"sade" poems
Nature is everything that wasn’t created by man,
It cannot be controlled by anyone.
I admire the beautiful trees that sway from left to right,
And the delightful blue sea that is filled with marine life.
I admire waking up every day to an amazing sunrise,
And going to bed to a charming sunset.
I admire being a part of a world so bright,
But wait,
I can’t forget about the night, the moon, and the stars that are ever so bright.
I admire the cool breeze giving me goosebumps.
I admire the gentle flowing of rivers and waterfalls that makes me meditate,
It reminds me to never build feelings such as hate.
I admire how nature takes care of itself and mankind,
I surely cannot tell nature it has its time.
Nature is everything that wasn’t created by man,
It cannot be controlled by anyone.
I admire that nature is always going to be there,
And because of that,
I admire the fact that nature truly do care.
Sade Rowland
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 12:49 PM UTC
How can my eyes hunger for tormentors bodies
where in my soul can I find desires for sadists
Eves threw on fitted coats of Marquis de Sade
borrowed his manuals and added even more pages
pierced the heart of a Dove defending his nest with lethal pins
And in joyous indignities with devilment aplomp
they reclined and crackled in wanton doltishness
He thinks of and desires us and wants to make amor with us
How can a heart marinated in love truely sincere
a soul ready to die rather than any harm to Eves
Be mother or sister or perchance even a stranger
alas in utter ********** and grotesque situation dire
Come undone with healthy pristine heart ripped to pieces
hung drawn and quartered and sliced in tiny morsels
Like fish baits for mice and minnows or hens clucking
All at the hands of Sirens who worshipped in Satan's cravens
How can a soul with only the spark of Salvation aglow
where it once housed his heart and enduring humanity
With brimful joy and devotions in fitting measures true
as all Eves where to him nowt but sisters and earth angels
Now his burning blood runs cold like rivelets in the Arctic
their words ring hollow and smiles shows rapiers of snakes
Nothing stirs desires for all Eves now seem and look like wicked corpses
Delilahs' wrecking vengeance on Samsons in wickedness supreme
[email protected] rights reserved
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
i like to turn into a girl once in a fortnight
after i just washed my hair...
and take a selfie!
then i read the fashion magazine alongside marquis de sade...
and it makes perfect sense to **** beauty like that...
well according to the marquis it does.
how's my hair? styled properly brushed to the side
long against anti-clockwise curtains of lock
that was propaganda with ****** adopting the charlie chaplin
moustache and people after ****** ensured confusion
whether to split it to the right rather than the left?
i’m right-handed, i need the power base of keratin on my cranium
hanging to the left!
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
It creeps up on me.
The sneaking suspicion
that I'm stuck
in it.
My hair is falling
in my face.
Only a year ago...
I built everything —
it was so clear.
Even though —
it was chaos.
People were worried.
But it was simple.
It was as simple
as simmering sausage
in a saucepan,
sweating in a brick kitchen,
listening to Sade,
and thinking of rooftops.
Things are more grounded now.
People are less worried.
The kitchen is smaller,
and shared.
I turn down Sade
when someone enters.
I'm still sweating,
but it's because something
is wrong with the heating system.
I long to take
an anonymous walk
between buildings.
There are only
neighborhoods
and shopping centers here.
And I keep running
into people who know me.
It's either too cold or too hot —
It's never summer every day.
Everything that was hanging on
my walls
is on the floor.
Precious paintings and prints
dusting with potential.
I reveal myself
less to strangers.
I don't take public transportation.
It's disconcerting how
comfortable having a vehicle is.
I feel urged to uproot,
swinging in someone
else's hands,
but feel like..
I'm interrupting.
Can't I just arrive for awhile?
My safety net is too big
and my home is too small.
But if I abandon it,
I'll wonder if I'm bound
to be restless.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved.
Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking for others! My manner of thinking stems straight from my considered reflections: it holds with my existence, with the way I am made. It is not in my power to alter it; and were it, I’d not do so. These manners of thinking you find fault with is my sole consolation in life; it alleviates all my sufferings in prison, it composes all my pleasures in the world outside; it is dearer to me than life itself. Not my manner of thinking but the manner of thinking of others has been the source of my unhappiness. The reasoning man who scorns the prejudices of simpletons necessarily becomes the enemy of simpletons; he must expect as much, and laugh at the inevitable. A traveler journeys along a fine road. It has been strewn with traps. He falls into one. Do you say it is the traveler's fault, or that of the scoundrel who lays the trap? If then, as you tell me are willing to restore my liberty if I am willing to pay for it by the sacrifice of my principles or my tastes, we may bid one another an eternal adieu, for rather than part with those, I would sacrifice a thousand lives and a thousand liberties, if I had them. These principals and these tastes, I am their fanatic adherent; and fanaticism in me is the product of persecutions I have endured from my tyrants. The longer they continue their vexations, the deeper they root my principles in my heart, and I openly declare that no one need talk to me of liberty if it is offered to me only in return for their destruction.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
#18 | 31 Poems for August 2016
I want soulful conversations filled with happiness, love and laughter.
A little bit of red wine, Sade, Jill Scott and Erykah Badu will do.
Time is wasted so I patiently wait for the clock to get sober eventually.
The sincerity of my words is embedded in the movement of my verbs.
Hope you learn to love your thick thighs and those beautiful brown eyes.
I want to hold you in my arms until you forget what loneliness feels like.
I read your body like the pages and chapters of a novel that I never want to stop reading.
Reading the lines on a woman’s skin is poetry and too many men are illiterate.
So they will never truly understand the fact that liberty begins with literacy.
If you incorporate piano keys into my heartbeat, then I promise that you will fall in love with the melody.
I want soulful conversations filled with happiness, love and laughter.
A little bit of chardonnay, Maxwell, Jill Scott and Erykah Badu will do.
The world is nothing without you, the world is blurry without my muse.
Hope you learn to love your thick thighs and those beautiful brown eyes.
I don’t have much but I have you and with God on my side how can I lose?
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
Plumped rouge with pigment
her lip fills to graze the ********
intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade
autografted with ocular detachment
should a Marquis wish to harness
the song of the morning
within a bandolier of Seine
to ensnare any bustled Persephone
gilted by discharge of ions
into a ménage of torment
through the Porte des Lions.
Hers is the tincture of doxy
caramelized and debrided of naivety,
empowered by the eve of invention,
swollen to curves and grounded in Paris.
Illumination defies pervasion
down to every gear and pulley
she has hushed through mechanization
and lulled by steam,
swaging a cacophony of flickers
encased in glass by the Lady’s watch,
where every rivet of her plate glisters silken
reverberation in cascade,
elegant, caged, and towering,
outspoken in silence,
ever challenging the Champ de Mars.
"Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books. Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528). Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
Women of the ROK [South Korea]
unite to protest the rash of digital camera
up-skirting, hidden toilet cams & dressing
room holes by an avant-garde subculture
whose sole aim is to redefine beauty from
the bottom up; tearing down the old order
of mere very pretty faces for the surprise
the unseen; online ******* poets who wax
romantically; over South Korean women
who wear the shortest skirts of any westernized
Asian country; therefore, where the average woman
is expected to be above average, what could be
better than a possible *** or period stain; [ ],
Rupi Koar laid the foundation [her soiled garments
stinking of Canadian Desi BO; dreaming wistfully
of the blossoming cherry-trees in the hidden grove,
streams of crystalline blood threading through
the golden grass; (dead as if she was [Sleeping
Beauty (on the toilet)]) & w/ healthy [or unhealthy]
doses of Baudelaire, Swinburne, Poe, Sade & Wilde;
this new school of poets celebrating female underwear
& bottoms & beyond; what could future generations
make of various Internet pseudo-intellectual movements
all coalescing into a monolithic computer culture driven
by the embarrassment & shame of its female members
& their ***** backsides & underwear; essentially odes on
her laundry basket, odes on her farts, odes on her leavings,
odes on her mother's droppings & leavings,
& her grandmothers' mothers leavings;
South Korean women are the original race,
their intestine driven by pure lust
[a South Korean woman's soul is in her belly]
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
Names are funny.
Have you ever wondered what your name would be if your parents didn't name you?
I'm one of the lucky few
that know.
If my parents didn't name me,
my name would be
Timothy.
You see, apparently,
when two people love each other,
Mommy cheats on Donny
with daddy and all three
demonize the baby.
Unfortunately,
abortion isn't an option.
Poor Donny believes
his little Johnson
made a tiny Willie
but really
it's Mike's Rick.
The trick wasn't revealed
until
Donny signed the birth certificate.
Obviously, Karen's husband abandoned their family.
Mike ripped his love from her and gave it to Dominique.
Karen,
twice-scorned,
mid-divorce,
postpartum,
decides a shelter isn't suitable for a nameless infant.
At this point, it's a little too late for abortion.
Nowhere to go,
knowing she can't stay,
Adoption became the practical option.
The noxious auction caused a nauseous reaction to her conscious. Karen picked the option, least pompus, with the most promise. An intuitively honest Christian was brought to her room so she could sign the synopsis.
As she's reviewing the terms of this blood oath, she glances at both of the parents cradling her second baby boy. They turn and ask
"What is his name?"
"I don't know. I thought he was going to be a she so I had the name Sade."
"That's ok, we have a perfect name in mind. Timothy."
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:26 PM UTC
I, naive
I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain
Thought those rays of sun weren't burning
I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now
Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things
No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves
When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--
The lowly philosopher-king
Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life
Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night
And every other Friday night
Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"
Slowed down for full potential
Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this
Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling
"Love, how much I'd love to be. "
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
I want that kinda love like the way Obama looks at Michelle
I want that kinda love Like Cinderella in her happliy ever after fairytale
I want that kinda love thats brings you Heaven in the mist of all hell
I want that kinda love thats gonna be there for you at the lowest point in your life when you fail.
I want that kinda love that if you start Looking into thier eyes you will be put under a spell
I want that kind of love that Feeds your mind knowlege until you both feel Faded.
I want That kinda of love that takes you high and gets your spirit Elevated
I want That kinda of love that keeps you going and movatived.
I want That kinda love where you keep on all your clothes but still be exposed like your naked.
I want That kind of love thats scared
Yes that kinda of love.
I want that kinda love Fitting me like a cold hand to warm glove
I want That kinda Love expressed through the lycis that Jill Scott sings,
That kinda love of how much joy and life loves brings
That kind of love Manifesting the many blessings
That India Arie Compassionate kinda love
That kindred Family soul kinda love
That make soul glow, and your spirit Grow kinda love
That poetic hip hop lauren Hill kinda love
That Vivian and Uncle Phil, Jada and Will kinda love
Yes That Kinda Love
As it Washes away my pain and let me dance in your love like the Summer rain
Kissed by a rose kinda love
Let's Cherish the day as if were are lyrics to the music sung by Sade.
Old school R&B; kinda of love
That Smooth Jazz kem music kinda love
That maxwell fortunate kinda love
That Babyface Whip Appeal so I know its real kinda love
That Cliff and Clair Huxtable Honorable and responsible Kind of love.
That Unlimited, Unconditinal, Uncommon Kind of Love.
That Purpose driven,
On a Mission,
Bringing The vision to fruition
kinda love
1 Corinthians 13 kind of love
You'll be My King and Ill be you Queen kinda of love
That Hebrew Royalty
Showing loyalty kinda love
I want that nourish your soul like Grandmas Homemade Turkey and biscuits casserole kinda love.
I want that Acts 6:3 kind of man with faith, prayer, and a plan.
I want a God fearing man who genuinely understands.
I want a Relationship like Boaz and Ruth,
Taking the journey together living in the Truth
I want a love that will fight for me just as Jocob did For Racheal and I promise I'll always be faithful.
Let it be Pleasing to God's sight just as Leah
But yet As wise As Solomon and The Queen of Sheba kinda love
I want that 1 John 3:18 Kind of love
That Unforseen kinda Love
As we Build like Noah and Nehemiah,
But Weep together like Jeremiah kinda of love
I want that Serve like Sammuel
And Pray like Daniel Kinda of love.
That love me like Christ Kinda of Love.
Yes That is my Kinda of love.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
ek is moeg
en ek will alles
uitspoeg
al die omkraplikheid
al die stres
al die frustrasie
ek wil rus
op eilande
van verwonder
sade saai
met vrede
i am tired
and i want to spit
everything out
all the discomfort
all the stress
all the frustration
i want to rest
on islands
of wonder
sow seeds
with peace
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 8:55 PM UTC
1 am
I spent this hour getting drunk texts from a friend
she's the weepy kinda drunk and her spelling mistakes didn't end
I mean she's a great person but the bottle sees the opposite
2am
Went to get a midnight snack
made myself a sandwich because obviously I don't get any a--
peanut butter and honey
yes it tasted yummy
3am
and I'm still lonely
I've been listening to sade and her voice got me chilled out and *****
Mulled over a **** Sunday addition
started to toss and turn
with alarming rhythm and precision
4am
finally went to sleep
dreamt of my gf laying beside me
me just holding her like a teddy bear in a warm embrace
her loving lips locked with mine in a tender embrace
I was sleepless in Chicago for several hours last night
it might've been the cold I have, but I woke up not feeling too bright
now it's 11 34 and I'm trying to nap
maybe tonight I won't fall into insomnias trap
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
as ek klaar in when i have finished
die oomblik verdrink het drowning in the moment
kan ek i can
asem skep draw breath
in die diepte in the depths
van my siel of my soul
is daar ruimte there is space
om te groei to grow
en die sade and the seeds
wat ek saai that i sow
sal vrugte gee will give fruit
as ek elke vrug with each fruit i
pluk pick
sal daar groot there will be great
tevredenheid satisfaction
ontwikkel developing
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
Sent his woman a letter in French.
In obsession, The Marquis De Sade.
As in thy passion thy ***** thou didst wrench.
Thy being held high in disregard.
Obsessed with the perverse.
Creator of ******* slavery cruel.
Written his violence as ****** curse.
This power crazed man did his harem rule.
In ******* and pains.
Lashed up in a gimps.
Whipping with chains.
Wants lots of dosh, wishes of pimps.
Modern day tale of the Marquis De Sade.
A cruel ******* whose *** was hard.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
. revolution?!
what revolution?!
i can't see a guillotine!
****
hey! guys! there's no guillotine!
there's no talk
of a revolution
when there's no guillotine...
your talk of, a, "revolution"
would make Marquis de Sade
cringe,
and shout down a toilet
than out of window
of the Bastille..
this isn't a revolution,
it's on;ly 2018....
you have to wait!
why are tthe people so slothful,
yet at the same time,
eager, to work?
we're looking at "changes"
come 2045...
the year...
that apparently stabilized
the 2th0 century for
20 / 30 / 40 / 5...
no...
let's keep it with
sucker-punch Billy...
i love being a drunk...
makes all the sober
people look...
******* stupid;
and i don't even mean that....
it's just a military
fatigue...
it akin to:
coulrophobia...
yeah... big time... women making
excursions
for fatigued wool and silk
dresses...
one question does the job...
*honey, can i play the clown
at our honey- berry's birthday
party?*
do women go into
mascara parlors,
window shopping,
with a man tagging along?
honey...
do you really need me to tag along
while you shop for
make-up chemical
parade of tested adherents
for your beauty of your
expectation of fur...
Mike and Moany - the gerbils...
i thought you liked them?
no...
i can do the sheered
woolen artifacts...
when it comes to spreading
lipstick on frogs
and testing their
pyrotechnic susceptibility potential...
watching the Mike Myers' twins...
no... really...
count me out of
the necessity to make
an argument for a race...
i'm out...
done...
i never liked the English
existentialist argument to begin with...
too individualistic,
too finite...
too much of:
enjoying a hell
of a good time...
it's a simple economic logic
focus...
what you're selling?
i'm not buying.
it's that simple!
i don't have to buy what you're
selling!
stand with it all stacked up...
i'm not buying!
somehow i think
the English intellectuals
forgot the basic principles...
i'm, not, buying!
savvy?
god... ugh...
i know the French are bad...
about their oversee of diacritical
application,
and how they make no
sense when syllables
come into play...
and the Germans... yeah yeah...
i get their scrutiny of
method and dedication...
their teutonic charge within
the confines of ******** screws
into place...
but i'm still not seeing
an clearer...
there's talk of a revolution
in the English tongue...
so...
where's the guillotine?!
oh...
so...
what revolution?!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
Her kisses leave me breathless
My ***** swell in her presence
I can’t resist her essence
I fein for her acquaintance
Feb 11, 2022
Feb 11, 2022 at 7:14 PM UTC
Music is my Muse
From the funky jazz tempo
To the sounds of salsa
From the classical rock
To the alternative basses
From the Opera Lady's bellow
To the Tenors solo
From the 80's slow jamz
To them 50's swinging bands,
To them country folk songs
To those old folks blues
Music is my Muse,
My inspiration,
Being Black&Puerto; Rican
I- A NuYorican,
I've heard the best tunes,
Bahchata's & Merengue,
Bailes La Cumbias,
Like Macr Anthony &
oh how he sang to me,
My wanting
to rock with you like
Micheal Jackson-
To Vanilla's
Ice Ice Baby,
It's yo thang do what you wanna do,
Candy coated Rain drops
By Soul For Real,
& When will I see you Again-
Babyface
Until I muse
in my amusement
When Tim McGraw
Sanged don't take the girl,
Reba "Asking Does
He love me like
he's been loving YOU",
To its my prerogative
Like Bobbi Brown said,
Let not for get
Johnny Cash,
Or what About them
O'Jays
Yeah my muse is musical-
Music and thinking artfully
coincides with one another,
with breathing and eating
Rhyme & Rhythm linguistics
even as we walk down the street
or cruising
while jamming in ya car,
LL Cool J said Cars drive
by with the booming Systems-
AH Push it was
My jam back in the day
R&B; Was mostly what I liked
But growing Up
I started listening to
Rock & Hip Hop,
Got drunk off those sweet
Monster Ballads
while Making love
to Sade,
Sung All Cried Out
at my graduation party,
Tony Toni Tone
Made Us-FEEL GOOD YEAH
at all them block parties
back in NYC,
Now
I listen to everything
going on 33
heard it through the grape vine
that YOU share
a likeness in this Musing?
Music is My Muse.
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
It’s what I can’t imagine
That keeps my eyes peeled
Glued to seat
Everyone in denial
And maybe that’s the worst part
Pretending.
We bury the dead
Celebrate creation
Is there somewhere else
Beyond these concerns?
Trust is a funny concept
We trust we will wake up tomorrow
And the sun rise
We trust in god
How ridiculous
She hates me because
She loves me
Her extraordinary brilliance
We might have found genius together
Separated, we’re simply hopeful remnants
Ok, here’s a joke
Adam: “What are you eating?”
Eve: “Snake gave it to me”
Adam: “The snake?”
Eve: (palms open reaching out) “We didn’t **** I swear”
Acceptance beyond understanding
Beyond morality
Because there is no other choice
It’s what I can’t imagine
That arrests me
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
The Marquis de Sade was dead keen on ******
And thought those who weren't deserved a lobotomy;
He ******* all his friends both from the back and the front
So on his gravestone they wrote, "Here lies a right ***** ************* ****
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
The Marquis de Sade was dead keen on ******
And thought anyone who wasn't needed a lobotomy;
He ******* all his friends both from the back and the front
So on his gravestone they wrote, "Here lies a right ****
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:03 PM UTC
*and i too thought the english banknotes were big,
but by god... have you seen imperial russian's
banknotes?! you could wipe you entire **** with one.*
no, i don't own an imperial russia's
banknote,
or a kopek dating pre 20th century
that Dostoevsky might have used to
gamble,
no, i don't own an imperial russia's
banknote with tsar Nicholas the 2nd's
face on it;
you can rob me all you want,
i think the banknote to be cursed...
a cursed luck of lost reason and logic...
but when i look at that all familiar face
and stare into the ageing face of elizabeth the 2nd...
i see papered ****** gravitating
to forfeit a chance of excelling in Olympics...
Olympics indeed, of muscles turned
into oyster mush... about to be exercised
in breathing exercises of forgotten
oxygen toxins...
no... i don't own imperial russia's banknote
with Tsar Nicholas 2nd's face on it;
i did tell you my maternal great-grandfather
spoke 7 languages, didn't i?
only bothersome and subsequently fake
nobleness stresses its point...
the true aristocrats suffer with enforced
ailments that only breed an exaggerated libido,
to quote myself... *i'd **** anything that moves
within the framework of the trinity of mouth
**** and **** my ******** are always
goosebumps frolicking to a tingle and i
just want to relax with an unloading of the content,*
i didn't read marquis de sade for no reason,
other than the quoted bibliography of
the marquis himself, having read books
using only one arm, with the other...
"making bookmarks", ha.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
I GAVE YOU ALL I HAD TO GIVE, STILL YOU WANTED MORE
YOU STOLE THE VERY HEART RIGHT OUT OF ME.
I LIVED AND BREATHED AND DRESSED FOR YOU, AND EVEN UNDRESSED
FOR YOU. NOW, THERE'S JUST ONE THING YOU MUST DO
IT'S SO HARD TO ADMIT TO THIS MISTAKE
TRUE CONFESSIONS OF A ROYAL RAKE
AT TIMES YOU WERE SO VERY ODD
A VALENTINO, A MARQUIS DE SADE
I GOT CUT UP IN YOUR ONE-WAY GAME
I'VE GOT NO ONE ELSE BUT MYSELF TO BLAME
I'LL GET BACK AT YOU, SOMEDAY YOU'LL PAY
BUT FOR NOW I CAN ONLY PRAY THAT YOU'LL
PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT, THE LOVE YOU TOOK FROM ME
PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT, MY HEART'S IN MISERY
PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT, THE LIFE YOU TOOK FROM ME
IT'S SO HARD FOR ME TO LIVE WITHOUT, WHAT YOU TOOK SO EASILY
YOURS IS THE KIND TO TAKE CONTROL
A THIEF OF LOVE WITHOUT A SOUL
RETURN MY HEART AND TAKE THESE BLUES
THERE'S NO USE KEEPING WHAT YOU CAN'T USE
I'VE KNOWN LOTS OF GUYS BUT YOU'RE UNIQUE
THE WAY YOU HYPNOTIZE AND YOUR MYSTIQUE
I FELL FOR YOUR SCENT, AN APHRODISIAC
BUT YOUR JUST A CLEVER KLEPTOMANIAC SO...
PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT, THE LOVE YOU TOOK FROM ME
PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT, MY HEART'S IN MISERY
PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT, THE LIFE YOU TOOK FROM ME
IT'S SO HARD FOR ME TO LIVE WITHOUT, WHAT YOU TOOK SO EASILY
THE BEST THING IN MY LIFE THAT I COULD EVER DO WOULD BE TO
SIMPLY STAY AWAY FROM YOU, BUT I CAN'T AS LONG
AS YOU HAVE THAT DIVINE PART OF WHAT WAS ONCE MINE
SO I'M ASKING YOU PLEASE, JUST PUT IT BACK!
David John Clare ©In Perpetuity ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Clairvoyant Music / BMI
http://www.mynoisyplanet.com/davidjohnclare
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:12 AM UTC
I was thinking, as I sat here. Vanilla cream scent filling the room, rain drops sweetly kissing my window... Butterfly kisses--it's like strange but that's, how I see the rain. Soft music flowing in the back-ground; Sade... Makes me want to get down. Bring-out... the **** me, or maybe this is how it's suppose to be. I was thinking, Like the moon I rise for you; You set me like the sun, in the middle of Spring-time--- tender breezes easy... I unwind. Like a gazelle... Graceful, Wild, **** Fast, and Free; Hot-as- Fire... turned-on, Yeah! That's we. Moving in and out of time, gentle- touches sweet as wine...or honey smooth as butter are your lips, rose pedals blossoms as you sway your hips. I was thinking about the taste of the nectar beneath your waist; hidden wild flowers calling out for April showers. Gently- Kissing the mouth of your gate, tongue moving slowly as passion escapes. Moans of pleasure, waves of ecstasy, an you shower me with your rain; something not like the rain... on my window pane. I was thinking, Black-Rose standing strong , hard as the wind on a winter's night... I enter your garden now wet with rain, riding waves of passion-- you... screaming my name; as one we explode. A soothing release, Like after a war-mmmmmm.....Sweet peace. I was just thinking, must have gotten taken away but... I'm just remembering yesterday. Yeah! How sweetttttt!!! I was thinking.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
and it was as if
the entire universe
shrank to the size
of a microscopic dot
and found its niche
perched atop
my chest
there it lingers
spinning
at once
an unstoppable force
and an immovable object
a paradox of
time and space
void
a black hole the
size of a quark
swallowing everyone and
everything with an
appetite unlike anything
anyone in the galaxy
had ever seen
so complete was its
crushing gravity that
nothing escaped its grasp
neither fire
nor ash
not life
not death
its emptiness was total
it gobbled up the light
and garbled what mangled
remnants of hope remained
contracting on the event
horizon's scope before
digesting the detritus
in a series of
torturous depravities that
would make even
Marquis de Sade
tremble with a mix
of shock and awe
in his padded cell as
he begged a nonexistent
god for forgiveness
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC