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K Balachandran Jul 2018
Fervorous rain did
Clothe land with thick water sheets;
Clinging and stifling.
A Sad Alex Oct 2018
You are so **** pretty
I just want to say
That you manage to charm me
Every single day
With your bronze skin
And caramel eyes
Your short hair
And irresistable smile
Your lips so plump
I want bite when I kiss
Your full *******
And thick hips
Every part of you could be a poem
And every word you say a verse
But I could never do it justice
Less so when you smile at me
and play with my hair
I feel fuzzy when I touch you
And my lips crack a smile
I want to stick to you forever
Your hugs are so **** warm
And lock our hands together
When our fingers intertwine
They seem to match eachother
One made for the others grasp
And I want to trap time in a bottle
That my love for you may never die
But I´ll settle for a poem
Titled with my toughts for you when you ask me
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Puissant piquant and predatory
And observant from afar
He looks down on your slumber
Like a door that's left ajar

Plying with his manly vice
A reckless male visage
A rogue of masculine device
Seeks entrance to your mind

He saunters with a swagger
A macho savvy moxie
To personify virility's incarnate
His dream zone's metier

He sifts your ****** entourage
In search of sprawls recumbence
To tantalize climactic fervor
With lambent photic scenes

Grasping at your revelries
He spies the wanton lust
With swanky strut appealing
Your primal urge to sate

He leaves undone resistance
With innate resilience seized
The lavish wayward implications
Of unrequited livid deeds

Like passion's lurid lecheries
An insatiable torrid sooth
You wrestle with his adamance
Your  carnal ecstasies revealed

You pounce on his exsertion
You splay your agile form
wriggling like a supple nymph
You accept his blatant storm

You writhe in your abandon
In a euphoric supplication
His machismo ****** enveloping
Your wildest latent needs

With no regrets or reticence
you awaken from this dream
To find yourself alone again
Like it had never been
I of we all create our own incubi and succubi and we should pay attention to their parameters.  Nothing like a philanthropic Incubus.
CautiousRain Mar 2015
My heart lay in a cloudy, milky state,
its cold, harsh pressure building up within,
leaving me to gaze, masking purpose.

My eyes, dull, hid the fervor,
encasing it in between my lips,
locking them together; smiling.

My breath remains methodical,
sweet melodies juxtaposed,
along my ears and lungs.

Feet pacing, heart staying,
I cannot last; ba-thump,
my hands begin to tingle.

One look, no words;
head spinning away,
there is no closure.
Arke Sep 2018
early, I worried our love was ludus
that you were merely playing with me
it was hard for me to believe that anyone
could love me when I did not love myself

or that I could allow someone to peer into me
and that they would hold me the way you had
with sincerity and beauty as deep as the oceans
and passion and fervor as strong as the waves

love, please know that my poetry is affirmation
a constant reminder that what we have is more
that it's persistent and real and infinite
my love refuses to diminish or disappear

if I must write a dozen poems for you
declaring my undying love for the world to see
I will continue to do so week after week
until I run out of words in the dictionary

yes, our love was ludus -- and eros, philia and agape
if I'm fortunate enough in the months to come
for the gods to smile at me and grant me bravery
I will find a way to break my chains

and if I'm lucky and you still want me in the end
if you do not tire of my over sentimentality
or the way my eyes become honey when they see you
I would get on both knees and beg you to be mine once more
Evan Palmer Oct 2018
I lost myself the other day and found myself
falling swiftly through the air of destruction
hitting the ground--crushed by the weight of my burden resulting in a complete dispersion of the fragments of my fragmented being— looked down and saw the frail corpse of my appearance laying at my exposed feet

leaving my body at the scene, I began the
search for the scattered pieces of my spirit

As I walked down the road you joined me
and I found a piece of my poise
in the fabric of your support, and you
sewed it together so I could wear it
When I walked past your sepulcher I found
my tears buried in the ashes of your
intelligence , and I left them there with you
As I travelled through your gallery I found
my creativity in the strokes of your brush
and I seized them as my own
When I passed through our discourse
I found my cognitive empathy, and in the
presence of our fracas', I let it grow durable
When I ran through your teachings I found
my intellect in the beauty of your mind
and I dedicated my fervor to you
As you join me in the search for myself
I am eager for what pieces I may
find in you, and I cherish this feeling
because it is the perception of love
A few years ago I reached a point in my life where I believed there was nothing more that life could offer me. I found myself sitting on a windowsill with my legs hanging in the air. While I never physically jumped, metaphorically I did. This event made me realize just how broken I was and once I recovered, I began the search that I describe in the poem. Each instance in this poem where I find a piece of myself is a specific moment in my life and each instance has a specific person attached, but they will remain nameless as I refer to all of them as "you".
writerReader Jan 2015
it is not very
lady like to leap
and yell with
glee
or to run like
mad
or to touch without asking to
kiss with
fervor.
but do you mind?
Axion Prelude Feb 2018
I dreamt of you the other day

Such sweet resonance with your presence, it echoed a calm I only experience with you; awoken, and sound

You caught me in a time of plight, pulled me forth in valiant fervor

Your smile shined upon me, and I felt safe; feverishly exposing your excitement to explore the horizon

We drove into the fog; your warmth was tangible, even in my subconscious dwelling

Next to you, I simply felt good; a place I can not substitute

I felt calm, as if all qualms and scores of darkness simply melted away; you seemed happier than I had ever seen when I had not declined your beckoning

I felt home, and you seemed content to feel the same with me by you

If ever that could be true when I awake for this, life would forever be a dream

I dreamt for peace, and you were there; simplicity, two threads cut from the same cloth, bound together

I hope to bring you the same light
YH Sep 2017
All things, eventually, fall into the hands of vanity.
The pain, the misery,
the sufferings, and the tears;
memories filled with screams of agony.

Oh, child, don’t waste your energy no more.
Cease your frenetic thoughts.

Proceed with what you are now,
for no one really knows
what comes after oblivion.

— Y.H.

Look ahead,
gentle fervor.
You never know.
So,
use up the moments you have
with all of the gratitude
and awareness.

(c) Y.H.
It was in the spring,
season of new birth
that I first saw you,
weeping in a stand of
wonder that you had
sown.

You seemed then
as a grass, tall as all
the rest yet distinct,
caught in a wind,
and the scent
of blossoms.
You danced, and your
music wound its
way to the sky
and brought
the birds.

As the dawn through
a roof of young leaves
your coming woke me,
and showed me a world
of such beauty that
I felt alive, in a way
I had almost forgotten.

You were the dawn,
and the breeze in
Springtime; you were
wild and you were calm,
carefree and sorrowful,
heartless and compassionate,
thoughtless and full of
knowings. In my ignorance
you were a discord,
a tumble of notes that
proved beautiful,
despite itself. In my
ignorance you were a
wonder. In my knowledge
you are a miracle,
far beyond the reasons
of your being.

You asked if I would
remember you, and in
my heart I laughed as
well as wept. For how
could I not? To ask if I
would forget you, who
had brought such fervor
to my life; such joy.

It was beyond foolishness.

If I weep, forgive me,
for I could wish for
nothing more than to
make you smile; it is
this love in my heart
that does not permit it.

In love I say,
I will remember.
I will remember.
I will remember.
In love.


Farewell.
Indigo B Jul 2018
A torrent of blood pooling over, rushing around mounds of bone.
Power in all the love carried by cells into the ocean of anatomy. Like the water, we take the shape of all. Free-flowing, surrendering to nothing. From the unconditional, the wonder and understanding, I will cross these streams and let the currents wash me away into love, love and more love.
YH Sep 2018
I realize I am too compassionate;
I feel everything at a 100% rate,
and I loathe it so much.
Why do they come on so strong all the time;
it mentally drains me.

I am destined to die early;
I can't see myself living past my mid-thirties.
I learn how to accept death as it is,
and I am slowly learning how to let go.

I want to cry, I want to scream;
I want to voice out this indecipherable torment inside of me.
But no one will understand,
and no one will know;
this mask of mine can't be taken off.

It is what I desire,
yet I want to scream the truth out to the world;
my alternating flow of thoughts,
my constant battle;
it goes down with me to the grave.

This happiness is an illusion;
There's a second mind that takes over,
and blocks away all of the hopelessness.
It brings forth a temporary elation,
a nonchalance,
a pretentious ease.

Is this better?
Does it make me better?
Or does this delude me to the point
where I become more destructive
and cause more harm than cure?

Why does my mind run so much?
Why does this version of me exist?

Because I am born empathetic.
Because I am human.
Because I hold a great understanding of myself,
and a greater awareness of how I am.

But not behind in the how it came to be.

No one holds the answer, and I am forever left with questioning all these endless why's and how's.

Everything else is left unanswered

perhaps until the day I die.

— Y.H.

the end of the tunnel,
gentle fervor.
my mind drifts sometimes
as though it's sinking deep into the abyss of water
sometimes i'm afraid it sinks so far
that it never comes back up to the surface again
that i would never see the light another time

but maybe there never was a light
and i've been sinking all this while
further, and further
and the sight of light was only once in a dream

(c) Y.H.
Axion Prelude Dec 2017
Seasons pass, tempered by insalubrious fervor; treasonous design remiss of fate

An echo of prior songs resonate somber atrophy; mourn the passing of  constant defeat, stained by triumphant dissonance and disdain

Fear strides along the broken path, left alone and solemn and crass: Through sour feats of vindication, tones of plight become dismissed

Surfeit, the sound of temptation rides upon the crest of dawn, blinding darkness like calming waves caressing infinite stretches of sand: soft and warm; kind and welcoming, embracing in its gentle touch

Sentience hides behind a creeping fog, whispering secrets of life eternal, bearing gifts wrought through sensuous candor

Two threads lost, now found; slowly bonding, uniting purpose, rhythm, rhyme, and reason; born from the same cloth, garnering habit, singing in harmony what echoes from within

Beautiful, intelligent, staunch with profundity; stark, handsome, wholesome, and good

The call of a true home may finally beckon..
The most enrapturing, green eyes, gently kissed by hues of orange and blue
If Summer is fervor,
Winter is truth.
Black, naked branches
having shed at last
the changeful gowns
they donned in spring.

Wind, that wild white animal,
bites to get my attention.
It lays all bare
in urgent whispers
if only one listens
to those clear, cold words.

Uncomfortable reality
haunts white frosted dreams
and disturbs silent slumber,
but I will be honest
like grey, empty Winter
and bare, blighted branches.
Jan 2017
Andrew Guzaldo c Oct 2018
“Solidity of my heart is ever repeating,
Yet yearning for things I'll never know,
The heat of the earth upon my feelings,
The zeal of the flurry gusts upon my dermis,

In the beauty of sunlight falling on water ways,
As you can feel the warmth of the sun as I have,
I’ve confronted my life’s crusades before this melody,
Oh yes yours be a simple cup of water for a diverse life,

It is the brine of the ocean that makes me crave more,
Tears that make my ever repeating heart stutter,    
Tear drops warm as the flurry gusts upon my dermis,
Tears abhor the interior sole destruction of my soul,
        
Tears hasten down my cheeks like rivers,
Tears now smell and taste like the salt of sea brine,
As it leaves a taste of red fervor within my heart?
There will always be peace now way in my soul,

Tears sooth me like my feet upon brine sand stone
As I walk this journey I may stumble and fall,
For that infinite one that has left me now all alone,
I shall ever be fulfilled now in my melody of tears”
By Andrew Guzaldo 10/10/2018 ©
By Andrew Guzaldo 10/10/2018 ©   #Poem # 130 HP
YH Jan 2018
I am empty,
unfeeling;
That was what I felt when I met you.

You cried for those who were miserable,
and I only thought it vain.
You fought so vigilantly for everything,
and I did the same,
with my own perspective.

You were a child with big dreams.
I was the adult with true realism.

But I was trying.
I only dreamt of a world with you.
I did not realize of the destruction I was capable of,
and I was not aware of the calamity that lived within me.

I had lost you,
and only did I know then
that I was never empty.

I was filled with the existence of you.

And now you are gone.

So tell me,
what am I now?

— Y.H.

lost love,
gentle fervor.
Is this what you have felt, all this while?
This sorrow.

Lord,
before I knew,
I had turned things to the inevitable.

(c) Y.H.
Poetoftheway Aug 2017
"the ever shifting light of ourselves"
(a poem such as this)

For Jamadhi V.

<•>
8/28/17

at 11:09am,
the phrase arrests itself, then assertive,
ungently demanding fulfillment,
implanted, it cares not my whereabouts,
it is a child~phrase, inexact, mysterious,
wanting its breast milk feeding immediate
no matter where my presence visible

but to me, it stinks of familiarity,
for my shifts, my redrawn shapes,
exhausting, giving me cause to grieve,
write poems such as this,
which I regret both
before~after conception~completion,
written in a fevered misery of fervor,
hoping,
no one ever likes it and its witnessing

as light ever shifts,
it consumes, extinguishes, reignites,
poorly lit, revealing dregs and dustbins

better then to sit in the darkness
the one you call,
getting it over with...

6:00pm
<•>

~~~~~~~~

*the swelling and the spume


for Lucy:

who gave me the title, three poems, a compliment, and the X Factor {inspiration}
~~~
the spume, the sea foam concentrate,
a greener white
by the the salt and the souls of the
million dead organisms,
that are are the compost of its formation,
it, watches the poet, who watches the spume,
come ashore for its final act of
immolation by evaporation

which is why the random act of
an unseen ministering force,
fills my ears with humbling glory of
Samuel Barber's Agnus Dei,^
my fresh reminder that this swelling chest
in this temporary abode of mine,
by the sea, passage is prepaid for my
expiration by evaporation too,
all lambs march to the sea,
returning to spume
~
Lyrics to Agnus Dei:
^ Alleluia Alleluia
For our Lord God Almighty reigns
Alleluia Alleluia
For our Load God Almighty reigns
Alleluia
Holy Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy
Holy
Are You Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
Amen

~~~~~~

"may all my lost lovers haunt me"

for Vinnie Brown

even your kindergarten crushes?

what burdens you seek to retain,
the edgy border of delicious and pain is a raggedy cut line,
as lost lovings rhymes with duality

Once upon a time,
a middle aged man
left the woman he married,
the one who drained and cruel reigned
over the destruction of his-dreams
for one accidentally stumbled into,
the love who blurred his edges as well,
between forgotten happiness and
pain so bad when she grew tired
of his life's complications and the
valises of drama,
she left him,
weeping on the corner of Broadway and 83rd Street

was that 20, 30 years ago?
a memory
from no matters land
but
the physical ache that marred the hearth in the chest for months and months,
sent him to the doc who smiled sweetly
but gave him, had no, no relief for busted grownup hearts
that had normal  EKG's

and that remains a treasured affirmation to this day of
life's capacity to love that comes with an ingrown danger
of never forgetting

did you know the French outlawed the use of the term
Mademoiselle in '12 (Mlle.)?

I loved that salutation,
calling my one true lovers
with the soft feminism of that address

and still do

and you want to recall
kindergarten crushes?

Mister Vinnie
possesses a lovely contradiction,
holding onto
lost lover sickness
that lives on in good love poems

this my new found poet
is how that he, this aching heart,
fast approaching his shore line for one last return and final departure
repays a sweet compliment,
from one who complements
another man's lovely's insane desire to
never forget any of it

~~~~~~*

reading love poetry and listening to
Joni M.,
at 3:09AM
never wise,
but always full of hindsight
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