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I.

Thou aged unreluctant earth who dost
with quivering continual thighs invite
the thrilling rain the slender paramour
to toy with thy extraordinary lust,
(the sinuous rain which rising from thy bed
steals to his wife the sky and hour by hour
wholly renews her pale flesh with delight)
—immortally whence are the high gods fled?

Speak elm eloquent pandar with thy nod
significant to the ecstatic earth
in token of his coming whom her soul
burns to embrace—and didst thou know the god
from but the imprint of whose cloven feet
the shrieking dryad sought her leafy goal,
at the mere echo of whose shining mirth
the furious hearts of mountains ceased to beat?

Wind beautifully who wanderest
over smooth pages of forgotten joy
proving the peaceful theorems of the flowers
—didst e’er depart upon more exquisite quest?
and did thy fortunate fingers sometime dwell
(within a greener shadow of secret bowers)
among the curves of that delicious boy
whose serious grace one goddess loved too well?

Chryselephantine Zeus Olympian
sceptred colossus of the Pheidian soul
whose eagle frights creation,in whose palm
Nike presents the crown sweetest to man,
whose lilied robe the sun’s white hands emboss,
betwixt whose absolute feet anoint with calm
of intent stars circling the acerb pole
poises,smiling,the diadumenos

in whose young chiseled eyes the people saw
their once again victorious Pantarkes
(whose grace the prince of artists made him bold
to imitate between the feet of awe),
thunderer whose omnipotent brow showers
its curls of unendured eternal gold
over the infinite breast in bright degrees,
whose pillow is the graces and the hours,

father of gods and men whose subtle throne
twain sphinxes bear each with a writhing youth
caught to her brazen *******,whose foot-stool tells
how fought the looser of the warlike zone
of her that brought forth tall Hippolytus,
lord on whose pedestal the deep expels
(over Selene’s car closing uncouth)
of Helios the sweet wheels tremulous—

are there no kings in Argos,that the song
is silent,of the steep unspeaking tower
within whose brightening strictness Danae
saw the night severed and the glowing throng
descend,felt on her flesh the amorous strain
of gradual hands and yielding to that fee
her eager body’s unimmortal flower
knew in the darkness a more burning rain?

                    2.

And still the mad magnificent herald Spring
assembles beauty from forgetfulness
with the wild trump of April:witchery
of sound and odour drives the wingless thing
man forth in the bright air,for now the red
leaps in the maple’s cheek,and suddenly
by shining hordes in sweet unserious dress
ascends the golden crocus from the dead.

On dappled dawn forth rides the pungent sun
with hooded day preening upon his hand
followed by gay untimid final flowers
(which dressed in various tremulous armor stun
the eyes of ragged earth who sees them pass)
while hunted from his kingdom winter cowers,
seeing green armies steadily expand
hearing the spear-song of the marching grass.

A silver sudden parody of snow
tickles the air to golden tears,and hark!
the flicker’s laughing yet,while on the hills
the pines deepen to whispers primeval and throw
backward their foreheads to the barbarous bright
sky,and suddenly from the valley thrills
the unimaginable upward lark
and drowns the earth and passes into light

(slowly in life’s serene perpetual round
a pale world gathers comfort to her soul,
hope richly scattered by the abundant sun
invades the new mosaic of the ground
—let but the incurious curtaining dusk be drawn
surpassing nets are sedulously spun
to snare the brutal dew,—the authentic scroll
of fairie hands and vanishing with the dawn).

Spring,that omits no mention of desire
in every curved and curling thing,yet holds
continuous *******—through skies and trees
the lilac’s smoke the poppy’s pompous fire
the *****’s purple patience and the grave
frailty of daises—by what rare unease
revealed of teasingly transparent folds—
with man’s poor soul superlatively brave.

Surely from robes of particoloured peace
with mouth flower-faint and undiscovered eyes
and dim slow perfect body amorous
(whiter than lilies which are born and cease
for being whiter than this world)exhales
the hovering high perfume curious
of that one month for whom the whole years dies,
risen at length from palpitating veils.

O still miraculous May!O shining girl
of time untarnished!O small intimate
gently primeval hands,frivolous feet
divine!O singular and breathless pearl!
O indefinable frail ultimate pose!
O visible beatitude sweet sweet
intolerable!silence immaculate
of god’s evasive audible great rose!

                    3.

Lover,lead forth thy love unto that bed
prepared by whitest hands of waiting years,
curtained with wordless worship absolute,
unto the certain altar at whose head
stands that clear candle whose expecting breath
exults upon the tongue of flame half-mute,
(haste ere some thrush with silver several tears
complete the perfumed paraphrase of death).

Now is the time when all occasional things
close into silence,only one tree,one
svelte translation of eternity
unto the pale meaning of heaven clings,
(whose million leaves in winsome indolence
simmer upon thinking twilight momently)
as down the oblivious west’s numerous dun
magnificence conquers magnificence.

In heaven’s intolerable athanor
inimitably tortured the base day
utters at length her soft intrinsic hour,
and from those tenuous fires which more and more
sink and are lost the divine alchemist,
the magus of creation,lifts a flower—
whence is the world’s insufferable clay
clothed with incognizable amethyst.

Lady at whose imperishable smile
the amazed doves flicker upon sunny wings
as if in terror of eternity,
(or seeming that they would mistrust a while
the moving of beauteous dead mouths throughout
that very proud transparent company
of quivering ghosts-of-love which scarcely sings
drifting in slow diaphanous faint rout),

queen in the inconceivable embrace
of whose tremendous hair that blossom stands
whereof is most desire,yet less than those
twain perfect roses whose ambrosial grace,
goddess,thy crippled thunder-forging groom
or the loud lord of skipping maenads knows,—
having Discordia’s apple in thy hands,
which the scared shepherd gave thee for his doom—

O thou within the chancel of whose charms
the tall boy god of everlasting war
received the shuddering sacrament of sleep,
betwixt whose cool incorrigible arms
impaled upon delicious mystery,
with gaunt limbs reeking of the whispered deep,
deliberate groping ocean fondled o’er
the warm long flower of unchastity,

imperial Cytherea,from frail foam
sprung with irrevocable nakedness
to strike the young world into smoking song—
as the first star perfects the sensual dome
of darkness,and the sweet strong final bird
transcends the sight,O thou to whom belong
th ehearts of lovers!—I beseech thee bless
thy suppliant singer and his wandering word.
there is a
moon sole
in the blue
night

      amorous of waters
tremulous,
blinded with silence the
undulous heaven yearns where

in tense starlessness
anoint with ardor
the yellow lover

stands in the dumb dark
svelte
and
urgent

        (again
love i slowly
gather
of thy languorous mouth the

thrilling
flower)
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I am taken from Yunann to the
coastal Province of Fujian, where
boats sail fair as fishermen fish. I
land by a pond with waters cascading
down boulders and rocks as old as
time itself.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
But even though there are trimmed
and hale blades of green, there is a
single flora, the corona of the water
Not the chrysanthemum with its svelte,
curling petals of the gelid transition
from the crimson leaves of autumn
kissed by the rathe winters.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Instead it is a single fuchsia lotus
bud,a pristine and graceful soul
unperturbed by murked waters.
As I get a closer look, the lotus
open slowly into full bloom and
with it, the golden essence -
ethereal, a star that throbs like
a heaven's dream, and it appears -
the phoenix.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Its plumage a brilliant shade of
red-gold, and wings and long tail
beset by iridescent streaks and jewels.
Slim-legged, clawed feet of a deep azure
and eyes, such a blight blue-green.
Looking to the sky, it releases such
a melodious cry and a star falls
a throbbing silver-white. It glides
to my hands and it is revealed,
another glorious Pearl Moon.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a peck of its beak, the Moon
cracks once more and my nose is
besieged by leaf pellets scented o'er
and o'er with fresh jasmine blossoms.
Seaweed green with licks of marigold
and shaped after the Phoenix's hot
eye.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Unlike the Dragon's Pu'erh pearls,
this aroma is dainty in its sweet floral
with a kiss of green; I can taste the sugar!
Velveteen on my tongue! A brew worthy
of chosen Kings and Queens. I notice that
the light of the Phoenix begins to fade.
As our eyes meet, it cries once more, a
sweet and happy cry born of Elysia,
before it fades away in gust of wind.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The lotus petals fall off and float,
becoming soft rose-kissed boats;
the leaves have yellowed, browned
and wilted. All that remains is a
dry stamens but I see that the
ovaries are beginning to
flourish...

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Ahh,' my eyes now open, dazed,
'The Phoenix Eye pearls. Such a
fine golden liquor you will become!'
Anihana smiles, 'Indeed, My Lady.'
'I assume the final batch is its twin
sister?'
'Yes, My Lady. Jasmine, Green and
Lily pearls.' Anihana places the
burr-oak caddy down to grab the
caddy maple-wood.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Each pearl, all laboured with love,' I
coo. 'Such fresh tender herbs rolled into
blessed pearls that are either fermented
or sit with it's blossoming flowers for
many days and nights. Cover the Pu'erh
and the Jasmine Lily. I wish to be cleansed
by the Phoenix Eyes.'
'Yes, Sweet Queen.'
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Part five of my Jasmine Pearls free verse!
Enjoy! ^-^
Lyn ***
Fair Warning this does contain explicit language and ****** content if you are under the age of 18 please click exit, If you are offended by ****** prose please don't read this one either......LOL


Meet Me at the Holiday Inn  He said

she of course said yes without hesitation

Make sure to check in a room in the back He said

He did not want anyone disturbing their time
Nor for anyone to hear the noises that might sound disturbing to some

her body quivered as He explained why a room in the back

she would never defy Him, it was not in her nature to do so

every part of her just ached to please Him to make Him happy

When you get in the room leave it unlocked and undress I want you ready for me as soon as I arrive

her heart hammered hard, pale flesh went crimson, nerves were causing her to fidget and He hated fidgeting

I can't wait to see you naked waiting for me

Your pale bountiful flesh bare of clothing waiting for my eyes to roam from top to bottom and back up again

How does that make you feel girl?  He asked

Very uneasy but excited to, afraid, desired, wanting  she said

His laughter was unmistakable He knew the effect He had on her and He reveled in it, He got tremendously hard just thinking about the power He exhorted over her

Oh god, how am I to undress and wait for Him to enter the room, what if He waits an hour before coming in, I will die from embarassment and desire all mixed together

You are my good girl aren't You ****?  He asked quietly

Yes I am  she responded

The conversation ended and she began to dress with care unsure why as she was just going to remove it anyway

Having showered, pulling the razor blade over the flesh between silky thighs, making sure no hair or stubble was present

See she knew He just might have a piece of duct tape that He would place between the cheeks of her *** and pull just to see if she shaved everywhere He desired

Her hands moved steadily along the crack, her juices were already flowing from the heat of the shower, thoughts of Him at the hotel, His voice a few moments ago

The pleasure nub at the Y section of her petals was throbbing dying to be touched, yet she knew better, to touch without His permission could land her in big trouble, shuddering at the thought

Fingers slid between the succulent petals making sure they were smooth, washing with the sweet aromatic soap moving up her body over the large globes of ivory with the pale areolas, ******* hard already

She was going to lose it before ever getting to her destination

The phone rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin

You finish Your shower girl?

Yes I did

Did you get excited and remember I always know when you lie?

Yes I got excited but I stopped myself from relieving the ache

Very good girl, You have come a long way I am very  pleased

Are you still naked from the shower?

Yes just drying off

Get the 8 inch toy I bought you and lay on the bed

Her heart beat so hard she thought it would burst from her chest
Doing as ordered, grabbing the 8 inch vibrating ***** that filled her so tightly that it almost hurt

Lay down on the bed my girl

Securing the door, svelte flesh lay upon the soft bedding, hard tipped globes ached, as well as the nub between the shaved rose petals, even her *** throbbed

Where should we play today my little *****?

Anywhere, it matters not, just pleasee take this ache away  

He chuckled knowing she was dripping wet by now, she was His little waterfall, always wet just at the thought of Him or the sound

Pinch your ****** hard and make sure I hear you

Awwwww yesssss!!!

He began to give her quick instructions moving things rather quicker than usual

Harder girl, slide your other hand around that hard ****, begin rubbing it fast

Moaning loudly as her fingers fluttered over the pleasure nub like a butterfly kissing a flower, other fingers pinching and pulling upon the hard ******

Hurry girl I thought you said you were dying of need

Ohhhhh I am I am pleaseeee don't stop

He chuckled at that she was going to be a delight this night, He just might not let her get dressed for a few days and let her sleep with Him buried deep inside her

Release the ****** and get the toy, spread those thighs wider, I want you to take the toy deep inside your tight wet tunnel all at once and all the way

His **** was hard and He began to stroke it in earnest as her sounds were maddening to Him, man her voice was like a **** siren, He already had the first drop of moisture revealing itself from the tip

Ohhhhhh YESSSSSSSSSSS, ahhhhhh, pleaseeeeee, moreeeee oh pleassseeee

You know what to do **** yourself hard without mercy but don't your release unless I say so

She was already close before He said to use the toy harder and faster, biting her lower lip hard to keep herself from exploding, ramming the silicone **** deep into her silky wet folds, she could feel the dripping honey between her *** cheeks knowing that area would no longer be virginal after tonight, shivering as the pressure began to build

He continued to move His large hand up and down, hell yes this **** drove Him wild how He got so lucky to find her He had no idea but she was His and He intended to make sure she knew it in every way tonight

Her well was so tight around the toy, but it slid in deep an easy due to her soaking wet desire

Moaning louder, she began to beg, and plead, oh pleasee let me release, I can't hold it much longer, pleaseeee I am begging you

Nope not yet He chuckled

Ohhhhhhhhh nooooo pleaseee, whimpering and whining as the pressure increased driving her mad with desire

His hand moved up and down as images of her tight *** wrapped around His thick length filled his brain, ahh oh yeah mmmm He could hear the ***** going in and out from the wetness surrounding it which further incited His imagination.   Mmmmm yes that tight ***** and then He was claiming that cherry ***

she was sweating holding back, oh pleassse she thought as her mouth let screams of pleasure, whining, and whimpers escape, hips lifting off the bed meeting the toy ****** after ******  

He felt his **** hardening to where He could have hammered a nail into a board, and suddenly He could feel it ready to explode

Now ****!!! and don't you hold back on me

Ohhh yes!!!!

Her body bucked and muscles clamped down as fluids exploded forth from her well soaking the bed, her thighs, and draining down the crack of her ***, her screams nearly deafened Him but He did not care

Ahhh yes baby here it **** just for you oh **** oh **** **** girl

His hand tightened around His shaft a little harder as suddenly the stream of thick white cream spewed across the table where He was sitting, shooting thick goo over and over as He let loose.  Oh He so could not wait to get a hold of her

Very good girl now clean up and get your *** to the hotel and don't forget the paddle as you have a punishment yet before any enjoyment

Oh, she had hoped You forgot all about that

Oh no I remember and unless you want more added I suggest you not forget anything I have instructed of you

Unbeknownst to her after He hung up His girlfriend walked in having seen His performance and the evidence marking the kitchen table as His shaft was still hanging out of His jeans

I am going out for the weekend be back on Monday

His girlfriend nodded her head and didn't dare say a word even when He said
Oh and clean up that table no hands, rags, just your mouth
*

He chuckled as He heard the sharp intake of breath, oh how He loved His women, so compliant, obedient and they never questioned His demands.  He headed out the door with His duffle bag full of things to titillate the brain and body
Written by Jennifer Humphrey  all rights reserved
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
A comely rainbow
spanning the wet, sobbing sky;
colours showering
mesmeric pearls of teardrops on earth.

Many subtle shades of marvel
unfolded that day.

Elegance of burning splendour in sun’s soul -
earth treasuring the seed of the first rain
in its womb for a new birth -
Spring’s svelte fingers
painting brilliance across the droning vale -
mist of radiance of a gorgeous moon -
stars sparkling to a melody
flowing from the divine harp -
sea breeze carving
shifting sculptures on sands of gold -
amorous mirth of sea waves
rushing to the hug of a waiting shore.

I stood there,
a trance benumbing my senses
to an hypnotic bliss.
Grahame Jun 2014
’Twas in the nineteen-twenties, when young people were bright and gay,
A flapper left Southampton, on a cruiser bound for Bombay.
Her fiancé was a subaltern, in India, in the cavalry,
And she had taken passage there, intending, him to marry.

She shared a cabin with a girl, ’cause money was quite tight,
And though they had met as strangers, they were getting on all right.
The flapper had met some nice people, and things were going fine,
Until they reached the equator, and had to ‘cross the line’.

People who before, had never the equator crossed,
Paraded around in fancy dress, and some into the pool were tossed.
The crew were dressed as pirates, and one as King Neptune,
And some of the passengers ‘walked the plank’, it was all done in fun.

During the proceedings, cocktails and champagne were drunk,
And the pirates, lots of passengers, into the pool did dunk.
The flapper’s chosen costume was that of a mermaid,
And with her legs placed in the tail, she hopped in the parade.

Because of her restricting costume, she hadn’t been tossed in the pool,
Now eventime was coming on, the air was turning cool.
She thought she’d look at the wake of the ship, so she hopped to the after-rail,
And stood there drinking a Planter’s Punch, whilst balancing on her tail.

Standing there, under the stars, she gazed down at the sea,
And saw something jump out of the water and wondered what it could be.
Then, leaning over further, to try to make it out,
She lost her balance and fell overboard, no time to even shout.

She crashed to the water on her front, and couldn’t clearly think.
She was winded and rather drunk, because of all the drink.
She struggled hard to keep afloat, her arms were all a-flail,
And for a time she was helped by air trapped in the tail.

Back on board the ship, her cabin-mate was drunk,
And didn’t think that she’d be able to get back to her bunk.
She went to a saloon, and stretched out on a sofa,
Then closed her eyes and went to sleep, the drunken little loafer.

In the morning she awoke and staggered to her berth,
With a frightful headache, no longer full of mirth.
She took some Alka Seltzer, in a glass of water,
Then slept again, not missing the flapper, although she should have ought to.

In the sea the flapper was floundering and thought that drowned she’d be.
The ship showed no sign of turning back, and went on its way steadily.
Her tail was slowly losing air and filling up with sea,
Her last thoughts, as she started to sink, were, “Why is this happening to me?”

Her past life flashed before her eyes, it didn’t take too long.
She’d really led a quiet life, and had done nothing wrong.
“That, I’ll rectify,” she thought, “if ever I get back.”
Then the air bubbled out of her lungs, and everything went black.

“Am I in heaven?” were her first thoughts, assuming she was dead.
When she heard a quiet voice, which unto her, it said
“I thought you were a mermaid, now I think you’re a mortal,
If I’d known, I never would have brought you through my portal.”

The flapper struggled to sit up straight, ’cause her legs were still in the tail.
She opened her eyes, tried to see in the gloom, and then she started to wail.
“Please tell me just where I am, whatever is this place?”
Then she tried hard not to scream, when in front of her eyes loomed a face.

In the dark it seemed to glow with a phosphorescent light,
And this was the reason it had given her such an awful fright.
Then, as she scrutinised it, she thought it did look kind,
So asked, “Why did you think me a mermaid? Are you out of your mind?”

The face moved back and regarded her, and then to her it said,
“Aren’t you at all curious to find you are not dead?
Luckily for you I was on the surface, looking at your ship,
When I saw you standing staring down, and then I saw you slip.”

“I swam back under the water, so I would not be seen,
And heard you splashing in the water, and wondered what it did mean.
Then, looking at you from beneath, as you your arms did flail,
I saw to my surprise, that instead of legs, you’d a tail!”

“I could not work out why a mermaid was on that boat,
Nor why you seemed to not be able to swim or even float.
Then you started sinking and your gills I couldn’t see,
And you obviously weren’t breathing, so you needed help from me.”

“Then I thought of the quickest way that your life I could save.
I towed you to the sea-bed, and brought you to my cave.
There is lots of air in here and I saw to my relief,
When I laid you on my bed, you started then to breathe.”

The flapper was quite shocked at this and couldn’t believe her ears.
She thought she was trapped with a lunatic and her mind was filled with fears.
So sitting up, she undid the belt that held her tail on tight,
Then wiggled a bit and pulled it off so her legs were now in sight.

“There are no such things as mermaids!” the flapper then did shout.
“Why are you keeping me captive? Oh won’t you let me out?”
“You really are then human,” the mermaid, startled, said,
“And I brought you here inside my home! I really feel afraid.”

“I don’t believe in mermaids,” the flapper again did wail.
“So far I’ve only seen your face, I haven’t seen a tail.”
The mermaid said, with trembling voice, “If that is what you wish.”
She then lay back upon the bed, and gave her tail a swish.

“No, no, it’s just your fancy dress, like mine for the parade,”
The flapper said, and like the mermaid, she was sore afraid.
They both sat up and looked at each other,  tears running down their faces,
And each, feeling sorry for the other, each, the other embraces.

As they hugged together, they started to calm down,
And the flapper said to the mermaid, “I think that you have shown
Great compassion in saving me and bringing me safely here.”
And though overcome by emotion, she managed to sound sincere.

The mermaid said, “You’re trembling, may I be so bold
As to ask if you’re still frightened?” The flapper said, “I’m cold.
I’m shivering to warm myself, my clothes are chilly and wet.”
The mermaid told her, “I know what, some dry clothes I will get.”

Sliding down from off the bed, into a pool she slipped,
And swam to the far side of the cave, and there a case she gripped.
Rolling over onto her back, she balanced it on her chest,
Then swam back to the flapper, who hoped it hadn’t squashed her breast.

The flapper helped to lift the heavy case onto the bed.
“I hope you haven’t hurt yourself bringing it here,” she said.
“Oh no,” replied the mermaid, “I’m stronger than I look,”
Then she opened it, and from the inside, several garments took.

The flapper then looked thoughtful and said, with a little frown,
“I hope this case hasn’t come from someone who did drown.”
“Oh no!” said the mermaid, as she that thought abhored,
“I often find stuff from ships that has fallen overboard.”

The flapper quickly then took off all her sodden clothes,
And picked up a lace hankie, and on it blew her nose.
She dried herself upon a towel, and sorting out clothes to wear,
Picked out some silken knickers and a strapless brassiere.

Then the flapper noticed that the mermaid was quite bare.
She obviously wouldn’t wear knickers, so she held out the brassiere.
“What is that?” the mermaid asked, “Do you wear it on your head?”
“Turn around, lift up your arms and I’ll show you,” the flapper said.

The mermaid swivelled round and raised her arms up high,
While the flapper knelt behind her, putting her arms round her to try
To fit her with the brassiere, and though she did her best,
She managed, inadvertently, in each hand to clasp a breast.

The flapper and the mermaid both froze there in that place.
The flapper felt a crimson flush, blush across her face.
The mermaid slowly lowered her arms, each covered a flapper’s hand,
And she murmured, “What are you doing? I just don’t understand.”

The flapper’s arms were locked in place and the mermaid she leant back.
The flapper felt her ***** flattened as the mermaid squashed her rack.
The mermaid muttered, “Don’t get dressed, I’ve a better idea instead.
Why don’t we lie down together? I’ll warm you up in bed.”

The mermaid released the flapper’s hands and slowly turned around.
Then she saw the flapper’s eyes looking down upon the ground.
The flapper spoke. “I know you meant the offer kindly, though
While I’m really flattered, in India, I’ve a beau.”

“I was on my way to meet him at Bombay, to be married.
I’d still be on my way there, if the cruise had not miscarried.
You have been so kind to me and managed to save my life,
Now will you help me on my way so I can be a wife?”

The mermaid looked unhappy, however, she concurred,
Albeit quite reluctantly, and then spoke so she’d be heard,
“I will try to help you, though yet we must delay.
There will be many sharks outside at this time of day.”

“If I take you outside now, to try to get you back,
There’s a real chance that the sharks they will attack.
Why don’t you finish drying yourself and find clothes to get dressed,
Then lie back down upon the bed and try to get some rest?”

The flapper started dressing and put on the brassiere,
And helped the mermaid put one on, who felt awkward not being bare.
When the flapper stood up, and stepped into the knickers,
The mermaid couldn’t help but stare, her eyes made up-and-down flickers.

“Please show me how you use your legs,” the mermaid did implore,
“It’s strange to see you standing up,  not lying on the floor.”
The flapper bent and stretched her knees to show how they did work.
Then turned around and squatted down and got her *** to twerk.

Then as the flapper, legs apart, upon the bed did kneel,
The mermaid, stretching out her arm, between those legs did feel.
And then very slowly, rubbed her hand forth and back,
And murmured, “It must feel very strange, because a tail you lack.”

The flapper, with a quavering voice, said, “It’s quite normal for me.
Now, though, what about you? May I your tail closely see?”
And with that, the flapper stretched out flat upon the bed,
Then on the mermaid’s tail, gently rested her head.

She put her hand upon the tail and stroked it up and down,
And feeling it crissate, gave a little frown.
It felt smooth when caressed downwards and rough the other way,
And then the mermaid arched her back and suddenly did spray.

From somewhere at the tail’s front squirted forth a spout.
That the mermaid did enjoy it, the flapper was not in doubt.
The liquid jet subsided and the mermaid gave a moan,
And a quite delightful odour suffused throughout the room.

The fluid showered the flapper, who wasn’t sure what to do.
Though when she wiped her hair, it foamed up like shampoo.
She rubbed it to a lather, and washed her body too,
And felt totally refreshed, as though she had washed in dew.

She stood, removed her underwear, because she thought she ought to
Rinse off the mermaid’s glorious shower by washing in some water.
She walked to a fissure in the cave where the water ran down in rills,
And as she rinsed her face and neck, she felt a pair of gills.

In shock she stumbled backwards and fell upon the floor,
Where her legs fused into a tail, which wasn’t there before.
She looked at it in horror and then with fear she cried,
When instantly, the mermaid lay down by her side.

The mermaid clasped her in her arms and rolling across the floor,
Pulled the flapper to the edge of the pool and pushed her in, before
Sliding in to the water herself, and pulling the flapper under,
Where, to her surprise, the flapper could breathe, it really was a wonder.

The flapper hung suspended, floating there in shock,
Then gradually realising she was all right, started to take stock.
Thinking that now, perhaps, she could swim just like a fish,
She gathered up her strength, and gave her tail a swish.

Unwittingly, she flapped her tail with all the strength she’d got,
And happening to be facing the cave door, right through it she shot.
Then coming out in daylight, she stared in disbelief
At all the spectacular marine life round about the reef.

There was coral in profusion, as far as the eye could see,
Of many shapes and colours, like a garden beautifully
Laid out on the sea-bed, with fishes swimming round,
Each of them making it their home; the sea-life did really abound.

The mermaid caught up with the flapper and took her by the hand,
Then said to her, “I’m confused, I just don’t understand
How you became a mermaid, then I saw you couldn’t breathe,
So I pushed you underwater, to try to give you ease.”

“I realised that you’d grown gills and couldn’t breathe in air,
So I thought that being in water was best, because it’s where
We mermaids live, so that is the place you had better be.”
“Thank you, you’ve saved my life again,” said the flapper gratefully.

Then, although still puzzled, they swam on, hand-in-hand,
The mermaid helping the flapper, ’til she could understand
How to use her tail well, to control where she did swim,
And to make fine adjustments, by using the tail’s fin.

Eventually the flapper grew tired, so to the cave they both swam back,
The flapper taking the lead, because she’d got the knack
Of how to control her tail, and adjust direction and speed,
Then a thought suddenly struck her, in air, her lungs she would need.

They reached the cave and while in the pool, the flapper to the mermaid said,
“How am I going to breathe back in air? I can’t get it into my head.”
The mermaid replied, “I think you should try, we mermaids can manage ok.
Just try to do what comes naturally, that will be the best way.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” bravely declared the flapper.
She hauled herself out, then she choked, the mermaid, on her back did slap her.
The flapper coughed, and gave a gasp, then shouted in relief,
“I think I’m going to be all right, my lungs have started to breathe.”

They both lay there in silence, thinking of what had passed.
Then the flapper turned to the mermaid, and she said, “These last
Few hours I’ve spent with you have been just like a dream.
Now I’m tired, shall we go to bed? I think you know what I mean!”

They pulled themselves into the bed, and together they did huddle.
The mermaid put her arms round the flapper and together they did cuddle.
And this time, as the two of them laid together in rest,
It was now the mermaid who cupped the flapper’s breast.

The mermaid asked, “Remember when you stroked my tail and I gushed?”
The flapper felt embarrassed and again on her face she blushed.
The mermaid said, “It was really nice, wouldn’t you like to try?”
The flapper replied, “I’m afraid it’s too late, and here’s the reason why.”

“That would be an experience I’d really like to try.
However, it is too late now, ’cause as my tail got dry,
I felt it metamorphosise, have a feel, I beg.”
The mermaid reached down with her hand, and felt the flapper’s leg.

Nevertheless, she stroked it, and rubbed it up and down,
And accidentally touched some hair, which caused her then to frown.
“I think you’ve got a problem, you’d best hear it from me.
Stuck between your legs, I think there’s a sea anemone.”

The flapper remembered the last time that the mermaid there had felt.
She’d had on silken *******, so had seemed smooth and svelte.
Now, she’d got her legs back which were absolutely bare,
And of course, instead of feeling silk, the mermaid felt her hair.

“That’s not an anemone, in fact, it is my......frizz.
I am used to it being there, that’s just the way it is.
I try to keep it neatly trimmed, so there is not a lot,
Besides, I think it’s there to protect the entrance of my grot.”

“When you say you’ve got a grot, I assume you mean a cave.
Is it as big as this one, holding all the treasures you have?”
The flapper answered the mermaid, “Oh no, it’s very small,
And held safe within it is my most precious possession of all.”

“I have carefully guarded it so that it won’t get lost.
I expect my husband to have it soon, a few weeks at the most.
And so, my dearest mermaid, until I am a bride,
Nobody will ever know just what I keep inside.”

The mermaid gently smoothed the ‘frizz’, and said, “I understand.
Now, don’t you think it’s time we got you back to land?”
I would like to help you, and I think I know a way
Of quickly getting you safely all the way to Bombay.”

“Thank you,” responded the flapper, “however, if we may,
I’d like to go to another port, one before Bombay.
Then, if at all possible, I can rejoin my cruise ship there,
And may I take some of your clothes, so I’m not on
god pity me whom(god distinctly has)
the weightless svelte drifting ****** feather
of your shall i say body?follows
truly through a dribbling moan of jazz

whose arched occasional stepped youth swallows
curvingly the keeness of my hips;
or,your first twitch of crisp boy flesh dips
my height in a firm fragile stinging weather,

(breathless with sharp necessary lips)kid

female cracksman of the nifty,ruffian-rogue,
laughing body with wise ******* half-grown,
lisping flesh quick to thread the fattish drone
of I Want a Doll,
                          wispish-agile feet with slid
steps parting the tousle of saxophonic brogue.
Janette Sep 2012
Hush, my heart, for something is done...




Watch for the night
to lay our vows
over the wild parable of gardens
and over the wet lessons of the moon,
that give us prophecy in whispers
of dream, elope, and leave,
the absence of still rooms,
soothing, the svelte lips
descending upon my neck
in the seance of evening,
you soak calla lilies
of our red earth oils
and ***,
and with them
draw me a nuptial bath,

unbind the taupe soles
I have kept with the grace
of a concubine, sold
into the dark alcoves,
beyond the value of reticence,
you find me in rainstorms,
and wrap me in the flesh

and fabric of your hands,
behind silk walls,
with the ardour of Rapunzel's deliverance,
let down over the clavicles,
as fists unclench
in their exhaustion,

baby roses quiver this night, I keep
in pecan skin and votive eyes,
dip the Fahrenheit of your glance,
as it strays over my lips, your tongue
whips of mustard weeds,
seed your voice, sinks
into the garden's cleavage

as its lit pink tapers
spill their desperate midnights
and abandoned mornings,

ache under the arthritic, thick cedar
addictions to the milkflower
of a presence painted in clay glyphs,
stay the sinew and ******
of my body, a madrigal
upon our Indian Summer bed,

bled in a chorus of cicadas....

let the hymn be heard
over all these broken vows
and shattered pledges, speak
from the ruined marriage of flesh,
as I kneel in our earth,
in the sere, and seek in myself
that measure of peace, I know
is not there, without you,

to writhe in the throes
of exquisite anguish,

I give

my mouth in dream,
between your thighs
where the river runs fierce,
under the lithe sapling root
of my tongue, as it runs
the swift currents
and golden eddies
of inebriate skin, puckers
over the Inulin of the ****
and begins its swelling,
down the trellis of bones,
and the ******* of limbs
beneath the black monsoon
of the soul, as it perishes

in the engorged maw
of the split body, blades
of shoulders, soaked in the myrrh
of our rapture, fading
lifelines engraved on the back
of the hand you hold soft,
against me,

as my throat buries its moan
swallowed by your own, for solely
in you is it silenced, quelled
by the swells of song
you reign in the jugular
and soothe, a balm
for all my body, burning

its defiance, taken
to the limits of this,
our savage garden,
in the pilgrimage
to such lavish boundaries,
held abeyant, the cadence
of candles and solemn vows
sound the rhythm of our slow deaths,
writ in the lush psalm of the handsome earth,

our love, engulfed
in the wells of a sole desire,
I give you this,
my body's silkwhite harvest of faith,
driven fast with nails

into the exquisite wrists of the Christflesh,
shivering under the furtive delirium
of these, our fevers,
severed from body to body: twain,
that is now one ardent sorrow of flesh,
this is my body,
this is my blood,

I have given,
vows to bind our words, my love,
to the vigilance of night, that lives
and dies with the fall and rise of you breath,
one muslin depth,
relinquished to the white earth,
over an eternity of deliverance...
Mas mabuti pang ilibing
Kaysa maligaw
Mas mabuti pa nakikita ang sarili sa ilalim
Kaysa hindi makita ang sarili kahit kailan
Oo nga't ako ang naghukay ng lupa,
Ako itong kusang pumasok.
Ako ang naglibing sa sarili ko.
Ngunit sinipa mo ako paloob.
Tinabunan mo ng lupang mas marami pa kaysa nararapat.
Sila itong nagpatong ng limang malalaking bato.
Paniguradong wala na akong aahunan.
Paniguradong hindi na ako makakabangon s apagkakamatay.
Hindi pa napanatag at may ahas na pinagpilitan.
Ipasok, gumapang, pinagsiksikan.
Tinabihan ako, hinalikan
Inikot ang ulo at dahan dahang pinalibutan ang aking leeg.
Hindi ako lumalaban, hindi ako pumalag.
Hanggang kailan niyo papatayin ang namatay na?
Hanggang kailan niyo didiligan ng dugo ang lupang basa?
Hanggang kailan ako mamamatay?


**Svelte Rogue
This is the Tagalog version of my first chavacano poem entitled Entumecido.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
The High Line (Pearls Before Swine)

is located on Manhattan's West Side. It was an elevated train track, that runs from Gansevoort Street in the Meatpacking District (wholesale butchers) to West 34th Street, between 10th & 11th Avenues, near the Hudson River, running parallel to the river.  

The High Line was originally constructed in the 1930's, to lift dangerous freight trains off Manhattan's streets. The High Line, nowadays, is open as a public park, owned by the City of New York. The District is now a night life hot spot of elegant shops and restaurants, among the few remaining meat packing firms, a "scene." If not in a hurry, and unfamiliar with the High Line, look it up (see notes), to get a visual of image. Or not. I can't remember who I promised I would dig out my High Line poem, but a promise kept.
_________________

Walk­ed the High Line after work,
early summer afternoon,
a pubescent evening-tide,
the teenage colors
of the setting ball,
seize your breath,
your eyes, enthrall.

On Little West 12th Street,
climbed up to
breathe the green,
thriving railroad earth-beds
tucked so cute,
tween the rusted ties of
intrepid railroad tracks.
still working in
service to humanity;
nature supporters now,
a new kind
of freight carried.

Climbed up on the backs
of a jumbled combo of
dressed beef carcasses
and yuppie carc-*****,
both obedient to the
Law of Consumption:
Consume or be consumed.  

Looked down on them,
grazing,
gazed upon them
pseudo social-dancing,
they are all prowling,
cat burglars,
searching for felines, roosters,
to tango/tangle with till
the shameful dawn walk,
a final tally of who,
was consumed,
and who,
got consumed.

Watch with bemused fascination
at the children,
swilling and chilling,
some liquor, some swill.
nonetheless  admiring each other;
their Lauren cut and Hilfiger heft
the finest of fat veined lines,
decorating their svelte,
but very attractive,
full figured appearances.

USDA Grade A,
a genuine meat market,
humans and
animals guts,
intertwined.

The Highline,
an architect's composition
of summer grasses,
planted in nooks and crannies
of man's discarded invention.

Summer grasses in unison,
stadium waving to
the music of summer breezes,
Manhattan sounds,
clinking glasses,
goods and services exchanged.    

The view admires you -
Oh baby you look so fine,
Your hair, like the
Hudson River's aquas
is a shining, streaked,
by High Line highlighted
late afternoon,  
sun-setting golden sparklers.

Your gold chains entwining,
fire crackers on top of a
the blue ribboned river,
exploding, dazzling,
your obedient admirers.  

They complement your skin,
aglow, one of nature's works,
soon to be painted on a canvas,
across a horizon of a
pinkish-tinged lavender sky -    
a gift of the oh-so-refined
refineries of South Jersey.  

Cool summer afternoon in
the Meatpacking District,
traffic, human, automotive,
clogs the Gansevoort piazza,
a NYsee zone pietonne,
a Manhattan cocktail of
young strivers and Eurotrash,
where you check me out,
and I return the favor,
using a pre-certified checklist.

Are you young?
Are you hip?
Are you beautiful?
Do you possess
what it takes
to undress me?
Reservations and a limousine!

Everyone who's there,
by definition, is in,
otherwise where else
would they be!

Pearls of perfect people,
perfect lives,
in, around and
before, swine.  

Am I the only one
who gets the joke,
or is the joke, me,
because I just don't got it
in order to get "it"?

Am I the only one
who sees the dead,
ancient and newly arrived,
human and other kind,
the living,
sharing the animal spirits
of the Meatpacking district:
some animated,
some haunted,
some summer tanned
some blood drained,
ghostly white veined?    

In this city,
my sweet city,
city where I bore
my first breath,
city where I'll be laid down to
my permarest,
the hues of my life
are city pastels,
colorful shades of asphalt
and concrete gray and
dried blood,
interspersed with the
speckled glitter of the
potpourri of human creation.

The Highline, an architect's
composition of summer grasses,
planted in nooks and crannies
waving to the jazzed music
of Manhattan lives,
its history, summer breezes,
emblem of the city's only coda:

Transform, rebirth -
survive and prosper,  
or else,
be slaughtered and die.

Summer 2010
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High_Line_(New_York_City)

Written years ago when long poems were the norm, and inspiration was in the odor of the air I breathed.
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2015
The mannequin faceless,
Clothed in gold
With hands pandering svelte,
Remains an admired inanimate,
Albeit, atop whispers to a girl,
A 4-foot flower 3-feet my right,
Fretting and stumped;
Extrinsic a label – “undesirable.”

The mannequin faceless,
Her and hollow –
A towering nose above, stands
Opaque ivory, scarred come
Synonymous eyes with a symmetrical
Soul, assumed plastic perfection
And more importantly,
Soon to be sale.

The mannequin faceless
Convinced her new friend,
Her lesser, lopsided,
And natural not-so counterpart
To consume,
“Eat me, “eat me,” “eat it all,”
And then, “binge some more.”

The mannequin faceless
SCREAMS,
“BUY!”  Amongst the other torments –
Born both fingers that can’t move and
The thumbs that shuffle, “One’s,”
To the girl that was never,
“Good enough;” so shared the
Tabloid’s mouth.

The mannequin faceless demands
And DEMANDS nothing less than to
Buy, starve, suffer and sacrifice
So that every “broken body,”
May embody polymer, and for a price,
A not so fair trade whilst
Considering old man gold,
The curator of conundrum
And the plastic he’s created.
And maybe it was because I was listening to, "Radiohead."
Beau Scorgie Apr 2016
Petals of paper
for a stature svelte.
An opxum core.

Swindling willow
waltz upon a stage.
Tethered by the same roots.

A ***** moon,
an ascending tide.
Longing lovers without passports.

Army of emerald soldiers
seduced by ruby gypsies.
Ashen by a kiss.

Clumsy hearts vitrified -
never worn on sleeves.
Await a hummingbird.
Burlesque fatuous is the implication of your emotional daily pretentiousness. I am seldom, otherwise a psychopath, able
to own fraternity which I can't
discernment or jester because there is an art to love and ******
And it's a conventional edit to your own dullness. I am vivid,
Debris to impersonation.
I am absent but identical
to thin air. I am a Prometheus
Arabian night in Lysistrata premise.
My words may remind you of the day I held your eyes in infinite cluster. Perhaps my love isn't enough for you to understand. For example, the glassed vain is paralysis iridium illicitness which is svelte to inadmissible synthesis. The cloud let are torsion, assail with cypress and impossible solariums; and the propane was a sensation of disjointed loveliness.
Every time I go for a walk, mosquitoes understand my lonely talks because they sip my blood at a quarter past ten but these glazed roads scrutinized my wrist, escorted vernal preposterous blue/purple relentless ghostly cheekbones.
Thought I could festive the blaze among the cedar bridge road
but take a pause and look at my skin and thighbones,
Preterists to flowered unless I smile and tell you
"This is heartbreak"*

*Unable to keep up with your facetiousness, personality failed me temporarily. Mind melting in a moment of dissonance,
This cognitive refrain refracts the 'I' that oscillates accordingly.
One's morphology, tuned to its own metric of change.
Hypnos whispers and sleep beckons, taunting insomnia (which makes a mockery of all humans) but Morpheus has no time for anything less than grandiose archetypes.
Last night I may have dreamt or drunk some foolish things, told people the truth untruthfully, let slip more than I should have.
What a pity, secrecy. They say
information wants to be free.
Who lingers in the details?
Past memories are liberated only by the present. I stand here in the downpour, soaking it all in.
Compassion, god is in the rain.
My fulgurite heart resting on the palm of a deity, at a tilt, slowly it's sliding off; when it fell I gasped.
The reflection of wide eyes in each of its atria, emotion flowing through these venae cavae, those
dilated eyes shimmered before it shattered, gleaming with passion. Us, in the blink of an I.
written on May 13th, 2017.
song shadows
soul and mirrors
will we ever see clearer
sweet life
oh the fragrance
the righteous mind
un-sees the danger
so many soldiers
so many women
are all of our fathers
really little children
move swiftly
into the windy recesses
the mind regresses
all the time
damp and wet
the owl cries
so long tomorrow
farewell goodbye
dunk your head
in liquid splendor
i am tender as the snow
pouring down from heaven’s fiefdom
morning's hunger is dissipated
by moonlight kisses and salty lovers
salves of calendula upon our skin
swim in juicy wonder
listen and dance with thunder
the fireflies swim through burning skies
making arcs and triumphant cries
what a silly blunder
all the noise and all the cover
hiding your heart in violet garments
streams of satin in your slumber
stroke the liberated arrow
weave the gardenia’s shadow
streams of consciousness and beauty
looking into eyes of human strategy
human shadows
start to suffocate us
instruct the timber
plundered
strumming humid arias
looms of butter start to melt
svelte and spelt
slews of wealth
heaven's belt is loosely tied
striated like the mind
grinding hind legs
selves neglect entry fees
sleeves of grass
embrace strands of ice
with a lover or two
on the side
Air carresses porcelain skin
His firm lips press eagerly to every nook
Hands graze over pert *******
Goosebumps appear as nails dig lightly

Teeth sink ever so slightly into pouty full lips
Lithe figure squirms beneath him
Brilliant twinkling blues stare at the dent in the lip
Leaning forward svelte tongue drags across

Tasting
Teasing
Suckling

Finally sinking pearly whites into the dent
Ears perk as a hard moan escapes from deep within her
Releasing the lip leaves that wondrous mouth to catch
The sound that drives every lover wild

Gasping
Grinding
Groaning

Her body like an instrument
To be stroked, trimmed, plucked
Until that magnificent all consuming music plays out
With tender strokes, pads lightly pluck taut rose buds

Body leans back over the arm
Ample spheres of beauty push out as the back arches
Flames of spun silk kiss the floor
Aqueous tongue traces a path up the center
Veering right at the last second
Drenching tightly drawn peaks by suckling with the inferno
Inside his mouth

Insides quiver almost tossing her over ecstacy's edge
Feeling his phallus hard against trembling thigh
Blood races to the pleasure center pulsating where his rod presses
Crying out passionately, followed by begs

"Please"
"Please what?"  He asks.
Each word sending lava to her core
"I don'don't know!"  She screams frustrated

He chuckles further infuriating and confusing her
Knowing what is wanted he continues to tease
Pulling her forward with hands pinned behind her back
An exasperated sounds emits from swollen lips

"Tsk Tsk"  He admonishes
Subtlety grinding the tip of his staff against that hidden pearl
She struggles, yanking at her arms
Unable to escape the torment, trying to block it

Suddenly a door opens a soft mew fills his ears
Soft plush pillows caressed by firm ones
Mouths open as tongues greet eagerly,

Twisting
Turning
Dancing
Caressing

He feels the change the point of no return
Lush curves push against muscles
Bare mound begins to move up and down his thigh
Moisture soaking through his jeans

A fierce cry permeates the air as his teeth sink into her neck
Replaced by tongue stabbing over, suckling hard
Yet biting again
He feels her pace pick up as she grinds deeper and faster

Pain equals pleasure
Pleasure is pain
He begins to crank up the heat
Nipping the ear lobe as fingers grip and pull on tight *******

Her body responds like a well played guitar
Cries and moans spur him on
Bites become harder
Pinches become twists

The pale silk flesh suddenly covered in red welts
Mews turn to groans
Groans turn to cries
Cries turn to screams

As the screams start his thigh is flooded with her ***
Moans escape his lips in time for her kiss to catch them
His member is pulsating, he needs to take her soon
Ruby lips are devouring his

Teeth smash together
Lips split and bleed
The salty taste the only clue
He feels her lips pressing against his neck

Licking
Kissing
Nibbling
Biting

Feeling her teeth press deep into his neck is his undoing
Growling loudly as his body reacts
**** jumps up with steady spasms
Yanking the buttons off the fly

Fully engorged mushroom springs forward at the tip of
9 sleek thick inches
"Ahhhhhh" relief as the beast is let out
Unpinning her hands they immediately go for his shaft
Gripping tight

Air ***** hard like a kick to the stomach
Lips meet again
Twirling, suckling, dancing fervently
Hands everywhere no part left untouched

He slides a finger deep between silky folds
Pulling forth the sweetest nectar
Leaning forward tongue delves out suckling the heated sweetness
Her breath hot in his ear as ******* dip deep
Filling, stretching, pushing, adding a third elicits a guttural moan

Fingers curl up pressing against the soft ledge
Mouths crash together again
Hand grabs a fist of flames pulling back
Deep emeralds flash such fire stare back

Watching as her last effort to undo me occurs
Tongue glides slowly tracing her mouth lips
Fingers ease out replaced by the sword
Placing digits between her lips leaning in tasting her *** upon her lips
As his hard length slams home plundering Her tight volcanic well deep

Pushing
Pulling out
Ramming to the hilt

Mouth swallowing every sound
Allowing it to fuel musical movements
In, out, up, down
Sliding, pumping
Biting, pinching

Flesh hitting flesh the clapping sound oblivious to us
Her heated well ******* his clock deeper
Hips lifting, gyrating meeting each ******
Opening to him like no other

Sweat covers naked flesh
Bodies collide over and over
Neither giving less than the other
Feeling her vice grip upon his shaft it begins to quiver
He increases the pinching, biting, and suckling

Rocking to and fro harder, faster
Gasping as his clock twitches
Her hand reaches between them making a circle around the base
Gripping tight as he pumps in, tighter still on withdrawal

Ahhhs,  Ohhs, yeesssses!
Fill the room
Her emerald greens gaze deep into his striking blues
Arching hard her body beneath  his
Her ***** having such a grip he can't breathe
His ***** tense as he feels his own ecstasy approaching

Trying to move but wanting to hold on just a moment longer
The redhead leans up tracing his lips with her tongue
Slamming home three more times
Sacs draw up and he feels the release as it flies through his staff
Spewing deep into her red hot well

Her walls tremble, gripping and releasing after her own body
Explodes, her juices spurting forward mixing with his as spasms rock their world

Afterwards is calm and warm
Looking at her sweet flesh now a wreck, marks from his teeth, fingers and lips evidence of how hot things became

Lips meet once more in an almost chaste kiss
Bodies intertwined as they fall asleep
Each dreaming about the hours before.
Sleeping in blissful contentment
Just a taste of light rough play. Not all enjoy but don't judge what you have never experienced.  

Property of Jennifer Humphrey copyrighted.  Please do not use without giving credit to the author.  I can prove it is my work so please write your own don't steal mine.   JH
Janette Aug 2012
Images:


Mist rolling like silk,
Reflections of mountains painted with fire; trees edging grass;
Dancing hellos to dark sunshine and warm-tipped lips,
Cradled in the dance of sky and cloud,
Shape-shifting, secretly, where
The wind whispers, across the singing stones...




Embers;

Bathed in the essence of Spring,
A clockwise dust settles on a cruciform of Love;
Her silk heaven remembers the lithe scent of wildflowers,
Twirling and twining in teased twistings,
Swaddling her exotic leash,
Braided within the sunshine of his softly spoken kiss...





Oneness;

Days tumbled, within wild parables
Where prophecy became whispers of dream,
Soothing, the svelte of lips descending upon her neck;
Cobwebbed thoughts, in the seance of evening,
Ribbon the sound, silver-blue,
Deepening to amber...



Together;


Moonlight, the epiphany of night
Milk-blue in it's cooling;
Straying across lips, her body,
A madrigal, bled by the swell of his song;
Seducing smiles inside her eyes, melting,
Peeled of scarlet lace,
Tangled in the skin of his shadow...




Love;


Love caressed, with warm hands,
Threading beads throughout her hair,
And naked, came the night, lapping milk-flowers
To melt him, where he lay,  a silent sweeping of flesh
Mingling, softly as liquid thighs wrapped the spill of moon-glow,
Fragrant, yearning suckles, musky overtures hungrily devouring;
Her throaty sighs, absorbed.....




Visions;


Her fingertips memorise lean lines, faded jeans,
Visions of tanned and taut;
The contours of him, so close; enticing heat,
Lifting the nectar of midnight's whisper
Tracing moon-patterns, a teasing touch,
Swallowing dark promises of sweet elixir
Poured thigh to thigh...




Taste;


The subtle, sweet venom of his lips
Seeking warmth
And giving it;
His leg between her thighs...a chalice void of wine
Zephyrd trails coursing through the ripple of flesh,
Lifting the ****** of indigo amidst the wanton spill,
Awakening the breath in satiate...




Warmth;

Soft to his touch she lay,
Her breath braided with sensuality;
S T O P S....
As his fingers lace soft down to blossom;
Licking each whimper,
Swollen in shades of pink tender, parted by a tongue's tip,
Fluttering in the depths of love-burnt flesh...




Echoes;

Waterfalls of breathless silence
Veil night phantoms between silent caress,
Ravaging the wasteland of yesterday to
Bloom the nights of tomorrow,
Her body twists, legs tangled where his
Once laid;
The scent of 'forever'....breathes...........
Bardo Mar 2018
Snuggy ****** of a curled up cat by
   the fire
Furry faced, smiley headed, svelte
   purveyor of the big meow
Purring away like a Geiger counter,
If you seek Nirvana then seek no
   more, it's here
The Cat, she knows.
My cat poem. He's my relaxation technician.
Carolynn Dec 2012
She hears the remarks, the jokes
Absorbs them into her skin
Yet they don’t stick to her bones
They drag more with them as they filter out

At first she thinks they’re wrong
But what if that’s not so?

Do I have to eat? Why?
Why don’t I deserve to look thinnerbetter than everyone else?
I can trick you all
Here goes…
Absent Minded Apr 2010
Christian0 and Juanita

A Single Act: Three scene script by Chris Chance- April/May 2010

Prologue:

There love took place over a decades  time on the island east of Manhattan and in the valleys between the northern tip of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Tuscarora Ridge of the Southern Pennsylvania Appalachians.

He- no saint at all, felt in his heart a hero but ultimately hid behind svelte armor that protected him from a fickle and judgmental world.

She- a creature worthy of the lead lady in a classy novel- pure and once so very innocent. Statuesque and of absolute sense- commanding her world but building high walls around her red heart as she went.

The fields spoken of in this tale were accurately planted and lovingly nourished long ago and they still grow, multiplying their essence year to year. What great hope the author holds in his blue heart for their harvest. What great hopes he has for us all.

It is understood that the sins of the original garden have heft upon us, as a civilization a life of confusion, doubt and pain. It is with faith that one carries on believing in the goodness of a divine creator and master of all that you know.

Said in this story, it’s believed that he or she, the divine that is lives in two places simultaneously.

First; among the stars painted in the style of Rembrandt meeting Picasso, laughing the way Chaplin must daily at the absurd nonsesilogicalness of it all, crying like the poor ******* who’s let his whole future slip through his foolish little fingers.

And the Divine, the great source of energy in the universe also lives in a certain part- or nook - or cranny- of all things that breathe and/or return with the spring.

It is the voice you hear right now in your boney skull. It's the feeling you get when you forgive. It is the obligation you have to reach up and hold steady your fellow man.

As the author of this tale drops to his knees seeking guidance from that hidden, divine and breathy spiritualness he silently cries out in his pain.

A pain he never knew existed. He’ll silently ask to be prayed for now
and at the hour of his death.


Act I Scene I:

She could snare me in a trap by my ***** and hang me to the cherry tree. Yet my love for her wild flower remains – growing stronger- gathering and harboring the strength of welded tycoon steel.

This love you see- is no ordinary love.

It’s a love of passion and flame but one that culminates with no possible conclusion.

This love does not merely flow - but in actuality rages deep and wide- flowing so deep and so wide that the queen herself could traverse it in comfort.

And now alas, her love.

The love of ours- alone, no longer vast enough in its capacity: to carry on.

And it shall be furthermore, that I now- and I alone: will carry the weight of our time spent as one.

Our time spent as one such as the sand and the sea- Spent as one just as the mountain and valley.

Spent as one the way the very soul itself: on its own palate- feels and tastes true, sweet-sweet love.

This love I feel built around me like a velvet dream, a love now burning footsteps in my ears and setting fire to the nether regions of my soul has been banished and broken. But against better judgment still beats in my senseless and tortured eyes.

And in my anguish, I berate myself with guilt and deeply scour avenues of the past- for better directions we might have chosen.

Alas and in the end- amidst tears of fallen dreams: all roads lead to you and where your heart began and where- your heart ended.

So I ask you, all of you that bear witness before me. Whose heart is it- that still beats true and free? And whose heart is it that beats dark as the stormy cloud.

Whose heart I ask?

Or better yet- a different conundrum of a similar variety.

Can any heart be free?

Free to consume its desire- whether the sun shines or not? Free to love and never to be forgotten. Free to breathe without the threat of mortality?

I challenge you my friends to define this- and to thoroughly answer my questions.

To see into my future: regardless of what must be seen and help me- please make me believe again. Make me in all my shattered and tired bones and aging skin truly, truly believe again.

To teach my sons that it is safe to love in this hard and ruthless world.
To see my love as better,  more pure- unscathed by the devilish nature of the standard human ego.  

To once and for all see love and all life- as hopeful and not bereft of commonality and truth. To see her again- my fair love.  Smiling the notion of a better tomorrow.

Act I: Scene II

Our sins derail us its true. Over time and a plethora of vanishing precepts we wash along the rocks liked laundry.

Shall we neatly and quietly burro underground in the neighbor’s green space, with fleeting air- void of light and color?

Should we swing by our necks from the orange groves it would be in vain as life is so precious and out there lays undeniable hope that there is more of life’s holiness to drink in with each passing storm?

Impossible. That is not who I am. This is not who I was. That is not who I will be.

So vanquished cries muffle in the night against vicious and angry winds and the low weeping moan is constant as I look ahead while looking backwards.

Wondering how from my grasp it ever slipped so far?

It all, each and every golden ounce slipped from my tongue in sorrow in truth I must say.  Unfiltered neurosis and faltering fear are guides that  will fail to bring you home safely.

Nefarious tides of anxiety and reflection blinded me- blinded me from the sun.

But yet still she knows or understands that the bird song of redemption is an actual place where hearts once emptied , now gather to refill that same heart with love again and again.

It is the wound of her life open, crying out and bleeding through her lonely eyes and ears. It is with shame that I admit my long standing ignorance and tardiness to the cause of her heart.

Now with the backing of angels I see the landscape and all its divine nature but yet I am unable to enter. Unable to rejoin the garden and fight a snake who speaks my unholy name off split tongue and evil notions.

Where, where my love is it that I should go from here after having come from there? Where shall I drink my clean water, where shall I rest my weary head?

And oh, the head of a sleepless and love sick man. Heavy with burden brought on by his own lack of mastery regarding the most important issue and god given task of them all, but as once ailed Mercutio in his quest for and of allegiance to Romeo. Time is of the essence.

When I lay my head it is in sorrow and the pain of real passion. Passion for remaining one as a quarter  that makes up a whole- such as the corners of the cross and the earth, air, water and fire itself in a single beating heart.

For  one hundred and eighty ****** and arrogant days and their resident risings of the sun I've been reborn- sworn to never let evil destroy good in my heart.

As you must do- you will do.  

But the tides that flow in my veins do not flow from you they flow from the divine, a divine that will protect me and forgive my trespasses as he’s surely forgiven me of mine on others.

It’s only the growing fields of our past love that concern me now. How will we harvest the wheat which together we’ve sewn? How will we slaughter and eat the meat of the heard. When will any of us drink the wine from the grapes we have grown?

The entities I’ve stated are my future and will remain  my future until arc angels guide me from this earthly tomb. The blood of our fields will reign supreme.

The harvest of our youth will produce.  Standing together or behind our backs- as we run from it. The bloom of our responsibilities as care taker of these lands will be upon us in time.

So as your heart sails to foreign shores I awake from my rage and see the sun, feel the air, breathe and seek guidance for my purpose. To continue to plow the field and fish the harbor while I settle for meager tastes.

May the work I’ve done. May the work we’ve done be a strong enough foundation for both fields to nurture, endure and produce.

And as you for my fleeting love: may the beans of your coffee be rich and plentiful, may your heart find its way back to where it once was- where ever that may be.

Between here and now, let the days shine upon you like spring light. Bathing you until your soul feels safe and fresh. Keeping you where you need to be to feel free.

But alas leave knowing that the flame I still hold- as I have from day one. For the mystic and mysterious love brought upon us by the three so many, many years ago.

How long that can burn, I know not: but as the skies bolster the heaven- my heart once black, has returned to life. To love you is all that there is. I will share my heart and tormented soul and every last breath I breathe until graying and dying days. For you and only you exist.

Act I Scene III:

The sun came out after a snowy and emotional winter but the air never seemed to warm through the long days of April.

And so in the absence of all that is left , we set off.  You, in the direction that I lived in for years and me in the direction that you lived for years.

Two lovers, one point, two stories. Proverbial ships in the night is what we are- and the passing simply destiny.

Oh but for how I will remember thee. The raven hair and olive skin, deep eyes batting only in such a way as to swell my heart, that equisite eyebrow raised in point, the witty acronyms of our secret family language.

The warmth of your parent’s hearth and the surrounding family. A safe and wonderful place to even a man such as I, who took it sorely for granted along with the other neighboring fields planted and stamped with our communication, our love, our example.

Time is a tempting and vicious confidant, one that will surely lead you astray and bring mischief and havoc to your very door step.

Tread lightly if you dare to tread at all in love. Hear the heart you rest against, listen to the subtle tick tock of its rhythm. Hold a stone as it were a diamond, train the mutt as a pure bred champion, shape your mud as if it were the finest of all clays from the earth.

The whistling train only passes through the station once. Get on get off, make up your mind – change your mind – ignore your mind. Look into your heart and soul then move forth.

To where it is you should be.

Where it is you’ll be forgiven and nurtured even more revered than ever before. A place so familiar you might even call it home.  A bed so all knowing that it could only be ours. A life so new it could never be as it was.

Know this before you part my love, know that I am true: as I say- is as I pray. But your choice is your choice and yours alone: to rise or recede.

My heart pines like the losing persona in an old film. For I see the sun rising. Shining and setting in your eyes.

I see the fields as they grow under watchful eyes, I hear the wind begging us to move but I stand grounded upon all that is pure and sanctimoniously holy. Definitively tattered- but braced firmly at the center of the storm.

Waiting for the love we loved, Once. The love that we may squander if we have yet to do so already.  A love that can be repaired and grow larger and more consuming then ever imagined.

A love never to slip from my grasp again.

Narrative Ending:

So the fella in this case is condemned to be a shepherd without his flock. Sending signals by smoke along the telephone wire to complete the rendering of the fields. With mercy on his side- may he succeed in the light of the world relentlessly embittered in the dark?

Or will all in life just as after a close death, quietly move on?

Completing revolutions of the sun: that fiery ball of light, wider than the distance from here to Mars and back, with us random like ebbing and flowing on the tides lengthy pull of the moon?

Or is the strength to muster what one wants, really possible?

Can he climb the highest mountain? Could his faith be tested in lava like pits of hell? Can his heart be branded clean after so much life?

And what of her beating heart?

What of her search to dissolve the fears of her own making? How has her beauty helped or failed her. How will she look herself in the eye?
How long must I day dream of meandering through a sweet and enjoyable song with her one last time.

Unknown answers-

More unknown then I, as the player in this drama, would care or dare to admit, but hopeful ever more like the humming bird buzzing summer honeysuckle in rainy times- I shall remain.

I shall see the sparkle of her soul rent the eyes- if only for a time.
Taking both yonder to another space and time, where she’d admit she lied in vain fear and exasperation when she said:  surely she could find no love true and could simply offer no more.

When my flesh gives way to bone cover me in roses. Walk me out in the morning of your mind as a man who loved without knowing how to love.

A male clearly guilty to the highest degree, in any court, of any land: of being careless with a precious gift.

And sadly for the ones who have loved and lost- in the end  life offers only so many windows into the soul of a lover.
Christiano and Juanita a one act: three scene script by Chris Chance- April/May 2010
Mas vueno pa enterrar
Contra perde
Mas vueno mira mi cuerpo abajo
Contra mira mi cuerpo perdido
Si, iyo ya cavar con el tierra,
Iyo ya entera complaciente
Iyo ya entera na mi cuerpo
Pero tu ya dale patada pa adrento
Ya basha tierra mas manada na suficiente
Ellos ya poner cinco grande piedra ariba
Seguro ya yo subir
Seguro hinde ya yo vivir
Hinde pa campante, ya pone pa colebra
Ya entra, yan camang, ya porsa
Yan junto comigo, ya besa
Ya bira na cabeza y pescuezo
No hay iyo luchar y defenderse
Hasta cuando kamo mata con el muerto?
Hasta cuando kam derramar sangre con el tierra mojado?
Hasta cuando yo muri?


**Svelte Rogue, ACS
This is my first Chavacano poem. It is a dialect in the Philippines which has similarity to Spanish. The poem speaks about my torments and tormentors on a recent event in my life. I did a mistake that caused them to do their acts. I was sorry and still am. I accepted defeat and didn't fight back, never did. I helplessly accept the pain every time. I fake a smile, keep my head up, and carry on. I die every day. I die a little inside every time they push me below.  The question is, until when?

PS. I will be adding the English and Tagalog (Language in the Philippines) version of this poem.
In the 2nd grade
a puppy love
crush on the
teacher steeped
deep in me

to my delight
her clear eyes
recognized the
promise of a
chubby boy
in all of his
quaint simplicity

her gentle
voice, friendly
and firm, filled
with caring instruction

the giddy class
attuned to her fresh
brunette bouffant, bunned
and perfectly coiffed,
speaking style and
youthful whimsy,
not a strand of hair
out of place

her svelte figure
flowed through
classroom isles
filling the space
with scented graces
of prescient carnations

that afternoon she
was abruptly called
from the class

when she returned
our beautiful princess
was sobbing

she concealed her face
then turned her back
on the class, crying
in a corner to dismayed
blushing blackboards

regaining composure
she turned
exposing her tear
stained cheeks
and dissheveled hair
to an unsettled class

“the President
hurt his back” she
announced.  “He’s
in the hospital.”

Whoa… I thought,
the President hurt
his back.  That's
terrible I surmised.

our beloved teacher
dismissed us
and resumed her
tearful grief

when I arrived home
my mother was
sitting on the bed
weeping.  “President
Kennedy is dead”
she blared.

my mother’s rumpled
housecoat and
tousled hair flattered
her flowing tears and
anguished sobs.

the tears of women
marked the end
of many puppy loves that day


Bob Marley & The Wailers
No Woman No Cry

Oakland
10/15/13
jbm
i have held with
fascination, when i was young,
  all of my toys.

a parallel universe of
  marvels. imperial is the mood
of these ecstasies!

i remember my cheap svelte revolver
  back in 1998 bought from
  the festive bazaar in the marketplace at the dreary heart of Bocaue when i was
consumed by the thought of brutal force and how swiftly, in the hands of men meant for twisting open
   the doors, welcome death
or the metallurgy of it.

i used to run off into the sunset
  toting my gun high with pride
   shunning the Sun, and the
reprise of my carousals is my mother
    soldering in her white hands
a "walis tambo" and summoning me
     homeward with a churlish grin
on my face, triumphantly ecstatic
   over my rendezvous.

now my gun has withstood the
   tatterdemalion of dog days
and in one corner i felt its
  brokenness as it yearns to
  be retired early in the peak
    of my youth. happiness wears down like a chip on the old linoleumed floor and i tinker with
  it to unsheathe the grime
  of the unspoken stucco concrete.

  i placed it in a box, my black revolver, together with the toys
   that i once laughed with
when only bliss is as simple as a juvenile love, or the easy picking
    of a santan over the fields
      where i ran off into
the viridian laughing with the verdure of the world that i once knew as something so beautiful
   and intricate.

i heard my black revolver went
   somewhere behind the macadamized wall where i dreamt of having a basketball ring nailed to.
   only i knew how to play
my revolver, and now that i am
   caught within the heaviness
  of all things that mean greater
  than all other joys,
   no other days could ever
surpass how
  i made
    a hero in myself
mighty with the tales
     that i keep.

good ole black revolver, 1998.
A poem I wrote as a tribute to the simpler forms of happiness and how unmistakably I have made a hero within myself when I was young.
J'étais seul, l'autre soir, au Théâtre Français,
Ou presque seul ; l'auteur n'avait pas grand succès.
Ce n'était que Molière, et nous savons de reste
Que ce grand maladroit, qui fit un jour Alceste,
Ignora le bel art de chatouiller l'esprit
Et de servir à point un dénoûment bien cuit.
Grâce à Dieu, nos auteurs ont changé de méthode,
Et nous aimons bien mieux quelque drame à la mode
Où l'intrigue, enlacée et roulée en feston,
Tourne comme un rébus autour d'un mirliton.
J'écoutais cependant cette simple harmonie,
Et comme le bon sens fait parler le génie.
J'admirais quel amour pour l'âpre vérité
Eut cet homme si fier en sa naïveté,
Quel grand et vrai savoir des choses de ce monde,
Quelle mâle gaieté, si triste et si profonde
Que, lorsqu'on vient d'en rire, on devrait en pleurer !
Et je me demandais : Est-ce assez d'admirer ?
Est-ce assez de venir, un soir, par aventure,
D'entendre au fond de l'âme un cri de la nature,
D'essuyer une larme, et de partir ainsi,
Quoi qu'on fasse d'ailleurs, sans en prendre souci ?
Enfoncé que j'étais dans cette rêverie,
Çà et là, toutefois, lorgnant la galerie,
Je vis que, devant moi, se balançait gaiement
Sous une tresse noire un cou svelte et charmant ;
Et, voyant cet ébène enchâssé dans l'ivoire,
Un vers d'André Chénier chanta dans ma mémoire,
Un vers presque inconnu, refrain inachevé,
Frais comme le hasard, moins écrit que rêvé.
J'osai m'en souvenir, même devant Molière ;
Sa grande ombre, à coup sûr, ne s'en offensa pas ;
Et, tout en écoutant, je murmurais tout bas,
Regardant cette enfant, qui ne s'en doutait guère :
" Sous votre aimable tête, un cou blanc, délicat,
Se plie, et de la neige effacerait l'éclat."

Puis je songeais encore (ainsi va la pensée)
Que l'antique franchise, à ce point délaissée,
Avec notre finesse et notre esprit moqueur,
Ferait croire, après tout, que nous manquons de coeur ;
Que c'était une triste et honteuse misère
Que cette solitude à l'entour de Molière,
Et qu'il est pourtant temps, comme dit la chanson,
De sortir de ce siècle ou d'en avoir raison ;
Car à quoi comparer cette scène embourbée,
Et l'effroyable honte où la muse est tombée ?
La lâcheté nous bride, et les sots vont disant
Que, sous ce vieux soleil, tout est fait à présent ;
Comme si les travers de la famille humaine
Ne rajeunissaient pas chaque an, chaque semaine.
Notre siècle a ses moeurs, partant, sa vérité ;
Celui qui l'ose dire est toujours écouté.

Ah ! j'oserais parler, si je croyais bien dire,
J'oserais ramasser le fouet de la satire,
Et l'habiller de noir, cet homme aux rubans verts,
Qui se fâchait jadis pour quelques mauvais vers.
S'il rentrait aujourd'hui dans Paris, la grand'ville,
Il y trouverait mieux pour émouvoir sa bile
Qu'une méchante femme et qu'un méchant sonnet ;
Nous avons autre chose à mettre au cabinet.
Ô notre maître à tous, si ta tombe est fermée,
Laisse-moi dans ta cendre, un instant ranimée,
Trouver une étincelle, et je vais t'imiter !
J'en aurai fait assez si je puis le tenter.
Apprends-moi de quel ton, dans ta bouche hardie,
Parlait la vérité, ta seule passion,
Et, pour me faire entendre, à défaut du génie,
J'en aurai le courage et l'indignation !

Ainsi je caressais une folle chimère.
Devant moi cependant, à côté de sa mère,
L'enfant restait toujours, et le cou svelte et blanc
Sous les longs cheveux noirs se berçait mollement.
Le spectacle fini, la charmante inconnue
Se leva. Le beau cou, l'épaule à demi nue,
Se voilèrent ; la main glissa dans le manchon ;
Et, lorsque je la vis au seuil de sa maison
S'enfuir, je m'aperçus que je l'avais suivie.
Hélas ! mon cher ami, c'est là toute ma vie.
Pendant que mon esprit cherchait sa volonté,
Mon corps savait la sienne et suivait la beauté ;
Et, quand je m'éveillai de cette rêverie,
Il ne m'en restait plus que l'image chérie :
" Sous votre aimable tête, un cou blanc, délicat,
Se plie, et de la neige effacerait l'éclat. "
Manu M Aug 2015
Sometimes when you read a verse
The words hit your soul hard
They make you wonder all night
“How can someone fabricate such a piece of art?”

The feeling each syllable holds
Gets carved into your heart
Words inspiring you to weave some of your own
Which might cause the ordinary populace to feel your warmth

With excitement flooding
You pick the quill only to wonder
Would your quill succeed in
Re-creating the magic
You recently witnessed?

You drop the quill
Not because of self-doubt
But because you just know
That some magic tricks only belong
With svelte magicians
And sometimes you yield sweet joy
In being touched by others
Just witnessing greatness…
John F McCullagh Mar 2013
In preserving Hugo Chavez,
every method will be tried.
If stuffing Hugo doesn’t work,
They’ll try Formaldehyde.

Madam Tussaud’s was consulted
But their wax was doomed to melt.
It is steamy in Caracas
And Hugo’s not exactly svelte.

A corpse in a glass coffin
Like Snow White on display
The late lamented Hugo
Was a saint some peasants say.

What is it with these communists
Who all faiths do decry?
They long to be like Lenin;
To be worshiped, deified.

In the end they'll use McDonald's
secret sauce to tan his hide.
Their burgers last forever
don't get me started on their fries.

If you go to Venezuela
Be sure and say hello for me
To the carcass of Caracas
preserved for posterity.
They say there's plenty other flower
But you're the one that matter
Should i want another?
This flower meant more than a lover

The last few petals are still there
Making it hard for me to stare
Inevitable, i still care
But who's to say all is fair

You fought well hard & true
I guess i did so, too
I'm trying to save you, really i do
Tulips are weak, like us two.


**Svelte Rogue, ACS
Leo Letters Feb 2015
A made up 16-year old in red - laid
atop crawled sheets mustered in a smell of midnight sweat.
A man of brows knitted ready to devour the **** sparkling naked and wet.
His crooked smile, svelte lines illuminated dimly under the shade of a cheap block
waiting, ready eager excited motivated in all a man's natural hunger
And a ***** -
legs apart, eyes closed;
her skin warm and tanned, untouched
aching to be severely loved.
Well, I've been working out
With my doctor's written blessing
I had to make a real big change
I was having trouble dressing
He said to take it slowly
Try walking then move on from that
So, I did as he suggested
And you know, I still feel fat
I walked on past McDonalds
On past Wendy's , Burger King
I walked right up to Dairy Queen
You know, there's something in this thing
I hid all my remote controls
Now I get off from the couch
I WALK the ...oh say, 'bout 5 feet
see...I'm no longer a couch  slouch
I looked into the mirror
About three weeks into this
And although I'm not impressive
I'm sure something was amiss
I looked down at my stomach
Where I thought my abs should be
And you know, I saw a dent
Yes a dent, looking back at me
Why the hell's a dent down there
I called and asked the doc
He said keep doing what you're doing
You'll get a stomach like a rock
I said, 'I want muscles....doc"
I want those abs of steel
He said it will not happen overnight
Just think how good you feel
I thought, you know he's got it
I felt better with my dent
I guess maybe this doctor
and his ideas were heaven sent
I went back to the mirror
You know...I was feeling rather fine
But, beside my new found dent..
I looked and saw a line
A line, a ****** line
Is this good or is it bad
In two days I've found two body marks
That in my life I'd never had
I eat the things I'm told to
I've added holes to all my belts
I've added dents and lines and marks
And I'm looking rather svelte
It only took persistence
Just one step to get on board
It's nerve wracking getting healthy
I hope I make it ...praise the lord.
Justin S Wampler Mar 2015
Keep reading the **** that I write,
just trust me.
(Title not related)
Zoe Mei Mar 2021
Brown hair drip
drops down onto
black squishy flip flops
and
seamless white plastic shower floor.

Then it is tan sand
and saltwater spray;
and the great gray-blue ocean
lies before bare burrowing toes
and air vent breaths
are washing tides
and the shushing breeze.

She is naked and young and alone
tan, svelte and smooth
squeezing sea from dark tangled hair
on a beach
where air smells sweet
salt, not stinking seaweed
and everything the temperature of her body.
The sun burns not too hot or bright
in pastel-streaked sky
rays not of needle glares but cotton.

The standing,
quiet calm
no chatter but seagulls
air enough to fill both lungs:


a world that is plush and halcyon
and needs no reason
I wrote this poem when I was super anxious (obviously in the shower), and I just needed some fantasy to feel okay.
David Lowry Jul 2010
"Don't drink that coffee," my friend shouted at me,
    "That caffeine will **** you!"
    he said impatiently!

Drinking water is bad for your health,
    the feds put fluorine in it
    to **** you by stealth."

Paternally he whispered,

"Whatever you do, don't drink cows' milk.
    the sucklings its made for
    aren't close to our ilk.

The consumption of pigs and animals that ****,
    most certainly will keep you
    from obtaining sweet bliss.

And stay away from creatures that swim in the sea,
    their svelte tasty bodies are filled
    with deadly mercury."

And then he looked aghast at my plate,

"Tell me you're not eating that excrement," he sighed,
    "Do you really want to die...
     from eating french fries?

Don't you know that fried things are the scourge of the planet,
    cooked in hydrogenated fats by
    some woman named Janet?

Avoid eggs, if you can, and by no means eat the yolks,
    your cholesterol will rise,
    that's no funny joke."

Then, with a scowl in his voice he said,

"Avoid plants grown in this country,
    sprayed with pesticides and poisons
    by corporate monkeys.

And stay away from foods grown in the East,
    they're probably fertilized by
    humans, dragons and beasts.

Potatoes, tomatoes have starch and acid,
    that eats up your guts and
    make you grow flaccid.

Lemons and limes will ruin your pretty white teeth,
    making you go snaggle
    right in your sleep."

With a superior air he ended his harangue,

"Beer, wine, and all forms of liquor,
    Can you think of anything that
    will **** you quicker?

Don't eat rich chocolate--it'll make you a ****,
    ******* everything in sight
    like a mad deer in rut.

Cakes, breads and cookies too,
    contain sugars and flours that's
    sooooo baaaaad for you.

                           ~~~

I'm hungry and starving and don't know what to do,
    I want to eat something
    but afraid to give it a chew.

Though all of this leaves me feeling quite uneasy and queasy,
    I'm closing the door and
    doing as I pleasey!
K Balachandran Jul 2013
1
**I like your light makeup,
mangled logic that never
served its intended purpose,
the svelte figure that creates
an awareness indelible on proportion,
and the intelligence you have
to keep it just as petite
all through the years
the out law male chauvinist, that  lurks in me is pleased,
lopsided analysis of contemporary affairs
you make,  allows me
to intervene, put you back to the track.
I dig the coiffure that makes the birds think,
its their nest, newly built.
Your purple prose I learned to like,
as it gets more and more evocative.
Syrupy songs you write, and sing
used to get one bored easily
no more, your emotions now are
more rooted and move me very much.

you know better than any one, how much I love bitter concoctions you cook.
2
But then
I realize that the cadence you create is unique,
you look life at its *** and frown,
your poems though rare, show plenty of evidence
of quirky charm, which I like.
Your weepy stories and convoluted plots too
I learned to like, all these are just habits, right?
They bear a stamp of your originality I can vouch,
love your starry eyes when each is filled with admiration,
for me in those special moments,
when I pull you out of quagmires
time after time.
3
I can't take eyes off your face,
exuding such innocence,
that vouches your genuineness,
each time that assures me that
you cannot ever be bad,
unless you want to portray
yourself that way cleverly.
Though not my cup of tea,
I love the gizmo culture you love,
your craze for computer games,
(though bit bizarre at this age!)
I enjoy it and get fascinated when you go too far.
You love to make love in the dark,
I later learned to appreciate  its tactile advantages,
and encouraged you unleash the panther in you, on me
though I love to do it with lights on
so that we can see the rainbow
the moment it spreads on ,
till it dissipates and we dive deep in to sleep.
4
You touched my depth in a way different,
made it possible to love the woman you are-
the way you are,  I love it
because, you are unique,with all imperfections
together we are complete.
Kate Little Jul 2011
Sliding from the silky, satin sheets
Slowly she saunters to the terrace
And scans the sparkling, star-sprinkled sky
  
As slender arms loosely clasp her svelte, ******* swathed silhouette
So too her thoughts encircle her sweetheart
  
She smiles as she recalls their tryst...
  
          His strong embrace holding her safe and secure
          Lips that tease with nearness
          At last bestowing passion-soaked kisses
          Whilst hands slide up to her soft, supple breast
          And trace circles around her sensitive, cerise *******

  
She is lost now
Caught in the exquisite snare of sinfully-sweet reminiscences
Of two lovers seeking to please
And thirsting to be satisfied...
  
          Slow, tantalizing caresses gracefully ****** their souls
          Hearts, minds and bodies of two lovers now aroused
          Suspended over the precipice
          Oh, yes, such blissful anticipation
          And then … surrender
          Surrender to sweet, sweet ecstasy!

  
As she stands now on the circumference of sensual abyss
She sways slightly
A soft breeze strokes her sun-kissed skin
It whispers to her spirit and begins to sing a song
A song so enticing
So stirring
That small goosebumps rise and glisten
  
So once more she slips betwixt silky, satin sheets
2011
All Rights Reserved

Joel (Bear), your poem 'Sinfully Sibilant', partly inspired this from me!  Thank you.
By: James Xander Young, August 19th, 2013

A righteous act a fallen love a plaything from above. She saunters forward just an inch edging nearer and nearer still I feel my breath increase and my pulse stir. Damp droplets of lust arrive, within my furrowed brow. I do exhale and languish for the svelte god from above. Ever nearer drawn in close, a soft shading about her face, a be speckled eyes and concentrated bliss she is. Poignant and stark she smiles and creates her own light tight and designing with liquid legs and tangled expectations. She is a beauty to behold, to hold once is to be foretold a trembled hand upon her back a silky tough touch between her thighs. The auburn beauty finds her knees a soft caress upon her face a lollipop stare a thoughtful gaze upon her head. Held in tight he takes flight. An anguished release and moment of contorted gesticulations fallen spent he decries. ‘’’ Oh, oh, oh I love you. You love me, you are me, we are we, please, please me. Shining bright she readies her smile and steadies her breath a carnal desire now post hence she lingers lucidly with one thought in mind. This is her time her due. As she stands to undress, I note the beauty in her every movement the caution in her hands with great anticipation the wispy willow stands and sheds her silky svelte like silhouette and moans siloquis in pleasure and soft lifetimes lived at the pleasure and firmness of my touch. The pressing pin ****** and tautness tight silky skin begins to scratch along my jaw as I make my explorations of the coalescing curves of her most exquisite landscape and a crescendo of ecstasy ensues to ensure as two twisted tangled bodies lie dormant as though hiding throughout the billowing fields of lavender and jasmine raging a torrid raging flame filled field of fire. The respiteful rest lasts just momentarily until the action is forced once again by the beauty of her presence. This time soft slow and casual lingering upon every follicle though each were supercharged and trying to break free and burst through the pleasure mounds of non burden, the ecstasy increases still. They moan heavily and languidly like they were without care living the moments of moments in each touch and kiss, or lick, and flick of the synapses angled upon their bodies. They play and laugh imagining a perfect world and countless dreams are flashed before their very eyes as though connected on that level like lightning across the night sky. With warmth between her thighs and then they drift and weave in that nocturnal embrace once again reliving every caress, every embrace every flip, and every turn that was firm.

— The End —