"plethera" poems
Love is the sweet taste of frosting at the tip of my tongue.
That feeling as a child choosing the perfect cupcake in a plethera of many.
I open my eyes and I feel the sweetness of your lips.
Love is the cream and sugar in my coffee, so smooth.
But smoother to me.
My lover leaves it for me on my nightstand.
Love is the smell of bacon and eggs as I walk into the kitchen in my bed head hair.
You kiss the top of my head.
You make bacon seem ****
Love is wading in the water in my nakedness.
In the darkness, moon in the sky, and my moon behind me.
I feel your nakedness a foot away from me, behind me, yet we never touch.
Love is the unsaid words in the silence.
Sitting near each other in our silliness or our
Drunkeness
We are intoxicated with each other, yet we shared no wine.
Love is knowing here on earth that every breath I take,
And is exhaled,
you inhale in every pore of your skin.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 12:56 AM UTC
humble man with traits one cannot fatham,
he walks with his head high,
his legs and back stright and strong,
body with muscles as meak as a millionares pocket,
mind is open but controlled,
assigned with a number as his brothers,
the extent he will go is an infinaite plethera,
for his country without even really wanting to.....
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 4:41 AM UTC
not knowing what to do,
the path to pursue,
your boundries have an infinate plethera,
with no guide to come over ya,
ideas flow your head,
as you lay in bed,
with questionalbe authority,
with the life in the city...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
all is one
one is all
to have something
you must have one
and to create one
you must start self mastery
one is the entrance to reason
one creates plethera
one endures all
one stands on muddy water till still
one who teaches cant teach
one who listens is the teacher
one who talks doesnt know
one who knows doesnt talk
all is one one is all
one will know
what one is tought
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 7:27 PM UTC
A pinhole camera lets light fall on paper
at the back of the box, in reverse a similar
pulse occurs on internet sites. And as many
bits as in a spectrum of light.
The sensitive paper lines up a
collection of dots just as the range of
sites disperses a plethera of spots.
The cameras yawning slow and stable
effect contrasts with the internets jaw
dropping speeds. A whiplash of light and
off it zips. Sites seem to breed serving all
sorts of needs.
Professional bodies, purveyors of
knowledge, business and commercial
concerns of all manner of goods are
seldom discerned from so many.
A public outcry at the sprawling mess
and secret agendas regarding fetchers,
letchers and abusers hiding in rather
dark corners rushes a plea to regulate.
If only it were those hidden from sight
who have bad intentions, but others
are rumoured to operate at a higher
dimension.
A high pitched screech results in a critical
eye calming the discontent. Ushering in
a series of constraints. Still the fallout
persists and so we go zipping along.
The sites that deal in personal things continue
on. You can spill the contents of your day and
friends keep coming fascinated by what
you say. It lightens the load to feel tense and
then spent.
.
And then there are those that let us
escape from work or domestic roles
to find others equally moved. Us souls
aim to improve, so reshape our lives.
Raise technical skills, welcome slaps on
the back for major or minor adjustments.
That piano of light keeps us tapping the
keys to find our flare that will light up the night.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 5:24 PM UTC