"vye" poems
I wish I could have stayed in bed all day today,
Writing poems about entertwining fingers and tangled legs;
About lips that never moisten themselves; About tickles that, abruptly, turn into
caresses and lingering touches.
I would have written about cuddles and tight ******** embraces that didnt require that "thing" they like to do most;
About kisses that make you yearn for nothing less than a lifetime supply of Them.
I, simply, wish I'd have just stayed in my room
In my bed and
Penned all morning about the complex simplicities of coexisting with Desire.
I'd have written about how Competition was welcomed with unfurled arms, kissed and un-coated at the door.
I'd have written about how it was welcomed as a third party to the bed;
how we would vye for its approval and battle for 1st place as Best Giver of Love.
..But, instead, I'll just write a poem about the poem id have written had I just stayed in bed today.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
Between ten and eleven-thirty p.m. this Cornish
village, for the most part gets itself quietly ready
to find comfort in bed.
No exception tonight, beneath cold arc of moon
time takes command as cats are put out, doors
latched and no dog barks.
Mist is rising under fading depths of navy-blue
sky as neighbours pull blinds and hiding behind
upstairs curtains undress.
Clothes are being thrown about, noses get blown,
teeth cleaned, backs scratched and toilets flushed
before baring days' secrets.
Outbursts of *** meet with collapse as confession
of headache becomes forgotten in gasps of gossip
that start giggling sessions.
Suppers crumbing clean sheets vye with a shared
cigarette between couples who, tho' sleep-heavy,
drowsily mumble goodnight.
Peace tumbles around snuffles and snores before
stirring ceases as this small backwater stumbles
toward a new morning.
Men, women and offspring down toys with tools
as dreams take over while strength refuels weary
bones for more readiness.
For a few hours their world of normality flies to
another dimension then with sunrise legs stretch
and yawning faces distort.
Because betwixt six and seven thirty a.m. this little
community will rise and give inner-thanks before
morning battles start again.
Nobody knows what tears are shed behind blinds
that nightly challenge good folks' efforts in trying
to make the most of their life.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
I will love you but not forever
Because time will not define a feeling so divine
But this is not the reason why
I will love you, but not as strongly
Because slowly and surely, commitment will be the key
But this is not the reason why
I will love you, but not as consistently
Because my eye cannot vye with two to compromise
But this is not the reason why
And the reason why must not shock you
It must not phase or break you, this is not to contain you
It will never mean to release you
But hope, to engage you
Because
I will not love you forever
Because of another
And this is without hesitation, nonchalant
One who may be a little ignorant
But will always be more observant
Deserving, learning, and maybe even infinitely more important
Because as you will see,
And I hope you know what this means
Together we were never meant to be two souls in a constant tether;
I will love our child forever
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
But why, apt this centred Sidhe decide
In her own Verbs your Best Herbiage enchant
And mix the addled *** O' Mandrake hide
Then by Best Pour that Mantra she'll incant:
"Impart this Softling! Nee' Life concentrate!
Rose-Round vye Princey-Noose to Shape betroth!
Reform Adonis! To Makeroose State!
Swell this Fruit from the Garden of Naboth!"
By Fruit she meant Grape. Which tempted the Fig
To feign its **** for your barrows be sweet
Which, even a wee, expand your Heart big
Praising one day your Late Romance repeat.
Even she of her Onerous Chants aware
Hugged dear Naboth his Murdered Earth laid bare.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
Papa Nowèl te pè pase sou Chanmas
Nan lari Pòtoprens. Bal tap tire an mas
Tout kote. Anpil moun sere anba kabann
Teroris yo kwè chyen nan yon move savann
Yo tout kote ak gwo zam ke yo pa fabrike an Ayiti
Bandi yo ap touye e terorize tout moun
Mèm vye chat ak rat kap kouri nan ravinn
Bagay yo grav e danjere nan peyi Dayiti
Tonton Nowèl te pè se sak fè kel pat pase
Ane sila. Pèsonn moun pa konn kilè ke
Bagay sa, dezòd, krim, kanaj sa yo ap chanje
Fini. Pate gen mès minwi, tout pòtt legliz te fèmen
Bandi ak sapat yo gen gwo zam ki trè chè
Ke tonton blan yo bayo kòm kado Nwèl
Pou pèp la ka al kreve pi fon nan lanfè
Sak pi rèd djab sal ak vye san pwèl
Pè al nan simetyè pou al leve moun ke
Yo te touye. Se chyen manje chyen
Se chat manje chat. Se chyen manje rat
Moun antrave nan peyi sila. Se chat
Manje rat. Se chyen manje rat ak chat
Sa se laraj. Moun pa janm te konn tande
Vye istwa sa yo. Kilè ke bagay sa ap fini, chanje
Kilè ke kolon oligaka, loksidan e sanzave
Sa yo ap kite ti pèp la an repo e kilè
Ke ti pèp la ap revolte, kilè, fout kilè
Dyaspora a fatige pèdi lajan ak propriete
Nan peyi sa. Kilè ke tout teroris sa yo
Ap disparèt. Map fout rele anmwey. Yo
You, map pale ak ou. I’m talking to you
Map fout pale ak ou, wi ak ou
Kokorat, zwazo mechan, ipokrit, sanzave
Pa fout pale de revolisyon. Sispann reve
Ouvri je nou. Wi map pale ak ou tou
Pè Nowèl te pè, oken malere e ti moun
Pat resevwa oken kado sèl move moun
Kap touye e terorize pèp la tap fete. Lapolis
Lame ak nèg Loni yo, se kòm si ke yo paka fè plis
Se mwens ke yo fè sèlman. Nèg CPT yo touche
Gwo lajan, sak nan pouvwa resevwa anpil lajan
Nèg yo ap defann pòch, yo pap defann Patri
Yo pap pwoteje pèp, yo pap defann Ayiti
Ikrèn resevwa gwo kado, gwo zetrenn
Ayiti resevwa gwo anbago, wi nou konprann
Bandi, teroris, gangstè, loksidan ak olygaka ap vale tèren
Gwoup kriminèl yo ap mennen
Ti Jezi pat ale an Ayiti, li te pè. Papa Nwèl pat pase
Li te pè natirèlman. An nou panse, reflechi anpil jisko printan.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to all who are suffering in Haiti.
Pèp Ayisyen ak dyaspora a bouke pran imilasyion. Aba la mizè, insekirite
koripsyion, krim, injistis, inpinite, diskriminasyon, e inegalite.
See translation of ‘Santa Claus Was Afraid to Pass Through Port-au-Prince, Haiti’.
Copyright © Desanm 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tout dwa rezève
Hébert Logerie se otè plizyè koleksyon powèm.
Dec 31, 2024
Dec 31, 2024 at 1:30 AM UTC
A ripped out slice of a soul
Casting shadows on the doubt of someone's love
A mind still keenly clings to the dream that was real
But became the nightmare of an impenetrable loss.
Come 5am.
Memories bump and weave and vye for attention with the tears that never stop
With the ache that ebbs and flows like a tide that only goes out.
A self hate that questions rationale
And drinks its venom from an unending cup.
This is what's left when love turns its back on love.
Then lies then hugs then lies again.
Open pits await the voyager who let's his weather eye wander and drift from the true prize that holds the anchor down
And gives a lonely man the solace of redemption.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
You are lost to the waking world, a
denizen of the darkness. I pry my
fingers from off the steel lock. You
risk the deeping years, the early
yellow springing world laid for you
from my body. I talked to you in the
corridor of my youth. You only tried
me for.a moment. You took the
pages of my determination and
threw them over the brick lined
walls of your selfness.
You made me witness your dance.
The song you sang, your lyrics
beneath my pillow, the
voice of ancestors not heard until
your music escaped the fences.
My mother did not live to dance
with you. The songcoated signal
escaped between your
incomprehensible affinity.
The dance of genetics in full
display. I am still the Baffled.
The one footed dance of
the broken, the chondral song
played every evening.
Go behind the schoolyard where
you and the lions of your
collective urges vye to be
the fitest ****** on the block.
My life is short now with my own
kicked addictions. I drowned in
the lake of desire. I have swum
the frigid surf and walked away.
You are not unique. Many sear
the letter of desire across their
bare forhead and cannot traverse
the concourse of the day.
I will not declare myself aroung
your wheel. I walk through Grace.
If you choose me kneel for the
Benediction of God.
Caroline Shank
5.28.22
May 29, 2022
May 29, 2022 at 5:22 PM UTC