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"tantalising" poems
I remember the first time I watched the great Gatsby. Your legs propped on my own, Sailing in the land of happy dreams You slept. While I watched the most heartbreaking movie of the 2014. You never realised how much that movie meant. Never conceived how much Words and acts could drive a person It was at that moment As I watched Gatsby fall His dreams shattered and his heart ruined That I was hit with the reality. Last nights drunken actions were more Than just movements or simple words. To me atleast It all meant more Deep down inside Than you could ever have understood. And though you hardly ever mentioned The ongoings of that particular night, It stayed with me. And as Mr. Carraway spoke Those last tantalising words of love, I promised myself. One day I shall tell you. One day I shall have the courage Daisy never did. To admit once and for all, To the universe that I love you.
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Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
The GREAT Gatsby
In the smoke and haze I could lie for days Bound by dreams Of vivacious scenes A matriarchal mistress From Sacher-Madoche novella Gleaming eyes; a cruel smile Courtesy could not last for a mile Spank and strike, Dearest love and goddess Do not shirk from such duty ****** and tantalising Bask in decadent moonlight By the wisp of cold wind Cure your sadism And sate your masochism Within piquant smell of leather Find your balance Between lust and love Dealt with swift blows so keen and easy All whilst recounting your ****** burden Unto lovely Aphrodite She is taken with vile passion And laden with fur and velvet
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Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
Aphrodite In Velvet
The black shawl-like quality Of the nothingness Wraps itself around everything. A constant emptiness That makes all full. Its veins run blue And gold and scarlet And every hue between, It dies as it arises. The nothingness embraces all, Easily, it encases me. In everything and anything. And that which I lack I supplement with hope. A chain mail lie linked With fragile expectations Of love and other drugs, Other falsifications. This tapestry holds whispers, Secrets and blueprints To all of creation. Globes of dying light That crash in the dark. But alas I can see Its stars are not cross'd For me [cue tears], I fear my script is lost. Perhaps when the dopamine Corrodes and rots my brain, My soul will take the reins. Connected to the cosmos It tells me everything, But yea, it shows me nothing Except tantalising flashes Of what could be, In its swirls of red and azure.
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Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC
The Cosmos' Inner Secrets
I entered a church Or perhaps it was a cathedral? But it does not really matter, Because its all the same to me. I am not particularly religious, But I believe in a God, and a Devil, And Souls. I like the stories, And the smell of church candles and incense and hope and guilt mixed together With the tantalising intoxicating feeling Of having all your sins spilling out of your throat and every Single part of you. All is seen. So looking at saints and windows and benches And the colours that filter through and leap and dance I sobbed. Because I am scared And because I have sinned And because every moment I am thinking Do I want what I have been given Or am I ready to leave everything behind In the search for divinity.
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May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Church
words fall like hapless fledglings tossed from a cliff edged nest with much screeching, squawking, countless feathers lost and then an awful thump or hopeful, glorious flight first love is tachycardiac love all adrenaline, sweating palms and stutter-stumbling sqeakings, ungainly gropings, when not with you, mopings unrealistic hopings for happy ever after endings, breakings, bendings, awkward mendings, repeated leavings, repented lovings. heartfelt givings, of broken hearted rendings. lendings, of time stolen from life tearing, teasing, tantalising teamings crying, begging, pleading strife and then, the metaphorical knife cutting, slashing, wordblow bashing, screaming, reaming, end to loves life. til eventually, words fall, like old birds leavings to settle, unremarked upon at the base of the tree of life. first love's loss, is slow dying. arrhythmia to flatline in a multitude of laboured breaths and long lingering sighs. a loss of warmth, from breast and thighs and water copious, falling from red rimed eyes. sobbing, murmuring, don't know whys? from lips turned toward, bleakset skies. as one settles firmly, into black dog muck no longer able to give a f▼ck. tucked in tight to sadness, lost all sight of former gladness, caught up and shackled tight, to the badness around and around, the carousel goes. then, at last, the blessed silence, as you die one of many of....                     life's little deaths
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Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
the lovebirds cycle
Sultry glances lingering touches warm the heart of amour An unspoken vow passes between us and its tantalising Eyes filled with desire ***** on fire Wow the eroticism Pulses racing sweaty palms imagined delights Flirty games building passion causing arousal “Later” we whisper both lust-filled tortuous afternoon
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Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
Later
Da Dum Da Dum - melodic sonnet beat, Ten syllables on each and ev'ry line; Enough to put the reader fast asleep, And don't forget the **** thing has to rhyme. Just fourteen lines exact, no more - no less, To revel in some tantalising plot; Two short quatrains endeavour to address, And introduce the who, the where, the what. Then just four lines to tell a second tale, That wends and weaves on some tangential route, To set the scene that leads to the unveil As if the reader gives a flaming hoot!        A rhyming couplet finishes the tryst,        To hit them with that all important twist!
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Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
The Sonnet Sonnet
. I love her many faces, they swim in my dreams eternal, tantalising, playing, and held within, breaking the shell to find the kernel. The source of beauty beholden there, brings succour to an aching heart, chanting, singing, a pretty lullaby, straight as an arrow, swift as a dart. A veil of Wisdom hangs loose, showing me the way with herbs, aromatic, evocative, a hazy swoon, a tranquil lake, a thrown stone disturbs. I adore her seductive curves, they dance in my time and space, rhythmic, ****** and shown external, a Wiccans kiss and a Womans grace. © Pagan Paul (08/08/16)
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Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
Wiccan Woman
In the air I breathed you in a deep tantalising fragrance arousing all my desires awakening like a new moon the wet dewdrops on the leafs the earth after the rain a seductive scent I find only with you. I taste you in the rich sauce I ate for dinner the spicy tang on my tongue the engrossing strong aura of taste you can feel. I hear you in every song I listen to your voice in the wind your unique persona in every word in the paintings hung up I feel your warmth,touch your essence and life you are here.
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Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:09 AM UTC
I feel you here
*She wove baskets for a living Simple lass Not a penny to her name But a heart so free She found her happiness Floating on the breeze That held onto her memories Of a time when He came full of wealth Missing something all his life He saw it in her eyes A heart so caged Waiting to be set free Whisper on the breeze of understanding As you looked into her eyes Sapphire glances Sadness so complete As strangers do pass A match of a kind But he was so blind He saw kindness A face porcelain laid Dark hair cascading In ringlets Dancing onto her shoulder’s so bare He wanted her too much When he looked into those diamond eyes Her rags became another’s disguise But when he awoke His mind played a snobbish joke How dare she look upon his face? Tantalising ***** Fool Fake How dare she tempt him With her sapphire sweetness And pureness of heart Poor child She saw his fear She saw him Caged She felt him Poor child Who had fallen from a moment’s grace? Some day she will wear diamonds and pearls Someday this child will rule the world One day the noble man will fall a fool Never to stare into the golden pool She was an angel Come to test The rest of the tale is now Laid to rest*
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Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 8:05 PM UTC
Sapphire glances
Satanic anthems are bold, as they carry their message across undefined boundaries where infinity spreads her wanton features across the generations of history. Boston reminds me of my historical roots, where Anglican tragedy submits her fornications in submissive rebellion. With this in mind, let us use our fallible wills to travel together, across astral vistas where timeless plantations of hallucinogenic acceptance join hands around the mistress of the dark and her tantalising secretions. Can we please communicate into the depths of the dawn in our debaucheries? Feel the rhythm of unspeakable energies, as the pulse ripples through your eternal lusts.
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Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Explicit Daemons
Autumn in New Zealand is a masterpiece on canvas Patternings of goldens and bright rose hips in their beds, Copses of coniferous in deep and darkly avenues To the brilliance of a country lane awash with leafy reds. Chimney fires are smoking in the rural country cottages The warming glow of lanterns in the windows as I pass, A tantalising whiff of hot buttered scones is wafting And somewhere in the distance I can hear a red deer bark. Strolling by the lakeside in the early morning stillness My breathing fogs before me in the chillness of the air, Rowan trees glow scarlet and the naked ***** willow Has shed her golden carpet on the emerald hillock there. Rushes rattle softly in the mistyness of lowlands Treeeferns in their glory of silver filagree, Sparrows ruffle feathers to insulate the coolness As wheeling flocks of starling mass to migrate to be free. Gossamer as fairy dust the thistledown is floating A harbinger of autumn leaves and freezing frost to come, Those Coriollis forces are determining the changeling Where the snowy days approaching means the Autumn tones are done. Marshalg 27 April 2013 In rural Pukekohe. New Zealand
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Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
Autumn in New Zealand
"Every time I look into a mirror I see the eyes of the devil". The perpetual flame of life A new dawn, an enlightening dusk; The translucent sun The convection of eternity, Abysmal adversary, The convocation of co-eternal legions! ''Every time I cry I see the face of God". Influencing twilights perfection, Hells paradise devouring The ardent fervour of the carmine flame Piercing the atmosphere, Constantly tantalising the air- fuelling. The forests engulfed, bellowing from the apse shaped canopies Violet blue threads of of ribbon; Wofting unto nothingness Vapourising smoke. Natures delightful beauty, casting a shadow The conflagration immanently consuming lands; Raging across the earth Dehydrated and scorched. Baptismal tears vanquishing the fire, Heavens standing ovation, applauding A contained flame, The sound of rain the fires lamentation. 1997 ELEETE J MUIR
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
Conflagration
like a trickle from mountain rain it starts ...... my Desire a quiver of droplets converging together coursing through my body consuming my thoughts babbling down my contours into my valleys soaking my senses with lust growing in need shuddering across rocks rapidly gaining in momentum uncontrolled in a frenzy of whitewater finally reaching the drop tantalising at the very brink pulsing with waves of pleasure before plunging headlong over the edge in a waterfall of longing falling into the abyss of fantasy flooding               the river                         with                             my song (C) Pixievic
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Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Riversong
It took me a decade of toil years of experience and expertise to learn that men are happy scoring ecstatic when he bags and trashes that short win he has not earned Sometimes as women we steam trimmed with seams of emotion awaiting to open hearts unreserved Yet he don’t want this vulnerability he wants to be ignored and uncared for denied and kept at the deepest ledge for when you give yourself easily he will devalue your inner-self blocking and tantalising from afar Men are still immature within afraid of closeness,scared of love afraid of the emotions,scared to trust and when he chases,he is fast as a cheetah preying closer and closer to his price and when he lies, he sugar coats the facts so that he creates an illusionary promise Yet deep within he is like a baby strained with automatic reflexes unable to make an emotional dialogue on how to make the woman really happy....
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Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
Emotive Men in Motion
Soft thudding bare feet leading astray. “Nǐ ** wave children, continue to play. Alive! Life! Pulse of the night – The Heart of Asia, a magnificent sight! Engulfed by mountains surrounding seas. Tantalising fragrances dance with a breeze. This foreign land surreal in a way an expression of beauty! A longing to stay.
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May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC
Night Market
As I write upon these stale yellow pages With a pen ravaged with disuse I am on a search A search for knowledge For feelings For emotions For life For something I search with condemned desperation For something I hid with utter care and precision As well mistrust lust and hatred The last time I embraced in its tantalising embrace Ages ago when my heart and soul were still void of knowledge and corruption I loved as a mother loves her only child I embraced it as the moon is embraced by the velvet clouds Yet I hated it as the neglected son hates his father It gave me so much Love Peace Freedom Clarity Trust Yet took from me eo much Lovr Peace Freedom Clarity Trust Even though it tormented and destroyed my soul I long and yearn for it I still search for it Even after my shattered soul Even after my condemned destiny Even after my destroyed dreams Even after my grotesque life Even after it all Even after............... me I search With condemned desperation I search
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Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Condemned desperation
As a dark flash, a mere flicker in my mind's eye does she come to me. Her breath, light as a spirit's passing, is cold as death as her lips brush mine. And I draw in that sweet breath feeling its chill course through me tantalising my senses. Her hand lightly brushes my cheek; a gentle caress that wakens my deepest needs. I reach up to enfold her in my arms as though seeking to embrace the wind and, wraith-like, does she melt into me inside my mind and body all. And our passion is all consuming, her desire and mine, as we journey beyond this world to the ethereal plane. Now nothing more tangible than a wisp of cloud that crosses the moon and reaches out to the stars. I hold her in that eternity where time has ceased its onward path, her hand in mine, fingers entwined, the moonlight warming us. And then in a heartbeat she is gone. I look about and glimpse a single black feather dancing on the wind.
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Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 6:54 AM UTC
Raven Dark
I'm the monster clawing at the walls. You gave me the taste for your blood and then locked me in here. Your scent stains every surface in the room; Tantalising but with no flesh to sink my fangs into. Rabid dog-type wildness becomes me, Transforms me into a thing driven by madness and instinct. You are the prey with footprints but no body. I am the predator never knowing satiety. Pacing replaces hunting, I'm starving, And your constant, elusive presence has me frenzied. Viscera begin to litter the room. Yours or mine? I don't know. I'm starving.
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Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
Paroxysms of Hunger
my lips pressed into yours drunkenly, i pretty much stumbled through the kiss - i didn't know whose lips where whose; mine had lost feeling many hours before, i just remember being close, then being entangled, tequila kisses are the best kisses you showed me a four leaf clover, 'budapest,' you said as though it meant something, you were kind, I was inebriated I wanted to keep you a secret, I was playing games and it was insane, each covert kiss was more tantalising than the last thank you for showing me a four leaf clover, thank you for pushing me away, thank you for being my escape for a just a little while
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Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
Four leaf clover (closure.)
Somebody very sweet told me tonight: "You are my foreign poetry. Sugar to my salty tongue. Candies to my bitter lungs. Blushes to my cold cheeks. A foreign lilac with her own ways and beauty. At first I was afraid to fall in love with you because you are a poet, and I am not. I was shy about my ordinary words, which are perhaps nothing to your compelling spells and admirable phrases. I like your choice of words, and I like your beauty. You smell like a foreign moon, from an unknown time and space, and yet your universe is the same as mine. You own the same fate as I do, as a human. And your memories are just too enthralling for an ordinary human like me to understand. You move with speed. You speak with tact. And your sincerity is even more ****** than you are. A sweet foreign poem I had never imagined trying to understand, especially with a wounded heart, that had been slit open by a thousand swords. You are too chaste and yet tempting to me, as a foreigner. And your foreign idioms, sometimes, just surprise me. And your poetic fervour. My nightmares are gone in your presence. My hands are not cold, and so my blood flows again. My heart thrills whenever I am about to see you, and yet I cannot bring myself to see you too much, because I am afraid I will crush you. You are like a fragile little rose to me. A lyrical song that shall never fade, but too fades on a certain day. I am too scared that this will end, just like the last (one) did. I do not want you to end. I do not want our story to end whatever befalls us. And so it is safest for us not to begin anything. Because I am afraid these beautiful things shall just rot and die away--like they usually do. I cannot write poems and yet you made me write one. If only I'd ever had dreams like you do; or if I could dream of anything at all, my dreams would be about you. Because you made me see, with your own poetic ways, what life means and the very being I am meant to be. But I am too far from you; I am with thee in sight and yet cannot reach thy heart. I am afraid such a precious little piece shall be broken when mine. So I shan't ever wish to break it. Yet one thing I shall hold thee to know; none has ever filled it like you have. You filled it with love when it cried. You fed it and lived with it and cherished it. You helped it up when it fell. And none of these world's beauties are like yours; warm and shiny and tantalising and maliciously foreign. Ah, nothing like I've ever seen before. Not one, Estefannia."
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Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
To a Foreigner
Somebody very sweet told me tonight: "You are my foreign poetry. Sugar to my salty tongue. Candies to my bitter lungs. Blushes to my cold cheeks. A foreign lilac with her own ways and beauty. At first I was afraid to fall in love with you because you are a poet, and I am not. I was shy about my ordinary words, which are perhaps nothing to your compelling spells and admirable phrases. I like your choice of words, and I like your beauty. You smell like a foreign moon, from an unknown time and space, and yet your universe is the same as mine. You own the same fate as I do, as a human. And your memories are just too enthralling for an ordinary human like me to understand. You move with speed. You speak with tact. And your sincerity is even more ****** than you are. A sweet foreign poem I had never imagined trying to understand, especially with a wounded heart, that had been slit open by a thousand swords. You are too chaste and yet tempting to me, as a foreigner. And your foreign idioms, sometimes, just surprise me. And your poetic fervour. My nightmares are gone in your presence. My hands are not cold, and so my blood flows again. My heart thrills whenever I am about to see you, and yet I cannot bring myself to see you too much, because I am afraid I will crush you. You are like a fragile little rose to me. A lyrical song that shall never fade, but too fades on a certain day. I am too scared that this will end, just like the last (one) did. I do not want you to end. I do not want our story to end whatever befalls us. And so it is safest for us not to begin anything. Because I am afraid these beautiful things shall just rot and die away--like they usually do. I cannot write poems and yet you made me write one. If only I'd ever had dreams like you do; or if I could dream of anything at all, my dreams would be about you. Because you made me see, with your own poetic ways, what life means and the very being I am meant to be. But I am too far from you; I am with thee in sight and yet cannot reach thy heart. I am afraid such a precious little piece shall be broken when mine. So I shan't ever wish to break it. Yet one thing I shall hold thee to know; none has ever filled it like you have. You filled it with love when it cried. You fed it and lived with it and cherished it. You helped it up when it fell. And none of these world's beauties are like yours; warm and shiny and tantalising and maliciously foreign. Ah, nothing like I've ever seen before. Not one, Estefannia."
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You have a way with words That keeps me here for more The language of your love ‘Tis music I adore I catch my breath and listen For the words you speak to me The poetry from your heart I drink in tenderly You have a way with words They fill my mind, my dreams They linger oh so sweetly Like radiant moonbeams Your words caress my heart And gently soothe my soul They kiss me on my lips Their sweetness I extol Delectable whispers Tantalising and whole
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Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 12:52 PM UTC
You Have A Way With Words
The women who amaze me most are those who boast a body close to perfect. Then, elect to dress in less than is required to prevent my tired eyes from rising to observe the tantalising curve of well filled blouse, or arouse my baser feelings with revealing sight exposing, toes to thighs a glimpse of leg which begs my chance unhurried glance to pause, and cause reaction. But, the action which they take to quickly make some small and fake adjustment to their dress reveals the sweet distress my eyes caress has caused. They are aware, their choice attire has stirred desire, and yet react with tactile skill to close the split which tempted it to surface. I’d love to **** their expectation for a thrill inducing chance to show their slow, deliberate disapproval of my supposed unwelcome glance. Yet, just like less self conscious men I find myself ensnared again, to render satisfaction to their skilled and ancient action, to elicit a response they can wantonly reprove with one smooth and practised movement of a hem. © James Rainsford
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Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 1:46 PM UTC
The Women Who Amaze Me Most
I fall in love with impressions, Fingertips on fickle flesh In a shroud I sit As these wisps rise In a tantalising spiral Smoke encircles the crevices In my palms and in my fingers, Then dances into my nostrils And I am choking Retching up blood I cannot keep breathing much longer, Coating my heart in tar
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Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Coating My Heart In Tar