"dalliance" poems
Piteous my rhyme is
What while I muse of love and pain,
Of love misspent, of love in vain,
Of love that is not loved again:
And is this all then?
As long as time is,
Love loveth. Time is but a span,
The dalliance space of dying man:
And is this all immortals can?
The gain were small then.
Love loves for ever,
And finds a sort of joy in pain,
And gives with nought to take again,
And loves too well to end in vain:
Is the gain small then?
Love laughs at "never",
Outlives our life, exceeds the span
Appointed to mere mortal man:
All which love is and does and can
Is all in all then.
8.1k
The blazing eye of Dawn is all to fools:
those who see the joy
in Light expressed as Light,
but brightness also graces Night.
Her veil parted, the black curtain
giving way to shades of blue and gold,
Her rapturous embrace inspiring eyes beholden.
*Planted in Her garden, neighboring eaves
rustling in their trembling eagerness to share their leaves!*
For in Her realm eternal, flawless
clay of earth and blade of grass
stretch forth to feel the loving light
of their supernal Goddess!
Her joy ran rampant through my boughs,
my swaying branches spreading wide
to grasp the rays of her horizon --
*With love untainted as a child's, so boundless
as my selfless roots cried out to sing her praises soundless!*
No dalliance ever felt before complete
until this blessed revelation -
this, Her holy emanation, warmed my heart,
annulled my restless reason:
She was every mother: deepest love
in understanding all that came of Her,
enclosing us within the circular.
*She beckoned but a moment by Her brilliance; best,
lest I uprooted trunk and earth to shade Her manifest.*
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
Men speak to them in the language of sweets
even their names,
sound like french delicacy
They drink from a flute of love-notes and make-believe
with a dash of sugar
and melancholy
An effervescent taste
is all it takes
for them to lose themselves
and lose track of time and space
They are the masters of treachery
ensnaring hearts of strangers
beguiling innocent minds
But mostly of all
deceiving themselves
They get drunk on the possibility
of escaping reality
perpetually
Alas,
it is inevitable
that the time will come
When reality will welcome them
with less than warm and welcoming arms
Nicotine filled lungs
Cherry stained lips
An ephemeral flame
if only they didn’t exist
Behind their dulcet tones
of eloquence and sweet-nothings
lies a heavier dread
that their saccharine smiles,
a dalliance of lies
attempt to dismiss
For it is only
behind this facade of
vacancy, vanity, and vacuous deception
That they can unwind and forget
even if its only
momentarily
For it is only then
when they
let slip their bitter past
forget about their pungent present
and masquerade for their tasteless future
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
He writes words on walls and
toilet doors.
Looping black texta with
measured precision.
Emptying out his importance in
tomes of acrid, sickly-sweet-smelling lapses
into hope.
Cascading the loneliness with litanies
of somewhere else
that pulses with a joy unfound.
Tales of intermittent dreams
and dalliance with beauty.
Strobing in translucent beams,
the light leaks through his
poorly-sewn seams
onto the toilet door.
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
I think that I might fly away, in my hot air balloon,
And hide from worldly worries on the dark side of the moon;
There’s but one thing I need before I float into the blue:
I need a sky companion and I want it to be you.
We’ll fly beyond the storm clouds and we’ll watch from up above,
I’ll cover you in rainbows as we feel each others’ love;
You’ll shower in the stars at midnight in our special place,
I’ll dry you with a comet’s tail and kiss your beaming face.
Dreamy drifting panorama, changing every day,
Every night your loving smile will be my milky way,
The moon will wane before us, sailing there in heaven’s height,
For nothing else can challenge our love’s everlasting light.
Venus shining on us, glowing soft at our devotion,
Our daily drifting dalliance in love’s celestial ocean,
I’ll write you lovers’ poetry, and you will be my muse,
Orion and Andromeda will oversee our cruise.
We’ll sleep with clouds as pillows, maybe steal an angel’s wings,
Then fly as magic lovebirds, or slide round Saturn’s rings,
And should we tire of drifting and the stars all floating by,
We’ll hook onto a meteor and soar across the sky.
Will you consent to be my mate on our celestial ship?
I’m ready, heart all packed with love, to last us for the trip,
Take my hand and step aboard, we’re heading for the sun,
We’re flying till we find the place where our two souls are one.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:36 PM UTC
Alice was a hippy girl
whimsical and free spirited
in dalliance with imagination.
Living in a trippy world
and a psychedelic dream.
Where life was fluffy and free
from the restraints of responsibility.
Her thoughts drifting
always questioning.
Far out man.
Always in her daydream bubble
partying for peace and love,
keeping her soul out of trouble.
In nonsense rhyme
and hallucinogenic vibe,
creating her own escape.
And all the while her rabbit
with an anxiety problem,
would tell her he was
going to be late.
She nibbled on cakes
that she laced,
with her boyfriend
and together they embraced
their Wonderland.
Grinning like Cheshire cats
hand in hand spiralling,
out of control
down rabbit holes.
Far out man.
Always in her daydream bubble
partying for peace and love,
keeping her soul out of trouble
in nonsense rhyme
and hallucinogenic vibe
creating her own escape
And all the while her rabbit
with an anxiety problem
would tell her he was
going to be late.
Spending their days in wonder
in unknown potions drunk
they would ponder
the meaning of life,
in playing cards talking
with ***** smoking
caterpillars and
mocking turtles on a beach.
Reality so far out of reach.
Far out man.
Always in her daydream bubble
partying for peace and love,
keeping her soul out of trouble
in nonsense rhyme
and hallucinogenic vibe
creating her own escape
And all the while her rabbit
with an anxiety problem
would tell her he was
going to be late.
Alice was a hippy girl
whimsical and free spirited.
Wishing for a different world,
escaping in kaleidoscopes.
Mind blowing and free.
The truth smashed down
her house of cards in responsibility,
and she had a date with reality
in actuality reality eventually
Growing up man.
Always in her daydream bubble
partying for peace and love,
keeping her soul out of trouble
in nonsense rhyme
and hallucinogenic vibe
creating her own escape
And all the while her rabbit
with an anxiety problem
would tell her he was
going to be late.
He was going to be late.
He was going to be late.
©Jacqui Slade
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
Her eyes are sinkholes in a quiet, sleeping state
and I was a girl, lost and misplaced at twenty-one,
looking for love in infinitesimal spaces:
on her palm creases and chipped, ruby nails,
and in the blown-out ends of her lotus tattoo
I find myself tracing a secret,
at the spiked tips of her hair tamed by fairy lights
and on the slits of her skin — a rabbit hole of wonders,
I always fall like Alice in sworn careful tiptoes
and crash headfirst; a broken wishbone, a tainted wish
some habits you just can't quit.
like —
October and her obsidian eyes, and the sunless ways we kissed —
being lost and misplaced made sense for a while in the detached comfort
of her cold bed, colder hands,
warmth has become an oppression.
But this dalliance has always been a disaster waiting to happen
and I am a paramour, a memory, a face in the crowd
swallowed in a seismic fall —
and losing October has always been a disaster waiting to happen —
this bed, always a site of a losing battle
and I find myself in a soiled, torn dress,
lying helpless on the other side of her war.
Tonight, I light myself a candle;
maybe one day, I'll finally learn to run away from a girl made of disasters
and not towards her.
Oct 16, 2022
Oct 16, 2022 at 1:39 AM UTC
In my yard stands a tree
tall and sturdy
lone like a hermit,
regal like an empress
her roots dug deep
her branches touching the heavens
peeking behind the skies veil
She has a coy dalliance with the Wind
Sometimes he comes tickling
her tender parts, whispering
sweet nothings in her ear
Overall she is still
Still....................
like waters without ripples
She stands upright
brooding over the saga of struggle
from a sapling to a towering giant
Indeed a tryst with destiny!
Under the summer sky
braving the smarting beams
she remained uncomplaining.
Below the thundering clouds
bearing a thousand needle ******
she stayed nonchalant.
When the wind swept across
bending her branches in all directions
she stood on firm feet unwavering.
She tells a tale of struggle and survival
She had stood there before I was born
Now she displays every scar and every stripe
on her knotted bark as a proud trophy
Sometimes I feel her pain
when wet and dripping in pouring rain
or scorched in the sun’s fiery rage
Yet she holds an umbrella over all
who come to her in sun and rain
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
To be imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea,
by the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words,
provoked brooding that my comprehension of his susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen,
when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen.
By the surreptitious, murmurous harbinger and his mellifluous words!
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany,
but when this scintilla of sagacity left a fetching ingenue crestfallen,
I discerned this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance.
I adopted a propinquity to this furtive, ephemeral epiphany.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and when I discerned that this lagniappe beleaguered our dalliance,
I vowed to rectify the imbroglio for my quintessential cynosure.
When she became inured to petrichor I knew my method pyrrhic,
and I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance.
I vowed to rectify my quintessential cynosure of the imbroglio,
and fabricated a denouement to return her to halcyon incipient.
I ruminated that her insouciance was only forbearance,
until hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply.
She fabricated a denouement to return us to the incipience of halcyon
with ineffable felicity, and I remembered with ebullience my inamorata's words.
Hearing her state our conflation made each a moiety of our own panoply
provoked brooding that my comprehension of her susurrous eloquence was a mondegreen.
With ineffable felicity I found ebullience in my inamorata's words
and was imbued with the conviction that empathic listening is a panacea.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
I wrote several years ago, a scrap of paper with wondering thoughts--lost.
Delinquent, ovulating, ***** lovers, ***
devil, **** lies, logic, science
dalliance, omission, legality lost, sultry
does oppression look like sex--yes:
It was forced, it ran it's course
but it still runs, runs runs
silently, but in actuality, loud
quietly, but it prowls, hunting for calamity
a sad reality-- a tragedy
with wicked twists which linger
on my wrists, hips and thighs
charred with scars and lies,
I lied: with my thighs
when i let you in, it wasn't a sin
but a lesson I learned, as a girl
and education I didn't earn
--but I sure paid for
no cause for concern
but I find it discerning, sick
and disturbing--you seek dolls
so fine, glossed pretty pink lips
that shine, lips like mine
but there is no crime,
put a price on a doll
and say she's worth a dime.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Dilapidated,
I hang on the precipice of perdition.
My lacerated synapses,
struggle to usurp the assailant
who created my beautiful crimson demise.
I'm weary of being ostensibly content,
with all of this malice and prating that enshrouds me.
Lets not mask this with useless euphemism.
I'll make this as equivocal as I can.
Its time for this dalliance to end.
Its time I end my diminutive existence.
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest)
Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
’Till o’er the river pois’d, the twain yet one, a moment’s lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing.
2.8k
My compass has no arrow, no markings north or south
I've a map without a key, with markings I can't read.
Maybe a friend would do, someone to share my doubt
A soul-mate of some sort, with a knack for topography
I dream of her, beaming radiant smile
Eyes so bright, face full of life
But it's naught more than a faint fleeting flash
Of fantasies in my head that taunt and tease
Hopes and dreams of when there was a chance
Are now gone as an evanescent dalliance
These foolish flimsy thoughts seep like sewage
Polluting what was youthful optimism
From vivid imagination to dull ruin
So I brood my path
The conflation of desire and reality
But now I realize,
This map makes a bit more sense to me.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
Beware the sour duchess with her cobra tongue,
Come marionette, fall at her feet, the carnal cherry flower maid,
She hides in the devil's gap tooth,
In his pinstriped pockets full of rosary beads and candlewick,
She steals the heart-shaped cosmic superstition,
Demure with dulcet debauchery,
Forged in a grand dalliance of coquettish repulsion with his valiant renegades,
Vagrant of prayer and petrichor,
Buying fancy for the maudlin dolls, the ethereal actresses nursed to betray,
These childish ordeals rosy with youth,
Turn to lilac smitten executioner under the glass of a silver boulevard,
She writes me foolish want in this presence of gods and criminals,
Sell me your kisses and fingertips bruise my aura with your architecture,
Sleeping sound in your dominion the sheets are always warm.
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
To ocean's roar--the sea oats dance
To music of--nor'easter's glance
Holding fast on--windswept seashore
Lending hand to--rippled dunes' chore
Paniculata's--feathered lance
Leaves not the sand--to nature's chance
To leave in dunes--an open door
To ocean's roar
Sea oats seeking--perfect balance
Barren beach and--storm's dalliance
Shorebirds nesting--while sea gulls soar
Still ocean tries--and shouts for more
Sea oats bending--yet still they dance
To ocean's roar
r ~ 9Mar14
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
*You know where I live and breathe,
enchantment in your eye led us amid a field of poppies,
etching my skin with wildflowers I flourish'd
we languished amongst meadow's feathery pillows
moon shone upon our charm'd sensual dalliance
skies of apricot nectar loom'd brilliant as we merged,
as ethereal stars connected of our primal yearnings,*
breathless, we paused in desire's transcendent afterglow
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
It's alienation across the nation.
End of the break
the whistle's blowing
The sailors going only a short way
to heavens
Subterranean souls, yet
extraterrestrial minds
(I want to have a magnificent, celestial time)
Someone is dead
True, someone might be
curled in dread, somewhere
But the staff chooses not to
voice these concerns
to their guests
They-are-all
transported
to a place where their veins
don't show up blue
under that black light, yellow
dans-le-ciel
It's a dalliance for souls
(They are all lost.)
A denouement for souls
(How much does it cost?)
Better question,
who sends them here
(Every zephyr is cold)
who sends them here
to die and behold?
If I had a friend
they would ask,
"Why so alone?"
Because I move with the
Tintinnabulation across the nation.
People saying the most
cringe-worthy---
Like the nation
I fear I have become
an imbrication
repeating myself in every
application
Working on that steamboat
the-band-wagon
isn't as good as it gets
Saccharine, summery lake
Do we, perhaps, need to escape?
And, perhaps, we can.
Dominated as we are
by Society, who is crying in need
Believes we must be a
panoply!
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
There is a certain art,
not the cliché form,
of such dalliance divine,
The forge of opening a woman,
Fully, to see the beautiful creation of Eden
It is not the opening of legs,
nor the parting of thighs,
such is just a middle,
a jumping point,
the truistic beginning
The delicious devouring starts
first at the mouth
where the ****** first builds
in salivating lip smacking nibbles
burning through the veins
opening the gate
breaching the uncertainty
of submitting to that wanting, always,
for someone to know
where to touch
where to lick
where to urge flesh alive
then it inches, in Picasso brushes
along the flesh,
(breast, waist, hips,)
where fingers and tongue find a certain rhythm
causing the body to sing, without thought
the song of origins
As it opens the strained passage, naturally,
wet with strange desire
curious, needing redemption
for all the lonely hours of denial
of wanting someone
to taste, smell, touch the ache away
And you will lick first the wounds;
the hurtful lashing of old lovers,
then you will be surprised
how easily she dissolves
fallen against your mouth
as you lick the silky wings
**** them between your lips
tongue the opening
getting inside enough to taste
the rouged flower, the Van Gogh surprise
bloomimg, simply, magnificently, against the lap of your tongue
only to feel, so wondrously,
her surrender, quivering,
warm against your mouth
And she will lay, breathless, trembling
moaning your name,
so grateful, so thankful
you took time with tongue and patience
to make her feel alive
To make her feel like a woman
To make her feel as if she were just birthed into this world
To be made exclusive by your worship of all she is....
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 6:29 AM UTC
I was snorkeling in the Galapagos
surrounded by diving *******
when some fun friendly angels
visited, they had flippers not wings
and flapped and glided
streamlined through the ocean
on their backs, sides and fronts
They were curious
about me, this goggled wide-eyed beast
and would come so close
I could see their bright eyes and whiskers
I thought they would collide
but at the last second they would downwards swoop
I was in heaven at this communion
Suddenly I saw from the corner of my eye
a massive grey giant crash into the water
I front crawled away like a man possessed
The bull was probably jealous of my dalliance
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Before I hide myself away
for another night awake,
I'll look up between letterbox gaps in the broken blind
to see the moon shift six degrees southeasterly and think that
in the next seven hours soft eleven light will leak through as
an alarm-clock-call no one asked for.
Before I walk out the door
for another day of yesterday,
I'll look for the wind coming down the road
to ask it if it's bringing me something new on its coattails.
Ikebana dalliance?
A chance blur with her?
Or something old and the same as before?
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Into the masquerade
Of her unyielding dream,
I see her flash into ambiguity.
A vestige of fluorescent
Transcendental light particles
Rising into the zenith,
Through a liquescent portal,
Into the reminiscence
Of her fanciful bloom.
I meander through the enigmatic
Labyrinth of her
Never-ending rumination.
Through the postern door,
Into a frolic of festivity;
A jamboree of her
Effervescent frivolity.
A sudden vision
Of our exuberant youth,
The romantic tryst by the fountain.
Our souls interlaced,
weaving in the wind
As we gaze at her fragrant,
Celestial moon.
The ambience of her earthly silence
Conjures the emergence of a stairway
Into her intuitive star.
Our ephemeral dalliance,
In an evaporating mirage
Of unrelenting fortitude,
Of what was once forgotten.
I take my enamoured bow,
With ardent strings of burning light
And fire fervently to seek
Her euphonious heart.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 4:43 PM UTC
.
Hello **archangel,
fallen goddess behind my morgue.
Whose complexion equaled the moon,
craters and abysses,
cascading like salt on
an empty**
wound.
**With the crosshairs of nicotine
a mirage on her cracked lips;**
“Leave me,
lowly poet,
Your pity is unbecoming.
I am the 13th fallen sister,
so linger here
no longer.”
“Death is an old friend,
I fear not his company,
nor his demise.”
**I’ve never seen such eyes;
glass-stained,
divine & unpredictable.**
“I’ll **** you.”
“Darling, I’m already dead.”
**Her monologues could summon the dead,
she preached of the lovers
who bore no fruit
and the heartless
that lay eternal
in the eyes of
her dalliance.
I’d often find myself
yearning at the pebbles at her gravestone,
impatient, to be graced by her
ink soul and** rhapsodic presence.
“Are you my friend,
poet?”
“No,
I am much more.”
**And for centuries
of cracked dawns and
folded nights,
shallow moons &
crippled suns,
we’d meet---
poet to god,
at her morgue.**
“Poet,
why must the most beautiful
people die?”
**She once asked me.
Alured, I answered:**
“When you’re in a garden,
which flowers do you pick?”
“...The most beautiful ones.”
**I’d spend my seconds ‘neath the gallows,
among the bones
of her brethren,
all had fallen before her,
from the house of god.
I bargained my soul with Ursula,
my sins with Lupus,
I ignored their tempertantrums
& discord.
That very evening I stitched a universe,
upon her shoulder-blades.**
“What are these?”
“Wings.”
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC