"hammock" poems
♪♫♪♪
Your beaded snakeskin loincloth
strung beneath humid palms
cool rippling breeze that calms
our hammock hung under thatch
what a catch . . .
your Amazons running into my Congo
lost track of my bongo
back about one mile
from the sources of the Nile:
your jungle smile.
Restoring all celestial things
deep within your tropical clearings . . .
flowing slowly, going loco
at the mythic mouth of the Orinico;
shake your nut-brown biospheres
and banish all my worldly fears.
Dusk is nearing — clearing the hill
insects trilling a sinuous thrill;
the yuca half-mashed in the clay ***
the witch doctor hungover in his hut
while our little fire smolders
near the mountains of the moon
—or are they only boulders?
Come soon
Jesus, Lord of the Jungle . . .
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
#
Each body part
sizzled in pure pleasure
in the blissed wake
of your oral efforts
brought forth the waves
of rapturous delight...
Spurs poetic inspiration
in equal liberation
of desires to please.
Bodies transpose
in fluid motion
as brazen eyes meet.
Savor the voluptuous image before you.
Indulge your eyes in my carnal halo
before they roll to the back of your head.
On all fours
knees between your thighs
tips of swollen breast
caress your chest
tasting fresh honey
upon lips in a kiss.
Ripples of ardor
hover
by wet trails
of sensual kisses
suckling towards
the apex.
Breathe in
the slow motion pace
that pulsates eagerness
to the fore tumescing bulge
leaking with anticipation
of viscous lava.
Tickles of silken hair
against flesh edges closer.
Emerging subtle grumbles
in deep resonance
betray your impatience .
Hands tightly twine
in tangled hair
to maneuver
the treasure hunt.
Licked lips pause
at the sight of fire
burning in
glazed gazes
before engulfing
the throbbing member.
Plump ruby lips
greet velvety texture
in a slow deep dive.
Tongue curls around
the flavor
in a dulcet embrace.
Moans release
as grip tightens
in my hair
settles the
rhythmic pace
to taste in an
oscillating dance.
The masculine aroma of heady musk
lingering there, arouses my appetite.
With my enthusiasm
attuned to
your preferred rhythm
suckling, slurping
surface and dive
in measured unison.
Break of breath
allows tongue
freedom to roam below,
licking, soft kissing
the tender hammock
of testicles.
Tongue and lips escalate higher
to mount another assaulting dive
deeper in the depths
of the cusp in cavity.
Wetted fingers
probe even lower
circling superficially
as gasp escapes
your heavy breath;
flaming eyes lock.
Finger dips in
with expert finesse
gorging hardened growth
within a wrapped hand.
Thighs tighten
with rocking grip.
Head thrusts onward,
drilling forward
in each dive.
Salvia slips
fingers grip
lips dip
Engorged swell, flesh tightens in an intensity
of volcanic eruption ...
HALTS
assault
Pace retracts.
Loosened lips kiss tip.
*“Soon sweetheart, your time will ***
inside me as we surrender to synergy."*
#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
Crows and corn chips, Squirrels and beer sips…
Lazy hammock and Hemming-way,
our rabbits mowing the grass today...
A nap under the advancing stars,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Raccoons love the chicken bones,
everynight, a fox visits our home,
Fish guts and crab-leg shells,
opossum out there giving-‘em-Hell,
Casting corn and some bird seed,
for Mother Nature everything she needs,
God’s aces and a Wild Card!
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Ohhh! In summer a Bar-be-que,
and you the prettiest girl I ever Knew!
Couple ‘o kids and a swimming pool,
mini-van and Cadillac-cool,
Love the beaches and mountains,
of Carolina and my country-kin,
Wouldn’t trade it for the whole of Mars,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
our home, children and a dream of ours,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
I thank the Lord for your tender heart.
Our life amazing, though a, rough start,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Oo-oh -a paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
Our home and children; a dream of ours,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
I thank the Lord for your tender heart...
...a Paradise in our Backyard!
Some people say it’s just a yard,
...this paradise under the stars,
Leo, Virgo, Aries and Mars,
you, me, children of ours.
Our home, children, a dream of ours,
I thank you Jesus for your tender heart;
Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Oooh -a paradise in our Backyard!
You and me under the stars,
Our home and children a dream of ours,
Leo and Virgo, Aries and Mars,
A Paradise in our Backyard!
Praise Jesus and NAS-CAR!
You and me under the stars,
our home and children a dream of ours,
Leo and Virgo, Aries and Mars,
some people say it’s just a yard?
You and me under the stars
-and a Paradise in our Backyard!
*A Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!
A Paradise in our Backyard!*
<musical break>
I love you,
heaven: Hea Anna
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
First came the false presumptions of luxury
The gaudy glamour
Bright dresses and dark suits
Awkward glances and ****** food
Eventually though
The evening settled down
And then, after the smoking and drinking
Came 1 o'clock, the worn-out end of a hazy day
Suddenly,
It was a smother of time,
a stifling landscape of clocks
a decaying of darkness
The night gave way to trembling cold delirium
And slow and slow down
A slide from reality
Everything fell
I remember barely a glimmer- a hand, an arm, red sheets somewhere
Eyes that whispered "what's wrong with her? what's her deal?"
Or worse yet, faces that didn't care
To see me, my wrists
Appalling in all their shivering shaken chill dust
In moments like this,
I am nothing but a fearful machine
Broken in its deepest workings,
All function altered.
Clamors and tremors of panic
Withered illusions gathered at my feet like kittens
I tossed the blanket from the makeshift bed
Lay upon my back and waited
Watched, frightened, the night revealing
The hundred ignoble, vile images
Of which my thoughts seems consisted of
They flickered at bit- against the burgundy hammock
And empty Baccardi bottles
2 o'clock shook the memory
A crowd of twisted things,
Torn and stained and coiling about my wrists
I move by the sway of these thoughts that are curled around me
-The notion of some infinitely suffering thing
Oh I only need a lighthouse
To guide my soon-to-be shipwreck home
I only need a compass, a crucifix, a presence
But never
never to be found
the way
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
I want a swing
To sway between
The moon and the earth,
A hammock to lie
Between Canis
Major and minor,
Let me row a boat
One paddle
Through
The milky way,
Let me pedal
Across the galaxy
On a starship enterprise trike,
I want to race
A shooting star,
Whittle meteoroids
Into beautiful
Paper weights,
Surf the rings
Of Saturn,
And play
Laser tag amidst
All the space debris,
Let me be astronaut...
APAD13 010 - © okpoet
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
endless
summer
trance of the cool breeze
careless
summer
dance of the palm trees
you can
catch us
singing
beside
bonfires
or maybe
surfing
the late
sunset
whilst
drinking
homemade
cocktails and listening
to the whistles of purple orchids
you can meet us by the golden shore
on sands that can't wait to get into your
toes and tell old stories about heroes
and beautiful women of the land
who had hips that could rock the
molten lava out of mauna kea
you can enjoy the moment with us
leave your worries and your cameras
and lose yourself to the gentle swing of your
hammock and to the wishful kissing of the ocean
and to the warm blackness that sings you to
sleep to good vibrations that radiate out of
the strumming of my thumb that lullabies
the little brown child i carry in my arms
who the world named ukulele
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
When I'm a grownup,
I would like a home away from home.
A cabin, perhaps, isolated from the world,
where there would be a lake in my backyard.
Maybe I will also have a treehouse, or a hammock,
where I would read and watch my children play in the water.
Then we would roast marshmallows and make s'mores,
and catch fireflies in the bushes.
My husband would sing silly songs and play his guitar,
and make my children blush with fiery laughter.
When the kids would fall asleep in the bunks,
a cuddle would be awaiting in front of the fireplace.
Where we would watch sappy old movies,
and savor our salty popcorn and sweet milk chocolate.
Together, we would laugh and cry.
Together, we would have escaped the world.
Together, we would have been happy.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
I think I'm gonna leave your memory in paradise
No use trying to bring that hammock into this city life
There isn't a beach to wash our worries away
Even if I just want to see you again for one more day
Masochistic heart why won't you just relent
Quit putting yourself through all this torment
Remember the palm trees, the summer breeze,
The actions void of any regret, Be happy we even met
Along this road life seems to pass each of us by
But your memory will never be tarnished if kept in paradise
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
I enjoy watching my baby boy’s drama
In his room, on his bed among his toys
What a superb imagination
Translated in a form of play...
