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"alchemies" poems
Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smoldering Zeus.
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Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
The Face of Ireland
Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smoldering Zeus.
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Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
Face of Ireland
Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smoldering Zeus.
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May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
Face of Ireland
Time will demean you Time will felicitate you There was once A little boy who dreamt of being a star that shone brighter than the moon He loved his days when he could play hide and seek, all evening long Later lying over green grasses letting his life to recollect The tree under which he use to lie with branches, where he used to swing is no more. His dreams of star brighter than moon- moon was never brighter than star. There was a boy once who was stupid with all his freedom with desires, where his dreams used to swing The tree is no more The boy is no more Time tells the stories inside the head of mysteries, of universal alchemies and of adventure misunderstood, not understood and understood years later, when it first demeaned you Dreams work in strange way Desires **** in worst days and time is still waiting for the felicitation to tell the little boy there are no stars brighter than moon
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Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
of dream and anxiety
. Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smouldering Zeus.
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Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
The Face of Ireland
What Goes Around, Comes by Michael R. Burch This is a poem about loss so why do you toss your dark hair— unaccountably glowing? How can you be sure of my heart when it’s beyond my own knowing? Or is it love’s pheromones you trust, my eyes magnetized by your bust and the mysterious alchemies of lust? Now I am truly lost! Keywords/Tags: love, lust, pheromones, chemistry, alchemy, alchemies, bust, ******* hair, attraction, eyes, stare, ogle
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Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 4:11 AM UTC
What Goes Around, Comes
. Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smoldering Zeus.
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Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Face of Ireland
Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smoldering Zeus.
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Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
The Face of Ireland
Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smoldering Zeus.
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Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
The Face of Ireland
. Your face, Tender, round and dimpled, Framed with gilded, carved, tawny curled Whirlpools of hair, long, lighted, and sparkling, Your face is the face— Of Ireland. Your lips, Full, moist and deathly deep, Are wells, not well for me, not safe, taboo, Tantric, tall told tales of brave Odysseus Under Circe's alchemies Of forgetfulness. Your ***** The zenith of blossom in fabled Elysium, gateway to the forbidden gardens Of sage and sinners, warrior-poets, Aphrodite's Envy, Poseidon's drowning And smouldering Zeus. .
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Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
The Face of Ireland
A labyrinthine landscape surrounds her soul's volcanic crucible. From its dark centrifuge churns withering tempests and wondrous omens! Her elements blaze and shift in metamorphic alchemies of anonymity, while Delphic visions emerge with blinding truth! Her cerulean dream is conceived! The integral moment is seized! She has blossomed into the oneness of spirit.
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Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC
Omens Of Oneness