"stokes" poems
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Draw me in pencil,
Draw me in chalk,
Draw me in bright colours,
Draw me with shades,
Or draw me paint brush
Stokes and all,
But if you draw me in your mind, do it so you never forget me at all.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
Born to the night in the cry of wolves,
We are….inked lovers spilling secrets, under velvet skies,
Shrouding the night in silver spools;
The season of silver silence, hangs upon shades of silken soul,
This midnight offering, a white entice;
My hair shimmers brightly, a wet fleece of gold, of shadow and starlight,
And shimmering hues, emerald and sapphire breathe kindred embers into the bellows of passion;
Challenging the flame that burns; entwined....
Whispered intrigue lays in the crescent of moon,
In an eminent blaze of sweetest surrender
Unborn whispers lie entwined with heated petals, silken;
We shiver....I shiver,
I am warm arms embraced;
Your lips hard yet soft against my side,
The feel of flesh warmed to a rising flame...
The long moon steps into midnight;
My ******* full of your hands as candles, pour hard against the ebon fall,
Luscious to the hush of soft smiles
Steeled eloquence flows in ribbon ripples;
Winter sown, blood quilled, in midnights cast;
Cloaked in beautiful, shadow's bed a bouquet of lacy foxglove...
Eyes closed and deep of breath,
Moistness seeps the sugared flower, and longing surges deep;
Shudder me wicked, drench me quick;
The wildness swirls inside as he moves like a shadow over my heart
His tongue eager to swim the gushing urge;
Touching, slick-slide, the soothe of smooth fingers slip past softness;
Lips cross, moist to moan me quick, sliding to quivers.
Thigh's whispering and heart pounding ,
Soft, the wind blows, tapping walls, fingers dancing
And shadow sways to moonlight...
Velvet-soft, the sweet of tongue's mesh,
Fire burning,
The tips of breast's aroused by the touch of a slow hand lover;
Your tongue gently rolls, wet and burning hot,
Hungrily, it feeds diving deep, and sandalwood spires upon the malachite air,
And burning murmurs the silent song, pleasures
Your flame to touch me hot, softly hard,
Against the darting quivering rose, stokes sweet, the flame of conjure....
I weep as you strain to slay this huntress of indolent submission;
Descending into darkness, I squirm upon your touch, lifting my altar upon your hunger,
Eyes lost to ecstasy, the flow quickens from abyssal moans;
Overflowing with need, release bound by gold shattered stars
Suckling whispered thoughts;
With us, for us, in us, in dreams, in thoughts, in love
....And in....time my love..................
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
Breeze bellows,
leaves echo in
quivering psithurism,
dithering like
unbroken smoke,
this approaching omen goads.
Dozing crows
slumbering in rows,
droves of locusts'
silenced drone,
almost comatose in repose;
nighttime overtones
choir of toads'
raspy croaks
answered by alto
of crickets' orchestral strokes.
Gust encroaches;
robed boughs
cloven open,
bring into
scope and focus
me juxtaposed,
suspended apropos.
Although motionless
and petrified in stone,
provoked by zephyr
coaxing to and fro;
swaying pendulous
and no longer frozen,
locus gently thrown.
Death rattle moan
evoked from throat,
reflex can't say no
to rigor rigidly posed,
final sigh in silence,
awoken vocal,
expelled and disposed.
Smote by
morose emotion,
gun loaded then exploded
by neurosis,
now bloated
necrosis decomposes
into gross ochre.
This trophy
and this ode
both an opus to
my inability to cope;
romanced i proposed,
eloped and betrothed to
my own
inappropriate composure.
Pocket full of posies
plucked when luck bestowed
and tears in a cup, a toast;
crying copiously,
tempest runneth overflowed,
eyes swollen and soaked.
Dipped my toes
in the coast
of this ocean's
amorphous folds,
gripped by undertow
holding control of my soul;
swiftly shipwrecked in
shallow shoal,
an old atoll.
On sandy floor,
water burrows roads;
digging, carving, roams
through unmarrowed
silica and sandstone
eroding into a cove.
A host for
opal geode trove,
enclosing a
technicolor rose,
from the depths
a glowing mosaic shone
Unopened lotus floats
on foam
of lapping waves,
a boat;
prone to no
grandiose notion
or motive,
adrift as wind stokes.
I suppose
this only shows
the total corrosion
into which I dove,
the only foes to oppose
are those of burdens, so
only weightless can I atone-
I must let go.
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
I can't help but call out, look at the flame!
see it blush the highway bridges, see it burn my family name,
it churns like a half-sarcastic love song on repeat
it dances on the steel mill, makes the blackest smoke taste sweet
it stokes my little leafless heart, gnaws the edges of my sleeves.
because that hot bright tongue is mine, it's mine
a winking message, a cryptic sign,
the mad plumage fluttering above a gridlock hide
a hundred hands snatching up from the skyline
and even when it's lost in the daylight or the rain
I still find it, send it kisses, call it by the family name.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
I lurk on social media.
I post all day and night.
It strokes and stokes my ego
to pick a verbal fight.
When I see inspiring stories
or such videos I watch,
my cruel and vicious comments
will take them down a notch.
Oh feel my power and my wrath,
my insults, mean and shocking,
like "Loser", "Snowflake", ****** ***
(do you tremble at my mocking?)
I hate the world, I loathe myself,
my friends all went away.
Girls say I'm scary and a creep.
My rage grows every day.
My impotence consumes me,
I respond with posts of rage.
Anonymous through GMail
and my fake Facebook page.
My hatred grows as my soul shrinks
and so my spleen I vent.
Safe, deep within my bunker,
down in my mom's basement.
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 9:23 AM UTC
He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
Into the night
Swings his big word-hammer
Never minding lies and grammar
Cuz he's gotta, gotta, gotta
Fuel the fight
With his bellowslike ire
He stokes the fire
As it burns, burns, burns
To his delight
On his huge word-anvil
Pounds rumor and scandal
As they sizzle, sizzle, sizzle
Burning bright
Hones his words untoward
Like a two-edged sword
As they stab, stab, stab
Like a knife
As his words extrude
They can get really rude
As he pushes, pushes, pushes
Wrong as right
He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
With all his might
© 2019 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 11:17 PM UTC
Windows to the the world through which I see
Images of shortfalls and views of perpetual inadequacies.
Shut my lids ever hoping for a change in scenery...
But only pictures of emotional chaos, mistakes and uncertainties.
Visions I can't ignore and they can't be severed;
Like a splinter that's embedded but can't be retrieved.
Reluctant at first I wish to have them captured...
Capturing all the disorder, but have the beauty all sieved.
Beauty and light engulfed by this visual turmoil
From windows to canvas, I paint but with a sombre brush.
Vicious strokes represent the feelings that roil;
Devoid of pardon; sing of pressures that crush.
This brush that I use; I've taught it all too well.
It could paint even when running on the subconscious.
It never does relent, nor never will it ever quell,
It'll keep on painting the dark side of the senses.
My canvas just lays receiving the brunt of the strokes.
It lays there quiet; accepts it all without struggle.
Like fuel to a bonfire, it provides and also it stokes;
It lays there ready to accommodate the dust and rubble.
Again the brush finishes with its last deft touches.
Producing the same painting it's painted over and over...
They will never depict meadows with the farthest of reaches
But a portrait of me; staring mournfully into forever...
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
living a charmed existence in the
shade of the seaward palm tree
but a telltale whisperer in hearts depth
sends doubters and scaremongers
like skulking figure's into the late day shadows
something darkly this way comes
some nameless faceless thing stalks this heartland of light
few pondered the night
few thought about what lay out there in the deep
brazen the lighthouse keeper
stokes the fires and keeps the lamps burning
no rumor of night will lay darkness at this door
no faint echo of footfall shall haunt this hour
again and again the lighthouse keeper
treads the midnight cold path of stones
along the seawall checking that all is well
raising his lantern and peering with old eyes
at the crazed cracks in the ancient wall
but none gave sign of weakness
none gave sign of peril
far out in the deep of the wider world
for the love of money and the greed of gasoline
something set in motion
some terrible beast of steel
and just as the moon set
in the final hour before dawn it came
heaving and rattling with such horrendous sounds
with bone rattling force laid its terrible hand on the seawall
and smashed the stones like it was no more than sand castle
this terrible thing so darkly come
unforgiven of wretched creature misguided soul
come to harvest the land of light
breathed with heavy burnt oil
breathed with mechanical labors
pulling its weight onto the shore
toppled the lighthouse extinguishing its light
darkness fell upon the scene
and with dreadful night returned once again to this shore
the seaward palm tree wither and die
no charmed place safe
from savage of dark
morning light never to return
in the shade of metal and oil fires night
the savage of darkness
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
PaSsiOnS CoLLiDE
(10w x 8)
Love
Comes in bright...or jaded hues
varying...in intensity
Unknowingly,
you'd cross someone's path tomorrow
...it suddenly happens...when---
Feelings concur,
.....ideas jibe...falling, into right places...
Soon enough---
Feelings cOmBiNe,
Molecules ExpLODE
PaSsiONS CoLLiDE
At some point.......UniTE...
Heart no longer traverses rough waters
just watches flames burning
Though orange embers die,
true love stokes its fire
..........tirelessly
It's wiser...to capture....relive
those blissful, unequalled moments,
..........................when,
Feelings cOmBiNe,
Molecules ExpLODE
PaSsiONS CoLLiDE
At some point...UniTE...
Sally
Copyright January 19, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
In the fog
streetlight glow:
Will-o-the-Wisps
Embers wrapped in gauze
harsh yellow light
spills into grey monotony
The world has shrunk
confined
to the pools cast by floating lamps
All else
is a faded
grey blur
A stagnant breeze
stokes the down air
into writhing ethereal vines
Vision clouded
permeated by whisper
mist caressing
Everything is painted mute
a drear uneasy blanket
cast into the valley
I drift
strung along
by the luminous spectral splashes
Unseen
Unnoticed
a smudge in a world of vapor
Am I
anymore definite
than the intangible fog?
March today
despite being January
At least a good day for a walk
Ice in sepia speckled with black
wilted under
the Water’s surface
Ridges and islands
of white ice protrude
from the murk
Delicate ripples
roil from
inky black wells
Drab and tattered
the snow trodden grass
sways in the wind
Murk
Murk
The color of tea
steaming
Chai
In a floral mug
A warm up from
the chill
walk
I drink down
to the dregs
satisfied
It’s still March
as if January resigned early
and February forgot to come
Forty Degrees
clad in shorts
and sweatshirt, I walk
Air perfumed by thawing soil
and melted pond pools
painted robin’s egg blue
Ice bent trees
bow towards the road
like children’s hands
Reaching towards
pothole puddles with trickles
trailing like balloon strings
Reflecting the sky
inverted vignettes
Caste in brown
Framing the trees
skeletal fractal fingers
reaching across the tableaux
Peering through the clouds
the Sun silhouettes
black bottle brush pines
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
Blank canvass,
Then colour brings it to life
Shades and tones scratch in to picture
It bleeds creativity,
Moments become minutes
Which consume the hours of the day,
A picture is formed by
Impressions,
Outlines ,
Engraving.
Life upon the page,
One last brush stoke, shading put there
Complete,
But what did my brush strokes create
A hand, as if reaching out the page
Ominous,
Distressing,
Sinister,
Is what covered this canvas of white
To look upon it,
"Did my eyes deserve me"
Moving forward as if to clench
I move, but to slow
As what was inanimate,
Now paint drips off as it has hold
Upon my hand,
The paint seeps up as I am consumed
By the canvas
Holding on to the frame,
My finger scratch upon the wood
As I scream,
The terror frozen within the paint,
I am but brush stokes
My face painted on canvas
The hand upon my shoulder
I am cold now,
I am for eternity now the paints prisoner,
The hand is my guard
Such vivid brushstrokes
As if she painted fear upon the canvass
A master piece of cloth and paint
Not knowing I am trapped now for eternity
Terror painted within this frame.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Before I met you
I thought that
poetry was just
a collection of words,
that music was just
a collection of sounds,
that art was just
a collection of
shapes, colours and stokes
that life was just
a series of
years, breaths and steps
Indeed, I see things differently now
Through you, I am reborn
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
An annoyance generator is my mind,
Unjust in its creation. Lack of sleep,
Deviation, stokes the flames
And gesticulations.
My mind, pushed back
Espies the show, as
Mouth bites back the bile.
Calcified my mask does grow
Inflection states my ire.
I see the change
On targets face, as
Fury hits its mark.
Yet at my core
I query why, I
Don't reign in the fire.
Consumed with wrath,
Mind takes back seat,
Puppet slays the master,
How can I, who claims the throne
Escape from Pandemonium?
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
My fingers caress your body
like a paint brush, I paint each
part slowly to know the points
which are the sensitive to my
brush on your canvas skin.
My lips are the red, they touch
your canvas slowly, as I move
over it goose bumps and moans
as sensitive parts are touched
skin to lips the canvas reacts.
I dip my fingers in to your awaiting
paint box, your ecstasy as my
brushes slowly dip in and out,
I dip once more and lick the
tips a taste of perfection now
painted on my lips.
You are my canvas of sin, I will
paint pleasure on your skin, my
fine brushes are lips as they
caress the canvas and my fingers
are the the hard brush strokes
against your flesh as they dip in
around your paint box my fingers
tasted your pleasure within.
You are my naked canvas, that I
will turn in to my master piece of
pleasure, skin to skin are paints
will mix and pleasure is our brush
stokes on each others skin.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC
The artist chose concrete to sculpt The Kiss.
Playfully made the woman taller than the man,
his gaze uplifted, filled with total captivation ---
lemur eyes, mustached smile, desire unmistakable.
Her arm about the nape of neck, hand caressing cheek,
certainly she cherishes him, intentionally stokes his passion.
Concrete the perfect medium for immortality.
This image implanted firmly, as I take my morning walk,
when it hits me, somewhere between Key Bank,
7-11 across the street, and John Deere lawn equipment,
why it is, women place such importance upon relationships,
why they love us, despite flaws numerous as wharf rats.
They have an unremitting need for romance.
That's what the sculptor knew and finally I do too.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
Please keep talking.
Bring me home.
Each brush stroke inflection
Stokes fires of resurrection
Bringing back memories of
Baseball diamonds,
Karate lessons,
One-room school houses and
Overlooked blessings,
Of hills so high that we
Named ourselves kings
And of our fathers' shadows
That reminded us
We were yet princes.
The sound of your voice
Is unearthing ruins of me,
Of blueberry fields
Where we stained our clothes,
Of the sulfur we often
Held in our noses.
In your ebb,
In your flow,
It echoes more clearly
Than my heartbeat:
Will a tree forget its roots?
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
Ode to the clouds of the far west
The rains that fell on the absence
Kept to grieve the sorrows of tomorrow
Ode to the waters of the blue seas
The waves that crushed on the bare soles
Left to sweat the love of the shy heat
Ode to the joys of the tears not cried
The smiles that faded with each warming heart
Bled to keep the life from the twinging strife
Ode to the war that never will end
The love that stokes the silent wails
Felt to **** the death of an aching soul
Aug 13, 2023
Aug 13, 2023 at 11:47 PM UTC
*Honestly I’m too caught up in you to even function sometimes.
People ask me if I’m okay because I have tunnel vision confined
To a place where I never look back and never resign.
But I can barely make out their words
When your song keeps singing in my head,
And stringing the thread of your heart to mine.
As it pulls without tearing enough to flatline,
While taking you in
To a “Once upon a time” world beneath my skin.
Where the sun kisses you every chance you look away,
And the moon cradles you as if someday you’ll never get older.
Because with you, time never wants to move but carry
Your everlasting stokes of color made from sweet berries.
On a canvas that’s trying really hard to sit still when you’re fatal lips ****
Whatever seems to be holding me down.
A piece that compounds beauty on top of brilliance.
Discovering yourself and the meaning of existence.
Like two flames holding hands, never to strand
From the light, they expand to burn down the doors
That others have shut with all their might.
Chasing the tails of fairies to horizonless twilight.
Searching for no end but the means of foresight undressed
When looking ahead I see wings spread from behind your chest
And pull me pressed to the taste of heaven
When I'm close enough touch your breath.
So don’t stop breathing and never stop believing in our laughter
Because every breath we ever share becomes happily ever after.*
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
**Soapy suds tracing all over my
succulent breast, chest, *******
down down my
abdomen,
outer & inner thighs,
hands, feet, and my genitals.
Suds dancing deliciously
on my skin
bubbling all around me
You whisper in my ear
as you come up
from behind me
a gentle touch felt.
Pressing waters
dripping over us
steams spray- misting down
from the shower head
fogging up
my frost pattern
shower glass doors.
Soap suds wash away,
your massive hand
cups my breast
sliding up to my neck
strong fingers encase
my throat
my heads pushed down
as you bend me over
you sigh in pleasure
as you enter me.
One finger then another,
while you stroke your
big scrumptious ****
Exquisitely you slowly
slide down
my form,
part my legs,
palm of your hands
firmly on my thigh
lifting my leg over
one of your shoulders
you flick your tongue
across my ****
savor my honeydew
wetness.
Your tongues exploring
inside my silken walls
while you tease my ****
all the while you
continuously *********
me.
My hairs soaked & wet
hanging heart-shaped
round my face
down to my shoulders.
You lift me up, my hands
instinctively grip your neck
your hips rise forcibly to meet me
as you outline the moist contours of my
sweet ***** lips.
The tip of your head
enters me, your holding my *** so tightly
moving swift & deep inside of me.
This is so crazy,
the way your
joined with me
deep in me pumping
hard long stokes...
Our body’s move with
wild abandonment
in search of that
euphoric height
we cling tightly
as the waves
of pleasure
crash together,
wave after
delirious wave
your
expanding our
******** utopia
I dig my
nails deeper
in your back
until you’re
thrusting
hips slow a bit.
I bite my lip cause your so deep,
I have this starvational need
a longing and each
stroke out
makes me want you
back in deeper.
your body
fervently
consumes
me as you
invade my tight
silky walls.
This build up is so
energetic
causing sensations
causing my body
inner and outward
contractions,
with burst of
pleasure
so uncontrollable
all over my body
the waters cold
guess we can carry on in the bedroom
so how about we take a break
& get out of the**
SHOWER?!?
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright 1977 - Present ©
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
She wrote her poems along his walls
Painted pristine flowers
With infinite stokes of pink
In hopes it would show the way she thinks
Black and blue
Across the mirrors
She left him haikus
She made shelter from his heartless soul
Planted roses in his throat
She watched her garden grow
Pesticides inside his tongue
Always at the mercy of his words
But retracting from his fingertips
Came the thorns she didn't cut
Writing lost its touch
She screamed out her last extract
Copy written from her heart
Bleeding all alone
She wrote her poems along his walls
To give reason
For burning down his home
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
Spirited Detective, finder of souls lost deep
place pen to paper and let the burning stokes seep
etch your place among the dead and dying
Let the ink become your words, your command
And let the paper become your action, your hands
Write their death, 'O prophet!
Become! Become,
the finder of hunted men gone
the hunter of warriors from depths so long
the warrior and tip of the Angel's Sword
Let your pen become your weapon
Let your paper become your tactic
Let your wisdom be your shield
Oh, Seeker of Men, save the Angels
And never let your pen yield
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 6:36 PM UTC
He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
Into the night
Swings his big word-hammer
Never minding lies and grammar
Cuz he's gotta, gotta, gotta
Fuel the fight
With his bellowslike ire
He stokes the fire
As it burns, burns, burns
To his delight
On his huge word-anvil
Pounds rumor and scandal
As they sizzle, sizzle, sizzle
Burning bright
Hones his words untoward
Like a two-edged sword
As they stab, stab, stab
Like a knife
As his words extrude
They can get really rude
As he pushes, pushes, pushes
Wrong as right
He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
With all his might
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
As the chisel strikes the marble, so the psyche shapes the man.
Perfect in his alabaster, carving self from his own hands.
And once honed, his craft can grow by drafting bodies made of stone
Sourced from quarries free of worry, something he can call his own.
If he wishes to ascend beyond his animal desires,
He must grow a patience cold enough to ***** the raging fires
Burning hot against his skin and so within his weary soul,
For his enemy resides in him, and stokes the glowing coals.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 10:40 PM UTC
I steal love with
the
part of my lips,
the
fall of my chin,
the
reverence in my temples,
//
so I scoff with
my
unblessed prayer,
my
impossible keeper,
my
wretched skin,
my
faultless pleasure,
//
and grace swoons,
puts me back in my place,
mutters sin in my mouth,
tightens grip in my hips,
stokes flame in my skin,
//
threads pain
inside,
weaves mind
inside,
names fear
inside,
makes more
inside,
//
and I am unfeeling of pardon,
unwanting of heaven,
ungoverned by god,
not bothered, on purpose,
not waiting on mercy,
//
and I stand with the evil,
the blind,
the kind,
the pained
and the stained,
and steal love with them,
because
//
we are unneeded by hell.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 9:00 PM UTC