"moistens" poems
if ever you wonder
if ever your heart should grow curious
for lust and love and spirit
electricity that splits the spine
a jolt of lightening
rushing through wide open veins
baby hairs standing on end
on the nape of your neck
a wave of cold sweat
dripping through your hair
moistens your back
if ever a moment passes
if ever you refrain from yelling loud
sing a melody
scream “i love you”
skip through a crowd of people
and smile
laugh
dance
and forget your worry
the temporary madness of yesterday
because you are static, ecstatic
you are wonderful
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
Never will I return again,
It has been decided by an undawning night, restless wandering whilst following a red thread, not knowing where it leads or where it ends,
Followed by endless questions within a journey of true sorrow, the realisation hits me hard, will I ever be able to reach out for you, dear?
Swallowing the unspoken words, I keep on my journey, to find this end I'm looking after hoping it'll be at least, a happy fight to the finish
Without a sound, a tear running down my face, moistens the earth, reflected by my heart, which has faced a long drought of no emotions,
But now I am overflowing with them, more than I can convey in words, from now on, I want to face the coming morning with you,
Yet my words and wishes do not reach, the path is illuminated by the moon above, only a few clouds are to accompany his loneliness,
Wandering by a road, reaching to the distant sky, oh how I cannot escape this dreamlike tale, of what it is pointing to, softened by light,
Under the drifting clouds, even though the ages may fade away into meaningless numbers, with this unchanging life I can keep shining for you, alike the sweet and delicate,
Moonlight
~ Umi
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
<>
you pout and defer, dancing backwards,
claiming, blue is now blackened
from underuse, incapable and incapacitating revival
*saying eyes cannot see, distinctly, neither near or far,
the tremble of love, forgot & distantly absent,
but I know, a heart’s sensory muscles never die,
though weaken they might, underused, un-exercised
denying that inspiration
no longer resides with in thy sensitivities,
has fled, undercover of smoking forest fires
all the diurnal hazards that invade, occupying
my internal spaces once filled by poems
you conceived, birthed, in a pleasured haze,
came so fast, you bare recall agony accompanied,
but not the ecstasy of the end resultant!*
***you know it’s you of whom I write, but,
a note not shaming names, but messages
countless private messages have I sent
begging, beseeching, give me your gifts***
once more, you owe me not, though I
oft irritate with my deafening pleas,
yet only denials continue, my pleas ding
but dent not, the tired fear of your exposition
so speak to you plain,
feed my soul selfish
like in years gone past,
there are holes in mine
that require your elixir,
creamy softness that moistens
my face with tears of your words
originating, astound, enfold**
not later, not soon, not excusals,
write for me NOW, WRITE FOR YOURSELF,
but leave me not forsaken and thirst un-slackened,**
Answer! To whom do you owe your poems?
Jun 11, 2023
Jun 11, 2023 at 11:30 AM UTC
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: of the EBook THE BULLIED, by Alan Johnson
(The Nonromantic Man is the art form most often described as a character sketch. It falls in the realm of poetry, which I call poessay. For it is not poetry by itself or an essay.)
The Nonromantic Man
Non-romanticism is the inability to overwhelm one’s ignorance of the opposite *** needs or desires. The non-romantic man is one who buys his non-pool playing wife a pool table and soon thereafter invites his friends over every weekend to play pool. He calls women ******* and ‘hoes. He rises late at night to fix a sandwich, leaves the spilled condiments for his woman to clean in the morning, then after a cigarette, with mustard still being on his breath, wakes her up for a ***** call. He gains weight and then demands that she go on a diet. In harmony with his poor values, he neglects to compliment the new sexed up dress that she is wearing but does notice that she is wearing too much makeup for him. He has to be reminded of her birthday or any other should special engagement. The result his gift is not well thought out, so he buys her a cheap necklace just like the times before. He has no taste for poetry, sensual lyrics or the practice of setting the ambiance which moistens the trail of splendor. He takes his woman out to dinner and complains about the dinner’s high prices, and work, and her in-sensitiveness to his problems, and…At least once a month, he rolls off the top of her and falls asleep while she stares at the ceiling and prays for a difference.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
Let’s divide the sky, you and I,
With Wilco tapping our gut, our eyes,
Supplanting the clouds from our grape cigars;
We’ve been folded, too creased to remember
Those country nights, those starry remnants when I would
Always point east with a fettered finger.
If I held it long enough, just enough,
Horns would bud, deviling my digit,
And the fireplace froze over.
I destroy homes and fall, fall, fall with them.
I play the bench observer,
Cigarette **** to people with permanent smiles.
‘Relax,’ you said ‘you need to relax,’
But your lips chapped and bleeding--
They resemble mine in humid daylight,
And the sky moistens and melts
To the tantalizing tune, yellowed summerteeth.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
Every day the liquid of grievances moistens my cheeks
My special mother like a towel wipes it away
Without her I don’t have another shoulder to lean on
Even though the other shoulder is somewhere for others.
This liquid of grievances blossomed into an ink
An ink that will paint my million wishes without drying.
Wishes that compose a letter to you, my unknown soldier
The soldier whose heroic exploits produced merits he desires not.
I always ask myself many questions without answers
All streaming from why you planted a seed you never desired.
You left me without bidding farewell even to mother
As if you travelled to the next world to join our ancestors.
The only memories of you that I have are your handsome pictures
The pictures your Juliet kept as a memory of her special Romeo.
These twenty miles I have walked without you are like hell
With every step carrying a thousand wishes of meeting you.
Upon my arrival on this earth your Juliet named me after you
And every moment our name is called I see visions of you.
Visions that provide a false hope that I will see you after the call
A hope that you will answer the call of your name in my presence.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 7:04 AM UTC
having beguiled my Scorpio
the full moons know
what moistens the body
elicits stark truth of feeling
in vehement velocity
racing ahead of thought
and the two argue
not every word is lovely
nor should be spoken
reactions are often
vicious junk yard dogs
protecting piles of *******
only valuable to hoarders
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
.
*A gemshorn and a mandolin
strike up counterpoint melodies,
as a harp and viola
caress the notes of a minuet.
Soft waves of music creep
around the joy of the Hall,
cuddling the fibres of granite stone
with a warming fire for all.
And she steps to the fore,
slippers of silk gliding so slow,
eyes as blue as robins eggs,
smile sweet as a full moons glow.
Hair laced with summer flowers,
a long dress of velvet green,
and the shawm she is ready to play
held lightly by fingers so keen.
Her tongue moistens shyly,
as the reed approaches her lips,
with fingers dancing over holes,
and deftly into a trance she slips.
Descending chords in choral hue,
drip colours into an aching heart,
the sweetest of mediaeval muses,
playing well her minstrels part.*
© Pagan Paul (21/10/17)
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC
Candlelight illumes my dreary room
Causing shadows to contort and sway;
In my heart there stirs a deep unrest
As the past flaunts its seductive play
Merciful Absinthe! It's known to calm
Tortured hearts by helping them forget;
How the swirling liquids mesmerize . . .
Tears and Absinthe make a strange duet
But my reveries will not be scorned --
I must yield to their silent demand.
And as the Green Fairy warms my throat,
Memories unravel, strand by strand
I recall the little tiffs we had,
Sometimes ending in a full-blown row,
But with each sip that moistens my lips,
I swear, they seem so trivial now
As I drain the glass, warm thoughts of you
Fill my head, causing me to give pause:
Why in Heaven's name did we part ways?
Right now I can't justify the cause
And I miss the good times that we shared,
Not just romance, but the laughter, too;
I thought Absinthe would help me forget,
But tonight . . . tonight I'm missing you
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 9:31 PM UTC
A smile that postered peace has cracks…
Cracks that were covered that start to appear in times of great test, revealing its uncertainty, vulnerability, venom towards the thing that makes it fear…
The smile is a signature of submission
A stamp of insecurity
Because to feel one must think, not temporarily fix,
And to truly fix, one must insist on feeling - everything…
A smile full of love, wisdom and youth never fails, but is thrown; blasted by veiled vast-disappointments, so that the face that holds it moistens with incredulity…
But a smile that has no truth -
When it starts to fray; stiffens easily - turns anodyne, bitter, frozen…
Until the corpse behind that smile becomes clearer - and dictates death with no mirror…
But beware… you can turn away all mirrors
Yet in the darkness they will linger, slither, shimmer, hunt you down…
There’s no escaping from the silent screams in your head, and eventually this realm of darkness will fully consume you - if you choose to take this path of lies, safety, silk teeth…etiquette… wrong rest.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 6:06 AM UTC
Seconds passing by...
Minutes passing by...
Moments passing by...
The Pocket Watch falls with each tiny grain
The Hourglass ticks with each clanging clang
An obvious representation of life slowly dying off
This trough I will dip my face in
to drink deeply till it drips down my neck
gets my hair wet
and moistens my t-shirt
with dark circles of...
Time
is just a substitute we use to abuse and accuse
our life
on how we no longer have
Moments passing by...
Minutes passing by...
Seconds passing by...
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
in one ohh the flightly finister
interjerk’t offorthwith united
unloosed upon the messes
who rains with string
of erring do
believe the ortho doxie
catamount the femail glory
moistens packet interfury
trump-ettes blow
the suction from their barrel oblesk
look slively tortice hand out for brood
scooch the dead **** down
impesh with dis-ire
marakesh the claim to sane
and leak brainoil smartly
for aft andall
whomake it threw
until deadneck cycoil
tweet totell interlie
the diff is how’d it hung
to a peel at the court
for reci-prostate-parity
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
The very sight of you moistens me,
with the ****** of your lips,
the stabs of your tongue,
and the grip of your hands.
You enslave me.
But I am humbled,
to become entangled with your body,
as the gray clouds hover upon us.
your curves reflects the moonbeam,
your silhouette painting the indigo sky,
brushing me with your bare hands...
Mar 28, 2011
Mar 28, 2011 at 11:03 AM UTC
Thimbleberry wine on lips
made divine by sweeping tongue
she glides inside your deepest thoughts
awakening in you a belief that its all possible
...her magic tastes like sunshine
An ache so unexplainable fills the well
of souls, forgotten long ago
decrepit screams are replaced by soulful moans
For lifetimes you have waited to taste the cherish
of her soul, rolling essence of; inside a parched mouth
succulentence now moistens the very hunger you once felt
Nothing can be the same again
it has taken you to a cannibalistic frame of mind
always tapping the vein, wanting more
...like heat on ice; burn and weep
She dances in the rain and walks in the stars
tastes like the sweetest of wines
speaks the languages of two legged, four legged
and fae
...can you deny her?
Cherish~
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
OUR HOT SECRET
There is no greater comfort
than being held to her warm, soft, ample *****
Savoring her beauty
as she releases the straining buttons
Her *****
So heavy and swollen
Welcomes my hunger
Her huge ****** stiffens at my touch
Moistens
Her warm milk pours onto my tongue
I take her ****** deep inside my mouth
She quivers....sighs
Her very soul..... shaken
She gently wraps her thighs around me
I suckle harder
Her milk flows freely
Soothing my very soul
Dreaming only of...our hot secret.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Fenola
**********
to Chopin
for Eileen
who lies spread
on the bed
concerto number 2
that would do
Eileen said
watching sweet
Fenola
removing
her clothing
first the blouse
the pink one
she had bought
that first date
next the skirt
the jet black
with matching
underwear
then the bra
removing
her fingers
holding up
before she
lets it drop
now she stands
gazing down
taking in
the spread of
the two thighs
the two soft
melon *******
the button
of her birth
and below
the *****
dark forest
covering
her queendom
of Eve land
she pauses
as Chopin
number 2
plays softer
and Eileen
hot moistens
Fenola
like some cat
stealthily
on all fours
her tongue out
licking up
the two thighs
her two paws
and soft claws
slow engage
the big *******
as her lips
move in there
to that hot
queendom spot
to the cries
do not stop
do not stop.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
She teaches her body to ache for him
move for him and dress for him
reject the familiar banter and comfort
in knowing he is close.
She banishes familiar kisses
to muster the mystery
that moistens her;
she loves him but she has
each molecule committed to memory.
This is love, yes
but she must back pedal a bit,
clear the air to feel the ping in her inner pit
when he comes near-
just like it was, just like it used to be
before they occupied each others’ hearts.
When he was just a body at the bar.
When he was just a dark haired conquest.
When she was just a hungry girl.
Feed me, she says.
Feed me.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 11:21 AM UTC
A hue of blue,
the skies dark as twilight consumes,
clouds contort and dance as the soft rolling thunder breaches the shush of rain,
A full moon--cobalt--as the sun has still not returned her love,
and still the trees cast her shadow like paint upon the canvas of crackled pavement,
Not cold, but refreshing is the rain upon my face,
my jacket shining as its leather moistens,
I look up to connect the moon’s solemn stare and espy another face;
hers,
the one who haunts me,
the one who stalks me,
or does she hunt me?
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 6:53 PM UTC
Lines cut clean.
the silence overwhelms me.
my pain develops;
raw and torn.
I wander up our shore,
Now, one set of footsteps,
I walk alone,
Against your echo in our waves.
The water burns,
salt rushes to the wounds,
Sand gets in,
the irritation sickens.
Hear me?
I'm screaming from your pain.
See me?
Curled up on the shore?
The silence overwhelms me,
Lines cut clean,
I cry for help.
I am alone.
Another me walks on your shore.
My heavy beat slows,
I succumb,
Vision blurs.
I am alone.
As the waves take me,
my footsteps fade.
I pray for you to not look away.
Eventually,
the sand moistens;
the waves crash;
I was never there.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 9:36 AM UTC
The room is full of the smell of freshly baked bread
my nose holds the smell and my eyes close around it
As I break the seal the aroma heightens and my mouth moistens
I pick the sharpest knife to crunch my way through to the soft warm centre
The salted butter is soft in the warm summer day
As it spreads thickly over my crusty fresh bread
I stare for a moment
Then heaven
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
Song in my heart
Has been lost
Now I live in
Joyless angst
Silence can be a weapon
Leaking toxicity
Flavoring my life
In violent hues
Of anger and resentment
A tear moistens my cheek
Kelly Rose
© May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
A window cracks
A chill of air seeps through
I lie still in my bed
In my dream world
It hits my lips
Turning them to vast cold deserts
My eyes open awake
My tongue moistens my lips
I sit up frightened
The scope of my eye catches the window
The entrance
The exit
I walk over and touch the air
I star into endless darkness
Wondering
Thinking
Was he trying to get me again?
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 8:58 AM UTC