"ministrations" poems
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the Pollock-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
[tongue taking taken prayer]
*come worship in my temple.
your tongue gowned by silence,
thy teasing vibrations disperse my slack,
exchanging it for a rigidity that is even softer, looser,
an improvement possibility impossibly incomprehensible
the noises of freedom from anonymity is thy silenced tongue
unleashed, teasing, speaking tongues unrelenting and unremitting, tongues unforgotten for they never were
learned, and incapable of being self-taught
my pleasure sprouts mushrooms in thy loamy foam,
thy rainfall nourishment, seed plant growing life morning borne,
thy tricked up sonnets played within my hearts harp,
tunes never known but coming from the land of plenty,
my new promised land
teach me where the apostrophe goes, the comma and
why the question mark is curved and dotted like my body,
why we need punctuation to separate the first from the next
trees weep as if every dry rain petal is instantly imbibed,
wanting more for my swollen by thy ministrations,
I cry out
my ice storm, my thunder, embalm me within the
electric spreading in my veins shocking steady constant
thy name thy name I beg to give thee a name
to understand what has befallen me*
you can call me by my favorite of
all my seventy two,^
your first baby squeals and
even now in human manufactured agreed upon symbols
(words),
every utterance a prayer heard and answered
my name is a heated and unbroken
hallelujah,
I am thy god, and you, darling you,
my beloved
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
She doesn't own a mirror.
Confirmation of her beauty comes from those around her at all times.
Fawning fools adore,
jealous sisters abhor,
but all notice the shine of her hair, the tilt of her lips.
She does not dance.
Her steps lead, and dancers follow with no reasons nor rhymes. They cry:
"Lead me not into temptation",
but in her ministrations,
they ache and beg for her glance, their hearts in her grips.
She does not care for suitors.
Her heart was long ago dulled by the fencing blades of admirers. And yet I
if honest, must admit
that it is a careless abandon, devoid of wit
that begs me join her jousters in mock combat for the privilege of her kiss.
What a porcelain fool, she, to inspire such a heartfelt, bloodtaxed roust.
What sorrier the fool, me, to join in such a sure dealt, unasked joust.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
I'm a little, little teapot, full of secrets.
I'm a girl, all wet eyed and this morning's
careful ministrations are now my
vengeful war paint - dark eyes
like I haven't slept in days.
Slept till noon in a blue T shirt - it's
so much harder to wake up to an empty bed
even with all my sheets exactly where they belong
Me-fucking-ticulous, perfect, all mine, stellar.
I'm a normal girl, a girl, a girl,
a twenty-something brunette who
just doesn't know how to turn off
her ******* attitude. I'm all flesh
and bone and I just spent 30 minutes
ODing on my own adrenaline,
martyring myself secretly like some
glorified, glamourous ******
trying to stick it to the world that
hasn't done me any favors!
But I don't really believe that.
These days I'm dancing like I fight:
all tight fists and closed, wet eyes.
I'm rage and *** and I'm ****** as ****
and you don't know anything about me.
I'm a girl, a ****** ***** a
twenty-something brunette with
no excuses. I'm sad and I'm angry
and I'm so sick of having absolutely
no reasons why.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 12:11 AM UTC
The red of cigarette ashes contrasts the white upon the snow.
The expanse is unbroken as his gaze wanders lonely plains.
He takes one puff; then another; then another one so
he can forget her face, and remember how it feels to live again.
His parka is unzipped as he breathes in air so cold,
and cigarette cherries reach his palm and burn away cold contemplations.
He smiles at the Arctic gods' cool ministrations; their fervent consolations
for the love he is smoking and forgetting in the snow.
He zips up his jacket, tosses ashes far below.
He turns away, his footsteps marking the white waste.
They are the only remnant of his remembering ablation,
and soon, they too, are absorbed by the plateau.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
He had just sat down to dinner
at the Heart Attack Grill.
The fab Las Vegas nightspot
where the fatties eat their fill
A place where the morbidly obese
and Summo wannabees
can chow down to their heart’s content
cause Fatties eat for free.
Nurse Bridgette brought his burger
and he started feeling ill.
As he slurped his triple milkshake
did he feel a sudden chill?
Was it the unfiltered cigarettes
He went through by the pack?
Or the triple bypass burger
that brought on his heart attack?
He started turning purple
and was rolling on the floor.
He was regretting his decision
to bypass that health food store.
Nurse Bridgette practiced CPR
and dialed emergency.
Thanks to her ministrations
He'll make a full recovery.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
And this place our forefathers made for man!
This is the process of our love and wisdom,
To each poor brother who offends against us—
Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty?
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivelled up
By Ignorance and parching Poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison,
They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot;
Then we call in our pampered mountebanks—
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon,
By the lamp’s dismal twilgiht! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed
By sights of ever more deformity!
With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distempered child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters,
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit healed and harmonized
By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty.
2.5k
Mmmmmm......Good Morning Honey.........
Delightedly awakened by your lingual dexterity
Opening your mouth to engulf its fullness
******* and slurping, hastening its juices
From escaping and running down your chin.
Its tangy nectar making your fingers slick and sticky
A tighter grip you employ when it slips within your grasp
The sound you're making is so ****** the fullness of your lips, so enticing, .....so....so
Ah....ah............ahhh..........................aahhhhhh!!!
I do so love it when you eat sweet peaches in the morning!
Fancy a napkin?
-----ChawzzyScript
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 8:41 PM UTC
my ***** Little Secret, symbolized
by ***** words and little idiosyncrasies and
secret secret liaisons;
je c'adore,
laying Control alongside
cast off clothing and kicked off wet *******
heartbeat aflutter beneath your
oh so deliberate ministrations and
thighs aquiver beneath your
oh so deliberate teeth.
my wrists chafe; bound by bitter steel to demure wood,
powerless
or rather
entirely in your power.
you've always loved it,
the thrill of exploration, of
Newfoundland, of
conquer and subjugation and ravishment;
your tongue flickering against my
**** like eiderdown,
fingertips tracing spirals and Möbius
Strips upon my *******
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Now blissfully engaged, in this most intimate act,
Our bodies do frolic in the playground of our loving boudoir.
I have committed to sightless memory, every curve of your beautiful form,
And my hands slowly recall your soft geography.
Your deep coos and murmurs stir my primal senses,
To a heavenly plane, elevated, as I extend lingual kisses to the center of your soul.
Your impassioned and skillful ministrations upon my ardor, I can't catch my breath;
I read the emotion and devotion in your eyes as they look up deep into mine.
Me aloft of you in slight embrace, I deliberately yet slowly ingress your warmth,
You hold me still, savoring this space, before now riding this ocean's waves, ebbs and tides.
Perhaps due to the intermittent pressure of our coupling upon your abdomen,
You give way to an audible flatulent moment, we laugh uncontrollably in each others' arms.
Our noses and our cachinnation stem the tide of this ill-timed olfactory assault,
The blush in your cheeks from embarrassment only makes me hold you closer, tighter.
In synchronous ecstasy, we continue our **** horizontal dance to joyful satiated fruition,
Your head lies resting upon my chest, as we hold hands over my heart.
Despite what smells should ever emanate from either of us on any occasion, any instance,
I want you always to know;
I love you for the life of me,
I'll love you 'til the stinky end of us both.
-----ChawzzyScript
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
First impression, first date.
You come late, a major sin in your own lexicon,
tango dancing redesigns your hair to curls atwitter,
despite remedial ministrations in taxi,
you text apologies profuse en route,
but you have been outed, and
I am charmingly amused
A warm December eve,
a local Italian eatery,
table by the window,
red wine floes melt your defenses,
allowances made, you're intrigued,
enjoying our dinner of
charming amusements
But really you like my understated swagger.
I like that you like my understated swagger.
Walk home armed, arm in arm,
your paintings I must come see,
Immediately (!),
You offered this as desert, instead of biscotti,
a tour of your new apartment, sleek/simple,
messaging that this is me,
if you ever want to be invited to stay
Inspection over, my smile is a knowing
that this first foray deserves a concessionary accolade,
So in a mode so gallant at the front door,
Adieu you are bid, and devilishly clever,
I merely shake you hand,
leaving you delighted by this gallant, modern,
charming amusement
Looking at my watch, three and half hours
have passed.
Maintaing that in your ways set,
Early on, I challenge your rigidity,
Turning your hair from curly,
Into spun straight Rapunzel gold liquidity,
By asking politely, humbly, on bended knee,
You give in happily,
Charmed, amused at my ferocious insistence
Looking at my watch,
I too, am delighted, charmed, amused, to discover,
It seems my watch is running slow,
For it is now three and a half years later
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
you were my Doctor.
your touch my own personal TARDIS.
guiding me through new worlds
of pleasure,
introducing me to new species
of endorphins.
(I've never been
so ******* hot
in my life)
you made me feel
gorgeous.
(if only for a moment)
you made me feel
special.
(even if you've had
other companions
before)
you unwound me
lay me bare;
I was like a padlock beneath the
sonic screwdriver of your
delicate
oh so deliberate
ministrations.
(please come back)
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
Alabaster white skin pinkening
Jade eyes moistening as my ministrations continue
Electricity crackling between us
The last two on this earth
Two who are and always will be
One
Ruby red cupid’s bow parts
No sound escapes
Just a breath taken
For we do not need words
We feel We touch We play We tease
Each other
Until the dawn breaks
Sunrise dappling across our bodies
Erotically tattooing us
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
I'm drunk again
And don't know why
Don't even enjoy this high
Seeking escape has never
tasted quite so bleak
as a bottle of ***
What to seek?
What to find?
Am I expanding my mind?
Or silencing what's inside
To write ****** poetry
In an attempt to understand
My inner self's complexity
I'm trying so hard to avoid using the word I
but it's hard when I've abandoned every
notion of universal truth
and fled to this
realm of personal value
that none can dispute
Philosophical barriers
And existential angst
Nihilistic apathy
And the temerity of
too much education
haven't brought me happiness
nor confidence and yet I still
implore my mind for perseverance
towards truth
in the blind hope that honesty
will lead, if not to ecstasy,
At least something other
than bland, half-hearted mediocrity
But these thoughts are all abstractions
Even if they are the foundations for
the straw and bale of my actions
How near my daily deeds
could they possibly stray?
Drugs, *** and insignificance
are the trio of troubles that burden my waking moments.
I know I can be so much more than what I am
I have wit, imagination, and ability
far exceeding my peers
But I lack determination or passion
To mold myself nearer perfection
And overthrow these hurdles
But even then, nothing would be good enough
Not these women, nor these drugs
Not my ministrations, nor these verses
And surely never myself
It's time to put down my pen
For now I'm only half-drunk
And ingenuity requires either clarity
from sobriety or quite a bit more toxicity
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
your hands braced on either side of my head
your beautiful gaze shining and intense,
focused in on me like i'm the
bull's eye on the dart board
your lips descended on my lips hard and frenzied
your tongue caressing mine, claiming me
there's worship in your every movement, every touch
my skin tingled feverishly under your ministrations
the way you touch me was sweet torture
i can feel every ounce of your passion
and i feel like i'm going to burst
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
A toast to the life of my good mate, Bill Massey
We toasted life with “steinies”
Watching Ngauruhoe smoke,.
We clambered over tussock
Laughing easily, “bloke to bloke”.
I Knew him as a good sort
Those forty years long past
But realised much later
That Bill’s friendships last.
To appreciate the standards
That Bill would always keep,
The quality of thought
That his ministrations reap.
The camaraderie enjoyed
And the bounteous Joi de Vivre,
And the lengthy conversations
Over occasional cold beer.
Elements of friendship
That once won are not lost
Until cruel deaths intervention
Is counted heavily, as cost.
But the flip realisation
Is now readily made clear
That time shared gave value
That we both held as dear.
Bill was a good friend
In a firm, gentle way
And I thank my good fortune
For that long distant day,
When he entered my door
And smiling, held out his hand
And I entered the realm
Of a Gentleman’s Man.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2011
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
He stroked my cheek and caressed my back,
looking deep into my eyes.
I felt the heat between us ignite.....