A battle between the amazing legacy of heroes
Put George Lucas in the house of shame
With his famous Luke Sky walker,
In Star Wars saga
Have Sam Raimi’s done his research well?
In creating Spiderman 3?
With this “genius in the making” young child
Left alone to build his creativity
I am convinced with obvious prediction...
Hollywood superheoes would be doomed..
Here is a 2 year old boy
In Spideman suit, Acting Spiderman,
hitting the Angry bird jet
The jet punches Spiderman back.
Then, Mama is forced to sleep with Spiderman
Forced Mama again, this time to love the Man of Steel
After the gruel some battle,
Jet & Spiderman decided to sleep together
in the pink hammock with Tigger.
The proud child is happy ,
His mission is accomplished!
A bottle of luke warm milk...
Well done! He earns his trophy
Tonight he helps to save the world.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 5:32 AM UTC
First star channels
a hymn from a hammock
Leave a trail for me
in the new grass
I will weave back around it
as I trace the code of our pasts
I will glide back through
Like two snakes
Each print of my feet
a press on fresh cells
Merges me with you back
seeping to the soils
Keep speaking to me through the fire through the clouds
through the first body of light in a quickly darkening sky
In that space, we deny
all that is fear from dying
From here, there’s only “feel”
And from everywhere, is “Love”
More.
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 9:01 PM UTC
Summer nights are my favorite...
To be able to sit on a hammock
Or in a rocking chair
Feet bare, shorts barely peering through
The edges of my long tank top
And not have a worry in my mind
On a night like that
Some would have a beer
or wine by their side
But I am a southern girl
So sweet tea will do just fine
As I peer through a screened in porch
I see the sky on fire
Scorching red and orange and pink
As if to emphasize the condition
of the world around me
As I sit there
in the silence of the evening
I feel a slight breeze
Like a gentle smile
Or comforting arms around me
Reminding me there can be
Simplicity
Beauty
Peace
No matter how young I was
Or how old I will be
I will never forget the feeling attached
To the profound subtlety
Of a summer wind
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 1:22 PM UTC
For once, I'm at a loss for words
I can't write eloquence into our anniversary yesterday
Because it was magical in and of itself
You planned me a quiet picnic in the woods, just you and me
Cooking hot dogs on a charcoal grill we didn't know how to use
And eating chicken salad
Going kayaking was a dream, paddling along
On a quiet tributary to a bigger lake, we went back into the woods
We sat in our little floating craft and talked about first kisses and magic
We wondered at how simple acts could have led us apart and how happy we are together
I noticed the calmness of the water and the intricacies of the ripples when I indulged my paddle into the stream
We were out for an hour, just paddling along
Talking, living, laughing, loving together.
Just being together
We eventually made our way back in, an hour car ride away from home
Talking some more, laughing together, enjoying the company
We went back to my place and ate dinner with my family
Shrimp Scampi with salad and bread
Then roasted marshmallows and laughed when they became torches
Nothing is better than marshmallows with the people you love
After that we set up my hammock and just swung there and watched the sun slip below the horizon
Taking in the scenery, we didn't need to talk, because there was nothing more that could have been said
It was magical until my little brother came over to us and asked why we weren't talking and called us boring
But he doesn't understand, not quite yet
Not until he is sitting on a hammock with a girl, and knows there isn't anything to say
It was a beautiful day, wonderful by itself
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
Let's get back to the lazy days of summer
Where time stands still
Where we sit in the shade with our popsicles
and ice cream until we get our fill
Sip on some sweet tea and have a little picnic
or lay in a hammock reading with my sidekick
Where we walk around barefoot on the freshly cut lawn
or turn on the sprinkler for the kids to get their jump on
Where we watch the bees and butterflies flit and fly around
and listen to the whippoorwill's calling sound
Once God turns off the light we catch lightning bugs in jars
then lay back with our lover and count the stars
Let's get back to the lazy days of summer
Where time stands still
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Summer would be the sunflowers seemingly blooming from beneath telephone poles as a reminder that love can travel upon the wires connecting long-distance lovers, the ropes that cling to trees as though reuniting after a twelve month absence as they bear the weight of two bodies more entangled in each other than the pattern of the hammock that they lie upon, the ice cubes that float atop the glass of sweet tea stealing quick kisses each time the glass is lifted as they melt together beneath the heat.
Fall would be the leaves clinging to the tree limbs whispering secrets to each other as they flutter in the wind and change color according to the lovers that will one day float to the ground beside them, a calm pond reflecting former versions of couples who have always desired to know each other before their time of acquaintance only to realize they never existed until the day that they met, the stone path that weaves through a graveyard that has felt the light footsteps of paired souls wandering the grounds during midnight strolls.
Winter would be the snowflake drifting in the wind quickly memorizing the patterns of each familiar one it passes in an effort to reunite with its match made in the heaven from which it has fallen, the steaming cup of tea that collects condensation in the hands of lovers who find solace in sitting upon their front porches when it's freezing, the parallel lines of sleds that have etched temporary tracks in the land as representations of the distance that once separated those who created them (but does no longer).
Spring would be the first sprout of the season persevering through the darkness of the soil and finally pushing through the light at the end to feel the warmth of the sun upon it, a bridge the connects flower-covered hills that houses the memory of two lovers who reunited after being apart for the winter, the daisy that he planted beneath her chest the night that he told her he loved her and promised to always water it.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
Every year it was brought down from the garage rafters. Green metal frame and
springs, green canvas with white fringe and a little green pillow. It was laid out, hosed
off and erected. Grandpa couldn't have done it without us grand kids. He said so. It
was placed in a spot of honor. Just a couple of feet from the picnic table and in a spot
that was always in the afternoon shade. A folding T.V. tray was placed next to it to
hold cold drinks and snacks. Within a few days, the grass under the frame would be
brown and dead. The grass at the sides of the hammock would just be plain gone.
Scuffed away by feet, as we kids sat on the edge and swayed side to side.
After mowing the lawn, washing the car, or doing any other chores needed, Grandpa
would go inside and put on his "Hammock clothes". This consisted of a pair of Bermuda
shorts and a ribbed tank style Tee. White socks and brown sandals completed the
outfit. Once dressed appropriately, he would head for the hammock. The first "sit" of
the summer season was always a bit touchy. One had to get use to the hang of it.
There he would stand, next to the hammock. Cold drink in his one hand, the T.V. tray
forgotten. His slightly bald head and stick thin legs already slightly sun burned. Slowly,
he would start to lower himself. Reaching back with his free hand to grab the edge of
the hammock.
Note** of course us kids, grandma and mom would all be spying out of the corner of
our eyes to watch this ritual.
Then came the "Grandpa Sit". Grandpa would rock slightly forward and back on his
feet. 1-2-3 and ....SIT! A few wobbles. A couple sloshes of his lemonade. All of us
yelling "Whooooaaaaaa". He would sit there on the edge of the hammock, holding
himself steady with one hand on the edge. His feet firmly planted on the grass and his
other hand holding his cold drink high aloft.
Now, the sandals needed to be taken off. One of us grand kids would run over and
help take them off. Tickling his feet as we did so.
So far, no damage to life or limb.
Ah, but he was not yet fully on the hammock yet.
Now came the "Swing and lie down" move.
Slowly, grandpa would reach behind himself and grasp the far edge of the canvas.
drink in his other hand still held aloft. O.K.....1-2-3...SWING the legs up and quickly lie
back. Let the hammock come to a stop.
Where's Grandpa?
On the ground on the other side of the hammock soaked in lemonade.
Summer was officially started!
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 11:02 AM UTC
In a hammock
On the eve of final exams
There is a scent of caffeine coursed bodies pacing
the distances of Starbucks and the library,
an unusual sight at eleven at night
There is peace
In the fraternity- I think begins with a Sigma-
running around playing a vicious thirty person game of tag
Yeah, I witnessed that wipeout and it was hilarious
There is heat condensed around the height of brains
Struggling to realize dreams that require
Busy work man! It's just like six hours of nonstop busy work
The guy on the bench behind me whined out cooling breath of brown leaves
There is energy in the fractal jungle above
The towering umbrellas of Palm trees which grant me the magic of hovering
I see through waving leaves Orion's Belt.
The light pollution overpowers his body but
he reminds me that there is more in the astral world
Ibis scour the ground
Some would read the tea leaves
that bravest of birds has crossed my path
And I will survive the tests that I allow to define possibilities in life
There is closure to my left
Two girls in a hammock, bodies combined like a turtle in a shell
Only they know what goes on inside,
and all I witness is the harmony that the trials that students go through that unites
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
“We love what we don’t know, what it’s lost already…”
Jorge Luis Borges
I hang on to your portrait, in front of me;
among candles, copal, and all those things you worship in a mexican altar to the death.
You are my invisible jaguar,
you appear before me, between dreams, and I fell alive.
Full of wounds,
lacerated by my absence,
I put your portrait in front of the altar that my mind has conceived,
and you seem to hold the paradise's secret in your hands,which are made of ashes.
Then, according to the mexican & catholic tradition,
like a rural priest,
you start to draw a cross, made of the ashes of your magic, sacred hands.
The smell of the whole,
sacred being that exists in this spiritual plane,
lays on your profile, so beautiful embodied in your portrait,
which I prefer above any other reflex.
Finally, when I think on your lips,
is when I stop believing in anything else,
and just keep on holding the devotion that I worship to your portrait...
Then I chase each single one of the naked,
flaccid,
vulnerable memories of you,
trying to protect me.
I think of you,
so profoundly and vividly right now,
that my skin transpires,
bleeds,
my muscles are tense,
and my mouth recites your name with all and its last name.
I wish that, under a supernatural power,
you're also thinking of me, at this precise moment,
and that some thought can touch me below my skirt,
and make the skin of my white buttocks to bristle.
White –Blanca in Spanish-; the name of one of my childhood’s friend.
And the same color of your so polish, european skin.
The rainforest of your sacred Chiapas.
I need you excruciatingly.
Like a dagger into my body.
I will like to see your portrait being devoured by the flames,
but I do not have the courage to throw it to the fire,
for its image will become strongly painted in my mind,
and the effect that you exerts towards me it will be more powerful.
Dangerous.
I had a dream a couple of hours ago,
it was me,
so earthly,
being blessed by your voice,
and the tattoo you have on your left arm, being kissed by my simple mouth.
Our skin,
together,
united,
white,
is the wall where the moon lays on,
Lays in our bodies making love,
in a black hammock,
conjuring with our pneuma to the whispering of the rainforest...
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
I feel the wind crash against my skin,
enter my nose and into my lungs. I am
alive today. My eyes are fixated at the thought of
those Narra Trees, standing proudly
in the backyard; how the wind rustles
with their branches; how the noise becomes
music, whispering through my ears. I feel
safety. Safety, like the way I lay
at my hammock—the way I trust
the ropes with an arm-strength
of a man; how they held me so high
that I could touch the sky, like freedom
soars across horizons in form of contrails.
Today, I feel love
and I soar to the
Universe.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Diving into Buttercups--
My favorite pastime
The loveliest of happenings,
And things happened long ago,
And things that have yet to happen.
Each beat of the sunrays,
Each clap of the spring breeze
On the water below,
And the birds of love flying
Around my quiet hammock.
Absent thimbles are to be feared—
Especially if the needle is rusty,
Especially when I’m hemophilic--
And already on my face, bleeding,
Just begging for the yellow flowers!
Each rip of an artery so small
Each measly yet itching infection
On my pulsing bulb is wailing.
And the dark robed ghosts
Are waiting to take me.
I am a thorny buttercup
With no thimble for a shield.
I am a delicate beauty,
A pointed killer,
And a mirror to the morning star.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 11:16 AM UTC
Once,
when morning was knocking
on the dusky doors of night
I heard dawn whispering sweet nothings
in your diamond-studded ear
as you slept on the
satin sheets of silky slumber,
my heart broke
into myriad fragments
of dilapidated dreams…
On a sun-kissed seashore,
while you swayed in a swinging hammock
I saw the zany zephyr
caressing your lustrous locks,
my heart broke
like a collapsed sand-castle
and scattered into several
spiral shells on the salty shore…
As we walked hand in hand,
the sky turned grey and we heard thunder!
While rushing for a roof,
I saw the flirtatious drops of rain
kissing your coral lips,
my heart broke
into streaming tears
and merged with the muddy waters
on the boulevard…
Yesterday –
in the middle of the night
I woke up and found
moon fast asleep beside you
on your feathery pillow,
and my heart broke
into scores of shooting stars
and vanished in the
extensive expanse of the cosmos…
Copyright©2010 ~ Bharat B. Trivedi
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
My arm felt right under her head.
Hair gently falling, flowing with the breeze.
The back and forth sway, of the hammock.
Warmth. Love. Happiness.
But happiness,
Happiness will make you miserable.
Expectations.
When my arm is solemn,
there is no breeze,
And my hammock is long gone,
That happiness will mock me,
Laugh in my face,
Taunt me until I fall.
It is relentless,
But I'm glad we had that moment.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
*The crescent moon be my perch.
A bough from which I extend my arm.
Careful fingers grasp my brush...
And with it I shall fill the void
with the universe.
The crescent moon be my hammock.
Upon which I lean fully into,
to seek restful recluse.
Should my body start to buckle...
From the heavy hopes of wistful eyes.
The crescent moon be my anchor.
From which I draw
my inspiration and strength.
She would cradle and sway me gentle...
When wilting hearts spill unto me
the callous wiles of the world.
The crescent moon be my well.
A fount through which my palette
remains full with an
abundant array of silvery white.
Just so...
I could conjure for others,
what their hearts so desire.
Just so...
I could grant them
needed solace and tranquillity.
Just so...
I could infinitely paint for them
the stars...*
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
hammock and a stack of playboys.
first emerged,
boy.
feature trees and teens and punch drunk lovers.
chalk murals,
girl.
into the quiet density of love.
quiet city.
dance party, usa.
we end up making movies about our fathers
whether we know it or not.
home videos.
we double down on arcade tickets
& spin for a kite to tangle.
climb the town hill and bury our warmth.
kiss to forget or remember this bliss
& strange language.
strange sprawl of lights seen.
the homeowner’s association melt a pile of plastic flamingos
into an idol osiris.
dead god.
& wait,
wait for halloween.
our parentals diligently sweat.
they are conjurors of snacks and supper.
they are creatures of the ritual routine.
we ritual.
we homework.
we breathe easy, waiting for nothing.
(except for more holidays)
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
Dozing on a hammock
Strung between two towering palms
With the sky above-
color washed in turquoise blue
and the waters below
reflecting that heavenly hue,
you came to me
sailing in a dream
like the strains of a symphony
causing endless vibrations
in my solitary heart
you showed up
all too sudden
like a rainbow on my vacant sky
after a cloud burst of cloistered grief
to blaze it with iridescent shades
Your smile
embalmed my bruised spirit
with the coolness of a summer drizzle
falling, like manna
over starved Israelites
in their arduous odyssey
through blistering sands
Your passionate breath,
spewed on my face
bore the scent of opening buds
in the mazy tangle of wild creepers
growing dense in nearby woods.
Your amorous whispers
fell in my ears
with the sweetness of the melody
from Krishna’s flute
with Radha near ,love sick
her lips curled in an immaculate smile.
Your soft footsteps
like the jingle of a court dancer
echoed in the silence of my soul
with a hundred evocations
As the jingles
came nearer in synchronizing rhythm
I held out my arms
to clasp you in tight embrace
and reel you in frenzied jig
But you vanished,
vanished,
with the swiftness
of bubbles rising and breaking
in a beer glass,
leaving me to my desolate zone
The sky overhead had changed
into another shade
Still I lay in mid air,
with my eyes sealed tight
to re-live that dream
once again!
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
They bribed me with promises of Audis and poverty reduction.
A six-figure salary, insurance, and free weekends.
They lured me with Prada bags, Chanel Shades and scarves by Hermes.
Vacations in Nice, transits in Paris, and business trips to Beijing.
They said I could meet the Dalai Lama, Bill Gates and the Queen of England,
have wine with Sarkozy, break bread with Al Gore, and kiss Prince William.
They dangled real men, real love and post-marital affairs in front of me
and gave me dreams of seven husbands and no divorces.
They convinced me to grow up and walk across the stage,
and their promises made me smile as I crossed over to the other side.
Today, I lay in my hammock wishing they’d promised me a job as well.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC