"ripest" poems
Maybe it's for you but not for me, but who knows?
When will the time stop and give way to the paradoxical space that will shove the soul out of its life, eventually?
Tend to think that the archetypal white collar worker is what you should be before you delve into the reality?
Jumped into the ripest chord of a void song, and you found nothing but truth and perplexity?
Threw yourself into the wilderness but you are still deprived of happiness, only peace, filled with emptiness?
Crashed the mental into bi-polarizing set of uncertainty and sanity, driving everything towards the ravine of confusion and misinterpretation?
Dropped the last sweat of joy and contentment before you discover the eventuality, pessimistic value of the whole context?
Until the ultimate full stop appears, will you understand what is the whole story is all about?
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 6:56 AM UTC
Twist my gaze to the side
Through the copper-and chocolate curtain of my hair
Through the sea of faces
And one amongst hundreds
I could pluck you, like the ripest apple
From the lowest branch.
And in this ocean of bobbing heads
Of flapping lips and empty eyes
I'm just floating
Just alone, drifting
Hoping you'll throw me an emerald glance
A lingering lifeline
To reel me in from this
Crowded loneliness.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
Third weekend in July
I love canoeing out on Northwood
Lake, early morning hours melting
into the pines, as I head toward the
island where the wild blueberries
lie. Tiny morsels, abundant and packed with
the taste of summer and beepollen and freshwater
and snow. Minnows nibble my toes, each one
a solid worm for the biting, as I slowly
fill a one-gallon jug, berry by berry,
to use for breakfast pancakes and
Belgian waffles cooked golden from
the waffle iron. Some of the ripest
berries plop into the lake. I swipe
them up before bass or sunfish
see them; always leaving the
green berries behind.
Pausing to taste some, they
split between my incisors;
I marvel at the flavor
while a loon’s haunted red
eyes stare at nothing.
Blueberries split like
relationships
occasionally do,
sour at times, always
leaving a taste on your
palate. Families, young
lovers picnicking on the
beach lake, confused couples;
they branch off, moonlight
silhouetting their outlines;
silent elegy softly blossoming
downward as their paths skew.
They won’t cross again.
My jug filled, I oar
back to the dock,
ears filled with
humming of birds,
insects, boats;
brimming with
the bream from berries
splitting apart,
and the intense
silence of blueberry
picking in late July.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
. . .
. . . .
. . . . . . . . .
i stare at a docile ocean
waveless sun accosted
dark and shadow edged
tinned with men's brave
history of misconception i
'Dragonne'.
'Colossuus'.
'Cetaecean'.
- Leviathan ?
As sure as hope setting sail -
Past shoal, past shallow,
So each chase begins.
Lines parsing out,
Expectations coyly
Embroidered,
Entwin-ned.
- Leviathan ?
Pray please this narrative be drawn :
Truth for sake of safe harbour;
Stillness without caution;
Softly ripening dawn;
Jupiter and Venus descendant,
Celestial promise anon ?
- Leviathan .
Violence
the casual violence of life
the worst kind
not casual really but whats violence anyway
few knew why why ask why the few
once the dice flipped get
its a flying a mind a dunzo game
gravity responds we hope hope together sake
to gether
we short the freaks short em' all them freakin freaks freaks
i want you I want yours
i want to take you over
take control take over
29' run kontrol all night day
long time end time
everthing happens forfurfor fit ur
once and done (nature) forfeiture
reason or ur other or ur another or ur a altogether reason
or simple GP drunkworld
reason (nurture)
surprise my ripest faither - less
5 rise 10 run huh
up the down and dumb
dumb ber right left left right thum ber
number one number
numb - ber
one ones
another
come
under
the
(tumb)
.
All Rights Reserved.
James R. Morse, NYC 2013.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 9:48 PM UTC
500
Within my Garden, rides a Bird
Upon a single Wheel—
Whose spokes a dizzy Music make
As ’twere a travelling Mill—
He never stops, but slackens
Above the Ripest Rose—
Partakes without alighting
And praises as he goes,
Till every spice is tasted—
And then his Fairy Gig
Reels in remoter atmospheres—
And I rejoin my Dog,
And He and I, perplex us
If positive, ’twere we—
Or bore the Garden in the Brain
This Curiosity—
But He, the best Logician,
Refers my clumsy eye—
To just vibrating Blossoms!
An Exquisite Reply!
2.6k
IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG
1
Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.
2
Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a seamen’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.
3
Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.
4
Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the doomed, they are crying . . .
****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Wound with joy and cheer
Unaware of the danger near
Moments away
Racing mind, rather absent
Hurry, hurry, hurry-!
Outcry echoes throughout the space
What searing pain
Heat from surface to flesh
Red as ripest tomato
Forming spots of pale white
Oh dear, what plight
- Jay M
January 8th, 2021
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 1:18 PM UTC
Do you also wince at the seeds of a watermelon
crawling there inside your mouth?
Do you also feel the bile inside begin swelling?
No way now it won't come out.
I eat only the ripest from the market
yet am forced to spit out with haste.
All the maggots and vermin seem to target
just the fruit I yearn to taste.
Life is a malicious prankster
and whatever grows are her tools.
If you're handed lemons, don't thank her-
for the only ones who take it are fools.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
My parents left our homeland for me
More than five thousand, five hundred miles
To travel to a land ripe with opportunity
But at times the ripest fruit tended to spoil
However, they always counted God's blessings and moved on
My parents have endlessly toiled
With their younger son on the way
And four years of American experience
They strived at greater lengths each and every day
It is difficult to set aside one's own will
To tend to a family
To pay an immigration agency's bills
Yet they have done it, tried and true
Citizenship, I pray
Is coming soon
One day, I will properly honor them
Meanwhile,
This country will learn to accept others, but only with Him as its precious gem
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG
1
Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.
2
Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a seamen’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.
3
Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.
4
Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the doomed, they are crying . . .
****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC
Melting pots are for racists.
The USA is a salad bowl.
The student lounge features
the veggies at their ripest,
collecting oxygen amongst themselves,
for the corn cannot exist
with the broccoli,
and so on
and so forth.
Don't even mention
fruits
to the potatoes.
And the tomatoes,
they're just weird, man,
don't even know
what they are.
We are all at our most
savory and nutritious,
our youthful wisdom
emanating through our
concrete set of hues.
The chili peppers emanate a color
as red as the blood
of their ancestral martyrdom,
no other color,
just red.
Same for the cucumbers
with hearts so coolly refrigerated,
taking forest green,
taking pastel green
with just a few drops
of ivory-scented beige
tucked neatly behind
walls of bamboo-level peels.
The voices of the onions
thud onto the floor
as if being catapulted
from cumulonimbus peaks,
causing the Iceberg lettuce
to almost drown in its own
dressing.
Lady Liberty,
a series of
produce section fragments
sitting much too sternly
with no regard for sprawling.
In the same bowl, though!
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:52 AM UTC
( a vision dream )
1
Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
*And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.*
2
Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a seamen’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
*And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.*
3
Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
*And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.*
4
Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
*And the doomed, they are crying . . .
****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”*
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
I am the mask, satin-smooth,
As fine as gossamer silk.
I glide like a veil of falling snow
Over cracks, over fissures
Filling every nook and cranny
That mars this blemished world.
Beneath the gaze of man,
I am an enigma, a subtle glamour.
I am the rosy hue of the ripest apples,
A painted glance that cuts to the heart.
I am both light and darkness,
The faint memory of a kiss.
I am a thing of perfection
But only look – never touch!
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG
1
Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.
2
Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a seamen’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.
3
Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.
4
Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the doomed, they are crying . . .
****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
You once asked me why I love you.
The mascara of curiosity outlined the questioning glare of your eyes, and your fruity scented lipgloss covered your worrisome words with a hint of doubt – and strawberries.
And just as I was about to pluck the ripest answer from the back of my mind you interrupted me and planted seeds of insecurity you so desperately try to force under the earth – away from the eyes of those who live above it.
You remind me of the way you push me away whenever the going gets tough, even though together we're tougher than anything rough, pushing back harder than any kind of force that you apply on me whenever I'd ask, "What's wrong?"
You remind me of the way you cling to me like magnets on a fridge,
of the way you can't hold much of a conversation because you're awfully shy,
Of the way your interests differ from mine,
Of the way your smile lacks luster compared to other girls' smiles.
So I remind you, that whenever you'd push me away I'd pull you in even closer,
that my hands cling on to your waist, like magnets on a fridge,
and that we'd stand there with me embracing you, and silence embracing us, because worrying about words to say would only get in the way of me appreciating what's in my arms,
I remind you that my interest in kissing you, differs in your interest in kissing me.
And that your interest in my smile differs from my interest in your smile, unique and perfect on you and simply only you,
Never will it fit better on anyone else.
So you ask, and I reply,
The answer is quite simple love,
My heart is forever yours, because all of the above.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
alien
and
surreal
like
picking the ripest mango,
slow dancing under the brightest stars,
lighting candles in the backyard,
tiptoeing on creaky wood floors,
searching for ghosts in old white houses,
staring at the sun too long,
running down empty roads in the middle of the night,
smiling at the most inappropriate times,
swimming with the moon,
finding someone else’s eyes in a crowded room,
empty rocking chairs,
bellyaching laughs,
aviator sunglasses,
twenty hour car rides,
endless stretch of field
and the best of joni mitchell
your mind
is in a punch bowl
floating,
drunk and dizzy
and
as light as a balloon
your heart,
is licking old wounds
and tearing off ****** bandages,
ready for war once again
your mind blows a fuse
and there’s an earthquake in your chest
that little solider in there
no matter how broken and depressed
always seems to know
exactly what is best
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 3:20 AM UTC
Perfect?
No.
Not me.
I'm not afraid
To admit it.
I'm not like
The others.
I don't prance around
Telling everyone
I'm better than them.
It's not my place.
It never will be.
I accept
Being surpassed by others.
Who am I
To judge people?
Nobody.
Perfect?
Nope.
Not this girl.
I'm not some
Straight A student.
I'm not some
Proper princess either.
I may not be
Perfect.
But at least
I speak the truth,
Even when my
Voice trembles.
I am who I am.
You don't like it?
Not my problem.
I accept
Not being the popular kid.
I accept
Not being liked by everyone.
I can be
The ripest most juciest
Peach in the basket.
But I know
There will always be somone
Who doesn't like peaches.
I can't stop things
Like that.
I have flaws.
That is the way it is.
I may not be
Perfect.
But I try
The very best I can
To be
Me.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
Unfelt unheard, unseen,
I've left my little queen,
Her languid arms in silver slumber lying:
Ah! through their nestling touch,
Who---who could tell how much
There is for madness---cruel, or complying?
Those faery lids how sleek!
Those lips how moist!---they speak,
In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds:
Into my fancy's ear
Melting a burden dear,
How "Love doth know no fulness, nor no bounds."
True!---tender monitors!
I bend unto your laws:
This sweetest day for dalliance was born!
So, without more ado,
I'll feel my heaven anew,
For all the blushing of the hasty morn.
1.6k
Why did we meet?
Wanted love but I'm faced with defeat
Souls confront at the moment of separation
Hours of captivation lured my makeup to sedation
Homecoming brought aspiration for our unities firm imminents
But elapsed time left liberty for another's feelings of intense sentiment
Fortune brought the tides of our fates to fasten in sync anew
For the light of your sheath left my lips to never mutter another adieu
Lack of presence molded every ambition to conclude with you
Fondness for your heart carved no room for our courting to undo
Your very structure reproduced in facsimile to my psyche
Bountiful love influx my spirit bounding my soul from defying
Uncontrollable passion awaited the culmination of my hour exile
Expecting the ripest of the body but faced with something more juvenile
Incandescent feelings brings pain to my mind, body, and soul
Waiting patiently for these long awaited feelings to unfold
Into heartless darkness robes of a man without compassion
Or someone unlovable but masked with false face of a former gentleman's attraction
Forced the realization true love is not attained through a man's unchangeable chivalry
But a savage bleak mind that seeps more and more through open pores unwillingly
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:01 PM UTC
*I forget what speaks louder of you;
if it is the hunger of my lips
longing to kiss you
or the kiss waiting discretely
to be born from yours
swaying on the verge of vulnerability
I forget if it is the kiss
that tender
and irresistible
becomes unbreakable;
your soul’s assent
or if it is the words in note
the morning writes and you erase
in an innocent attempt to
hesitate your truth
pausing at its tip
or the shrug
off your left shoulder blade
that briefly masks your will
before it is abandoned
at the edge of quiet moments
when you heed without refrain
It is the candidness of silence wept
to carry the ripest, sweetest kiss
onto my wanting lips
without disturbing yours
in truth
unrelentingly
and quietly insatiable*
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
here mid the ripest, rawest thoughts
we touch the silk smooth skin of
luscious fruited feasts to come
my feet are barely placed to dance
such mischief needs in teasing taste -
that call of honeyed saffron sway
breeze blows the heady mix of
man and mate, full awed of now
on bed daubed sweet in midnight's stir
the blade awaits its stealthy move,
soft sighs, then powders space to dust
and, sighing low, we start to melt
our table set and scented tallow lit
stars gasp full argent paused applause,
we wait, anticipate.. and eat yet more
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG
1
Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.
2
Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a seamen’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.
3
Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.
4
Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.
And the doomed, they are crying . . .
****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 1:18 PM UTC
Wherever I maybe,
in the front porch, in my back garden,
reading a book,or for a walk,
on beige soft powdered sands,
picking pebbles on the beach,
as crushed corals brush my feet,
I shall remember you!
Gazing with my caramel eyes
in the vast blue serene seas,
I shall think of you!
a soft sweet whisper,
in the wafting wind breeze,
a dew drop in silent streams.
Wherever you maybe!
reading the newspaper,
scenting the morning aroma
Of fresh coffee beans
gardening,planting tomato seeds,
Or lyin'in the balcony of dreams,
You shall remember me!
a playful wild white daisy,
sleepin'on a hammock,
of crisped auburn leaves.
In your absence,I shall call your name!
In my distance,you'd yearn,for my touch !
In Seperate lands,We loose each other,
Yet lives the memory,of when we hugged,
Of when we kissed the richest soil,
Of when we ****** the ripest fruit,
Long lives the memory, Of when we Loved.
(To the man in my dreams)
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 11:59 PM UTC
The caller
The one I speak of stands within castle walls dark and brooding from these walls unfurled banners hang a night’s honor it proclaims
From this far distant land your words of honor and tender love have reached many were the miles and time was breached
The tree tops sway down the valley across the glen on the wind his spirit does descend up to your amber lighted window framed
Opened heart this threshold he does cross into quiet deep shadows the mixture floral dreams pervade to you his honor laid
Whatever his vesture before now a kingly crown your words bestow an ethereal garland placed with tender fingers it does announce
Go forth to the garden it holds wonder and beauty far short of loves glory but the best place for a back drop set within this gazebo
Gaze into the fondest softest light among the great cherished gifts of this life and know that you are its crown all else you renounce
A great king of kings made it so relish your position your words are excepted they create favor and honor in the highest realm
A man is short and lost until the woman he finds that will be his bride his very power to reach and fulfill his potential glory
You walk and at times forget your place you forget you are the very embrace of the long sought out and needed grace
Soft as distant thunder you hair truly your glory splendor falls as tender as joy felt tears the ripest repine this scene’s unfolded story
Walk hand in hand under white cloudy skies as beautiful as your white flowing wedding gown on that memorable day relive it
Days press on they hold you together trees of honey suckle jasmine sweetest magnolia jump to mind just beyond the terrace
The grounds pass to the pond of rich waters where you reflection in the glinting sunlight finally shows more than a picture
Rarest climes you pass into engulfed you float in bliss first brought about from a kiss remember this treasured caress
These are the thoughts of your beloved I just put into words for him and you the words of a husband’s thankfulness live it
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC