"burled" poems
.
*Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here
Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced
Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls
A song of honeyed bees' sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose
Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs
Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace
A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume
For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste
What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold
These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose
The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart
Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose*
Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
A tin cat plays guitar on the fires mantle,
The Eiffel tower is knitted to the wall
And trade paper books are loosely strewn,
Dropped about the french coffee table.
The poet, pearling with snowcapped eyes,
Filtering words on ivory keys he knows
The burled wood piano is not yet playing.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
A tin cat plays guitar on the fires mantle,
The Eiffel tower is knitted to the wall
And trade paper books are loosely strewn,
Dropped about the french coffee table.
The poet, pearling with snowcapped eyes,
Filtering words on ivory keys he knows
The burled wood piano is not yet playing.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
A tin cat plays guitar on the fires mantle,
The Eiffel tower is knitted to the wall
And trade paper books are loosely strewn,
Dropped about the french coffee table.
The poet, pearling with snowcapped eyes,
Filtering words on ivory keys he knows
The burled wood piano is not yet playing.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
.
A tin cat plays guitar on the fires mantle,
The Eiffel tower is knitted to the wall
And trade paper books are loosely strewn,
Dropped about the french coffee table.
The poet, pearling with snowcapped eyes,
Filtering words on ivory keys he knows
The burled wood piano is not yet playing.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
Gray Owl hearkens
the dappled daybreak knell
echoing through
the wildwood forest stand;
rock doves and frosty stones abide,
where a marooned heart doth dwell,
disrobed by the longest night's frigid touch
Timber stand grips tight
red clay and bedrock of ages,
postured tall and strong
as eagle's spirit throne
Pine cones hide
in the low drifting clouds,
ripe acorns tumble down alone
unto a windblown
shallow earthen grave,
hillocked beneath
the sky-high canopy
Bones of branches,
furrowed bark from burled oak,
wood-grains of pith,
natural gnarled achings
peeled by the shivering
wind's breath
Paling autumn memories
grow dim as the receding sunlight,
recollections of ebbing Jasmine's
mellowing fragrant balm
waft aloft in a favorite fading fantasy,
the edge of winter metamorphosis
bears down with a prodigious weight
of a different kind of retreating light;
brindled Queen Anne's lace
hold sway across
the tawny frostbitten meadow
imbuing the poignantly
whetting breeze
The blink of an eye winks,
to catch sight of
an intimate glimpse,
an unspoken
solitude holds forth,
the mesmerizing coo of rock doves,
reverently mirroring
the sanctity of the forest wildwood
lingering amongst the frosty
ferns and stones
The harmony of tranquil silence wanders;
only the bowing resistance of the boughs
manifest the shapeless wind’s
whispered breathe
swirling above the labyrinth threshold;
therein lies an unfractured fault line
rooted deeply beneath
the earth’s crust
like the sonorous heart
of a sanctuary hearthstone
Hence there is symmetry
felt in silence that only whispers
in the deep toned consonant
of our own harbored sighs
a holy human blood link
born of heritage wilderness heartwood
beats keenly alive
written by: harlon rivers ... December 2017
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
A tin cat plays guitar on the fires mantle,
The Eiffel tower is knitted to the wall
And trade paper books are loosely strewn,
Dropped about the french coffee table.
The poet, pearling with snowcapped eyes,
Filtering words on ivory keys he knows
The burled wood piano is not yet playing.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
Everything that once was
now a wisp of a memory
tinged with hues of regret
like an eternal kiss,
burled in an angel’s *****
or a kiss goodbye
from a summer lilac.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
in the song of robin and blackbird
Creator signs His Name
A name that can be seen and heard
by those who shun acclaim
in the work of scribe and artist
shines the inner being
in the music of drum or harpist
speaks the soul all-seeing
in the works o' nefarious schemer
in darkest destruction 'n death
in the silence that shouts like screamer
in absence of life-giving breath
walks the many-faced serpent schemer
for those with eyes to see
the signature of the anti-redeemer
antithesis of eternity
for every person stamps their name
in the deeds they do
igniting hellish fires 'n flame
or letting G-d shine through
so don't be flummoxed by this world
keep your eyes on your goal
for as cherry, almond, or walnut burled
your acts bespeak your soul
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:59 AM UTC
Wish you’d spank me.
Wish you’d drag me.
Wish you’d
make it
known
what you own.
Wish you weren’t
such a quiet man.
Wish you were rougher
with those strong hands.
Wish
you’d insist
That I do
your dishes.
Wish you’d make me wear skirts;
Wish you’d bend me
over, then,
before dinner’s served.
Wish you’d let me
fold your shirts.
Wish you’d f*** me
til it hurts.
Wish I was
your pretty,
little, thin-waisted missy,
and you kept
your reigns tight on me.
Wish you’d
pat your leg,and
invite me into
your lap.
Wish you’d let me curl up,
beneath your muscles,
all burled up,
more often than not.
Wish I packed
your lunches,
with little surprises,
you’d be embarrassed
if other men saw.
Wish you’d oblige me
with whispers
of “ride me”
and guide me
when it’s so early,
it’s blurry,
but you’re already
stirring.
Domestic Clink,
ain’t a bad thing,
long as you got
a fella
you wanna call warden.
Long as I have
a fella
I wanna call warden,
It’s a retro kinda kink
to stand in front of
a sink.
I’ll misbehave, clearly,
But you’ll find it
endearing,
and I’ll do it
with intention,
to end up under
your hand.
A Mr. Don Draper
to put
his thumb
over me.
But I want him blue collar,
and beefy,
and solid,
I don’t want whiskey
and suits,
I want beer and
work boots,
I want that
to be you,
Because that’s
what I need;
a good man
to oversee me.
I’m just here
to please.
I should have married
in the 50s.
Equality is boredom,
I want a **** warden.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Remembrance like hazy days
of drinking too much and laughing too loud
forgetting to measure each minute that passed
till hope dwindles to a flickering ember
and everything that once was
turns into a shadow on the wall
the tattered wallpaper in someone’s heart
like a latent memory of searing regrets
or an eternal kiss,
burled into an angel’s *****
a kiss goodbye from a summer’s lilac.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
in the song of robin and blackbird
Creator signs His Name
A name that can be seen and heard
by those who shun acclaim
in the work of scribe and artist
shines the inner being
in the music of drum or harpist
speaks the soul all-seeing
in the works o' nefarious schemer
in dark destruction and death
in the silence that shouts like a screamer
in the absence of life-breath
walks the many-faced serpent schemer
for those with eyes to see
the signature of the anti-redeemer
antithesis of eternity
for every person stamps their name
in the deeds they do
igniting hellish fires 'n flame
or letting G-d shine through
so don't be flummoxed by this world
keep your eyes on your goal
for as cherry, almond, or walnut burled
your acts bespeak your soul
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 6:21 AM UTC