"protectively" poems
I still remember you
I lost you because non-commitment was all I could give.
Now I wake with my sheets soaked with the residue from my nightmares, suffocating me.
I long for those days when the sun was setting and hand in hand we'd sit, in silence.
You'd pull me closer to share your excitement with me; grab a fist full of my hair to allow you to enter into matrimony with my lips.
I long to have your presence next to me; to see the rise and fall of your chest reminding me that that is where my home is.
To have you wake me in the morning with your arms protectively caressing me, rhythmically and suggestively moving along my body...
To have you send shivers down my spine with your hot breath as I feel you smile into my neck
I remember your lips became the metaphor for our young hasty affair:
your lips often grazing every crevice on my body, arousing feelings in me I never thought existed and exciting this dormant precious place between my thighs.
My thighs, which are now the empty hallways you used to roam with so much passion and ferocity used to release waterfalls that cascaded down in a pleasurable release,
long for one more body trembling exhilarating encounter.
But most of all I long to be loved again.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
I treasure those nights of unexpected surrender
when hands molded
caressed
and made me tremble
waking from slumber with body afire
as he inched gradually into me
bathed in my welcoming heat
one palm curled protectively
'round the weight of my breast
as finger and thumb drew on beaded peak
and breath caught in my throat
as his full depth was reached
unable to remain still
rocking back to achieve a deeper sink
his sudden hiss scalding my neck
teeth worrying my bottom lip
neither willing to move
afraid it would all end too soon
and as the flames continued to rise
groans replaced whispered sighs
no hurried pace or rapid ******
slow and sensual movements
dragging us ever nearer the edge
denying that final release
drawing closer but holding it back
sensation heightened beyond bearing
until that fraying tether breaks
causing walls to tighten and quake
drinking every last drop of his lust
clutching inside and out
desperately seeking his mouth
sealing the cataclysmic moment
heart pressed to heart
breath to breath
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 6:54 AM UTC
Sun to set, to herald the arrival of my moon
Prepare my vessel for an odyssey, golden mast and all
Best be on my way, best be soon...
Done this a hundred times come every nightfall
This night, I wish it different, wish it otherwise
My head isn't where it's supposed to be
Swimming in the clouds, in the star spangled sky
Speaking of plans to which the heart would agree
Time is now, it's time to finally drift away
Let go of all worldly trepidations
Hold all unfounded apprehensions at bay
Be brave to pursue fantastical notions
This journey ahead, I want to immortalise
Don't think I'd want to turn back
Leave behind the pillow stifled cries
With the moon as my guide across an ocean of black
*"Close your eyes and just feel the drift
Know that the stars are protectively watching
Picture your moon; her hands bearing a gift
A gift you'd soon receive, after much longing"
"Feel the water, like a thousand hands propping you afloat
Passing you over to more hands that lay ahead
Lurching forward gently, this ethereal boat
Rest now upon your giant floating bed"*
I took that leap of faith... I'm sailing
Cresting and bobbing towards my moon
I hear the stars for they are singing
Lulling me by with a celestial tune
On my way, now on this nighttime adventure
Don't think I'll ever look back
Together this night would span forever
Floating endlessly in a sea of black
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
One broke her,
Into thin fibers of glass disarranging a once whole vase
A beautiful vase, multifaceted and covered in ornate beauty
Intricate, delicate, carefully carved
A whole vase, filled to the brim with life and love
But what does love look like? She knows not anymore.
Two found the vase in ruins,
picked up her pieces, mended her and held on to her afraid she would break once more
Carefully, protectively she now lived.
Given everything, someone who had mended her.
Yet she still felt a sense of a missing piece
A gap, a hole, a missing fragile piece, unfilled but by One who had broken her
Why does she love One who hurt her, who broke her who left her unfilled?
Two many times has he mended her back together
Yet One is still the missing piece, the gap, the hole, the Vase
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
I hope you know
You are worth it
You are worth the time and energy needed
To gently break down the walls you’ve built
Protectively around yourself
You are worth the quiet moments
You are worth the noise
You are worth the rage
You are worth the laughter
You are worth the painful tears
You are worth the face splitting smiles
Jul 30, 2022
Jul 30, 2022 at 10:31 PM UTC
He pulls away, precariously balanced
above the raucous creek slicing through
the campground’s city-like togetherness
she protectively hovers, hands cupped
inches from his slender back, prepared to grab
honoring his need for independence
the crooked lodge pole leans
toward what little sun is bestowed
upon it by its larger brethren
a mother, a child
a tree, a stream
soft light.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
Rain softly beating on my window pane
Like a gardener watering her flower pane
She cares
Like a mother protectively cradling her daughter proudly
She loves
Like a dream slowly consuming reality
She relieves
The night that snoozes us to sleep
The light that brightens our every morning
My heart still rhyme’s with mom’s heartbeat
Drumming like a drum beat
And my brain still thinks
For the day that is to be my future
The next day
She gave me a present that will never be forgotten
As I cherish it, it will never perish
Till the day I go to heaven
Mom's love lives within
Me.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
The vastness of the Earth.
The depth of the Sea.
The sparkle of the stars,
Are what led you to me.
Your deep blue eyes,
Your glistening smile,
The fluttery feelings
Been distant a while.
Protectively Shielding,
I put up my guard,
You pull me in closely
and see that Im scarred.
You kiss my cheek gently,
Fears floated a way,
Reaching out for my hand;
'I am here to stay.'
E.M Pearson
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
Last night when I came home, I noticed a very delicious
fragrance enveloping me. The jasmine was not in bloom,
so I knew it couldn't be that stealing through window drafts,
and the incense sticks were long extinguished.
Was it Lakshmi? Her divine fragrance perfumes the three
worlds and I sensed an unusual lightness in the atmosphere.
This morning I still detected a unique aroma, though not as pronounced.
I went outside, in the backyard, to let the dog out and observed two orange speckled butterflies dancing near her doghouse. I shooed them away protectively. As I did this, they moved over to another location, but one hovered near my hands.
It fluttered around my hands for a good minute. I was able to hear,
witness and breathe in the amazing oscillation of it's fragile wings.
Gorgeous mosaic patterns glittered between the rays of sunlight bathing
our golden communion. I could clearly see its ebony face peering curiously up at me.
Soon a third butterfly joined the party, and a trinity of sweetness pulsated close. After a while they all took off in different directions.
Later, I reflected while swinging in the garden jhoola how wonderfully connected we all are.
This Unity transcends the mental, emotional and physical barriers, preconceptions and dimensions of our ordinary awareness.
Love has a lot to do with it, respect, peace, truth and right conduct too.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
candles of fire and flare
balloons float high in the air
their way of showing me
they finally care
the end of the rainbow
my soul now knows
the end is like the ballon
I've seen where it goes
doves fly peacefully
protectively on my side
I lay asleep
Eyes wide
I dance and giggle
as people cry and wiggle
life was complicated
death was simple
violas laid on my grave
tombstone reads:
no longer a sinner
no longer satan's slave
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
It's summer here in Miami, Florida. The Jacaranda tree has violet flowers that fall and float on the tops of the moist jade grass. The Gardenia bush with bent branches is heavy with fragrant white flowers. Parsley, basil and dill are tall and flowering with bees pollinating them.
Numerous plump cherry tomatoes, with all their tingling flavor, hide among the leggy bushes. Green and scarlet bell peppers, smooth and crisp, hang on neighboring branches.
Several new baby birds are fledgling from nests while their parents protectively hover nearby. Two families of scarlet Cardinal birds greedily eat from our outdoor feeders. A flock of fifty Cherry Head parrots with their crimson shoulders and heads crack open black sunflower seeds.
Toads at night call to prospective mates sounding like broken air conditioners. Black wiggly bodies swim in clusters in the canal feeding on algae waiting to grow their legs and hop through the tall grasses.
Global mangoes growing and ripening on trees are large enough to sweeten the palette .
The sun is smiling warming the earth--the animals, plants and people. Steady rain quenches the thirst of all creatures. Nature is here for us to enjoy.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
It’s Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we’re doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer. If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.
"Why do you wear these," Peter asked, pulling and lightly snapping the hair-band on my wrist.
I pull my hand back, protectively. "If I don’t have a hair-band on my wrist I feel out of control."
There’s a new me. I’d decided - civilized, unemotional, clear-sighted.
"I've got a lot to do before summer,” Peter said earlier, “so I made a spreadsheet.”
I felt a shadow pass over me - our future is, at best, undecided. So, I shifted gears, the way the new me is trying to do lately.
“A Spreadsheet!” I said, like I approved, and he grinned. I’d made him happy. This is what adults do, I’d decided, they have civilized conversations where decisions were made or avoided - but there was a small, dark thing in my heart.
I got a text from our dryer saying our clothes were dry, so we headed down. I love the smell of fresh laundry and the feeling of shaved legs against fresh bed sheets - a luxurious combination no guy will ever understand. I made a mental note to shave my legs later.
The last couple of weeks I’ve been working on summer fellowship applications. A successful summer fellowship is one of those things I’ll need when I apply for med-school - like grades, faculty letters, physician recommendations, community service, a great MCAT score, bla bla bla.
My mom knows the 200 things med-schools use to cleave away pretenders and she’ll rattle them off upon request and sometimes over groaning protests.
What I need, ideally, this summer, are clinical experience hours. There’s not much at stake, just my future, the respect of the faculty, and the begrudging acknowledgement of my pre-med peers. My mom was quizzing me on my progress last night. I confirmed that all the applications were in and I ended with, “I haven’t slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we’re still early in the process.”
She was not amused.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 2:13 PM UTC
If I had to
I would paint him like this;
His hair thick streaks, shielding
Hidden face, arms placed protectively
about a shield of strings, his
fingers float out joy.
My Boy
Lies immersed in his own
Invisible sound,
Happiness hidden, and found,
Underground.
Silence Sings Out Loud.
I would paint him like this.
If I had to
I would paint her like this;
Her hair tangled in a golden kiss
against the mischief of her
face, all sorrow erased
by half moons of mirth
Hands of Nurture placed
deep in the Earth.
In stability she is
free, in life
she is re-born,
eternally stubborn.
I would paint her like this.
If I had to
I would paint them like this;
Colours clashing to complete
the cadbury brown of hair,
Blue and Red swirling and
stairing their way down
to Purple.
If I were to paint them, I'd
create a staple of
a third and final
canvas.
Both Him & Her,
Boy and Girl,
complete
_ _
This is their
similarity.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:21 AM UTC
Invisible leaf that resides among one billion
Reminding us at will to stand still
The constant battle that our lifetimes can create
Aren't always open to agree or negotiate
Much like your nymphs we are like children
Crying in obstinance "Deliver us from evil!" with your grace
Teach us to draw upon our powers
Guide us to step down from our towers
Open up our ignorance to unlimited dimensions
Of consciousness and gentle contemplation
As we align our will with God
Spirit Mantis instruct our inner faith
Enabling our prophecy of strength and ancient peace
Bringing forth the song that sings and dreams
Of loving life force in between us, every soul
Survival's toll is not just individual
Calm as can be to walk on water and to believe
That every son and every daughter has a place
Look into the eyes of praying mantis
Observe the way her clever stance is
Like a meditation pose and prayer-like dance
He is our guide to quietly reside inside
The home our heart protectively shares and confides
A safety zone, a loving tone, and glowing space
As I kneel, as we pose, as we pray for all of those
Who cannot hear or see the beauty you bestow
Spirit guide us, please un-divide us
Show us your tranquil meditative flow
And in this may we hear what we behold
Will allow comfort to become the world we know
© tHE tERRY tREE
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
i.
In her silhouettes lee, I'm unscathed, unslaved,
Sheltered, free; tis she's mine sea, who guideth
me. Lief i'll cradle her, protectively, lief i'll be
the breath she breathes, lief O' lief; serenity.
ii.
In her presence I shalt bathe in her scintillating
albedineity, plenty O' plenty, shalt be in ourn
Cup; risen enduring creation's, just ourn love
Is enough, verily, verily, accumulating puff's.
iii.
Puff's of the holiness, surrounding ourn locus,
famigerating through the valley's; wherein we
Giveth epistle's for men's focus, that charity,
Forgiveness, and untainted Agápe, mayest be
a missive; for all humankind to copy.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome Poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
Did you lose your sense of belonging? Is it the way you know you don’t fit in, remarks on your skin, your partner, your friends? Is it that you could never get one; a general rejection from society always whispering your wrong? Perhaps its that not even the people everyone has told you should care most don’t at all. Perhaps you feel the ones that should care for you most lash out most of all and pull you down and push you against cement walls. Is it the feelings of building frustration that eats at you? Is it that you are stagnating in an unfortunate place or is it the terror you feel when you remember that you are trapped here with no way out except to wait. Is it that sense that you are completely and terrifyingly inadequate in the life you are in, in this situation you are surrounded by? Tell me right now what the hardest part for you is. Is it the sense of purpose that has died inside you like the delicate dreams you held protectively in fumbling hands or dose your desperation dance with all the things people can’t understand? Is it spinning and whirling and dipping with your sense of what is human with your sense of humanity? Do you shutter at their loss of compassion or the loss of your own? Do you think angrily of how they hate you or do you shudder in regret at the way you gave up on yourself? Tell me if you are angry for their wanting you to change or at your reflection for knowing that you can’t. Are you upset that you are aside from them or because in a moment of disgust you realize they are exactly the same as you? Are you mad that you alone are solely responsible for your sense of happiness while all along knowing it is all dependent on a wondering chance, some element you will need to accomplish it and allowing yourself to experience it while it’s there. Tell me I want to know, what’s the hardest part for you? Is it the pain, the terror, the dread, the numbness, the ache, the falling, the pressure, the restlessness, the emptiness, the cold indifference, the chaos, the cohesion, the awakening or your ignorance? Tell me what’s the hardest part for you?
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
We are a collection
Of mixed half-things;
i. B i t s and b o b s that don't belong anywhere
But beside each other-
that bent plastic spoon curled
r
o
u d that stub of a candle
n
Spine t w i s t e d like an aged ballerina,
Curled protectively over the red, red (red! like the blood that simmers under your skin) candle
ii. songs from different ERAS
One song from the 80s with their razzle and dazzle and neon lights,
their advertisements in CAPITALS and exclamation marks
!!!!
and; another song from today, one of those "hipster" ones as
the kids these days like to call them;
sorrow spill-
ing out of them
like melting ice- cr
eams on stairs
No one thought they would fit together
Until a mix,
A playlist on 8tracks was made.
iii. abandoned sets
swing
on a lonely playground
on a lonely park.
Swinging in t
a
n
d
e
m
(but not quite)
(but that's okay)
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 9:40 AM UTC
There will be regret, so much regret, I know this
Yet
The alien thoughts of rebirth quickens in my gut, thickly moving with determined osmosis, to drive the very tides of my blood
To ultimately insinuate itself
Into the fibers of my nervous system.
Climbing up and into the pithy stem
To feel with my starry-ed synapses, to see with my own eyes
The parasite's willowy dendra
Protectively cupping the soft mass of my brain,
Tenderly releasing biochemical panaceas
--The Mother of me--
I rise, a new creature,
Half of me mercifully dead,
Full of possibilities.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 1:14 PM UTC
On a yellow-lighted main street we pause on a corner
For a moment, our companions lagging behind.
You set down the twelve-pack of beer by a lamp post.
I zip up my jacket. We both grumble, impatient.
I'm cold, you want to get drunker, we both
Shiver. You stand against a stone wall, we face
Each other across the sidewalk. Your hair
Flies into your eyes as you toss your head --
"Come the **** on!" -- at those half a block back.
A couple passes by us, the man in a dark tuxedo,
The woman in a white wedding gown and heels,
Hair in disarray. They stop their post-nuptial trudging, and she
Leans against the building for support to remove
Her shoes. His hand rests protectively on
Her back; none of us make eye contact. And then
Her shoes are off, bare feet padding lightly down
The November-chilled San Francisco sidewalk.
"Hurry up, you ******* I heckle backwards at our three
stragglers. "Newlyweds are moving faster than you."
We glance at each other again, you
Light a cigarette and shake your head. It hits
Me with a chuckle. "Man, those people
Just got married and here they are, walking
Down a street in the city at 2 in the morning."
"Right?" you reply, laughing a little. Our eyes meet
As if sharing a joke. And then we look away.
You cross the sidewalk in two long strides,
And bend to pick up your beer, handing me
Your cigarette. Within a block our quick pace
Has left the others behind again.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:01 AM UTC
when i take a fleeting second to think on the rarity that is us,
there is no reason for me to be thinking about you
every second of every day.
they tell us from the moment we are born
until the moment we die that it is devastatingly useless
to want something that you should not have.
this is something that would be destructive to me.
this is something that would be even more destructive to you.
against the will of my judicious brain,
i spend half of my time daydreaming -
tracing the curves of your face in my mind.
against the will of my burdened heart,
i spend half of my time in torture -
convincing myself that i don't feel this way.
when i step back, though, the reality hits me.
the answers i have sought become as clear as untroubled waters.
it is the brilliant gold specks in your emerald and turquoise eyes,
it is the rush of warmth when your fingertips brush my skin,
it is the fact that your smile is brighter than any sunshine i have ever seen,
it is the cool, sweet whisper of your breath against my neck,
it is the feel of your arms wrapped protectively around me,
it is the rare occassions where i get a glimpse of the boy behind all those walls,
that keep me captivated.
i cannot say that this is love.
i cannot say that I know what love is.
i can say that this is a strange kind of happiness -
a common understanding between two dreamers -
two hearts beating in the same ¾ time.
this is the desire to jump - eyes closed -
into something i am unsure of.
this is the will to pick myself up off of the floor
and try to be whole again just one more time.
i want to tell you how i feel. i have to tell you how i feel.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 5:52 AM UTC
Sharon posts a photo of her new baby
on social-media and
Nasty-Jim comments
“That’s an ugly baby!”
Sharon feels shocked, insulted, appalled.
She hugs her baby protectively,
feeling hurt.
Sharon posts a photo of her new baby
on social-media and
Civil-Sheryl comments
“Congratulations on your beautiful baby!”
Sharon feels joyful and happy.
She hugs her baby warmly
kisses him on the head
and says “I love you little one”.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 5:47 AM UTC
" I found one Mummy!!!"
says my just about four
year old boy.
We are on our town green
at the, combined churches Easter Egg Hunt.
This is Tod's first big egg hunt and he does n't quite
seem to have the hang of it.
Tod my boy, who now sits with his plastic egg.
Happy as can be!!!
"Honey don't you want to go find some more ?"
"Can I ?"
"Why don't you go find one for Nanna & Da."
So off he goes, just about quivering with excitement,
Dad trailing protectively behind.
He comes back with four more eggs, so five in total.
One for Nanna,
One for Mummy,
One for Da
and one for me.
We ask, the obvious,
Tod, who is the last one for?...
It's for her,
he says pointing to a lady, sitting alone,on a park bench
watching the children play.
She is a complete stranger,
to us, and looks a little bedraggled, not a street person, or drunk, just beyond caring.
"Why her ?" We ask, just a tad alarmed,(Stranger danger and all that.)
because, " She is all alone and sad, with no eggs
and everybody should have eggs on Easter.
Gobsmacked much!!!.....
Our little man saw to the heart of it.
While we looked at the shell.
We took the egg over to, Anne, for that was her name and asked, if she would join us for a picnic lunch of fish and chips.
It turned out she was travelling through and had broken down .... was stuck till early next week(until her car was fixed) and was missing easter with her family. She had come to the
park, to see children play
on Easter Sunday morn.
As we parted later, with address's exchanged.
She leant over and said in my ear.
"You've done well, such a thoughtful little fellow."
I just beamed through my
welling tears.
Then she walked away.
and Tod gave her his cheery little wave.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
I am hungry i think as i lock eyes with you
i tap my feet hoping your questions will be enough to spring forth the rhythm of a vibrant relationship
ask me how
care about the whys
and you do care for me
protectively
but i am struggling stubbornly with wanting to tell you how to love me
and the stubborn belief that i shouldnt have to tell you how
and this is the new chapter called the firsts
and i want you to be curious bout me
and jealous when you know
i want to tell you
but dont you see
youve got to be the one to ask me.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC
The moon stares down at us silently,
yet we cannot tell if it is in judgement or adoration.
Her hollow eyes and full lips make up an illuminate silhouette.
Your glowing porcelain mirrors her China cabinet.
Maybe she is jealous;
your off-white shine is holding my attention
more than hers ever has.
Maybe it is narcissistic of me to assume
that Mrs. Moon craves my affection.
Maybe it was wise of me to realize that your mahogany shutters contrasted against the dark green earth in your backyard
are encasing me with a sense of safety that I have not recently felt
and I should clutch on to that warmth and comfort
as tightly as your right hand clutches onto the fistful of my hair
or the strength your left arm carries
as it winds protectively around my waist.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC