They're burning the stubbles of yesteryear's fields
Before ploughing.
Walls of fire around every farm.
Smoke blends with the smell of pig's furtilizing manure,
And whenever my nose wrinkles up
I remember my father's words:

It's the result of millennia of agricultural tradition.
It's the smell of money.
It's the smell of soil to bread.
It's the smell of something far more important
Than nasal comfort.

He had me at
-Where he should have said-
*Organic.

maybe it was just bad timing
maybe 10 years from now,
we'll meet again in one of the most cliché ways.
maybe I'll be sitting on one end of a coffee shop
and you'll be sitting at the other
and I'll be drinking coffee
and you'll be drinking anything that keeps your eyes open.
I'll see you but pretend I didn't,
I'll take the napkin that was once sitting under my coffee and place it in front of me,
I won't write down my number.
I'll write about how my coffee matches your eyes,
dark brown coffee sweetened with a little too much sugar.
I'll write about the last time I saw you,
and how you said you'd never grow any ****** hair
but now you have stubbles resembling cinnamon bun crumbs swept across your face.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll look up from my napkin, and see you looking at me.
Maybe I'll see you looking at me the way Gatsby looked at Daisy.
Or maybe you won't look at me at all.
Maybe I'll just crumple up this napkin and throw it away.
(But I kind of hope I meet you at the garbage can, seeing you throw away a crumpled coffee shop napkin with scribbles all over the back.)

Skin
Still sensing
Still sore
                                     From scratches
Still sensitive

To sound
Like shockwaves                                  E    D   N
                                                          S    N    I     G

Repeated
Repeated

******* ******* ******* *******

Sensations of

V I B R A T I O N
H Y D R A T I O N

                                    Tongue torn
                                          Sore
From tickling licking
                                          Skin with sharp
                                                                           E
                                                                           D
                                                                           G
                                                                           E
                                                                           D stubbles
Sore *******
        ******* sore from
                                      Hardening
                              From bites
                      And from
                                       Fingertips fondling

And sore muscles
Aching from f
                         l
                            e
                               x
                            i
                        n
                    g
     Arching

                     Repeated contraction contraction
                                                                                      X
CONTROL                                                            A
                                                                        M
                                                                  I
                                                         L
                                     of      C

Fire

Sore sensitive
Succulents
Sore from oscillation
                                    Provocation
Still soaked
In saps
             D  R
                     I
                     P
                     P
                     I
                     N
                     G
                             Devilish desire

The mind's eye
Sore
From mimicking
                                Mo ve ments
Imprinted
                  In memory
                                       Driving me

MAD

I want more...

i like the smell of aftershave
but i'm not very fond of the hair stubbles that poke me
i like the smell of coffee
but i'm not very fond of drinking it

i cant still feel your hair on my hand
the way it glides between my little fingers
short stubbles of your flaxen locks
the way it interlocks with my weary hand as it moves all around
as painful as the grass beneath my naked feet
though i sink to the earth
mellow like the ocean tides

but not a glace afterwards
evermore harsh
evermore loud
but softy as you whisper nothing into my ears
say hello to mute goodbye

Everytime I close my eyes,
The picture of you comes to my mind,
Floating in the air,
From everywhere,
Everything around me reminds me of you,
And I lose myself in the memories of you..
The park-bench still fits us perfectly,
And this world has taken 7000 turns, changing everything but me
The stubbles in my face make me look a little older,
I have grown a little taller,
Lost my hair, gained some weight,
And I am losing a little bit of myself everyday but, I am still the same old person you loved back then
Every breath that I take, takes me a little closer to you,
Nothing is certain here, I do not know if you're a million breaths away or two
My friends want me to move on,
To take a step forward every day,
Arms wrapped around my shoulders,
Sometimes, a soft grip-  a silent assurance of their presence,
A sweet promise to always be there
And that is just what you did
This love is more than those three words that sick men these days use to capture beauty
And this body is more than blood, muscles and bones,
Death was not powerful enough to **** your soul
You are everywhere, in every thing
With me
We are still strong enough to melt stones

I found a home
in rough arms
and delicate touches.
In the smell of cologne
and bright roses.
I found a home
in wide shoulders
and tiny hands
both my asylum
keeping me safe
during the darkest nights.
In sharp stubbles
and blood red lips
marking my skin
as if it was a canvas
painting it in the best work of art
the world has ever seen.
I found a home
in the long locks of an awesome boy
in the short curls of a beautiful girl
tangled between my fingers
as we intertwine our souls.
I found a home
in the intergalactic being
of a lost soul
who heard the call
of my empty one
and decided to make it its own
in the purest, most natural love
that has ever been.

I bolted the door
And stepped in, shy
You blocked my way -
With your signature smile.

I was scared, I was anxious
For this would be a long night.
Though the room was dimly lit
My blush stood out bright.

I felt my body tremor,
In my ears when you murmured -
"May this love for my wife
Stay as intense, till I die!"

You pulled me close and held me for a while
Then stooped low, to kiss me in style.
And with each peck I quivered,
Like a candle in the wind - flickered.

The sound of my breathe
Grew on, as you conquered depths...
The warmth of your sweat
Spread slowly, over my *******...

And the girl in me, was forever lost -
To your manly grip, on me - soft.
I felt like a woman, though unclad
In love with my guy - like crazy, like mad.

When I woke up later, though all smitten -
Some from stubbles, some were bitten.
To a dawn, turned crimson red -
Painted like the passion, from our never-ending lust!

You were still there beside me
Kissing my forehead.
Singing to my soul,
As you caressed a dark mole.

And I slept again, in your arms,
A sleep - assuring and calm!
Dreaming of days filled with love,
And nights - with moments divine!

Hoping to awaken again -
To my man's broad frame and smile.
Stay with me - true, and take me with you
To that dreamland again. To that dreamland again!

Days , weeks?,
gone by -

stubbles,
beards appear
like weeds
in a garden;

the wash undone,
no clean clothes;

***** dishes
suffocating
a small kitchen
space;

plants not watered;

post unanswered;

knocks on the door
ignored.

The poison
must first run
it's course!

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/8/2019

* * * (A sad September is heading over the tops...)

A sad September is heading over the tops,
through the barren peaks suddenly turned gray.
In his heart hidden luggage of memories he carries,
and only crickets' farewell sails
quietly rustle with wind filled,
rocking to sleep dreams* unfulfilled.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/27/2002

*moments in the original

Autumnal Hour (Shorter)

Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!

Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002

Listening to you breathe, your head tilted back
The pillow a blueish tint in the light from the window
It is unclear if the light comes from the moon or from some street light
But it does not matter
The light is blue
And it shines onto the skin of your face, with little stubbles on your chin and the space on your cheeks near your ears

You on your back, my hand draped over your chest
You shift to face me, you slide your leg over mine, and our toes search for empty spaces in the other, then lock into the gap. I lock myself to you.

You are gone.
In a place of nothing, darkness, and light
You do not understand what is happening as I kiss you awake
Your eyebrow my target, I feel the tiny hairs against my lip as your lids flutter open
Like wings on the back of a bird that never lands

You stare at me in awe
Love in your eyes

Outside the cars go by on the highway
Wasting gas
They should turn around, go home to the ones they love.
Loudly they vvvvmmmm past us,
While we,
Sweet and slow moving like molasses
Move our hands up each other from legs to hips to mouth

Then down, and feel for textures
You call me smooth, my skin like a cool stone in a river

You are like a grass covered hill,
Mossy and full of earth

We move together, the light blue from the window shifting from you to me,
And then back to you
The light on your shoulders to the light on my hips

Everything is blue
The love
Your shy smile
My flowing hair
everything is blue.

even
My hands
Moving across you

Like a little sailboat
In the middle of the ocean

Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/20/2018

Look! - white petals, like the first snow,
like a holiday linen tablecloths.
I? - I remember those holidays:
warm shadows of candles, you put on the table,
and the puff of breath in disarray,
entertains with the play of colors, and from feathers... sizzles.

Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!

Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002

It was moonlit in the caves
You and I
Couple in the hot springs
Gentle, compassionate and sultry
We kiss
Our tounges danced
As we explore
Each other’s body’s
Which were in the warm water.
I draw your hips close
To mine
And hold your stubbles head
As your smother me
With kisses.
I let out a moan
That reverberates
And echoes
Into the cave.

arms broke the water
waves in the ocean
the son and the daughter
and perpetual motion
crept in as bubbles of air
up my cheeks like a fever
kisses on stubbles of hair
i almost didnt believe her

Bristled haze...
Eternal stubble...
Framing the upward
curve of Your lips...
Sure and gentle..
Long fingered
Beautiful hands...
Constantly rubbing Your chin...

Is it okay to say that I would love to feel that stubble brush slowly against my shoulder?
Hmmm?
As Your lips go for my neck?
Do i now have to take permission...to express that I want to feel
those fingers splayed on my back?
Do i now need to worry that
You'd make fun of my desire?
Do i need to start using a filter for my words?
I don't know...

And so i hide...
behind peals
Of meaningful laughter...
Trying to protect myself
from your all pervading
Virility....
Unsuccessfully...
While you go on jabbering
About stubbles...contours and
searching for a semblance of masculinity...
If only you knew...

As I hear the
Prayer flags outside the window
Flapping in the breeze
I feel your stubbles head
Between me
as you kiss my flesh
As you kiss my womanhood
My sweetheart.

I could spend another night inside your dynasty,
listen to the small worlds within his soul
unite with mine, inventive fields, deep structures,
starry canvases, bright roadmaps, everything
within his swagging universe rising to perfection,
and I am falling deeper in love with his brown
chocolate delight, the graphs and diagrams
of his life, the brilliant blueprints inside his heart,
glowing like two lovers standing by the emerald
blue ocean, and I wanted to run my fingers
all across his royal ebony chests – a wheeling
king of sensual enchantment, glorious love
letters stamped around each of his jeweled
*******, the skin so appealing, his heart
beating in perfect synchronicity with mine,
his wild curly hair all shiny and dark – waves
of essential rhythms traveling towards the root
of my realm, the core of my corridor, and I
could kiss his thugalicious lips, feel the pink
designs sift into my mouth, taste his beautiful
memories, the prime of his creation shifting
towards the present days of his existence,
his smooth beard a glorious poem igniting  
my desires, igniting super-naughty thoughts
as I pressed my cheeks against his serene stubbles,
and I could see the magic in his brown eyes,
how each colorful depiction was hypnotized
by my touch, by the depths of my monumental
heavens, his thick city eyebrows soaring into great
distances beyond the seas, angled symmetry so
mesmerizing, coming alive in the brightest light,
and I knew I had him within my web of delicate
trails, helping him take off his clothes, placing
them gently on the living room sofa in front of us,
then laying by his side where the marble glass table
sparkles in our sight, the scintillating stars staring
at our masterpieces from the windowpane,
as I massaged his whole body down, working into his
luscious shoulders down to the beat of his feet,
his majesty everything I will take care of and never let go.

A Poem: Perifano ánthropoi.*

It's yeast in a warm water
It makes people dance to the tune of a flatter
It lives in the heart of self lovers and praisers
Not just the Igbos, even the Yorubas are its rearers


They feel they're eagles
Hence, they shouldn't give the hens chick a giggle
Not considering that God has put the answer to Lifes riddle
In the chicks brain needle


They reject rebuke
They believe they've known all the books
Relating with their fellow dreaming eagles
They'll descend into prides *** of stubbles


Honouring the affluent
Debunking their myopic, hungry and foolish desires speaking with a voice that is fluent
They are beside themselves and care less for others
Leaving a bad example for others


Money makes them inflated
Money won't take them beyond the grave that would be engrafted
They live under moneys control and in its school of foolishness
Worshipping it and spending it alone in selfishness


They are the mobile, "notice me" sign post
Speaking of every asset in foolishness toast
They live in yeasts swollen coil
They are Perifano ánthropoi.


© Daniels Pen ™ 2020.

What is man in the whole of universe?
A bubble of pride; a drop in ocean.
what is his right on earth to boast or curse
A bug under mercy; a wink's motion

The pomp and show, drink and dance, flirting years
Game and fame, the might and fight cannot save
The goons, tycoons everyone bears  for fear
Are just stubbles on field, grass on the grave.

The hands that **** oil earth's whirling axle
That strong hold the rolling sphere steering firm
The hands that helm the howling storm calm home
The same spread light hues on mornings mantle

The same pour mercy on men's mighty plan
The same do crown the blade of grass
That's man

His creamy caramel skin was all over me,
dark enchanting eyes filled with immense
rhymes, deep black, bold, bursting with fiery
desire.  His rapturous cheeks a wholeness
easing up my beautiful ******* and around my Adam’s
apple, sensuous sweetness, arched perimeters rising
high in my mouth.  His smooth beard shining
in my light, luminous depictions, details of profound
intelligence, amazing richness, sleek stubbles traveling
near me, nuzzling my forehead, as I trace the lines
of his high styling design, the various shades
in his face, the pure strength and dexterity flowing
in shoulders, all man and perfectly defined.  I loved
his alluring cologne, how it hovered spellbinding
melodies over my rapt flesh, how I loved the smell
of his breath – minty flavored, my soul savoring
every moment in his maze, the boundless sounds
escaping from his mouth into mine, sparkling veins
leading a trail all across his phenomenal physique.
I was in love with his sense of humor, how he
made me smile on random days, giving me life,
as I flew inside the wings of his ride, cherishing
his romantic chests, blessed abs nothing but the best,
celestial V-Line and thighs alive, ankles a horizon
of delicate portraits.  The swirl of his hips moving
like a ballroom dancer, grooving with the slow jams
spinning in his head, his body bouncing up and down,
taking me around and around glowing gateways,
seeping into the thrill of his astonishing architecture,
the art of his essence an extraordinary feature reeling
me away into the seas, soaking in his affection,
his tattoos of intricate creations, sublime perfection,
everything about him bringing my body at a standstill,
as I float above water, wrapped in his luscious love.