"luxuriously" poems
Time is of the sentence, while
verbs reveal their intents
for adjective nouns (pro or no
comment) quickly in vents
meant for air, but coarseness
courses through upturned grates
shredding of courses into no ways
to go from here to home,
awaiting infinitely fine moments
caressed along necks of silken
skin within the wear of stretched out
glances left lingering still
in compassionate ponds rippling
soft warm smiles lazily by
the melting cares of the world
golden in luxuriously wrapped light
playing across the surface & through-
out into emerald encrusted irises
to cast love's shadow over
swamps of fear gurgling neuro-
toxic diatribes against plu-
perfect pasts & future
imprefects presented in a case to
Your Honor's (the jury) out of bounds
dissolved with ear ration-
al solutions mixed & stirred
thoroughly throughout,
without spilling too
much.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Life is a river flowing,
Beautiful and challenging.
Begins with birth,
Ends with death,
Same source.
Life is a treasure,
Its contents has no measure.
Down the river of our life,
Roars raindrops of love and strife,
Laughter, dreams and sorrows.
Life,like the river splits into arms,
Moving where we want it to strum,
With courage and right attitude,
Not to forget HIS gratitude,
Either be islanded between our negative thoughts,
Or plunge down into a long waterfall of depressive noughts.
Let the sparkling water of life flow through us adventurously,
Vibrating, exciting and luxuriously,
Awakening every cell and fibre in us.
As the river of our life takes a turn and a bend,
We never know what it will send.
All we have to do is follow the right
path,
And not cross HIS wrath.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
An internal combustion
Impulses running wild
Luxuriously love life
Spontaneity abound
Risk-taking, rough edged
Dreaming, drifting
Free spirit, unrestrained
Capricious in nature
Life is long
Once in awhile
Live it on a whim
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
*>¡<
like a cygnet
i await the
lilly strewn liquid
of your love
where i can lap my
feet luxuriously
in your
idyll
>¡<
like a patch of soil
i await your root and seed
harrowed by your hands
turned under by your
undulating plows
>¡<
like an old shoe
i wait to cradle your heel
in comfort, and give you
the freedom to
point
a
toe
>¡<
like these things
i am not
comely
but like a
caterpillar
i await your
cocoon of carelessly
crumpled sheets
to preform my
metamorphosis
into the beautiful
Blue Mountain Swallowtail
you always knew
i could be*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/6/2016
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his ***** Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
2.9k
It's Pouring Ova here, Its falling..
Just look at the rain you've allowed..
It's raining , it fills my room...
This rain inspires though its pouring lightly..
It increases gently..
You said you can feel it too.
The rain is growing flowers, in my room..
The grass grows with energy..
Pouring within me respectively..
Raining... I can still hear you saying.. its raining for you too.
Overwhelmingly....
abundantly.. fun while... dancing meaningfully.
Rain.. Raining excites destiny.. Pouring fully..
Spilling from my room...
Sunlight above the cloud as its pouring.. Blissfully..
So luxuriously. keep raining..Over me..
keep pouring..
keep falling sweetly..
Raining.. Inside.. Raining outside.. Love reigns...Beautifully..
Such Rains...
a Good thang..
SelinaSharday_H.E.R#POETRY 2022......S.A.M
Dec 7, 2022
Dec 7, 2022 at 8:32 AM UTC
Tactile
tattoo touch
feel my ink (touch me)
dig in deep (hurt me)
chills (make me moan)
luxuriously lifted
Shh stay quiet
don't let anyone
in.
Cat scratches
claw marks and
old souls
you and I
plagued and incessant
goodbyes
just as we said our hellos.
Shall we leave it at that or prolong this passion
because I'm a selfish *****
but a lovely babe
licking up your spine
and misplacing the remnants of time
tugging at the hair on your head
trying to find my way to the depths of your mind.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
Feeling your touch distantly,
calling out your name in whispers unsaid.
Playing hard to get isn't fun
if your not playing too,
simply - your
hard to hold on to,
I've already tried catching you.
Dancing, moving, flowing,
like a ribbon in the sky....
broken free from loose strands......
caught the smiles,
the shy looks, the hand holding.
So long Oh so so so very long now
I've knew & known those strong hands
holding me.
we've configured our bodies,
embraced- the soft silky smooth texture of skin,
golden perfectly formed muscles ,
holding me tight up against your chiseled chest
as we merge- twist swing push pull spin
again again again & again.
spinning round around round & around
songs mingled melodies spark causing us to get closer,
closer closer & even closer...
I'm trapped luxuriously- your mmm unreal
intoxication- like webs of stars
caught on my dream catcher.
hips pressed close legs mingle
as we twist this and that way.
hand on the swell of my backside,
Squeeze turn pause- dipping low lower,
dip me again - magnetize my alluring persona.
Alleviate this unknown aridity that leaves
me dry mouthed
longing for your touch once more.
Songs ending it's last call
Butterfly's catch in the pit of my stomach,
after seeing you with her
seeing you shyly smile up
at her while you forget.
the touch of our hands,
the smell of our scent & sweat mingled as one
like lover for the very first time
the floor was our bed
our playground until the music
drifted
softly slowly away & she came into
focus....
stepping back i look from you to her
holding my breath when you truned my way,
You bowed over my hand kissed it lovingly.
Causing longing, craving & hot flashes
for hours until now- mingled with sweaty palms
as you walk past me back to her side.
am i playing the wrong game?
Every weekend with you it's almost the same.
You find me- stalk me until i relentlessly give in,
dancing, swaying,
bodies so close causing us to forget ,
forget it all.......
Dance floor becoming our bedroom,
so many times so many hours
swaying- flowing bodies intertwined,
meshed together again & again.
spinning around & round.
With me me me & you oh you you you
your dipping me .
your hands always mmm always on
my lower back,
music loudly sweetly drumming
like our heart beats
becoming our Tantra Taboo(s).....
she smiles at me then looks up- smiling
gleefully in your eyes
as you both walk out the dance hall....
**** I shouldn't of expected a **** thang-
Oh well that's what happens more often than not- to me
on a
Friday Night(s)
Always Me Ayeshah
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 4:59 AM UTC
Secrets, you said, would hold us two apart;
You'd have me know of you your least transgression,
And so the intimate places of your heart,
Kneeling, you bared to me, as in confession.
Softly you told of loves that went before--
Of clinging arms, of kisses gladly given;
Luxuriously clean of heart once more,
You rose up, then, and stood before me, shriven.
When this, my day of happiness, is through,
And love, that bloomed so fair, turns brown and brittle,
There is a thing that I shall ask of you--
I, who have given so much, and asked so little.
Some day, when there's another in my stead,
Again you'll feel the need of absolution,
And you will go to her, and bow your head,
And offer her your past, as contribution.
When with your list of loves you overcome her,
For Heaven's sake, keep this one secret from her!
1.2k
there is no worse folly
a raconteur can make than
the forgotten pen
or utensil
acrylic or stick in dirt - so be it
the dwarf ignored
the arbitrary sidekick
the austere tool
the maker of magic (also known as,
history, as
recorded by big, bad meatsacks
and sometimes hungry sheep luxuriously garbed as
wolves)
who/what/when/where/why
never/stop/asking/questions
my deity, the earth said
no one is right in this world
we tells it hows we sees it
i reject your reality, you undo mine
with a simple twist of your mouth-muscle
who's to say who has a say
I say, no one not one none of us.
I say, keep writing bards.
the world's a desolate & treacherous stage
the world's a blank & ***** canvas
the world's not so much an open book,
as it is an open cave with mysteries deeper
than ocean depths.
I say, keep writing bards.
swim through the carpal tunnels,
the holy grail lies somewhere down there,
it looks and acts like an ink well.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Your life is like a paisley scarf,
Filled with twisted teardrops,
Big and little, colored like a garden,
Blowing in the breeze.
Watching it tips my balance,
But I can’t, not watch.
So drawn to the whirlpool
Of colors and sounds that generate
All around you,
I’m like a leaf in a wind storm.
One moment dry and brittle from the
Rarified edges of the storm,
Then pulled in close,
And filled with the moist heat
Flowing from your passion,
I’m made whole and fresh again.
I want to reach out, pull myself in,
And bathe in the essence,
Emanating from the center of
Your life, then toss back my head
And learn to fly.
I want to smell, and taste, each flower
That grows from your garden,
Like a bee in the springtime.
I want to be wrapped in that paisley scarf,
And tucked into a drawer,
Right next to the things you wear
Closest to your skin,
To lie luxuriously bathed in your scent,
And I want you to think about me,
When those garments catch, and hold,
The warmth of your body.
I want to wear you like a cloak,
And watch your swirling colors
As I dance across time, and space,
Showering you with pearls,
And laughter, plucking fruit
From the mountaintops,
Feeding you with my lips.
I could spend a lifetime
Counting your colors,
Kissing your flowers,
Swirling in the vortex of
Your passion,
But instead, I watch, and wait,
Until the storm whips that scarf
Close enough for me to
Reach out and take hold.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:35 AM UTC
It’s just a dreamy day
The rain is patterning down
The clouds have spread
Their darkening face
All over this busy town
But I’m floating
Above the rooftops
I’m scarcely touching ground
Time passes so luxuriously
Whenever you’re around
*We met and we were young again
We touched and our souls smiled
We held each other closely
Then, we decided to live a while*
It all passes in the moment
Of being here with you
The setting is your presence
And the flame that burns anew
As we walk through
The darkened streets
I simply don’t see the grey
For the way that I am feeling now
Is brighter than any day
*We met and we were young again
We touched and our souls smiled
We held each other closely
Then, we decided to live a while*
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 7:32 PM UTC
The sweet burn of alcohol,
still on my lips.
The rustic smell of cigarette,
through the warm summer air.
The white page before me,
with meaningless scribbles.
For I am but one soul,
meant to burn.
Meant, because I have committed crimes,
crimes I do not yet know of.
And yet, I'll know of them.
Yes, I'm sure I will when I die.
I am cursed, you see.
Cursed with a vengeance on this world.
A world that has so wronged me,
that my heart will never forgive.
Cursed with endless work,
for I shall never quit.
How often, I sit and wonder,
If this world is hell,
and each of us has committed some terrible crime.
But that cannot be so,
for I know of those who live
fat and luxuriously without a care.
Maybe this is my own hell.
Maybe it is all in my mind.
This entire world, inside my mind.
My own little world, created
from my own thoughts
to punish my eternally.
But no...one must avoid such thoughts.
Thoughts of the world revolving around oneself.
Maybe, yes, maybe
I am here, along with all the others,
only to pass the time.
(There is a word here that can't be made out because it's been smudged. It might be "Religion?")
Why are people so certain,
Certain that there is more than this life.
But what if there isn't?
What if this is all we have?
And this one, fleeting, life,
is all that we have to make our mark?
How could it be such,
that man, a glorious creature indeed,
has nothing special waiting for it?
How could it be that such a kind, beautiful race,
is nothing but a bunch of meaningless particles?
How?
Oh, but I'll tell you how.
For this is unmistakably a cruel world.
A cruel, unforgiving universe.
So then, why bother?
With anything at all?
What's the point?
So then, why do I write?
I write because I hope.
Hope that one day these words will reach.
Will reach a fellow lost soul.
Hope keeps each of us going,
going, and going.
Hope must not be underestimated,
for it is the very essence,
the very beauty of all mankind.
Maybe, too, it is the curse
of all mankind.
And yet we still hope.
Hope for a better tomorrow,
a better world,
a better fate.
Hope binds, and connects each of us to one another.
We are all the same, really.
Each of us live on hope.
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 11:30 PM UTC
Then-
Oh my.. so innocent but another fool
Smitten.
New touch of sensual sends chills. Every one arise to awoken from lavished words.
I've grown to become the submissive for your wildest dreams
Luxuriously **** Hear me stroke the deepest part of you. Just you listen.
Melt for me. defy like ride of delight with a twist
Now-
ages ago still you linger around. Choose not to forget.
Miss you too
Reminiscent thats when times were aflame. Alive
Oh the leaps i would've made. Now im the one left melting.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
I got my hair cut
Again
Yesterday
In a small salon the filthy streets of Philadelphia's Chinatown;
The golden eagle
Appropriately named as I always feel wings lift me when I leave
Though the streets are grey and black with dirt and grime,
The salon is clean, chic, and welcoming
First one young lady with limited English swept me up to be dropped into the care of a second who washed my hair and luxuriously massaged my scalp with exquisitely long nails
Then I was led over to a swivel chair to ponder my reflection and bat my legs as a little child, waiting on Kelly for my grown up haircut
At last Kelly was free, and she too whisked me over to her mirror
In her most exceptional care she cut and thinned and cut and razored and thinned and cut some more
Her fingers flew, running through my hair and seeming to drop pieces of hair by magic
At last she styled and stepped back nervously asking if I liked it
Quickly scrutinising it, running my fingertips over the much-shortened hair, I looked up
And grinned
I love it
The bangs barely long enough to brush my eyebrows
The back as short as a boys, bristling when I rub it the wrong way
The front long and soft enough for tousling but short enough to stay out of my way
If I envelope my head in my hands I can easily trace the contours of my scalp
As though a couple silk scarves were draped over a barren skull
I was told I look like Emma Watson or Audrey Hepburn or a boy
But I love this
They're both stunning women
And I don't mind shocking a few old ladies with the surprise that this "strong young man" is I'm fact a girl
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
My god, you've finally done it.
I'm lost for words.
Me! Lost for words!
Words have always been my friends,
My tools,
Working for me when they would work for no one else.
I'd pluck perfect prose out of the air before me
Words curling luxuriously like cats around my writing hand
They seemed standoffish to others
But I was the Cat-whisperer of creative composition
My magic was language
I have personified pain
Allegorised anger
Sensationalised sadness
But when it comes to your love
I must use the words of another
For I cannot heave my heart into my mouth.
Why?
I want to give you the gift of my words,
For they are the only thing I have left to give,
My heart was always yours, even before we knew
How well we fit.
When talking on any other subject
I find it hard to stop
But when it comes to you,
My silver tongue turns to lead
Because you are the one thing I cannot articulate
How can I explain that when I look up to the sky I search for the colour of your eyes but I can never find it
That falling in love with you was like falling in love with a sunset
That the way you look at me feels as if, for the first time, I am a girl worth writing a story about.
People have put these sentiments into much better words than I ever could
And I love you always seemed enough before
But how can that crescendo of emotion I feel-
And the constant gentle waves that lap the seashores of my mind,
For what is love if only felt in passion not in anger-
Be summarised in three short words?
You know me.
I like to compartmentalise,
Categorise,
Have a name and a meaning for everything I do,
A consolation prize from society-
Sure you're weird, but others are too,
From my sexuality to my star sign
My life is neatly noted
With post its and labels
An explanation for everything
An Oxford dictionary definition for anyone who sticks around long enough to care
I like to pretend I don't do it
But I do.
You were the first person to make me realise:
There are some things
Beyond language.
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
It is safe to say you have unraveled
In a way some may view as cumbersome
I can only find brilliance
for what remains is just short of divine (carefree?)
As your head touches down
the moonlight plays its infamous part
Of bathing the admired in a immortalizing glow
while the nights symphony lulls
Anxiousness no longer lingers your brow
And your hands lay luxuriously still
While dreams take your eyes
to what I hope to be safer shores
than those I know you to have already traveled
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
You cannot frighten me
(A demon that had dimmed)
I am not scared of you
(Awakens every time I encounter you)
In spite of your spite
(Reminds me that a rest)
Your venom, your vitriol
(Is not as good as a change)
You are not the monster
(I am undone in your company)
We make you out to be
(Everything I want to be)
Screaming, thrashing
(Lies patiently at my side)
Lashing out
(As my past unfurls ahead of me)
Re-hashing conversations
(‘I thought....you’d gone?’ I whisper, pleadingly)
Re-presenting words in new ways
(‘Not yet’, you stretch, luxuriously)
Our days are difficult with you
(‘There’s more here to be done.’)
But what are they compared to yours?
(I sigh. It’s not a huge surprise)
Fighting everyone to be right
(I’m twenty-nine, not twenty know-it-all)
Your actions drown out everyone
(There’s still a lot to learn, un-do)
Even your words are lost
(And always will be...)
In the wake of your fury
(Do you see?)
You’re fooling no-one but your own
(You cannot frighten me)
And not for long
(No-one scares me more than myself)
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
simple complex lover.
hard softy. tough sweetheart.
the space between never and again.
luxuriously placed bruises.
you’ve gotten a lot brattier since the last time
.honestly.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
No matter how strong you are one cannot simply out-muscle or out-shine a mad man who has great taste in fashion.
A.M.G. Is the ultimate hooligan it doesn't have to take charge to prove it's tenacity because it's a presidential sedan that puts you in charge.
No need for a spooky entrance because sometimes demons want to dwell were there is brute force.
I miss the 6.2 litre engine, it is the intrinsic Moto of Mercedes," A big engine for the perfect gentlemen".
Cruising luxuriously has no peak when it comes to un-doubtable comfort and well established elegance. With a classic loud noise one can't but wonder if the barbarian needs marketing.
An angry gentlemen with a smile on his face that never lacks in pace doesn't need frenetic footwork, the gentlemen goes straight to the point and why wobble on about a winding route when Mercedes automatically includes you in elite circles. Quality that exceeds all levels of maturity, Mercedes keeps getting younger and wiser!
The phrase "numbers don't lie" insinuates that alphabets do lie. Really? How? When their associated with such class...A-class, B-class, C-class, E-class, G-class, S-class and so on. I think the numbers cliche is a turn-off.
Pleasure always mixes with business when it comes to a Benz.
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC
If I could hear the conversations
that you speak only to yourself,
I would invest the rest of my life
in search of just the right words
to respond:
To assuage your Fears;
To build bulwarks around your Confidences;
To wholly express to you
that I marvel at your Voice,
that mentally I worship your Face,
and how luxuriously I burgeon
at even your lightest glancing Touch.
Because for you, my dear,
it may be enough to simply hear
"I love you."
But to me, my dearest,
even if I fervently chanted
until my lungs gave out,
"I love you"
could never say enough.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:19 AM UTC
It's 9 AM on a weekday
I'm going to play hooky and stay
Lounge on the bed like I have all day
Skin against the sheets, hair tumbling in waves
The smell of freshly brewed coffee with a hint of caramel
Awakens my senses and I stretch luxuriously
I see the source, a steaming cup of bliss
Delivered with a shy smile and a sweet kiss
You lead me by the hand
Out of your cabin in the woods
I find on a warm wooly blanket
Some china, silver, and crystal set for two
You start tickling me, like a devilish five year old
I retaliate with glee and abandon
Running around until we fall to the ground
The beating of our hearts, the only sound
We spend the afternoon talking and building dreams
Around us fall the red and golden leaves
Wishing for fireworks to light our clear sky
A magic shroud for where unicorns lie
We end the day with your head on my lap
My fingers through your hair as you take a nap
As I write a poem of what you mean to me
And this easy breezy day, just for you and me
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
sitting or walking around luxuriously
As if the ground in contact
Was of immeasurable worth,
But No! It was the time.
The strangeness was all too familiar
Memories of the freshness it brought all too vivid
While it could have been the precious people,
I recall for sure, it was the time
The sounds eerie and elegant at an instant
Could ring, resonate, reverberate perpetually
In the serenity, they were distinct and alive
The life therein though, was the time
Moments of love,peace and joy
When He told me "Look!" and, "Listen!"
To smell and taste, to take it all in
What a wonder it was, the time!
At once, it all stopped, like a distant imagination
All of it turned hazy, and I thought, "My! I'm I losing it? "
How could I know it was time?
Time to love the times?
Time to unleash the dream in the morning?
Time to love and live love?
Those times, and there were times, God destined them to be utilized, exhaustively.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
The University of Old Lawn Chairs
The new lawn chairs are now the old lawn chairs
How many summers - has it been that long?
Their runners are rusty, their paint is pale -
The flip-this parvenus would disapprove
Not rusty but rustic, these fine old seats
Of learning have weathered many terms
Supporting the front-yard sciences and arts
Of lightning bugs, conversations, and scotch
The cicadas’ songs, the rising of stars
With us enthroned as luxuriously as czars
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
Silence and shapeless images
Dancing naked on the edge of a sword
We are spinning our breath into meager sediments
And what’s left are my only relationships
Is this my retaliation against the blades of oblivion
Why must I always be eliminated right before illumination
Or the combustion of concrete symbols like carbon atoms
As if my soul was undergoing oxidation
It's unconscious really that the instant we need to be aware
We take a break from concentration and fall into silent reverie
A shining monotony as the moon
Lights the way to our observation towers
We are heavy as daylight and lonely as an empty windowsill
Whenever the sunlight shines luxuriously upon it
We are human beings doing but just barely used to using
Our unlimited and never-ending powers of imagination
If it's not elation that makes us escape our innocent privations
Then must we be immaculately nascent
Or veritably complacent and understated
In our jogging shoes and self effacement strategies
You have the blues and the reds too
The vibrations echo and they become your only decoration
Mellow and sedated we escape our approximations
By just getting a little more naked and familiar with our shadows
We shake our shoulders and shift our weight back towards the basics
As we get a little older we fold our best napkins in our pockets
And reposition the sockets and the clocks by our nightstands
To tell time just how we would like it to be
Exactly the way it was right before we died to ourselves
Are you understanding my odd way of speaking
Listening to the rhyming water as humid arias fall short of permutations
We are negotiating with contemplation’s namesake
Underlying visitations from our highest escalators
Concentrate and digest, we move forward
And caress the feathery fingers you have bared too often
We are clever and undefinable formulations
Monkeying around with the substrate of our eradication
I speak elated seances and fancy equations
Which underlie our negated vituperations
A Motley array of monkey business
Fizzles in the vaporous mist
It's an evaporative way of saying i love you
We are tender and tangential
We are offended by the examples you forget to administer
In your haste you restate the laziness of a piece of paper towel
To reply to your confessions
Underneath the premonitions you make
Is something that tastes quite a bit like logic
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 8:55 PM UTC