"zests" poems
I often find myself deep in the world of unknowns
of wind,
of fire,
of water
She exhales
sending static electricity waltzing through the air
as if the particles find some deeper attraction in her presence
Her fragrance
zests the cracks of empty space
Within a single whispered word,
my breath escapes me
in hopes that it may embrace
just the sound of her voice
Her heat fills up my spine
like a thermometer
and illuminates the heart
Fiery eyes burn hieroglyphics onto my lungs
Her touch gives me the fireflies
and in a frenzy they collide
igniting on impact
Their spilled embers
cast sillouetes on my eyelids
of our candle-lit dinners
Silk hair
pools against the bed sheets
Her lips would be the moon
to my tidal kiss
Frost nips at her imperfections
But she never freezes
for she changes feverishly
like bubbling water
If only transparent
Her forms cannot define her
But,
She is mystic like the air
Spontaneous like a spinning flame
A kinesthetic ocean
and I’m good at drowning
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
the censorship meme
alive inside me as a child:
some books were worth the mention of--
war and **** were not.
untimely at a pennsylvanian writers' club
where fear lodged quiet smile-halves
in talking clouds and farmyard metaphor,
to weekly bray the corner of an antique movie-house
newcomers weren't to share their work
we three were welcomed as an audience at best
we passed the others' writers' chapter-copies on
on which i scribbled notes of praise
on notes of theme-entwining anti-argument
and **** zests of vast significance:
notes of floral yearning, meadowed love--
iron skies and ahistoric dreams--
off and on archaic themes
of which we weren't to share
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
Whisky, all on my veins, the
golden liquor, The fine
malted grain spirit, aged in the
oak barrels for years,
The exquisite taste, with an ice,
or two for its anger to calm,
with zests of an orange, with
a lemon peel hooked on the glass,
with the light sip, savouring it
all over the taste buds, But
Its not why the glass is held,
All the times, its not all, Its,
Its about letting go, of which
can't be forgotten, letting go of what,
can't be let gone, most of all,
Burning the affectionate heart,
to debris, never being able to love.....
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
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IRRESPECTIVE OF ECHO
SAMUEL DAVID <[email protected]>
Tue, Oct 20, 2020, 2:47 AM
to drmikemurdock
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Al;tering in the sonship to eternity column…’
Triumphing in the echo of surmantable.
Your conquering absurd,
Samuel Churchill Omale
Wrist Of Eternity Rejoining
www.hellopoetry.com/SPEAR_LEGACY
+2348131914240
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC