Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer
Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around.
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…
Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey
There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~
(for Catie's: Re-write contest..)
My view on seduction,
is that what you're asking me?
my thoughts on loving a woman,
that's what you want to know?
Have you ever seen the image of a woman
in the ocean while walking along the beach?
You know how the shape is all there but void of definition.
You know how the shape is sort of broken,
how the lines are not distinct.
I wonder if that is what we men
have done to women,
they who we treasure most.
How often do they have to hide as a replica
in order to protect our egos.
To take a back seat because we have a need
to drive the car to be in control.
So if we don't allow them to be whole...
but you know what else,
what if they are perfectly defined
the fault is in how we view them.
What if that is them
we have no role,
no blame to assume.
What if that is exactly the way they want it to remain,
shadows of different intensities.
What if they want to be a series of reflections.
What if the ripples in the water are of their making.
I want to hold a woman.
Hold her completely defined.
learn more about her everyday
because I hold her like a book I'm reading.
I will tell you this
I don't have a need to know everything.
If she wants a locked room
that she has the only key to,
that makes sense to me.
Still I want her heart, her laugh, her tears
I want the feel of her flesh and I want her defined.
I want to see her not just her likeness.
I want her smile
I want all the expressions of her face.
So you're walking along the beach.
The relationship is new
for the most part
you are with her facsimile
but if you look down
you can see her feet,
not just her impression.
I can build from that.
She is steady
she is with me.
You want my view on seduction?
You have to accept
a basketful of contradictions,
you have to read the book
accept there will be constant re-writes
you have to at least see her feet from day one.
If you want to make it to the top
you have to start at the bottom
there are some great stops
on the way up.
love between two people
You wouldn't treat your career lightly.
Get it right.
Make sure she leaves footsteps along the beach.
That is how you seduce a woman...
...listen to her
...be interested in her career
...her wants, her needs
...don't talk a good game
Sponsor Justin Bordner
Contest Name The Heart Of Seduction
I understand this is a extremely different view
of seduction and might not fit what Justin
is looking for. This is his contest and I wholeheartedly
respect that. For my taste this poem is very seductive.
In it I share what I believe it takes to seduce a woman.
The scent of your feelings clings
To the fabric of my dreams
It never leaves….it lingers
The scent of your feelings
The fragrance of gardenia
When you are tender, sweet
Gentle and serene
Tranquility showing through
In the gardenia scent of you
Seducing scent of jasmine
Surrounds you like an aura
Promising opulent luxury
Of flesh upon flesh
With you in control
Leading me deeper
Into the scent of your fantasies
Tantalizing, teasing, tempting
Endless jasmine ecstasy
Sensual and satiating
Is the jasmine scent of you
Perfumed in Damask Rose
Giving off the scent
Of inner turmoil
You are brooding and troubled
Needing to be reassured
Held in the strength of my arms
Quieted by my love
Till dawn’s light
When your safety is assured
And your scent finds release
Along with that of mine
Honey suckle perfume
Your need to nurture
To let me suckle
At your breasts
Your perfume speaking
In words my soul hears
That you live only
To care for my needs
Your perfumed hands
Soothing way the aches and pains
Of my rough and busy day
Honey suckle promises
Of womanly affection
In waves of comfort and light
I taste honey
Nectar that sweetens my lips
For I know it flows for me
I know I am nothing
A poor lost man
Without the fragrance of honey suckle
Wafting over me
When there is venom in your eyes
Sparks fly all around me
And I know a storm is coming
A scent foreboding
Indicating the imminence
Of the unleashing of thunder and lightning
Torrents of rain
The scent of angered passion
I sense it
I smell your brewing storm
I’m unleashed in the elements
And yet….I know
How to harness your storm
How to bring calm
How to let you vent in my arms
Beat at my chest
I silence you with a kiss
Your arms pinned
The anger passes
Left on my chest
Leaves me shaken
In the aftermath
Of your storm
The perfume of surrender
Absolute abandon to my will
The sweetest fragrance
The tenderest emotion
A wilting flower
Waiting to be revived
Tenaciously wrapping around my body
Knowing its source of life, love, and happiness
Your scent moves me
Brings out my desires
To please and reward
To bring color to your petals
By my life giving stream
Lost in this scent
The most beautiful of all
The scent of surrender
The scent of your emotions...
Clings to my being
A perfumed eternity
In your arms
For Anthony Slausen's Scent of Your Soul Contest
I invite you to join the perfect womens club
The application is sitting on the desk
The following will not determine acceptance
Certainly not breast size
Education will make little difference unless it's used wisely
There is no one to compete with
Acceptance is almost always guaranteed
What are we looking for you might ask
Have you cryed?
Does your heart possess the capacity for love
Do you sing along with the radio
Have you smiled, really smiled?
Have some of your dreams come true?
Are there still dreams waiting to unfold?
You can be shy or outgoing
You don't have to be anyone else
Flaws are important
They are what make you unique
Doubts and confidence
Forward and reserved
Doing the best you can today
It's okay if you have failed
Are you still smiling?
It's even okay if you are crying
You just have to be you
No need to change for anyone
If you want to change that is okay
You will reinvent yourself many times
Perfect in imperfection
A proud member of the Perfect Women's Club
Does the past really matter?
Does it set you free?
I’m absorbed in the sin,
That is surrounding him and me.
Lost in the curiosity,
Cold to the touch.
Drenched in the poison,
With my dignity in his clutch.
Feeling like I was cheated;
I chose the evil instead of light.
I traded in the sunshine,
For what lurks in the night.
I disobeyed his orders,
I gave up security to be unsure.
I went against the warnings,
Gave into darkness instead of remaining pure.
Once my bed was made of soft grass,
But now it is made of stone.
Was plump from all of the luscious fruit,
Now I’m starving to the bone.
My curse is one of circumstance.
The punishment a crime,
I’m stuck inside this dampened cave,
For the rest of time.
My world came crashing down,
The grief has not subsided.
My heart broke completely,
When my sons collided.
My misery a token,
From the abandonment I earned.
Upon the time spent in sorrow,
There was a lesson to be learned.
Have I found the moral?
Only in time we shall see,
For all I did was eat an apple-
From the Knowledge tree.
What is a women, she is the essence of mankind’s inner desire,
A spark to the flame that ignites the universe for rebirth and renewal
Of life itself.
Passions infusion to the utter erotic dreams of humanity, driving
Them to concur the unbridled spirit, she whom will not be taken by force,
But gives herself willingly unto loves devotion and pleasures inward needs.
Taste once our forbidden fruit, no natures rapture by its satiating purity,
Only our soft tender bodies can tame the savage beast that dwells within
The wild hearts of men.
Yet we have ruled nations with strong hands, defeating the undefeatable,
Driving men beneath our chariots of power, leaving nothing but dried bones
Under the wheels of progress, the amazons of any age, yet we do so yield our
Bar flesh to those whom pleasure us beneath the moonlight.
Female children of the thunder, given birth by the storm of man’s hunger,
And their need to procreate, we are the lightening of lust, and the hurricanes
Eye of calmness, that humanity rests their weary brow upon.
We are the leaders of new generations, taking the small hands of future within
Ours, walking them on a path of the righteous, towards a brighter world ahead.
What is a women, she is the softness that stills the night to wonder,
The glorious sparkle of sun shine that warms and melts the morning dew,
Making it glisten in the vast horizons beauty of the dawns first rays of light.
The giver of life and loving spiritual being that cradles the helpless child,
Protecting it with all her might of strength, forsakening her own life if need be.
What is a women, the meek, the strong, the loving, the devotional, the inspirational,
All these things make up our inner essence, for we are the creation of higher powers
Gift, unto the world itself, this is the definition of a women.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
She held her mother’s hand
As tears made their way
Down the face called
“Exquisite, beautiful, charming”…
The face that had been her comfort
She could not absorb the pain in her words
If I could only feel a little of what my friends describe
That feeling of”…she sighed
They say it’s like…like…
The beating of a drum..faint at first and then
Beating louder and louder until…
Until you want to explode with the strength
of the vibrations
Tingling all over”…
She covered her face with her hands
“Instead…I try to imagine it as we lie together…
Hoping I can please, can satisfy…
Talking about private matters
Was difficult in her culture
Now, home on semester break
She heard her mother share
The horror of that night
When as a child they held her
Kicking and screaming
Exposing her most private parts
Cutting away the center of desire
The essence of her womanhood
That had been cloistered
In the folds of safety
She squeezed her mother’s hand
This woman whose every move
Made men stare
Exuding sexual charm
She was the epitome
Of every womanly grace….
Yet...unable to feel the fluttering
That some time ago
Had slowly awakened in her own frame
Her mother’s tears
Now fell from her own eyes
She bowed her head in shame
Wanting to blame
Her grandparents for following
The stupid traditions of their world…
Thinking it was best…
Her mother enfolded her in an embrace
And rocked her
It’s too late for tears now"…
“I’m so so sorry, Mama,” she whispered,
Her mother reached out to wipe her tears
“Feel sorry for your father
I see the pain in his eyes…
Knowing that I cannot feel what he feels…
Often, he won't approach me, but I entice him
I dance for him”…
She smiled…caressing a memory
“He stole my heart
The moment he looked at me with those eyes
How I wish he could see, the fire of his eyes
Burning in mine."
It that moment, it took shape
The career that had remained
Unborn…in the womb of her mind
She would be the voice…of every little girl
Who had ever screamed in pain...in shame
For the little girl her mother used to be
For all the others that were to come
So they wouldn't have to grow up
With eyes that reflected pain instead of passion
The pain she now witnessed
…in her mother’s eyes!
No, it was not too late to cry…
Her tears now would be tomorrow’s tears
Of some woman’s tender and sweet release
She sits alone..
Everyone has said their final goodbyes
To her husband of sixty some years
Her seven children have never known
Or at least never mentioned..
How she never smiled
Just day to day
Did her job
Like the old man said
Bring me my......
Now there across the room
His roll top desk
Head always hung low
Eyes never meeting his
Lifts her head
Rolls back the heavy top
She's dusted a million times
She touches the things unfamiliar
Keys to the truck she never learned to drive
A checkbook she didn't know how to use
Legal papers she knew nothing about
His favorite cigarettes she couldn't smoke
His stash of booze she despised
Sat in the chair that was no longer HIS
Was this feeling loss?
*READ ALL BEFORE COMMENTING*
Lord forgive me she says she is on that sophisticated wine and dine,
she says her lips are sweet, hips full bliss enough to put your mind at ease.
Damn girl where did you get those degrees.
She feigns knowledge, pledges abstinence but lets loose to the first fool she sees
Then pledges again and lets loose and the cycle continuously, continues in a loop of ignorance.
Strange you are, a woman you are,
so when will you take a stand, and understand your lips and hips...
momentary satisfactions. The ratings of your visage an illusion which fades over time.
Rude... me... no, truthful yes, knowledge is a blessing the king you seek is not
dwelling in the slums in where you hum your tunes
Lord forgive me she says she is on that sophisticated wine and dine,
she says her lips are sweet, hips full of bliss enough to put your mind at ease.
I won't beg, I won't cry so the more power to you girl, cause ignorance is truly bliss
The man on the porch looks out
over his property and towards his daughter.
Nervousness seeps through her plum-dark flesh.
Each eye contact signposts a wicked meditation.
Women are voiceless in those days, yielding to
males and manipulated Bible verses.
Poverty and childbirth loiters the screen.
White men protect segregation and Black men protect pride.
Are there no advocates or women’s lib
in that part of the South? Does anyone care about the mistreated?
Even the animals are sinister, and the young babes.
Horses burdened with stuff amble the pasture.
Fried ham wafts from kerosene stoves.
All the outspoken women are rebellious and prostitutes.
They wear thigh-high skirts, halters, and ruddy rouge.
Men swagger about in cut-price suits, wingtips, and thin-band ties.
They sweat into juke-joints or atop a squeaky bedframe
while records scratch against a dusty needle.
The girl in the front yard runs through hanging sheets
and swings bound books against Mister’s groin.
Her eyes are watery, her hair wild as those purple flowers.
She peers down at her attacker twisted on the red clay
and she shrieks.
Nobody shows up to save her.
She runs off into nothing.