#loons - Hello Poetry

Old Pantaloons, a Chiasmus by Michael R. Burch Old pantaloons are soft and white, prudent days, imprudent nights when fingers slip through drawers to feel that which they long most to steal. Old ***** loons are soft and white, prudent days, imprudent nights when fingers slip through drawers to steal that which they long most to feel. Keywords/Tags: chiasmus, pantaloons, ***** loons, ******* pun, wordplay, underwear, fetish, lingerie, pervert, perverts, **********

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May 20, 2020

May 20, 2020 at 10:58 PM UTC

michael-r-burch

Old Pantaloons

Old Pantaloons, a Chiasmus by Michael R. Burch Old pantaloons are soft and white, prudent days, imprudent nights when fingers slip through drawers to feel that which they long most to steal. Old ***** loons are soft and white, prudent days, imprudent nights when fingers slip through drawers to steal that which they long most to feel. Keywords/Tags: chiasmus, pantaloons, ***** loons, ******* pun, wordplay, underwear, fetish, lingerie, pervert, perverts, **********

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#(a travelogue) He stared down through the unbroken silence lapping the shoreline Water skippers dart around the rocks and windfall driftwood settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds and emerging broadleaf sprouts A petrified heartwood timber lie fallow waiting bare barked, hushed like a pining lover’s timeworn love seat, rubbed smooth as the crystalline waters of half-moon lake Lingering for a while ― like a hidden stalker, a perched wildcat waiting for the full moon’s swooning spell to saturate the thickening dusk quietude; arousing the urgent call of the wild — exhaled from the held breath of the wilderness nocturne on half-moon lake The stillness was scattered with the soft downy hairs of the sleeping cattails, and the newly shed catkins a spring gust bestrewed from a tall resin birch tree nigh the Sitka willows He sat quietly ... time out of mind ― tossing his eyes up into the sky; taking the time to read the stars ― catching them each again as they fell into his gentle hands, to show him who he was Seeing their sparkly tracers trail-out above the cattails, from a distance they resembled falling stars unable to perceive their own renaissance ― plashing lightly upon the still-water on half-moon lake A lone shadow glides stealthily near mid-tarn,.. swimming enchantingly with the grace of a blackswan Appearing to glance shoreward at the glowing low stars rise and fall, as his eyes twinkled skyward over the moonlit lagoon ― heavenward of its moonlit ballet; the lone sleek dark shadow slipping through a faint circular ripple stirring the smooth as glass waters ― disappearing like a fleeting moment waning deep aneath a subtle silent wake. When all the clear lines blurred, he knew it had been so long ... but hearken ! … an interceding long drawn out wail echoed a feral ache across the stillness, breaking the silence ― as the shadow reappeared; his tears surrendered to the undulating call of the wild; he felt the spirit of the sole Loon, as black and white as the moonlit night, stir deeply in his wanting heart ― lay bare the silence in lengthy yodeled psalms to the god of the moon Diving down deep yet again, keeping the light he’d been given, vanishing into the lifespring sanctuary of half-moon lake harlon rivers ... May 2018 travelogue: 4 of some more

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May 21, 2018

May 21, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC

harlon-rivers

On half-moon lake ☽

#(a travelogue) He stared down through the unbroken silence lapping the shoreline Water skippers dart around the rocks and windfall driftwood settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds and emerging broadleaf sprouts A petrified heartwood timber lie fallow waiting bare barked, hushed like a pining lover’s timeworn love seat, rubbed smooth as the crystalline waters of half-moon lake Lingering for a while ― like a hidden stalker, a perched wildcat waiting for the full moon’s swooning spell to saturate the thickening dusk quietude; arousing the urgent call of the wild — exhaled from the held breath of the wilderness nocturne on half-moon lake The stillness was scattered with the soft downy hairs of the sleeping cattails, and the newly shed catkins a spring gust bestrewed from a tall resin birch tree nigh the Sitka willows He sat quietly ... time out of mind ― tossing his eyes up into the sky; taking the time to read the stars ― catching them each again as they fell into his gentle hands, to show him who he was Seeing their sparkly tracers trail-out above the cattails, from a distance they resembled falling stars unable to perceive their own renaissance ― plashing lightly upon the still-water on half-moon lake A lone shadow glides stealthily near mid-tarn,.. swimming enchantingly with the grace of a blackswan Appearing to glance shoreward at the glowing low stars rise and fall, as his eyes twinkled skyward over the moonlit lagoon ― heavenward of its moonlit ballet; the lone sleek dark shadow slipping through a faint circular ripple stirring the smooth as glass waters ― disappearing like a fleeting moment waning deep aneath a subtle silent wake. When all the clear lines blurred, he knew it had been so long ... but hearken ! … an interceding long drawn out wail echoed a feral ache across the stillness, breaking the silence ― as the shadow reappeared; his tears surrendered to the undulating call of the wild; he felt the spirit of the sole Loon, as black and white as the moonlit night, stir deeply in his wanting heart ― lay bare the silence in lengthy yodeled psalms to the god of the moon Diving down deep yet again, keeping the light he’d been given, vanishing into the lifespring sanctuary of half-moon lake harlon rivers ... May 2018 travelogue: 4 of some more

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Summer's almost over, It's threadbare As your towel; The summer sands Are shifting, The beach is headed south. The initialed picnic tables Are stored for other outings; The concession windows Flapped now, The busker's shouting quelled. Sails are dropped Like maple leafs, The moon's rising Too soon; The night lights blaze Over pitch and field, Where sunshine Shone in June. Geese are wedging daily To escape the wintery gloom; I'll reacquaint With the hinter sounds Of lake winds And banshee loons.

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Aug 28, 2014

Aug 28, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC

francie-lynch

Banshee Loons

Summer's almost over, It's threadbare As your towel; The summer sands Are shifting, The beach is headed south. The initialed picnic tables Are stored for other outings; The concession windows Flapped now, The busker's shouting quelled. Sails are dropped Like maple leafs, The moon's rising Too soon; The night lights blaze Over pitch and field, Where sunshine Shone in June. Geese are wedging daily To escape the wintery gloom; I'll reacquaint With the hinter sounds Of lake winds And banshee loons.

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