"crowning" poems
Let me mold my body along your curves; trickle yourself into my entire being
*Vulnerable, **** my heart exposed*, palpably we connect across the starry sky; you ... within me
I want your intimacy to linger along the edges of my lips hours after you've gone
I ache to be consumed by your eyes, intense with emotions, long after the dawn
Take me to your intimate chambers where hearts race; the rhythm of our silhouettes melded on satin sheets
Leisurely feel your way; a slow descend along the avenue of my rhythmic swell; forgive me of my quivering wanton needs
Allow me to graze at the gates of your femininity, drinking the honey from your pink walls; to feel your crowning point between my lips
How can I resist those wandering lips that stirs the curtains of my garden alcove; perfectly painted in honey dew, I throb for the touch of your kiss
Drape your thighs upon my shoulders; let the waves of satisfaction cascade up your spine
I beg to be released, dear God, of this intoxicating spell; I submit myself, heart laid bare; oceans of emotions no longer can I hide.
Find your eyes locking with mine; my torso parallels yours, my body pressed to you; equal in ferocity and tenderness
Mesmerize by your burning eyes in our melting flesh, so strong your hold; yet so tender your caress
Utter our names in fiery moans both whispered and screamed in heated breaths on our solitary night
Vile obscenities float out on heated breath, as cool air kiss our molded skin on the evening our time takes flight
Take me to your heart & cast away the flesh; allow our souls to weave in the throes of passion as our bodies mix into one; slow-motion ecstasy
A longing deep inside, the locked chambers of my soul to exotic places beyond our imaginations; you sneak into my heart to fulfill my every fantasy
Feed me the lullabies you paint on your canvas; orgiastic symphony we conduct in cascading tides; trembles throughout our bodies when our fluids mix
Let me paint upon your heart a ballet of our duet; the crescendo palette of my tide drown you in the spirit of our lyrics
Your ripe fruit quivers tenderly while our union completes; take my hands and let me be yours
Hold my sated body that tremors from the wake; a union of our souls ensnare a bond secure
~
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 7:34 AM UTC
.
In a costume of conflicting emotion,
of crossing diamondic colour,
with regal posture in grief,
the Harlequin and the King,
a display of opposites
creating a composite being,
that eases her body
gently into the waiting water,
to float away serene,
on her journey to the nether.
Midnight blue and emerald green,
the regalia of ermine,
both ostentatious and humble,
robeing the aspects,
understated in crowning splendour,
the gentleman King bows,
and the Harlequin laughs,
the bi-polar reaction
to the tragedy of misfortune,
with a sting in the myth-tale.
With the dark hues of mourning,
a legend passes on her way,
across the streams of time,
on a voyage to discover herself,
carrying her Harlequin in a purse,
holding her King to her breast,
owning them both in her heart,
the medicine wheel spins,
knowing the grapes of wrath
yield the wine of spite.
The motley speckles of attire,
a starry parody of night skies,
lighting the decorated funeral barge,
gliding along the rivers of space,
worn with the mantle of sorrow,
and it sails into the sunset,
as the Harlequin and King observe,
the mandala turns,
the bier of the Queen departing,
bears their sadness forth.
The Harlequin laughs and laughs 'til he cries,
his heart grows cold, then withers and dies,
whilst the King, statuesque, memoirs his life,
lamenting the legend of a Queen, his wife.
© Pagan Paul (24/07/18)
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 5:51 AM UTC
Time: 7:30 pm
Temp.: 68F
~~~
overlooking the runways,
festooned by
accidental heavenly whimsy,
or humanistic whimsical inten-sity,
all the the planes and trucks are flashing
electrifying speckles, of eclectically synced
red and green
it is not my holiday,
but no matter,
like every New Yorker this day,
I am happily celebrating its
double U,
unique, unusual
"record breaking warmth"
yes, the Fahrenheit is outtasight, and by the dawn of
early eve~night,
the Centigrade is spiraling in reverse retrograde,
as the temp eases on down, just below seventy degrees,
on this dewinterized twenty fourth day of
December, two nought and fifteen
traffic is light, the terminal, an unbusy, slim shadow of itself,
the maddening crowds gone, now all are among
the dearly departed and either/or, the newly arrived
so composition of the observational, brings cheer and smiles to my faith,
(I mean my face),
the crowning quietude of clear skies, the absence of street smart
city bustle and hustle,
the languid atmosphere at the gates,
(where seldom is heard an encouraging word)#
makes me reconsider the true meaning of
the au courant phraseology of this day
"record breaking warmth"
for there is indeed
a calm invisible warmth suffusing all tonite,
chests glowing from fireplaces within,
contentment chamber containers in both hearth and heart,
and I am thinking
miracle,
about all the human warmth
on this celebrated evening,
holy night
indeed,
it is breaking records of
recorded human fusion,
the united commonality of millions warming
his and her stories world-over,
that your personal poet is
warming to record
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
Taking your words to heart?
Truly
Though, understanding them?
I believe i have a skewed view of the true layers hidden beneath the rows upon rows of your starlight garden.
I am but a bird above your garden, admiring the upper beauty shone brightly in the starlight.
I have but the faintest clue about the memories and experiences that root so deeply into your poems,
Nor the meanings behind the words that hold the earth so tenderly.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
But as the greatest trees stand tall in their royal crowning, their historic roots support them whole heartedly, with their focus all upon the lifting of the grand finale.
Deeply do your roots reach down into thine heart. And deeply so.
For how can one reach the stars without a strong story below?
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer.
I cannot be so bold as to claim to know what each poem means, for that would be to have lived in your story with each passing breath.
Nay, i can only express the emotions that these words give me in relation to mine own,
curiousity, like flower garden, grown.
Ay, mine eyes be such, the great admirer
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
I could not accept you—star
incarnate, carved and swollen
in the trunk of a fustic—
urine-yellowed and preened—risen
and alive I strap my
saddle to your back. My heels
dig to the dark side of
a price yet to be paid—an eye
of a coursing, being scrubbed
into the spots of grain—heat
eaten by earth. *Star set.
Star rise.
Star be
livid and leaven*
whispers the cowboy
sitting in a lawn chair on the
front porch—his hat falling
off from crowning, bald-headed
tilt. space and all its wonders.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
~
a strange place to start
having not truly begun,
already beat down by the
lowdown
own a million rose colored words,
but some assembly required,
that's when the foreknowledge truth~rules
burns brain holes
easy is never
free,
poetry writing is
cussing hard work
~
spring rains cloaking warmth,
summer's stunning sunsets
demand submissive awed silence,
autumnal leave drops anointing
your refreshed humanity,
and yet,
one more time,
it is only within winter's white bitterness
lip tasting,
million tear-shaped snowflaked words,
is the crowning visible
of the head of
a newborn babe poet
~
hard.
Capital Hard.
in the beginning,
there was one,
a first work
and the knowing,
if it wasn't hard,
it could not be
any good,
makes it possible
to ease on
down
this fearful
revelationary road
trip
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Golden pulse grew on the shore,
Ferns along the hill,
And the red cliff roses bore
Bees to drink their fill;
Bees that from the meadows bring
Wine of melilot,
Honey-sups on golden wing
To the garden grot.
But to me, neglected flower,
Phaon will not see,
Passion brings no crowning hour,
Honey nor the bee.
7.6k
I'm immobile
As my dentist blathers
On events and people
That don't matter.
I'd rather he just
Get IT done,
Leave rants and jokes
And silly puns
For one not in
His dental dungeon.
Today was his crowning glory,
When he'd finished needling me,
Before he filled my cavity,
He suggested
I see a cardiologist
To fill the hole
Found in my chest.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
The mirrior is my adversary.
My eyes variance, what others don't see.
To the word I'm adequate, crowning , spotless, and skilled
Every morning I wake up, get ready and cover my lips in red majestic mac
Red lipstick seems to illuminate confidence in the eyes of many,
but to me it is merely a pigmented shield of secrets.
Humorous isn't it?
Every unmarred life, seeks to relive its pigments
Fears, self-doubt, imperfection.
Mirror, mirror, mirror on the wall..
Who's the thinnest of them all...
The sound of battle rumbles
Conscious at wrists ends
Bawling in me
Fat,
Fat,
Fat,
Yours tricks are foul, you tauntful mind
Vision is blurred from reality,
Oh mind how you love to frolic
Your sheer joys leave me unpieced,
The snickering of my mirror,
Damages my frame.
Sorrowing fades my red lipstick
Pigments revealed,
Vulnerable,
Unworthy,
Marred to the bone
Quickly I learned that the mind is the enemy, filled with con
Staring in my mirror and all I see is fat.
Red lipstick always seems to fade by the end of the night.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
Fifty years, a lifetime for some, but for me,
a blink of an eye, as true love is the ripe fruit
of a lifetime, and the years have seemed to
me but a few days for the love I have had
for her, like great love, lives on, and on
I love you more today than yesterday and
our love, forever warm, and still to be enjoyed,
forever panting and forever young and in the
light and warmth of love, our life grows strong
and comely, a better dwelling, nor a sweeter
I never found, knowing that the heart that
has truly loved never forgets and loves on to
the close.
No matter what beauties I saw on my way
back to you; they are but visits, but you are
my home and chance cannot change my love,
nor time impair, knowing that love beyond
the world cannot be separated by it, as great
love lives on, and on.
Let us tend love's fire until the end knowing
that youth is but an hour, beauty a flower,
but love is the jewel that wins the world, and
as age enriches true love, these five words I
swear to you; I'll be there for you, and know
that I'd live and die for you, but my words
can't say what love can do, and as you breathe,
I want to be the air for you.
Somewhere there waits in this world of ours
the crowning glory of loving and being loved
and what is earth, with all its art, poetry, and
music worth---compared with love found and
kept, and defining love as two souls in one,
two hearts into one heart, and saying that he
is not a lover who does not love forever.
Jon York 2017
Oct 6, 2017
Oct 6, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
Someone recently
asked me
what do I
think about
modern dating?
I responded by
saying we live
in a culture mired
in instant gratification,
i call modern dating
fast food dating
high volume dating
low nutrition dating
We constantly consume
But are forever
more
and
more lonely,
we do not spend
the time to build
value in our own
soul,
love in our hearts ,
so we come to a
relationship taking
and taking and taking
instead of giving.
Fundamentally
selfishness is the
massacre of
all relationship,
and our culture
specializing in crowning
self ruler of all.
And selfishly
we surmise that
We are all
Kings
and
Queens
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 5:50 AM UTC
Must I admit: that
being with you was like
pulling out a single
strand of hair, daily.
Look—-
this fleshy white
button ferally crowning
To begin: with the scraping
of my own scalp off
lining brainwashed
finger nails as a reminder
to my heart still beating
upon this earth
so that you may take
the bottom piece to split
my split ends in half
leaving broken off
eyelashes underneath
the talons. Were they your
keepsake to search a shine
when combing foreign
locks? Your reminder
in the strangeness of
other bloodstained
women?
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
In the day of Satan,
A satan took me for a long walk
in the daylight.
He was telling me many things
with beautiful words,
Advised me so wisely,
Telling me for not too kind to people.
He said, "Why should you love and care about people
that never appreciate your kindness? Don't you see that they only take a benefit from you?
They don't mind to hurt you whenever they have chance.
You are wasting your time! You are wasting your life!"
In the day of Satan
A satan took me for a long walk
in the daylight.
Crowning my head
with all the brilliant ideas
about what I should do and I should be as a human,
Filling my heart
with all world's temptations,
Shining my way
with his adorable light,
And showing the much happiness and glory I could get
if I let myself following his path.
In the day of Satan
A satan took me for a long walk
in the daylight.
He made me fell in love with all of his beautiful words
that I was so ready to take a step
to follow all the words and the path he said and offered.
But then my inner soul came
and whispered,
"Are you sure that you're ready for following his path?
What is your motive of doing goodness, anyway?
To get people's attention or appreciation?
Or just for goodness itself?
Is your kindness just like the woman's make up
that will vanish as soon as you wash your face?
Are you sure that you're ready
for making him a King in your life?"
In the day of Satan
A satan took me for a long walk
in the daylight to his kingdom
to marry me and crown me as his queen.
But then I realized that
I'm doing kindness actually for the kindness itself
I'm doing goodness surely for the goodness itself
I'm doing merit definitely for the merit itself
Not for people I've helped
Not for people I love
Not for heaven's sake
Not even for the universe
If people can't appreciate me,
that's their problem, not mine.
If people can't accept
my unconditional love for them
with the proper way,
that's their problem, not mine.
If people turn to be backstabbers
instead of showing their gratitude
for what I've done for them,
that's their problem, not mine.
In my life,
there's always a day of satan.
It is the day when satan take me for a long walk
and telling me all of the world's temptations
with the words that much sweeter than sugar.
But this time I've decided
to not listen to his words.
This time I've decided
to not help him in building his throne
or making him my King.
And this time I've decided
to stop my steps with him
and go back to what I should be:
A person with the genuine love and kindness.
Today, in the day of satan
I let a satan down
and let him reveal his true face:
A furious red and ugly guy with horns on his head
and a burning trident in his hand,
as I've refused to be his queen
and ruined his plan to build the throne...
May 5, 2018
Kanya Puspokusumo
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 2:35 PM UTC
The literati are moaning
about the crowning
of a comical smiley-face
with tears of joy
springing from its eyes
as Oxford Dictionaries 2015
"Word of the Year"
it's historic
indicative of a generation
raised on media shorthand
though some people think
the distillation of thought
to acronyms, symbols, emoji
is a bad thing too
but in these icons
heavy black heart
face throwing a kiss
reversed hand with middle finger extended
even the simple : )
I see emotion
stripped bare
the whole gorgeous
heart-rending, horrible
hateful range of it
illustrating the dark
and light
of who we are
as a human race
So I say hail and welcome
to the "tears of joy" emoji
may his vivid counterpoint
shine around the world
eclipsing all the words
we've learned this year
for hate.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
A fisherman is drifting, enjoying the spring mountains,
And the peach-trees on both banks lead him to an ancient source.
Watching the fresh-coloured trees, he never thinks of distance
Till he comes to the end of the blue stream and suddenly- strange men!
It's a cave-with a mouth so narrow that he has to crawl through;
But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path --
And far beyond he faces clouds crowning a reach of trees,
And thousands of houses shadowed round with flowers and bamboos....
Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han;
And clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people
Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River,
On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart,
Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon,
Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
...At news of a stranger the people all assemble,
And each of them invites him home and asks him where he was born.
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning,
And fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk....
They had left the world long ago, they had come here seeking refuge;
They have lived like angels ever since, blessedly far away,
No one in the cave knowing anything outside,
Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
...The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune,
Begins to think of country, of home, of worldly ties,
Finds his way out of the cave again, past mountains and past rivers,
Intending some time to return, when he has told his kin.
He studies every step he takes, fixes it well in mind,
And forgets that cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
...It is certain that to enter through the deepness of the mountain,
A green river leads you, into a misty wood.
But now, with spring-floods everywhere and floating peachpetals --
Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?
4.6k
Cause you're toxic Defiled
shedding the old you exposing a new person you have turned into
You're not around me... now
But when you are
I'm falling like I'm drowning
This friendships crowning
Evolved into another person that I just don't need.
Cause you're all full of passive aggressive rage that's melted my sight.
What's hidden and hissing waiting to devoure me.
Brainwashed to all the lies that you've been telling me.
Seducing me, loving me with self loathing injections, posioning.
Leading me to believe. Lies.
In the trenches abandion. Dark. Quite. So I stop being afraid. Nothing flogging me.
Reality: The unforgiving madness. Like a light in the darkness. My Heart.
I see that I can be worthy. I just gotta figure out how to get back my selfesteem again.
No one wants to lick my wounds of unchanging torture.
Cause I have been walking around in a salted skin.
Never healing, never dealing, with all the injuries that I've taken.
Don't want to soak up the death were you've laid me to rest. Cause it's changing me.
You are not me. I will never be you. You wanted me invisible, you still do, when all you can be is you.
Lets call it what it is: Resentment.
You will never be me! Sorry imitation. It's what's in the heart.
Look at me. Strong again.
Prying off the scabs of pain Disinfecting
Nine years and this is the end.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
A bee with innards spilling
A lost tabby,
A blimp caught up in trees,
Tintern Abbey.
The gravestone of a lover,
A drowning ship,
An NHS delivery of
Fortisip.
A girl with alopecia and
Fungail nails,
A one legged pigeon,
Exploding whales.
Ivy choked churches,
Merlot tongues,
Parrots plucking feathers,
Marlboro lungs.
Girls locked up in attics,
*** toys.
Boys punching girls
And punching boys.
Babies crowning
Fussed about like kings.
Darlings,
You shall see such pretty things.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
If you're gonna be lonely,
maybe learn how to cook.
Parade the smoke to the rafters
after doubting the book.
Alert the parents in vowing the earnest
salt in the brook.
A fervent effort relays to bacon kisses you took.
Brine is cheap,
and on days like this
find a Mrs. or friend,
apply the bread crumb crisp.
Buy the egg to allure.
confide that "this might miss."
If not to them to yourself.
Try the odd light whip.
Find a guide or a dozen.
Fire doesn't necessarily deny the pleasant after math.
Passable dishes levy comfort on cold nights,
dying for treasure dancing in the lights,
and forming function digging diamond from plastic wrap.
"I could serve a candied berry
pair it fairly cold below a lighter cream."
See the finer things elaborate below the theme.
Mise en place allowing,
yolk to heat,
folk wreaths are crowning.
Found a leek to brown,
found out what friends to feed can mean
Be the barer
taste your food
silk confections
social fruit
Buck the system
Find connection
tuck the mood in
ginger root
get your list out
pay it forward
take the order
grab a whisk
make an impact
Pleat the border
break the silence
wrap a gift
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 6:56 PM UTC
Here I am; waiting,
Waiting for an old friend
On a deserted Railway Station.
She’s late; knew she would be.
Time behaves differently in
Such public places; very differently.
I stood waiting alone,
Then a gaggle of women
Clattered up the subway.
Stilettos and thick, heeled boots,
Beating out an echoing tattoo,
On the broad, concrete steps.
Now we wait together,
Myself and a Hen Party.
Blending of emotional alloys
Fused together, forming
Excitement; then I see her
And all heads turn to look.
Amongst the flower boxes,
Silence blossoms on the
Platform as my old friend
Glides serenely into the station,
She’s late; knew she would be
Even so, she’s on time for me.
Steam unfurls around her,
Billowing majestic clouds
Crowning this, ‘Queen of
The Rails’, last seen when
I was a boy, now in manhood
Her unsung glory is truly revered.
Steel wheels clatter, a rhythmic
Tattoo, then she draws to a halt.
Old friend from a previous age
Escaping through to this century,
Thronged by beautiful women, I
Smile, and step aboard a true beauty.
©Paul M Chafer 2014
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
Her crowning glory
Perfect smooth curls,
Dance and sway in the sweet breeze,
Attracting attention,
Seducing unapologetic ally
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I have a basil plant
with some lovely, emerald leaves
crowning 3 strong, thick columns
in an off-white, ceramic ***
Decorated with delicate foliage, hand-painted
in rust and green,
how it glows in the sunshine
on the tiled kitchen window sill.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
It was you, Atthis, who said
"Sappho, if you will not get
up and let us look at you
I shall never love you again!
"Get up, unleash your suppleness,
lift off your Chian nightdress
and, like a lily leaning into
"a spring, bathe in the water.
Cleis is bringing your best
purple frock and the yellow
"tunic down from the clothes chest;
you will have a cloak thrown over
you and flowers crowning your hair...
"Praxinoa, my child, will you please
roast nuts for our breakfast? One
of the gods is being good to us:
"today we are going at last
into Mitylene, our favorite
city, with Sappho, loveliest
"of its women; she will walk
among us like a mother with
all her daughters around her
"when she comes home from exile..."
But you forget everything
3.5k
A dream tree, Polly's tree:
a thicket of sticks,
each speckled twig
ending in a thin-paned
leaf unlike any
other on it
or in a ghost flower
flat as paper and
of a color
vaporish as frost-breath,
more finical than
any silk fan
the Chinese ladies use
to stir robin's egg
air. The silver-
haired seed of the milkweed
comes to roost there, frail
as the halo
rayed round a candle flame,
a will-o'-the-wisp
nimbus, or puff
of cloud-stuff, tipping her
queer candelabrum.
Palely lit by
snuff-ruffed dandelions,
white daisy wheels and
a tiger faced
***** it glows. O it's
no family tree,
Polly's tree, nor
a tree of heaven, though
it marry quartz-flake,
feather and rose.
It sprang from her pillow
whole as a cobweb
ribbed like a hand,
a dream tree. Polly's tree
wears a valentine
arc of tear-pearled
bleeding hearts on its sleeve
and, crowning it, one
blue larkspur star.
3.5k
~dedicated to the old poets here~
the addictive pairing of certain words, a line,
a lyric, slap-snapping you to full attention,
unfailing decades of instant recognition,
an adrenaline + caffeine shot that powers
a chance, a tensile injection that causes
the lips to commence a new choreography,
the fingers to tap, a jumbled, hurried, embattled
disorderly mess that regenerates, reformulates,
concords into agreement, a harmonic consistency
a geometry of many differing angles that equate
a hard physical, a soft mentality in a singled work,
coexisting in a sacred state of singed confluence,
though imperfect, satisfies mathematical boundaries
of a random outpouring, crowning the stripe inspiring
the spark that finally satisfyingly silences an ignited
filament a-glowing for years, that holy happens
to cross your antennae, fulfilling the need to honor,
the sacred geometry of chance, the honor to need,
the joy of saying, at last, this unwritten debt, paid!
————————————————————————-
(1) a favorite of many years, a lyric from “The Shape of My Heart” by Sting
(2) Dec 3 2020 2:53pm NYC
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 2:59 PM UTC
1
The chards rising. Am I the praying bird?
In the gleaming sun my bones are negative,
My flesh a cypher walking through the plains
As ghost I move, my dark lord, above me
Flocks swirl and spike. I stand accused,
Your pointed face divining oblivion,
And no redemption in the rains of my
Cliff walk days.
2
I see my shroud pinning on the wires
His legs are razored forks spinning my
Compass from True North. Your dark brush-
Fire wings, the swept wind, wheels and strings
My fate. Such black rhetoric in a burn,
Your caws, loosed perches, on the stakes, picks
My crowning grave. Black dove, your feathers finger
As they slice.
3
Smoke, the cardinal blood caries my teething
Bone, spades my hand without a flight.
Taut, the pulled noose my hooded one
I see my scarecrow’s reflexion, the scar,
Let blood, the seeded droppings end trailed
To my door. Feathers, ferry to carry on
Dowsing downward, black knight of down, to sticks
On extended wings.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC