"tempts" poems
people seem to move their lips
but
nothing
ever
comes out.
well, that's not exactly true.
words escape
like dead leaves
in a windstorm
but like leaves
they
flutter
and flurry
useless things.
a pretty painted kissable lip
tempts
no one
when the words it drops like bombs
explode
killing
the life
it
envied
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
The release; so powerful; sometimes to feel alive: all you need is a reminder:
His guiding hand:supplying the demands to the upper-hand, across her belly button, to forbidden; lands. Parted lips, her pink folds;dragging his hands down. Working each other: we ain’t fooling around; our bodies, over time. Dripping wet with desire.
Her reaching back; she leaned back. Over the edge; of the bed. standing ***** Picture perfect; she’s holding her breath, as he’s kissing on her neck, her breast, focused on her ****** the left. Right in my mouth. Long ponytail, pulled to the left. She is wet, under there, her underwear - pulled to the side, exposing her underhair; shaved bare, under there.
Fingers wrapped around him. Looking hard, she found it; tugging on it. Him pushing his luck got her pressing her lips against him. Pulling his belt out of way; biting his lips, he’s tensing. She, kiss as she play. looking a certaining way; tempting how she tempts him. She’s over the top, and its so overwhelming.
She’s all touched, from touching it; so fortunate, her ******* soaking wet, juices flowing. Wet spots, he’s all over it. Exposing her **** to his fingertips: with his index; middle finger next. Started working her slow, building up to raw *** Pressure building, rising her chest. She’s worked up; trying to get off. Giving it our best. Her waistline, being pumped from behind, so smooth; the finest wine. Unsatisfiable rhythm, keeping them inline. Holding onto her waist, he’s so online; bending backwards, pleasuring each other, every time. Some may come and go, but they come together every single time.
He’s feeling it: the way its feeling, feels so good - a burning sensation: her tenderness subduing his manhood; all is well, so it must good. Movement, with quickness, once his hips shifts, its motion sickness. Stroking his egos, increasing his stiffness, filling her deep. She’s clenching him, tighten, tighter. The feeling of him growing, she’s feeling him insider. Their wet bodies, skins glistening in the their fire.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
Greenery
Part I
I see the sky,
The goodness hides;
The low tree tempts my wandering mind.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
There's an earthy blood-smell to lavender
It surprises you when the nose gets too close
Once you get past the modest skirted blooms
To find the green blood of torn out flower
Fetid black dirt clings to blood ragged roots
Blue-black blood of returning vena cava
Lavender scented babies and lavender tinted men
Planted for eternity underneath fertile soil
And blood-rise suns bake their tender heads
Blood drenched scent tempts the droning insects wing
Their distilled spirits resurrected in hives
Their earthly blood now ours to imbibe.
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 1:18 AM UTC
Not to neglect the one above
But the one just south has me
No reference to the man upstairs
Or his foe below
It’s evident the bottom
Was made in heaven
But tempts like the devil
Even though your lips are a pair
I find myself lingering down there
That bottom lip has its own heartbeat
A mind of its own if you will
And I will ... kiss it again
And again
Nibble a bit ... **** and peck
Lick my lips in retrospect
Lying in bed at night
Thinking of twenty different ways
That lip takes shape
And shows emotion
Almost upstaging your face
That gorgeous face
Sometimes lost in the background
For this soft and often pouty lip
Begs for attention
Almost screams for it
And I listen ... do I ever
I can’t help but fall victim
To that oh, so clever
Part of your face
That would make an angel
Leap from grace
And never look back
Not once ... I’d swear on this
For I know the power
Behind that kiss
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
But we could be a family.
We could be a whole.
We could be together.
But no one could be cold.
If we could live on an island,
no hate,
no guns,
no war.
We'd look back and wonder,
what was it all for?
People diein' on the streets.
****** puddles at our feets.
Gangs,
tempts,
nudes,
exempts.
We sit at desk,
eating or eaten.
we laughed at or laughing.
beating or bleedin'.
We know the truth, but call it cruel.
The cruel one is we, the blind fool.
People diein' on the streets
****** puddles at our feets.
Who shot the most guns?
Who then killed them all?
Who didn't mind a casualty?
Who could be responsible?
"Not me!" we cry,
"I'm a good soul."
But even if we declined,
can I be told where they go?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
You can see it already: chalks and ochers;
Country crossed with a thousand furrow-lines;
Ground-level rooftops hidden by the shrubbery;
Sporadic haystacks standing on the grass;
Smoky old rooftops tarnishing the landscape;
A river (not Cayster or Ganges, though:
A feeble Norman salt-infested watercourse);
On the right, to the north, bizarre terrain
All angular--you'd think a shovel did it.
So that's the foreground. An old chapel adds
Its antique spire, and gathers alongside it
A few gnarled elms with grumpy silhouettes;
Seemingly tired of all the frisky breezes,
They carp at every gust that stirs them up.
At one side of my house a big wheelbarrow
Is rusting; and before me lies the vast
Horizon, all its notches filled with ocean blue;
***** and hens spread their gildings, and converse
Beneath my window; and the rooftop attics,
Now and then, toss me songs in dialect.
In my lane dwells a patriarchal rope-maker;
The old man makes his wheel run loud, and goes
Retrograde, hemp wreathed tightly round the midriff.
I like these waters where the wild gale scuds;
All day the country tempts me to go strolling;
The little village urchins, book in hand,
Envy me, at the schoolmaster's (my lodging),
As a big schoolboy sneaking a day off.
The air is pure, the sky smiles; there's a constant
Soft noise of children spelling things aloud.
The waters flow; a linnet flies; and I say: "Thank you!
Thank you, Almighty God!"--So, then, I live:
Peacefully, hour by hour, with little fuss, I shed
My days, and think of you, my lady fair!
I hear the children chattering; and I see, at times,
Sailing across the high seas in its pride,
Over the gables of the tranquil village,
Some winged ship which is traveling far away,
Flying across the ocean, hounded by all the winds.
Lately it slept in port beside the quay.
Nothing has kept it from the jealous sea-surge:
No tears of relatives, nor fears of wives,
Nor reefs dimly reflected in the waters,
Nor importunity of sinister birds.
4.4k
Living little less than the right way
I've turned all my friends to stone
Weary legs carry me
To the river
Wash off everything I've known
I've seen dead flowers on the way
And crowds of people all alone
No charity tempts me
To deliver
Now stinginess I don't condone
And I don't want to roam
Too far from my home
Don't want to leave it all away
The world seems small
When you have it all
Oh I wish that I could stay
When I arrived the river had frozen still
Ole Neptune saw no other way
If I could only find a little time
To ****
I'd be out here all the day
And I don't understand
Why I'm branded where I stand
Don't think you know how it might feel
It doesn't take
Much for a heart this cold to break
Without a hope ever to heal
And when you hear these words
Next life my friend
I don't know where I'll be then
If there's one thing
This world has shown
We borrow everything we own
Oh to reap what I have sewn
Oh to reap what I have sewn
Oh to reap what I have sewn
Oh to reap what I have sewn
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 6:29 PM UTC
By the soul and it's order and porportion given to it
Inspired by it's wickness and righteousness each spirit strives
for it's own clear goal, wether that be nihilistic in some eyes,
or of great worth to others, each soul has been brought with
the greatest of purity at its time of birth.
Corrupting it is as simple as purifying it, but the evil, shades,
seduces tempts and leads astray to which a soul poorly responds.
Desires, wishes, hopes and dreams of them differ in many unique,
fantastic or irritational, preculiar and dark.
However, each spirit of a living being shares one similarity,
It is, as simple as it may appear, just the wish and dream to live
a life in carefree attitudes and a happy manner.
Of course, wealth too is amongst those shared desires, but this
world is cruel, brutal and shows no mercy as others have too much
and others have almost none at all.
Oh you of humble birth, patience, tollerance, compassion, love are
making this world a better place.
So give from your wealth and purify your soul by such,
in the remembrance of the poor, oppressed, depressed, abused,
starving human beings, whom could at least have it a little better.
And each soul runs on a clear course, determined to meet it's fate
when the sunset of its life has arrived and death becomes a cover.
~ Umi
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:46 AM UTC
Touch not the heart that doth not beat for you
Plant not the seed of sin that grows to lust
David and Bathsheba already knew
The fire that burned within would ****** trust
Keep not hidden this flame that tempts thy soul
Cast out the embers that cause thee to fail
Why keep a flame that thou cannot control?
Doth not the embers spread that lead to hell?
Temptation comes in many hidden forms
The forbidden fruit grows on many trees
Why cause the winds to blow that bring life's storms?
Rather be content with the gentle breeze
Let not the eyes condemn thy very soul
Cast out thy lust and keep thy body whole
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 4:36 AM UTC
’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.
Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to ev’ry wat’ry god
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A fav’rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
3.6k
Hello Manila rooftop
Manila quiet and Manila cold.
I am at the quiet part of the city
While cats roam by
and I hear nothing.
Cars rare
Jeepneys none.
Even if I’m looking from above.
The vertigo tempts me.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 1:04 AM UTC
Poetry is always the epicenter of my expressions,
My soul's sole extension
The way I give subvention
To my tension
To give confession to my transgression
But my pen is now empty
The bottle tempts me
I pour my drink to fill
Only to find the emptiness of the glass
Matches the emptiness of the heart
The emptiness of the pen
My mind as blank as paper
My thoughts fleeting as vapor
All I can think is how I miss her
How I miss her voice that's been gone so long
How I miss the care she would give to me
How I regret that I would forget
Just how much she meant to me
& now I lament what should have prevented
Halving my heart and her heart
Never to be together because I blew it
I blew it
& I can't stop writing about you, my friend
but there are only so many words
They cannot transform this pain
They only perform for others to read
& that will not make me whole again...
So here's to the good years poetry has brought me
Here's to the good memories of you and I
I say goodbye to what once was
Because it just hurts to write
I only long to be numb
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
(Mangroves shake the boy
Rapture tempts his will-
He will not eat tonight.
Only blue shades fill
a hole so deep
covered
with
ashes
he
eats
- Himself -
an ardent fill
of bruised light,
like chimeras on
the mantel.)
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 8:00 PM UTC
I long to feel the skin
Between her thighs.
As I fantasize,
Desire ignites within.
I want to be inside her,
Feeling her tighten around me,
Sliding deep,
As our worlds collide,
Her juices slide,
as my pride rise,
My need to release intensifies,
Filling her fully.
It’s almost painful,
oh how she tempts me.
Jul 31, 2024
Jul 31, 2024 at 10:07 PM UTC
Backsliding, broken off the tree
How does one repair an ancient prophecy
Judgment begins with the good
As the wicked wait in scents of wood
And crooked generations cut all hearts
Chiseling salvation is an art
Fiery trial lit by lamps, powered by the sweat of soul
Smile, He only tempts until you lose all control
Sunshine days are over, all that remains is light-
The quest that’s worth a million murdered brides
The holy one is stuck in traffic
As future spawn make a racket
He can’t come back until no one
Mourns his death under the sun
Only then will skies depart-
Bronze mountains, horses stark
Then all the fiends will fall out of the clouds
Like mother’s water breaking on a shroud
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 8:44 PM UTC
A little kingdom I possess
where thoughts and feelings dwell,
And very hard I find the task
of governing it well;
For passion tempts and troubles me,
A wayward will misleads,
And selfishness its shadow casts
On all my words and deeds.
How can I learn to rule myself,
to be the child I should,
Honest and brave, nor ever tire
Of trying to be good?
How can I keep a sunny soul
To shine along life's way?
How can I tune my little heart
To sweetly sing all day?
Dear Father, help me with the love
that casteth out my fear;
Teach me to lean on thee, and feel
That thou art very near,
That no temptation is unseen
No childish grief too small,
Since thou, with patience infinite,
Doth soothe and comfort all.
I do not ask for any crown
But that which all may win
Nor seek to conquer any world
Except the one within.
Be thou my guide until I find,
Led by a tender hand,
Thy happy kingdom in myself
And dare to take command.
2.7k
I’ve chosen to walk
A lonely road
Where ravens squawk
As time erodes
Where the devil talks
Through whispered codes
I walk along
A dark wooded path
Where the nights are long
And I face Satan's wraith
Everything feels wrong
There's no turning back
The more I wander
The more I stray
More time to squander
The days away
So much time to ponder
The end of days
Darkness is falling
The Earth is dying
The Devil's calling
The news is lying
It's all so appalling
There's no denying
This path I roam
Is filled with sorrows
Nowhere feels home
Too many tomorrows
Too Many poems
Spreading my woes
The Devil follows
He tempts my soul
But my soul is hollow
So still I stroll
This pain I swallow
And it takes its toll
I can not save
This doomed planet
We've dug our grave
Satan's enchantment
Has made us slaves
Bloodshed is rampant
And when we crumble
I'll shed no tears
The devil mumbles
In our ears
So we stumble
Year after year
As the end draws near
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
A pale yellow butterfly weaves in-between the legs of Plai-Jum Pui.
In the middle of the Thai jungle the hard sun beating down,
it tempts this angelic beast with its life.
Trusting in an elephant not to step on you,
Rocking back and forth on the bones of his back.
I guess I've done the same.
A Boeing jet, double decker.
Five hundred and twenty five people balancing on its wings.
The turbulence cradles us back to sleep,
finding motherly comfort in the foreign flight attendants reassuring words.
Having faith in aluminum sheets,
we all drift back to sleep.
A knock on the door and a call from the neighbor,
complaints of boundaries being resisted and property abused.
Fences acting as a seam to a fiery feud.
Guardian of their own selfish wills.
The worst war is fought from within,
a fight with your own kin.
A naive creature is spared its life,
confiding in the unsure and unreliable.
lacking trust for each other,
and burdening these winged seraphs and mothers.
The assumed minor species rely on one another,
having no need for metal protection and a religious buffer.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 3:45 PM UTC
(From a Persian Carpet)
Ash and strewments, the first moth-wings, pale
Ardour of brief evenings, on the fecund wind;
Or all a wing, less than wind,
Breath of low herbs upfloats, petal or wing,
Haunting the musk precincts of burial.
For the season of newer riches moves triumphing,
Of the evanescence of deaths. These potpourris
Earth-tinctured, jet insect-bead, cinder of bloom—
How weigh while a great summer knows increase,
Ceaselessly risen, what there entombs?—
Of candour fallen from the slight stems of Mays,
Corrupt of the rim a blue shades, pensively:
So a fatigue of wishes will young eyes.
And brightened, unpurged eyes of revery, now
Not to glance to fabulous groves again!
For now deep presence is, and binds its close,
And closes down the wreathed alleys escape of sighs.
And now rich time is weaving, hidden tree,
The fable of orient threads from bough to bough.
Old rinded wood, whose lissomeness within
Has reached from nothing to its covering
These many corymbs’ flourish!—And the green
Shells which wait amber, breathing, wrought
Towards the still trance of summer’s centering,
Motives by ravished humble fingers set,
Each in a noon of its own infinite.
And here is leant the branch and its repose
of the deep leaf to the pilgrim plume. Repose,
Inflections brilliant and mute of the voyager, light!
And here the nests, and freshet throats resume
Notes over and over found, names
For the silvery ascensions of joy. Nothing is here
But moss and its bells now of the root’s night;
But the beetle’s bower, and arc from grass to grass
For the flight in gauze. Now its fresh lair,
Grass-deep, nestles the cool eft to stir
Vague newborn limbs, and the bud’s dark winding has
Access of day. Now on the subtle noon
Time’s image, at pause with being, labours free
Of all its charge, for each in coverts laid,
Of clement kind; and everlastingly,
In some elision of bright moments is known,
Changed wide as Eden, the branch whose silence sways
Dazzle of the murmurous leaves to continual tone;
Its separations, sighing to own again
Being of the ignorant wish; and sways to sight,
Waked from it nighted, the marvelous foundlings of light;
Risen and weaving from the ceaseless root
A divine ease whispers toward fruitfulness,
While all a summer’s conscience tempts the fruit.
2.6k
Freedom, unadulterated freedom.
Freedom to dig little toes in the sand and run as naked and
as wild as the wind.
A freedom so complete and vast and uncensored
that it weighs like chains,
and chokes like an iron grip.
And so little hands meld mismatched links of their own,
rules and laws, and should's and should-not's,
tying little feet back to earth,
away from the suffocating sky of infinite possibilities.
Little hearts yearn for shackles,
feeling utterly exposed without them,
for a free body is one that tempts oppressors
unless he dons crude metal adornments of his own.
And so with the imprint of unsung lullabies
floating in the night air, little cheeks
nuzzle their iron blankies and doze off
under the familiar weight of confines and conformity.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
I feel the steady hum
Of my blood against my veins
As my mind travels
To places of love & illicit affairs
Heavy breath and pleasure
My mind tempts my senses
I feel so bound
I wish I'd never made promises
Anonymity and biology tease me
I long for sleepless nights
I yearn for your anatomy
But do I want the shame?
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 6:01 PM UTC
The way the twilight
reflects off of her shoulders
tempts me all night long
4:01 PM
2/8/19
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 2:01 AM UTC
OOO!
He is worried!
Again!
the Mr. Perfectionist.
It’s almost Carnival but
He hasn't yet got a mask
with specifics
outlining
his ballads
and jests
he
surly lists his bests
in two principle steps
of CAPS :
1)
* Feeds the Bats and
* Tempts the Charms
2)
* Cheap N Handy
* Quixotic but Scary
* Not too Trendy
and he cries
Yuck!
EW!
Husky!
What's worse than
a self-adoring pathetic bat
in my whereabouts!
I can't get the stink and shrill so I help him fast
'Yo what's the worry!'
-I say friendly -
'you need not hurry
cause I think you already are ready!'
-I continue enthusiastically-
'Here! Try this one
My top design
Custom fit chemistry
A truly NO Risk Recipe
and of course
Specially designed for you! '
'for you for youuu
to echolocate
such is an eye-gaze
for the half-blind
such is sound
a vibration that propagates
in ears and brains of pretty gulls
and of course
only for youuu'
- I sing loud a common bat ad just to stimulate
my client and continue- merrily explaining my serviceable recipe
*for 2)
Wear your white shirt just
...as always
the one I know
you know?
the webbed one
weaving grace
and don't forget to
iron it well this time.
*
*for 1)
Put on your true face!
I reckon then
and can guarantee
...as always
no one will ever recognize you .
*
In a flight he disappears glad and I hope he won't show up till next year
What can you do I say to myself and quote a encyclopedic fact about my client.
All things have a place, you don't really need to like them but these ones pollinate flowers and disperse fruit seeds and they are economically important as they consume insect pests reducing need for pesticides.
I say while I ventilate my head with an OM mantra and an incense stick
Bah what a stink what a stink...
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC