"accentuating" poems
***Crossing the room in slow motion
She watches his muscles move in the moonlight
Oh how they glisten in anticipation
Sit my pet, in a whisper
At her feet he waits with bated breath
So pleased at his obedience
Proceed
Such a simple command
He inches closer
His eagerness evident in his silence
In his omission of a proper response
An outfaced palm and he stops short
Sitting back on his feet, hands in lap, eyes to the floor
I'm sorry Ma'am, he says
That is evident by his failure to respond
He knows what is coming
Grabbing the back of his hair she forces his eyes to hers
Position, she says disgustedly
She leans back in the armchair as he pulls her hips to the edge
He lifts one leg and gently places it over the arm
Then he positions the other in the same manner
Sitting back on his feet, facing the floor
His arousal is evident, as is his moist anticipation
Respire.
The word is grunted through gritted teeth
He leans into heaven
Hovering an inch away
Slow deep breaths
He breathes in her essence wanting nothing more
Than to bridge the gap with his tongue
White satin and peekaboo lace
She runs down the rules of his punishment
Will you touch the Goddess
No Ma'am
Will you drool on the Goddess
No Ma'am
Will you move without permission
No Ma'am
How long will you hold your position
As long as my Goddess sees fit...Ma'am
Good boy
His breath is slow, deliberate, and heavy
The heat of it permeates the thin fabric
She runs her hand over the object of desire
Accentuating the outlines of what lies beneath
An accidental whimper
Silence!
A gruff command
Followed implicitly
In a slow and graceful motion
A hand slips under the fabric
Opening her flower releasing a hint of nectar
The scent grows exponentially upon the unfurling of petals
A glistening finger touches him just above his lip
Is that what you want?
It's a rhetorical question
Yes please
What will you do to get it
Such a simple question with but one answer
Anything you please, Goddess
Stick out your tongue
He does so in silence, careful that he does not touch her
She uses his wet flesh to wipe her finger clean
Closer she whispers
Now, within a half inch he breathes her in deeply
Mesmerized by the dewy goodness held behind the smooth satin
Watching desire grow in painfully slow motion
He blows out on the growing dampness
As he waits for her next command***
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Brown sugar sapotas
Blending with custard alfonso mangos
And bold sweet lime juice
Georgette saris
Pairing with uncut diamond necklaces
Mixed with peals and rubies
Gently sloping palm trees
Swaying in balmy sultry air
And hazy golden sunsets
Frenetic yellow autos
Competing with dusty zipping mopeds
Mixed with ambulating pedestrians
Aromas of cumin
Blending with the sewage
Other times with incense
Glows of brass oil lamps
Singing in hums of prayer
Added with turmeric's incantations
Brightly-patterned salwars
Accentuating gemstone bindis
Comfy fitted leggings
Savory masala dosas
Coupling coconut chutney
Meter-high filter coffee
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 8:17 AM UTC
his writing caught everyone’s attention
like an artist i once saw on the street in québec
he stood out amongst the crowd in montréal
i asked to take his picture
he obliged
this writer is also canadian
and paints masterpieces
with words
his colorful lines sometimes float on jagged edges
brushes of sticky sugar coating are exchanged
for starker strokes of reality
tinged with weathered wisdom
creating shadows in his work
accentuating the light
there’s not a write of his
that does not stir emotions
his words linger
rolling around in your head
bumping into each other
morphing into new connotations
his easel alive
you wonder if he did that on purpose?
could anyone have that kind of talent?
yes…..his brush continues flowing
even after the paint is dry
suddenly at midnight i awaken
and hear another morsel
a word, a phrase, a color
that only made itself known
in the dark of night
understanding he's a favorite
i imagined audibly hearing a collective sigh
when he contracted cancer
would he now leave his canvas dry?
no, this courageous artist
bravely took his palette
and continued painting
his words that us awaken
now e’vn more radiant
with tragedy astride
and ‘tho he talks of dying
i pray that he will stay
but should his spirit fly
we have seen a master show us
how to walk into the light
©2016janetaylor
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
The sensations take over for a time
Not quite enjoyment but a need
Flesh calling out for release
I give in eventually
Begging for this one to be different
Hoping that maybe I can just pretend for a while
Its always in the back of my mind
Exhausted I finally achieve
****** duly owed to instinct
Before the end is reached
Shame washes over me
Disappointment seeps through my entire being
I will never have the parts I desire
Acutely aware of the flesh pushing down on my chest
Accentuating every movement
The tiny nub between my fingers
Will never be big enough for my desire
The twitching hole that will never be closed
That will never supply pleasure
The tears begin to track down the sides of my face
Filled with anger, shame, disappointment and disgust
Brokenness from being entirely the wrong thing
How can I ask anyone to accept my body
When I can't even accept it myself?
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Many a notion I'd lay in indelible ink.
How the morning sun would harvest the contours of your face.
Accentuating...
Elevating...
Revealing...
Your majestic beauty.
Reminiscent of a different time and place.
Many a thought I'd pen in indelible ink.
When your breath meets with mine,
they'd hold their own conversation.
Deeply entranced,
In an everlasting dance
that would last forever.
Exchanging gaits of grandeur,
great longing and pine.
Many an inkling I'd etch in indelible ink.
The way my moon never gets eaten.
It'll balloon to its fullest...
Beaming it's brightest.
Seeping from its edges,
gushes forming rivers...
Bathing my earth in heavenly silver.
Calming the thundering hooves...
In my heart with rhyme and reason.
There are but three words...
Words so sacred I dare not utter in vain.
Proclamation so heavy my chest could hardly
hold in rein.
I've immortalised them here...
But in invisible ink...
Because no one would understand...
Of emotions so grand.
No one would have a clue...
That...
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
When a traditional
Music and dance,
Accentuating
A century-old bilateral
Ties, took place
A biracial and mesmeric
Greek goddess,
With chocolate Lucy's face,
Exhibiting elegance
And radiant face,
With splendour
Leased in the citadel of
My heart a place
Making it palpitate
Picking pace
Driving home
The cross breeding of
This with that race
At times lends human beings
Unmatched grace! ///
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
my hidden shames
are an excellent source of moral fibre,
nurturing, but not nutritious.
we coexist in a quiet
mutual acknowledgment,
coexisting but un-categorizable,
nonetheless,
among my oldest cohorts,
their singular coordinated characteristic,
they are mine alone,
not meant to be shared.
But they will someday
make an excellent poem.
Mon jan 2 2023
6:47am
@here
———————————————————-
the askew
are my oldest companion,
dating back to my naissance,
faithful, eternal, but single-minded,
with a rueful sense of humor,
of course,
refer to my relatively plentiful hairs
inherited from my mother’ genetics.
a morning chore,
to return their antics
to an adult,
dignified pose,
plenty sufficient to be be brushed,
straight back,
the preferred orderly compose,
of older men
who cannot waste time
with foolishness,
the excessive vanities of
curls, parts and pompadours,
and yet,
every day they wake me with
ridicule, mockery, by presenting
themselves.to me,
as if electrocuted,
each
hair raising itself
pointing to the heaven,
whence
their true Creator resides.
no amount of product
persuasive,
they do what they must do,
akimbo, askew,
with inordinate amount of
malice aforethought and
a venomous sense of
hairy (and now hoary)
absurdity .
a splash of water,
a handful of rigorous brush strokes,
returns order
and the pretense of a serious mien,
an adult demeanor.
But their purpose accomplished,
they have reminded me of the
absurdity of human vanity,
to humble myself
before forces
more powerful
than human self-aggrandizement
by accentuating
our human foibles.
7:13am
same time & place
——————————————-
morning prayers are
always
a trilogy
the rounded evenness of three,
provides the necessary gravitas
of sufficiency,
three being
not too short,
not too long,
not too quick,
just three right,
to impart
the seriousness
of gratitude
for having gained
another day upon earth,
with it,
many multitudes of
chances to share
thankfulness,
kindness,
yes,
& love too,
and to write,
one more poem
encapsulating
all of the above.
7:35am
same day
same place,
same cup of coffee
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 9:17 AM UTC
I look up at the sky and it feels like love
And in my mind words echo and poems form
I look at something and the first thing I see is beauty
An undying, pleasing combination of qualities that provides a perceptual experience of admiration
An entity which is inherently valued and adored
I find beauty everywhere
Inside of my eyes
My heart
My body
My head
The entire world surrounding me
I see it in everything
Beautiful things, beautiful people, beautiful creatures, beautiful places, beautiful objects, beautiful ideas, beautiful sounds
There is beauty in everything
I am in love with the moon and the sky
The way the sun shines through the trees and paints pictures on the ground below
The clouds and how they decorate the blue around them, accentuating its tugging beauty
How the birds sing songs for the flowers
The way the trees loom over everything and provide shelter and comfort for the smallest creature or an amiable passerby
I am in love with how the brook babbles
How the wind whispers secrets to the meadows
I am in love with every form of beauty
And if there is beauty in every single thing
I suppose you could say I am in love with all that there is
The life and beauty around me are sometimes so breathtaking I don't know what else to do rather than just revel in it
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
earthquakes
and such disasters
are caused by immodest women;
if you are wise you will see this truth
women
indecently dressed
and accentuating contours
cause excitement in vigorous young men;
if you are spiritual you will see this truth
the men who thus get excited
(and it’s all the women’s fault, you will agree)
and so are led astray by such women
and this causes adultery
and such immorality which
results in seismic activity
and so you have earthquakes;
if you are pure you will see this truth
it’s true
because adulterers
do it more vigorously
hence the earth trembles
more readily
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
#6 | Heartbreak in Hatfield
I’ve been picturing skies and oceans that are Van Gogh blue with every hue.
I have frequently felt warm winds on my skin while listening to Solána Rowe.
Moments filled with love, pain, depression and heartbreak are all I know.
That black dress keeps accentuating your curves every time I look around your way and admire your figure.
We must’ve met in the past life because that’s probably why I want to love you past life.
So many warm autumn afternoons have come and gone but I still have a desire to feel your love once again.
Love may slip from your lips and drip down your chin but I never want our beautiful melody to become staccato.
Those blue jeans keep accentuating your curves every time I look around your way and admire your figure.
On autumn afternoons like these, I have felt warm winds on my skin while thinking about you.
I’ve been picturing skies and oceans that are Van Gogh blue with every hue.
I have frequently felt warm winds on my skin while listening to Solána Rowe.
Moments filled with love, pain, depression and heartbreak are all I know.
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
His hands were fluttering birds; paper-thin skin stitched together with cerulean veins clung to bones, accentuating the already unnatural length of his fingers. They hung at his sides, writhing in a nervous agony - sweat glistened on their blushed palms. Those hands held the moons of Neptune. "Where are you going?" I asked, a soft echo.
The young man's head turned and he pulled a sad smile, "Oh, nowhere, really."
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
I wonder,
Do you hold others
To the same exacting standard
As your razor-sharp bangs?
Is that why I've never
Heard your voice?
Why I've never seen your mouth
Form any other expression than that
Pretty, perfect grimace?
"You have beautiful eyes,"
I want to say;
But they remain downcast,
Accentuating your general
Aura of discomfort.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 8:36 PM UTC
Wish I were a satellite
To send my cares away
Spot them as I’m coming down
And vanish with the day
Wish I were a lightning storm
With color, light, and cloud
Silently define the night
Or shout my presence loud
Wish I were a butterfly
Caught in a hurricane
Ripped apart with regal force
Accentuating pain
Wish I were a grain of sand
By ocean, lake, or bay
Caught within a gentle wave
And slowly float away
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC
battered screws stripped bare by
a hundred thousand terrible twists
from an unsteady, inexperienced,
or overly excited hand
nearly rattling out of their proper positions,
hanging rather loosely
to the last threads of their holes.
fan them as they dangle,
fandangle!
but a blue gust from beneath
the anonymous and unidentifiable bursts
the shriveled scraps of low-grade steel
from their brittle perches
and
then one,
two,
threefourfivesixseventyeightmillion
clatterings invade all audibility,
heightening --- accentuating --- underscoring
each miniscule soundwave
until there is not much more than
white noise, crack-
ling like a ruddy transitor radio
i probably never had
but only equate it to for lack of
another more proper, perhaps more appropriate,
even more...profound (?) word, or, whatever;
hardware indignationum!
what abuses we dish these inanimates created by us for us!, and, yes,
i follow all syncretic trends to
their phenomenal (and fusional)
morphological ends. if i didn't, how could
i know the neutered from the neuterer?
attend to the screws;
the debased, bemused, once-bedazzled little bits strewn on the floor and
frazzled. go on,
get 'em up, up
off the ground.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 1:27 PM UTC
Conversations overlapping.
Suitcase wheels rolling.
Babies sobbing.
Mothers calling.
Headphones blaring.
People scurrying.
PA system whispering.
Starbucks bustling.
Airplanes taking off and landing.
And in the middle of everything,
The lady in black.
Sitting motionless, hands grasping her
Black umbrella, her sleek black dress
Accentuating her young body,
And whilst a black veil covers her face,
Her tears shine through, reflecting
From the bright lights of the airport.
When you look closer,
Her slim body trembles with concealed sobs,
And her calm facade is broken
With closer inspection,
Broken inside from something undetectable from the outside.
The lady in black.
We have all been her.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
Unpolished weathered wood plays on my palms,
I pull and reach and pull an even beat
Attending algae'd oars aqueous psalm
Altered by the tangled grass I meet,
in counterpoint small waves percuss the prow
Accentuating the pause before I cull,
Mellifluous zephyrs bowing across my brow
Enhance the exposition of the gulls,
Above the hem of heaven's dress the bright
Cerulean bodice trilled with Cirrus lace
Beguiles regard, but maddeningly polite
She smooths her skirt across the score of space
Eclipsing a poet's want to read the ruse,
This lady only lingers to amuse.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
I wasn't down in the bottom
Nor was I up somewhere High
I feel no need to race the wind
Or spit into the eye
I have no driving hunger
Nor am I starving for results
I'm no more moved by accolades
Than I am by any vile insults
l could leave right this moment
With no need to even look back
No more purpose or Direction
than a windblown empty paper sack
If I had any emotional connection to anything anywhere or at any time
The line which held that feeble pull
Has now released me from all ties that bind
The shadow that I have often followed
Or was aware of in my wake
Doesn't seem to be as intrinsically connected
As the power wane's and lights dim accentuating every ache
So that in turn what might once concern
And set on edge some Keen insight
To push the ink through an all consuming link
Driving that need to succeed by saying it just right
Has just become some Tangled mess
Endless threads and those ancient dreads
For if nothing changes the course or flow
Then that sack in directionalless flight is right in caring not why or when how or where it heads
Who cares if all those words ended up simply scattered
And you are a hollowed-out core nothing more
Defeated and depleted by the knowledge that nothing mattered
If words are heard and only those understood the others we ignore
You know what I mean
understand where I'm coming
from
And you say wow man I can relate
Then tell me my friend
before I end
what's the difference in a morsel
and a crumb
If they all taste the same then they are mundane
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 12:32 PM UTC
“I want my ears to be your journal.”
“I’d rather you cut my wrist than yours.”
“Your wrists are beautiful; don’t add another scar to them.”
I sat on the edge of your couch
playing “Chasing Cars”
and I look over to see you tearing up.
I don’t know how to explain
the connection that I feel to you.
I’ve known you for a few months
but it feels like a lifetime,
and yet so much of you remains undiscovered.
I want to discover you
discover your body
discover your heart
discover your soul
piece by piece,
your personality is an enigma,
a mystery,
one that I’d love to unravel-
but never all the way
because hey,
what’s the fun in that, right?
“Any time you want this, I’m game.”
“Sit back, relax. This is about you.”
“Your body is a temple;
I’m focusing on making my way towards the treasure.”
I’m so used to jumping in
doing everything at once
figuring out where we go from there
but the moment I mentioned that you said,
**** that.”
Slow,
sweet,
sensational,
kind, loving, caring, gentle-
not rough, not hard, not *****
just us.
Just looking and seeing a person
you love so **** much
that you trust so completely,
“I felt comfortable.
Comfortable being with you,
comfortable being me.”
“I love everything about you.
Even the hard spots on your fingers,
the calluses from playing guitar
because it’s another thing that connects us.”
I explain to you that in my mind,
*** means love,
and that’s why I’m coming on so strong
but later on
Hands trailing over scarred skin
and a smile that says, “I’m here for you,”
a pair of lips that whispers,
“I’ll never leave you”,
the push and pull of your calloused fingertips
on my hips,
your breath in my ear,
my hands running along the curves of your back
I am in love with you.
I would say I have loved you to the point of madness
but that would be an understatement.
I have lost myself in your gaze,
gasped at your soft touch and
I have loved you beyond madness-
in a good way.
Let’s lay here in eachothers’ arms
outside at midnight
and listen to Shinedown
as the moon shines down
accentuating the labyrinth of smoke
around us,
let's chase cars around our heads,
let’s forget the world for one night.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Aristotle’s arrhythmic articulations
Appeared too apologetic for Aphrodite's amusements
Aroused by antisocial media’s alacritous abundance
Amidst arteriosclerosis and amphibiously obeisant Ophiuchus
Asclepius' ascendance was almost an abortion
Arrested by Apollo’s amorous attempts at aphrodisia
Ambidextrous Artemis’ androgynous appointments
Awakened ancient antipathies accentuating allopathic artifacts
Altercations arose among ambitious acolytes and Athena’s anorexic acidoses
Awkward Adonis actively agonized by alarming aneurysms
Allowed Antigone’s ambivalent armistice an aperture of acceptance
Appointing an ambiguously appealing additive to the Argonauts
An anaerobic Acropolis arose amidst ********** asphyxiations
As Amazonian armpit hair advocates approved artificial insemination
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
A dismal despot, allowing distracting dimensions.
Another distant drowning accentuating dire directions.
Assimilated destinies detailing a dreadful downfall.
Accumulated disinterest destroying antique displayed drywall.
Abstract desires depicting abnormal - doper,
Destined attention deficit disorder
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
From your head to your toes;
inside and out;
I Love You with every Essence of my Being,
every Impulse of my Body,
and every Beat of my Heart.
I long for You when I'm at work,
I feel You with me every minute of every Day.
i can't see myself living without you.
In the event of my struggles to find Our future.
The way You make me feel as I feel your soul with every touch of your body, ever Caress,
every kiss of your Body ,
and the way You wash your body
as the water trickles down your
lustrous curves accentuating the Beauty that is YOU.
I feel your soul flow, your Contemporary mind fills my soul. Inspirational beats
of your heart sets the course for Love and Passions Excitement that intertwines ourselves together
as One,and One we shall be as our sweet nectar combines;
One we shall be.
: To Love is to always hold on to your truth and true loves motive of the hearts blood that flows
freely for each other, with each other, and as You breath each other.
: Don't take the One You truly Love for granted;
because If/While you do you start to loose the best life hast to offer not only for you,
but as well for your true love.
So have faith in Love, in Her every fiber and give Her all of you;
For Good/Bad, Better/Worse.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 6:06 PM UTC
The storm was eerie today.
I was standing outside,
Tears streaming down my face.
Soon they were joined by rain.
It was cold and bright.
I screamed.
The thunder echoed me.
Nature was hurting too.
Or maybe she was trying to soothe my wounds.
I went inside.
To lie in bed,
Dripping wet.
Pondering things that will never come to pass.
I peered out the window,
Just in time to see lightning flash.
It excited me.
I wish it didn’t.
The exhilaration is involuntary.
I hear the faint sounds of electric rhythm.
She Wants Revenge is on repeat,
Mixing with the storm,
Accentuating every beat.
I’m baffle by their insight.
How can a man tell the story of a broken woman so well?
From her perspective,
Like he knows how she feels.
And what she’s thinking when she’s all alone.
Maybe it’s because he loved her,
And absorbed her, and destroyed her,
Their true feelings now unknown.
But passion haunts me.
As I sink into their tale.
Hoping this storm will cleanse me.
And that Rachel will prevail.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 8:49 AM UTC
She could stand alongside the Gods,
with her Greek and imposing figure.
She seemed to know the true meaning of grace,
grazing asphalt with her presence.
Her gentle legs brought upon silent admiration,
her cinched waist accentuating hidden curves,
it was as if her body held a soft prowess,
dominating the art of anatomy.
This statuesque beauty held no shame in her step,
she was rhythmic and lyrical,
I couldn't keep my eyes off.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Softness surrounds her eyes
accentuating a look of wisdom.
Contentment tempers her voice.
A voice that flows to greet one
like a mellow brook
sparkling in the sunrise.
Her words traced to paper
speak of a true heart
that pumps compassion.
Her poetic refrains spill forth
like lava flowing on a rock.
Yet her steps are gentle on the earth
as though each journey is
a walking meditation.
Observing is an obsession
that ignites each draft she writes.
What if she changed? What if
she lived with the boldness
of her writing and the zest of her poems,
would her words become tempered
and her rhymes fall hollow on the page?
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC