"impassioned" poems
Basketball stands for war or battle.
That's why I think about the players'
personalities, in my foxhole or squad.
Danny and Ben are fast and smart. Dan
especially can pass making him master
and commander. To defeat them as we did
is pst satisfying. Ben's five year old son
disdains to answer my question
Why are you you?
But I'm not here
to catalogue the men's personalities.
I like them. But each of us has moved on
many times, when ___________ suddenly died
the games went on with hardly a mention
and his name has since been forgotten.
But even this, absolute mortality
of not just our bodies but our names
and souls is not what I came
to talk about. Yesterday, between games,
I asked Joe how Molly his daughter likes
the high school. He mounted an impassioned
defense of reading as the indispensable skill
when I suggested math, the scientific method
and history are essential too.
Also between games
Bob diffidently asked why my kids are bald.
I was moved by the care he took to satisfy
his curiosity, concerned the subject might be
difficult. He's a political science teacher so
I took the opportunity to ask What ails
the republic? Of course I answered myself
wanting mostly to hear myself talk about Iraq
and how empire is self-correcting. For once I was amusing
I thought, treating the subject with a light touch
heretofore lacking.
But none of this is what I came to say.
A new guy, long quick and strong, a
bulldozer under the boards with a good
outside shot if needed got into a dispute
with the other Bob who likes to tell people
what to do sometimes, about an offensive
foul Bob called which we almost never do.
The new guy said If you can't take it don't
play under the boards which is what I say
when I'm ****** and don't give a ****
Bob said You've been pushing and shoving me
all day. I said He doesn't want to be
pushed and shoved which got a wry
smile out of Danny as I put the ball in play.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
Umm, the presence and scent of a man
Magnetic attraction where his feet stands
His natural body charismatic aroma
Element of charms, seeping to awaken a woman out a sensual coma
Is it his eyes, the soul behind his life’s mysteries
Flirtation in his smile, tells me he has an undercover ****** history
It is his nose that smells out my charms
An enticing deep baritone voice, his spoken words, which turns me on
Is it the erratic heartbeat he has for a woman, his passionate relent
Stealing my breath, as he tenderly seals my lips in an impassioned moment of content
The strength in his biceps
His triceps
Strong, yet such comforting arms
An epitome of steel, circled around a woman in winter life’s storms
In the cold of night, his body providing your heated warmth
His chest, a hard pillow to tell your doubts, your uncertainties, your fears
Pulling you closer onto it, his reassuring words eradicating your tears
His intellectual mind to think as a man
A stimulating, slam bam and thank you ma’am, or your personal grand slam
His weakening love, taking your body beyond the stars
Woman from Venus, my handsome Man for Mars
His groin, and his family jewels from which it springs forth
Erected compass of his wand now pointing North
A woman’s reservation to tease, please, stroke, or allow it to choke
His loud murmurs shadowing your moans, echoing in the wind
**** I love the presence of men, and his undulated carnal sins
From the first taste of honey dipped Butter *** me
As his giving oral fixation is traveling free
Freeing the elixir of juices that deems to flee
His hairy legs as he stands to lift my weight
In the shower, no wait, as I anticipate
Hooking my twerking bait
His physique in general…Oh, God thank you
Without the scent of a man, we women would not know what to do
Your presence to a woman is our earthly food
Our je ne sais quoi for our every ****** mood
Rather you are standing, lying still, or upside down
The blissful 69 number conquered as we’re fooling around
My Dream Weaver
My distance heartbeat receiver
His dripping sweat
Droplets to my skin have been met
The presence and scent of a man holds me throughout the night as our eyes finally rest
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
☾
*I wish I were the Moon
Bequeathing an enchanting night
A mystical celestial sphere
Bewitching lover’s hearts
A practical magic spell
C a s t
In a lonely hollow shell
An ardent musical echo ―
Released in an irrepressible
Impassioned moan
A twilight sigh
escaping in untamed
Blissful breath
A Sky without Moonbeams
Is like a world without song
It takes a certain darkness
To heed a Sky full of Stars alone
I wish I were Moonstruck
A fate I crave to behold
Waxing and Waning
Rising ― Changing
A distant ocean’s ebbing tide
A captivating enchantment
In the twilight beauty
Of your eyes
Dreaming of drowning
Deep within
Their deepest water’s Wild
I don't want to wake up
and become ―
More fading
Barefoot traces left behind
On some faded memory's
Deserted shore
Right now is all
There ever is ―
and
I wish I were
The Moon tonight*
Jesse Stillwater ... May 2018
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Drifting back to the ocean
like it never even happened
unraveled dreams washed clean
crystalline renaissance bestowed
by wind mountain spring waters
rising from the heart
of mother earth
A remnant light glows deeply
of one love's untamed wonders
an unfastened feather glides abandoned
rushing waters floating
alighting pilgrim blissfully sails on
stranded without wings
a fallen wild feather free as bird
wanting a place to be let free
Sun in the summer air
wind in buoyant feathered hair
softly dancing upon
wild river restless ripples
to feel the love of holding on
adrift asunder whence it touched on
destiny's far-reaching
journey yonder
holding onto flowing rivers
rolling towards the sea
The incoming tidal waters blossom
surge to greet wind river's gentle saunter
converging slackening passage
salt on feral feathered fragments
arousing currents babbling swirl
imbibed by the impassioned sea
Wild rivers' born intentions
a different kind of drifting passage
to kiss the distant horizon
where the sown sunlight settles
submerged in shoreless ocean waters
to be free all at sea at last
someone you used to know 2017
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
*lay in impassioned throes,
bodies pressed with one another,
tracing sins with our fingers
on each other's creamy skin.
i want your taste to linger in
my mouth just a little longer.
to hold the fullness of your *******
in the palms of my hands.
to lay together in sweat and
ecstasy, full of pleasure.*
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
Upon the cardamom hills, mountain goats,
ace acrobats, above the high rocks gaily prance,
I fell in love with the coy mountain mist, silvery dense
transforming each second, her wizardry in display,
her white cloak was spread above green tea gardens.
she sprung down in a hurry to meet me, excited
how soothing is her soft caresses, impassioned kiss
from the does she has learned a lot I can very well gather,
the fear and the flight to keep danger at arm's length,
purple sun, was curiously peeping down from the hills,
mountain mist pulling spicy cardamom scent around her
whispered to me, "Don't tell any one I am here
before cruel sun chases me out of the hills, let me
hide and play with the little ones of mountain goats
in the cardamom valley where he can never reach"
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
The porch waits behind the glass
It empathizes as needed
I step on it once again
And smoke in its graces
A compress over the cliff
We aspire at Deveraux
once again to hear
the ocean's rhythmic advice
And I do wince, such a daunting way
upon the enraged sky
A tormented face
looking at impassioned ways
And now a visitor appears
another tormented face
under a gossamer spun
brazen reds opulent yellows
pale blues push through
as it unravels
with a photograph
Her porch vacant once again
Mine thankful of its owner
to give a futile roll of discontent
And once again we listen and gaze
And once again we inhale the salt air
And once I saw because I stayed
Four dolphins shoulder the sand
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 8:02 PM UTC
She rises and falls like a reposed breath
before an entire world's visage
in her encircled arms.
The incandescent glow of the stage
has an intoxicating quality to it,
the music being
something liquid, viscous.
As notes thrum in tender and soothing caresses,
her legs supple, twirl like petals
cascading under the weight of raindrops,
giving way to a lush surrender
steeped in a language of love and need.
Her very fire
and impassioned soulfulness
lifts her up above the crowd itself,
burning for all to see.
In this moment now
her timelessness enraptures me.
Another part of myself awakens to her grace
and renders me
gratefully whole.
A sense of euphoria slow dances its way
from her being to mine,
consuming every piece of my body
in a fiery bloom—
charging me with
a crackling, electrifying force
unlike my mere own.
I can see now
that this is what she was born to do—
to be on pointe, seeing everything.
Any instances of worldly fear
is left to the dying.
The rhythms of her old pains,
tribulations of past destructions,
are now buried beneath her feet.
And her radiant smile while she dances
still speaks to me gently—
that to be free
is to be wonderfully lost
in her waltz with destiny.
© BT
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 8:52 PM UTC
"Tell me about you," he said.
"What would you like to know?" she asked."
Everything," he said."
That could take some time," she said."
I have time," he said.
He listened, and watched.
He looked & listened for a live mind, live heart and live eyes.
He hoped he would find contradictions.
Confidence and vulnerability.
Energy and stillness.
Gracefulness and stumbling.
At home in a five-star hotel or eating pizza at home.
Enjoying silly jokes and impassioned debate.
A personality to express and a desire to please.
He was not without checkboxes to be filled, of course;
we are none of us blank sheets.
But he did not seek perfection.He sought someone very real.
A woman with thoughts, feelings, passions.
A woman who has known highs and lows, and been lost to neither.
A woman who has things she will not compromise.
A woman who has things about which she cares deeply.
A woman who lives a philosophy of her own creation.
A woman who rejects mediocrity.
A woman who wishes to be tied and dominated in the bedroom,
and to have doors held open for her outside it.
He knew what he sought was rare.
He knew the hunt would take time.
But he had found it before, and would find it again.
And he was in no hurry.
His friendship was widely available,
though his truly close friends few in number.
His sexuality to the compatible ones.
The whole of him, though ... everything;
that would be available only to one.
To an incredibly rare & valuable creature.
With her, he would share it all.
They would venture into dark, hard places together.
Then emerge into light, laughter-filled ones.
They would share their minds, bodies, hearts, souls.
They would share their dreams and their fears.
She would share the whole of her with him, and he with her.
It would begin with the smallest step.
She would read this, and respond.
Perhaps with a few paragraphs, perhaps with a few pages.
He waited, patiently.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
Dear Heart, I think the young impassioned priest
When first he takes from out the hidden shrine
His God imprisoned in the Eucharist,
And eats the bread, and drinks the dreadful wine,
Feels not such awful wonder as I felt
When first my smitten eyes beat full on thee,
And all night long before thy feet I knelt
Till thou wert wearied of Idolatry.
Ah! hadst thou liked me less and loved me more,
Through all those summer days of joy and rain,
I had not now been sorrow’s heritor,
Or stood a lackey in the House of Pain.
Yet, though remorse, youth’s white-faced seneschal,
Tread on my heels with all his retinue,
I am most glad I loved thee—think of all
The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!
3.1k
There are fewer things
beautiful than ugly,
I know that stars are most
bright when they fall
from impassioned skies,
That when your skin
meets mine, I am like an
amnesiac being returned
a lifetime of memories.
I hate few things,
except, perhaps, the murky
lakes of your eyes,
The misty beaches we
explored until sunrise.
How you pressed your lips
to mine like a death wish,
that it was deplorable,
but we wanted more, more.
My body was a map
you tore apart when you
got tired of exploring it.
The ancient psalms of our
tongues cannot silence.
Ruins of ancient Rome
survive on your lips, yet
you still live, breathe.
You call yourself mortal.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
I find you
In the strangest places
Like
In between the freckles
of her nose -
Curled up to sleep
in the nooks and crannies
of a bittersweet melody
Dipping your toes
In pools of sound -
Or
Shapeless, clinging
To skin bathed in light -
You drip
Letter after letter
Into the palm of my hand
As blue skies melt to blackness -
Sometimes
You sit, cross-legged, peaceful
Up to your neck in rippling whiteness
I can tell you've been
Waiting
Until a too-long stare brought you to life -
Yet
You crumble when I reach for you
A beautiful mess
Your inspiration drifts soundlessly down
Glowing embers
At my feet -
You leak in measured counts
From melancholy eyes -
I breath your colors
Your impassioned purples
The anguish in your orange vibrations -
You reach through the crack of my window
Stardust in your amber hair
My muse
Rock me to sleep
With lullabies of the mind -
You swallow me, in silence
Stare at me through the eyes of my lover
Whisper secrets
When the wind holds its breath -
You wrap your feathered arms
Around all that exists
And bring it to the edge
Of a kiss
But just
For a moment
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
My light has to be hidden from each and every walk of life;
it is a target for the darkness and strong emotions of others that are rife.
My soul is too deep and fragile to be torn apart time and time again,
by impassioned people who end up causing unintentional pain.
I am crushed by the weight of the universe.
They say to be an empath is a gift - but to me it feels like a curse.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
She walks at night likes passion's grace
Through nebulous fields of dream landscapes
Wild Morpheus her footsteps guides
She’s lust’s impassioned wile incarnate
Her will like swirling ocean currents
Endows the night with wanton purpose
Sent from heaven's pearly gates
To make men ponder mortal fortune
Tempting spirits will to sate
Demanding accolades of prowess
To satisfy her primal needs
Traverse her treacherous terrain
Her visage of immortal love
Like honey dripping from the comb
Inspires reckless heart's abandon
Dawn comes like coitus interruptus
Narcotic wisps of contention fade
A thrall with no earthly recourse
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
promenades the sleepless night through my, like rain, palm;
tears, counting, marble-toward drops
i am to nothing degenerated,
pirating surrealism.
with my contusions, awareness-lacked, tramples
brought to the temple, rotoscoped, liquidates
from the core, curdled blood.
clouds, sickness with apathy, the air
made balcony on, flesh-spoken, impassioned.
i, the night, erotize
begin their flock, sursum corda!
tremble, i, and scrape the tower before me
pulverization may lead to immunization, where i
melt as sulfur in
Midas’s clasp.
i walked his tread, years on end, scoped out
miserable, fragmented, at startwith:
he touched my arm
and to precious
metals, pitchfork incubated, i arose
fashioned his pedestal, glamored in steps, appraised biased
no represent sources, ideal inertia, this primal adoration
slips of drillpressed kisses
caught off guard.
in the tufts, my mortal : remember, i, of parquet deeply hidden;
i am of a world, peace, cast : however,
deeply
lachrymogenic
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between.
And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams
Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.
On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dreamed not of her love.
Like dian’s kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.
It comes,—the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,—
In silence and alone
To seek the elected one.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep
Are Life’s oblivion, the soul’s sleep,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him who slumbering lies.
O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again!
No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknmown,
Responds unto his own.
Responds,—as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings;
And whispers in its song,
“Where hast thou stayed so long?”
2.5k
I stand before you naked and bare,
Vulnerable and scared
With trembling hands, and shaky breath
Because you gingerly stripped me
Of the armor I had long ago melded to my being.
You carefully untied the intricate knots
That had tangled my chaotic mind.
You skillfully unfastened the clasps,
Which held together my crippled heart.
You watched as my insecurities
Fell to the ground in a pile around my ankles.
I stand before you naked and bare
With trembling hands, and shaky breath
Because the impassioned stare your eyes posses
Pierces the façade that I had shrouded myself with.
The softness of your caressing lips
Comforts the exhaustion of fleeing love.
The heat of your searching hands
Melts the ice that encases my thoughts.
The pressure of your firm body
Pushes away the worries of acceptance.
I stand before you naked and bare
Because your love has set me free from myself.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
*Reflections of Paris this morning , for all the inhabitants of the world , especially those inspired by beautiful works of art and architecture ! Those fortunate enough to have dined in world class eateries on cuisine prepared by Master Chefs , marveled over the downtown skyline high atop prominent monuments ! Impassioned lovers perusing her avenues , window shopping store fronts , boutiques along famous boulevards ! Senior couples recalling their yesteryears with great joy , frolicking , happy children playing in parklands , feeding songbirds with euphoria and curiosity , strolling walkways along the riverbank at Dusk with great wonderment and personal reflection
The poet and poetess , musician and thespian , ballet dancer and street performer .. To lovers young and old , the continued hope of gaiety and splendor at every turn !
She is lovely indeed , the Queen of all that is beautiful on this Earth* ..
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
She walks at night likes passion's grace
Through nebulous fields of dream landscapes
Wild Morpheus her footsteps guides
She’s lust’s impassioned wile incarnate
Her will like swirling ocean currents
Endows the night with wanton purpose
Sent from heaven's pearly gates
To make men ponder mortal fortune
Tempting spirits will to sate
Demanding accolades of prowess
To satisfy her primal needs
Traverse her treacherous terrain
Her visage of immortal love
Like honey dripping from the comb
Inspires reckless heart's abandon
Dawn comes like coitus interruptus
Narcotic wisps of contention fade
A thrall with no earthly recourse
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
New hire
Mentor acquired
Office chatter
Wine glasses clatter
Invigorating conversation
New contemplation
Uninhibited imaginations
Aggressive flirtations
Adamant objection
Withdrawn rejection
Impassioned surrender
Ecstatic splendor
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute!
Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away!
Leave melodizing on this wintry day,
Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute.
Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute
Betwixt damnation and impassioned clay
Must I burn through; once more humbly assay
The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearian fruit.
Chief Poet! and ye clouds of Albion,
Begetters of our deep eternal theme,
When through the old oak Forest I am gone,
Let me not wander in a barren dream,
But when I am consumed in the Fire,
Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire.
2.1k
***looking for my savior to undo me
under the rubble of victims remission
my chained heart nailed to a cross
lust'd sheets beneath the ***** streets
crucify myself lookin' for imprinted adoration
little earthquakes of my soul unload'd
save me from myself and these blood tears
my heart thunders like a roller coaster ride,
struggle to captivate your poetic prowess
never good enough to leave my impassioned stain
severe'd connections in feeble breath's wake
washed away in torrents within ocean's depth
castles crumble in the chaos of my mindless muse***
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:47 PM UTC
August;
Afraid, and lurking in corners at 2:00 a.m.
In search of *** in search of someone to make love to me,
but nothing compares to that one time it had happened before.
Yelling out at 3:00 a.m. how much I had wanted it,
at 3:30 how much I regretted it as I abused my skin in the powder room.
Oh regret, still showing up for my duties but some switch had
made itself know to myself before my consciousness..
I had begun to seek fulfillment,
the likes of which I had never known before.
My birthday comes and passes with a woopdy doo,
and a firm lack of caring.
Still I try,
and still the she-demon inside lurks...dragging me into alleys
into selling my heart for a thrill of being wanted.
October;
I am still with this man....but something is wrong with me...
I have begun to play and it hurts me however
the seperation and the dissonance begin to build
this wall comes up around me and the emotions that still
reside for my loved ones in my home valleys of Texas.
I meet the realization of my demon,
smelling sweet with a hint of Chlorox and Coke,
cleansing me of my pain, here I
come home to my hills and blue skys high,
and I feel so tainted...but so full and lacking at the same time the more time I spend without her sweet enthusiasm pumping into me.
Killing time and hearts on a ranch in West Texas,
******* in the fields giving my heart a wrenching once I realize
that I am resembling the one who gave me this poison...
the one who nudged me off the deep end.
Punishing an innocent man,
and torturing a criminal with ****** games, and false loyalty.
I had become the grotesque...the bitter woman....
my love and impassioned glances growing dry
day by day.
No one cares.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC