"invitingly" poems
After ***
Abela
likes to lie
in the bed
listening
to duets
from that guy
Puccini
-I get us
some coffee
from the small
kitchenette-
isn't it so
romantic?
She asks me
from the bed
sure it is
but what are
they singing
about it's
foreign words
I reply
carrying mugs
to the bed
where she lies
**** naked
invitingly
words are words
it's the sounds
that move me
she tells me
I put mugs
on both sides
of the bed
on small side
cabinets
I climb back
into bed
Puccini's
getting her
in the mood
she eyes me
runs fingers
down my thigh
kisses me
on the lips
on the chin
on the cheek
my pecker
stirs himself
from slumber
not knowing
what hour
day or week.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
i always end up like this
no matter what type of event i'm at
sitting, alone, in the back
but this time, there
on the church basketball court
converted into a dancefloor
just as roughly as i also was converted
into a church dance attendee
in dark grey corduroys
and a crimson dress shirt
(missing a collar button)
not to mention a shave
(far too thorough, as i always am)
and a haircut by my uncles hand-
it was there,
that i was choking back tears,
tears caused by glancing up momentarily,
javing five or more beautiful girls
meet my eyes, and smile invitingly
(telling me to stand)
but still being unable to drag myself out of that chair
and walk over to them.
an inability caused by her,
the one i still love(d)
wherever she happens to be.
but, this inability to move
is not her fault.
we're over
and i'm a free man,
so i make my mind up,
wipe my eyes,
and stand;
rising to look at the faces
of the two who are telling me
to walk, to tap, to ask, to dance
and
without a word
i walk into that crowd
leaving them behind.
but
she's still here.
and, keeping that in mind
i enjoy myself
but every face
every conversation
dissolves,
as my footsteps do-
as the music does-
at the end of each song
©Brandon Webb
2012
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
When thou art gone, the little sunlit shadows
Still may dance, and the flowers nod,
And the trees whisper confidently one to the other.
When thou art gone, the day may be
No longer bright, but with slow tread pass on;
And the sun shall lag, and the moon be late in coming;
And the stars shall be lone-beamed,
And faintly gleaming, and the valleys shall draw
Their scarfs of mist about their *******
When thou art gone, the lilac nodding yon,
Shall make a sign of understanding.
When thou art gone,
No path shall seem to call invitingly.
When thou art gone,
The songs shall lack a tenderer chord.
But I shall not unhappy be!
For I shall follow thee,
Leaving all the mourning.
2.6k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture
as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body
this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!
entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?
as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation
If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way
If
it, is theater,
I, the audience
then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission
He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"
^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Love-driven on the edge of chance
he took the stairs in his surefooted stride:
Two, four - and one too many.
Happens, sometimes.
He dunked his thumb in the jam ***
And sought for a sentence –
That eluded him.
He rooted, laughed and drank,
Took his scarf,
hat
and thought:
Such a lucky chance –
It happens, now and then,
That you lose time
But grasp your luck
And leave on the dot.
Well then!
Four, two – you know the rest:
One too many.
It was meant to be.
There were flowers by the table –
And the cups were steaming
Invitingly to be stirred.
Hot chocolate and a piece of cake.
You know too well,
It happens now and then:
That you lose time
But grasp your luck
Hot chocolate and a piece of cake.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 4:31 AM UTC
I'd like to tell you
the story of the eyes
that changed my world.
It wasn't hazel but instead
it was sunken bloodshot eyes.
His eyes were heavy-lidded and
fringed with incredibly long lashes.
It was deep and empty yet
it was penetrating my soul.
Invitingly mysterious and all
I could think of the first time
I laid my eyes on it,
I was love-struck.
It was restless yet it
makes me breathless.
Allured by a round burning
brown-eyed.
I for sure was bewitched by
his unusual ***** of sight.
I was lost in a hollow
passage of his soul.
The colors that are painted
beneath his eyelids was full of
sorrows and chaos.
They are beautiful but
it was cold and dark in it.
It carries his heart and
draws everything in it.
It captures all that I am
and makes me see things
some can't.
A hurricane in his eyes yet
it laid my nerves calm.
A very familiar and miraculous
jellylike pair in a bony orbit.
It harbor the lonely skies,
enigmatic as the universe
itself.
His eyes were unconquerable.
You get lost and you get found.
Aug 19, 2021
Aug 19, 2021 at 10:30 PM UTC
**An alien fruit
on a low hanging branch,
she swings invitingly
flaunting her color,
that pulled me near
what an adornment
you would be to my
meager fruit basket,
inebriating scent emanating
overpowers my senses.
Your design, I certainly smell
I hear the whisper,
the disclaimer to entice me
to your side, "I don't like him,
the keeper of my orchard,
he pretends he owns it
but does he know the truth?
it's different, fruits aren't
his passion, just a hoarder
he doesn't enjoy the ripe fruits,
and I am a **** fruit,
I see yearnings play hide and seek
in your eyes, aren't you the kind of guy,
I've been waiting to come this way,
take me, soon I'll forget him,
throw away your qualms
like fruit peels to the dumps"
I can't now discern,
what I now think,
no, I am no purist
who detests tartness,
I like the taste of vinegar,
this fruit offers so much,
this is a taste I relish,
but I am not game for this,
like to chase and hunt,
fruits from higher branches,
"wouldn't touch a carcass,
even if it promises much"**
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC
If I were a flower
I'd be a single timid bud,
shying away from bloom;
refusing to unfold my trembling petals.
I'd be the bud of a rose,
turning my back at opportunities of bloom
even when the sun shined invitingly.
I'd be the flower
that was stuck in an omnipresent state of frost,
causing me to disintegrate into nothing,
but a pile of remorse
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
Opening up to Monday
I unwrapped myself from the duvet
Pasted my limbs to the floor
Slippers winked at me
Invitingly, I settled my feet into their snugness
As I stood, I was thankful that today
Is Monday, wonderful Monday
Free as a song bird to create
My own melody, a chorus of hurrah
I caught up with the shower
On hot house temperature
Scorching...I fumbled for the cool
Climate, turning it sufficiently to
Bathe and recycle myself
As I stroked the cat meowing
A feline opera, making her presence known
The outside world had a dismal feel
The window onto the day told me so
Yet, blue escorted the clouds
Pushing the doubting rain packages
To another realm
Introducing the blue yonder that
Had won the day
We all gathered up into the aroma
Of a new week, stretched our
Arms towards one another
I joined the links for a few hours
Tattooing their conversation into my
Subconscious indelibly
Unhooking ourselves we separated
Turning towards the duties of the day
Swiftly we deposited out parting gifts
Hugs
Kisses
Our best
Our loving wishes
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
all good dreams begin with a kiss
that beautiful touch of soft lips
eyes closed
body poised on the very edge of yearning
and her lips taste so sweet
warm invitingly
passions flame a brief moment away
barley contained in this soft embrace of lips
but you can feel its fire ready to burst upon you
feel the deep ocean of her heart stirring to wild thought dreams
feel her surrendering to her wishes delights
pull her closer
yearn with her
let your heart run with hers
let go
let her
in a long sweet kiss
tumble back to breathless earth
tumble back to...
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
Water were caught in my brown curly hair,
The trail of tears have left stains on my cheeks.
All I could feel and hear was the water beneath me.
How invitingly silent and sedate the darkness seemed.
So nice and quiet.
Free from worries.
Free from fears.
Free from memories.
Free from pressure and demands.
Free.
My hands felt numb from the cold water.
It may not have been the best idea,
But it wouldn't really matter after tonight.
Nothing would.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Whispering her smile
Looking beatific,
Looking arousingly terrific,
Uninvited but invitingly,
Place my pointer finger
Upon her breast, ******* already attentive,
***** she preps to dance and to
Leave me
Bid her despedida,
For my adieu is tinged
With desperation internal raging,
For tantalizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
My tango muse,
Off to dance in dives,
Where all the men are
Strangers, who paid in cash,
With creased and stained $20 bills,
To soil themselves, to dance with my woman,
Paid far in advance.
For consorting with the enemy,
I renounce her not, but guilty charged,
For mesmerizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
She'll return, after three,
Undress before me,
Purportedly sleeping,
Pointedly, slowly, knowingly,
To insure I scent the sweat
That tango demands,
The ****** side effects,
The Argentines invented,
Accoutrement rituals,
Excuses to invent dance,
In order to pleasure intensity,
For teasing w/o mercy, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged
She chambers her body bullet,
Sliding in unrobed,
For a negligee would be
Negligent in her condition,
Laughing at my pretend closed eyes,
She whispers,:
I return here, to you
For one reason alone
Despite soul and body, exhilarated,
While gone, you have been composing
About me without permission,
Of this, of thee,
J'accuse!
I know you have penned
Poem,
Which long after the dance thrill has chilled,
Will belong to me forever,
I will kiss you now so I may taste the
Words that are mine, until next week,
When I will be guilty again
Of charging your imagination
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
Thousand times I walked on this path
Thousand times I was in rush
Thousand times I saw my own thoughts
Thousand times I heard my own steps
Today I walked on this path again
As I walked there for the first time
I saw the big oak standing there for hundred years
Crinkles and scars gracing his body
Daisies and daffodils warming his feet
The eyes of a green man are smiling at me
The meadow is invitingly soft
The sunbeams are tickling my face
I took of my shoes of and watched my steps
My feet got wet loving blades of grass
My soul turned green
My fingers touching gently the face of a green man
The dewdrops are sparkling in the sun
Washing my face
The meadow puts its arms around my body
Hugging me gently like a caring lover
Dressing me in most beautiful dress I ever had
Filling my heart with love
All my senses got busy
The silence makes a sound
The birds are singing
The warm breeze playing music in the leaves
The butterflies are dancing in the wind
The sky is deep blue
I feel the heartbeat of mother earth
Swaying me slowly in a sleep…
… dreaming of a green man …
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
A hawk is hatched
in the harlequin hush
inside the walls of library books
in their incendiary shelves
incline
invitingly
in carnal stories
in words that leave us billowing smoke
in scenes of innuendo...
A bird of prey in flight
even in a stationary perch,
he is a glorious sight
eyes full of limpid thoughts, & search,
levitating litany
like taboo
thrown across the room
questions and detours
from his gaze
uphoric pheremonal *****
My ***** is
in a penury of vigor,
my skin / proving red-rushed
weaknesses
for just his adonis sight
for just one fantasy night...
The humid walls,
with their olden and unbiased
silences
attend my quickened qualms
attend my entirety of suddenly
needing
to be caught in his talons' violences
craving
to be the meal ~ in a hawk's sight,
flesh ripped in lushious strips
to be inside his mouth,
to feel
my digestion...
We match growling stares,
feel the quicksilver pulse,
hesitation and realization
the super nova flares
heating my middle,
hardening my fiddle
creating new sensations
and worlds of wicked inflections
a warm nest
to rest, after the S
E
X...
A nervous breath,
as he stands
abducting his hardbound knowledge
odyssies in exquisite arms
a twinkle in his bestial-brown eyes
a pause, for crumbs to be sprinkled
on the path to reprise,
a piece of paper with a numeric surpise;
a name:
"ANGEL" flashing collegiate goods,
an endangered understanding
a naughty smile--a young mouth,
and i am a V-formation
heading for warmer south...
A hawk is hatched
from the harlequin hush
of the Flamingo Library,
i am ready
to fly beyond loneliness and February,
catch urgency's godspeed to Angel
in the tradewinds of our testosterone
his invitation scribbled on a corner piece of notes
i am guessing / i'm in control
i am the words unspoken
in these pages, in dusty scrolls
in the volumes on the walls
our endangered understanding
If he is there and nothing's there...
still must follow my volcanic hopes meandering
so to speak that entangling
his and mine / tongue...
how like a hawk in Spring
i am sprung...
(and understanding
how endangered I become)
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
I don't know what got me into
this shady old bar
though first I wanted not to
but door was invitingly ajar.
I went through a cloud of smoke
to an old chair I found my way
my thirst for *** n coke
that's all, nothing more to say.
My love, I will hold you tight
we will sway left and right
but I will be with you whole night
we will dance in heaven tonight
Now I grab the humble fry
while you empty yourself into me
far behind the past died with a cry
and I invoke fresh thoughts for us to see.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
*Walking down a hall of splendor,
simplicity smiles from the edges fragilely.
My eyes are enchanted by empty hearts,
gliding to transform their fates,
aflame in all their need.
Closing in are hands from years
falling through the comforts, I know nothing of.
Quickly clouding my field of vision,
I see what I cannot dream of ever promising
in any sound of love.
Fires burn and invitingly wake me
to stand visible to all aching hearts.
Yet I cannot see what they seek to win.
Until, I find I am burning in these halls of splendor
crying with no beginning and no end.
I set out to write all that I am
and found in time I had penned a tale
that left footprints on the souls
of those who had looked into the flickering fire
of my heart, thinking they knew me well.*
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 4:37 AM UTC
On my window sill, perched is a winged being
Unhappy to be sharing space with another form of life
Perplexed as I am, at what my next move might be -
Like it, I do not know what it is like to be bereft of being.
They say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder -
So I behold, and obscurity I see
Chaos and rivalry makes me cringe in my space
Hiding from circles – invitingly tainted.
Yet beauty I had seen amidst the chaotic life
Life – a symphony orchestrated at his free will
Though some notes were beyond my taste
I try to nod along, as if imbibing its grace.
My palms capture the monsoon after the blazing summer
Dark skies are torn open by the mighty thunders
It mellows down, pouring in as cold welcome showers
For halting hectic lives, it also makes some scream.
The earthy fragrance which follows induces in me – sleep
And paves its way smoothly within my tired frame – deep
I see myself relax, though my silence loud-ens
Embracing my soul it blocks out even seldom words that peep.
My life, a duet, maybe composed by time
But sung by me – and I hadn’t followed the rhymes
I tweaked a few tones, I’ve upset the hymn
Wrongly pitched a few notes - maybe missed a few lines!
A silent sigh somehow escapes my pursed lips
As the hurt which instilled it, eats into my will
Though I know I had tried to face it like a man -
I had never run away nor brought about any harm.
I hold no account for the countless days, bygone
Nor try to justify reckless moments, the past has now worn.
I know I have had my razing revenges – few
But I also know I have stood up for all my deeds, lewd.
I have created many bonds for my kids to take along
And broken a few too, for which into pillows I have sobbed
I may not have lived life, the way it was meant to be –
But I know I have lived it true, so now I recede!
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 10:51 AM UTC
These words reflect my soul
With the edges gleaming
Sharp and invitingly cold
Stark images flash before me
Causing momentary lapses
And moods flooding the body
Words flow into pictures
Seizing hold of the moment
Tearing apart connections
Forever lost to a sea of thoughts
The idea will soon fade
And with it, I go in-kind
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 1:50 AM UTC
This blank sheet on my screen,
Just waits there patiently.
Stays invitingly,
Urging me to write something.
My heart is a wanderer,
It imagines a lot.
But when I sit back to write,
My mind is nothing but white.
I wonder what to type,
About the stars,
Or my life.
Maybe about the last book I read,
Or the question which was spinning my head!
In the mean time,
My heart has taken off,
To some place I want to be mine.
I think about the beautiful hills,
The lakes and houses,
In a small countryside,
Where I would like to reside.
Living a life,
In which I have plenty of ‘me’ time,
Where I can just gaze at the sky,
And dream to fly.
I want to run in the meadows,
Just lie down under a tree,
Doing nothing,
But admiring;
Nature and its wonders.
The sun not bright,
Just some soothing light,
With a small pond nearby,
In the grass, I lie.
Looking up I see the clouds,
Covering the sky,
Not so high.
I want to reach those clouds,
I want to hold them in my hands,
In the cool breeze,
(Of) Where I stand.
I want to be on the beaches,
See that golden sand,
Watching the sun go down,
With coconut in my hand!
Then, the stars would come out,
Shining at me,
As if all pointing me out.
I want to travel,
And travel a lot.
I shall write,
About that whole lot.
About those breathtaking scenes,
And beaches and greens.
The places I see,
The people I meet.
Living life is all about happiness,
And seeking the same,
Even in things that are bad.
Just never stop dreaming,
Expressing, and fulfilling,
Keep your eyes open,
Cling to perseverance,
Keep that fire of life
Alive,
Don’t ever let your heart die.
The best part is still to come,
Watching the dreams you have had,
And seeing them come true!
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
katie is stuck on a blank word document that
is not glaringly white but invitingly blue!
·
katie is watching a cute thing brushing his teeth a half hour’s
walk but a longer time’s preparation and mental strength away.
·
katie is fighting tears for no good reason and would like to fall asleep.
·
katie is wondering where this newfound malaise has come from, and would
like to tell it: I know you are fighting for strength but I will fight for my freedom!
·
katie adores her cute thing’s pixilated mug flashing across the screen.
·
katie is absolutely dreading her inevitable trip home
at some point during the next week and a bit.
·
katie is angry at her *** drive for disappearing on her so gradually
that she didn’t really notice it was gone until it was too late!
·
katie is unsure about the future and thinks that being
psychic might be a really big help with planning her life.
·
katie is not sure what’s going to happen next year, but does
know that it will include more yarn and fresh vegetables.
·
katie is unsure of her relationship status.
·
katie would like to sleep now and forever.
·
KATIE IS AFRAID OF HURTING PEOPLE.
·
katie is never going to start working today.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 1:15 PM UTC
The air trembles
over the rough tingling skin
of my simple lips
The world around
cold
gray
thick and wet like the dewy morning grass
Eyes caught up in one in another
Raw knuckles brushing
against loose shirts
The pads of your fingers
Swirled and soft
The cotton stretches overhead
And whispers float away
on our small smiles
in September days
We curl around each other
Bodies mapping out the movements
Subconsciously preparing for the moment of contact
Jeans await anxiously to meet
Your voice doesn't fall out of your mouth
It streams, steady, sturdy, without question
My shoulders open and welcome
Teeth gazing invitingly
This thrumming doesn't stay contained
It moves throughout my limbs, my core.
You light me
You lift me
Even if it's only a little.
Even if it's only this.
I could play in this negative space happily
Until the time comes to move on.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 3:57 AM UTC
.
I hear my hair growing,
my being dancing,
like a candle flame,
black, illuminating nothing.
I smell my heart beating,
my mind flickering
like a promiscuous eye,
invitingly void and delicious.
I taste my stomach churning,
my moods changing,
like a pupating monster,
waiting in the pitch dark.
© Pagan Paul (26/12/17)
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 4:42 PM UTC
an orange sat contentedly
or so it seemed to a quick eye
its skin glowed invitingly
reflected table top sheen
only to bring a belated sigh
when all at once it rolled
and rushed and crashed
on a cold polished marble floor
Dec 23, 2022
Dec 23, 2022 at 10:37 AM UTC