"cherried" poems
As an offering of peace
she brought him cherries
to sweeten the tense air.
Plump black cherries
mouthwateringly ripe,
polished to perfection.
'Shall I come with my brimming bowl?'
she asked.
'Shall we selfishly gorge in secret before
they are over?'
Desiring her sweetness
he feathered her with kisses,
dropped the blind against
a flaming sun and callers-
yielded to sweetness.
Sweet her cherried fingers,
sweet her skin, her lips,
her tongue.
She plied him with cherries,
fed his desire stalk after stalk,
the whole room burnished
with passion.
When twilight seeped in,
they lay cherry - heavy,
clinging to sweetness.
'The secret is ours, he teased,
thoughts turned towards
a handful of dropped,
forgotten stones.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
*Hot surge
In our bellies
we dipped from
cherried shores
Tongues raw
from the singe
of hunger
We paused between
each satiated strum
Our sighs melted
between each breath
We bit into the
veins of
Our longing
And died
dripping from
our mouths*
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
out of all of the possibilities of evolution
and potential existence
you are by far the loveliest accident
your skin is the perfect catalyst
for oxytocin and dopamine
to charge through my brain
like lightning
your pheromones speak to my body in
provocative biological languages
to which i respond with red cherried lips
puckered and begging for more
serotonin-induced euphoria
until you, my darling
it has never been so exciting
to be so human
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 1:46 AM UTC
How do we really know
That we are good people?
How do we know
If God is smiling?
Is He really there?
Or are we just alone;
Out on our own?
Is it debatable or fact?
Or a debatable fact?
Or is this all just to give Him a good laugh?
How can anyone be so sure?
We are so imperfect
Who are we to be confident?
Are we really that self-important?
What if everything's backwards
And we're all hanging in the balance
Upside down, faces cherried
Cuffed by the toes
Left with no hope.
What if you're wrong?
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
TILL AIR, TILL BREATH
KISSED THE MARGIN OF MY LIPS.
TILL SOFT, TILL WARM
THE SPICES OF POT-POURRI
CLASHES TILL SOFTENED HANDS
TOUCHING MY FACE, STROKING MY HAIR.
HER VIOLENT PASSION FOR LOVE
EMPTIED IN THE CANDLELIT ROOM
TRANSPARENT WITH ECLIPSED HEARTS
MANY WITH ROMANTIC FIRES
MANY DEEP AND ELOQUENT;
EACH MATCHING THE COMPLEXION OF HER FACE.
THE COMBINED ATTENTION OF MY HEART
ARTISTICALLY MET WITH HER HAIR
FULL WITH MULLED CHERRIED WINE
LAVENDER, STRAWBERRY, GINGER AND VANILLA
AS THE SCENT
FROM THE CANDLES
ESCAPED THERE.
©Jack Aylward
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
A salty breeze kisses my sun-soaked shoulders
Bringing relief to my cherried skin
As I bob up and down in a swell of nature’s ferocity
A growing wall takes shape and draws ever closer
The frequency of my heart now starts to resemble the shimmering
Of the very surface of which I cling to life on
As a force unlike any other now takes control
I can but only steer and guide myself through
Until I ****** myself up in an attempt to challenge
This uncontrollable energy of mother nature
I lean forward and turn to face this emerald giant
Sparkling with the allure of a thousand precious gems
Ready to at any moment heave me into her churning *****
I am at peace and serenity takes ahold of me
-R
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
All the feelings I could now deny were
Real as so many cherried cigarettes
And the smoke from both cases filled my head
Just before the air shifted in regret
Spring winds bring in new feelings of regret
All those late-nights I smiled to myself for
Just a little bit less than I was hoping
What I ask is too much for anyone
Winter rain and working in the open
Curls and curses working my heart open
All our bold movements and your will for more
Stronger than my will to sit awhile here
Despite strong words, where did your courage go
Was leaving again what led you to fear
Or, thoughts of joy, the roots of all our fear
All I can do now is leave assurance
Not I, and none, need know you cared for me
And thus I’ll keep your anonymity
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
_Pale-faced beneath twilight’s awning, shadowed time skips
A beat measured in dust motes and attic silence;
Frameless ether holds its breath and portrait likenesses
Swivel eyes right, suspended between the minute and the hour;
In sequence, Whittington’s chiming sepia tones wring out
A tulip of port and one last cigar from drapery long hung;
As floral meanders unwind from a walnut casing
Inlayed with the gamine whimsies of our cherried youth._
Sep 23, 2020
Sep 23, 2020 at 4:55 PM UTC
Everything tastes like whiskey,
that Tennessee sour mash,
80 proof,
barrel-aged,
leather seats,
and cherried cigarettes underneath
the wet August sky.
You're playing something Brand New,
or something about promises,
and jetpacks,
but all I can hear
is the creak of those
old wooden rocking chairs
where you kissed my forehead
and allowed me to be ****** up.
It was the first time I'd had the courage to cry
and drink wine
straight from the bottle,
no glass,
and it hurt
more than trying to put out a match
with wet fingers,
and missing.
And it's nights like those
that make me think
how your shoelaces
can't stay tied
when we're dancing,
and how the switch to
your ******* bathroom light
sits behind the door,
and ****** me off
at 2:30 in the morning
when I'm more liquor
than woman.
But you still wake up
next to me
in the morning,
and you still want to
touch my cheeks
and kiss my *******
like you're going to lose me
even though my intials
are etched on the tree
outside your bedroom
window
and my shoes
are by the door.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
You've been popping up all over the place
but for all my memories, where did you go?
Can't bring myself to say
what you want to hear,
my life is not what you had in mind.
There's a part of me
that feels I owe you nothing,
the part that parted
and doesn't know you.
As if it all wasn't in the same breath already.
But today is just like the rest of my daze
just a cherried wick, till I'm gone
in a puff of smoke.
And yeah, it's been cold enough
to see my own breath.
So I've started to make sure I keep a pack of friends around.
But I can't tell whose breath
I'm conjuring, leaving it
to hang among regret and confusion
and there you are again.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
As lips and flesh on chilling cheeks are cherried
With the morning's touch,
Although they wrinkle in the twilight's clutch,
So let day fade
And night parade;
So let the sun be buried
But march its fires on the moonlight's crutch;
And if the sun in summer sky burns sere
But in the winter white
Can't but reflect itself in icy light,
Then let it burn
The eyes that spurn
The turning of the year;
Then let its fires singe all ling'ring sight.
As lips and tongues in chilly cheeks defend
Their shape in shallow plots;
Seem capable of speaking as they rot,
So peace is sought
Though war is fought
Not till all battles end;
Not till we cremate those we last forgot;
And if our sons in some strange sinking hour
Find their hunger slain,
But avarice and rivalry remain,
Then let our ashes'
Cinders' flashes
Dilate and devour
That surfeit our expansion sustains.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
grit on my face…damn!
<>
city boy, progeny of the multi-cultures
any new yorker breathes, the grit fills in
the mini pores, but even better, the lines and
the deep furrowed creases of squinting worries,
inherent and inherited
from years of peering into
the future whose outcomes always fell
outside the range of ordinary misperceptions
and into the realms of extraordinarily ordinary…
even the grit and the grip of grief, cause and
consequence of my endless errored foreseeing,
equally crinkly when smiling and/or grimacing,
for I read what I have written smilingly, and grimace with
the unknown knowledge yet within, there is more to come,
but from who knows where or when, and the grit hardened
exterior groans with the thrill of pulling and
purging yet more words from the
Sea of Churn,
whose burning sensations brings cherried sundae
of mixed anxious trepidations and a groan of relief
when the work of words is done and done & delivered,
and yet:
(that fearsome worded curse)
sadly seeds the junkies need for the next fix…
and my lips issue a pleasured ****
7:59am
Sabbath Sat.
29 June 2024
Jun 29, 2024
Jun 29, 2024 at 8:25 AM UTC
I sometimes watch a setting sun in your honor.
Reminds me you favor orange and look best in red.
The mingling of those colors will always be you.
I cannot brush my copper hair and not think of you.
I cannot watch my cherried cigarette burn and not think of you.
I cannot wait for it to turn black, for that's when I miss you the most.
Burnt out and extinguished like the feelings I had for you.
Untangled and smoothed so we can both feel relief.
But when you've got skin warm like sand and a smile like the sun,
I can't help but wish for those colors to stay.
You're a beach I could lounge by for a lifetime.
I'm still getting over the idea of everyone loving it, too.
Tall girls like forests of green, small girls littering fields like streams.
All the other places I've yet to be, because I'm stuck at this beach.
Watching you set over and over again.
I don't want to leave because I'm not ready yet.
I'll let my hair tangle.
I'll let my smokes go stale.
I'll let my eyes be shut by the blinding light you are.
But I will keep you close in those sunsets.
Because god **** I've never seen someone burn so beautifully.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
her mouth becomes smoke
says, " ."
(outside a bar;
somewhere there is a siren
mutely i remember my
hands and putting them
into my pockets)
curls and splits
up into quickly
nothing vapor
between 2 cherried
lips–dissipating.
(it is hard and quiet
from the alleyway
smoothness emerges
a cat )
into which bathes
the earth in neon
and the night yawns out
into starlight warm air
and
the thick smell of jasmine
and beer
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC