Gladly would I die
for your love, my dear...No! Wait!
Just kidding! Just kid...
For Andrea's 'Show me the funny' contest
Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head
Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much
I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care
I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....
Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
Lovely maid, in solitaire
With parasol and silken hair
With hope she dreams, for love she waits
For lover's kiss at garden's gate
Pastel dreams, of vast array
Blending hues of wild bouquet
Gardens green, and pallets blue
Fields of floral, faded view
Blurry image, soft and fair
Sense of romance harbors there
From soaring wings, soft brush imparts
Love's impression fills the heart
Strawberries And Unknown Girl
Strawberries grow unaided in the field
Green, red and magic on the day
Sentinels stationed; they speak kindly of the Sun
And sometimes of an unknown girl
She’s there just out of reach
In the air, partaking of sweet pleasures
Years collect themselves in silence
Still sense her song and mystery adrift
Along strawberry rows aligned in history
Those corridors of time in endless days at play
And there she stays a fair young maiden
A constant unknown wonder to this day
I do not know?
The spider webs
in the middle
of two black steel bars
of a vacant porch
of the early part of the day.
The black woman travel
on foot to watch the spider's web.
The male rapist see the black woman
on the vacant porch and seize her body.
The spider notice the black woman struggle
with the male rapist and webs them together
in the rape
of the year.
They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.
Down the Missouri they traveled,
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end.
©2013 Honestly JT
Have you seen a bamboo?
the tallest grass ever exist,
dancing and bending and swaying...
whistling upon nature's grace?
Have you seen a woman,
standing beneath heavy rains and winds;
and thunders and lightnings that flashes,
enduring and firmly believing,
that she can surpass everything?
Have you seen a canvas,
with nature's subject on it;
i can paint it very well;
a withering bamboo and crying woman on it?
Nature... nature... listen to inner whispers' cry...
may you strongly fight as I fight;
may you survive long from harmful hands;
that never cease to harm your sight!
Through the lonely woods, I may head,
Upon the autumn leaves, I may tread,
At the secluded horizon, I may stare,
And only you, I may see,
In those symphonies of silence,
In those melodies of calmness,
In those euphonies of quietness.
By the silent lake, I may lay,
Till the twilight fades, I may stay,
Then in reclusive silence, I may walk,
And only to you, I may talk,
Through those toungueless emotions,
Through those wordless attachments,
Through those voiceless sentiments.
In the lone meadow, I may wander,
Along the untrodden paths, I may waver,
In companionless seclusion, I may hide,
And only in you, I may find,
The depths of oneness,
The bonds of togetherness,
The cozy feel of coalescence.
In the wilderness of emotions, I may die,
At the merciless daggering, I may sigh,
Through a million wounds, I may bleed,
And only in you, I may seek,
The balm of love,
The warmth of affection,
The heal of inseparability.
Wrinkle, wrinkle on my face…
Couldn't you have found some other place ?
What made you furrow between my eyes ?
And all those creams, they are nothing but lies….
When I look in the mirror, all I can see…
Is a silver haired person staring back at me….
Then there are the lines , which run down the sides of my nose…
Running in circles, round my lips, down my neck and into my clothes….
Speaking of clothes , isn’t that where the wrinkles should be ?
Is nature playing a trick on me ?
Or is this a sign “ old “ is sneaking up on me ?
It seems only yesterday I was a young girl .. and had my whole life ahead of me…
So simple..so free……
Which don’t take me wrong I have enjoyed my life’s ride…
And there isn’t much in my life, I haven’t tried….
But it should would be nice if I could just see…
Myself with one less wrinkle…when I looked back at me…..
Can I catch you
Can you stay?
Forests at wood
There we play
A gentle hand
That fixed the dress
Brushing tears back
I can not bare
The oaken wave
Can I save
I miss your hair
And what it covered
More than a mind
God knows I loved her
The ghost I knew
She rests away
I can not catch you
You can not stay.
I walked alone
along a sandy and lonely beach.
The raging waves from the sea
crashed onto the slimy sea shore.
The riding waves were white and bare,
but when they violently crashed, turned white and black.
I walked along the lonely beach.
Listening to the seagulls chatting
on silver rocks and boulders.
I sat near the shore.
The waves coing in and out
crashing violently on the silver rocks and boulders.
I sat there, lonely skipping pebbles into the vase and endless sea.
The waves came in and swallowed the pebbles, I threw its way.
The sea crabs wabbling from side to side, came up from the shore.
They kept me company on a lone and quiet evening.
A lone dog walking without an owner
came and curled up next to me,
and barked at the chattering seagulls.
They flew in panic toward the setting of the Red Sun,
and disappeared into the evening paradise.
The lone dog gazed upon the red sheld sea crabs,
and chased their wabbling bodies away
back down to the slimy sea shore.
And at the setting of the evening, I was alone.
Soon I had seen something
that had shocked me,
A young and beautiful gypsy woman.
She crossed my path along the lonesome beach.
All of a sudden the beach became full with love and life of all kind.
The lilacs, and roses, and violets and daisies
grew tall and bloomed, like madmen.
The waves pulled in by the full moon,
that shinned upon me and the Gypsy Woman.
She was decorated with ragged skirts and blouses,
with shinny, white pearls around her neck,
and golden bracelets around her wrists.
She smiled at me.
I smiled back at her.
Her hair black, with a vail of flowers around her head.
She stopped me and held my hand.
I was astonished and afraid.
What was this stunning and beautiful woman doing to me?
A victim of lost love and heartbrake.
I had no money, no jewlery.
I asked her what she wanted.
She replied with loneliness in her voice;
"To be loved."
I pulled her in, and kissed her,
and whispered softly in her ear,
decorated with silver earrings;
We joined hands and walked the lonesome sandy beach.
Listening to the waves, now softly coming in and pulling out.
The shore, now not so slimy,
and the silver rocks and boulders sleeping so peacefully.
I turned to her and she smiled at me.
I held her in my arms and kissed her upon her sweet brow.
Two old flames took a boat one April day
out on a small lake as dark clouds formed above.
The woman had a question which unanswered lay
as heavy as the clouds which they took no notice of
until, at last, the woman heard the truth from her old love. . .
In silence they drifted, each one yearning to regain
the passion lost, and then the sky spilled tears for longing’s ache.
All at once, there was a ring of sweet laughter in that rain
as a resurrection with the torrent came,
and then, their burning bodies, drenched, rekindled the old flame.
Inspired by the movie The Notebook
and Francine Roberts'
Spring Rain Poetry Contest
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
Silver women with fragile spines
Lonely during the week, they must be doing something right
The loneliness doesn’t affect them, and they don’t want to scream and shout
Daily feelings of sadness, sometimes are beautiful and sometimes are loud
These women transformed themselves in statues made of seam and dreams
So they can stay in their days willing to give, care and redeem
Time isn’t the problem, but let there be courage to move forward old days of resembling habits
Make them brave, and they would be the Sea Lion Woman of their own credits
I know you.
Candles lit, incense fuming,
You like it when I bite your neck, just hard enough.
Blankets thrown about the room
So recklessly, they refold themselves.
And we roll down a hill together,
Kissing the leaves, tickling with our eyes,
Laughing with our hearts.
"You'll just leave me for the next girl you find."
"Yes," I say. Because only
And it spills through the cracks in your hands
The moment you grasp it.
Like water from a stone.
She bites my neck
Drawing lines of ecstasy down my back with her fingernails
Spilling into me, fighting my words.
"I leave when the sun sets."
The Woman Named Fire
The eternal woman named Fire
Eternal but not immortal
Her life remains a fragile gift
Given by God yet owned by man
Her brightness fills the dark sky
Red, yellow, blue and all colors in between
Her skin evokes romance and fear
The pit is her prison
Struggling to be free she fights a futile fight
She is held captive by remaining embers
Her fingers reach to the skies
Grabbing the air as it rushes up
Hoping to be pulled away from her torture
Rebellion fills the air with sparks and smoke
Parts of her soul being ripped away
Her pain makes her bigger and stronger as she fights
The more she fights
The more of herself is ripped away
But with all the pain
All the torture she never gives up
In the end her spirit is wasted
Destroyed by her efforts
Her body lies as a pile of graying charcoal
Her soul is just the last few whiffs of smoke
Her hopes are the last few burning embers
But alas the woman named Fire is dead
And nothing remains
Vickie M. Ortiz Vázquez
Human am I
So, I hear I am human
Therefore, human rights by nature are mine
Who have spoken of these?
Martin Luther King, Jr
The Black Panther Party and the F.L.A.N
Human am I
Born female with a path
Grown to a woman with a guilty mark
So, I hear I am human
Therefore, human rights by nature are mine
Grown to a woman
Human still am I
Yet, simple human rights have been denied
To brothers and sisters of mine
Still human am I
Therefore, human rights are being denied
By those who can’t understand
What nature can’t denied
Human am I
So, I hear I am human
Still a human am I
A woman with human rights…
If there is one thing I remember
It is what life told
Just open your eyes
All that glisters may not be gold
So who is to blame and whose fault I hold
The halo effect, the one in disguise
Manifesting deception in front of thy eyes
Treat one different because of their look
Why read? Judge the cover of the book?
But you do read others because they don’t have the look
If you understand, how long has it took?
The halo effect, we magnify a trait
Condone the flaws, we magnify a trait
Attractiveness, is this what you mean?
All this talk, my perception a feign?
What I see, aint what it seem?
Huh, thanks for this, as well as that.
The halo effect, my mind was hacked.
The woman steps out on the balcony of her high rise apartment and among the buildings and streets and stoplights witnesses a fulcrum, an edge.
An edge, the edge, the intersection of beginnings and endings,
The moment when crops are ripe for harvest.
The edge calls to us and invites us to forsake what is known,
The edge calls us to test the limits of our understanding,
And step into an abyss of possibility,
Sinking down into relaxed awareness of beauty,
The edge awaits us.
The edge, where race no longer matters and neither does popularity,
The edge, where souls delight in the magic of music,
The edge, where souls delight in the power of seasons to change and death to beget life,
The edge is where we are neither disappointed at what we have not done or anxious that we will not continue in doing,
The edge is where we can see a life, a leaf, a soul for what it is without a biased back story of prejudiced contrivance,
The edge is where babies go when they are awakened in the womb,
The edge is the horizon where sunrises and twilight take our breath to the height of admiration,
For only God can make this atmosphere to shine just right as the sun and moon dance their dance of gratitude,
The edge is what I wish for now and always,
The woman steps out of her house in the mountains and among the stars hidden in sunshine and premature butterflies hidden in billowy leaves on trees she witnesses an edge, a fulcrum.
Where divinity and gratitude explode in the praise of creativity and the worship of life anew.
Edges, edges where comfortable platitudes have no voice and ignorant assumptions are ostracized,
Come quickly edges, come quickly edges and embrace me.
They grew all over
In the sunlight they progressed
The vines became her
And she was one with the vines
The sunshine brought life to them
She held docile vines
Growing like weeds onto her
She was very free
Green and nude she went along
Becoming just like the vines
She didn’t know much
Where the vines came from that day
They appeared at once
After she fell asleep then
In the warm light of the sun
It seems that vines love
The cute essence of the sun
And the heat she has
Then they grew on her, beaming
Becomes that of her being
Now she is attached
Firmly planted on the ground
With nutrients there
Pumping juice through living Earth
And the sunshine’s energy
Now she loves the vines
And she can still write poems
She writes on nature
Something she now knows about
By sunshine is she able
A repost under a different title. A unique vision!
An earthly existence
A universe beyond my minds, comprehension
Life lessons reviewed
I am not lost, after all!
I am a willing participant
Serving, the Father, of all creation
His son combined, ‘producing life’ as we know it
Representing them, in everything I do
I am nothing, without Love!
My heart full of faith, loyal service I give
Learning how to unconditionally serve, as the Father unconditionally, loves me
Worshipping our Divine Creator’s existence
Choosing to live, moment to moment
Being as one with ‘Our Universal Father’
No physical permanency
My physicality, disappearing
My mortality existence, I let go of
My spirit alive!
‘I am only passing through!’
A unique, experience of mortality
A gift, I am blessed to experience, to live!
Surely to know the ambrosial quiver
Of stiffened fruit, ripe and swollen
With stolen fragrance and lovely flush
Of seeded solvent all down a furtive face
And up the greedy pink arms of cloud-ward reaching children
Is to know also the jealous rain
Her green glances gorge on mellow delight
Indulgent and impatient with quick eyes
Snatching strokes of waxy flesh
Torrid caress under an austere guise of gray
She is a lean and idle glutton
Who lashes in strife with quickness and lusty strikes
It will be a feast of soul
If you do not slay her first
I do not know?
The Sieve of Time
along the banks of time,
whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,
clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,
trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.
flung aside for no discernible crime,
my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,
I stagger ashore,
embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.
I dream of a woman's body
and of wrapping it in my arms
and watching as it gets slushy
and as she progressively
becomes more slutty.
I'd like to play with it
like a fishers price toy.
And go fishing until
I've reached the treasure.
With a woman's body the fun
is never really over and I'll
keep scobba diving until
I've seen all four walls.
And pushed each and every lever.
Some women than like to sever
all ties and be the player.
But when I dream of a woman's
body I dream that time is frozen.
And that this one sensuous moment
could last forever.
But I haven't found her body yet.
With women the heart argues, not the mind.
MATTHEW ARNOLD, Merope
1. The stand of old growth Melalucas, graces the lowlands of our farm.
For over fifty years, accumulations of leaves have formed small soft islands.
“With selective clearing,” my husband says, "larger areas of grassland will grow.
More grazing for the cows and less hay we’d need to buy in Winter."
Inwardly, I lament, not wanting to lose the beauty of these trees
with branches that rise like huge broccoli bunches against bright blue skies.
My husband, much harder, by necessity, over-rules my sentiments.
2. Conveniently, earth-moving machines appear early on the first day
of the New Year. They cut a long swathe
but on the dam are left a large row, marked by me,
They cast reflections on the still water.
3. The felled trees are piled into rough heaps. Prophetically, the car
of the Inspector for Primary Industries appears.
“You must know, these are protected trees.”
He asks for permits (not granted) and orders a ‘cease and desist.’
His scowling looks are an indictment.
4. For months the operation was on hold
and, then the rains came and the floods—almost our undoing.
Flocks of water-birds occupied the flats, nesting on the islands
formed by the grassy hummocks. When these waters receded,
an overgrowth of young melalucas sprouted, where the old trees
had once stood. A network of roots underground had signaled
a catastrophe. New nodes erupted along all the root-ways.
Dumbly they announced their guardianship of the swampy land.
“Give us back to time,” they said , but the un-relenting slasher
leveled them again, so grass could grow.
5. I go back into my house now, secretly pleased the trees are speaking.
The topaz flames from the fireplace, warm my bones.
The hoary frosts have come. The envelope containing the D P I’s
decision waits on the mantel shelf, propped by a row of grazing, ceramic cows.
From the window I see our cows enter between the Melalucas.
They graze on the new growth pasture.
I warm my hands, as the flames lick firewood.
The scent from Melaluca smoke haunts me.
For Giorgio's Impress Me Competition.