"intoxicant" poems
I never stop thinking of you,
you always fill up my head.
And not just with thoughts,
but inspiration instead.
This feeling you give,
is something I seek.
It's just so relieving,
anytime you speak.
I love how you sing,
about anything that moves you.
Leaving nothing out,
whether it maddens or soothes you.
Your soul just emits,
an intoxicant that calms me.
And when we touch,
this mood just embalms me.
It binds me tight,
locked in your sweet release.
Then time slows down,
til the silence has ceased.
But during that moment,
I've begun to beleive.
That your voice,
is really,
the only one I need.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
The honey in the lion sounds like a delicious thing––
a gentle balm capable of subduing
the cruellest of monsters.
According to the stars and tattooed,
you fancied yourself king of the jungle––
lazy in hot African afternoons.
Golden and tawn with sleepy sun-gold eyes,
shaggy mane, muzzle red with
the blood of a gazelle.
Did you think me such easy prey?
Or was I so much fermented honey,
only a sweet intoxicant.
Sun warmth seeps from jungles of cold concrete.
I mistook your gargoyle wings
for those of a guardian angel’s.
I overlooked your rough skin, your
crooked hawk nose and your skinny ribs,
and assigned fine things in you that didn’t exist.
So duped, I acquiesced to your slimy kiss.
Your mouth a neglected cemetery,
teeth a row of mossy tombstones.
Vampire. Incubus. Your seduction like grotesque death.
You named me tempest in a teacup,
but I was the eye of the storm.
Until the night the eye was eradicated,
and the storm blew in,
striking me dumb with your sound and fury.
But no spattered blood and no spreading bruise
to be found in the pattern of the kaleidoscope.
No cause for alarm.
Today I am lost in a picture show,
a beautiful world coloured by nostalgic past.
Women’s lips the vivid red print of a velvet valentine.
Head in the Clouds, I fantasize about a certain scene.
Because you think violence is ****
retaliation – ********** in my dream.
Give me an eye for my eye,
for all the eyes you plucked, from women and breadwinners.
Give me blood running down your back, sweet as honey.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
A forest adventure-we didn't plan it that way at all,
the call of the wild prompted us, is all I can now guess
hand in hand in to the woods we ventured like two possessed,
magical, it felt, we soon disappeared, from the eyes of curious intruders.
erogenous scent of damp earth, after the first sprinkling of monsoon clouds,
pepped up our interest in hunting mushrooms
popping up everywhere, like fragments of white clouds descended,
we pulled out, egg shaped mushrooms that came in to our view
the frenzy we fell in to, possessed us in total,
after all we we are also young and hot blooded,
We competed like hounds in hot pursuit,
ran, collided with each other, fell down,
with a gentle thud, upon each other.
She did lay flat, face down on my chest,
I smelt,musk on her neck a slow intoxicant
and mushrooms hidden in her both armpits,
which I pursued and found out,we were getting hot,
in pursuit of each other's secrets.
the world, we had forgotten completely for long!!
We didn't see evening light melt and
darkness spread stealthily over the woods
that engages the robust body of the night,
from the rendezvous, of these secret lovers,
we sneaked out and saw lighted torches,
approach us from all four directions.
they zeroed in on us,"Who goes there?"
a harsh voice asked,
"This, do you know, is the holy grove,
of mother goddess, strictly watched
for not to be get desecrated
by people who seek some sort of adventure,
such an act never goes unpunished,
we'll search you and find what you did"
We held out mushrooms before them,
and I saw each face turning a lotus!
"where did you get this,? Oh! so much!,
Those are so rare and any one is able to pluck it,
only if mother goddess is pleased"
And then we realized this,
in that forbidden sacred wood,
between us a miracle has happened!
that pleased the mother goddess
of the woods, the blessed presence,
aren't we then the chosen ones?
,
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
If I had an apple
i would have eaten it with her,
sitting close by,
looking eye to eye,
under the umbrella shade
of a tree, near a corn field,
with the view of a lone hill,
at the far, far end.
An ****** experience
it would have been for us,
turned on by her eyes
a bite I would take from the apple,
then, it's her turn
as soon as she does that
I would ****** it from her, once again,
tasting her saliva on it
would electrify my tongue,
and evoke distant animal past.
Green corns sway desirous
in the playful naughtiness of the wind,
slowly proximity works, as the worst intoxicant.
By and by nature's prompt,
gets in to our blood streams.
She would get bold, sensing
that lonely spot's intent,
slowly remove her jacket first
then one by one, the rest,
standing before me naked,
sensuality personified.
*I am an illogically crazy wind,
swooping, over the water: her.
I'd repeatedly blow over her,
till she uncontrollably erupts*
she has eaten from my apple,
I've tasted hers;
without deceit or evil, we indulge,
and partake the gifts we within hold.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
.
*He lays in peaceful repose upon a sheet of satin,
she moves up to his body and curls into him,
placing her head upon his unmoving chest,
unconditional grief shown in mute sadness.
She recalls his voice filled with love and affection,
his familiar scent now gone, cold and musty,
as deaths sweet perfume hangs heavy
like a drape of choking intoxicant trance.
Moments stretch blandly into minutes of ache,
the minutes career into hours of silent vigil.
And with her head upon his unmoving chest
she exhales and whimpers her final sigh,
a last breath and she submissively slips away.
Hoping, perchance, once more to hear
her masters voice.*
© Pagan Paul (25/11/17)
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC
They say falling in love is not easy, but all it takes is a shot glass glance, and no sooner than later you’ll look at her profile in the dim light, and you’re in love.
Everything then becomes crimsoned, not because you are in a pub,
but rather because it is the shade of passion,
love.
And no sooner than now, you are dreaming of throwing your hands beneath her dress,
and thinking of mouthing, “I love you” from your eyes, to hers.
But no, she does not walk up to you, and you feel that the stereotypical misconception of a woman never making the first move, is true.
This is a man’s work, you tell yourself, dubiously forgetting what too lies between your legs, is nothing that of a man.
You’re intoxicant now, perhaps from the four Pabsts you've downed because you’re cheap and cool,
and you are incoherently waltzing
on over to her, and of course she smiles,
either because you look like an idiot,
or because she is charmed.
You cup your hands on her face.
The skin is soft, she says nothing,
but feels warm.
This is not love. You’re just drunk.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 6:54 AM UTC
Starlit nights bring a sense of tininess.
The vast soot-stained cloak of the sky,
pierced with so many tiny scintillating
spots of vim opalescent flares, is a heavy
intoxicant. It contains a thing most panache.
A girlish teetotaler beside me says,
"We're like those stars, distantly inflamed,
lost in a void of what we cannot know."
She is most apt in her contrivance.
I wish to be castellated, terraced
with Byzantine buttresses and towers-tops.
I want a portcullis for my portico that is
made mostly out of gold, an inner bailey
where the stars can sleep and the wine may flow.
I want the wine most metaphysical,
the type that flows and churns, perning
inside the inner sanctum of the mind.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
Sinister fluid of words
You pour drop by drop
Oh my darling!
The poison I seek
I drink to live
Sips of temptation
Lure me to you
Wine of madness
From the chalice
Of your sparkly lips
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
what a pity
spent the last few years idling in a thin sense of self;
amid outstretched pores looking to photosynthesize more eccentric disposition
even though i know you know my woes consecrate through the spirit, through the veins
what i have shown you is thicker than blood–better count your blessings
so HA! neglect wont erase the ways ive molded your mind
its a gift, to
ditch reason for compassion
to breathe vanity
to breathe immortal sorrow…
my most absurd suggestion yet, now listen closely:
when the tips of my fingers freeze over, let sleeping mountains lie
do hate, but dont devour it;
holy holy holy holy hold the past like a knife
apologies for my insincerity but you must understand…
**** what is left of me?
trembling and then the blade clutters aloof, to and fro and to
i cower from the vision of my wicked phantom,
skin stretched tight over my bones–yet do what He says, for
He makes ruin a honey-like intoxicant
omega three, anti-this anti-that, acronyms galore,
each a little dose of layers of
Him, unraveling atop my fragility
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
watch gray inking night
turn to amber
like a special ink upon
some mysterious blotting paper
and the same state as previous
of profound emotional turmoil
thunders within my heart
what cause is this
that has so overwhelmed me
what sorcery is it that binds me to tears
that blink through wet stained eyelashes
and wash upon my face in tumbling droplets
form a recreation of heightened moments
of my consciousness the weightlessness of inner thought
It makes me know the winds speech
realise the attempted elimination of identity
and I try desperately to hide
from the gargoyles that now stalk me through the streets
and smell their black breath hanging in the air
like some kind of numbing intoxicant mist
and I try to resolve the enigma that is the core of my being
that which contains the esoteric voice of the wind
in rapacious resoundements of remembrance
that cannot be recalled to mind
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
I stare at the sea
calm quiet gray
warn its apparent calm
its whisper
invades my mind
I perceive its smell
intoxicant
I feel the sea
I know the black
of its abyss
the fury of its wrath
the cry of its anger
I see the myriad colors of its soul
it slips inside me
I listen to the sea
it confides its mute secrets
to those who can feel it
ubiquitously divided
between the shadow and the light
empathetically
connected with the depth
and the surface
I envy the sea
strong decided transparent
selfishly
stretched himself
to its pleasure
Pied Piper
tormentor and muse
greedy and shameless
I stare at the sea
personification of life
illusive chimera
of fullness
unattainable
..... unattainable!
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
*Winter canters from a distance, irresistible she is,
I'd roll in my tranquil bed with her,
then, her embraces would become an intoxicant,
making me dive in to the lake of stupor she creates
for me to swim with her.*
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Its funny how blind a man could be
What love can do to our perception
Ruining our objectivity
Worse than any intoxicant ever could dream of
How we come to ignore all of the flaws
In the person we love
How we turn a blind eye
To their evil inside
Our judgement clouded
We think they are perfect
And so, to us
They become perfect
The embodiment of our highest values
The answer to our hearts highest prayers
Its funny what love can do
Because its almost always a lie
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 5:57 PM UTC
Such intense pleasure grows out of the Soul potted in phase shift Soil.
The Heavens watered her petals to bloom, flowers of everlasting peaceful serene.
I am drawn into calming bliss, basking in her intoxicant solution of fragrance ~ wafting in the wisp-ers of wind, rising my eyes to the heart of her mind.
My humble Soul shudders ~
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
*Inside, the cave claimed them as hers,
a silence strangely suspicious of itself
holding back the urge to explode, whispered:
"Love at your age is dangerous, handle with care,
see its blade gleaming with desires
make sure, you don't hurt each other"
A wing moved, a swishing sound heard
they held breath for a moment,
felt the nostrils fill the strong stench
of droppings of colonies of bats.
But the love pair going higher on the rungs
found it nothing, but an olfactory diversion pleasant
a trigger to get closer, snuggle, deeply inhale
each other's many secret scents, little known before.
Outside the cave light prowled
like a jealous lover jilted by the beloved,
resenting darkness that dances with silence
inflaming the atmosphere, dense in desire,
--a love intoxicant discovered by him and his girl,
Standing on tip toe, she rubbed her lips to his
match stick and matchbox spoke in tones of hiss
fire emits in maiden's first kiss, he remembered
what was said, on his way to a narcotic stupor
he forgot all the rest, the bats, liquid darkness
the trouble they had sneaking out of houses,
duping the thousand eyes of an Indian village,
in vigil to keep a virgin's maidenhead intact.*
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
I feel the black breath settle on my neck
A black sun communicates with me
There is an imaginative power at its source
It is like the purple stain on a drawn wine cork
My vision is occupied by it, it twinkles and crackles
I see a scent hang in the air, an anesthetising intoxicant
Numbing, cold, like watching gargoyles in the street
I know the winds speech it has an oneiric vocabulary
That drifts among the scarlet stained scent
Swirling through my crystallized thought
Causing a pristine vacillation in my mind
That echoes like a vacant cobalt night
Disturbing the fundamental enigma
That is the centre of my being
I close my eyes
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
Transfixed
A burning soul in the pale
A goal that howls
A voice saying don't fail
Intoxicated
By the flame inside
By my obsession
By my desire
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
i kissed you
and the faint taste of alcohol
lingered
on the tip of your tongue
it reminded me
of when we
danced
recklessly
endlessly
breathlessly
under the influence
of liquor.
of such a vile that is
strong and bitter
that matches my soul
nobody could handle except me.
but when i devoured your lips,
soft and mild
bittersweet like
champagne mixed with strawberries
under a starry night
i
savored
every moment.
never have i ever
seized
something
that could be addictive
and destructive at the
same time.
with lust and liquor
stirred on the same glass
there's bound to be some trouble
and i admired your bravery.
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 10:14 PM UTC
Http://www.Merriam-Webster.com/Dictionary/Quadriplegic
Quadriplegic: one affected with paralysis of both arms and both legs
Or... BEAST!
**When moonlight isn't enough to lubricate the darkest corners
of a hopeless heart...
When the air is heavy
and still
and a lonely heart is crying out
IMUPDREAMIN'
When another bottle won't do... or medicine cabinet remedies
Poetry is a righteous intoxicant
Love is still a filthy word lying around in the condition I'm in
Your lungs will get the best of you
The air is thin
Too noisy to breathe
There isn't enough oxygen in a pointless relationship
for a weak heart to respire;
I've got an incurable condition
on so many levels
Love's bubble boy
I may suffocate if exposed to what would be considered
a fair amount, or any joy whatsoever
Something about my cells. Consequently this is my cell in here;
I'm a prisoner in my thick skin
When moonlight is a memory
and the sun has risen for the good of a concrete rose...
When the air is toxic
and stings
and an infected heart is dying out
IMUPDREAMIN'
When I've burned through the bag ...
when I'd already reached my ceiling
I write poems about the feeling
reaching out to love again
Bubble be ******
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Whistling through right ear, gusting through left
Echo cracks on augural bone; it pings
Cymbol's sound on gray matter case-hardened dings
But to detect life's ignorance, measuring oblivion's theft
Lift sums of intoxicant veils, that foggy heft
Pay no attention to whispers, as you would shouts
Know calmed speakers indicate truth
For shouters and whisperers be so uncouth
Those speaking plainly give evidence no doubt
For reality's validity needs repose to rule out
Guilty we are of attainment and forfeiture
Life lessons learned or not
And more composed freethought forgot
As always this burden lies on enterpreter
When judging please regard radius of curvature
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
Writing is a call to
Chosen few.
Writing is a choice to
Choosing oneself.
Writing is a monument
That discovers you.
Writing is an antique
Forever you preserve.
Writing is a cliché
That is never endless.
Writing is an intoxicant
That you always inject.
Writing is love
That you have to caress.
Writing is joy
That you earn I say.
Writing is death
That yourself you slay.
Writing is me
That me farouq I breath.
♡♡♡♡♡♡
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 10:08 AM UTC
Tobacco, the first intoxicant wrapping me in a gauze of sultry skip days,
Wine, beer, swimming pools with bikinis, suntans, tropicana oil,
Kansas heat on concrete. Lawrence, Ks, KU, art and black, red ochre conti crayons,
Life drawings of nudes on platforms, fat, poor,
glamorous models, how i wanted to be one of them
stripping myself in front of you all,
my young beautiful naked body
you'll never see that again.
Fresh grass and lemonade,
Volvos driving across our country
55mph...80 was faster.
One night stands
led to terror.
Hurting men forever.
Barns and Nobels stealing book
coffee was new
young at 25.
Walking the street in Kansas City,
Warwick street with it's three story walk up
trimmed colonial white
1995.
Tea, herbs, kale with sesame,
Health food shops on corners
young women of 23 starting their biz.
We could do it our own way back then.
Abortion, adoption, college graduation,
law school, med school, drop out,
write.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
the greatest intoxicant known to man
does not come in the form of a substance
it is not alcohol, nor ****** nor *******
it cannot be smoked, or shot up
it costs nothing
and any man can attain it
it ruins more lives than all others combined
kills more, addicts more, slowly wastes more into despair
unstoppable, claiming more each day
the greatest drug is blind rage
against which no war can be won
so that man need not fear any drink, smoke, powder, or pill
simply the horror of their own anger
for man holds no greater addiction
than to his own intoxicating rage
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
Love's the base line
Let us be and what would we lack?
Love's no elixir nor intoxicant
Love's the pure undifferentiated state of joy
Love's where we go when we let go of ourselves
And we let go of our games and our desires
And our pasts and our futures and our fates and destinies
Love is tasting good food and chewing till it's paste and sitting back and smiling feeling it energize every cell
Loves hoping everybody wins the poetry slam
Because what good would it be to be in it for yourself
For one person
Against the universe?
None of us are opposed in love,
We are the unbroken chain
But every link is not connected to just
The link in front and the link behind
It is connected to every link at once
It is connected to every link ever forged with the blacksmith's love
The chain doesn't draw a line between us,
It wraps around us and ties us together
Oh love is all I knew before this poem
And love is the effortlessness of every word
Because only Nothing could be easier than love
And love is to BE nothing
Because who could resist such loving completion?
Nothing is the soul of the universe
And anything at all is Nothing but Love
Love is finishing my speech and sitting down because I'd rather hear yours
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC