"traverses" poems
(This verse is painted for my Loving Daughter P Suzanna Christy on her 8th birthday)
It was the day she began to move out,
She’d been in the cradle of her mother’s womb
Some seven years before silently in her dreams,
And her dreams! Who knows? But He knows.
Her mother, yea, yet to be a mother then!
Then in her travail, yet rejoicing in God’s Gift,
With her friend and neighbors close by she was wriggling.
Her father, yea, yet to be a father then!
Then in his journey, anxious, yet praying all the way,
None but the Father in Christ is beside him.
She reaches the eighth milestone of life,
How she hath reached is by His Mercy.
I remember the day of entry into the world,
She made a cry within and it was not heard unto us,
We could not know why she had cried within,
But we know for she had prayed within,
And now we’ve learnt that her first cry would be to Him.
Her mother’s friend took her in his arms,
And showered thousand kisses on her tiny forehead,
And it is he always the God-sent providence unto them.
Her mother rose from her anesthetic sleep,
And her every breath, it’s the fact, pronounced THANKS unto HIM.
She longed for her God’s Gift and took her in her arms of love.
I watched her imprinting kisses on the silky cheeks.
Every one wept and there were tears of joy,
I collected those tears in the deep of my heart.
She hath reached the eighth milestone of life:
She flutters as the dancing star in the sky,
Like the tiny trout in the running brook she plays,
Sweet like the ripe apple ‘midst the orchard,
‘cross the horizons of joy and laughter she traverses,
Dressed in the Blessings from Above,
She looks purple with floating frilled skirt,
She wears the smiles of her mother,
Filled with friendly wishes from her school mates,
She walks amidst the song of her little blooms.
I can’t hold her joy she experiences,
And so her mother shares it with her
And too with her for she hath carried my prayer in her womb.
She grows with the Heavenly Grace,
And does proclaim the Glory of Heaven in her life.
Now she’s a little plant to grow more flowers,
And every flower shall be the message of His Mercy
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
in ashes hidden, smoulders god of love
from matted dancer's focus conflagration purely come
continues still perhaps in empty homage
of a sa ta na ma
personage of ((Shiva))
white bones pierce the sky
in upward curtain-seethes of heat
beyond imagined burning hells...
the triad ventures into zero-zones of anti-life,
sands of absolute defeat.
shadow trust imparts
a silent teacher's mantras;
soothing psychic words,
"Bala" and "Adi-Bala"
carry over dunes of morbid thirst--
the gape of ancient serpent-maws
choking dust of frightened, elephantine skeletons
fissured by immobile sun--
their inner sound become cool water of a summer stream
in timeless desert, traverses strain of royal line:
god-fated tutelage of seedling savior,
lightning skill with bow and virtue sinew
shining arms horizon's arid form:
despite begrudging honor kings expect
when offspring given after years
in hard-earned sacrificial grace:
yet still obeisance ends in facing demonaic rage
to which is pitted youth to slay--
despite allay by symbol feminine,
as if to question her abode would conjure her
in dire storm and quake announce gigantic step and hairy gulf--
with arrow sprays destroy Thataka's trident, curdling throat
the slitting of, rejoicing pantheon proclaims heroic,
forever railing under epic breath of tacit page theodical:
"we gave you progeny, now grant us our theocracy;
before your son our asthras lay their weaponry"
.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
371
A precious—mouldering pleasure—’tis—
To meet an Antique Book—
In just the Dress his Century wore—
A privilege—I think—
His venerable Hand to take—
And warming in our own—
A passage back—or two—to make—
To Times when he—was young—
His quaint opinions—to inspect—
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind—
The Literature of Man—
What interested Scholars—most—
What Competitions ran—
When Plato—was a Certainty—
And Sophocles—a Man—
When Sappho—was a living Girl—
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante—deified—
Facts Centuries before
He traverses—familiar—
As One should come to Town—
And tell you all your Dreams—were true—
He lived—where Dreams were born—
His presence is Enchantment—
You beg him not to go—
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize—just so—
2.9k
*
Collapse into the arms of destiny
Let them carry you wherever the wind blows
Do not resist, be pliant
Like the reed that sways
Trust that you will be guided
To that which is in season to your soul
Love speaks with one voice
Sometimes through the parting of different lips
Know that the displacement and nostalgia you feel
is but a memory and a foretelling of Home
Relief comes with surrender
The leaf knows this secret
it yields in acquiescence.
Take a moment and contemplate
the life of a leaf ~
Surrender is not defeat,
it traverses land far and wide
and arrives gently to its destination
Surrender is not weakness,
know your strength.
Your essence can move mountains
Transcend into a fragrance that casts its spell into the night
unbeknownst to the beholder from whence it comes
In your surrender is beauty
that draws you closer to the ultimate Beauty
and culminates in the ultimate Love
Love him, love her, and let your love permeate
like the scent of two roses, together in bloom
♥
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
fueled by alcohol
swollen emotions,
the age of consent
and mistakenly stuck doors
the mutual understanding that comes with a singular passion
singular desire
just one time
but when the clock chimes
1:45
and curfewed kisses are few
you take my hands and sing
"i want to know you"
my fingers weave along my glowing screen
praying your given digits will be well received
and when my phone buzzes
i sigh
for i had tried to not let doubt cloud my mind
but i did not know you yet
and it rarely happens like this
when the clock chimes
6:00 Am
my rosy cheeks wait in the cold mist
a note on the table excusing my absence
a pale faced taxi driver goes through the required motions
to take me to your warm lips
with two hours of sleep
your makeshift bed is the port in a storm
and your slight frame is the sort that initially misleads
but it is powerful and exceeds expectations
the sweet sharing of bad puns
disney songs
and the unexpected "i love you"
the "you have beautiful eyes"
and the mess that is my hair do
i wake you with a warm hand to the hip
and a quick kiss on the lip
reassures me it was the right thing to do
the twang of ukulele
and its warm wood brush over my breast
its hard form against my warm chest
you sing for me
and the poetry that traverses your lips is magic
though slight
you have no trouble maneuvering through my wide rivers
and hidden valleys
my small forests
you flip me with ease
a playful tease
tracing racing and running
soon warm water runs over our shadowy forms
because though forever may be spent in bed
the real world obligates us to move
to shower
in our travels we find ourselves caught in drizzly public transportation
making our way to the place of your occupation
though we are eating for two
you order three breakfasts
making up for the meal missed
replaced with loving
surrounded by kissing
you drink coffee
a quick pick-me-up
i drink a london fog
to remind me of the sleepy morning
and a quick peck to the lips reminds me of the rest
a test of my willpower
my power to resist taking you then and there
though that may have resulted in your termination
so i resist my considered temptation
i take a slight deviation
for every story must end
every sentence
no matter how much love
we must wait for blood
because every hook up,
every sentence
must end with a period.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
*sailing on the blue-sea
sailing unknown-beauty*..
1.
the seas laugh in raucous-hacks
as the waves cough up the corpses of my dreams
at my feet, they come in from the swell of tides
seeming no more than
spongy sea-weed with sun-skin points
bloated fish who didn't make it
swollen seals with child
and the blue-boy on the whale's back
confident-smiles draped upon his demeanour
like a well-worn cloak of old-comfort
soft and velvety secrets hide inside the folds
of his true-age and pure-soul
nobody would believe
how many trips he had to make
to get to this shore
how many deaths he had to live through
to understand the purpose
how many tears he saw shedding
of nature's total-patience
how many of so much..
2.
on the back of a whale
he traverses the width of seas
the span of lands
the points of stars
the truth of man
and he grieves the piteous-souls whose backs break
so hard
on the interminable-wheel of penitence
turning and grinding
grinding
grinding..
always bent upon that gauntlet-grind
if they but knew how futile the turn..
carrying loads of mercy and goodness
only to see it seep out wounds ere journey's end
3.
cruel deified-laughter exists not
at man's readiness to crucify hope
with such four-square certainty
that redemption lies in suffering..
oh no..
4.
faint sounds of laughter on a broad-coast
whose sands give way to shy-dossiers
of nature's confidence
in the evening sun
secrets that I neglected to see.. first time round
have I failed myself.. ?
(but not again)
when awareness taps one on the shoulder,
is it not utter-folly to turn one's back on resplendence
that all the leaves and seas are willing to share?
*true-beauty lies in covert-blossoms
and opened-eyes
and saying.. yes
when the sun-breeze
dawns*
S T - sunnyday, 24 Nov 2013
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
PaSsiOnS CoLLiDE
(10w x 8)
Love
Comes in bright...or jaded hues
varying...in intensity
Unknowingly,
you'd cross someone's path tomorrow
...it suddenly happens...when---
Feelings concur,
.....ideas jibe...falling, into right places...
Soon enough---
Feelings cOmBiNe,
Molecules ExpLODE
PaSsiONS CoLLiDE
At some point.......UniTE...
Heart no longer traverses rough waters
just watches flames burning
Though orange embers die,
true love stokes its fire
..........tirelessly
It's wiser...to capture....relive
those blissful, unequalled moments,
..........................when,
Feelings cOmBiNe,
Molecules ExpLODE
PaSsiONS CoLLiDE
At some point...UniTE...
Sally
Copyright January 19, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
can you see the girl
as she traverses the street
a world of hope
on heavily grounded feet
she walks in shadow
she walks in light
the hope of creation
the burden of love
where she is going
we can only guess
she can take us with her
for the want of a kiss
to get to know her
walk in her light
or follow behind
in the shadow she casts
Dec 13, 2022
Dec 13, 2022 at 6:39 PM UTC
Hanging turtles and
Netted birds of amenity
Dangle from her
Left hip like jewels ‘neath a,
“Ming,” ear as she traverses
Mountains beholden kitchens
And one more rise come setting splendor.
Supper may be atop the right, pelvis,
But opposite and left,
Rests the flask, bitter in chase of sanity.
I’m sure the scant pebble
Rattling in between
Her stomach and sorrow
Was nothing more than
A desperate thirst opposed the
Blister born benevolence,
Thirst opposed execution
And a coin converted spirit opposed,
“Xie xie,” (thank you), a platitude,
As heads clip pavement,
Blood pales a gutter,
Or soon-to-be feast’s final throes,
A bleeding and breeding for other,
Leading jitter-beholden mice to flee,
For they may be next
So future’s victuals arrive
Unhindered.
All and assumptive, assistance and rendered,
She walks away with only this –
Everyone’s emaciated
And the butcher on the street is still a butcher,
A peddler, a savior, and butcher again;
A source, be it left, right or wrong,
In need of a drink, as we all are,
With only the means, “take me to the sip,”
And by dollar come pocket born you.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
This is Uganda
My motherland
My home that I love so much
Boom, boom, boom,boom
Another prominent leader has been shot dead
Who is it?
Abiriga, the yellow man
Panic here, panic there
Some arrests here and there
And that’s it
He is gone
And the killers too are nowhere to be seen
This is Uganda
Around that time, it’s party here and party there
Many of my brothers and sisters have come to the beginning of the end of their time in school and some totally done
The graduation has brought well-wishers, relatives, friends and family from different places
Happiness is all in the air
But for many, the excitement ends there
Because months and years after that, they are still hoping to find their first job and the hopes seem to be withering down and getting further like the sun setting at dusk
Some have chosen paths totally different from what they studied for
The professional doctor is now a trader
The one that studied engineering is now a farmer
This is Uganda
The neighbor’s dogs are feasting on meat, chicken bones or even the chicken itself and maybe some serious Dog food sold in supermarkets but they slept on empty stomachs the previous night,
The mother is the main breadwinner for the husband abandoned them
There is very thin hope for a meal the next day
Maybe a Good Samaritan will do a miracle
But it certainly is not going to be their most immediate neighbor
While kids from well-to-do families are picked from the gates of their parents’ homes to go to school and brought back later in the evening,
Somewhere in the same age range or slightly older has also woken up to start his/her day
With his/her old & ***** sack on the back, held by the neck, he traverses the whole village throughout the day in search for scrap metal, plastics and some metallic cans that ***** hopes to sell off and find a little something to buy some food and also enjoy some ‘luxuries’ like maybe buying a secondhand T-shirt/Dress
Imagine that!
This is Uganda
We pay for justice
Some pay to deny other justice
And that’s the way it is
A police officer will ask you for a bribe openly with no shame
And that’s the order of the day
Disguised as a small token for ‘Ka-soda’ or ‘Ka-lunch’
This is Uganda
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
This is where the-
Spaceship of poetry has landed me
English is beautiful a color to paint with
But Swahili is the breast milk
A mother's breast is sweetest
be it canine
English was crafted with unique abilities
Expressions smooth like whiskey
Words that connect to the soul
God really blessed the language
I am grateful that I can write
Construct like engineers and designers
God endowed humans the ability to create
But only poets can create with words
I turn to Swahili now
To feed hearts with its-
Charming soulfood
From planet to planet
As my spaceship of poetry traverses worlds
I thank God for the talent
And my journey He will guide me
My destination to be the shinning star
Twinkling the beauty of literature
To shine like Venus in the morning
is my desire
To love you dear Poetry
And embrace you in Swahili and English
To feel you in every way
And inspire hearts of humanity
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
Each mind is situated on the spectrum of belief and reality.
Both ends suffer in their search for the truth.
The man who spends his life navigating the spiritual realm.
He attempts to find the greater purpose for everything.
Every blade of grass, each eroded stone a symbol of something bigger.
The nuances of life analysed and expanded upon to their very limit.
Given meaning in the name of God or the foreshadowing omen of an individual.
The man who traverses reality, grounded in science and logistics.
His mind filled with hypotheses.
Observing outcomes to explain the inexplicable.
He fits his grass and stones into the puzzle of a greater system.
In doing so he is God and the purpose for all things he assigns.
Both men strive to be the voice heard by the masses.
Their findings recorded, read, believed.
In the end does it truly matter.
Two lives spent.
Kneeling, yearning for some kind of affirmation that their time was spent correctly.
That they added anything to the greater scheme.
Pages upon pages filled with every detail in a grain of sand.
The end comes, the ink runs, the pages wither to dust, knowledge lost, purpose forgotten.
The world keeps turning.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
For some, certain places
hold a rather mythic oeuvre
in our veins; they are seen as places of magic.
Maybe a cyclist couple
have spent most of their money
on traveling the world for their blog,
their last stop is New York City
so that they may get pictures of themselves
at places like The Brooklyn Bridge, Lady Liberty
& that megalithic skyline reaching the clouds.
Or maybe a foodie from Wisconsin
just wants to try Famous Ben's Pizza on the West Side
because its New York fuckin' New York pizza.
Maybe a doe-eyed screenwriter skips
his flat square suburban town
to sell his words and soul to the sprawling sunny L.A
where dreams are made in pixels.
Maybe some New Age beaded wrist to ankle lady
spent her life savings to jump over the ocean
to visit the ancient pyramids built for a purpose
yet fully known.
Maybe a bearded dude
visits Easter Island to try and understand
the complexities of his ancestors while
soaking in the rich vastness of nature around.
Maybe I used to see places this way. Probably...
But in these places people live!
It's not mythology to them.
Maybe every night a homeless man prays
& begs for food on the late night A-train in NYC.
Maybe a middle-aged fading blonde couple
spend their time in L.A at a health food store
to recoup the savings they lost joining a cult way back when.
Maybe a Swedish teen traverses the trash
and littered-burned streets of Giza everyday
on her way to work
hoping funny looks aren't shot her way
for the way she dresses
or shouted at by bearded Salafi men.
Maybe a rare species of bug is unknowingly stepped on
in Easter Island.
Today, i see magic in getting lost on the NYC subway.
I found magic mythology on the beaches of Dahab,
80 miles away from Cairo.
I see magic in the mythologies,
while others live it,
the daily grind.
It's all around if you know where to look.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
wake up, feel terrible
for all the right reason
it is all too easy
this augmentation
this grandeur of emptiness
it is silent
a car traverses
another road
humans are out there
alive and breathing and asleep
still asleep
eyes open
the humans are just
as empty
in seventeen years
they will be as empty
in paris
or new york
or moscow
their eyes will still speak
as their mouths curl
and their children cry from
their cultured gardens
the unfixed faucets dripping
in their marble slate bathrooms
in the shower
they still wonder
what happened to their lives
their dreams
and how they'd changed
with every pivotal moment
they'd passed up
for comfort
or a new dream
conveniently forgetting the rest
they'll think back
to the faces of lovers
they lost to the road
or to chance
or to themselves
and cry
in the shower
if they haven't
forgotten how to
recollecting
how once
long ago
in a dream
they had learnt
dreams don't mean anything.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Staked
to slate
by ache
and fatigue,
unmoved am i
not a breath
drawn nor exhaled
as the blistering sun
traverses
a merciless sky
like a snail.
I close my eyes
and feel the pulse
i've become,
baked, a beating
continuum.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 4:04 AM UTC
If my sexuality consistently gets used
Against me
Then it becomes my weapon
The wisdom that a man's greatest weakness
Is simultaneously his greatest strength
Becomes realized
Reflected in domesticated animals
We give up our instincts
In an environment where the wild
Doesn't belong
After years of suffering
I grab my wand for the first time
Although lifetimes ago I may have done so
This time matters the most
Because it is happening now
I grab my wand and wave it through the air
the journey to learn how to use my Magick power
Enemies draw closer
Only to get blasted down by light
Aum harnessed from my throat
I will use fire to protect my life
Hovering owls in the night
All according to plan
Magic birds witness
The transpiring of balance
Coming to this planet in need of healing
Divine feminine we are here
Mary Magdelene is near
Absolutely have no fear
Lilith is on the sidelines
Visiting dark beings
In human minds
Kali is by her side
Tongue hanging out
***** for fresh heads in her multiple hands
Yemaya stirs in the ocean
She howls, "Just leave me alone!"
As Bolon Ik traverses time away from her twin flame for longer than she can bear
Exposed in a terrifying way
But men cannot Divert their eyes
As The most beautiful women
Exemplified
Turns some into stone,
Others to salt,
Ashes,
And only the righteous of souls -
Deliverance as The Call To Rise
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
It is in the realms of being that she ,
flutters, as if inevitable
It is she that traverses the mires of misery,
And infuses the spirits of darkness
Hope, that mistress of ill fortune,
Who deals in honey tongues and flowery words
She twists speech and engages minds
Ensnaring all in her deceit.
She is a lie.
In her absence dwells the warmth of self.
Courage comes when she flees,
For there is no fight that is fought,
Better in her absence.
No impossibility achieved in her presence.
The paths of victory, lead through
The Death of Hope.
The gusts of change leave her shattered in their wake
For when she is vanquished, defeat itself is sweet.
And when her fickle whims are laid to rest
When the constructs of her malignancy laid bare
Comes the sweet dawn of truth.
Her end leads to greater roads.
Those not of victory,but of glory
Of valour that cannot be written
In scripts of her choosing.
The last bugle shall play
The sounds of that charge shall take up our times
The fires shall burn for their sake alone.
And when we come upon that new dawn,
Hallowed in its darkness,
We shall have arrived,
At The Death of Hope.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
Spring morning,
quiet. One coyote,
three deer
running in snow.
What else have I seen?
A sparrow hawk in mid-air ******
a robin, a sharp-shinned hawk catch
a rabbit in its talons.
A deaf mute in a pear tree.
Not one wolverine
in Utah or Italy.
Nor a famous samurai.
A young black bear
traverses the lawn in August.
Also quarks. Also oaks.
Do not disturb their progress!
A red fox
alert, no limp
flows silently
across the meadow.
First light, green tea.
A person thinking
epochs and eons.
A platoon of chickadees.
Jun 18, 2024
Jun 18, 2024 at 6:31 AM UTC
the locomotive moves steadily across the tracks, puffing thick black smog into the air, never a whine until you pull the breaks.
the great rolling beast carries its prey, flaming fauna displaced from their rocky habitats, that wait to be swallowed up and converted to new life.
the procession of metal bodies traverses across worlds, taking its indomitable wheels into the tundra, the prairie, the urban jungle, at speeds unknown to lesser beings— or even the creators themselves.
but the mighty locomotive does not just conquer mountains and valleys, cities and forests alike.
it takes friends, partners, clients on the journey.
the smallest ones fall into slumber and breathe soundly, blending with the giant’s hum.
as the client’s size increases, their alert eyes dart across the land as the train rips through gravel, rock, and earth; a pasture of horses may be seen and addressed accordingly.
the full grown passenger opens their notebook, jotting down thoughts, identification numbers, budgets, letters, and the like.
they are often the assumed leaders within the belly of the beast, but the train knows of the true captain’s identity.
the final friends to name, the eldest in the cars.
they know the locomotive, being the on its quest across continents, possessing a gentle care with the resting of a hand upon the velvet organs of the beast.
the old ones know the displaced embers, rusted iron bones, cracked glass eyelids, and slowing wheels that come with conquered continents.
so, when the great train creaks to a stop, the elders exist their trusty cars, leave a tip for the porter, and whisper a quiet “thank you” to the train before stepping cautiously onto the oak platform below.
from the locomotive, never a whine, not even to beckon its favorite patrons farewell.
Dec 16, 2021
Dec 16, 2021 at 8:19 PM UTC
Within a room that shows me my breath,
Hairs stand alert on awoken skin,
My reddened eyes from last night's sin
Cause a smile, spreading illusion of death;
And through a double sheet of glass,
The light to my left gifts a pleasant view,
Vibrant colours cascade a wondrous hue,
That no painting in renaissance could surpass,
But does not last, and therefore, brings truth.
Vines hang their arms over weak fences,
Lovingly caressing with sweet tender kisses,
Stretching toward the ground fingers uncouth.
Tall trees reach for the stars throne,
Gallantly they stand in the background,
Alone, triumphant, and with silent sound
Hold their course like soldiers home-grown.
The industrial gloom weeps its ***** tear
And stains the window, ‘t does bear the light
Of broken branches; shining on a humble sight
Which illumes nests that Nature loves dear.
Birds build no foundation, while frosts breath
Engulfs the air, and smoke dances seductively
With heavy swirling mist, swaying her glee,
Hand in hand guides with him cancerous death.
Filthy sheep reside on the muddy fields,
Beneath blankets of the olde English cloud,
Hovering above cemented land over-ploughed;
Those show very well what modern age yields.
No rain, no subtle cry from heaven.
Long gone in retreat the grass of years past;
Sailing away over the horizon the ships mast
Which traverses the wild unknown region.
No flecks of blue glimmer in the sky;
Nor orb of fiery sun can be gazed upon.
Did the morning gift Auroras dim saffron?
Did it conspire and bring dullness to my eye?
Departed too have the scented flowers;
Even fruit hides away from their cradle,
No foliage, no bramble, laurel or myrtle,
All disappeared from ever shady bowers.
Honey is not made today, sulking are the bees,
And their cousins, shy-adventure disperses desire.
Evergreens remain, remain with adamant attire,
While their foes strip away naked their leaves.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
*Perches precariously on the edge of my
Crippled consciousness
Jealously and zealously guarding it
Lest it strays to ‘unchartered waters’.
To ostensibly **** time
She around the clock
Traverses the ‘bumpy’ uneven terrain
Of my mindfulness leaving in her wake a gall aftertaste.
She a beautiful apparition
Skirting and strutting her stuff
Boldly in my mind’s eye
All this to my chagrin.*
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
The sun rises quickly and then traverses the sky, the winter Solstice has arrived. The earth is suspended between seasons, as it slowly begins it's journey back to the light. In the length of night, life still remains. People indulge in winter slumber, while others celebrate the end of the long bleak winter as the impending spring comes. In cycles that predate the age of men, we really have no part to play. Only to be covered in the lengthy night and to live the shortest day.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
The Price of Sanctity
Hazy.. blind, I can't see a thing,
Sweat; an ocean__and I drown.
Trickling, feel rivers down my spine
Scorched, an all too normal tryst.
Elements, lost; wasted in the heat,
An itch; how quitely it goes ignored.
This headache. **** this headache
Someone get me a salve.
2 hours !
Twice has the clock ran by,
5 more, er..
But, can I last any long ?
Water ! No water ! No fluid
Traverses in to / without _
Hell ? No, it is dead men walking.
Heaven ? Has there ever any been?
Natural, welcome to the new order.
Living, shall never be any the same.
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC
artist's hands press her solidly
to a brilliant kaleidoscope of elegant golden bones and glittering skin;
strong palms resting with easy power
on the pliant wilderness of her hips,
heavenly flesh blossoming recklessly
into lush riots
of honeysuckle and savage roses.
from a little girl's shy smile he coaxes
the untamed laughter and rapturous moans of a grown woman's
wild pomegranate mouth;
licks tears of wondering ecstasy from widening, curious eyes,
pulls from her hips the feral undulations that, unchecked,
could unravel a tyrant's paradise.
he offers knowledge,
a sticky, illicit fruit into which she sinks
her
pretty white teeth.
deep crimson juice flows in starry rivulets
from softly parted lips to heaving ribs,
traverses gently a milky expanse
of breath and taut muscles,
halting to illuminate suddenly
a glowing womb,
freshly radiant with new life.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
The light in your eyes
reflects the laughter
that bursts forth from your soul,
and echoes
through muggy night air.
It traverses
across the room,
bouncing off the glints
of teeth
from constant conversations
of strangers.
As their smiles turn to
smirks,
and bright eyes
grow heavy
with slumber and drink,
your laughter still reverberates
Off the curves of their
hips,
and the tips
of their tongues,
as your lips touch
to meet someone else’s.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC