"piques" poems
Just the least
just a pinch
is magic
stirs the seven seas!
Your pretty little
beauty spot
is big indeed!
Piques the waxing moon
revealing new skin.
Ah therein the day
at the end of the day
dips into the depth of the blue
never sleeps
roams in starry dreams!
Neither Earth or sky
is deep or high.
The first light drops
upon the rose.
The secret is secret no more
sings the nightingale
interpreting the dream
down the whole lit up sky
yet a twilight comes on the way.
Just a glance of you
wraps the entire show away,
towards depths so profound
and heights so high
yet unseen by any eye!
Aug 14, 2023
Aug 14, 2023 at 11:14 PM UTC
Aroma
A scent that always piques my interest
Stronger the closer to it I become
Steam rises to show potential danger
Softly blowing it away
I take my first drink
My lips sear
It pokes fun at me
For not regarding the warning signs
I will wait patiently
For she is my morning coffee
Something I refuse to begin my day without
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
There’s always a bustle here
In my ritual place of ribs and beer
The sharp scent of ginger and coriander
The acrid burr in my nose of seared flesh
Fusion food served around me
But I go for Hirata.. again.
Can’t argue with taste, and it tastes
Korean bbq and Buddha beer
A brief nod to the moments of clarity
As said by drunks
The beer bottle cool in my hand as I reflect
Beads of condensation forming on Buddhas belly
And I’m here hoping for Constant
It’s now my third attempt
In as many months to catch a glimpse
And tonight apparently the stars align
Jupiter and Mercury on the rise
As I walk in
There is a way about him
So much bluff and bravado...
reminds me of someone I once loved
There is a mischief in his smile
Something warm in his eyes
Even beyond his jokes of his ego
Too big for the Room, apparently
I don’t discourage..
He’s honest in a way that piques
So here I am
Third time lucky finding Constant
To my delight he recognises me instantly
“Lucky Buddha for the lady?”
His eyes dance..
I interpret, maybe to much
But believe he’s pleased to see me
So we joke..
We laugh
I watch him get an earful
For not concentrating on the flow
The manager in tow..
and he side-eyes me and winks
Inwardly I hi-five myself for
Timing this so perfectly
So here I am
Trying not to watch Constant flow
Trying not to blush as he looks my way
“I’m too old for this **** I think
Then feel like a kid
When he throws a grin my way
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
Kiss me soundlessly.
Or **** me in your sleep.
I've drowned in your madness.
And dived in too deep.
Touch me lovingly.
Or thrill me with your lips.
I've bathed in your venom.
Darling',
it no longer piques.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
A cabin in the forest
far from the city- bleak
where the air so crisp
would cleanse your soul
as you breathe in the morning mist.
colossal trees tower over your presence
Let it be known human-
the landlords who reside;
are the grizzlies and the robins-
effervescent.
Tranquil silence & enigmatic sounds
Piques my curiosity all around.
The slight possibility
of a bigfoots presence
eery sensations & the moon in crescent.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 2:49 PM UTC
This boy
with the charming smile and
the intense stare.
The one with a sense of humor
unique enough to send
me into a giggling fit.
The one I go on little adventures with.
The one I share a little bubble with.
The one who opened the door
and brought me into a new world of music.
The one who constantly piques my curiosity.
The one with the ability to turn
my perspective around.
The one bursting with creativity,
with ideas so eccentric,
they make you think.
The one with a sharp mind
and a sharper tongue.
The one with vivid dreams that
I love to read about like novels.
The one with the dark side.
The one who gets depressed for weeks.
The one who's constantly invaded by his demons,
unkowingly taking my own emotions with them.
You.
Yes, you.
The odd one.
Simply put, I love you to death.
Within you are layers under layers
and I wouldn't mind spending my whole life
uncovering each one
and cherishing each part of you I find.
I'm not entirely sure of
what I mean to you,
but telling you that
you mean the world to me
just doesn't cut it.
Doesn't even come close.
I just.
I love you.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
I hate people and love them at the same time.
I despise this world but can't seem to come to terms with accepting my hatred for it.
The beauty blinds me, the wonders piques my interest and all the more dragging me down a path I could never have conjured in my mind.
I don't see a point in anything, yet every little thing holds the most significant factor to make the most mesmerising point.
It's all utterly confusing! With questions bouncing me back and forth until perhaps, I reach old age.
The question of life is simply a question to carry me forth.
A question with no answer, yet with every imaginable result and answers.
If spewing crap means the temporary answer to life, then I guess I'll stick to my ****
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
Scuttle, little fingers!
Peck out permanences
like finches
kissing.
Follow your nerves,
little heart-endings—
Oh, you are the scores
left by gentle rain
on the piques of small mountains
& resurrection ferns
brushing shoulders
with each other
& lovers
walking.
3 May, 2013
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
some of us are fortunate -
our shores are sandy beaches
occasionally blowing over
with an aching dust-
often meaningless, yet
bearable
clouds drift languidly
over them
as if they were a break from
the balmy days of
self reflection
but most of us
our shores are scattered with rocks,
scree and boulders
worn down by
the relentless whims of ocean borne
storms
hurricanes that feel entitled to destroy
everything that piques thier fancy
avalanches of ignorance
come tumbling
off the great, hulking,
blind land masses
these hulking shadows, these blunt winds
they are
so pervasive
very nearly
inescapable
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
Happiness piques interest.
When happiness peaks it is
always nervous,
treading blindly,
violently
joyfully spinning and shaking my hair.
Liquids pouring in and out,
steadily.
Ripping, interdependent happiness
worse and better than solo sadness,
calling out or whispering,
strategically,
Admit that I exist. Admit that I existed!
Heaven is anticipation.
The edge of coming--always.
Heaven is walking out and into the clearing,
about to dance, the most primal dance.
About to eat, the most satisfying meal.
Culmination, the foreplay before death, is life.
Mortality arouses me,
viciously.
It blinds me, then allows me to see.
Pulls the covers on top of me.
Alive and gyrating on air
with isolation or autonomy,
happiness is coming all over me.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
I walk to the newsstand over
blue gray cobblestone jumping up
my soles, the windows of
every mother in Viterbo
looking at my swaying arms,
at the very reason I love
the squint of eyes in morning sun.
Because I am free from anticipating
a slow sinking earth, hung twined,
hung taut, hung thin, hung dried,
peeling off the body like
scree, relenting.
Because I am ten.
From five lire scrunched in a fist, from
a father’s request for Il Messaggero,
steps can brim with direction, with place,
with an appetence for growing
a grown man would lunge at.
Could make a mute anchorite sing again
to an unsacred sky: “a son is a son as
a song is a song, this is that I am
is why I belong.”
I walk to the newsstand
under glaring windows, under
the look of all Viterbo’s mothers,
under the sluice of morning sun
that piques the eyes as sliced brine,
and the stand is shuttered.
Dirt metal slats I touch once
to make sure, and then I walk
straight back, back with the sun now
behind, illuminating stone, in front of me.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 6:29 PM UTC
A hidden closet piques my interest as I fall through time and space,
Clammy hands clasp the white hot memoirs of the past.
Unable to let go I slip faster than before
Addicted to the memories of things long ago.
The wrong I'm feeling caused by all unknown,
Pressure threatening to crush the feelings I own.
I have found the wall I built,
And crashed past the breaking point.
Lost with no direction,
I search for meaning--
Seeking out Orion
So I can live among the stars.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 8:28 AM UTC
*Flowers everywhere
Butterflies and bees breeze by.
Filled with sweet nectar.
Colored leaves of Fall -
Winds scurrying them about.
Brightly coat the field.
Snow. Crisp, unbroken.
Pop! The winter hare jumps out -
Piques the hungry fox.
New green. Spring has come.
The hare, still there, turned to brown.
Bunnies everywhere.
Lin Cava©*
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 3:38 PM UTC
poets are a surprise
whenever they feel an emotion
especially when it's a strong one
whether positive or negative
for them,
it's always a bittersweet blessing in disguise
whenever they feel despair
whenever they feel bliss
they capitalize on the emotion
and create their written masterpiece
anything that comes to mind
anything that piques the poet's smart
will always come forth
a written work of art
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
I am a product of the 30 second sound bite.
At 5 seconds, my interest piques.
At 10 seconds, my mind has gathered the purpose.
At 17 seconds, my interest wanes.
At 23 seconds, my 3rd eye opens.
At 30 seconds, I wonder what else is on.
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
I want to **read a
Book** that I have not heard of
But they don't exist
I want to **read a
Book** that piques my interest
But I can’t find one
I want to **read a
Book** that hasn't been written
But that's hard to do
I want to **read my
Favorite book** but it's gone
And I can't find it
I want to **read your
Favorite book** but you live
Way too far away
I want to **read a
Book** but I'm writing instead
Of reading a book
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
As the seas of grass
pass
by my periphery,
folivory turns into a blur,
and the whir
of an engine
deafens
my nerves, but not my mind,
and I climb to rewind,
to remind myself,
the way I
felt,
how you smelled
and it all melds
into one thing
bliss
from one kiss.
I couldn't miss this,
no, not this.
Excitement piques,
my heart seeks
you out.
I can feel you close
as I write this prose,
and then suddenly I am glass
as the seas of grass
pass
by my periphery.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
It's his eyes that catch her sight.
It's his lips that cause her delight.
It's his voice that is raw and velvety.
It's his presence that makes her sweaty.
She can't speak coherently when he speaks.
She is a nervous wreck. A challenge.
His interest piques.
She will win him over.
She's like a conquest to him.
Both play the age old game of love and sin.
For him;it's a game.
For her; it's something more.
More than infatuation that speaks.
She falls for him.
And in the end,he too gives in.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
Gray and gloomy seem to be taking over the land.
Nothing else piques my interest in living.
The prospect of death stimulates my innermost being.
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 8:06 AM UTC
Yes?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCI)
What is't about the train's voice, that th'all hail
Um, piques my soul, which harks unto its dense
Low rumble like tis...what? O dear suspense!
How "nibelung" half winks at me in hale
Dawn's golden warmth as if it knows in pale
Excuse my name, like these elf ears I've thence
Had from conception argue in a sense
Now with my height, while mists haunt with their veil.
I'd feign lose me in fog's embrace as twere;
Go wandring like I canna see unto
The fairer realms beyond is't? Silver dew.
I cherish its sheer blanket waiting fer
Heavn's burning glance, a violet none bestir,
Hid in the darker shadows trains pass through.
22Mar19a
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 9:48 PM UTC
His Hardship
she donned foreplay rough
domineer tied, whipped and waxed
his hardship piques her
Logan Robertson
7/5/17
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 7:47 AM UTC
Donc c'est fait. Dût rugir de honte le canon,
Te voilà, nain immonde, accroupi sur ce nom !
Cette gloire est ton trou, ta bauge, ta demeure !
Toi qui n'as jamais pris la fortune qu'à l'heure,
Te voilà presque assis sur ce hautain sommet !
Sur le chapeau d'Essling tu plantes ton plumet ;
Tu mets, petit Poucet, ces bottes de sept lieues ;
Tu prends Napoléon dans les régions bleues ;
Tu fais travailler l'oncle, et, perroquet ravi,
Grimper à ton perchoir l'aigle de Mondovi !
Thersite est le neveu d'Achille Péliade !
C'est pour toi qu'on a fait toute cette Iliade !
C'est pour toi qu'on livra ces combats inouïs !
C'est pour toi que Murat, aux russes éblouis,
Terrible, apparaissait, cravachant leur armée !
C'est pour toi qu'à travers la flamme et la fumée
Les grenadiers pensifs s'avançaient à pas lents !
C'est pour toi que mon père et mes oncles vaillants
Ont répandu leur sang dans ces guerres épiques !
Pour toi qu'ont fourmillé les sabres et les piques,
Que tout le continent trembla sous Attila,
Et que Londres frémit, et que Moscou brûla !
C'est pour toi, pour tes Deutz et pour tes Mascarilles,
Pour que tu puisses boire avec de belles filles,
Et, la nuit, t'attabler dans le Louvre à l'écart,
C'est pour monsieur Fialin et pour monsieur Mocquart,
Que Lannes d'un boulet eut la cuisse coupée,
Que le front des soldats, entrouvert par l'épée,
Saigna sous le shako, le casque et le colback,
Que Lasalle à Wagram, Duroc à Reichenbach,
Expirèrent frappés au milieu de leur route,
Que Caulaincourt tomba dans la grande redoute,
Et que la vieille garde est morte à Waterloo !
C'est pour toi qu'agitant le pin et le bouleau,
Le vent fait aujourd'hui, sous ses âpres haleines,
Blanchir tant d'ossements, hélas ! dans tant de plaines !
Faquin ! - Tu t'es soudé, chargé d'un vil butin,
Toi, l'homme du hasard, à l'homme du destin !
Tu fourres, impudent, ton front dans ses couronnes !
Nous entendons claquer dans tes mains fanfaronnes
Ce fouet prodigieux qui conduisait les rois
Et tranquille, attelant à ton numéro trois
Austerlitz, Marengo, Rivoli, Saint-Jean-d'Acre,
Aux chevaux du soleil tu fais traîner ton fiacre !
Jersey, le 31 mai 1853.
503
Thinking contemplation
leads to revelation
seeking information
for a transformation
In a simulation?
this entire nation
an insinuation
of greater creation
or the ultimate narration
piques our fascination
less human conversation
more alienation
engenders more destruction
than annihalation
so, forget this complication
& make life a Celebration.
Jul 22, 2021
Jul 22, 2021 at 9:44 AM UTC