"waft" 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
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation. My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth. I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis. The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.
Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange. Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
A blue black cloud, all over me is written JOY
in the script of vapor, dense, moist and meaningful,
I am light, like a feather, the breeze is in love with me for that,
I love his gentle persuasion to waft, move about, explore..
and then--ravaged by wind my love changes direction.
I love freedom more than anything, but forgot limits, hover
now, I am no more attached to the green hills, they are jealous,
far above them am I, untouched by their vainglorious pride,
I am not hard-hearted, parched fields send shivers of lightning
break me in to thousand smaller pieces, scatter around.
My love for this earth is kindled by the sights unfurling below
all the egrets, cormorants, storks and herons of great magnificence,
those kind hearted friends that fly with me often are in pain
like the farmers, there isn't enough water for anything.
A cloud is a thought, inspired by the love for mother earth
by the ocean I am gifted to the breeze, to tour around,
on many lands fell my shade, found life in all varieties,
now is the time to be kind at heart, melt, fall in torrents.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
Enchanted by spring’s
rustling whispers
... whistles swirl
in the pungent springtime breeze;
steeped with a bedazzling
cadence
heart dancing
to a hummingbird’s
whirs
waves of breath,
of little wings waft,
whooshing throughout
twining honeysuckle lattice
a
tiny manger
beset of hidden gold
precious speckled eggs,
silver lining of smallest hopes
fruits of fruition
continuum beheld prize,
concealed in interwoven rootlets;
potently perfumed flowers
while away
the waning dark hours;
swollen full flower moon
waxing yellow,..
heavenly fragrance
sweetly-scented suckled nectar
the one with eyes of a child,
wonder ― hidden inside,
marvel in the light of grateful eyes
imbibing an unholdable moment's
spellbinding elixir
... poetry alive
air so poignantly perfumed
with blossom
moonstruck
by spring’s frolicking cadency
a reverent moment's
edifying intoxication
a sobering beauty that just is...
someone ... May 2017
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
Dry winds of monsoon rainless
Caress my little hair idly
Fire crackers acrid painless
Waft up quite widely
The elements treat me fine
Yes, they are all democratic
Often verging on divine
Tho’ folks call em lunatic
Bother not, friends
Folks are easily dumb
That’s how it ends -
Tom, **** and a thumb
Tho’ nothing might augur well
Keep being until groundswell
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
.
A cloud falls from the sky,
a lead balloon of precipitation,
and cuddles the ground
like a long lost lover.
Dripping its cargo,
shedding tears along the way,
leaving a trail of damp memory
and a calm balm
for the Earth.
*And a candle flickers
on a lonely table,
as a pen drifts across lines,
filling meaningless words
that never
convey the depths of separation.
The flame flares
as a waft, a draft,
creeps in a crack under the door,
adding a poignant touch
to the melancholy of atmosphere.
Gripping the pen with delicate unease,
the hubbub drowns inwards,
doubt rises in ascendancy,
the pen falls,
like a discarded relationship,
and the meaningless words
stop.*
© Pagan Paul (21/11/18)
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal
the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir
Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide
His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst
needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time
Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding
The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being
A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.
~
The Twist
This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.
Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.
I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.
For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.
**It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers**
by Nat Lipstadt
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
There will be no red jester,
no wolf, no jaded maid;
there will be me, of seven years,
blonde hair to narrow blades.
No speaking is involved;
we both know why you're here;
you've come to watch me evaporate,
or so both of us fear.
The lights start to get brighter;
the heat is too intense.
My body burns but you stand still;
the field 'round you is dense.
You stand so helpless,
As do I.
We watch the whole world crumble.
Friends of mine,
you don't know yet,
break away to rubble.
All at once, in not five seconds,
we're floating on in night.
The stars around me baffle;
no, this can't be right.
We're immortal, you see,
an affliction unforeseen.
Now I'm doomed to waft forever,
and live in the moon's gleam.
So the question stands, girl:
how long will you stay?
I remember a flitting dream;
it seemed to last a day.
Yes, it was, I do recall,
when I was not yet ten,
that I saw this all happen,
but I understood naught then.
So there it is, we have a day,
for me to impart all,
which of our grand hopes unfold,
and which were much too tall.
Don't be scared, my dear,
I'm sure we will be fine.
So take in all I say;
soak in every line.
We won't speak again,
and since there are few hours,
I'll share my words and hope they work,
in preventing the fire shower.
What seems like a minute,
but really was a day,
you start to blur and fade.
I'm sad you go away.
My fear is thick and soaked in tears,
and so we start to pray.
"Dear Lord, I know,
our world is broken.
It's full of hate and crime.
But, sir, please save the world I live.
It's all I have that's mine.
Find it in your heart, oh Lord,
to show this fille the way,
to stop the thugs and all the guns,
and give us one more day.
Amen."
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
I am at this place where sound is energy-
where color has mass and taste.
Every moment is a glorious adventure,
balanced on the fine line between joy and madness.
I may be insane.
I might have finally lost my mind.
I don't care.
I am bliss and freedom in this moment,
encapsulated by the rushing wind
of my own thoughts as they sail by
visceral, anthropomorphic.
As layer by layer all I know is taken
not by force, but gently,
I discover truth hidden beneath.
Obfuscated no longer,
I am god of this moment-
I am the All-Seeing Eye.
-for just a moment.
A moment that seems to stretch across
the history of the universe,
as I am blinded by the birth of a billion suns...
As waves of cigarette smoke waft
lazily into the form of tigers,
the fever pitch waves adieu-
like the distant memory of an ******
it leaves me tired but fulfilled.
Time to reflect.
Time to absorb what I've found.
There are no adventures greater than those in your own mind.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
*The world where I stood was a desert
thirsty for a pint of rain;
longing for a kiss that never came.*
Not until you did.
Everything started with a droplet of your essence,
Out of nowhere. Unexpected.
YOU... yes you MANIFESTED.
*Without notice, you took me by surprise.
A beautiful surprise I say.
For the first time in a while I felt,
my worries washed away by your presence.
Hot sand turned mud where then I lay.
In those moments I lost,
all anxieties brought by drought.
When through the years I thought
I'd never touch the rain I ought
to ardently pray for every night.
Imbued I was with your* "love".
clothes soaked. body wet. soul drunk.
*your name the promise I mutter through the drizzle.
This body jived to the beat of a million sizzle.
Moments passed faster than it seemed.
I, taken away by lust of a parched soul.*
I slurped. I gulped. I glugged.
*as much as I could, never thinking of
what I would drink in the latter.
When the land runs dry;
when then again,* I'm deprived of water.
*So then, what caught me by surprise,
left without a word... woah,* SURPRISE!
everything turned back the way it was;
an arid heart in a blink of an eye.
*But what makes me wonder is this delusive sense,
of your cooling touch amidst this false pretense;*
I smell–
*Your scent stick to my chest like perfume odour.
My nostrils clogged with the aroma of your neck.
A waft that distorts the senses of this* consumed man.
Thoughts of you linger long after you are gone...
Like the fragrance of rain that stays after the downpour.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Laying on a bed of sand
Soft as feather downing
You take hold of my hand
I am floating, drowning
Feeling the blue salt fill me
Your breath kisses my eye
Taking me down to see
Where the turtles fly
Amongst rainbow coral
And fish, timid and shy
Hide amongst a skeletons hull
Gossamer clouds waft over
Driven by a sun tanned breeze
As we lay, cocooned in our ardour
Surrounded by quiet seas
I can feel the blue salt fill me
As your breath kisses my eye
And it’s taking me down to see
Where the turtles fly
Amongst the rainbow coral
And see the fish so shy
Hiding in a shipwrecked hull
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
I. the smell of sad
odorless colorless like ***** similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling sadding, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will S’s),
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,
still stink
don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger ****** your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I,
who has your sadness smell into my skin cells creepily crept
waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face
there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can **** all
this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present***
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC
My home, my life as I always remember
Through the rough stones of the hard sand, I see my memories clearly
The heated scenery collapses into the bustling busy streets
That swirls and swerves into the grand markets of beautiful colours
and smells of spices that waft deeply into the clear sky,
where it’s always warm and comforting
The blue skies filter the noise of the large city
My home, My life as I always remember
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 11:44 AM UTC
The stars once more have lost their race
Through night-sky versus mercurial moon.
In this defeat no dishonor will debase
Futile efforts to intersect upon the lune.
Desert scents of juniper and Mormon Tea
Waft fragrant above the comfort fire smoke.
Banana yucca roasting at my knee,
Fleshy fruit consumption for us hungry folk.
Nevada nights nip raw this time of year;
Our lot is cast by glowing embers,
Whose reflector stones essential to survival,
Stave off cold that we need not fear
Frostbite to peripheral members,
Till sunlight returns with warmth's revival.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
you and i are fretful, wary fish--
old souls. anxious beings.
sometimes i think that you and i are part of a whole--
the two fish tied together by the rope.
as the song says,
*"i wanna ruin our friendship,
we should be lovers instead;
i don't know how to say this,
'cause you're really my dearest friend."*
but honestly,
i crave you in the most innocent of ways.
if i could kiss you just once,
simply sleep next to you and be at peace,
that would be more than enough for me.
we made a pact -- at thirty we will get married
just because we can.
but it hurts --
i know it doesn't mean the same to you
as it does to me
i just want to marry you someday
live in a house near the Atlantic
and the rooms will be full of cacti and succulents
the scent of baked goods will waft out from the kitchen
where we will be battling the cats
for space on the table to let the macarons cool --
vanilla bean, rose raspberry, chocolate peppermint
some days, this is all i can think about
and i could never admit that to you
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
san diego sun waves waft
in through the grime-claimed window
above the cucumber melon colored tub,
and onto a seashell embroidery,
salmon pink
lukewarm soak plus one more drink
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
The third moon brought forth from the shadow dark.
Gentle breeze freewheeled across the lakeshore.
Windswept was the air, in peace night was marked-
Unyielding stillness, blooming fairness more.
Silky pastel cloth, gushing curtain soft.
The window let in hushed waft soothing cool.
Fixed firmly on shore with poles planted stiff,
A pavilion meek light heartened the pool.
By the portico was a tree bent down
Whose white flowers bloomed lovely as a nymph.
Its jagged branches, lumped of golden-brown,
Delicately grown each emerald leaf.
Underneath its shades were cheery plantlets;
Pebbles hard and cold; red earth spongy ground;
Flying whirly bugs, glittering bead lets.
Fair maiden deferred, there then can be found.
Pleasing to the eye, that dignified dress
In white noble silk with fine needlecraft.
Regal as she stood, just for a mistress.
Mystic was her eyes, a soul was grafted.
Filled with potent life in her burning stare.
Profound as the deep, tranquil as it surge.
One may glimpse straight to, utmost one can't bare.
To its mysteries, one gave in and urged.
Verdant her hair was, hearty as it shone.
Longer than she was, white as the moonlight.
In her neck are chains, beads and shells she owned.
Varies in sizes, things that make her bright.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 5:30 AM UTC
The full moon caught a glimpse
where the billowed clouds parted
Saucer size Dogwood blossoms
echoed an urging reflection
through wide open window ;
the diffused moonlight reached in
touching the open palms
enduring in an empty void
lay down beside
Softly burnished reflections
lighten blanched flesh petals
swaying in the wakened
spring cadence
Rhinestone memories
tethered from somewhere above ;
as if manipulating puppet strings
dangling down through
the seesaw cloud gap ―
scattering candlelit sequins
like unmapped constellations
brushed by the moonlight
in the dale of your leafless *******
The fragrant breeze
of your memory
gathers a sweetest taste,
teasing wishful thirsty lips
into a gentle smile ...
Tracing unbounded memories
with wandering fingertips
upon your intimate
canvas oasis in my mind
Fallen petals floating gently
across still waters
induced by whispered breeze ;
quiet reminders that ripple
the mesmerizing silence
with the lonely breath
an unheard evanescent sigh
The open window
let the moonlight in,
illuminating lingering
shadows of the past ...
you feel the waft
of spring breathe ...
but you just can't help
where the wind blows
Jesse e. Stillwater
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
The streets of Paris -
the long walks
in the drizzle of rain
the lamp posts
and the ornate structures
are not quite as beautiful
when you're holding
her hand.
No Eiffel tower
can tell you
how much I love you
The warm waft
of a croissant
is not enough
even when washed down
with hot chocolate
to take away
this bitter taste.
The Pont de l'Archeveche,
the love lock bridge.
they say the padlock
symbolises eternal love
throwing the key
into the river
binds us
everlasting.
But just like the key
you are gone
forever.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
I feel so far from everyone.
Isolated.
They are unaffected by my pungent aroma.
Perhaps I won't wash.
Then my smell might waft into their lives.
I'd be noticed for once.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Removing the little lace dress with its white hem I place it back on its chair.
The white hem radiates slightly enticing my naked boyhood once more
With its lusciousness, a savannah of continuous beautiful evocation
I sit naked and watch the little lace dress with its white hem
See it become languorous and dreamlike
I smell the exotic flora of its continued subtle seduction
It ripples softly in a slight waft of air
Like a breath blowing on a still pond
I cannot resist it, I am the trance of its hypnosis
Nothing intervenes, nor tries to prevent me
As my fingers fall for its flirtations
Once more I acquiesce to the most wanted desire
Of the little lace dress with the white hem
To caress the body of a fifteen year old boy
To become a second skin
I allow it to slide over me seducing my senses
Realizing the counters of my thin syrup coloured form
The words whisper again about my girls’ complexion
About my long black hair, about the body I inhabit, the likeness of a girl
I look once more in the mirror, they could be correct
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
The ways I love you
by~
Everyday I wake to you
is the first day of school
let me learn your name and
say it til the psalms of our souls
are well written and worn.
For every tear you cry
A river rushes in me
For every smile that peaks
A sunrise in my eye
For every waft of hair
A windmill churns and
For every heart of that beat
Those three words I live for:
“Send nudes please”
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC
After the pay toll
I go down steps
to wait for a train
heading one way.
Glances reveal a
demon eyed glare
searching through
the dark tunnel,
a waft of air pushed
up against me, spins
the time I wait from
seconds to minutes.
I'm going underground.
It's warm, clinging
to soaked skin -
everyone is the same,
drenched in a fatigue
like tired ghouls
smothered in oil,
their bodies caskets
lined up as the day's
catch. We shuffle
into a viking funeral
riding the current
for the journey home.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.
3.3k
the green and waxy confusion is your cape and covering
topaz wings strum and flutter,
branches snap
beast and bug
geranium and dogwood
woodear spore and wolfsbane
flower and firm hedge
all wear goosebumps:
the whole army of generation, the waft and release
ready to conceive, to love and make root
to spill and ****
daylight, moonlight
well-fed and hungry
west and further west
a brush against your thigh flattens you
climbs your spine like a curse
robes you in purpose
to be and be alone
there you are: croucher, scuttler,
position known only to yourself
subclade of womankind
treasure in your soul
(in purses and pouches;
taking in, taking in)
it is private here and musty
you own your hands, your knees,
the dirt under them both,
the roots beneath that,
everything on the wind and below the blue sky
everything dark, and everything light:
kingdom of your own discovery
shroud and mountain and cache of mystery.
A door far away slides open
an echo of busy house, busy bones on the air.
Something in the oven.
Something in the heart.
What is the voice calling?
Who wants you home, child?
And if home is a warm meal, a bed,
a bath, a glass of milk,
a known touch,
then do you own your skin?
Aren't you small and lonely?
You are not.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC