"engrossing" poems
"Your shapely, bootylicious thighs,
carved columns of lubricious butter,
shouldn't be left without gently caressed,
til covered all over with ruddy marks of desire,
just strawberry goosebumps for ignorant others"
When she snuggles closer to him, from the seat next,
as the train rocks and they rub,when gathering speed,
she sporting a marvelous mini dress engrossing his libido,
he whispers to her, who was all ears, "But my real object
of focus is the truth, that lurks where your thighs meet"
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 7:06 AM UTC
Wondering what I should write
and floundering in my own confusion
I thought – why not write about poems
that set me thinking what poems are
A poem could be anything.......!
at best, distilled thoughts put into rhyme
or a moment caught in time
a window glimpse into the world
an engrossing passion’s ardent curl
a snap shot of scenes from Nature- wild
or a slice of life, birth or death
sometimes it could be a yearning
or an image long hung on a pole
a thought turned inside out
or the emptying of a mind about to spill
it could be the liberation of a fancy,
for long held in thralldom
a gnawing pain, long suppressed
or a secret, never divulged
As I pondered over the subjects’ enormity
and a poem’s vast scope,
I asked myself- ‘Why hesitate?’
soon I felt a stir inside,
my thoughts broke loose
a terrible block lifted off my head
my silence became audible
I embroidered these thoughts
into the pattern of a poem
Here it is before you, have a look at it
Will it annoy you or will you enjoy!
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
In the air
I breathed you in
a deep tantalising fragrance
arousing all my desires
awakening like a new moon
the wet dewdrops on the leafs
the earth after the rain
a seductive scent I find
only with you.
I taste you
in the rich sauce I ate for dinner
the spicy tang on my tongue
the engrossing strong aura
of taste you can feel.
I hear you
in every song I listen to
your voice in the wind
your unique persona in every word
in the paintings hung up
I feel your warmth,touch
your essence and life
you are here.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:09 AM UTC
Kiss me,
So I may drown in this amorous affair,
Savoring the delicious taste,
Of your lips against my own.
Hold me,
Your arms clasped around,
My petite body,
Skin touching skin,
Finding warmth in your blanket,
Of security and adoration,
Burrowing into the flowing fabric,
Of your embrace.
Never let me go,
I yearn to hear the inhales,
And exhales of your breath;
You glance at me,
Chuckling in delight,
As your thoughts turn,
To how enchanting you view me to be.
Caress me,
Allowing your firm hands to explore,
The slight curves,
Of a soft feminine exterior,
Yearning for the stroke,
Of your fingertips upon me.
Does love not knock upon the door,
Of your innermost chamber?!
Listen Please,
Silence your scattered thoughts,
Allowing you to hear,
The lulling seductive melody,
Depicting the presence of Eros,
In the heat of the night.
I shall pray you stay,
With fingers tightly interlacing,
For the fates bestow us,
With a blessing,
Perhaps a curse,
Receiving a bond to unite us.
An illicit connection,
In the eyes of others,
Yet I behold my desire,
For you as a dragonfly,
Mysterious and ancient,
A beautiful creature,
Existing almost as long,
As the sands of time,
Flying among the earth,
To be free.
Breathe me in,
Granting me the chance,
To enter your body,
Mind and soul,
Engrossing our spirits,
To complete the other,
Through gazing into,
The eyes of the other.
Cherish me,
As our lips encounter,
Passionately nibbling,
As they collide in portrayal,
Of our irrevocable love,
Tantalizingly sweet
As the Riesling rests,
Within my wine glass,
Tempting me to consume,
Pleasure through the delicious taste,
Awaiting for me.
Reminding me of the same reasons,
I crave you,
My beloved.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
We ...
Are The Architects of Our Fate
we build the walls
all these gates
We construct solid walls
they take them down
let them fall
then look around
for Solid Ground
until it's found
I plant my feet
Take a seat
share a story
of honored Glory
My Father was a Carpenter
a Master Builder they would say
And I see his buildings
every day
Arts and craftsman
my kind of build
houses filled
engrossing skill
amazing will
holes were drilled
handhewn milled
beams
intricate details
imparted to me
you can see
by carving
wooden
weathered
leather hands
It's good to admire
though I do not aspire
to live in one now
I miss the farm
in simple charms
A time exsist my memories
Queen Abigail of Chelsea
a border collie
she was our dog
Willamina a hog
or the name of a pig
rooting earth she'd happily dig
a silly gig
She never was a meal
Her funny squeal
Saved her life
had a horse named Cochise
no wool from lamb
that we could fleece
you could not ride
but would stand on hind
legs
and beg
for marshmallows!
I miss the Farm
all the time
it taught me
life is worth living
to keep on giving
what I can.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:30 PM UTC
I got too close;
I had to take a step back.
Here I stand,
Trying to catch my breath.
There you are,
Looking so wonderful;
Even a Kerouac haiku
Would pale in comparison
To your sparkling smile,
Your huge, engrossing brown eyes,
And your tender words
That put my restless soul at ease.
You spend more time in my mind
Than even my own thoughts;
I miss your touch,
But you do not miss mine.
You don’t know;
How could you?
I never told you.
And you will never know
How much of my heart you have stolen.
You are the most beautiful—
And unwitting—
Of thieves.
There is nothing to do
But stand over here,
Hoping that you somehow understand
Why I can’t meet your gaze
Anymore.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
For I understand, now,
That it was not love:
It was merely my mistempered;
Beshrewed list,
For what is só scarce
In this marred world:
She,
Is oft misused and no one descrys thee engrossing forfullment she gives:
Like a mantle of a paramour,
On a flesh penetrating night...
Marry!
My heart feels tossed on the abstract,
For I was overturned with the conceit
Of being Your Thisbe...
Your Trojan princess...
Your right-hand-lady...
But Sir,
My heart, now
Desires but one thing:
To be announced as one's kindred
And be loved as a kingsman
I am content, in faith!
Let us lief love
With a love, greater than love,
And may we build with flint
On the foundation of vestal love.
Let us be one another's bier
When our bodies brine;
Ghostly anchor...
Pilot in the bailful pestilence;
Crotchet in woe;
Behoveful paramour to tell aught to
Without the conceit of neither being cast by
Nor discreet;
Aqua vitae dram in languish...
When thát day abroach
I shall anon be aught...
Do aught for thy...
When thát day abroach
I shall doff
All inadequasies...
And love you
Invariably!
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
I have let
my lustful mind forget
to administer the worries
that drip from my lips
and onto my hands,
where they seep
through my fingertips
and onto the ground,
which is where
all my vexing words
belonged all along.
And I have let
my little mouth
blabber for hours,
ranting about unrelated subjects
on unfamiliar ground.
These words are equitable in my mind,
but as they rest on my tongue,
I have realized
that they lack the only flavor
that society would be willing
to taste.
I have let
unrelenting consequence
find me here,
for I am unable to control
what chaos
gushes from my mouth,
and onto my lips,
from which they just
drip.
I have let
myself repeat the most
engrossing words.
So forgive me in advance,
for I have let,
and I will forever let
my mind roam
without a leash.
But then again,
why restrain
what most crave for;
a mind with the ability
to review itself.
Well, no need to crave.
All you need to do is let,
and I have let.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
You posses a twin of eyes, an immaculate glitter of beauty,
From which life receives its absolute lenity.
To glow in such light of orchestration, Like a crown on the head of time,
Whence bliss takes its origin and befitting prime.
Your alluring smile, a linger of unstinted comfort,
To the stars in tender darkness of the universe, glumming in discomfort.
Each of which humbles at your engrossing presence,
And glows in congruence to the light of your radiance.
Your arms like shields,protective armoury that gets soul lifted,
Touch of your fingers, ten cradle of breath taking sweetness, heavenly gifted.
Each a perfect blend of liniment and mystic power,such,
To impel dead heart to once last beat at thy touch.
your smooth bottled neck, over your soft shoulders,
Holds a face of coherent beauty, eyed in all beholders.
A beauty indescribable by far, as only few words could tell,
How ethereally lovely it can be ; perpetually graced with the touch of angel.
Your walk of indefinable class, a lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance,
So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of your presence.
To dance into ecstasy,from which heaven's purity is formed,
In but of your light of all light, they all are conformed.
Those smooth long legs spread like the wings of a flyer,
Inner thighs speak a truth that would mute a liar.
And drip sweet smelling nectar that excites a man's desires,
Like an addictive drug, that makes him only want to get higher.
Beautiful seasoned lips even angels could not grace,
Like two ***** of icing sugar, leaves me breathless each time our lips come in embrace.
And the pressure they do impart,
Have the power to break the devil's heart.
Your two cupped breast,stretch the stitches of your blouse,
As if swollen with milk and honey, my flame only its water could douse.
The most tender of all cleavage,had touched my palms with finesse,
Which contact makes me frozen; a sweet emblem dancing to impress.
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
It saved me from being lonely
It saved me from drowning into darkness
It is the one who hearten me only
I am beholden to it at the times of harshness
My art, my saviour
I tried being alone away from the world
I cried myself to sleep in murk being curled
My agony into anger I channelled
Nothing helped
So I took a pen & held it against a paper
As a thought struck to try one last time
And slowly words formed into sentences
And sentence silhouetted into a rhyme
With trembling hands slowly I began
As scintilla of pain pouring down my mind
Onto an empty piece filling it up with rhyme, my art
Engrossing me into it yielding place to peace in my mind
It saved me from being lonely
It saved me from drowning into darkness
It is the one who hearten me only
I am beholden to it at the times of harshness
My art, my saviour
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
Half of the night
Repines the eyes
It breaks into tears
Half of the day
Spent engrossing oneself
Into an empty fear
Half of the melody
Sung in despair
While the eyes peep out
Hoping that you'd hear
Half of the heart
Beats incautiously for an outlander
Who dwells inside
Half of the mind
Wishes to let go
That has ever or never been mine
Half of me almost
Bereft of life
Other half, around you still lays entwined!
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC
Would it not be wonderful if all human beings on Earth came to understand that each is as divine as the other--indeed, that all, all creations in the infinite Cosmos are imbued by their maker with the same indelible divineness of their same maker?
There are an estimated 4,300 "different" religions on Earth, each praying to the same God, but calling their same God different names.
Yet, there can be only one maker of the infinite Cosmos.
Why, therefore, do we continue this false notion, this illusion, through millennia, fighting wars over these illusory differences, killing millions and millions and millions of other human beings because we are unwilling to see truth, let alone embrace it?
These fake differences at best keep all of us on Earth separate, divided, and thus cause us tragically to see those of us with different skin colors, different physical features, using different languages and dialects, having different customs, at best appearing different from ourselves, and at worst, instigating untold killings of "others."
If ever you saw a beautiful painting, no doubt you would have seen in it many differences: colors, forms, shapes, contours, all of which collectively you might have found at the least interesting, at most beautiful.
But what if you saw only a white canvass with nothing on it?
Would you find that beautiful, engrossing, mesmerizing, even to any extent satisfying?
But this is the canvass racists, neo-Nazis, white supremacists, white nationalists, the KKK, the Proud Boys, and so many others like them, want hanging in their houses.
Hate, unconsciously of themselves because they were never loved, is their religion. And just like their religious forebearers of the Middle Ages, they are now fighting their Crusades against others who appear different from themselves, but ironically and tragically are not.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 2:08 PM UTC
red straps across the back
lashes delicately placed across desires -
far too engrossing for the average passerby
draw it in, blow it out, drained
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
If you love me like I'm leaving, I won't go.
If you love me like I'll be here forever, you've already lost me.
If you love me like I'm irreplaceable, I'll take to you with the same respect.
If you love me like you do all the rest, I'll step down so you can make your rounds
If you love me like I'm almost close enough to touch, I'll move in closer.
If you love me with a heavy arm around my shoulders, I'll fall to the weight and sink.
If you love me like I'm all you can see within a 100 mile radius, I'll zoom in on you and won't let your gaze go.
If your eyes wander and roam, I'll do just the same-
For I have no time for anything that isn't breathtaking, capturing, engrossing, daunting, exhilarating or exciting.
I'm not asking for perfection, meticulously crafted love and endless adoration.
I'm asking for a fight, for a consistent effort. I'm asking for you to not give up when you already have me.
If you love me like you don't have me, I'll be yours.
If you love me like you have me, I surely will never be so.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
Nothing at this point in time,
at this point in my life,
would satisfy me more as to consume another human being.
To open myself like parted seas
then selfishly,
ravenously,
close myself again, engrossing him.
Devouring his flesh in mine.
The longer this yearning desire goes unquenched,
the more painfully hopeless I am of tranquillizing it.
It cries in the night, wishing to be consoled,
I coo to it in vain.
I am entirely alone.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 9:01 PM UTC
you are nothing
but a nightmare
temporary.
you may be engrossing,
even captivating at times
To Some,
but Everyone has to wake up
from Their slumber
Someday.
you're nothing more than a nightmare
That I'm going to wake up from.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Crawdads have a crazy *** life. There's not
much to courtship and no real copulation. Boring
as this may sound, it's somewhat engrossing
for me. Likely more than any lady crawdad ever
thought of it. I would think most women might
agree. Sadly, reminiscent of **** really. Males
act like ruffians, catching females like prey,
turning them over, and leaving a sticky deposit
on their undersides. Worm like sperms adhere
to her, which she carries with her until she lays
eggs. I've seen this while preparing étouffée.
Not the *** act, just the worms.
Life is a multiplex of convoluted situations.
"Please yes, oh no!" What's going on in those
crusty little heads? It seems such a foreign
lifeform. Still, eerily familiar to what I've found
at the bathhouse. I think I'll fatten up my tail,
wear some antennae and pincers this Halloween.
Mmmm... Étouffée.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
The smudge of ink that is left when a mistake can't be completely erased
Just another failed attempt
Another rough draft
That's what I am
I think that if someone were to finish erasing
I could be rewritten as something much more beautiful
A better version of me
A better choice of words
Maybe if I could erase myself
You could recreate me more beautifully than this first edition
You could create me with the abundance of loveliness that you hold
Where I am "flawed"
You could write me as "fascinating"
Where I feel "ignored"
You could describe me as "engrossing"
Where I am "alone"
You could instead write "loved"
I want you to change me
Mold me
Shape me
Recreate me
Replace me with a better version of myself
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
The Abyss
Pray alone enclosed
You’re speaking beyond what you know
You tremble with awe
Every pore cries flaw
Still you feel awakened
The darkness is engrossing
Primeval calling the voice stalling
Somewhere images rise appalling
Affixed with terror night wings
Dark spirits haunt great fear it brings
Unspoken ghosts drift about unbidden
In their voices secrets revealed that lie hidden
Twist and turns corridors go on into blackness
You can’t see but you follow the way trackless
A spiders web leaves you feeling utterly trapped
Where does the pulse beat a single note of love?
Look not in dungeons but with heart aching look above
Listen for the lion roar today none were tore
A power flashes in the light all are healed that were sore
The master today mends the broken
With thankful tears much in silence is spoken
A highway of holiness
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:47 AM UTC
touches ungainly in the darkness.
breathes entangled in each other's throats.
hands. roaming. traveling. drifting.
the familiarity of your muscles.
tongue. tasting. consuming. savoring.
the orbit of your back.
fingers. soaking. engrossing. immersing.
the blueprint of your slumber.
your slumber. my slumber.
your face nuzzled in my bird nest.
my arm wrapped like a boa constrictor.
your calf easing my calf.
your early rise. my grogginess.
your gentle smile. your hungry kiss.
drift. drift.
back into the wondrous state.
a world where we both reside.
darling, to sleep by your side
every night of every day
of every month of every year.
i dream. i dream.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
Blood On The Tracks
It spoke in rhythmic transgressions, lifted from the dotted line. It held. It fell.
Polka dots made up of tiny horizontal lines, intersecting with vertical peers.
Overindulging on the semblance of fact, just to seem like they’d grown up a bit.
Self-engrossing indoctrinations to be preached out and blown over…for the rabble it was.
“When something’s not right, it’s wrong.”
Wide-eyed on sleep craved incognizance. It had all gone on too long.
They tried to force their hand, critiquing structure through the veil of a cabaret roused in the liveliest of their rooms.
Stormy shores swept to sea lit calm as the doorframe shook.
Set for a strut, intent on curbing this freshly acquired sensationalism.
Gravity logs its presence through rain dropped conviction…a steam engine sounds off in the distance...finality.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
I’ve spent days
Screaming at my shadow
Lurking
In the corners
Of autumns belly
Searching
For those fragments of daylight
That
Shatter
And
Cut
Odd ghosts devour seconds
Days and months
It’s you whom I have whispered in dreams
Stepping into those shadows of days gone
Grasping at
Faint memories
Lost eyes
And slanted smiles
It’s this entire engrossing ****** scene
Which cultivates my mind’s slow moving camera
Spectator
Viewer
Two bodies smeared on asphalt
That’s what the argument
With no reason
Seems to be
Nothing shared
Picture happy moments are developed
To others
All is well
With us
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
My life is beginning
to feel like
a patchwork quilt
of deadlines
and tasks.
Even doing nothing
has started to seem
like something to do,
just another thing
to check off my
list,
with a certain amount
of time allotted for it,
and a clear time
to move on to
the next thing,
lest I fall behind.
Weeks,
days,
sometimes even
hours
are divided
and categorized
by what I should be
doing
in them.
I don't allow
any passion projects
too engrossing
or time-consuming
for fear of
losing
myself
in
it
and forgetting my responsibilities.
All I can think
when my heart
nudges me to
read a book
or
write a story
is that I have
no time,
no time,
no time
for such things,
and that I must be
conscientious before, and over, content.
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 8:16 AM UTC
The bottle followed him around,
Like the sun to the skies.
He spit like no other,
Always giving him lost words.
The man with the lip,
Made it oh so enticing.
But the resulting cancer,
Made it so engrossing.
He would do it every day,
Until he could do it no more.
He made his habit known,
Like the characters of before.
When the boys saw the thing,
They had no clue what to do.
To try it, they say,
Was the best thing to prove.
The history of their fate,
Is told from the man,
So addicted to what he thinks is life,
The rest are lost in the path of lore.
Once addicted, always addicted,
And that’s the way the cards played out,
And that’s the way the world pays out,
Every day a struggle to deny,
The temptations of many, the vice of one
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 6:13 PM UTC
it's a second body sometimes,
a kind of chandelier of eczema,
tumbling from my shoulders
like a ragged royal robe,
white, shining, drifting scales
and this time I wear it
as a familiar dress,
put on me or
grown on me,
a lifeless moss,
scabs without passion,
drooping, dragging,
not reaching far,
not covering, not enobling
for in the deep sky where my soul lives
I've found an island to touch on,
an island filled with a swirling climbing hole
which is a road in time.
and I keep flying up to the surface,
surface of what I can hardly say,
to feel the wind (or what) buffet
and whip us back and forth
on the edge.
somehow you're there on the island too
yet you're not here, are you?
you don't know that you're there,
you don't know that it's there.
Only I've found its rocks,
that say "Yes" when touched,
the road that flows.
And so I wear this ragged dress,
not quite white,
showing and engrossing all,
and I can't help but stoop.
I slouch around my soul in prayer,
to stay close to it.
and if it hurts, it hurts.
I can bear it.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC