Subscribe by RSSLove is a Four-Letter Word: Valentine Day Poetry Contest
Posted by Lisa Forrest on January 2, 2008
Calling all poets:
Send us your love poems! The only rule: you cannot use the words “love” or “heart.” Enter your poem through this blog post (one entry per poet please). Winner to be announced at the 2/13 Rooftop Poetry Club open mic. Butler Library 210, 4:30 pm.
Submission Deadline: Friday, February 8, 2008.
David Landrey said
SPRING FOR KATHY
On those days when life tastes so good
we could
roll it on our tongues
press it on our palates;
when each breath brings scent of heather
and the weather
shimmers bright and cool;
when you appear at aisle’s bend
and send
your smile to me across the gap —
ah! then the music drives soul deep
and we keep
our spirit whole.
——David Landrey
3/23/03
Driving from Syracuse to Buffalo
ryki zuckerman said
interlude
i only meant to get a little
to tide me over
but as i stood in the blue day,
bright with crisp fall sunshine,
a young couple walked by,
and their hands, their voices,
meshed together
as if their lives
and the flame of their heat
would always intertwine –
i went to forever with them
a moment –
and by the time
i remembered
what i was doing at the pump,
my tank was full.
~~ryki zuckerman
s. m. hutton said
ryki,
That was just lovely. I split a big smile at the end. Creeley was right about you, as far as I’ve read you. Thanks!
peace,
s
Charles Bachman said
Nancy’s Hands
They undulate into the keys,
knowing, deft discoverers
of much this black and white
two-levelled terrain
leaves dumb to others.
Their fingers probe
with necessary force, tenderness
the voiced textures,
hammered resonance
of strings.
Face, shoulders
body wholly
move with hands
a oneness
into the keys
as if you were touching
the apt nerves
of a body just now enlivened,
ready to sing
as your caresses will,
bringing forth
from this slumbrous animal
laughter, cries,
shouts, whispers,
awed near-silences:
cellos, horns,
timpani hoofbeats,
fluted birds:
an orchestra
it did not know it contained
until the measured passion
of your graced and slender instruments
awaken it to the beauty within itself.
Awaken it to the beauty within you.
~Charles Bachman
Karen Sands-O'Connor said
L’Argent de Poche
Christmas Eve shopping
in the crush rush
slowed by slush push
my hand dives in my pocket
protecting my small stash
hits upon a smoothness
a roundness a thinness
piece of silver
wrapped chocolate coin
one of dozens you pirated
from a hotel’s reception
to feed my sugar craving
and break the rules in some
small way when the big ways
were beyond us both
all the others like memories
mouth-melted weeks ago
in the greedy uncertainty
of stolen sweetness
but as a hush of rain drives
me into the shops
I savor that buried treasure
crumple the silver
and make a wish
–Karen Sands-O’Connor
John Marvin said
I’ve got your valentine
right here
you hear
right where
you want a valentine
because become becoming
and what else matters
so long
as you get
what you want
and I’m supposed
or someone’s supposed
to want nothing more than
your happiness
that’s what you told
in so many words
oh not waves
in the air
but photons
uncertain waving
reflections
of light
lighter
slightest
Lauren Giglia said
Just So You’re Aware…
Just so you’re aware,
I’m not going to apologize.
I won’t apologize for how he looks.
Yes, his skin is dark, and beautiful.
His face so structured, a jaw so strong,
making a smirk I could stare at all day and into the night.
No, I won’t apologize.
I won’t apologize for the ink on his skin,
seven stars wrapped tightly around his wrist.
I see a beautiful setting sun on his back.
They’re inspired by stories, and his stories inspire mine.
Ink next to ink, while skins on skin,
we sink deeply into one another.
I won’t apologize to any of you,
I have no reason to.
I taste the metal on his lips when I kiss them,
and I find myself craving that taste when I’m not.
I don’t feel bad about it,
so don’t expect an apology.
Just let me be,
here on this beach,
in his arms.
Five hundred and eighty four days and one long relationship later-
I’m happy, with him.
Don’t try to stop me.
Believe me, it’s only us.
I still won’t apologize to you.
Mary Jane Masiulionis said
Au Revoir
My final words…
The only ones forever
echoing in your mind.
The others I have whispered
since long forgotten.
A memory
of times together in a garden,
gazing at a sea of flowers,
sitting on a wooden bench
eyes cast down
for only a moment,
one shared piercing glance.
You spoke about eternity,
I answered about everlasting.
That was then,
This is now,
Entwined
overshadowed
by the reality
of these parting words.
Together as one
is what we use to say.
Side by side remaining
like two skaters
waltzing on the ice of life.
Learning from each other,
sharing
the knowledge of Shakespeare,
a goblet of Italian wine,
a night of dancing on a linoleum floor
in exhilaration.
The beats of the body
synchronized
to sensations of what ifs.
That was then,
This is now.
Now the reality,
severing the intimacy.
Alone on the plank of discovery,
standing on our own two feet.
Solo dancers in the labyrinth of chaos
unflinching.
No longer depending,
but still remembering,
we become ourselves.
I leave you as someone
I never would have become
if it weren’t for our time.
The soft wool of the lamb
transformed
to the taught skin of a lioness,
The quiet bleating
to a loud roar.
Uncertainty of the unknown replaced
by a timeless constancy.
A power unleashed
by an endearing voice.
A silhouette of two moving bodies embracing.
Memories
of what desires left behind are
like reflections
in a sapphire pool.
Like embers
burning in a warm fireplace.
Memories shared
permeating the pages of life’s journal.
Entries
now faded yellow with time passing,
never forgetting.
You spoke about eternity,
I spoke about everlasting.
Dreams and reality,
remembering moments in
the fabric of the hands of time.
Sands now
fleeting as the years pass.
I speak one final time
to young passion,
To you – Au Revoir
~Mary Jane Masiulionis
Angela Marie Wisniewski said
“Glow”
To mold such high shadows,
for you to leave and to be missed so much,
what is it that keeps this from shattering?
From withering?
Crawling and at last meaning,
I’ve only been newly spoiled,
I could only savor each moment.
Thorns picked my soothing touch at first
since he could never be too careful,
but broad eyes saw through exhaust
to truth,
and in vast step, vast pace,
I’m not queen, but kin,
not art, but inspiration.
The treacherous knife throwers of yesterday
could never press such pride to hold him.
There are few who would feel his warmth
even with an aura of peach and gold,
he glows… and, never knows it…
He’ll never know it…
Kevin Kaminski said
“Simple Reverie”
Palpitations can be misleading,
The buoyancy of the moment, deceiving,
But I’ll step carefully,
Waiting anxiously.
Beauty toggles my mind,
How I fear that, “one of a kind.”
To fall through hard clouds,
Should I guard this thing that pounds?
Companionship, I’ve been needing.
Is this the courtship I’ve been seeking?
Carefully exercising every doubt,
Embrace the fear, or cast it out?
Dreams are not too hard to find,
When the fear is finally left behind.
So I’ll step boldly,
Into simple reveries.
Grow closer friend,
Let’s discover how our stories mend.
K. J. Kaminski
melissa aldrich said
i hope i did this right. here is my poem for the contest. thanks!!
“Music’s Romance”
His hands move slow,
As his music has a soft flow.
A shadow on his face,
But his brown eyes still can be traced.
She bites her lips,
Hoping to taste;
Any emotion’s base.
She’s just a girl,
Waiting for the world.
Reality is cruel,
People use one another as tools.
She wishes he’d sing.
And show everyone,
Who he really is,
And what he has to give.
She’d sing along;
And prove that everyone was wrong.
That just because she’s a girl,
Searching for the same answers;
As the boy that plays,
On his soul’s reactions,
And his late night passions,
That people should still give a damn,
And at least try to understand;
That sometimes you just have to say,
“I’m going to look past this day.”
And give a chance,
To a girl waiting for a dream,
To help mend her broken seams.
Because you are just the boy,
Strumming on your guitar;
And I’m just the girl,
Waiting to sing along.
David Sipos said
the girl who stole my you-know-what
(a ____ poem, by David Sipos)
I immediately knew
I mean, right from the start
that girl, it was you
that had stolen my…
wallet
I didn’t know then
you were a pickpocket
and when I saw your face again
I wanted to sock it,
(you said)
“Don’t be a dipstick!
just be my fella
c’mon, taste my lipstick
it’s called CiaoBella”
and as I moved in slowly
and your lips started to part
I thought “Holly Moly
This girl’s stealing my…”
car – you took it
and went for a spin
I ran along side
half out
and half in.
I fell on my ass
I felt like a nerd
you stepped on the gas
and flipped me the bird
I didn’t report you
‘cause I felt a strange twist
a car is a car
It was you that I missed
you showed up next week
and it was ironic
you had my car detailed
at Delta Sonic
you filled up the tank
a deluxe wash and wax
you said, “It was only a prank
Hey men, relax!”
you put my hand on your thigh
I thought I judged you too hard
It was a full month ‘til I
found out you charged it all on my card.
(I said,)
“You’re the girl that I’ve dreamed of
you’re clever and smart
is it any wonder
you’ve stolen my…
laptop
and ipod
and my plasma TV
and a week or 2 later
you returned it to me
you said, “I can’t be trusted
I’ a thief, I’m a faker
a con girl, a grifter
a cheap, common taker,
I have less than enough
that’s just how I live
I took your stuff
so I had something to give”
alright, I’m a jerk
I took you and my stuff back
even though the TV didn’t work
and my ipod had a crack
there were others you jived
and it had my head whirling
like the day you arrived
with a complete set of sterling
cell phones and jewelry,
the usual array
filled our apartment
It was quite a cache
I know you’re a thief
you don’t play by the book
but the best thing you gave me
was that one thing you took.
Lisa Forrest said
Ha ha har ha….Dave, this is really funny!! Cheers!
George T. Hole said
Whispers
Whispers in the sheets
Cover and comfort us
In our near-touching. Dream-flushed
We fall into separate sleeps.
My dream—yours too?—stutters
And falls down. In mine—and yours?
—do we have skin?
In first light we join empty hand to empty hand
Then, taking turns, you or I go down stairs,
Let the dogs out into the yard to bark,
And return, mounting the carpeted stairs,
With black coffee for both of our thirsts.
We will step out of our pajamas, two
Chaste mannequins, and step into ourselves and
Next step into the world. We leave behind
On the back of the bathroom door
Our pajamas hanging empty of form and flesh.
They hope for the return of our bodies
And their dreams of desire.
George T. Hole
Carol Townsend said
February 13th
It’s ten p.m.
and a knot of men
are gathered
at the local drugstore
in the valentine section
of the greeting card aisle,
a six-foot-wide
slope of sentiment –
pilgrims in a trance
come to worship
before a pyramid,
faces serious,
foreheads glistening –
red velvet boxes and teddy bears
sprouting from under armpits
like misplaced organs –
they reach over each
other’s shoulders in pursuit
of the perfect verse,
the key that will open
temple doors
tomorrow night.
Carol Townsend
D. Keller said
Thanks for lunch
It was swell
And for my brashness
I beg your pardon
but I’d rather be kissing
In Cupids Garden
D. Keller
Sarah W. Gilmartin said
Convergence: Two Voices (for Walter)
Litening to an old Modern Lovers album on the hi-fi, singing, “It’s so good to see stars, I thought we’d lost them.” A brief introduction, a handshake. Because it’s not 8 o’clock, but I’d thought of you. Having spent the summer taking snapshots. Because it’s not Boston, New York, Chicago or Pittsburgh, but Buffalo. The letters had stopped coming. The black dress, our first meeting. Waiting for a telephone call, something, silence. I should have left you alone. Hearing someone else mention your name. Because tomorrow you would be gone, driving West, the road that stretches the length of summer. The small reminders, better times. Chicago. Trinkets & Souvenirs: whiskey, records, photobooth snapshots, Gurski exhibit at MoCA. Cross-town bus after taking a transfer from the El. Driving overnight filled with anticipation & anxiety. Sitting among strangers, I saw you. Holding hands, sweaty palms. I saw you on the street, on the phone. Introduction to friends, people I will never know. Having returned from a month in France with family. The oppressive summer heat, catching our breath, 3 a.m. A month there and how your face looked older, more beautiful that I last recalled. Buying newspapers, drinking coffee, and you smoking. It had been such a hot summer. Mornings with possibility, a hopefulness never before felt. We drank too much whiskey. Unnerving gaze, striking me down. Because I had bought a new shade of lipstick for the occasion, it was a special night. Catching every movement, every word forming on your lips. Remembered the smell, the sweat, the salt of your skin. That rooftop, late in the night, city silenced, starry & desolate. Darkened by the month of French sunlight. Arm around my waist, pulled close. The creases, wrinkles, folds of your white t-shirt. Dirty fire escape, broken bottles, shabby blades of grass, sitting, silence. Seeing me to the door, putting me in a cab that night before my plane took off. Trees swaying, small summer breeze. Pittsburgh. Folding napkins, voice cracking under pressure, speaking softly. Last words, when you said to me “I’ll be right back.” Wondering where, which city tonight & with whom. Because I left before you had the chance to return. Not counting on my own insignificance. Because I wasn’t taking any chances this time. Because you had already been absent too long.
Nikki Germany said
How do I say
that I swallow
travel thru
and breathe
You?
Trumpet Man,
don’t you know
I’d give up
all the gin
giovanni
and coltrane in the world
if you agreed to escape
on a cloud
with me?
You are my big ole plate
of watermelon
fried chicken
cotton pickin
turnip
mustard
and collard greens
smothered in some mean
Louisiana
hot sauce.
I’d be lyin if I said
I no longer turn and toss
in dreams of us
lost
at the cost
of my naivete
questioning serendipity.
You don’t comprehend my infatuation
but expectin you to understand the situation
of my jonesin
for your toes in
my face
and that I wanna wake
to halitosis
complete your thoughts and call it osmosis
makes me the foolish one.
But I just wanna run
with the thought of you
wrap you in a Coltrane tune
kidnap you to my orange moon
I can’t help but be stingy
baby
you’re the invention of the century.
I wanna wear you like some Levi’s
and lick the tears
of every cry.
No heavy decision
to hell with precision
let our dialogue flow
just don’t say no;
let us be siamese
at least
for Sunday.
jake said
a beautiful creature walking on the edge of madness
so please meet my eyes so i can save you
pure and fragile
may i wrap my body around hers so as to form a protective shell
from the pain that barrages her eggshell mind
the red stars on her face form a constellation
of an unseen goddess embedded with the power of lust
if i dare lay a hand on her soft skin
i will be struck down by the fist of anger
but the desire to have the untouchable
is 2 massive hands pushing me forward
and my shoes cannot grip the ground to stop
so please may i lay down with
this soft creature and contain the madness
Paul White said
Beatrice
Beatrice fills a blue bird bath
each day of glimmer and cloud,
she endears a piece of the sky
for wings to twitch and splash.
They flit, they chirrup, they fly,
to primp in a bowl full of gems,
Beatrice rises each morning,
She brims in golden pajamas.
Kristine Starkey said
What is it?
What is it that makes you act stupid?
That puts a daze of happiness on your face.
At one point you hate it and shout obscenities at it,
then when its taken away to be repaired,
and when returned you clutch it and call it your “dear one”.
What is it about soft eyes and a silky texture,
that make you forgive even if it recks your books,
stains your carpets,
and you snuggle it and let it kiss you until your face is washed.
It is tall and handsome,
rare and exotic-looking,
that is elusive to your touch,
and continues to haunt your dreams.
It was cruel and deceptive,
making you miserable to the very end.
Yet you return to see it,
share good news and gossip,
and still think fondly of it.
So what is it?
I’m not really certain.
I have felt and expressed it,
but I cannot identify it’s exact nature.
This is the only exact identity I know of it:
It never fails me when I need it,
it has warm arms and a way knowing how I feel without me saying a word,
it cares for me uncondionally,
the feeling is mutual.
It is my Mother.
ryki said
re: carol townsend’s poem (#15): loved it!! (oops, not supposed to use the “l” word. sorry.) anyway, it gets my vote!
also, alot of other nice work submitted. kudos to lisa for hosting this little contest.
in addition:
my thanks to s.m. hutton for her kind comment on my poem.
Irene Sipos said
quintet
i
shoving her 95 lbs against
the concrete door, death immeasurably
weightless against the other side, is
chasing her beloved son down
a treacherous unknown corridor
ii
bicycling at 5:30 AM in
Upper Peninsula, Michigan,
they spot a moose nuzzling
her mother, tremulous
on just-born legs
iii
realizing that he is 12 years
younger, elusive, international
and charming, she turns on the laptop
and emails him
anyway
iv
seeing every line
of his face, brilliantly
clear, seventeen years after
he died, is a sleeping telegram
that illuminates the night
v
driving back from new world
records, cd blasting, one
friend can’t carry the
the tune, feels like they’re
skipping school
Perry S. Nicholas said
Metaphor
For a time we soft-shoed through a minefield
of touches, rarely looking down; we made
small talk, feigning interest in a quarter round
scratched on a chalkboard sky.
Then there was the same thumbnail moon
stamped on the impressionable darkness over
the cemetery where all the dead poets on the planet
assembled, but we pressed new ground.
How many steps was it ‘til you stopped, unbuttoned your blouse, offered up your kiss-shy breasts?
Now I believe in cliché, buried treasures, after
just one blushing moment on this plotted earth.
The sure-footed truth of the night: I met you
somewhere in the middle of a metaphor.
Perry S. Nicholas said
Line 10 on my “Metaphor” came out wrong, obviously. But,still, I hope you like this sonnet.
The rhyme in David Landrey’s “Spring for Kathy” is wonderful and sophisticated. I’ve always loved his poem.
Susan Leist said
For Valentine’s Day, 2008
This morning, I turned all the house’s plants,
A ritual religiously served.
So each can grow toward the light
On all its sides.
I know, you see, that plants
Yearn for the light,
As I for you,
As I for you.
–Susan Leist
2/2/08
LaKeshia Ross said
Lead By Passion
LaKeshia Ross
My man is tall, skinny, yet round.
He dresses in bright yellow with black trim.
But, believe me he’s sharp.
I can tell him anything.
Silly things, important things, even the most devilish things.
He’s a part of my most deepest thoughts.
Throughout our relationship he’s endured hostile treatment.
He’s been bitten, sometimes even snapped in two.
though many women will hold my man.
Knowing he’s never been a one woman man.
I don’t mind sharing my man because when we kiss he leaves a smear.
Thomas Dennis said
A Sunset
A sunset heaves shimmers
across the sky.
Yes, there are melodies,
And many miracles!
I imagine I am pleased.
Some men linger in darkness.
In the hiding places,
their voices shriek.
But they dare never speak.
But seeing as I dance merrily,
I mustn’t be afraid!
While some think it to be–
A Silly little task of craftiness,
I imagine that the days of old,
Meet the new in harmony.
But only by a modest leap.
By grace that comes at cost not cheap!
Abiding glory makes me weep,
To cast my crowns,
at Christ’s perfect feet.
Jennifer Campbell said
After, During, Before
The brain gnashing in disbelief, the void,
ice blue tile rising up to meet me halfway.
Light’s gradual, reluctant opening.
But it isn’t too long before a toolkit
replaces doubt and I set about puttying holes
with gray tears, scraping the surface smooth again.
Your eyes are yawning fields, inviting
even a mere shaft of attention. They dilate,
drinking in color, laces, the silence after
a morning dove’s coo. Soon we burrow
through snow banks, you pushing aside cold
cotton tufts, taking care my path is clean.
Memory cries out, but sensation, in its orange
hue, wins. The weight of your fingertips, nearly
imperceptible, becomes as solid, expected,
as earth. It starts with anticipating your
expression, learning its echoes arrange my own.
In the beginning, every end.
Trudy Antwi said
What they don’t tell u about this felling
Is that u fall into it,
and it’s a great felling
It is wonderful,
but I am sinking,
Sinking,
Sinking in this new emotion
And it is consuming me
Why don’t they tell you,
That this thing which elevates u,
can also crush you.
For I am losing,
Losing,
Lost myself in it
The innocent, quiet and peaceful creature
in me is slowly dying away.
I am trying to let go of all I believe in
To fulfill the demands of this passion, which
means crushing my dreams and aspirations
It is killing,
Killing,
Killing me softly
Well, I guess that’s what they don’t tell you
That it can make you do extraordinary things
And even lose yourself or sometimes your soul,
without realizing it.
Let me advice you dear one
The next time when you see them holding hands,
Smiling into each others’ eyes and trying to steal
a kiss in the hallway or fondle each other when
they think no one is watching,
When it all seems sweet, beautiful and amazing,
Think about what they won’t tell you
That you sink in the flames of this passion
And it consumes you
You lose yourself in it and sometimes sell
your soul to the devil and never get back
Last of all that it kills and you would die
Whiles it eludes you
Never to realize what happened or what went
Wrong in your life when you found this passion.
Alisa Allen said
darling dont worry
im here to hold you,
so confused and i never
meant to betray you,
though i knew what i was doing
i just had to forget you
for one night, just one night
it was only that one night
hold me, i’ll hold you
we will be alright
and there was so much i never
told you, too afraid
hate me, but dont turn away
there was so much i wanted
to say
Eve Hall said
Being With You
When I ‘m with you
nothing else seems to matter.
Time stands still just for us.
Worries are no longer thought about,
problems seem so few.
I feel no aches or pains,
I’m oblivious to life’s strife.
I cannot hear or see anyone else.
You are my reson for living.
My desires, hopes and dreams,
I share them all with you.
Without you I have no direction,
no purpose, no tomorrow.
I am at peace in your arms.
This is where I belong,
this is where I will forever stay.
© Eve Hall 2000
Patrick Goatseay said
I’ve tried to describe it, though the words just don’t fit
Maybe verse is the answer, with a rhyme that won’t quit
You’re the soft morning sun
That warms up my soul
You’re the song in my ears
That makes me feel whole
You’re the dream that I pray for
Every breath I inhale
You’re the hope that proves to me
In this life I won’t fail
You’re the pulse in my fingers
That compels me to write
You’re the reason I fall
Asleep smiling at night
You’re the person I treasure
In the depth of my core
You’re the pearl that I’d
Swim to the ocean floor for
You’re the first winter’s snowfall
Whose beauty’s revered
And I’m thankful that
In my life you appeared
So maybe I don’t lack the words as I said
Maybe I needed the method instead
But without you as the source,
The words don’t mean much.
Maybe I’ll say it somewhat simpler, as such
I adore you so truly; you’re the perfect design,
I’ll ask you right out: Will you be my Valentine?
Eliza said
Story of the Tree
“She did not know that it was I who gave her the grain, the wine, and the oil, and who lavished upon her silver and gold that they used for ba’al” (Hos 2:8).
Since the road took me north
you remain
among jonquil bulbs—the last thing I recall
after you drove away, and I
just stood there, looking
down, the way people do
who can’t think up any excuse
for whatever
lies unspoken, even now.
How does it happen, that
old bulbs always manage to answer
at precisely the hardest moment, looking up
through Virginia cast-iron
February ground, licking
flurries splattered
on shadow-damp straw mulch, magnolia
buds hovering above
such a careful brown
boulevard garden, unaware of the sad
darkening of that sudden almost
into this dead graphite
rock salt snow?
It is the way of curbs, I suppose,
to hold back the flood or accept the weight
of each unwanted storm in turn, the worst
completely toppling
twenty years ago flowering Valentine sprigs
into the uprooted Jesse Tree, wind-stripped
naked except for only the heaviest limbs, sharply bereft
of past promises.
There is always one broken thing we most wish
back, that is furthest lost, the absence
embraced by its own present, the almost
touchable warmth we try to remember, something
we could not say—But
at least once
we knew what it was, and still
we call it the word some of us are not allowed.
Rachel L. Johnson said
She knows him
He knows her
They know it feels good
Revealed his feminist ways to her?
Shown her masculine side to him?
No, not yet
With solitude,
His eyes—blossom as crimson rays shower upon
rosy cheeks, red cannas, white orchids
Her eyes—slowly, slowly survey
virtual, sexy, naked, sexy hottie
With solitude,
Her lips—release a tremulous delight of a burp
His lips—pray softly, nurturing a gentle spirit
With solitude,
His hands—snuggle a fluffy Teddy
Her hands—clinch to punch,
miss a glass lamp
Changes when they become one?
I don’t know
Tell you if it
Happens
Jennifer L. Bressette said
Abstraction
His blue eyes
Reveal a profound deepness
A distraction
From reality, I float away
Into a never ending dream
In a glance
I Shape his lips
Curve his nose
Beauty
Simplicity
I see
His finger tips
Caress my bare skin
A sensation
Touching me: my soul
Into unknown truth
A silent whisper
Hidden within the heavens
Like a breath upon my neck
Dreams, hope, future
Fingers intertwined
I know
His eternal desire
On the surface
A revelation
Staring, once again
Into his deep blue eyes
I trust
Peter J Grieco said
2-8-08
CYRANO USES A THESAURUS
from behind the bushes
This adoration, this pitch
of affection, allegiance, amity–the
amorousness I feel, the amour I mount,
take it, I beg you my delicious honeybunch
& put away your other boyfriends
for what I gots is the hots.
Turtledove,
I long to show
my ardency, ardor, attachment,
delight, devotedness,
devotion, emotion, enchantment, enjoyment,
fervor, fidelity, my flaming fondness
& friendship, this hankering
idolatry, inclined
on the steep & dangerous roof
of my infatuated & mad
rush for you.
Empty the rivers of their tears,
the trees of their rotten fruit,
laborers of their blue & broken
burdens. Receive my rapture, regard,
relish, respect, the soft spot that aches
in the tenderest, weakest,
wild for, yearning, zeal of me
& put away your other boyfriends
for what I gots is the hots.
Sarafina said
If I wanted anyone in my life
I would pick you
For you are my strength and wisdom that keep me going everyday
When I am away from you it hurts because I rather be with you and no one else
I think this friendship will lead to more and only the future would hold you and me
So I definitely look forward to the wonderful times we would share together
Muahz!!!
Andrew said
As your face burned my vision
It shone with the light of a golden sun
And just as radioactive, it bred a cancer
It began as a dream, too good to be true
Yearning to hold you, kiss you, caress you
Thinking about you pushed me into withdrawal
Yin starves for Yang; I craved your body intertwined with mine
The Holy Grail of beauty, sweeter then the over ripe banana
The trailing darkness fades and is forgotten amongst our flavor
Just you and me: forever
I’ve been told by those who know better that it is wrong
Unnatural, even
My laughter trickles from amongst my thoughts.
When have I ever cared about “right” or “wrong”?
Boy or Girl
40 or 4
Naked or clothed
It hasn’t mattered before, why should it matter now?
Because your being by my side is what I care about, and it won’t happen
The sparkles in my vision dim, as the assassin blades coalesce.
*flick* *flick* *flick*
Children screaming with loss and desire
Bridges burning the night time air putrid
The sulpheric chemicals leeching into the ground from the ruins
Prompting the wolves to howl in pain; willing…
No…wanting…
To eliminate everyone in their way
Tearing across the land as the ten plagues of ancient Egypt
Affecting all who are not worthy of this lifestyle
No mercy, No regret, pure rage for those who would separate us
Children will be sacrificed
Women ignored, or beaten and quickly discarded
Men broken from their self-taught insanity, and then enslaved
To rebuild Society
Pride and Rage are the wolves born from the ashes of pain and abuse
Shredding all before him to nothing
He must not be distracted from his Goal
All is relinquished beneath the shadow of this power
All is consumed to fuel this rage
All is meaningless when compared beside this absolute truth
(Except for them, except for us, except for you)
We are the world, and the world will acknowledge our beauty
With us or beneath us
Because we deserve it for all the shit we are put through
victoria schara said
As I lay in your arms
So brief a moment
Our bodies merge and become one
I the earth
As the waves pound into my body
Spent as the tide recedes
Tears fall to the beauty of our love making
As the tide recedes
Lovers repeat this wonderful moment
As long as the ocean has touched our earth
Memories captured like grains of sand
As if I were to live a thousand years
I would never forget
How the ocean feels against my skin
As your tide pulls me in
Drawing with its wet lapping
Cold against my heart
The depths of your love making
Forgetting to breathe
I drown in you
vlns 4/05
Just for reading enjoyment…I used the “L” word, but it is never the same with out it.
victoria schara said
How could you not
want to feel
the soft
hungry
touch of a kiss.
But, the silence of
but two hearts beating.
Perhaps
too shy
to look
at each other.
I am not sorry,
that your body
wants me.
The current of desire,
strong
not so silent.
Teasing you
with all that
is a woman
in me.
Making you mine.
vlns 06
It is always a challenge to look back at “old love” and the emotions that keep the memories.
Bill Genzoli said
It’s now ten years from the day I thought would never come. We’ve got two miracles of life to show for it, and that still amazes me to this day. Yet, it seems as though it hasn’t been that long, and the journey has just begun.
You accept me. Not for what I could be, but for what I am. With all my faults, with all of my failures, where most would turn and walk away, you took me in. Since we’ve been together, any demons I could have had are gone. Any grief that my heart felt has since been soothed. As I walk in the clouds that you provide my soul, the essence of who I am is better because of you.
In such a way you’ve made me whole, that without thought, I think of you. That, without sight, I see none other but you. And, without words, you become the only song I need.
With all my faults, things I could have done better, tasks I could have completed faster, and times where I didn’t tell you all that I could have, or should have, you’ve been there. As I am your testament, the world should shower you with rose petals for you’ve made me, inside, what I thought I could never be. Appreciated.
I am content in knowing that as with my last breath gone, many years from now, we will see each other in another life. We will find each other again, and maybe the stars will have changed. But we will not only love each other in that time, but for all the times we’ve had before and all the times to come.
With every breath of my being, I know I don’t deserve you. Yet you choose to do something, without caring, without wanting, without asking. And, in your arms, I alone, am changed. For that moment, all the world stops and inside myself, I am poetry.