"liquidly" poems - Hello Poetry

beneath one effacing blush simmers veil ties liquidly i stare fears pink with praise lusts withheld thimble shames embalm a gift identity daily sunny graves dissembled life with deeper breath akin to fisher netting cast fog caress mneumosyne lover's misty thigh traps me willingly blinded i taste ambrosia gazing at between zones believing anything again cliches pyroclastically reborn in celebrants of ash and cynic deaths energetic swim i stroke a butterfly in Love instant tribadists commit a joyous toast to joy itself

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Oct 22, 2013

Oct 22, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC

vircapio-gale

private thoughts, irruption

beneath one effacing blush simmers veil ties liquidly i stare fears pink with praise lusts withheld thimble shames embalm a gift identity daily sunny graves dissembled life with deeper breath akin to fisher netting cast fog caress mneumosyne lover's misty thigh traps me willingly blinded i taste ambrosia gazing at between zones believing anything again cliches pyroclastically reborn in celebrants of ash and cynic deaths energetic swim i stroke a butterfly in Love instant tribadists commit a joyous toast to joy itself

14

i am not an inbetweener not a spaceholder not a coma in your sentence I will not hold the back of your bike Chasing you down the street Afraid you will wipe out Scraping your knees on life I deserve to be an abstract metaphor Floating under a tree Sun setting on my glistening shoulders You should have to think before you speak To me Of me For me I will not be a flashlight Or a traffic light will not be your morse code I am cursive- calligraphy-poetry on the leaves Not messages on the inside of the bathroom stall (of Chauncey’s, Stubbies or The Top) Written for everyone Never taken to heart I will not harden my soul to put up with you I will remain squishy forever Powerfully squishy, silky liquidly wonderful Riddles will drip from my tongue like ink If you don’t understand it I am not meant for you Drowned and dripping White wine princess My dresses will flow out of your life With a quickness And you will be stuck Dreaming about the taste and texture of my skin

0

Jan 13, 2012

Jan 13, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC

dani-cunningham

Homme enfant

i am not an inbetweener not a spaceholder not a coma in your sentence I will not hold the back of your bike Chasing you down the street Afraid you will wipe out Scraping your knees on life I deserve to be an abstract metaphor Floating under a tree Sun setting on my glistening shoulders You should have to think before you speak To me Of me For me I will not be a flashlight Or a traffic light will not be your morse code I am cursive- calligraphy-poetry on the leaves Not messages on the inside of the bathroom stall (of Chauncey’s, Stubbies or The Top) Written for everyone Never taken to heart I will not harden my soul to put up with you I will remain squishy forever Powerfully squishy, silky liquidly wonderful Riddles will drip from my tongue like ink If you don’t understand it I am not meant for you Drowned and dripping White wine princess My dresses will flow out of your life With a quickness And you will be stuck Dreaming about the taste and texture of my skin

34

Corona by Michael R. Burch There was a moment without the sound of trumpets or a shining light, but with only silence and darkness and a cool mist felt more than seen. I was eighteen, my heart pounding wildly within me like a fist. Expectation hung like a cry in the night, and your eyes shone like the corona of a comet. There was an instant . . . without words, but with a deeper communion, as clothing first, then inhibitions fell; liquidly our lips met —feverish, wet— forgotten, the tales of heaven and hell, in the immediacy of our fumbling union . . . when the rest of the world became distant. Then the only light was the moon on the rise, and the only sound, the communion of sighs. With all the understandable gloom, doom and despair over the coronavirus, I was reminded of this early poem of mine that used the term "corona" in a much more positive light. I wrote this poem around age 18 and it has been published by Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Webring. Keywords/Tags: Corona, coronavirus, touch, union, communion, sighs, expectation, unity, trumpets, heart, pounding, *** arousal, union, ecstasy, consummation, consecration, omen, comet, shooting star, talisman, moonrise, moon rising

0

Mar 25, 2020

Mar 25, 2020 at 11:44 PM UTC

michael-r-burch

Corona

Corona by Michael R. Burch There was a moment without the sound of trumpets or a shining light, but with only silence and darkness and a cool mist felt more than seen. I was eighteen, my heart pounding wildly within me like a fist. Expectation hung like a cry in the night, and your eyes shone like the corona of a comet. There was an instant . . . without words, but with a deeper communion, as clothing first, then inhibitions fell; liquidly our lips met —feverish, wet— forgotten, the tales of heaven and hell, in the immediacy of our fumbling union . . . when the rest of the world became distant. Then the only light was the moon on the rise, and the only sound, the communion of sighs. With all the understandable gloom, doom and despair over the coronavirus, I was reminded of this early poem of mine that used the term "corona" in a much more positive light. I wrote this poem around age 18 and it has been published by Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Webring. Keywords/Tags: Corona, coronavirus, touch, union, communion, sighs, expectation, unity, trumpets, heart, pounding, *** arousal, union, ecstasy, consummation, consecration, omen, comet, shooting star, talisman, moonrise, moon rising

21

I watch you sitting at the window of your 3rd floor apartment while I sit on a bench at the end of the park collecting the currency of poems. I have a cup out, yes, but I'm looking for spare words some inspiration from someone who has too much will share with me but it's a cold night those who pass by look away keep silent. So I look at you, your long brown hair rivered around your shoulders- how liquidly it moves when you turn your head I can see now, you're talking to someone in the room as if you wished they would keep quiet. You have a window to look out of this is what your life's about and I'm watching you living it.

0

Jul 7, 2015

Jul 7, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC

mike-gullickson

Field Work

I watch you sitting at the window of your 3rd floor apartment while I sit on a bench at the end of the park collecting the currency of poems. I have a cup out, yes, but I'm looking for spare words some inspiration from someone who has too much will share with me but it's a cold night those who pass by look away keep silent. So I look at you, your long brown hair rivered around your shoulders- how liquidly it moves when you turn your head I can see now, you're talking to someone in the room as if you wished they would keep quiet. You have a window to look out of this is what your life's about and I'm watching you living it.

19

I was doubt; you were joy. I was dark; and you, serene. I was night; you were day. I was the impala; you were the big cat Or so it appeared. It seems our roles were always interchangeable As I preyed on you You were vulnerable and weak in my arms As vulnerable as man could be. I could see it in your eyes Eyes which led into your endless depth within. Cat eyes, predatory eyes That weakened me That melted me Hypnotized me Out of reason. Reason must have dripped away liquidly through my ears On both sides of the pillow When I lay down under your predatory gaze of love All there would be left was the utmost feeling of belonging Husband of my soul. So strong was this feeling So real was this feeling So warm and true and endless So encompassing Subjecting human nature To its' absoluteness. In truth, you are the night. And I am the light. Though there is no joy in being the light of reason The murderer of hopes and dreams The enemy of happiness The warden of aching hearts. There is no joy in reason. But it is reason that reigns.

0

Apr 18, 2017

Apr 18, 2017 at 4:05 PM UTC

elvira-manari

Interchangeable prey

I was doubt; you were joy. I was dark; and you, serene. I was night; you were day. I was the impala; you were the big cat Or so it appeared. It seems our roles were always interchangeable As I preyed on you You were vulnerable and weak in my arms As vulnerable as man could be. I could see it in your eyes Eyes which led into your endless depth within. Cat eyes, predatory eyes That weakened me That melted me Hypnotized me Out of reason. Reason must have dripped away liquidly through my ears On both sides of the pillow When I lay down under your predatory gaze of love All there would be left was the utmost feeling of belonging Husband of my soul. So strong was this feeling So real was this feeling So warm and true and endless So encompassing Subjecting human nature To its' absoluteness. In truth, you are the night. And I am the light. Though there is no joy in being the light of reason The murderer of hopes and dreams The enemy of happiness The warden of aching hearts. There is no joy in reason. But it is reason that reigns.

35

Wet pupil-ed gaze of pink Petals of a peony stretch the refraction of flighted insect: ***** dissolves to salt lusting for maternity unrequited. Soppy petals, liquidly fall.

0

Jan 18, 2019

Jan 18, 2019 at 8:26 AM UTC

magaprofana

Drowned Flower Yearns for Bees

Wet pupil-ed gaze of pink Petals of a peony stretch the refraction of flighted insect: ***** dissolves to salt lusting for maternity unrequited. Soppy petals, liquidly fall.

6