We rushed head long into to this romance....
Silly me for not stomping on the breaks....
He touched me softly slowly as he positioned me to fit his throbbing manhood.
My mind screamed yes as my heart floated above me..
He was skillful in seduction,
doing everything yet hardly anything to cause me to fall prey to his ministrations.
As he moved in me deeply I felt something within us changing,
something to this day I can't name.
I became his yet he drifted away,
was it what we were doing that had him pulling back as I held on?
We moved as one yet his soul seemed to dance away from me as his spirit teased me..
He had said it to me long ago but this night as we made our self belong to each other
I knew he meant it when he told me He loves me and only me,
moving in and out of me holding me so tight.
His breath on my neck as my cries fade& become muffled his chest.
Faster and faster yet he never stops caressing me touching me.....
He flips me over on my stomach opening my wet bx entering swiftly my body tenses and I moan into the pillow.
We're no longer making love
his is war & it seems our bodies the battle field as we slammed and mash together.
More and more the heat rises between us and he pulls me closer, holding so tight as I scratch his back and succumb to his will.
As my body floats away
all is erased and I come down from my ****** .......
Reality is :
He loves the physical of us but does he love US as a whole?
I'm laying here after the battle is won by him & he's done with me.
He leaves me to go play Xbox or maybe with "her" box & I can't help but think. ...
What'll happen when I finally confront him....
Laying my wants & NEEDS for us out on the table
but he stay out & I fall asleep.
Trust me.................................
This Isn't OVER!
ALWAYS ME AYESHAH
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 8:56 AM UTC
I.
My pillow smells like another deity.
In the morning, I breathe out
from only one form,
daylight to dictate who is allowed to wake,
from within me.
And during that time,
I am one deity;
I am one deity;
I am one deity.
But when night falls
and lullabies are accepted into a place
with four walls and barely a door,
I am seeded into a different
plane of reality.
Hitting my pillow,
falling into its soft embrace,
its plastic scent is dizzying-
because it is not mine.
This way,
vertigo can easily write itself over
my heightened senses.
II.
In this realm,
I exist not as myself,
or just one deity that
wishes to be
skinny-dipping into daylight
without anxiety.
Instead,
I am everything I ever wanted to be-
either something that is
close to this "true persona" i speak of
or something of a far away fantasy.
In this realm,
this void that is a blockage
from a world of judgemental skin,
I have one hand-
the key to the judgements
of the ministrations of the night.
III.
You see,
in this realm,
there are two things your hands can do
in a rather lengthy moment of warm privacy.
You can either use both yellow hands
(frigid, lacking of blood circulation),
to embrace
(without loving, without care)
to snake around your neck or
you can snake one hand
between two pillars that,
in daylight,
bring them from one place
to another.
IV.
While,
far far away,
in a wonderland,
you (or perhaps me?) wish
to be a part of one day-
a boy you've seen in short,
sizzling hallways to arousal
and moments of desire
ー He sings.
V.
He sings for you in unknown pity,
in the fact that he barely knows you,
in the fact that you,
despite never being able to touch
such majestic and soft paleness
of another-
to touch what can be touched,
yet you yourself cannot-
He sings for you until your fingers move slowly
far, far away from hell
yet closer and closer to a little
bit of death.
That is how it is;
your pillow that smells of another deity
that isn't in accordance to the "you"
painted by social sunlight-
That is how it is;
a duplication of you that is somewhat you
and the small waist you felt
your fingers touch-
afraid you'd break their
small innocent body
is gone.
It's morning now,
and fantasies are better
when kissed by blankets
and shown with purple skin
and a clock
that depicts midnight.
VI.
Before you do,
morning comes first
and it is time-
to burn yet another
undecipherable duplication
of yourself-
or whatever left of who you
used to be.
- eozyoh. 14.12.2017. 16:37.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC
A single touch vibrates through me leaving warmth in its wake
A blissful alien feeling quite unexplained
Pleasure crescends to the higher ****** - reaching the heights of new pleasures undiscovered and savored, energy waves pull me under
I drown in its welcoming healing heat and while you sweetly serenade my body to a musical frenzy out of heat and sweat
Holding on tight and covers grasped, flushed bodies in wake getting closer to the final task in glorious fervor
Eyes consume, hypnotize, and undress as whispers of sweet nothings and gentle caress flood all rational thoughts aside
This is a special moment especially for a ****** maiden as senses is heightened in the form of touch and many o' kiss
It's oxygen and live giving unknown energy makes my heart beat faster synchronized with superhuman senses
All burst with pleasure simply through delicate ministrations only a professional experienced lover can give
To feel such newfound pleasure without a touch makes it somehow more better when you're not here
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC
Every word I every penned I stole from you....
As each kiss became poetry
born of flesh
pressed soft against mine own
whose tongue
both muted and inspired
to speak aloud those silent pauses...
held gentle within each
heated breath
to give voice to that wanton ache
I felt
when er' your lips
ceased their tender ministrations
Forming open pauses
between
each
line
that ached to be filled
with further words
born
of further
kisses.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
you’ve changed.
I noticed it
in that final photo
on the mountain.
Your face
as ever fair
now aglow,
tinted with
ministrations
of earth and air,
wind and water,
the kiss and rub
of your lover’s lips,
the play of his fingers
on your freckled cheek,
but more.
These last days,
as though passing through
a necessary door,
as though changing a life-skin,
you have been transformed.
More beautiful now
than even this season’s light,
falling against your window,
filling this room to the brim
with the treasure of autumn.
I am entranced.
And why,
yesterday,
Dear Keeper of my Heart,
I stood transfixed in your kitchen
all sense and courtesy
flown into the damson tree.
Suddenly. . .
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
Who faithfully waters flowers
In the too-small *** upon the stoop,
Blossoms smiling at morning sun,
No fear of nooning heat
Her ministrations prove that love
Transcends the tightness of their tiny space,
And so they bloom and glow.
Here's to the Man whose only Love
Anticipates his steps before sun-fall...
His only thoughts of coming home to her;
She is his haven 'gainst a solemn world;
This little house with flowers on the step
A place where love and blossoms grow.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
"our love will last forever."
they said,
as they drank the chemicals
together.
but how long is forever?
100 years,
they celebrate
with a huge party,
just the two of them.
150 years,
they celebrated
at home with a cake,
just the two of them.
200 years,
"I'm 230 years old."
"so am I."
"don't you think we're a little old?"
"no,
we are together
f o r e v e r."
she decided she had enough of loved ones
dying and stopped the ministrations.
she withered away by
the end of the day
&
the poor boy
cried alone,
forever.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
I am.... me, the analytical opinionated thing that simply seeks to figure out all things of meaning. Filled with intense curiosity, I engage in conversations to discover the nature of relations - yet with a sense of patience I pursue greatness, for being nothing is not where I want to be.
Yes, I struggle against the thought of a stagnant reality. I seek to experience what I can, understanding that the eventuality is the greatest adventure that I'll ever undergo.
Where am I headed, you ask? I'm headed to find the lady who can engage me with her mind, keep in tune with my time, and lazily make her way through life wandering through this beautiful rhyme. Pursuing that is my goal, to argue and banter with a woman with lilt to her laughter and together we can start a new chapter - Make the world quake at it's knee's with our vibrant, crafty endeavors! But, these things are never forced and waiting is the key. I'll continue to explore learning ever more, so that when I meet her our scores in the game of life should at least be even!
Beyond that? I flow like water from one moment to the next, never stopping, a rushing current of entertainment, logical manipulations and expert ministrations so that I can take life by the hand and save her from the river of a slowly deteriorating time!
-
The world, is my rhyme.
Beauty and the divine will be mine, in time.
The winds slow chime, eases through my mind,
Clarity appeases all my troubled thoughts.
-
What things have I wrought?
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Viral orchestrations
spread like wildfire,
swallowed her up until her body was a cage.
The deft ministrations
of threadbare desire
burrowed into my skin as I choked on my rage.
Rhythmic scintillations,
flesh as hot as fire,
the book closed before she got to read the last page.
The end of trepidation,
alert the town crier:
her white blood cells fell before a vast macrophage.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC