"passioned" poems
See those red windows by Midland Park
Where the schoolyard stands empty in the frozen dark
See that Neon motor in 21st gear
And the only question is "why are we here?"
In memory motel with unchanging rates
I still see the Moon Glow in your face
By the edge of the stream with bread in hand
Two doves chase the wind to a foreign land
As our voices are carried to a teenage past
In naïve reclusion we knew couldn't last
With a palette of hate I still can taste
I still see the Moon Glow in your face
Weathered storms on a Parisian stage
The book can't be written unless you turn every page
On a worn out, de-facto, company car
The diamonds will promise to make you a star
In sovereign rule of my mind's estate
I still see the Moon Glow on your face
On Ebony's wings coming down from the sky
Miracle rides close behind
The waves from Mexico have long since passed
No moment is forever and it won't be the last
With ocean eyes and a passioned embrace
I still see the Moon Glow in your face
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
YOU make no answer. You have stolen away
Deliberately in that twilight sorrow
Where the dark flame that is your being shines
So well. Mysterious and deeply tender
In your motion you have softly left me,
And the little path along the house is still.
And I, a child forsaken of its mother,
I, a pilgrim leaning for a friend,
Grow faint, and tell myself in terror that
My love reborn and burning shall yet bring you--
More than friend and slender-bodied mother--
sweet-passioned spirit, shining home!
1.8k
When good hot tea
Encountered cream;
When passioned truth
Met passioned dream;
When all the sky
Met all the sea...
And I met Katie;
She met me.
When good fried fish
First met with chips;
When longing lips
Encountered lips;
When squirrel once
Met silver fir...
Katie met me.
I met her.
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 5:49 PM UTC
Her alabaster shoulders shamed by
scandalous spears of searing light
crashing from the frame of oak
that broke the smoldering night
a whispered confessional of sinners
plunged into passioned plight
Juliet y Angelica accost by Romeo
and he no rapier wit or steel to fight
nor they the kissless tongues to plead
or frozen feet to take their flight
only hearts to bleed.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
My mother told me when I was a boy
Son look up, and see it, that grand old sky.
But now I suspect, her meaning was coy.
When I look up, I see that we will die.
This great ordeal will end without a ring.
For I have befallen no matriarch.
Not one coy mistress to dinner I bring.
For life is as passioned as my food's starch.
I don't want a body, merely your heart.
I no longer care, life has lost its art.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
From passioned flames, a love is born
Of hopes and dreams and trust,
And when it dies, where does one mourn
When love returns to dust?
For death is death and loss is loss
And somewhere in between,
The death of love will bear no cross
And no grave to be seen
No upturned soil, no marble stone,
No polished box of pine;
No slow procession through the town,
No solemn church-bell chimes
All lovers need a place to cry,
To lay a solemn wreath;
Somewhere to say a last goodbye,
To overcome their grief
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
It is in, the how,
not the why, the where,
or, the when,
no, no, it
Is the how,
that provisions and provides
all the answers
that any lover needs, for
In the how, one revels,
but also,
unbeknownst, unwillingly, reveals
what one's heart wishes to secret, and conceals
and with
The single stroke
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
raising sky colors upon
thy skin's patina and,
How commences the matina,
with petals of white cloud roses,
blushing anew in your cheeks,
loveliest of failed cover ups,
laughing, I airbrush your
almost, invisible tears away,
residue of melodramas of troubled sleep,
stilled and stolen, mine,
to pacify, keep,
tranquilized in my breast
It, Is In, The How,
What, You Are Thinking.
What vincible arrogance
humans possess when we pray,
we hope, knowing that we are infidels,
hoping to mislead
the eyes that glance upon us
You give up the shadows painted for me when
filtered beams, rays of
a, and of...kind,
lance shield of densest lead,
lain upon the chest to cloak
the tremors of volcanic hearts,
the eyes of hurricane thoughts,
containers of need that
Are so full of oh so
many questions, yet,
singularly resolved,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
knowingly full well you are
Thinking there is no exit,
no right of way to negate
the sum of what we let to ail us,
O disbeliever, how simple be,
for all, all of
It, Is In, The How,
What, You Are Thinking,
I soften and modulate,
your conflicted complexion,
with the answer of
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
all that is mine,
to encapsulate,
recharge, refill thy vessel
with Bocelli tones of
passioned, gloried harmony
Worry not if my eyesight dims,
be unconcerned if
my hearing, my voices
wearies and weakens,
for all the answers
we shall ever need
remain, contained in
a single stroke,
of a single finger,
lightly across thy cheek,
and
this is how I know now,
and forever more,
what you are thinking
As long as skin is the coverlet
o'er the bell jar of mind n' heart,
as long oxygen defies gravity,
I will know how,
unveil, open secret chambers,
now and forever more,
what you are thinking
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
please
I’ll ask you with kindness one last time:
do not
absolutely, do not
(oh, brown eyes, brown eyes…)
break.
your bones are splintering,
the fibers that knit together your identity
are becoming unwoven
it seems—
& I don’t ask this easily,
nor without understanding
your lingering pain:
for the same ocean you drown in,
I’ve come to know
& the same bridges you’ve jumped from,
I’ve stood upon, aloft—
& with the wind&waves; I bend,
yes, I, too, bend--
with our evenings awash in escapism
& our midnights amiss with noise
[& our daylight alive with passioned kisses
never meant to ever say good night]--
yes we bend, dear friend,
but we absolutely cannot break.
dear love of mine,
we are two branches that ache on the same rotten, fallen tree,
two butterflies with gold-plated wings that labor to sing,
two corpses encased before their time,
two veins that race with the same
bloodlust for living
[but also for dying,
for that is our flaw,
& we do it exceedingly well].
for what I give to you is peace,
& what you give to me is inspiration—
two things that fight to exist
in a world that throws them out with
itswars&itslost;&itspoets.;
so in fact it is not love
we share in our greetings,
but rather the
enabling of
narcissism,
masochism,
& the misery to which
we harbor&cling;.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
I was in a real bad place this time last year.
I felt *****
all the time.
And all I wanted was to be with someone
who could make me feel even worse.
So I threw myself over people that could make me
feel a little right and hell of a lot wrong.
I poisoned the revival that was my passioned split,
and I kept binding myself to nights that had
no definite ending and put me in spacey places,
tripped me back to the things I wanted to forget,
always winding up in a grass bed with a body
that wouldn't recognize me in the sunlight but felt good.
Good in the way that made me feel wrecked,
empty, wretched, and sterilized
like a bad blood wound.
I was in a real bad place and I want you to know you put me there.
Not because I want you to feel guilty, not because its my own
sick revenge on the things you tore within me.
But I want you to know because I'm trying to explain to you,
why it is I did those things and I why it is I couldn't talk to you
when you begged me for answers, or for reasons, or if I was okay.
I want you to know I wasn't okay.
Not because I want you to apologize or tell me it wasn't my fault.
But I want you to know because I'm trying to explain to you,
how I could feel so terribly and how that could feel so good.
The pain was better, yes better, because it was easier.
I clothed myself in darkness, painted my world without the color
I always believed you gave me.
I was in a real bad place and I want you to know I might still be there.
Because you're holding me now and it would be unfair if I didn't let you in
on the secrets I kept about how I dealt with the pieces after you.
Not because I expect us to be together, not because I want
everything to go back to the way it was before you left.
But I want you to know because I'm trying to explain to you,
that I don't ever want us to feel this way again.
I don't ever want to see you mask your happiness
or think you don't deserve more safety than you have,
more love than your given
more laughs than you create.
I might still be there, but you don't have to be.
You don't have to comfort me,
for the wrong or even the right reasons.
You don't have to tell me that I'm alright or that I'm beautiful.
I feel ugly all the time and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be,
and I want you to know
you don't have to stick around for me.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC
Swift bee, the gilded messenger of bliss,
Begirt with golden stars of Heaven’s span,
What draws you to the clover’s gentle kiss?
Sweet nectars, that the strongest drinker can
Carouse with dreams and dizzy waves of sleep,
Or mocks the freshest breath of summer’s clime?
Swift bee, a flame-plumed star of black and gold,
Why do you with your mouth, completely reap
The liquors that each golden bud does hold,
And lulls with somnolence the might of time?
Oh, bee, you spread the tufted pollen clouds
Like nebulae of opal stars crossways
The delicate, soft digitalis crowds,
Which passionately garner sunbeam rays
Within their coral shells. I can’t express
How much your toil’s worth to coming spring,
And how so passioned glide your wings around
The purple, gentle harebell’s loosened dress,
And make, through pretty hums, spring’s hopeful sound
Oft too profaned by your most fearsome sting!
Oh, pretty hummer! Hearty worker! Bee!
I see you roaming round the garden’s bend,
Where sweet, white daisies wreathe a canopy,
And make you but a hearty, cheerful friend.
Swift bee, the aching, swollen heart of mine
Desires comfort where pain knows no ruth
The buds hold, like rich garners golden grain,
Ambrosia of the gods, dream’s honeyed wine
So bring and let dear bee, such moisture stain
My lips and warm my heart with spring’s bright youth!
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
I speak to you now, former wife, another time, another place
I don’t know where you are, where you’ve been these forty years
But in that year, that sultry, passioned summer in Japan
twelve months past exchanging wedding bands,
we rode the train in to Tokyo every day
from Nerimaku at the city’s edge,
apartment on that narrow street, floor two, and no A.C.
only a floor fan to blow the steamy air, but
the *** was great, the sleeping not so much
and you in your green forties style patterned dress, mid-length
would often melt my heart,
Remember, if you hear me, that as time to come home neared
we were favored by an Imperial Palace gardens private tour
from a friendly diplomat, how we made the connection I forget
unless you, my dark-eyed twenty four, might remember
I’m not likely to find out, and does it matter?
He proudly showed us small silver waterfalls
catch light over well- placed rocks, the full ferns lush,
and roses and lavender the best of what was left
of manicured flowers, I held your hand,
in this seeming almost the perfect ending
To six weeks of endless interviewing, I was so glad to have you there,
law and grad student couple walking with our grey haired friend,
an austral early evening breeze brought kind relief,
the blessing that can come with late August’s setting sun,
our host pointed to tiny flecks of red and yellow
almost imperceptible on the vast sweet-gums we passed
observing that the Japanese revered the sight-- this time of year
as if anticipation of the coming season were sweeter than the fall itself,
And I have never forgotten that revelation
And I have never forgotten the fleeting smile in your brown eyes
in that long green moment of the western sky.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
Je t’aime, mais j’ai en moi la mort
and then I smiled when the words committed
suicide off your pale tongue
jumping into an abyss of falter in my
pit of emotion killing themselves within me
I cant stare at you for too long
because your pain is far beyond
striking, and I feel like
my glance might hurt you,
maybe burn a hole through your skin
passioned by the existence
of your hands and the body
you have marked, I understand
through our similar experiences
the love that manifests within
our cement bodies
outlined in a rush
spoken of in a small hush
I stroke my fingers through
your hair which has been tinted
by the sun, and I feel tragic
give me all that pain
mon amour so I can hide it
so that I may extinguish it
with my small woman hands
and my small woman heart
there are no words of happiness
that exist to explain how
my being became abrupted and
fell in this heap that might
last as long as the breaths I
take while standing next to you
I feel more beautiful when I
lay next to you
I feel humble in your
kitchen full of broken things
and peeling paint
lets take our smiles
and mix them slowly
until our colors become one
separately whole, I kiss you
and smile as I silently hear our
songs of sorrow playing together in harmony
and the notes are changing and
resemble something of the
universe and its vast space
something endless
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 2:43 PM UTC
Collaboration with the amazing Jack
Twilight shadows dance upon our walkway arched of stone
Hand in hand we stroll within this sunset summer breeze
Counting every heart beat calling sweetly of our own
Dreaming of the colors now awash among the trees
*I can barely take in this wonderful scene
as my favourite view has always been you
The heavenly scent upon the warm air, lingers
intertwining with us on this late afternoon*
We listen as a songbird sings so sweetly up above
In harmonies that mingle with the beauty of your eyes
Following the foot prints found along this path of love
Wishing on an early star aglow these blushing skies
*Forever our fingers will connect, like our souls
my wish is to always follow you on this path
walking side by side during every sensuous sunset
through our stone archway we are immersed in love*
Eternal are these days my love does share with you
Endless passioned nights where each other we cling to
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
Oh, faery finch, whose golden form does climb
Athwart the starry bays of poesies, sweet,
I hear your voice, and drown in slumber’s clime,
As I sit, pond’ring in my woolen seat.
My quill spills no sweet word or sweeter song,
For my heart such cloyed passions cannot game,
And doubly more lies speechless my sore tongue,
And triply even more, my soul’s the same.
As hours pass, upon these pages, bare
I stare as if no passion stirs to fly.
To mount into Eutrepe’s mystic lair
I couldn’t, ‘till your tender lullaby
Had touched my ear, and from my breast awoke
Some passioned fire, hearing such sweet voice.
Of Heaven’s bells and Heaven’s harps. Out spoke
Your lilting charms which, magically employs
All of the Muse’s finest strengths and spells:
Eutrepe’s mystic hymn, Erato’s grace
And Calliope’s trance which softly swells
In finest verse, and in such verse does trace
Vast time. Oh, finch, were it not for your song
Nor for you visiting me, worn with age
No words would spill from out my stricken tongue
And writ wouldn’t be to you, my own homáge.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
I begged the moon for a sweeter escape
a passioned embrace, a brand new shape.
I was released into the wild, naked and anew.
and this is where I found the perfection that is you.
I saved my tears for every breath I could no longer feel,
and you stole my heart with your tongue, softer than steel.
I craved your touch more than life itself,
and I released my emotions I kept bottled on my shelf.
You were the lighter and I the wick,
the heat we made would make someone sick.
I shared the parts of me, once unreachable,
you broke open this vase and made me teachable.
I left my comfort for the pain of love,
and I became that small fragile dove.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
Examine my gentle veins,
Below my subtle skin,
Fair and Ivory,
I yearn for you,
Your passioned touch,
Your soft, sweet whispers,
Music, music for angels,
Dear corrupted Saint,
With your fingers,
Brushing my tear-stained cheek,
Sing, sing my string of thoughts,
Entangle your rough hands,
Entwine them with mine,
And we shall rest our weary heads
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 9:50 AM UTC
I hold no exceptional expectations
For you
Or I,
Or us for that matter.
I long only,
To be simply blessed by your
Whiskey-tainted breath,
On my cigarette scented neck
My lovely,
Won't you let me intoxicate myself
In your
Impaired & passioned soul
For
I'd do any line of your essence
Shot of your animation
And take any hit of your lullabies,
Just to be able to fathom your sapience
For I have never stumbled so unintentionally
Over a character
That has been as enchanting and idiosyncratic
As you
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Humanity is restless in its pursuit of
pure, and unbiased comprehension.
But we are as blind as the ants,
Who navigate a pheromone soaked
sensation scape.
Only able to perceive perfume
trails, and the colour they emit.
Like the warm, hazy lights
of a carousel river steam boat,
They pass each other like
perfect strangers in the night.
Amidst the dark and misty waters
Unafraid to surrender trust
to the twinkling of an eye,
the faint smell of musky cigars
on collared shirts, or the
Incandescent shades of a lip.
We have yet to leave our ancestral
cave homes, full of mad desperation to
capture, define, and preserve the
fleeting forms of nature and it’s denizens.
Sand and ochre kicked up and splashed
in deeply passioned abandon,
as fingers raced and traced the earthy canvas,
Etching, marking, tracing and screaming.
Until, in the end, the exertion itself
is impressed into the rock-face wall.
Other, similar endeavours may well include,
The many voyages and explorations of
Early settlers and tribe folk,
in attempts to map the sprawling land masses,
from the tips of snowy doom filled mountain tops
down to the last measly grains of sand on distant coastlines.
And even now in the modern era,
The sky itself and the cosmos in its enormity,
Probed forever deeper, but never reaching
Its absolute depth.
The creating, and dividing, of art into
it’s multiple facets of genre and subject,
Always pushing outwards in the need,
yes, the very drive to express anything,
everything, and nothing at all.
Emotion itself made captive to
Staves of rhythmic and melodic
progression and regression.
to plumb the very essence of a note
would reveal a beyond Planck length
Spectrum of wave and particle,
Eternally ringing out into
The collective consciousness of the universe.
This isn’t a poem, so much as it
is a personal meditation into
The finite infinity we experience
From one moment, to the next.
Much like meaning, we can only
assign so much burden to a word,
only place so much faith in diction.
But that’s perfectly alright,
Because without ambiguity in
the shapes and forms of metaphors and simile,
We lose a sense of the PROFOUND.
The innate desire to find meaning,
in the most personal sense, in anything.
And really,
isn’t that the most beautiful thing
Ever?
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 12:54 PM UTC
In her painted chest lies beating,
Heart aflame in passioned love.
Words confess its she he's seeking,
Verse in prose is ink on wood.
Know it's burning, read his longing,
Fire intense, unquenchable;
Feel him bleeding, time is fleeting,
Awake our dreams for earthly good.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Shall I roses, ruby hued
Shall I trinkets, gem imbued
Shall I words, in passioned mood
Promise love, sincere and true?
Shall I Cupid’s bow request
Shall I darts in you impress
Shall I pierce that perfect breast
Just to prove I love you best?
Not though heart should cease to beat
Not though breath should be deplete
Not though time should life defeat
Could I love you more, my sweet
No earthly flower, nor gift, nor sound
Nor arrow, pledge move more profound
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:41 PM UTC
Slippery slope
Down a slide
Oiled with tears
Polished with rage
hot passioned
I cannot stop
Forever,
I ride
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
By Ajit peter and Paula
Not a day doth pass by
my words to thee shy
love thee and with thee fly
thy love passioned sky
longing thought to hold thee
in pain tis love doth not flee
oh rainbow doth we see
take me in thee arm to feel
sinking in loves pained heel
oh let not go tis heart thou steal
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My heart doth beat for thee
in thy night to be
loves impassioned song
thy love doth no wrong
my heart doth beat free
for all the world to see
thy love ever a shrine
my heart vouchsafe to thine.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
..My Name Is Pete..
Up beat down to earth feet planted but not yet on them, my name is Pete...Eh Hem
...i am hopeless romantically driven, living a walking day dream of things gave and given forgave and forgiven, pride stricken but uplifting...mind made from the street my name is Pete, short for Peter, kind hearted but now to the point where if you don't care...I won't care either...improvisioned mind strong that words escape from wrong...my words are mine...written sloppy but revised to be perfectly neat...
my name is Pete...I am poetic artistically gifted me...
it's not clear to see cause I hide it for a bit for my self composed reflection...
my words are mine...they are my sunshine...my turpentine....my intoxicating mind destructive weapon, never letting....
my pen get a break from the constant fast circle motioned shake,
I write words 'til pens break....
up beat down to earth feet planted but not yet on them...eh hem...my name is Pete. my poems are written down to be discrete, I show the chosen few to read the real Pete...the passioned compassionate...hopeless romantically driven...pride stricken...up beat artistically gifted down to earth planting my feet to be on them...eh hem...my name is Pete
By: Peter T. DeSpirito
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
Music suspends me...
This moment, half present.
Infinitely conscious,
Flying,
Grounded,
Held
Remembered.
Vibrating at the same frequency as the music
At the same rhythm as you.
We fill the empty spaces
Cascading
Parading
Serenading
Through the hollow places
Replacing dust
and air
With ******
And care
Filling vast and distant futures
With promises and plans.
Filling empty streets
with kissing silhouettes and lovers trance
Together with hands held fast
We explore the darkest torments of our past
And rebirth those stories, give them new shape.
Remembering the raisin
is still a grape.
We liberate ourselves from from historic grief
We find
we wield the power
to our future souls relief
If now i could fill the empty spaces between your music and mine,
So that the strings of our instruments
We braided fine
So that nights like this,
So dark
And cold
Could fill with stars with lights so old
That they reach us
even after they've gone out
Now the year is dying
The colors getting lost
Taking one last bow
Before the winters frost
Now I'm remembering glorious days
When we were stars
And lovers and busked on bridges
With passioned kisses ablaze
I listen to nature sounds,
write letters, pluck songs
Do my rounds
And think of that moment
Suspended in time
Were i was yours
And you were mine
We don't own each other
And never will
For i am not a bank and you are not a till
Be we were one and made up of light
Like pinpricks in the night
Made up of stars
A star with no name
Suspended in music
Octaves apart
We vibrate
The same
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
As I think back into my past and remember what I left behind.
It's you I always seem to find.
Buried memories followed by a passioned heart that now I come to realize my heart was very blind.
And with all the time that past .
Could not erase the love that stirs my heart so deep and fills me through and through It's the love you stole from me twenty years ago.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC