"yielding" poems
*i always imagine you so very graceful
through the masochists ordeal
a god form of supplication
seeing your face
in love
fascinated by shimmering kisses
that hurt, yet please
wet lips and sharp teeth
glamors that excite
cold blade licks dragged across
tender bellies
naval
buttocks
and flexed toes
stinging
then radiating outwards
wounds become lilies
mouth *******
tremulous weeping kisses
ecstatic cruelties
blood glitter sacrifice
your supplication
love pangs
i'm shaking apart over you
your countenance
a cascading dream
moved to tears of adoration
your limitless
yielding
like surrenders caress
an infinite communion
with fragile limbs
silky wrapped spools
innerness of desire veiled in a shroud
a faltering star that glistens crimson
nymph of purgation
ash volcanic
cells en-flamed with tongues that bite
subsumed in scented vapors
a confection of **** and ***
waves embrace ineffable shores
passed the discontinuity of life
I have the most immense feeling of love for you
am i not
the saint death
quietly following you
through life's labyrinth
innocuous
waiting humbly in the wings
i am all ache for you
a vice of kisses
a brief encounter
that eats your sight and senses
ushering you to immortal freedom
a swooning garland of fire that enlivens
the body electric
a mist of molecules
your tears intoxicate
i am new life with in you
budding embryo
that consumes its mother for nourishment
and saturates like dew drops
as it echoes through oblivion*
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
*
Depressing eyes invites,
Seductive gaze stimulate
Her lust growing solid.
Bulky **** hurting stiff,
Open spacious for me,
Her flexible glossy lips get,
Bare soft tissue touches,
tender parts yielding wet,
Thrusting deep within!
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours,
full of white shirts and salad greens,
the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks,
and I wore movies in my eyes,
and you wore eggs in your tunnel,
and we played sheets, sheets, sheets
all day, even in the bathtub like lunatics.
But today I set the bed afire
and smoke is filling the room,
it is getting hot enough for the walls to melt,
and the icebox, a gluey white tooth.
I have on a mask in order to write my last words,
and they are just for you, and I will place them
in the icebox saved for ***** and tomatoes,
and perhaps they will last.
The dog will not. Her spots will fall off.
The old letters will melt into a black bee.
The night gowns are already shredding
into paper, the yellow, the red, the purple.
The bed -- well, the sheets have turned to gold --
hard, hard gold, and the mattress
is being kissed into a stone.
As for me, my dearest Foxxy,
my poems to you may or may not reach the icebox
and its hopeful eternity,
for isn't yours enough?
The one where you name
my name right out in P.R.?
If my toes weren't yielding to pitch
I'd tell the whole story --
not just the sheet story
but the belly-button story,
the pried-eyelid story,
the whiskey-sour-of-the-nipple story --
and shovel back our love where it belonged.
Despite my asbestos gloves,
the cough is filling me with black and a red powder seeps through my
veins,
our little crate goes down so publicly
and without meaning it, you see, meaning a solo act,
a cremation of the love,
but instead we seem to be going down right in the middle of a Russian
street,
the flames making the sound of
the horse being beaten and beaten,
the whip is adoring its human triumph
while the flies wait, blow by blow,
straight from United Fruit, Inc.
19.6k
From the ashes I descend,
Rising among the flames,
As shades of red.
Orange and yellow,
Blend within the explosion,
Of my rebirth,
Claiming my life force once more.
My deep hazel eyes,
Drenched in golden brown,
Surrounded by a burst of jade,
Speckled with dark green,
Reveal my humility,
Compassion and genuine kindness,
Allowing you to behold,
The window to my soul.
The vessel,
Containing my spirit,
Conflicts with the feminine demeanor,
Exposing sincerity,
Comforting hands of a care-giver,
The voice of loyalty,
Gently escaping lips,
Tears of empathy,
Seeping with understanding,
Kisses of affection,
As soft spoken words,
Depict desires,
Hopes and the warmth,
Of pure love.
Mystery envelops my origin,
Becoming a mystical being,
With the ability to heal,
The potential to inspire,
Living proof of an alleged myth,
Yielding in protection,
As my plethora of feathers,
Shield the individuals I adore,
From darkness,
Attempting to swallow the light,
We yearn to discover.
Blind Thoughts of denial,
Shall forsake your eyes,
If you pass judgment,
Upon me,
For my cloak of skin,
Concealing my true beauty.
As a Phoenix,
I refuse to watch,
The children of diversity,
Suffer degradation,
Living in fear of discrimination,
Stifling the right to love another,
To dress in garments,
That correlate the body with the mind.
I shall rage to cease,
The hands of violence leaving bruises,
Ignorance stripping,
Breaths of air from a pair of lungs,
As homophobia,
Transphobia, and intolerance,
Deplete individuality from a heart,
Deserving liberty,
The pursuit of happiness,
A chance to survive.
The Earth returns my soul,
To reap the love,
Concealed in assumptions,
And sow acceptance into,
The fields of society,
As I continue,
To soar into a cerulean sky.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
like a static shock i feel you
running up my spine
tingling the hair at the nape of my neck
something harsh and unexpected
but unexpectedly pleasant
snapping me back into the present
eyes freshly opened and wide
like a still from a movie
quaking on the bed
feeling my limbs tighten against you
something soft and yielding
but not fully, pressing back
pushing my core deep into the down
we fight for a moment
tearing at each other with teeth
with claws
with fists, open, closed,
before the tension breaks
and calm floods over us with
no slight pause, sending us both
reeling into oblivion, all extremities
stilled as we stare gasping into the
dark nothingness that surrounds us
heads thrown back and hands clasped
together as we slip away
floating no where, watching galaxies
being ****** into black holes
and stars exploding into limbo
before we find ourselves back
in bed, abruptly, chests heaving and
slick with sweat
where we try to put ourselves back together
fruitlessly
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
From the green hill, blows downwards
a wind, gently titillating the languid trees
of this dense forest,the rustling of the leaves create,
an impromptu tune, proving they are taut strings,
yielding willingly to the sensual fingers of the wind.
Super moon,while raising, listens keenly awhile
as if she had never heard one like this before.
The wise silver owl, sitting on the high branch
keeping account of every stroke of night,with an imaginary wand,
as the conductor, catches the emerging mood that seethes
within the million pieces of orchestra that gently merge,
get exhilarated, finds a pause to punctuate it with a timely hoot,
the moment freezes, falls in to the repository of time for keeps.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
My arms wrapped around you, yours around me.
We stand together in our now natural hug.
Although my height is sometimes a challenge
You feel warm; your back is straight and toned.
How does our hug feel from your side?
Does my back feel firm or yielding?
What is the sensation under your fingers?
Of the fabric next to my skin, my undergarments?
Our hug is just one
Of a striking variety we receive in a lifetime
From friends, lovers, family, near-strangers
An act seemingly simple but in truth, complex
The first hug you remember from childhood: your Mum
Warm and safe, and maybe a little squeezed
But her blouse is soft, and her arms reach around you nearly twice.
You are so small, and she is so big.
Your teen-age years, acquaintances: single arm hug
Air kisses, a quick pat, a gentle rub
It’s social hugging to keep up appearances
Feeling awkward, you’d rather shake hands
Your first true love – long, grasping, gasping embraces
That leave invisible marks on your clothing and skin underneath
A desire for another, the promise of more
Maybe in future, the touch of your fingertips on clothing-free skin.
Again a hug from your Mum, 40 years after her first
The alignment is different; somehow she has shrunk
Still warm and safe, yet with a different body tone
A kiss on her cheek is soft to your lips – a hug to last the ages.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Paved thoughts
They lay
In naivity
Youth
Born into homogeny
Told
"Different is beautiful"
But taught
To fall in line
With the swaying ways
Society's norms form
Pin-up billboard smiles
Flash magazine swagger
On surgeon made bodies
Guide retinas of wide eyed
Youth
To mirrors
With disgust
"Different is beautiful"
We'll say
Yielding our whitened smiles
"Different is beautiful"
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
you can’t resist
you’re reminded
every morning
with a *****
you’re physically strong
but sexually weak
confused, by my wiles
yielding, to my whims
you think
you’re in charge
all the while
submitting
to my pleasures
surrender
acquiesce
acknowledge
i am
your superior
Feb 9, 2022
Feb 9, 2022 at 8:43 PM UTC
after centuries and centuries and centuries of:
pain and suffering,
chains and ankle cuffing,
segregation and impossible laws,
human degredation and deaths for the cause,
coloured lines and last picks,
work in the mines and barbie-like wigs,
culture termination and the education of self-hate,
fake freedom motivation and penitentiary execution dates,
community sabatoge and destruction of black owned schemes,
settle down for hip hop dialogue and basketball dreams
racial slurs and monkey metaphors,
television blurs and the world shutting doors,
the white man's drugs and melanin filled prisons,
talent that lacks funds and vietnam missions,
death of our black icons and imprisonment of mandela
death of trayvon and others on the death list which could go on forever...
do you have the right to tell "bottom barrels" not to dream to be on the top?
do you wonder why forgiveness is slowly yielding in the world, as if it sees a sign that says it's time to stop?
do they not say we must practice what we preach?
are they not preaching hate?
are they not preaching inequality?
are they not preaching the false levels of life?
is it too hard for the world to practice equality?
is it too hard for the world to live in harmony?
is it too hard for the world to see the similarities in our differences?
is it too hard for the world to live without fear of colours?
is it too much to ask for peace???
- t.m
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place alive with secrets and knowing.
My learned sense of reality catches on the brambles and thorns as I pass,
and the tentative uncertainty of my untrained step
loosens with the soil on my feet
in the puddles on the path.
It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place intent on living.
Where each movement beneath the
towering company of life informs the next.
A little slower this time.
A little softer.
More quiet.
And with each surrendering breath,
another can be heard.
One more colossal and unified in its polyrhythmic sway.
The trees and vines and creatures with their watchful eyes,
and the earth underfoot,
swell and recede in a merry yawn.
On my twilight walk to fetch water
the dark patiently dilutes all colour,
but allows detail a stolen moment to define my way.
The texture of bark on the lean oak trees around the spring,
the burbling contortion of their reflection at its yielding mouth,
the lichen-rough rocks,
smoothed at the water's edge,
all persist and scintillate into grey.
The soft pricked dendrites of moss cushion my knee
as I slip and fall,
one foot in the spring!
And my scream and giggle pierce the listening night,
and there is no other human being in sight.
So I sit. Wet and still. In the moss.
For tonight, when the darkness stretches its veil impenetrably-tight
over the forest I shall be inside,
to find my place within it's creeping, writhing breath.
Its a place of healing,
the forest floor.
Where living things may grow.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
When my father was a boy,
in the County of Tyrone,
His father owned a quarry
and he worked the fields of stone.
My Dad grew lean and hard
As he excavated stone
Yielding granite for stone carvers
And gravel aggregate for roads.
His hands grew strong and powerful
He had a muscular physique
He couldn’t read or write
But no one dared to call him weak.
When my Dad was in his twenties
He was working in the mines
Excavating British coal
at Newcastle on Tynes.
Later on in life
He was living in the “States”
Working in landscaping
on large Gold Coast estates.
When my Dad was in his fifties
He was digging graves by hand.
Once again in Fields of stone
a hard working Union man.
Each morning he’d rise early
And walk two miles to work
He never had an office
And he’d never be a clerk.
He rose to be a foreman
Working in that field of stone
And when darkness overtook him
It became his earthly home.
Now when I go visit him
I kneel and pray alone
Beside his Celtic Cross
standing in the field of stones.
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 4:11 PM UTC
Illustrative disregard is creating
Nervousness which controls my limbs
Fragmentary is the heart
Infected by a broken promise
Disrespect stings me
Elevating my pain
Loyalty has been compromised
Intrusion has enraged me
Trust slips into abandonment
Yielding to uncertainty
© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
i admit to 'male' --
'female' strikes me low
curving
concupiscent hips (of Venus swaying so)
the one who places,
caught bathing in her morph
to mar
her goddess innocence (Peleus grasps her so)
her evergreen paradise-
apple spraying scruples,
while the sun
dries forgiveness **** (on Eve's fragrant *******
in other Edens
Lilith simply leaves him blind
to lust
for unknown Didos (craving **** or suicide)
the limping god
nets love and war, olympicly
to smith
a mortal death (from Vulcan jealousy)
foresight's fire-gift
leaps obedience
to lie
far falls the divine (in ******* he defied)
potent swan of sky,
what judgement?
for a girl
you laid in that white rush, (virginity unfurled)
immortal ****
fates sails of progeny,
raging
poet-birthing strife (for temple priestess' cries)
fated nation-death swoons,
shares beauty's scale,
and Aphrodite's foam (caresses history's thighs)
Trojan tensions mix
the modern mind to heights of doubt
of mythopoets' truth ( -yielding blindnesses)
lonely walk the earth
with guiding wisdom lacking
all the pawns of fate (forget love's darknesses)
sphinxine hunger asks
the soul of destiny
of hubris, tragic sight (and orgiastic nights)
of unknown woman
man struck down
sickly city safe
and burning, yearning (nymph and satyr sating Bacchic rites)
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
Verse 1
Why do I have this haunted feeling?
Something is moving in the shadows.
Working secretly tides flow,
as night steals past the day.
A voice is singing to silence,
a thousand petals falling windblown,
the still earth will lie strange, unknown,
a tolling bell brings on the night.
In the fullness of a falling tear,
In the garden of remembered time,
In the silence sung before the song,
Life will find you there.
Verse 2
What moves a fallen leaf to swirling?
Couples are speaking words of love songs.
In the hour of the dawn's glow
a rose will scent the night.
Moonbeams will stir the waving waters,
while feathered wings caress the breezes,
and your heart sings to pierce the dark,
a falling star will shed it’s light...
In the fullness of a falling tear,
In the garden of remembered time,
In the silence sung before the song,
Life will find you there.
With the turning of the heaven's sky,
With the dancing of the seasons by,
With the yielding of a lover's sigh,
Life will find you there,
Life will find you there
When darkness spreads from near to far,
In the cascade of a falling star
In the motion of a bird in flight
In the sweetness of your lovers light…
With the beating of your yearning heart.
Copyright © 2007 Gary Brocks
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 10:39 PM UTC
submerge their trembles
the intoxicated stars of the night
into the arresting allure
of moonlit seas
under the shimmering cloak
primal flames of passion lovers invoke
revel stars in moonbeams wet
yielding liquid baroque
crash silver waves
on compliant sands of submission easy
gather bliss-tinted surfs
in starry ecstasy
flow tranquil waters
in the envelope of dawn's golden fill
glow in embrace of gratitude
souls two in fulfill
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
The sun is over the yardarm;
My mused Goddess of poesy
Sitting like patience on a monument
Of Iris; Chrysaor yielding
Whilst I throw ones lot
Twisting in the wind of the
Rostrum of technology
Cutting my teeth on rainbow dreams of you.
Peace, hope, sincerity
In the twinkling of an eye
You have the edge on
As with serene conscience of you
I set fire to terracotta tears
A rough-hewn diamond
Needing an earfull
Lo! harkened death
Herald of the last supper.
Eleete j Muir.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 5:28 AM UTC
My first gLove
Lost on the bus
Absentmindedly
Or In the street
Parted in the snow
My stolen gLove
Taken whilst my back
Was turned
My fleeting gLove
Impaled by a stranger
In the street
On a spike
For all to see
My forgotten gLove
Left lonely
For too long
My worn out gLove
Threadbare
From years of absent
Emotion
My Christmas gLove
Ill fitting but warm
And worn
For a day
My lost summer
Lost summer
Lost summer gLove
Didn’t make the suitcase
Home
My gLove for life
Soft yielding
And strong
These are the gLoves
I have loved and lost
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 3:56 AM UTC
The old order changeth, yielding place to new
-Tennyson, Idylls of the King
Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp
In spasms of existential death; they pass
At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver
Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there
If you vote they give you a sticker
The ephemeral Constitution changed
Like sweaty skivvies by each president
Law libraries catalogued for pulp
By obedient functionaries in tees
If you vote they give you a sticker
The faithful escorted out of the cathedral
By a bored security guard on overtime
The altar linens for sale at Goodwill
And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V.
If you vote they give you a sticker
Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds
And the others cheer only for the Blues
As the reincarnation of Jack Chick
Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps
If you vote they give you a sticker
Election placards on abandoned buildings
Promise again prosperity for all
The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz
Private Academy of the Dance and Math
If you vote they give you a sticker
An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will
Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ
Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather
If you vote they give you a sticker
And blessed be the Holy AR-15
God gave to His People to defend themselves
Here in the freest country in the world
Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence
If you vote they give you a sticker
While fleets of luxury presidential jets
Arc high over our public housing projects
Reminding us of our prosperity
Here in the richest country in the world
If you vote they give you a sticker
And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right
But them other Jews they just ain’t no good
Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither
And don’t you get me started on them Baptists
(We seem to have been otherwise engaged)
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new” –
(But neither cares at all for me or you)
But if you vote they give you a sticker
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
Loved her tooth and nail
Head over heels
She is my pace-maker
And peace keeper
Her air in my breath,
Eye behind eye,
Her beauty is seasonal
And sensational
She glows silver cream
Glitters green sheen
Cools and warms
Rarely wild, often mild
Stands thru thick and thin
Her curves and curls
Touch my heart
Her enthralling structure
Often captures my rapture
She is of high yielding variety
For long lasting pleasure
My will treks on her hill tracks
Rallies in her voluptuous valleys
I love to live with her
As long as I live in her lap
All I see is her nature
Thanks to Mother Earth!
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Willow herb floating
on silent certainty
ashes of sighs
not fleeting,
unvapoured on the
blossom of the rain,
I am too light to
pull or push
the swing of delight
through this land.
The rain left me for a
while
sun unshielding
-a thousand widows
more unyielding than the depths . .
Once shadowed whisperers
of delight,gossamer
sparkling , descending
their chains
of necromantic hope.
Lilith is no night owl
she is mother, eve
and my becoming:
sweet earth spun
at once ,
exhaling her .
The see saw
bumped gently
on my chin
it is a most gentle
form of awakening.
The silence bore no whispers
till sinking through the quicksand
-or was it quicksilver?
-in any case I could smell little
in my amniotic amnesia.
I made ten thousand friends,till their soap
made this place clean.
Is this a seed or a dying
hopefulness
-is my sallow sowing
beyond all shores of
reproduction;
a reflection of the child
they dared not bear?
Is my last breath like this
a forgotton yielding
will they catch me
as I fall ?
-(sweet earth)-
This moth of my ending,
a shallow recantation,
my fears-
their memories, mere
testubes of
stylish hope .
I breathe the elegant stare
you have forgotten .
Once more free
from such
rememberance
I need not ,
remained not ,
your imploded ,
wakefulness .
A thousand pardons
exhaled like silk
entwining
an unfinished race
spider of a thousand eyes .
One may say
I was
stared
to death
but surrogate air
mocks childish pity.
Taut refelexions
bear salt echoes
in silk convulsions
fresh water
a veneered hope .
Easier in death than life
is a child's sorrowed
partings ,
the illusion of
bouyancy
rippled tides
unfelt.
The oceans have not enough salt
for such shrunken sorrow.
if we could but once
have shared
unbreathed aspersion .
The room has come and gone
the pillow quite undry
unforgotten
unremembered.
A web untouched
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:46 AM UTC