"aquiver" poems
Aquiver mellifluous ineffable hiraeth nefarious somnambulist epoch sonorous serendipitous limerence bombinate luminescence ethereal illicit petrichor iridescent supine aurora solitude syzygy phosphenes oblivion ephemeral incandescence denouement vellichor eloquence defenestration Sondra effervescence cromulent cellar-door debridement
Illustrator icon verdant cerulean aeneous albicant amaranthine azuline argent chartreuse damask ferruginous haematic hyacinthine ibis ochre primrose russet sanguineous virescent mystborn transcendence
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
People, you are pots of paint for my canvass.
With all your quirks and foibles,
And wonderful ways.
The world indeed is crowded
With many pots of paint:
Glorious views.
My brushes are all aquiver,
Inspired by everything.
From India to Iceland,
Russia to sunny Spain.
You folk, I love to paint you,
Though never your actual words.
The universe, a marvel,
Flying through the heavens.
Swirling spiral galaxies,
Pallets for my verse.
Paul Butters
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
my ***** Little Secret, symbolized
by ***** words and little idiosyncrasies and
secret secret liaisons;
je c'adore,
laying Control alongside
cast off clothing and kicked off wet *******
heartbeat aflutter beneath your
oh so deliberate ministrations and
thighs aquiver beneath your
oh so deliberate teeth.
my wrists chafe; bound by bitter steel to demure wood,
powerless
or rather
entirely in your power.
you've always loved it,
the thrill of exploration, of
Newfoundland, of
conquer and subjugation and ravishment;
your tongue flickering against my
**** like eiderdown,
fingertips tracing spirals and Möbius
Strips upon my *******
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Our life puts the "Sh..." back in
"Chicago."
This pulse could race, slow to a dull thud or stop and curdle like the residents of a container of milk who've been left out, and still you will never love me.
Gobs of waiter phlegm we never detect in our bowls of soup and teapots beg our forgiveness and howl for our affection, and are invisible.
But where is the crime in not loving
when we are not loved?
How could there be a crime in not loving,
when we are loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford
to ask ourselves where is the crime,
thus implying innocence.
We put the "mice" back in
"monogamous."
tip-toeing, silent but for mere squeaks, nearly inaudible whispers,
furtive looks, and how we run away, screaming,
or, like mice and Chicagoans all, we freeze.
Aquiver with fear, iced up in the Polar Vortex, hands raised in the policeman's spotlight.
But where is the crime in not loving
when you are not loved, or loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford to stand up straight,
We scurry close to building walls,
trying not to be seen or see each other as we curse our fate.
Where is the crime in not loving those whom we hate?
There is no crime, but still, not loving is the heart of all crime.
To feel so deeply unloved we wish to destroy ... you name it.
Blot out, ruin and erase them; our enemies, our families, lovers, and even the world herself.
Jab a knife into her verdant hide and twist until black blood flows.
Gouge out mountaintops seeking iron for our towers.
Remaking her grace to build our graveyard.
These vibrant phosphorescent tombstones, overpopulated pillars of mutual isolation reach up into the clouds.
Announcing to the universe, we trumpet a loneliness as profound as it is absurd and ugly.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
In the sensual glow
that from your wide eyes flow
on to your golden brown skin
supple, with a satin sheen.
With my fingers of silk
I gently caress the beauty
of your soul within
My name in love softly you whisper
as my heart
you set aquiver
I bless you my love
for all that you bequeath
to my life that came with your
bridal wreath
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Loving you was both ineffable and unendurable
I felt a hiraeth for your heart
As you had already set mine aquiver
Your voice sounded so mellifluous and sonorous
That it was almost nefarious
The epoch of while I looked at you
I knew this wasn’t limerence
And every day I prayed for serendipity
You were ethereal
So much so that it seemed almost illicit
You smelt of petrichor
Maybe it was just my glasses
That made you look iridescent
And made you look like you were luminescent
I didn’t need to rub my eyes to sense phosphines
When you were near me
Because although the time I got to spend with you was ephemeral
It sent me into oblivion
Because I was convinced this was yuanfen
It kind of made me feel like defenestrating you
You made me go through metanoia
The thought of you was eunoia
I guess what I’m trying to say is
I’m ******* in love with you
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Sleepless dreaming, framed by screaming.
Is she breathing?
Take the time.
One. Two. Three.
I wonder…
Four. Five.
Is death kind?
Six. Seven.
Will she make it?
Eight. Nine.
Never mind.
Marble eyes roll in their pockets,
Arms and legs seizing their sockets,
Groaning breath sends lips aquiver,
Her tiny figure writhes and shivers.
Ten. Eleven
How much longer?
Twelve. Dear God!
Let her be stronger.
A Toneless voice of mock assurance,
Won’t deter these pulsing currents,
Tongues detained by ball and chain,
Massage the air to ease the pain.
Thirteen comes.
Now slowly, easy.
Fourteen.
The sound of gentle breathing.
Dimple-drawn, her mouths sweet boarders,
Pull that weak smile from its cask,
Inhale relief, a hard won nectar,
Her limbs all leaded from their task.
One nod from death,
one swift departure
and for the moment, all is fine.
The clock's cold hands
continue turning,
So don't forget to take the time.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
Your words and eyes
resonate deep within
and set me aquiver.
They set me a task.
At once mellifluous
and sonorous they
tingle from my hair
to my very toes
(and all the mysterious
places of pleasure between).
I have been given
a royal charter
to explore your body.
I imagine my hands
(very willing hands)
gliding over your
callipygous posterior
or your adorable *******
or your ineffable *****
and discovering
new territories
as yet unknown.
I want to fill in all
the blank spaces
on your map.
A cartographer of lust
who will not surrender
until your world is whole
and you are wholly mine.
~mce
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Cuddle up and get some rest
Ignore the pain inside your chest
Though doubt plagues your aching heart
Promise him you’ll never part
Let him feed you broken lies
Empty promises and severed ties
Make him happy is what you’ll do
He says he’s afraid of losing you
He’s like a dog fresh off the ****
He’s happy that he broke your will
Through widened eyes and pouted lips
He distracts as he travels past your hips
Pretend he sends your form aquiver
All while your soul will start to shiver
And as he sleeps there in your bed
Pretend that running doesn’t run through your head
Though you escaped and made it through
You can’t get back what he took from you
And though you’ve left him far behind
He’s never really off your mind
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 2:48 AM UTC
early morning,
with
cup of kenyan blend.
i step outside,
to meet my day.
all soft,
misty drizzle.
cocooning the view,
to the koi pond
and slick driveway.
stepping stones,
are
soft wet coins
on greenback lawn.
dewed and glistening new.
the last
of the snapdragons,
weep in bright tears
of beauty.
the portulaci
have closed their
faces to the world,
to await the
returning sun.
in the pond,
the koi swim,
and glide
like solar flashes
caught while bathing.
bright moving wonder
on the colourless day
and as i watch
the surface becomes
hypnotic as water drops
create ring,bisecting
ring, bisecting ring.
concentricity,
most exquisite.
the smell of jasmine
eucalypt and coffee
mix and mingle with
exhaust and salted iodine.
sound is muted.
birds, whisper this morning.
even the kookaburras call,
in stuttering short chuckles.
the sea, so close, is but a murmur, a chinese whisper
on the frail wind.
the small grey cat,
comes to sit with me
nose, aquiver,
ears swiveling
to and fro.
a pause before,
harrumphing
and stalking
back into the
dry, cosy, warmth.
i soon follow....
leaving the day,
to it's softness.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
“oh, how they will all bet on morrows that strain rills after dark,
and yet the Game, unpitying, regains its lordly behest at dawn;
lean back and feel the turn of things, the chance, the risk, the almost...
ante!”
⋮
this mania!
when it wreathes,
the imperceptible of myself,
it drains through me, sedulously,
hands aquiver, sight fretful,
and the bath of wanting (and not, ergo),
spewing and fusing
inside the etna of my inlying.
you are, then, obedience itself,
long before the grapevine,
before the Cards;
rails tarnishing, yet begrimed steel,
rather ossein, or thew,
turning to a suttee so pale, it forgets its ills.
and the trains;
yes, they were gushing, though not afore;
“did you think they would arrive for you?”
they smelt into clag,
into a mist of faces, barren,
swelling and shrieking of throe,
snaking, snaking down the spine of
the Stake.
slaves betting with their ilk of ardor,
when a match struck, belatedly,
but already it is leaning toward cinders,
its shine no more
than a laugh of people,
leaving the hall shivery in its bleat,
charcoals sighing their waning,
others honing their exit.
bitterly, bitterly, i am
left with nothing to hold but smoke.
but time, ah, time,
the nimble Host,
old trickster with his cuffs of lithe,
shuffling cloaks for loose change.
he and i,
always at the same table,
and i know his favorite sleight:
to grant the boastful player
a losing hand,
and winning eyes.
the coin is tossed,
to the Parlay; so soon cast,
so soon swallowed by the piker.
the crowd, they clap for a name,
but it is never genius they are crowning,
only luck,
foremost Dealer,
with that last word,
smiling as he lays it down:
only the blind Card turned upward.
~~~
and i,
sitting with my empty cup,
still growing a taste for losing
foolish, surely,
but the loss only deepens the greed,
doubles it, whets it past the reach of will.
so ring then, coin,
dull as you are, tattered,
clattering against the floorboards.
it tells me i am counted,
measured,
already spent.
yes, yes, it is only a caprice,
but it hews, it digs,
it laughs where no mouths are,
and i laugh back;
ante!
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 6:33 PM UTC
It's just 4:00 a.m.
I am alone in the balcony
Cold wind giving therapy to my face..
Nature showing its solace.
And i ... Standing still
Breathing fast..
Breaking the chaos and auroras of past ..
It's just 4:00 a.m.
Clouds are heavy ..
My hands aquiver ..
Sky being navy ..
Though tenebrific..
Birds sounding nice..
It's just 4:00 a.m.
And i am able to enjoy my own company..
See how far the moon is
And indicating me it's bravery..
I wonder how lonely it would be last night .. but hushing everyone to sleep more ..
It's 4:00 a.m. now and see i am appreciating it and both of us have found the company
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
Do dogs dream in black and white?
A shame, an utter shame.
I flounder for a hold on this man, his broad shoulders that used to carry me so effortlessly lifted upon the throne of his smile, so much worthwhile.
When now all that I see are the heavy hanged heads of the love that was once so deep, once so deep.
Pained silence pushes me to tears barely contained when before I laughed.
This is it; Don’t… Be. Scared.
Do I dream in color?
The hold on this; like the grip of my prints on wisps of smoke that flee and disperse from my desperate fingers, forever chasing an image that once ran to me with open arms.
I was a queen once, you know.
I danced with grace across maple panels glossed with the sheen of a million diamonds, painting the path of the white stag that pranced with me upon my forest floors, parting particles of light as they float like precious snowflakes to meet the dead pine needles.
The violins and ivory keys trilled out in their glorious voices with the angels that watched me dance.
Elegant and beautiful and free; commanding all who would listen to smile.
Then one day the earth shook and took my forest floors away, my white stag dead where he lay, the crimson painted corpse of all I held dear.
They brought their guns on fearsome horseback, their steeds’ bright eyes ringed white with horror, coats aquiver, for their king lay silent, glass eyed, still.
The throne of his broad shoulders askew with the pain of something only he knows, limbs tied back, no gentleness to hold his head, no soft cradle for his head.
The king is dead.
The king is dead.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 9:53 AM UTC
combustible
is the feeling
streaming inside you:
a rose rolled up
in a bloated tidal wave
amniotic, aglow
it tastes like gold and fury
like the atomic composition
of a dying star
and there is dedication there
an extraterrestrial fervor of love
which persists as tirelessly
as our dear moon circles this planet
even though it has been
pocked so many times by
unidentifiable things hurled
from the root of deep deep space,
even though it is marked
so physically and permanently
by the gravity
of its worship
you are full with it,
the rain-slicked gravel
the buds unclenched
the sonorous maskless
moment when you reached
for her
and she did not let you
go empty
your belly is aquiver
and your chest is unlatched
and god
billions of prisms could never catch
all this light
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
A picture was promised,
Yet stands undelivered,
My heart isn't broken,
But my body's aquiver.
Please send something soon,
I look forward to see,
A picture of you,
Taken solely for me.
(Preferably naked)
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
My mind is aquiver with these thoughts that swarm like bees
Yet just the same my body trembles by the touch of your skin
As your mellifluous voice makes silent the buzzing in my ears
It's strange you see, the paradox that is us, you and I together
There is terror and calm, there is beauty and horror in it all
Like a sort of Yin and Yang but more so just a tug-o-war
With this I look in the past and question the limerence that was
It blinded us and deceived us like a butterfly hiding from a predator
We thought we knew what Love was, but maybe it was never made
We only rubbed our eyes and like phosphenes we saw an illusion
Colors that may only exist in a moment, but aren’t pure reality
Our lives together became so flawed in all we tried to conceive
The moments of bliss and happiness were always just ephemeral
We got caught up in oblivion, because we lost ourselves before
There never was a truth to see, we were birds flying as if deaf
With this I come to a resolution that our relation was merely cromulent
We attempted to ameliorate something that was doomed from the start
Yet I think there was a sort of dalliance, but simply rooted in the flesh
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
There she stands,
by the kitchen window.
Copper curls bouncing,
winking in the afternoon sun,
molten doe eyes, her lips aquiver;
the carmine ribbons of her dress
coming undone.
So quiet, you can almost hear
the cogs turning in her pretty head.
As always she waits,
listening
for the sound of familiar footsteps.
Silence.
Not a peep.
Then, ever so slowly,
a chubby hand reaches up as she whispers,
“Last cookie in the jar…
You’re mine!”
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
we
we di
we did walk
step
step
step
step
;stutter
(stop
in that) garden
verdant lush
withers thus
our kissing
i's
play soft fingers (over)
thighs:
all aquiver
darkness longs to touch
(obsidian sheet
hangs off petals)
;you
Apr 15, 2010
Apr 15, 2010 at 12:03 PM UTC
Hair clenched in a tightly closed fist
Your neck exposed to my eager lips
Face pressed into freshly washed sheets
I can feel your pulse beneath my teeth
Hand throbbing from the smack I delivered
Bare skin set instantly aquiver
I push deeper to feel your fire
You taste of *** and liquid desire
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
I can call upon myself
but it's just a shell
bones break surface
offering quilltips
for forging poems
with
_graduated cylinder-strained
diluted-air grade
not from concentrate_
ink
the mechanism's safe
as sealed secret tombs
are safe
an echo of disdain
for which I apologize
aquiver with paste-
like listenings
replicating histories
foreign and estranged
to taciturn gaze;
functional, but
glazed
shells function as people
but not as well
words wish but don't tell
what awaits ingrained
in bones broken
for blessing
__pop!__ but distressing
echoing, echoing
pain empathetically parsed
but cannot relate
it's too late
I'm walking
but not talking
I'm listening
but not communicating
I'm dead
but not yet down
entombed in my head;
all that might have been
still can, but
a refusal to bend
is found
in my own pen
I've built a prison for myself
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 2:16 PM UTC
frail, are you so
pale neat and
thin
wrists
curled wrists
with unsudden
invincible lust
crawls up each
and
soft feels aquiver
stomach struck
by split folding
(tonguelips)
into folding split
pink as nothing
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
You are an upheaval
that is not chaotic
yet you are enough
to shake the center
of my soul out of its
stagnant state
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
her skin shone like moonstone
as if the universe she held
was able to illuminate her
bedroom as she stood before me.
for so long she was nothing
but a daydream. an unexplored
option that I was too nervous
to venture to. but the way her
hands held mine and how sweet
the *** tasted when it sat on
her lips intoxicated me. I had
to touch her face to assure myself
that she is in fact real. that it
was really her navy blue eyes
that begged me to give in.
she was the most beautiful being
and she was just against my
fingertips. she held my heart
between her teeth, holding
the power to devastate me.
what was there to be afraid of?
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
Standing there mercilessly
The mistress of madness
She approached me from her shadowy domain
To tell me her tale
Of sadness
And pain
Her skeletal fingers caressed the side of my face
Driving every instance of my being to insanity
Setting my body madly aquiver
At the words of her delirious gravity
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC