"warmly" poems
I am no longer waiting for a special occasion; I burn the best candles on ordinary days.
I am no longer waiting for the house to be clean; I fill it with people who understand that even dust is Sacred.
I am no longer waiting for everyone to understand me; It’s just not their task
I am no longer waiting for the perfect children; my children have their own names that burn as brightly as any star.
I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop; It already did, and I survived.
I am no longer waiting for the time to be right; the time is always now.
I am no longer waiting for the mate who will complete me; I am grateful to be so warmly, tenderly held.
I am no longer waiting for a quiet moment; my heart can be stilled whenever it is called.
I am no longer waiting for the world to be at peace; I unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.
I am no longer waiting to do something great; being awake to carry my grain of sand is enough.
I am no longer waiting to be recognized; I know that I dance in a holy circle.
I am no longer waiting for Forgiveness. I believe, I Believe.
-Mary Anne Perrone
Photo: Ingmari Lamy
Via Sacred Dreams
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
#*Feasting table under a shading tree
Swaddling robe that warmly cleans
Mirror beautifying while it reflects
Sword that pierces yet never rejects
Light penetrating the blackest hole
Water filling and healing the soul*#
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
Its my body, my money, its up to me what I do with it.
But everyone else is wearing it.
I cant help the way I feel.
Blonde
Red
Orange
Brown
Purple
DMs purple with pink laces
school skirt altered in the textile lab 3" shorter
hormones racing, zipping, vibrating, fizzing till the top pops
stairs made for stomping and storming
cackling laughter crackling down the telephone wire
clothes left on the bedroom floor abandoned for a girl crisis.
You cant read my mind
read my lips
read my body
read my journal sandwiched between the midriff covering cottons gran bought for Christmas and the skimpy lace thong I'd be grounded for buying
Mother's mattress sanitary towels tossed aside
for shamefully purchased tampons
instructions included
and time has passed
and masks have fallen
and I find you there in the muck and the mire
and dust you off
until
I see your face - all mothers lipstick and glittering pink eye shadow
and the smile that stores secrets in a treasure chest.
Your legs shake like Bambi's but you get to your feet
and nestle yourself into me warmly, strongly until you fall right into me
and you run and you run and you run and you run and you run
right through my veins
giggles throbbing through my pulse
pajama parties and homemade perfume radiating in my eyes
and there you are
and there I am.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
Why does the red tulip float?
Why does the flower shine through the window?
The warm breeze shrinks the breathtaking green.
Can't smell a flower, through a cold window.
Springs grow like warm breezes.
Courage, awakening, and blushing in the springtime,
All blossoms show strong, blooming red flowers.
God, such brilliance!
Never smell a tulip through a closed door,
Flower calmly like cotton clouds floating in the sky,
The sun paints red tulips, with an artistic brush,
Red flowers shake like misty sunrises.
Flowering warmly,
The small life calmly desires the clouds.
And reaches for the sky,
Blushing like a shy girl.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
Let me simplify
What it is
He felt it in your eyes
He read it in your words
He knew it when you smile
He appreciates you so much
He sensed the fragrance in air
He started to trust your forever
He noticed when you get blushed
Remember
How warmly
He calls you, a rose
It can be
No other than
THE LOVE
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
Rolling a Pall Mall in the courtyard,
of Ye Olde Swiss Cottage Tavern,
in the last of November's sun:
Lovely sunlight,
You are,
Filling me warmly with joy.
Thinking of our desires,
from summer and autumn months,
up to this bright November morning,
we have happily danced,
e'en in the shadows.
Above me two brick turrets,
as I dreamily smoke,
nonchalantly state: 'Underground'.
High-raised logos winking at our play,
struck through with horizontal blue,
in a circle of enamel white.
'Old Fool,' the towers hiss,
directed at my mortal sensibilities,
'winter has come!'
But nothing buries us
as our sun still comfortingly kindles
a friendly star
which when all is dark,
glows inside,
guiding the shipwreck of my sunken years
- the debts and all those unpaid thrills!
Dreaming and Loving,
as children out,
lost in an abundant *****
each holding off for as long as we dare,
lovers unmasked,
naked before suffocating paternity,
and cold winter's bite!
where to we hardly know,
to avoid its cruel embrace.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
to sit on the lawn
outside on a bright Spring day
trade winds softly breeze
endless cerulean skies
the vibes of a live brass band
dark skinned Hawaiians
white marching band uniforms
a curious sight
ah...but the sounds are soothing
wafting warmly through the air
relax and enjoy
look around, drink it all in
think of nothing else
feel the music through your bones
close your eyes and flow with it
Del Maximo
(c) February 5, 2009
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 9:32 AM UTC
Again, its you on my mind,
brought to my face, a sweet smile
Come, let me embrace you warmly
give you my love of all kind.
The sky is red,
birds returning to their home
while I look dreaded,
I don't want to be alone.
The sun does burn me through the day,
but it heals my soul in the end.
I will love you forever, come what may.
Test me, whichever way you want,
as you can't stop my ascend.
In the day, the sea waves me goodbye,
but it returns with a gentle touch.
Come, let me embrace you warmly
at dusk, on the beach, here I lie.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
Turquoise in the morning light
The treetops are alive
With the myriad of birdsong
As the swirling mists arrive
And the shaft of brilliant sunshine
Penetrates the greenish gloom
To illuminate the craggy ridge
In a honeyed, golden bloom.
The rabbits head for burrows
Retreating from the night,
A flock of teal, in unison,
Explosively take flight,
There’s a freshness in the morning air
A tingle to the skin
And the twinkle in the blue eyes
Lets a secret smile begin.
Autumn in the country glade
The russets and the gold,
The song of early crickets
In the leafy knoll takes hold,
There’s a brilliance in the crispness
In the piles of windblown leaves
And the healthy crunch of underfoot
Invokes a sense of ease.
The peacefulness is calming
The solace in the sound
Of the distant song of blackbird
In the tall oaks that surround
And the velvet feel of morning
Thrills the mind to warmly hum
To the glory of occasion
In the warmth of Autumn sun.
Marshalg
Beneath the reds and golds of Autumn leafage.
14 May 2012
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
She frequents here most weekend nights,Big **** long kegs, freaky appetite,Her eyes scan every inch of the club,Wet *** all hard and ***** to hell with love.She licks her lips, and warmly, her other lips respond,She sees her prey and grins at knowing this night will be long,They stroll towards her knowingly, they are the lucky ones,She straddles one, while the other mouth makes her come.Moaning ***** words, and writhing, her **** are bouncing freely,Two on one's her favourite, it makes her come so gleely,Her wet tongue finds something hard and veiny, she takes it in her mouth,Her stroking slips and slides make both guys moan and pant out loud.His ball sack dangles over her, she's begging for a suck,The other's fingers enter her, she loves a finger fuck,Her mouth fills up with pleasure juice, she comes onto his fingers,She licks it off, but takes her time,intent to make it linger...
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC
Sitting alone under a darkened sky
Oft leads to meandering thoughts
Of things both blithely blissful
And bitterly biting.
Like the time we held hands
On a road trip across the country
That ended in sour silence
And restrained rhetorical retorts.
Like the time we warmly watched
The sun set over an orange ocean,
Only to go home feeling colder
Than the biting breeze that rose with dusk.
Like the time I said "I love you"
To your goofy grinning face
And in the same breath, "Goodbye"
To your vanishing visage.
Two sides of the same coin--
That's just life.
I guess this is why it's called
Bittersweet.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
The Orthodox said that it came from the air,
And the Heretics said from the platter.
They argued it long and they argued it strong,
And I hear they are arguing now;
But of all the choice spirits who lived in the cheese,
Not one of them thought of a cow.
4.8k
She stands gazing out at the lake
the waves chase each other across its surface.
Beside her, a fire
connected to her, it burns softly and warmly in the dark of the night.
She can feel her city miles behind her
its walls shifting, changing, throbbing with her every emotion.
The waves crash against the shore
pounding the sand as hard as it can.
Then...
a silver chain, half buried reveals itself as a wave retreats
She reaches down and grabs it before the waves reclaim it into the black abyss
infinity...
the loop dangles from the silver chain blazing in the light of the fire.
A scream claws its way up her throat
blood-curdling, loathing, filled with hatred.
Beside her, her fire leaps
its flames raging, burning brighter, hotter, higher, faster
The chain falls from her shaking hands
the light illuminating the chain as the waters reclaim it, bringing it back into the black abyss.
How?
Why?
It was a cruel joke
after everything?
Now they were just mocking her
breaking their promise and throwing it back in her face.
Hatred fills her veins
for what the silver chain means
She can feel Him waking
He can feel her rage, her anger, her hatred.
Slowly everything around her begins to fade
the lake, her fire, her city.
He begins to wake
filled with longing to be unleashed upon them
to make them pay for what they did.
He begins to consume her
taking over her till nothing is left
She is on her knees, panting, fighting to control Him, to keep Him subdued
but its too late
He is too strong and she is to weak.
He enters the world
and she is no more
gone...
He wants blood, pain, chaos
He wants to make them suffer
He has no reasoning, no cares, nothing
only the urge to ****
destroy, pain.
He is the Beast
and nothing can stop him.
Her city can do nothing
only watch and wait
Watch has the Beast destroys the world
consuming it till it is no more...
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
together paradise,
nearby connection;
distance vanishes,
real-time embrace;
coincidental timing,
inarguable intersection;
fated misfortune,
mutual blessing;
soothing aura,
blissful homecoming;
affectionate cradle,
passionate possession;
fervent assertion,
warmly pursued;
together forever,
resurrected relation
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 1:55 PM UTC
water flows in waves hitting the shores sweetly
sun shines in grains hitting my face gently
ice melts in drops hitting the sand softly
fire sparks in lights hitting the wind warmly
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 3:08 AM UTC
The singing of phones cut midway
The conversations that flow exactly after
The unnoticed change from night to day
The difference in context of everything that mattered
Now there was...
The silence of phones that used to ring nonstop
The ringing of phones currently unanswered
The mornings when it's impossible to get up
The middays wherein silence is heard
The nights when it's impossible to sleep
The midnights when eyes won't even blink
The day breaks that slowly creep
The dawns that felt like the sun was going to sink
The dusks wherein the rain poured
The fading daylight which was warmly gazed upon
The darkness of a nightfall which enveloped that unspoken word
The gust of air that continues changing from here on
The burning of letters that should have existed
And
The writing of letters that no longer exist
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC
~for the one who will know it was written for her~
muddy verb and adjective,
muddling and muddled
have you ever seen a pas de deux/deluxe,
one dancer, proscriptive,
and her partner, prescriptive?
the stage, of course,
exactly the width of your head,
from ear to shining ear
this couple o’muses dance en concert,
though their very natures are anti-logarithmic,
the value of their exponential activity is a
descriptive nomenclature
I am overly abstruse this Saturday morn,
mushing mathematics and ballet, verbal word games
as is my wont wanted,
everyone sleeping while I rise at 6am,
doing ablutions, seeking absolution,
pulling weeds from our respective gardens,
answering old friends I have yet to meet,
to whom I answer,
“still here, though long time no see,”
which is of course hysterical funny, inherently contradictory,
as the brain grasps well my
Red and Dead Sea brain cells, a splitting motif
muddling and muddled,
proscribed from getting on transport,
to deliver to you the proper healing prescriptive,
as if I had in my possess to diagnosis and correctly assess
even though one of my many passport names,
a requirement, to visit,
this inter-netting ether, that both combines and separates,
permits me safe passage,
over the historical lineage of borderlines of land and sea,
to deliver this message,
to you
woman
*I am here, waiting patiently, though long time
no see
like ever,
absentia, dementia,
both self-censure:
here, then, my cadenza,
dedicated solely soulfully for you,
as the sabbath sun rises over the East River,
saying, laughing unto me,
“still here, though long time no see,”
for though I cannot look upon her,
my sun, my sun, my son,
yet she, as well,
is everywhere-inside of me,
warmly illuminating
my muddled mind*
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 7:57 AM UTC
i long for the mornings i stir and hear those even breaths rolling over soft lips,
when we are lazily tangled up in one another
where i brush the hairs away from your eyes, though closed,
and count the faint freckles dotting your nose
for the moments of intimacy,
like the first few mornings that i whispered i love you,
countless times before i ever really told you i loved you
where i stare at those mocha eyes opening when you wake,
only for you to smile warmly and pull me closer
the intimacy of the sun peeking through the window,
and the security of your arms holding me tightly
you are my morning cup of coffee
you are just what i need to make it through the day
a week from now i’ll be by your side once more
i will trace your jawline as though i am preparing my mug,
wrap you in sheets of memory
drink in the sight of you in morning light
and take you for all that you offer
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
The wind whispered his name.
He lingered, but he did not listen.
The sun shone it's bright face
Warmly upon his disgrace
And made his skin to glisten.
Bright leaves spun and danced
Taking every momentary chance
To entertain a sullen passerby
Who never did lift his eye.
He was not destined to know
Because he missed the show.
He didn't hear the music of birds,
The crickets all went unheard.
The sun might have been dim;
Rainbows were unseen by him.
He took no joy in a warm breeze
Unless it made him sneeze.
No human could catch his eye,
He was aware of no passersby.
There was no color to his sorrow
No yesterday or tomorrow,
Just the sameness painted gray
That he lived in every day.
The artist that is every day life
Painted his world with palette knife
And every kind of artful brush
But could not interrupt the hush
Of he who looked but did not see
Anything real in his reality;
His discourse with the world
Had become a sad soliloquy
He created his own catastrophe
Sculpting his world without mastery.
His sins bore him sorely down
Bent over nearly to the ground.
A painful stoop to his shoulder
He rested on a nearby boulder.
Replaying his dreadful history
He vowed to keep it a mystery.
He would refuse to bear witness
Certain there was no forgiveness.
He felt he was no better than sod,
Was a disappointment to God,
And in all there was in creation.
He was unworthy of salvation.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
How is it,
you ask
and when we open our mouths,
instead you devour the words,
waving utensils,
knitting your eyebrows
like the crochet tablecloth.
Dinnertime conversations revolve
around loud voices
as we wipe our lips with
napkins –
tinged with
regret and bitterness
and sip from our glasses
filled to the brim with
liquid lava,
warmly trickling down our throats –
choking on sobs.
We eat off the plates that
contain nothing but
crumbs –
leftovers of our dreams,
and excuse ourselves while
shoulders slump
and the last bite of remorse
melts away
and when
the words have made the air
heavy.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:
Was it better wherever you went?
Were the:
Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?
Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?
Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?
Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?
The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!
Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.
Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?
The answers all, self evident.
Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.
Silver Beach
July 22, 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
I imagine her skin is like
the sun,
as it caresses my body
saying warmly:
-I am sorry for the winter,
and for leaving you cold.
I am back now,
I am here.
I imagine her lips are like
mine
and when we kiss I’ll feel as if
I’m falling
gently
d
o
w
n.
Dizzy with desire.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
He stirs, slowly...
watching the spoon,
break the fog,
settling over his morning cup...
opalescent eyes,
scanning the sleepy blue,
of daytime horizons.
Porcelain fingers, shift
into hard, ceramic claws;
first smoothing up,
snuggly cotton pantlegs,
and then running them down,
forcing his navied thighs, to separate.
The fork, in the road,
as I crawl in, between them,
headlights, and a glossy smile,
on full beam.
He jerks, with surprise
at the unexpected motion,
lips, arrested in a subtle purse--
a pinched pink,
pouted gently, outwards
to blow away the steam
gathering, around tense fingers.
I mimic the tension,
with my own, slaking lips.
Hands shift,
to cup him,
and slide, upwards.
Suddenly, he needs two,
to grip the mug.
My tongue, slicks out,
wetly,
to follow his ascent,
as he stands, upright;
neapolitan soldier,
with the suede skin.
The heat,
gathers,
in my palms
flushing his thighs,
and it circulates, warmly
against flickering flesh;
mouth, moving limberly
to drink him,
under the table.
My feral eyes,
fix his drunken ones,
as we both take each other,
in.
"I hope you saved some cream, for me?
Good morning, honey."
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
The salted air elates a feeling of real real.
And by real real, I mean the realist real there is.
Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy
Underlying a layered and angsted mind.
I loved a psychopath as a best friend
But finally
His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion
But on Protection Island
I feel
Protected.
Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides
Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father
The buzz of early morning travel as a child
I will be fine.
To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush
Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house
The protectors warm grin of welcome.
I want to feel okay again
And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber
Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind
Like a lover returning from a followed dream
A long, warm embrace which says it all
No words for I love you
Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
At the start of the day, I met a boy
I didn't know why, but I suddenly felt joy
He looked at me in the eye and warmly said hello
Not knowing that in the end, I would have to let him go
That afternoon, we agreed to stop by a cafe
Happily chatting nonstop, while time was slipping away
With the mellifluous music in the background, we filled the shop with our laughs
Then an epiphany occurred, I realized that I have to keep this memory by taking a few photographs
At nightfall, we exchanged numbers and decided to part ways
As he went to the opposite direction by walking backwards with his hands swaying as a sign of goodbye, I gazed
At that moment as I deeply stared into his eyes, I felt happiness- it was ineffable and little did I know, it was just ephemeral too
Because then I knew, my love is never going to come into his view
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC