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"evoking" poems
a cerebral grasping of existence’s resplendence is insufficient tenuously treading bereavement’s tide i cradle life twinkling moments spent on this planet are hallowed time i walk in quiet reverence as tears flow at innocuous occurrences god’s face aglow in each instance perspective revived a bumblebee drifting gently settles evoking awe i stand pensive aforetime unaware in cathedrals we stand eyes newly uncovered awakened discover celestial dimensions people replete with infinite spirit are all that surround my senses abruptly adjusting their focus ‘tis an earthly angelic realm ©2016janetaylor
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May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
i walk in quiet reverence
i come to you half mad with desire like slithers tongue i wish to have painfully stitched to your silky **** an act of desires supplication my *** turned to poison deprivations effulgent obsidian flower salivating your every smile fleshy bells ringing warping tintinnabulations i am a starved incubus drooling at your knees behind me a frothy junket of misdeeds for loves sake your feet the scent of lavender and salt their shape evoking numberless poems and begging adorations your belly a tender cauldron undulating tummy ***** dancer sacred ********** temple of worship the site of your rounded bottom naked red mouth calling my sacred liturgy your ***** velvet tulips for a tremulous kiss I seed you a thousand times a raging bludgeon storming wounded gates Palisades drenched and florid fruit and milk **** until jaws lock and spire drops turning me to midnight cadaver ***** black hollows a dark eyelid, blink-less dead **** face down a slumped snake then soft dew and cool ales clear thickened muds saturation lighten heat and peel the warm palate with agile caress tender haunches wide and spiced milk and butter thighs her hair in mine rushing river life again i animate an embryo id dressed in fire all vices and virtues blood and sky
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Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
*** DEATH AND RESURRECTION
Only Love It began as a love story Crazy days with you Crazy days of faith, love, passion We grew so close so fast You said we were soul mates for life I lost my world to you I trusted you with my deepest thoughts Most intimate moments My future Our future Bonded with Artfetch The future of art We would make it together A global player Unwavering faith In the chorus of warnings I battled your place with me Bold and revolutionary No one would take this away from us But then you did You took it away Without a word You left me in a haze Took my breath away Your force so strong Chaos controlled my mind The lie so real My passion abused Reckless abandonment My faith, my love, my passion You did not face me You left me with nothing My life shattered I wonder through my Art Profoundly A part of my life For the delights and hopes of life Seeing in them memories of intimate times Calming my fears My sadness Evoking as only art can do The spirit in me to live again I no longer care Why I got lost in your deceit In your ****** up mind Why You hunted me down And played me as a game Why You abused my passion My life You crushed my soul, I sit at my desk and find my dignity My strength I look around and see what I nearly lost Artfetch the mystery of my life without which I could not carry on No more Crazy Days living your lie A resounding realisation No soul in you I continue To live my dream So as I sum this up Go listen to our song Remember in your heart I gave you my heart and soul, my mind and body My life I believed in you I am wishing for you to stay strong Wish upon every star you see And if its meant to be it will come true… No more Crazy Days with You
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Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
Crazy Days with You
Only Love It began as a love story Crazy days with you Crazy days of faith, love, passion We grew so close so fast You said we were soul mates for life I lost my world to you I trusted you with my deepest thoughts Most intimate moments My future Our future Bonded with Artfetch The future of art We would make it together A global player Unwavering faith In the chorus of warnings I battled your place with me Bold and revolutionary No one would take this away from us But then you did You took it away Without a word You left me in a haze Took my breath away Your force so strong Chaos controlled my mind The lie so real My passion abused Reckless abandonment My faith, my love, my passion You did not face me You left me with nothing My life shattered I wonder through my Art Profoundly A part of my life For the delights and hopes of life Seeing in them memories of intimate times Calming my fears My sadness Evoking as only art can do The spirit in me to live again I no longer care Why I got lost in your deceit In your ****** up mind Why You hunted me down And played me as a game Why You abused my passion My life You crushed my soul, I sit at my desk and find my dignity My strength I look around and see what I nearly lost Artfetch the mystery of my life without which I could not carry on No more Crazy Days living your lie A resounding realisation No soul in you I continue To live my dream So as I sum this up Go listen to our song Remember in your heart I gave you my heart and soul, my mind and body My life I believed in you I am wishing for you to stay strong Wish upon every star you see And if its meant to be it will come true… No more Crazy Days with You
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74
Serendipities torrential deluge Of dulcet applause reigning In the divine dynasty of Empiricisms arcane lore, Heavens most high of heirachies Beyond the veil Drowning in altruistic Reflexive salutations; The regnant patent mutitioning Of the waters Lethe from Serpens poisened chalice of saints Evoking the advent vigil of Dusts chaldean dreams, The sabbatical ordination The fatal ravens annunciation Heralding valediction Convening betwixt and between Gates of ivory and horn Arraigning the apostolic conclave. ELEETE J MUIR.
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Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:35 AM UTC
The Ephemeral Compassionate Leave of Transmigration.
Bodies intertwined breaths hugging and soft the pillow like velvet in that moment and sleep a mesmerising film a limerick, evoking a smile
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Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
The greatest affection
Forlorn beauty-child Living in my night Crying in your dream. Sounds of sorrow Linger in the morning mist Of subdued consciousness. Troubled water falls From awakened red eyes That searched inside loneliness   Only to find more. Now... Behind my faceted face Your countenance lingers... I glance quickly within, You disappear! Your gaze lit my shadowed mind. Your presence was there waiting For me… A Sonata… A Fantasy   A Major key bright-shining Singing sunbeams to lift me. After the music... Shards of shattered dreams Scattered like felled icicles lying in the sun, melting into mulch       They dawned bright green Pipers on Scottish dew. The mourning moon is Catchlight in your eyes Bright Bird... Captivating sailors Reaching down evoking vulnerable Aspects held so long secret...
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Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
Scotch sonata - Piper's dream
"Boy toy or girl toy! Don't make me tell you again, Pedro!" I have committed a felony within the land of the Golden Arches. I have gone through another patient's order and forgotten which gender to assign to the child standing right next to them, as if in need of another fresh new coat in traditional roleplay, as if these little ones were the cattle of tradition. How foolish of me to assume that the tiny calf in pigtails would enjoy the strong-willed, goal-setting, leadership-evoking action figure instead of the sanitized, goal-admonishing, vapidity-provoking fashion doll. I wouldn't want to lose another valuable customer.
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Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC
Princess or Fireman
It’s a puzzle thinking what is salient complications become proliferate Hands on quarter position evoking my inner senses too late in one’s niche It’s my inhibition brought me in subliminal My entire life, without her presence Cumulative heuristics with other girls and other boys drawing some vague experiences And I just thought we can’t hold on together but we can move on It’s crazy as I think of you and me again upon my emotional scrutiny You're my drama.
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Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Inhibition
(Published in Miami Herald on May 26, 2014 Brigitte Jacobs Arnold Obituary Guest Book View Sign ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI. Services will be held at 7:00 pm and a viewing from 12:00 pm to 8:00pm at Maspons Funeral Home located at 3500 SW 8th Street, Miami Florida 33135 Wednesday May 28th.) Don’t ask me why but I went online this afternoon. Read the Miami-Herald obituaries. And not just the Biggies: Maya Angelou at 86 and A one hundred year old Herb Jeffries. Of course we knew Maya, Her caged bird singing Softly in our souls, But may not be aware of Herb Jeffries. A former singer in the Ellington band, Herb was known as the Bronze Buckaroo, In a series of all-black 1930s Westerns-- His nickname evoking His racial identity, Quite muddled, flexible. Although both sad passages to be sure, It was neither Maya nor Herb Triggering my tender tears. But the obituary of: ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI, Known as Oma, Mutti and Mama. Well, not exactly the Brigitte obit, My tears for her long-lived mother, Brigitte’s mother, durable & abiding, Still breathing at 97: Hildegard Wolle. Reading Brigitte’s bio— German born, Berlin student, Singer-fashionista & Proud, naturalized American citizen— I can’t stop thinking about Hildegard. As if the woman didn’t already Have more than her share of trouble On this planet nearly a century, Having already lost her Grandson Roland, and now, Her daughter. Something wacky is going on here. Some long-distance life lesson Being applied here. Poor Hildegard: ungifted with Alzheimer’s, Suffers crystal distant memories, Some really bad karma Stored up in past lives.
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May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
“Miami Death Watch”
(Published in Miami Herald on May 26, 2014 Brigitte Jacobs Arnold Obituary Guest Book View Sign ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI. Services will be held at 7:00 pm and a viewing from 12:00 pm to 8:00pm at Maspons Funeral Home located at 3500 SW 8th Street, Miami Florida 33135 Wednesday May 28th.) Don’t ask me why but I went online this afternoon. Read the Miami-Herald obituaries. And not just the Biggies: Maya Angelou at 86 and A one hundred year old Herb Jeffries. Of course we knew Maya, Her caged bird singing Softly in our souls, But may not be aware of Herb Jeffries. A former singer in the Ellington band, Herb was known as the Bronze Buckaroo, In a series of all-black 1930s Westerns-- His nickname evoking His racial identity, Quite muddled, flexible. Although both sad passages to be sure, It was neither Maya nor Herb Triggering my tender tears. But the obituary of: ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI, Known as Oma, Mutti and Mama. Well, not exactly the Brigitte obit, My tears for her long-lived mother, Brigitte’s mother, durable & abiding, Still breathing at 97: Hildegard Wolle. Reading Brigitte’s bio— German born, Berlin student, Singer-fashionista & Proud, naturalized American citizen— I can’t stop thinking about Hildegard. As if the woman didn’t already Have more than her share of trouble On this planet nearly a century, Having already lost her Grandson Roland, and now, Her daughter. Something wacky is going on here. Some long-distance life lesson Being applied here. Poor Hildegard: ungifted with Alzheimer’s, Suffers crystal distant memories, Some really bad karma Stored up in past lives.
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Acceptance called out, evoking astonishing silence Ringing in a whispered new kiss Of velvety sensations murmuring sweet promises Such delicate pure visions of bliss Unforgettable missives powerfully pulsated within Profoundly affecting all feeling Shimmering on the edges of what has to be Treasured without any ceilings No confines, shorn of imaginary bounds to present Nestled in shining perfect peace Acceptance called out, evoking remarkable silence Ringing in a spectacular release When our eyes meet tenderly, with arms open wide No imaginary bounds or ceilings exist Just the velvety sensations murmuring promises In the sweetest taste of your kiss
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Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 6:26 PM UTC
Your Kiss
I. So long are the thoughts of someone so beautiful pulled in by a vision of body and mind so young chasing inspiration to steal the gaze of a woman like a fire that burns so to a heart seated in passion and even harder to fight the warmth of attraction, yet a gentlemen waits until he is given the pleasure. II. In a moment, one can see his eyes filled with pleasure given a glow whilst reflecting something beautiful. She never shies away from the design of his attraction, hard to build a foundation on a ground yet so young. Yet there is no limit, even one such as age, to limit passion, rarely does time measure wisdom between a girl or a woman. III. His pheromones work magic to his beating heart for a woman. She seeks to be the resting of his desires that fulfill his pleasure. There is a slow creeping thought that feelings are merely passion, and there is little but a burning lust rather than something beautiful. Harder are the connections with the ones who venture young, but an old soul has the experiences that altered fates attraction IV. There are those who walk away from such an attraction Envisioning a different path with an older woman Seeing little to gain mentally from a person fairly young Never realizing that her mind was always his pleasure Not just intellect, but thoughts that were oh so beautiful, With words that reflect such a bright heart of passion. V. No matter resistances or distances, their connection is their passion. They write to impress one another, flirting to increase the attraction. Displaying their hearts for each other in writings so beautiful, many poems composed for and because of, a certain woman. Never by touch but a pen evoking feelings with written pleasure, sharing in a cryptic way the hidden feeling from when young. VI. Still one cannot find the power to resistant a flower, young. Merely looking for a fuel to fire our deepest passion, never forgetting the strength of giving pleasure. Baring his shyness to show complicated attraction, in the pursuit of a hope that she is no ordinary woman. Like hoping on a sunrise, but knowing it will be beautiful. VII. Intricate is the passion in the face of his attraction. So too is the zeal of the wanting young woman. Still the greatest pleasure is that she is beautiful.
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Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
Into a daydream...
I. So long are the thoughts of someone so beautiful pulled in by a vision of body and mind so young chasing inspiration to steal the gaze of a woman like a fire that burns so to a heart seated in passion and even harder to fight the warmth of attraction, yet a gentlemen waits until he is given the pleasure. II. In a moment, one can see his eyes filled with pleasure given a glow whilst reflecting something beautiful. She never shies away from the design of his attraction, hard to build a foundation on a ground yet so young. Yet there is no limit, even one such as age, to limit passion, rarely does time measure wisdom between a girl or a woman. III. His pheromones work magic to his beating heart for a woman. She seeks to be the resting of his desires that fulfill his pleasure. There is a slow creeping thought that feelings are merely passion, and there is little but a burning lust rather than something beautiful. Harder are the connections with the ones who venture young, but an old soul has the experiences that altered fates attraction IV. There are those who walk away from such an attraction Envisioning a different path with an older woman Seeing little to gain mentally from a person fairly young Never realizing that her mind was always his pleasure Not just intellect, but thoughts that were oh so beautiful, With words that reflect such a bright heart of passion. V. No matter resistances or distances, their connection is their passion. They write to impress one another, flirting to increase the attraction. Displaying their hearts for each other in writings so beautiful, many poems composed for and because of, a certain woman. Never by touch but a pen evoking feelings with written pleasure, sharing in a cryptic way the hidden feeling from when young. VI. Still one cannot find the power to resistant a flower, young. Merely looking for a fuel to fire our deepest passion, never forgetting the strength of giving pleasure. Baring his shyness to show complicated attraction, in the pursuit of a hope that she is no ordinary woman. Like hoping on a sunrise, but knowing it will be beautiful. VII. Intricate is the passion in the face of his attraction. So too is the zeal of the wanting young woman. Still the greatest pleasure is that she is beautiful.
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365Nectar #60 Devour Me Fri. November 22, 2013 9:18 P.M. Devour me... A provocative passionate pouring of pillaging and plundering... A pleasing prowling of a piercing plunderer... A lovely, limp nymph laid upon a sizzling alter... Smoldering... Awakening all the senses a choking of lust unleashes exhilarating and envelops you... Effortlessly evoking ethereal... a sinister seduction seductively seduces and hungry hips breakdance with hysterical Stimulating a surreal surge of a sweet seeping... waiting... impatiently... For you to chisel an unimaginable devouring... S slow steady climb to the summit of the ultimate ****** Time- Time- Time... a tool to employ flamboyantly... immediately... eargerly... Expose my conquered heart that leaks of streams of cream of succulent sensation... Expose my tamed moistness that whispery whines as you build a legacy of torturous licking.... Seductively... Slithering in spicy spirals of stirring screams from stormy shivers of steamy anticipation of your redefining touch... Suddenly... drowning in the sticky sensation of all that is us... A tender luscious love liquefying flesh and penetrating souls... We blend in blazing bliss tapping taboo for titillating thrills you rock a rowdy ravishing inside me... I whisper wet whimpers and beg for bitten breast... Our wrestling hips hug, ***** and groan a hungry growling... Pounded into saturated submission I linger in lubricating dreams for you- to... devour me.
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Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
Devour Me
~ *Lift the veil from a grayscale morning. Vividly imagistic. An odalisque no more. Her shape beneath the gown is a foreign land, a series of quiet revelations. Its pattern manifests as pinpricks of light perforating the shirred fabric of his heart. The preponderance of dream in her eyes becomes a call and response evoking purely imaginary spaces. The contained chemistry is beautifully insular, monochromatic. And there her lips. Into claustrophobic kiss. This lower register of love comes in unadorned, subtle colorings like the darkest part of night. One thousand shades of gray. One single light of white. And everything merges in the night.* ~
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Nov 24, 2023
Nov 24, 2023 at 11:47 AM UTC
A Grisaille Wedding
They huddle in the cold damp darkness grateful for the sheltering sandstone shuddering at each echoing blast a remorseless dull ache like their meagre rations eyelids shutting wrinkling between attacks seeking peace and inner sleepless solace. 'Them docks is taking a pasting.' 'Me Dad works there.' Another attack, tunnels rumble evoking century old echoes of rusty trundling drum-line wagons bearing sandstone blocks to build the docks now being blitzed blighting the night sky. The morning brings a dusty disquiet. Merseyside emerges curses soldiers on.
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Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
The Tunnels of Runcorn Hill
Watching the night sky Amazed by the delight Of passing meteors in our galaxy Attracted by Earth's gravity Falling dust as a shiny star So near and yet so far Fascinating young and old To make a wish, we have been told We complete our sheer delight Witnessing awesomeness of a night Star dust showering us from above Evoking hope and wishes of love We are dust, star dust from the galaxy On Earth to shine as bright as we can be
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Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
Shooting stars
Stepping into the pristine, gentle atmosphere; truth hanging from the intricate crystal chandelier full of endless glow and luster - mischievously placed structure conspicuously elevating wonder Full of flashing, coruscating shimmer enthusiastically engaging the convivial space; evoking a spontaneous internal unfolding mirroring the perpetual suffering connected to the chosen impeding of spirit’s copious interweaving.
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Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
Crystal Chandelier
A grimoire of nuptials apporting The implored cadaverous knight Securing obsequious omens Stirring the sleeping metals of Chaste belladonna, glistening Elf-locks entangled with Hellweed Vowing until the golden bowl is broken Clasping the devils paintbrush promising Before the garrulous black mass Leering upon Vulcans mirror Cursing the covenant of faithfulness With a moonstone band Evoking a vixens wedding Sealing with Adams holy ale Their oath as the belfry rings Resounding admist white sepulchre. ELEETE J MUIR.
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Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:00 AM UTC
Soul Knotting
Thundering voice evoking fire, demons, eternal suffering. Eyes burning holes in our souls chastising, rebuking, shaming. "Enlarge belief, says the Lord our God, or be cast into the lake of fire." Women wept, men trembled, children sobbed in terror. Tonight's collection would be a dandy.
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Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 2:02 AM UTC
Tent Meeting
Transplanted to these '...fruited plains...', grandpa, One of Gaia's fruits, what was his twinkle among The countless stars? Here, millions have come To stay, imbuing us with their place of origin, Their souls dancing, flying, in a universal way. For over 60 years Americans to be came through Ellis Island, headed to who knows where West, My grandfather, Uru, which means hero, a Fin, One of three who left a concentration camp that Fifteen thousand entered, did too, to NYC, NY. Following freedom's beacon, its first light he saw, The Statue of Liberties still unscorched torch, thanx To Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, and the French. Of Libertas, the Roman goddess of freedom and a '...Tabula ansata, a tablet evoking the law, upon Which is inscribed the date of the American Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776.' The broken chain of tyranny lies at her feet, Upon a pedestal, wherein etched words are, From Emma Lazurus' sonnet, 'The New Colossus', Which may rise again, only if we embrace them: '...Her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!' cries she With silent lips. 'Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!' Only 151 feet tall, she will ever stand taller, or Be turned to dust with us, all of humanity and Large mammals, as well as the Earth, tragic Members of extinctions annals, if we don't stop The permanent altering of weather cycles through Overuse of fossil fuels, the degradation of the Earth's orbit around the Sun. We can walk in Nature's abundant balance again, humane beings. Still, she gives hues to the vast canvas of what The Big Apple, and its beautiful mosaics' art, can be. I shine only because he, a Merchant Marine, did.
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Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 2:06 AM UTC
Giving Thanks To Our Ancestors
Transplanted to these '...fruited plains...', grandpa, One of Gaia's fruits, what was his twinkle among The countless stars? Here, millions have come To stay, imbuing us with their place of origin, Their souls dancing, flying, in a universal way. For over 60 years Americans to be came through Ellis Island, headed to who knows where West, My grandfather, Uru, which means hero, a Fin, One of three who left a concentration camp that Fifteen thousand entered, did too, to NYC, NY. Following freedom's beacon, its first light he saw, The Statue of Liberties still unscorched torch, thanx To Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, and the French. Of Libertas, the Roman goddess of freedom and a '...Tabula ansata, a tablet evoking the law, upon Which is inscribed the date of the American Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776.' The broken chain of tyranny lies at her feet, Upon a pedestal, wherein etched words are, From Emma Lazurus' sonnet, 'The New Colossus', Which may rise again, only if we embrace them: '...Her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!' cries she With silent lips. 'Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!' Only 151 feet tall, she will ever stand taller, or Be turned to dust with us, all of humanity and Large mammals, as well as the Earth, tragic Members of extinctions annals, if we don't stop The permanent altering of weather cycles through Overuse of fossil fuels, the degradation of the Earth's orbit around the Sun. We can walk in Nature's abundant balance again, humane beings. Still, she gives hues to the vast canvas of what The Big Apple, and its beautiful mosaics' art, can be. I shine only because he, a Merchant Marine, did.
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A faded photograph Hangs on the wall Evoking memories Of times gone before Transporting me back To younger days Of innocence and dreams Of simpler ways Those vintage times When life was fun With skies of blue Endless days in the sun Carefree years Of summer wine Status Quo on the record player Singing Sweet Caroline "Every Sha la la la Every wo wo wo still shines.." Why can I still remember All the lines Of those songs played Oh, so long ago Across the waves Of my radio? "I think I love you Isn't that what I'm afraid of?.." Lyrics never forgotten 45 rpm statements of love Radio Luxembourg playing Hidden under the covers With melodies about life Betrayal and lovers "You're the best thing That ever happened to me..." Nothing learnt in school recalled So well as lyrics from '73 Dancing Queen was another Vinyl classic joining the mix To enter my subconscious In 1976 I glance in the mirror Expecting to see A reflection of the girl Who used to be me Someone carefree Someone bold Instead, I see an image Of a woman growing old The years have flown For this troubled soul Who's lived a life Which has taken it's toll The eyes are tired The hair's turning grey The heart's battered with scars The wrinkles here to stay Then I think of those songs From the days of my youth Considered classic gems Now I'm long in the tooth They're still being played Still giving pleasure Just like the old girl in the mirror They're vintage treasure Nicki Tilston.
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Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:26 AM UTC
Vintage Treasure
when life is charmed with radiance all kicking ponies and summer sticky sweet with instinct like a head sloped between thighs moralities privation comes stirs its *** a broth of orthodoxy evoking a cinematic painting of Christ's crimson howls for the ache of life his blood sacrifice construed as desire from the embrace of lust sins cursed maniacal save the genitals of priests for little children's **** while God the father stands aloof as if nothing but helpless black space the churches history a coterie of priests a prancing parade in black dresses with rosy *****   Jesus's own little rays of sunshine
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Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Jesus's Own
Every day with you, a tale unfolds, Awakening hearts like buds at dawn, Blooming brightly through the noon, Evoking smiles before first yawn, Surprising us with night's full bloom. Each day a fresh blossom unfurls its grace, Each week a new *** of love to tend, Each month, a fertile bed where dreams embrace, A year with you, our colorful garden blend Together, let's nurture this love so true, As we watch the world around us bloom.
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Oct 3, 2023
Oct 3, 2023 at 5:28 AM UTC
Blooms of Love
Weightlessly Whole-heartedly Dripping emotions Eloquently evoking Subtly stating art Gracing gifts            Beauty    And            bliss In                   every Big breath bringing Life                       on The                    floor Pure                        in Passion                   of Existence expanding As                  eternity Is                        lived Out                     loud          When the   Music         swells And The                        Beat           grows           Stronger     The world fades into The Movement That Seizes Silently tells a story
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Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
DANCE
Ultimately, language will be replaced by subtleties. The amplified magnitude of your true essence commingling amidst another's - unbounded and effortless. Parallel perspectives - instinctive and raw Each quark and quirk facing the void Evoking recognition of confidence wrought amidst the entwined advent of your ability to manifest emergent and fresh. Hewn vibrationally in the full spectrum of presence, we lightly upon wave form.
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Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
Treading Wave Form 10/7/16
The air I breathe, Which gasps and sighs; My journey of choice guided All its winds and there were The words my soul had yet To Melody. Along the sky, next to The petals stolen and the birds Feathery flight there was an Angel Sobbing in blue and whose tears When hit on ground did stroke alive Many a lily white bloom. And the air I breathed Caught the Daughters of God In mid flight and split the tongue Into words for  Poet Saint to verse The world in birth of inklings. Near a sonnet yet born A coronet of masks lay drawn Upon the faces of nymphs I saw The fiery lust behind open waters Chanting to sailors revealing their Naked spirits and seducing in words That seemed a song from some Romantic whale. In the orchestra of stars, Breathing in constellations up Upon a pedestaled Word, The sumptuous flows of winged words Played like sweet violins and the chorus Was mine to orchestrate, Both slow and methodical, Paced and volatile. And I breathe, The breath of lovers like a steed And a mare upon whose back Sits Eros shooting arrows into My very soul romantically evoking The man in me who believes In the songs of love, A woman whom sings them aloud And along the moist of her lips Sits the poem I have yet To write. Oh deep is the breath, The Lovers combine in perverse Yet controlled light, The naked souls are entwined In a living light of crystalline Bodies mankind deep passionate Starry eyed poetry. Ah the winds that be life! Times of sorrow that fill the void Like restless cries of a motherless Child, and a walk among the tombstones Brings about the rage of death, Both tranquil and terrifying, These words are they that bleed. I breathe the words in open air, The Shepard winds upon My ink, the poem dances light And lovely adorned with sighs And sorrows, would bes and regrets, The tender ferocity of the winds.
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Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
The Air I Breathe
The air I breathe, Which gasps and sighs; My journey of choice guided All its winds and there were The words my soul had yet To Melody. Along the sky, next to The petals stolen and the birds Feathery flight there was an Angel Sobbing in blue and whose tears When hit on ground did stroke alive Many a lily white bloom. And the air I breathed Caught the Daughters of God In mid flight and split the tongue Into words for  Poet Saint to verse The world in birth of inklings. Near a sonnet yet born A coronet of masks lay drawn Upon the faces of nymphs I saw The fiery lust behind open waters Chanting to sailors revealing their Naked spirits and seducing in words That seemed a song from some Romantic whale. In the orchestra of stars, Breathing in constellations up Upon a pedestaled Word, The sumptuous flows of winged words Played like sweet violins and the chorus Was mine to orchestrate, Both slow and methodical, Paced and volatile. And I breathe, The breath of lovers like a steed And a mare upon whose back Sits Eros shooting arrows into My very soul romantically evoking The man in me who believes In the songs of love, A woman whom sings them aloud And along the moist of her lips Sits the poem I have yet To write. Oh deep is the breath, The Lovers combine in perverse Yet controlled light, The naked souls are entwined In a living light of crystalline Bodies mankind deep passionate Starry eyed poetry. Ah the winds that be life! Times of sorrow that fill the void Like restless cries of a motherless Child, and a walk among the tombstones Brings about the rage of death, Both tranquil and terrifying, These words are they that bleed. I breathe the words in open air, The Shepard winds upon My ink, the poem dances light And lovely adorned with sighs And sorrows, would bes and regrets, The tender ferocity of the winds.
Continue reading...
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