"savored" poems
In his arms,
feeling his embrace,
she felt safe.
The right words,
at the right time,
at the perfect place.
Her eyes captivated
by his handsome face.
His hands gently placed,
around her tiny waist.
Two strangers,
eye to eye
as they come
face to face
Her lipstick
as their mouths taste
each other for the first time
a memory that will last a life time
a flavor savored by his body soul and mind
he made her body his temple
and she made his body her shrine.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
Both can ****
The only difference is
Cigarettes shatter lungs
She shatters everything
I remembered the first moment
my lips pressed the filter
as I lit it up breathed it all
savored every smoke
as if we covered up painful lies
in a container of painkillers
The same way
we used to pressed our lips
sparked something between us
savored every moment we had
as if our love was a rose
in a valley of tulips
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
A black crow's darting eyes
spans the wheat field
and an orange pumpkin patch.
She sees
tall grasses of brown
seedlings,
bristling in the wind,
soon to be bushels of grain
and a pumpkin pie that she never savored.
She sits, atop her tree perch,
at times warm and storybook,
hidden by tree branches,
and at times out of harm's way
and infamy.
Her friends, the sun, and clouds in concert,
dancing along.
Her other friends bring alms and smiles.
Life is so good at times.
Down the road sits a mill
next to a waterfall
and a cabin,
with reindeer horns
hanging above the doorway.
She is in her element, happy,
carrying for her nestlings.
Back and forth her parental eyes dart
the hilly fields, a smoked filled chimney, and her babies,
all crawling with sustenance and awe.
Storybook.
A mother feeding a worm to her baby.
Storybook.
Off to her side is not a blind eye
watching her,
scary stick figures of
straw tucked under red shirts and hats,
with a tied tinfoil strips dotting
her eyes and tease.
Scarecrows, cease.
At times life is good nature, hand in hand,
knock on wood.
If only life could be circumspect.
Than darkness filling the light
and a stutter of life.
For a sad page is turned,
pause
... tears.
Then, feathers fall.
Hers.
The sound of a thud.
Silence and tears of her friend's swelling.
A baby's cry, missing her mother.
More orphaned tears.
Who would be this despicable?
On that rogue day.
A kick of a donkey,
an ***
one bad rock on her path,
breaks the air,
as three little elementary kids were walking along
to school.
One, me, with a rock in his hand,
taking aim at her perch
and the death of the black crow's pages.
I confess.
... Bless me, Father, for I have sinned
it has been fifty years since
my last confession ...
a Tom Sawyer-like childhood gone worse.
I repent.
Some fifty years later I think of those first cairns,
including stealing the reindeer horns and milling
my brother and sister's storybook.
Waterfalls
stream tears, and a sorry boat
rowed downstream
sadly
thereafter.
Logan Robertson
7/25/2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:02 PM UTC
He wrote of the light of the world,
a testament, a lamp to illuminate
the place from which he came —
I saw his lighthouse coalesce
out of the cloaking mist, its blade
shearing the sheath of darkness.
I inhaled the dusk bloom scent
- Four O’Clock Flower, Poinsettia, Frangipani -
beguiled by a road, undeterred
by calls in the night, the rain, the unknown way.
I sang with one thousand night-drunk tree frogs
proclaiming an equatorial cycle to the stars,
choristers intoning a chant of existence.
I rode balanced between
the cycling engine's torque and the
reflective cast of my foreign skin.
I felt the grip of ignominy constrict the stir
of my drink, amongst hands toasting
the crush of entitlement’s bearing.
I walked where people dwell, and stop
to greet and tell news of the market
or of their nets, bearing the sea’s returns.
I savored the song in his speech,
a seasoned stew, unshackling the tongue
to ring like the steel of a drum —
a tapestry unfurled: a world
paced by sirens of wind and wave,
embroidered on the earthbound side
of heaven's abiding blanket.
Copyright © 2017 Gary Brocks
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC
*towering gently overflowing with heightened awareness
subtle hints of blade’s keen glittering chiseled edges
untamed rugged surface powerfully averts gale’s acrid tempest
vigor pulsating that doth persuade the cloud’s reflections
if i shall not again embrace a meager glimpse; a demure echo
of thine towering mounts my soul shall ever suffer
my spirit soars with e'er one glance of thine majestic presence
replete with reminiscence seasons stir and beg thine tender mercies
to house the changing leaves at dusk of autumn’s auburn portraits
and give birth to crystal snow cascading peripherally in winter
which melding into spring then begs thy bluffs to cover
in soft amethyst of columbine blossoming first light of summer
‘tis not paramount to scale high aloft thine peaks in escalation
for small sheer glances stamp forever with imperial impressions
and ‘tho i’ve traveled ‘round and savored nature’s varied essence
none can compare thine evergreens laced in aspens nuance
my breath is gone and shan’t return ‘til in thy shadow casting
i stand and look upon thine hallowed face the rocky mountains
©2016 janetaylor
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
Day in, day out on the mind
All comes down to competition
Result of years of preparation.
In those seconds of restlessness
When the body can take no more
Dream of a medal reassure.
Will to succeed is eminent
Breathes through each atom and cell
To have what only a champion can smell.
In the spirit of sportsmanship
Fair play is to be endeavored
The performance to be savored.
Now is everything you pursued
Aspiring in the end
To proudly sing the national anthem.
A steep climb to that podium
Be the best that you can be
And have what only a winner can see.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
Your sun stroked fingers
smooth my dusted galaxies
spoiling orbiting blues
with swipes of stardust.
You kiss meteors, murmur
how you savored snippets
of Jupiter's moons in the
spaces of a poetic eclipse.
Adorning Saturn's rings
in your nebulous tombs,
rekindling your smile with
flames of lovers past.
The memory is still buried
within my core, a pounding
resonance that evokes the bloom
of summers kiss on Earth.
A welcome release for the
nights wandering stars.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
Hues of blue and gray
With a succulent sweetness
That begs to be savored
In the briny waters off the sea
They lead a life unseen
Scavengers in warm water
A lazy afternoon
Wire mesh and day old fish
Chicken necks on a string
Baited traps dropped in left in wait
Edgewater shallows and a lot of time
One by one they come
Chasing that string to the shore
One by one they come
Pull up the trap and catch what you can
Fill the bucket with sweetness
There is nothing quite like
A blue crab Saturday afternoon
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
I want my poetry to collect dust on the shelves until the pain is covered in layers of felt and can't be felt anymore
Wouldn't that be wonderful
And you-
When I'm gone-
You could take your elbow and polish the covers with your sleeve, wondering why it's hard to breathe when the mushroom clouds explode prematurely into your eyes, making you blind for a moment and unable to peek through the blinds of my ribcage to see if my heart still beats between the pages
Would you want to know if my soul could breathe between all of those layers of letters and lint from your sweaters that clung to me like meat hooks when we parted
Perhaps I write about those things
Perhaps these are premature ponderings, these thoughts of my heart
For I am not one to go unheard
I will write this poetry and it will sit
Fresh and cured and seasoned
Waiting in a meat house for a season
Until either you or I have the sense to eat these words
And come to terms with the fact that we missed our chance to be savored and loved-
Darling, I'm waiting.
For you.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
It was my birthday,
Sixty Five years turned to grey hair.
My love and I, and two old school
friends on a breezy Fall day.
Over Tea and a lovely frosted
three layer cake, we cajoled
and joked about our age,
all turned senior citizens that year.
And yet in truth, we all agreed,
none of us had ever been as happy as then.
The cake was sliced onto china plates,
Each piece served flat on it's cut side.
I noticed something then as we all
took our first bites.
Our forks all started at the thinnest corner,
on the bottom layer's side, gradually
excavating the two lower levels of fluffy
cake, saving the best for last, the top layer
where all the sweet frosting remained.
It occurred to me then that indeed life
is like a three layer cake, the last top layer
can indeed contain the sweetest bites.
That rather than gobbling life hurriedly whole
it should be savored more like patiently eating
and enjoying a three layer cake.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
I treated my skin like a goddess
Legs shaved, hands moisturized,
Any spot of acne scrubbed away and covered over with pale sheets
But I hid from my spine, like a snake always a few inches behind me, waiting to strike
This skin there was a poorly applied veneer,
Exaggerating the flaws it was meant to hide
The snake is in constant motion, waving an S up the core of my being,
Displaying my instability
It's curved, like the ridges of the Grand Canyon
Only more unnatural,
Un beautiful,
More like a line you tried to draw straight
Only when it wavered just a little too much, you threw it away and started over
I cannot start over
My snake drags venom along its body, instead of drooling it into a bite
And he is always biting,
So the skin on my back has never been touched
Never been pampered, or savored.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 10:48 PM UTC
On one of the myriad bays
along the Maine coast. Keep the holocaust
at bay I said to Dave because
you’ll spend all day gathering
2,000 calories and still be miserable hungry.
An undiminished population of humans is risible.
Black spruce and balsam fir,
you can eat the inner bark
in a starvation emergency.
There’s plenty of Cornus—bunchberry—
each orange pith around the stone
worth maybe a quarter calorie.
Lots of sarsparilla but the fruits
not out yet and to date I have not
savored one. Let’s see—dandelion
of course and huckleberry but
the most important source of sustenance
would be seaweed.
Learn your mushrooms! for the protein.
Accept the situation
come the apocalypse.
I struggle against my insignificance
but it would be better to struggle
against my ignorance.
Less effortlessness, more fishermanliness.
That’s the lesson of this Maine vacation
there’s a lot you can eat when in need—
the hips of roses and the pips of grasses.
And an endless supply of seaweed—
bladderwrack, dulse, kelp and thin green lettuce.
Sep 12, 2023
Sep 12, 2023 at 6:09 AM UTC
Sometimes
silence
is a gift
to be
savored.
~mce
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
there's blood drying under my nails and i can still taste the blood in my mouth
i keep scratching and clawing at myself
a self-induced appearance of leprosy without the actual disease
i'm biting my lips, my mouth, my nails
there are strips and chunks of my own flesh sticking in my throat
i guess you could say it's a bit ironic that i'm choking on myself, that i'm slowly turning myself inside out
maybe if i just scratch harder, scrape faster
(scratch and sniff but with flesh and blood)
god i need to see open wounds I need to open every single bump in my skin
i yank out my hair and eat the skin off my fingertips but it's ok i don't need it
i claw open the side of my face and i don't need it, i don't need any of it
i need to smell blood, to touch it, taste it
i tripped and scraped my knee open and let me tell you i savored that moment
i hate getting hurt but i love the aftermath
sore throbbing fingers and blood in my mouth that's what i live for
jesus bled from every pore and i envy him
i'm a monster but the only one i'm killing is myself so it doesn't really matter
i don't really matter
maybe if i scratch enough i'll dig a better person out of this skin and maybe they won't smell like death
maybe they will be whole and maybe they'll be able to stand it
one, two, three new scabs on my shoulders, my neck, my face
one, two, three scars on my arms, my legs, my back
i'm no vampire but i still need blood on my hands and it's sure as hell not innocent blood because it's mine
one of these days i'm going to fall apart and i mean that literally
gnawing on my own bones will take it's toll i'm going to collapse in a pile of my own organs and i'm going to enjoy it
it will smell like blood
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
This is because of you
the night falls as if slain by the sun, entwined are we.the salvation for which you sacrifice yourself flares once, then dies,devoured by a velvet ebon nothingness.all hope must surely perish.
your soul thrives no more.how could you tear us asunder?shadows surround us, crying,save us from ourselves.
Around, all around, the sinister creatures gather.My dread grows as the Dark One's touch falls against my naked soul.It severs me, and darkly my essence drips to the wicked earth that is my prison.In my madness I call your name while my doom takes my hand.Now alone, my cascade of tears falls upon bleeding eyes.
what have you ruined?a dark black shadowy cloud of betrayal as affections seep.once we savored paradise,untainted and wide-eyed,but your desire soured.a vengeful pool of bitterness -memories follow pain, follow hate,love bled dry.in a storm of vengeance,i still love you.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Think of all the kisses at airports,
Hearts rejoicing,
Tearful goodbyes,
These kisses are flavored,
Some sorrow, some joy,
But each one is savored
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
she wanted to paint over
the marks on her face
to create a blank canvas
so their eyes would not
drill holes into her pores.
but before she could paint,
two arms wrapped around her,
slowly turning her around.
her eyes were downcast
as he kissed her every mark.
"I love your constellations.
Please don't hide them,"
he gently whispered.
she pulled him closer,
leaning back onto the counter.
the brush fell to the ground
as they savored their sweet love.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 12:17 AM UTC
❝ while he runs from darkness
she purposefully turns off her light
he saves her flicker and makes it burn
like a california fire guided by his wind
she spreads through the mainland
curving through the hidden crevices of the world
her scorching heat;
felt and seen and adored
as he runs from the darkness,
her light continues to burn a fire blue
the shadows slowly melt away from her touch
and he feels her warmth and basks in it
she thought she has saved him from the monsters
she thought she has saved him enough to stop running
but the shadows crept back in
slowly, until it consumed him entirely
and off the ledge he went
her savior,
reduced to nothing but a pool of dusk
and emptiness
and sadness
she was but a flicker but he preserved her
a flicker which continued to burn in her heart
so she savored the beauty of his grey tones;
found and accepted his darkness
in all the bright places ❞
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 3:32 AM UTC
Our consciousness is often conjured in the noggin the way
pompously-starved college kids microwave Ramen: phenomen-
ally over-heated and eaten up unbelievably quick, wow, you’re a
genius, now you can hurry back to completing your awesome thesis!
Neatness!
But having burned your tongue, you vilely cursed inside
with words rougher than *** not knowing where they were from,
and flustered, said you were done; plus, **** it, this work is dumb.
Oh, freshman, if only you had savored dem noodles!
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 3:21 AM UTC
Fountain of youth runs in his veins,
The man who lives in Sycamore Keep.
His circadian clock had come to a halt,
Rather than rejoice, he sullenly weeps.
You would think that immortality is
The pinnacle of human existence,
All the time in the world and not a
Single malady to be of any resistance.
Yet there he sulks, the ageless man,
Cauterized by the turn of each century,
As loved ones breathe their last and
Become a parcel of his fractured memory.
But that is just the shell of his woes,
For even with all knowledge amassed,
He’s utterly aghast with the state of the
World unwilling to learn from the past.
Every crook and cranny explored,
Every experience well savored,
Now monotony for millennia to come,
His longing to live has ebbed and wavered.
I was told by the man of Sycamore Keep
That immortality is a curse so alluring.
Indeed, a hundred cultivated years is
Much better than hollow eons securing.
But sir, think of all the riches you’ve accrued
And mastery of all science and philosophies.
Who wouldn’t want to have the time to mark
The world and purge it from all its atrocities.
Say no more, interrupted the ageless man,
I applaud your idealism and optimistic delusion,
But you’re missing one essential element --
Even as immortals, we’d still be only human.
And to be human, is to be fallible. Let’s just say
That immortal fallibility will engender no good.
It'd be best to truncate our lifespan for the
Sake of our survival, yes truncate we should.
And that’s all I heard from the man of Sycamore Keep,
Who went on his way to his millennial weep.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
I feel it: that hardy rumble-
Melodic waves. That beat:
A hearty surge shifts, crumbles
Time’s thin ice sheet.
Melt.
Excited- a series of burst
quivers- sweet hormone floods.
Flames gathered- Flames dispersed
In rippled bouquets- Incandescent buds
Bloom.
Shimmer soft, gold arched sail
Breathe, ribbons dancing twist.
Float moment’s nervous inhale,
Pursed lips shiver, a subtle insist
Dealt.
Time’s tick rings a splendid quiet
Drags silent- seconds’ clever caught.
Tagged, weighed, a balanced diet
Slowly savored morsels, I ought
Consume.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Main and master goal
I stand in gaze
In a gaze that admires you
I stand in amaze
And wonder
And wonder why all these thoughts ponder
Why these thoughts take priority above all other
These thoughts of you
That has lit a liquid-oxygen combusted fire
And now I stand trapped
Trapped in this legitimate feeling of attraction
My concentration depleted
My heart weeps
Weeps for the dungeon I've fallen in
My heart weeps
It weeps like a waterfall
Tears that keep running down the face of my heart
Your voice that resonates in my soul
Like a viral infection that has pierced my heart
Your beauty has undressed these naked eyes
Now
The only thought I have is you
My heart has changed its pattern into...
Into a pattern that spells your Name
I close my eyes and echoed images live in the darkness of these shut eyes
Your voice has broken the silence in me
For I have savored it
You relentlessly entered my heart
Engraved your name on it
Slowly I'm tearing in the inside
I'm going insane
Pain, no!
Affectionate attraction, Yes!
A weeping heart I have
A weeping heart that is manifesting it all
As in my manifestation
I ought to be the leader of the nation inside me
The creator of my inner creation
Forgotten about the future
I live in the past of your creation
For all that entirely matters in the near future is:
My main and master mission
In vision with my main and master goal
Past the sleepless nights' tension
Past the deception of animations artificiality and into all reality
Past my minds permission; it's approval
Exceeding my potential but placing me in that position
Disregarding all competition
I stand and watch in 3rd person perspective
My heart has risen like dust
Even though it's dark my shadow has betrayed me; your smile shines through like lights rays
The visible weeping heart is translucent
My thoughts have become wishes
Wishes exceeding my boundaries of limits
Because my mission and master goal is for you to be mine...
By: Magnus Master Robinson
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC