i curl your
long dark hair in my fingers
at your neck
as I pull you down
I wait to feel the rough end of day
on my face
your eyes close a little then open
to watch me
look at me, I whisper
looking at me
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....
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But, there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he ‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one night,
Bob quietly passed away.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the grave,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then turned and licked her face.
She smiled. “I had a dog when I was young….
a good one too. His name was Pal.”
Let me express my feelings
Let me tell you a true tale
So, my husband has a "gift"
One I can't quite tell
He has his sly fox ways
Of getting what he wants
For if it isn't his way
His ways are full of taunts
He begs and begs and pleads
Honey, baby, dear
I want to hold you close tonight
I want to feel you near
Sometimes I say ok
But others it's too hot
But before the night is over
I end up in his spot
How is that he could argue
with me after such a night
Over a piece of paper
That was strictly in HIS sight
I know he has bad days
Trust me, I have mine too
I guess he can make it up to me
"Somehow" we'll make it through
There was a little boy so blue.
Amongst the pain of life he grew.
He wondered where he'd be one day,
so, Satan helped to lead the way.
He longed to walk home in the sun,
but evil forces made him run.
The Fallen Angel's sick revenge
was to use children to avenge.
He made them bullies; very cruel.
"Persecute this child to - and - from school!"
No one to trust to teach him well,
so evil led his pride to swell.
There was a little girl as well.
Who grew up in a different hell.
She was abandoned by her Mom.
Her life was anything but calm.
She was adopted by a frigid pair,
but she longed for love and truth to share.
Nobody seemed to fit the mold,
Consumed with lies that she was told.
Satan also grabbed this chance.
She ran through life without a glance.
A player; she could not commit.
Her soul-mate had to be legit.
Now, he's my husband; I am his wife.
I finally took that chance in life.
For I was ready to forgive,
But he had never learned to live.
How ironic, that these two should meet.
I'm ready to ground; he runs in defeat. .
Now here I sit back at the start,
While my "soul-mate's" going to break my heart.
See, he's still a runner and I'm here to stay.
Two people can't grow if one is this way.
He promised to give his soul to me,
But I am still one in this unity.
We have since decided to compromise and things are much better.
My daughter, my Queen
as Solomon said, you are above
the crown on my head
from rubble and stone
gates for a throne
Queen, daughter, Queen
of pride and lust
forgive me intrust
not what man will give
but take what you must
Power you wield
no doubt in my vein
the blood that is cold
in warmth you will claim
what is your position
with faith as a seed
man whose fruition
is boasting to bleed
my Queen my throne
thorn in my head
blessed of water
ancient we shed
scares in the skin
Queen have you paid
too much for a sin
remember the garden
fruit of the sun
you offered me there
a kingdom undone
naked your breast
no temple of shame
I took of your fruit
gave you my name
knowing us so
Why you embrace
our invisible soul
sure, God willed
or something the same
man of the dust
woman the rain
Queen of a temple
so Godless, until
Queen, oh my daughter
your blossom would heal
I do not know?
'Love is patient'
'Love is kind'
The thought of love
Can turn you blind.
But... Now we must
Take some steps
To verify those
The first problem you see
Was that. . .
He lied about
You being fat
That in turn
Led ya to
He 'accepted' you.
Mirrors were made
For a darn good reason
And thinking you are nothing special
Is high, high treason...
And no! He's kind
You've lost your mind.
The recipe to love Is that
You have to love your self.
It's not about your facial features
Or the size of ya belt.
The man should be a rock to lean on
And not! A heartless swine.
So please next time. Do pick him wisely
Make sure he has a spine!
The taste of homemade Carmel so sweet/ everyone I know desires the treat.
After one night in the kitchen covered/ half the pan gone, next morning discovered.
Is it my beagle Lily whom loves any food? / she seems in a hyper beagle mood.
I know I heard a squeak in the night / a dream ? No, for low was the kitchen light.
T'was my husband, for he can't resist/ soft , buttered brown sugar , a Vanilla twist.
This cosy love
In guess I could rave on, and on
About every little thing
I could write about those sensual things
And the way our two hearts sing
When we lie there together
But it's so much more have we
We have this thing together
All filled with mystery.
You be the grand earth mother
As me, I be the child
You're ways are from the earth itself
You're tame where I'm still wild
Everything's so practical
With you, but not with me
Oh yes, we two be opposites
And yet I love you madly.
And even now, at seventy
There's nothing really changed
You're still the perfect lady
And you still think me strange
But I'm always going to love you
Just the way that you love me
And even when these shells are gone
This fact shall always be.
23 September 2013 @ 0530hrs
Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama)
He was young,
Had his guns on his hip.
Walkin the streets,
With a cigar on his lip.
The town folk were scared,
They knew what he could do.
They have seen what he done,
To a chosen few.
The leather he wore,
Was stained from the powder of his gun.
A sign of the battles,
That the slinger had won.
A family moved in,
That no one knew.
A white man,
And a wife that was sious.
The young man decided,
The lady would not survive.
Because of her color,
She would die.
In the street,
In the middle of town,
This is where the slinger,
Where he gunned her down.
The white man,
Anger in his eyes,
Decided to give the slinger,
Leave this town,
Be gone by noon at best,
Or feel a bullet from my gun,
Deep in you'r chest.
The slinger smiled,
I am too fast,
You are an ole man,
You'r time has past.
You'r time has come ole man,
Take you'r stand,
But I tell you now,
Better have a fast hand.
When the smoke cleared,
The slinger lay on the ground,
With the white man,
The slinger had just one last request,
How did you learn to shoot that way?
The white man answered,
I'm the son of Doc Holiday.