"swooning" poems
.
*Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here
Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced
Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls
A song of honeyed bees' sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose
Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs
Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace
A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume
For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste
What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold
These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose
The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart
Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose*
Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
*Sun flickered 'pon your eyes
scintillating as the seas,
dappled with the chemistry
of a thousand swooning moons*
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
*i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication
seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth
glamors that excite
cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards
wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice
your supplication
love pangs
i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life
I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous
waiting humbly in the wings
i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules
your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops
as it echoes through oblivion*
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
#*Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast
has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
heaving with song
The mystical feathered troubadour's
swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;*
rousing *a lonely heart's esprit
to fly away unfettered
in constellations of song
How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
when you wish upon a star
Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!
Rolling like trailing thunder;
tucked and tumbling ―
somersaulting,
celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy
A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
dreaming of that shapeless
w h o o o o s h ―
gathering beneath
~ uplifting wings ~
Suddenly ― gliding freely,
winging gracefully
upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song
Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle
... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
if my heart had wings*
imagined by: Jesse Stillwater
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Sweetly loving on my lips, swooning when you grab my hips
Sweet as honey with every sip, causing my intoxication
To bite your lip, and grin at me, drowning me deeper in serenity
Your lovely tongue, oh my, a heatwave to my mind
You've awestruck me with many waves of this pleasure
Strong enough to send the innocent into whiplash
You handsome brute, taking everything else out of my sight
My legs turn to jelly when you hold me so tightly, I've lost this fight
Causing waves of commotion a force of ***** insanity forming
Let my melody drug you, Our experience won't be boring
As my seductive lips craft your every moan, calling me, echoing
Your eyes fall back and you'll fall into a rippling sensation of bliss
All along I've been your gift
Making dreams come true in just the simplicity of a kiss
Sometimes love bites
But, you like that I insist
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell
Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days
Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew
Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring
Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep
Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo
Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention
Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight
Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live
Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living
Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes
Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
I always suspected electricity
Ran rampant through my veins
To make me dazed and dizzy
But unable to sit still
It made me prone to flights of fancy
So I left giddy trails of sparks
Blazing proof of my restlessness
That once brightly caught your eye
Once your gaze had found my own
My moods came in swooning flares
And you crackled alongside me
Filling my aching, empty silence
With shiny, blessed noise
We burned so beautifully
With my electric fire
And your trilling declamations
Light and sound intertwining
Like thunder that had finally caught up with its lightning
It seemed like Nature's order
A completion of the whole
Two halves that followed each other
Unthinkingly and automatically
So one day when I found silence
It felt like Earth itself was splitting
Panicked, I burned more brightly
Stoked the fire just in case
I feared that I had dimmed
And been the cause of this new quietness
So when I still heard nothing
I thought my efforts insufficient
And I ran my highest currents
Until my wires nearly melted
Thinking the sun and I were comparable
And anticipating a response
And still I heard no trilling
No crackling at my side
So I wondered if perhaps
I had shined beyond your limits
Swiftly, I contracted
Reined in my flares and doused the fire
Thinking sudden darkness
Might just shock you into sound
I finally heard the faintest popping
Not quite the rending that I wanted
But a break from quiet all the same
Afraid of spoiling the moment
I leashed my electricity
Kept myself dim so I could hear you
Though I felt the writhing beneath my skin
It finally became unbearable
So I flashed like wild lightning
Lashed out and struck the ground
Hoping for your thunder
A dark and roiling storm
Swirling raindrops and clouds colliding
And deep, ugly noise
All I wanted was your thunder
But in the end
It was only me yelling
Screaming out for downpours
Alone
Listening to my own echoes
Waiting for you to harmonize
In the end
I was always waiting
Wondering when you'd chosen silence
Wondering why I'd let you dim me
Wondering how it was we'd ever burned
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
I. Neptune’s Theater
A rock spins through the universal tumbler
and its warm blue pools calcify
as turquoise Neptune in his cloudy blue bath bath
builds a lace castle with his fingertips
Sculpts a submerged eden of crimson and emerald
where painted parrots chat up cardinals
butterfly and angel fry sway with wave pulse
and foliated coral fingers beckon from arched windows.
Neptune’s children are flat and bright, spined and notched
free yet entangled in lace mesh ecosystem
beneath an array of bioluminescent stars
as a gangly pretender watches and blows bubbles.
II. Sapien Siege
The hot acidic hand of death grasps
the mesh rends and tangles
the ecosystem shattered
reef’s loosed children scream beneath planet’s stars.
Butterflies impaled
cyanide-swooning damsels
mesh-tangled angels hauled heavenward
coral to potash, corpses to coal.
The pretender to the throne blinks
rubs blurry lenses,
kicks plastic fins
and moves on to the next show
Unseeing and unaware
of the luminous filament in his wake.
Self-appointed divinity,
deus ex machina.
*******************************************************************************************
Ann says: All of the animal and human characters in this poem (except Neptune and The Pretender) are named after coral reef fish. Coral reefs, one of the most diverse ecosystems, are expected to be largely extinct within one human generation. Deus ex machina is Latin for “God from the machine.”
Copyright 2013 by Ann Marcaida.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
Most of the times,
I feel,
that you and I,
my darling,
redefine our love on
Saturday nights.
Saturday nights,
when the sound of our
heartbeats mixes with the wine.
When you swerve your hips,
to the tunes on the old gramophone.
When every streetlight seems like a shooting star.
Passionate,
wild,
mad,
in it's very essence.
Chaotic,
extraordinary
and beautiful,
define you,
my love.
You breathtakingly
naked and beautiful soul,
is the gateway to the Universe.
Swooning and high off
your fragrance,
all I want to do is
make love with you,
till the yearning moon
gives way to the jealous sun.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
#(a travelogue)
He stared down through
the unbroken silence
lapping the shoreline
Water skippers dart around
the rocks and windfall driftwood
settled juxtaposed in cattail reeds
and emerging broadleaf sprouts
A petrified heartwood timber
lie fallow waiting bare barked,
hushed like a pining lover’s
timeworn love seat,
rubbed smooth as
the crystalline waters
of half-moon lake
Lingering for a while ―
like a hidden stalker,
a perched wildcat waiting
for the full moon’s
swooning spell to saturate
the thickening dusk quietude;
arousing the urgent
call of the wild —
exhaled from the held breath
of the wilderness nocturne
on half-moon lake
The stillness was scattered
with the soft downy hairs
of the sleeping cattails, and
the newly shed catkins
a spring gust bestrewed
from a tall resin birch tree
nigh the Sitka willows
He sat quietly ...
time out of mind ―
tossing his eyes up into the sky;
taking the time to read the stars ―
catching them each again
as they fell into his gentle hands,
to show him who he was
Seeing their sparkly tracers
trail-out above the cattails,
from a distance
they resembled falling stars
unable to perceive their own renaissance ―
plashing lightly upon the still-water
on half-moon lake
A lone shadow glides stealthily
near mid-tarn,.. swimming
enchantingly with the grace
of a blackswan
Appearing to glance shoreward
at the glowing low stars
rise and fall, as his eyes
twinkled skyward over
the moonlit lagoon ―
heavenward of its moonlit ballet;
the lone sleek dark shadow
slipping through
a faint circular ripple
stirring the smooth as glass waters ―
disappearing like a fleeting moment
waning deep aneath
a subtle silent wake.
When all the clear lines blurred,
he knew it had been so long ...
but hearken !
… an interceding
long drawn out wail
echoed a feral ache
across the stillness,
breaking the silence ―
as the shadow reappeared;
his tears surrendered
to the undulating call of the wild;
he felt the spirit of the sole Loon,
as black and white
as the moonlit night,
stir deeply in his wanting heart ―
lay bare the silence
in lengthy yodeled psalms
to the god of the moon
Diving down deep yet again,
keeping the light he’d been given,
vanishing into the lifespring
sanctuary of half-moon lake
harlon rivers ... May 2018
travelogue: 4 of some more
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad sir Lancelot du Lac.
When first he came to Camelot
The orphan knight, Sir Lancelot
Did prove his worth to Arthur's Court
In jousting, and such noble sport
And with his charm and courtly grace,
His confidence and handsome face,
He won the heart of Guinevere,
And so he found his heart's one fear.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
In tournaments and deeds of arms,
He never fell to earthly harms.
His Lady's scarf about his breast,
He held aloft his knightly chest
And for her honor always strove,
And worshiped her with courtly love.
But she is wed, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Beneath a tree, the young knight slept
And one day, four queens on him crept,
The chief of them, Morgan Le Fay.
With magic, they stole him away.
A choice they begged of him to make,
That one of them his heart should take.
But love is strong. They had no luck
In tempting Lancelot du Lac.
When Melegans stole Guinevere
A cart, Sir Lancelot did steer
To reach the hold where she was kept,
Then toward the treacherous knight he leapt.
He bested him with slash and blow,
But to Sir Lancelot's great woe
His Lady simply laughed in jest
And saw no honor in his quest,
For he arrived upon a cart.
Thus, broken was the young knight's heart,
And in a rage he left the place.
He longed just for his Lady's grace.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
So when he quested for the Grail
He made a promise he would fail.
He said he'd not love Guinevere,
But as he spoke, he shed a tear.
He knew one day their love would end
The table round, and hurt their friends.
So when this promise he did break
The land of Camelot did quake.
For Agrivan, King Arthur, told
His wife did love Lancelot bold
And Arthur sent her to the pyre
To end her sinful love, in fire.
But Lancelot, his queen, did save
And Arthur fell into the grave
And all the knights of Table Round
Were torn apart, could not be bound.
And thus the fall of Camelot
Was caused by one Sir Lancelot.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of bold Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC
Can I explain this to you? Your eyes
are entrances the mouths of caves
I issue from wonderful interiors
upon a blessed sea and a fine day,
from inside these caves I look and dream.
Your hair explicable as a waterfall
in some black liquid cooled by legend
fell across my thought in a moment
became a garment I am naked without
lines drawn across through morning and evening.
And in your body each minute I died
moving your thigh could disinter me
from a grave in a distant city:
your ******* deserted by cloth, clothed in twilight
filled me with tears, sweet cups of flesh.
Yes, to touch two fingers made us worlds
stars, waters, promontories, chaos
swooning in elements without form or time
come down through long seas among sea marvels
embracing like survivors in our islands.
This I think happened to us together
though now no shadow of it flickers in your hands
your eyes look down on ordinary streets
If I talk to you I might be a bird
with a message, a dead man, a photograph.
5.4k
.
What is a poet to do
when his favourite muse
faints whilst making love,
a victim of passions fuse.
To carry on regardless?
Perhaps slap her lovely cheek?
Mouth 2 mouth no tongue?
Or maybe implore her to speak?
A lesser poet
shakes her anxiously
and writes a verse about prowess and spooning.
A True poet
carries on regardless
and writes a sonnet about his muse and swooning.
© Pagan Paul (23/05/18)
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
The picturesque glow from the full moon enkindles youthful swooning and yearning; orotund voices rising above prattle conversation yield celestial affirmations in conjunction with analogous, supernal relations
Full acceptance of the shimmering stars sacrosanct messages coruscating through the sky - fulsome oracular expressions instilling mesmerizing past-life recollections.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
No reason to be precious about it,
it's best to just be blunt,
she's got a helluva ****
I could wax poetic, swooning like a
love-drunk boy, but what's the point?
Sharing, expressing, defining the spell
is futile. *** with her is like
dancing with god.
Finally, at fifty, I feel the
vibration of lovesongs.
Not in my ears, deeper than any sense can taste.
Lost for hours in life, in bonding; finally
knowing the only knowledge worth knowing
She teaches by just being.
Responding, absorbing, inspiring,
implanting new sensations and
bringing me out of me.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
*Hungered for a taste
of your elixir's essence,
drunken inhalations
of your poetry
a splendiferous whirl
of time & space 'tween
darkly scented moons
and sun's adoration,
blithe starry nights
amidst meditative new
dawn's effervesce,
spirited of the heart,
gleaned in the soul,
yearnings of another
chapter's paradise
universal experiences
etched of hourglass sand,
written upon endlessly
chimerical verses
wildflower gardens drenched
of dandelion's plum wine
swooning under a
hypnotic scripted spell,
intoxicating power
of unchained symphonies
dancing amongst skies'
released euphoria
resonating in a song's
reprised melodies,
breathlessness of delirium's
celestial pauses
in vaporous breezes'
unfurling undulation,
captivated by rhythmic
destiny reverberating in
loins' pleasurable calling
quenched of sacred
offering's quell
transcending earthly
persuasions' rhyme,
let me lick the nectar from
your poesy's insatiable lips,
sweet mercy's healing
captured in rapturous
surrender's reawakening ~*
*Je veux que vous tous,
tu me manques*
Ce que vous manquez de moi?
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
Brought forth from a darkness so secure, baby boy relentless in the pursuit of education gazed upon the egg shell walls and sterile environment.
Breathing as if it were natural.
A construction of steel and concrete was the new cocoon , the window was an eye to a neoteric world. Bright white lights shone from within and a dull foreboding cloud loomed beyond the glass for the child to appreciate.
Mother exhausted collapsed sighing. She is the antidote to all that is evil, she is the mother to the world. A usually stick-thin figure now distended but leisurely relaxing.
Nursing her son as if it were natural.
Swooning nurses swaddle infants, the original factory workers. Substantial days grafting, workhorses prancing throughout aseptic halls.
The heroines of our world.
A tribe appears from dust clouds, over the dunes, panting, half-alive. Heavenly Ethiope arriving in time for the world to begin. Tumescent in her ecclesiastic luminescence bearing a King destined to travel great distances primed for expulsion from the cimmerian safety of the womb.
The seas of the earth accumulate before the small band of tall-standing creatures of exquisite anthropomorphism. Creatures from across the great unexplored continent at the centre of our world gathered in frenzied crowds. The Elephants marched in earth shattering herds, the lions of the Savannah put aside their differences and sat amongst the wild dogs of Ethiopia and the grévy's zebra, the dibatag stood and eagerly waited. Shrews, mice, gazelle, otters, cheetahs and giraffes all surrounded the tribe. Taking a silent vow and allowing stewardship to be passed along to a new generation.
Every mother is the mother of the earth. Her earth, the personal concept of earth that only she may understand.
Both children are connected by the planet they learn to walk upon. Connected by a thousand generations but connected nonetheless. They are one and the same. Each bought into a world in which they have no knowledge, each merely a slate eager to be scrawled upon by the elders of this fine rock.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
~~~<¤>~~~
through
lichen clouds
and lace of leaves
moonlight wanders
wends and weaves
a cowl'd orb
a saintly pearl
a poem rewritten
by the world
a swooning dove
a gentle face
in loving here
there's no disgrace
brings She out
her mystery still
floating effortless
at will
how oft does She
rehearse the game
in many phases
do the same
in Her embrace
sweet dreams are free
unbound by
moonlight mystery
soulsurvivor
(C) 8/29/2015
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
I am reading poems by Billy Collins:
AIMLESS LOVE, a retrospective,
A sampler, as it were
For the Books and Brew;
Our monthly selection.
Nine manly men
Meeting for monthly meals
And book-talk
And politics
And, of course, good beer.
They like nonfiction,
I like fiction.
Richard Hughes,
British writer of poems, short stories, novels and plays said:
“All nonfiction can do is answer questions;
It is fiction's business to ask them.”
Still, my repertoire has expanded:
Nike shoes.
Civil War.
Institutional racism.
Opioid addiction.
Rafting the Grand Canyon.
Climbing mountains.
With Baron Von Humboldt.
And now this:
Poetry.
Nine manly men
Reading poetry to each other
While sharing a meal,
One lovely poem after another.
You can't read a book of poetry
Like you consume other books,
Fiction or nonfiction.
The table of contents:
The lid of a box of exquisite truffles—
A map of pleasures contained within.
You look at the map,
And make a selection.
The caramel truffle
Is not the coffee truffle.
You look at the map,
Make a selection,
And bite!
The crusty chocolate cracks!
The darkness melts,
Floods your mouth with taste.
Then the rush of caramel!
Flavors, smells sloshing
Swooning with sensate memories.
What? Turn the page and read another?
Reach for the coffee truffle?
No. Linger with caramel;
Luxuriate on aftertaste.
Is that a note of citrus or salt?
I will enjoy my coffee truffle tomorrow.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,
Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,
The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
A shroud that blooms a single bud,
Blossomed at the peak of perfection,
Piercing eyes of those who dare to behold-
Taking trance to those of hereafter.
She waits to vicariously live through another,
By piercing one with her sharp thorns,
A trickle of blood released from her holder,
Captivates her swooning love.
Fooling the world with her perfume.
It covers her stain.
Truly a lifeless child with a brown core
Rotting out the ends of her teeth,
Cracks at the seams that should be mended;
Should be stitched
perfectly.
Instead lost in the intertwined lines-
withering from the inside.
Unable to grasp each end of the rope.
Never could weave the fabric with a still hand,
She
slips into Darkness.
Although she cast a tranquil shadow,
She fades into the background-
Slipping silent as her seems come undone.
Fooling the world with her transparent seal.
It covers her shame.
A single blossom that blooms in the spring,
And dies each night by the moonlight-
Howling outside to try and wake her inside.
To regurgitate her woven ends,
To seal the wound pried open by her past.
By her current death bed.
Sharpening her thorns for those who take hold,
Masquerading her disease-
black vessels rooted in deep soil-
Fooling the world with her beautiful petals.
Only she's to blame.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
When I met you
You exploded
Shattering my comfort
Opening my world
You dragged my out
Stood me up
Directed my eyes to the blinding sun
And reminded me what it's like
To have a crush on someone.
I understand it won't be.
I don't love you like him.
He is my hug,
Soft, safe, and warm.
But I had forgotten the thrill,
Of feeling these things.
Of butterflies and swooning,
But I know that it's false.
Time will fade this,
Feelings will mellow.
Until you are just you,
And I'm still with him.
But in the mean time write poems,
Embrace the strong moments.
Feel deeply, experience lost feelings,
But remember to love Matt
And never turn back.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Blood-red
you are the
essence of all
that is ******
a passion
unbound by morality,
sweetest smelling,
your satin skin
begs for my caress.
Such heady perfume
draws me closer
fills my lungs,
my eyes closed basking
in the Aphroditic aura of you,
swooning as you caress my senses;
to hold you,
possess you is all
I know ...
Reaching out
pleading,
begging,
my hand enfolds you ...
Your barbs
pierce my skin
blade-drawn, my blood
oozes gently out,
mixes with your satin touch,
its rich aroma
startles my perception
awakens me.
My hand jerks open
and you flutter earthward
to lie crumpled and torn
on the ground
consecrated by my blood,
my complete forgiveness given;
your beauty, your passion deserves no less...
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
I have wearied of grand romances
Of deep sighs and swooning trances
Of doting gentlemen’s advances
And all manner of courtship play
I am tired of love confessions
And of dizzied, dazed professions
And of unrestrained obsessions
I grow sicker day by day
I once dreamed of adoration
Went quite mad for veneration
Laughing, flirting with temptation
The queen in Camelot
The lonely, lovely Guinevere
Dainty-masked with girlish fear
But when King Arthur wasn’t near
Dreaming of Sir Lancelot
These days I want no noble knight
Despite my seeming helpless plight
I wish to set myself aright
And tread upon the ground
Yet here I am, pedestal-high
Too close to the dazzling sky
As my life keeps passing by
And boys keep running round
I’ve let myself grow much too proud
Drew up arrogance from the crowd
Heard the cheering, bright and loud
The queen in Camelot
And though I had my faithful Sir
Still my heart was all astir
With flying fancies, all a blur
For Guinevere and Lancelot
These fantasies have grown too old
I’d rather let my bed grow cold
For I have wearied of being told
“You are mine to keep”
Men have tired me to the core
Left me sad and sick and sore
And have turned into such a chore
And I’d much rather sleep
What blasphemy for a maiden fair
To toss such doting to the air
To turn away without much care
Though queen in Camelot
But I have withered, I have tired
Felt as if my brain’s been mired
And find not Arthur much desired
Nor dashing Lancelot
Is it so bad to want respite
From endless longing, day and night?
This constant charm becomes too trite
With ever staler tone
I only wish to rest a while
Recover from incessant guile
Forget the weight of lovers’ trial
And simply be alone
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC