
Sleepers enrichen the ground
Too long a museum

Stirring string notes
Cherups embrace their calling
Voices rouse the deities
Banners furl in mistral breaths
Spirits hightail Lacoste’s new allies

Iced sun rises over Luberons range
Warmth caresses the blood of day
School children playing, wake the sleepy
Warm stews vie with Pistou
Hallowed vines are groomed

Long walks with herbs to find
Boars try and outwit their hunters
Dogs smell the truffles afar
Ventoux snows cool the view
Cyclists roar through in celebration

Village a transforming microcosm
Artists absorb, evolving a creation
Animate habitants living and the vogue
A hearty cocooned culture emerging out into
     longer days luring the coming spring
The second of  a four seasons  poetic series. A village stripped bare to its origins  during winter.
Rochelle Foles Apr 2019
pleasure
                as  
pain

he told his partners

unwitting souls
commanded by his
physical
beauty

strong
self assured
manner

unwillingness 2 accept
anything but compliance
acquiescence

compelling
in his self assurance
many were led into his lair
gullible

some to escape
never the being they’d been

some
attempting
to flee
flogged into further submission
and eternal darkness

pleasure as pain
he told them

the once innocents





© 2017
rf
Kaze Poitier Jun 2018
Before my soul had reach maturity I was told to never give a lover my heart
Thus I never did,
Instead I gave them my heart, my soul, and every fibre of my being
For the one whom I fell in love with was no lover, but a soul a divine
When they wanted the world I gave them the universe itself
I do not regret my decision
I have no remorse
For their love and loyalty made it as easy as drawing breathe
Like royalty they received without question
For they have evolved beyond the definition of lover
They are Nirvana

5 | Heartbreak in Hatfield

She’s wrapped up in white sheets and peaceful dreams.
She gets head on most mornings before she gets out of bed.
There’s love in her heart, milk in her cereal and honey in her tea.
I want to hold her in my arms until she forgets what pain feels like.
I want to be in her heart, on her mind, body and on her brown skin.
Thick thighs, beautiful smile and brown eyes – she is my favourite sin.
A wise lady once told me that heaven is found between a woman’s thighs.
I want to hold her in my arms until she remembers what happiness feels like.
Love may slip from her lips and drip down her chin but I never want our beautiful melody to become staccato.
She has made me question if all the women I have been with before were worthy of my love, time and effort.
She’s a representation of all the beautiful music Sade has created and she’s more than the sweetest taboo to me.
On most days she makes me forget about being the king of sorrow when I eventually stop crying everyone’s tears.
The traces of her lips on my skin reach deep inside my soul and transform an abandoned house into a loving home.
INFINITEabyss Nov 2015
You only seem to love me when im empty
There must be something in that that makes you happy
And ill never understand it.  
The first time I heard the king of sorrow
by sade I felt like I had told her how I felt, took her hands to my chest and let her dig deep.
And she wrote about me.  
There's a difference between writing for someone and about someone
There are no trinkets, no hidden words.
It's all bare.
Like when you're making love to someone even though they're just trying to **** and you bare it all.  
Ive been meaning to write about you. Not for you.    
But ive placed you on a pedestal that wont allow me to.
Martin Narrod May 2014
The likes of you I can't describe,
Yet I love to eat between your thighs.
The melody you spake to me
Unfolds my greatest sovereignty.
I crave to quaff all of your spit,
And swallow every drop of it.
Don't cheat me of your tasty flesh,
Those bare and supple ****** *******,
Your eyes that follow my firm gaze,
While we kiss and lick and misbehave.
I need to feel each piece of skin,
Smashing girl and boy parts over and over again.
It's such a treat to eat you whole;
I'm obsessed with eating 19-year-olds.
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