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Clay Feet Jan 2015
Lovely mornings, evenings, nights our hearts took flight
Laughing ceased as sighs increased.

Wafts of sensual sweet smells rose.
Bodies, curved in writhing poses glowed.

Cares lost in arousing touch, lingering fingers longed for
Secrets, shared in sacred sighs and wanton lies.

Arching union quivered and quaked.

I whispered then and will again
Stilettos are not made for walking,

Their soul purpose, freeing our rising desires,
Feeding rapturous tinglings of sensual ecstasy.
Edited 02/01/2015
Daniel Ruiz Sep 2018
the night time
can be truly unforgiving some times,

you can feel how the moon
chats with the stars,
making fun of the way you feel,

they understand at least,
they are not laughing
because they think i'm pathetic,
on the contrary,

they laugh and chat
and shine through the night,
until morning light comes up,

then they say their goodbyes.

they learned to love the
crying man on earth,

the pathetic little man who learned with them,

****, Goodbyes are hard.
this one is a little hard to understand
Mike Nov 2018
I lie here.
My eyes caress the ceiling.
My thoughts visit my past,
And bring back with it memories both fond and distasteful.

Artificial lights ******* the eyes that once saw things differently.
Eyes now glazed with perspective given to them by experience and time.
Eyes that now display with more clarity where my thoughts lie.

Although intangible, I feel my breath dance along my skin.
I conclude there’ll be more of these moments to come.
So I close the eyes that once saw things differently,
As my thoughts stroll aimlessly into my imagination from what once was.
Shakespeare was always fond of tragedies.*
From the star-crossed lovers of Verona,
Romeo and Juliet,
to the revenge-stricken prince of Denmark, Hamlet.
Sometimes I wonder
if he was the author of our fate,
for our love has slowly become a tragedy.


(k.p.)
ryn Oct 2014
Brittle dry earth beaming with longing,
For wet kisses from heavy heavens' door,
In soothing rain, finds the heart’s belonging,
Releasing the sweetest aroma...petrichor.

The mist of warm moist wafting playfully,
Kissing and engulfing in a subtle unworldly spin...
A feeling ensnared by the clutches of fond remembrance.
Like the cadence of your breaths upon my parched skin...


A taste of your last dance on my fervent lips,
Awoken with each drop, still makes me thirst,
I lift my head, entranced by memory’s grips,
Craving you, again to make my heart burst.

Here again...two drenched hearts encased in glass,
Latent spectres melded together as they did before,
Promises wrapped and bound to the gaits of the other,
In eternal dance, laced with everlasting redolent petrichor...


Dajena M
**rhymesmith
Another collaboration of thoughts between lovers of a natural phenom.
Shout out to Ms. D. for the magic hidden within her mind, heart and written word. Thank you for another opportunity... Enjoyed it so...
So two down, 8 more to go! ;)

Hope you enjoy this, beautiful people of the universe!
Ethan Leo Mar 25
The last leaf has fallen and all the birds have flown
And all that were once precious are now nothing but stone
I did my best, i did, yet it was all for naught
Now i’ll be laying lifeless, filled with doubt and distraught

I have taken action and now have to face whats ahead
I have decided now, that i’d be better off dead
My body is broken and my spirit is shattered
I have nothing more, no courage to be mustered

Oh i thank you, for your love, your patience, and for being considerate
And oh the will you gave me to go on and live, i greatly appreciate
I hope i made you all happy, even if its once in a while
I’m sorry if i made you cry, and i’m honoured to have made you smile

I have found peace though it is not in this life of mine
For i have realised what a fool i’ve been to have said “i’m fine”
I bid you goodbye now, i wish you all to be well
I’ll see you soon, but for now, this will be my fond farewell
F White Dec 2015
Sometimes, looking at you in the light of the kitchen  I want
to run a finger
Down the length of your nose but
I know you'd wrinkle it, and shake your head citing a tickle, but kiss behind my shoulder as soon
As I turn away

When my feet make ice pools in the bed
Toes accidentally brushing your ankle and you **** abruptly, but upon hearing
My sigh, trap them back with your ankles til, martyr that you are, I'm engulfed in
Warmth at your
Expense.

Sometimes the last trickle of milk is mine, for the coffee,
Silent with your eyes smiling fondly, you look on as I sip, resolutely stirring powdered
Dead baby souls into mug as substitute.

Even damp smelly socks
Greasy hair
Neurotic tears and
Intellectual rambling epiphanies

Even childish blunders, fudging the
Budget or burning the toast

You still call me fond Things.

And love Me.
The most.
Copyright fhw, 2015
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.

I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.

I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.

I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.

Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.

I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.
Logan Robertson May 2017
beauty kept swimming tense in ****** pond
an **** duckling on her tail growing fond
lil ducky he feathers so pluck
lil bare swan his sitting duck
her maiden voyage abate for his magic wand

LR-5/12/17
RS Williams Dec 2014
broken apart
devolved to
bits and pieces,
mere shards of who
I once was; we are never
the same as we were
before—each day steals
from and gives to us
pieces of ourselves,
and by now I
know the day steals
more from me
than it gives,
and soon I'll have
eroded completely,
incandescently sifting
away in the starlit
scenery of old
times and fond
thoughts.
aziza Dec 2018
people say you die twice,
once when you stop breathing
twice when someone says your name,
for the last time.

when you fall in love
with a poet,
she will never stop
carving the letters of your name
pouring the warmth of your smile
locking the memory of your embrace
carefully and shamelessly
on paper, for others will remember.

though the idea of timeless
never exists
but in her concept of time,
you will be alive
for eternity.

to love,
thus keep you eternally, i'd say:
You were, are, and will always be
               my everything.

I am fond of you
not just above all,
but within every breath of life.
harlee kae Nov 2014
i don't even like that word (or *******)
they're both nasty words.
but that isn't the point.
the point is intimacy is like climbing a staircase that only goes up.
i don't like that either.
today you kissed me for a minute.
so tomorrow it will be two.
today you took my shirt off,
so will it always come off now?
i'm rather fond of my shirt.
Joanna Charis Oct 2018
I may be in the other side of the world,
Under the same sky as you are;
But know that I thought of you,
Despite being so **** far.

It has been 7 long years,
Will time allow for us to meet again?
It feels like we’re strangers now,
not close to call it even “just friends”.

How long shall I wait?
Time is ticking all the time;
Hope you are feeling the same——
Wanting to have you or be called, “mine”.

What would have happened
If you have just stayed?
Would our relationship grow more?
Would you still look in my way?

I’m sorry for back then,
when I tried to ignore you;
I was in a state of denial,
because I have grown fond of you.

I love you.
There’s this boy I used to like back then in the 6th grade. We were more of enemies but later have grown to be friends. He left the country when I was in the 8th grade and at that time, I already had feelings for him. I thought it was just a one-sided crush but a few years later, I heard from a friend that he also liked me back then; our feelings were mutual. And somehow hearing that got me thinking like, “what if he just stayed here? what would have happened between us?”. So I was inspired to write this poem. Hopefully someday our paths will cross in the future.
r Dec 2018
When I was younger
I slept in the top bunk
over my older brother

Pretty soon we’re all going to die
he was fond of saying
while we listened to Credence
Clearwater Revival on a broken record player with a penny he placed
on the arm to make it sound like a $100

Pretty soon he got me saying the same
words, the moon, mosquitos and darkness
were in his ear, he’d have dreams like
naked women washing his feet
and sparrows looking out of his eyes

He hollered at old man death
when he was wanting some shuteye

Nobody on earth is like me
he’d wake up speaking
disturbing my sleep

He said I am the white piano
they threw off the bridge
the snakebed and the shade tree
I’m something, yes-sir-eee


I’m something not everybody wants
to believe
, he’d say sipping on whiskey
he bought from a woman up the holler

He told death to kiss his white ***
then holler at me to get out of bed
and go trim the grass around the stone
angels planted up in the high pasture.
Kewayne Wadley Aug 2018
When does our weekend begin
Time flies in contemplation.
The day ends, quick to start.
Belittling how the nights are not the same.
Caught in thought.
The laughs that start soon as I see you.
Things that occupy time until the next time.
Again becoming a past time.
The season changes in a matter of days.
The weekend still so far.
The human heart a mystery.
Full of affection. Restrained throughout the week.
Fond with anticipation.
To see you, to feel you.
The embrace of like minds melting in the torch of where we dwell most.
The week becoming longer and longer.
When can my heart beat it's fullest.
Running away with every throb.
Taking you further and further away from where we have to come back.
When does our weekend begin.
Holiday included, extended weekend.
Seeing you smile.
The weekend is near
Tabitha Nov 2012
I lay in bed at night rehearsing all my moves,
I have nothing left to lose,
And everything to prove.
My mind is on and I can't shut it off,
I feel a bit crazy, a little distraught.
I'm not sure that I can trust how I feel after all,
I seem to constantly build myself up just to watch myself fall.
As sick and twisted as that may sound,
I rather enjoy my spirits lying upon the ground.
Because if I'm not happy there's no guilt to face.
Because.if you hadnt realized yet I'm very fond of this place.
I can hide in the shadow of who I use to be,
and everyone I use to know will look right past the new me.
Because that's what I want and that's what I need,
While I complete the search for all the pieces of me.
girl gonzo Jul 2015
Lately, all the darlings have started tasting the same and all the books keep preaching about the catharsis of going forward and I'll not be condemned to be Lot's wife's' tragedy but ******* this is growing up and everything is shrinking like the bible my mother threw in the washing machine by accident. All the wild has gone to my fingertips and there is no longer an energy to board trains to god-knows where because I know better now.
I don't longer miss you and I call my father daily now and I have a fond appreciation for dead things. Sometimes I think of all the times I prayed and all the times I sinned with you in mind and I know this is the guilt of poets. We are the victim and the instigator, we play our cards right and you resent us for it. And I write to you because it's easy to say things to people you hate. Like kissing someone and not tasting their blood but someone else's and enjoying it. Revenge in, not one, but all the ways you know how.
I often dance naked to Claire de Lune, do you know why? There's an elegance to being primordial and vulnerable. There's grace in things we find obscene. I cannot dance, mind you but I dance thinking you're watching. Much like shaking the hand of  a married man and lingering with his wife within earshot, there's a thrill knowing you'll be caught.
Thus, I write my inhibitions and fears in poetry hoping you'll someday read them with absolute stoicism. I dare you to show a little emotion. I dare you.
John Shahul May 2018
Her smiling that was too crazier,
In me fond of love emerges in thousands,
In whirling pleasures my mind fainted,
In gullet there too fondant love stricken,
Her smiling that were too crazier,
Her rosy lips that were frenzied more than ever,
The love in them that titters forever,
With that joy my heart speaks love
Far sweeter than melody.
gleck Feb 2016
She remembered my name.

Second time I heard it from her it was a whisper.

After we got to know each other it was a quiet mumble.


As we grew closer it had made it's home between her always freshly kissed lips.

Years had passed before it was replaced by a simple  "I do "

But big days pass and it came back, a fond sound to my ears.


It brought a new start, yet also an unexpected end.

Like a disc stuck on repeat it became a shout.


Broken it was like the speaker itself.

Turning into a rare sound.

No longer uttered with a hidden meaning.

But big days pass and it left, now a rare thing to hear.

Until it got forgotten.
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