#octave
A soft, silk breeze on damp skin — tempts me to dare,
Tender touches — ignite passions I want to dare,
Breath of wind traces my folds — where wild moments dare,
Trembling flesh hides secrets — where only lovers dare.
Gusts caress hidden curves — skin yearns to feel,
Fabric's edge, a rigid wall — crumbling to feel,
Nature's fingers find my depths — wildly to feel,
Bare skin tingles, awakens — opening to feel.
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 3:48 PM UTC
i'm still in love with the way your voice skips an octave when you get upset
you used to love my poetry beyond anything in the world but now
you blocked my poetry account i used to write poems about you but
you'll never see them the way you used to
you say you don't care you say you're scared of nothing but I know you're scared to admit it
you're still in love with my mind
the way i'm in love with yours
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
Chastened
Defiant
Emotion
Forgiving
Gateway
Amidst
Blinded
Chiffon
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
Chop wood, carry water,
channel Ra.
Overtones over the undulations of Nun,
where the first man stood quite
apart from his father.
The cattle of Ra poured forth from his eyes and
thus he ruled over what he made.
Red frequencies in the dark are
strung outside of time -
the mana by which energy makes art.
I cannot look toward the Black Octave…
bad cymatics in the Red Resonant Year.
I’m barking at the Blue Tetrad.
The indian guides couldn’t tell if it was
Comanche or wolf.
They remained still for quite a long time.
By: Jordan Gee
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 4:17 PM UTC
If I open my eyes, I will be awake.
I am awake; I don’t want to open my eyes.
Even though dawdling in bed is unwise
it is a bad habit I have yet to break.
If I were a morning person, I would shake
off sleep’s sluggish cloak and arise
fresh as a daisy; my arms open to the skies
and greet sunrise without the bellyache.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
In Praise of Meter
by Michael R. Burch
The earth is full of rhythms so precise
the octave of the crystal can produce
a trillion oscillations, yet not lose
a second’s beat. The ear needs no device
to hear the unsprung rhythms of the couch
drown out the mouth’s; the lips can be debauched
by kisses, should the heart put back its watch
and find the pulse of love, and sing, devout.
If moons and tides in interlocking dance
obey their numbers, what’s been left to chance?
Should poets be more lax—their circumstance
as humble as it is?—or readers wince
to see their ragged numbers thin, to hear
the moans of drones drown out the Chanticleer?
Published by Poetry Porch/Sonnet Scroll, The Eclectic Muse, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Famous Poets & Poems, Poetry Renewal Magazine, Mindful of Poetry, Sonnetto Poesia, Trinacria and Poetry Life & Times
Keywords/Tags: Rhythm, rhyme, meter, beat, music, octave, heart, pulse, watch, numbers
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 4:58 AM UTC
deep as the ocean
soft and warm like mornings
sweet tones like chocolate
wrap me up and pull me in
these tones and octaves
how beautiful, these sounds
im in love with your voice
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 5:02 PM UTC