These Mystery Love poems are examples of Love poems about Mystery. These are the best examples of Mystery Love poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Inner conflict dissolves under your lunar eclipse
playing across my fingertips and lips
tracing the hoodoo of your hips,
causing me to burn down into cinder-sticks
reborn as a Baton Rouge Phoenix
by the gravitational pull of Jupiter
orbiting in your eyes.
Rising above the ashes,
siphoning-off the swamp,
I collide in a slippery mudslide
of euphoria, until steam blows off
and only spring water remains
raining upon soil sprung apart
by the Trident of Hermes,
exposing for us naked iron
to place into a flame
dancing along liquid-skin language.
The extraction of you being the exception,
leaves behind a hole
to bury our fortresses of tragedy
grappling in our roots;
now broken-apart by our roots,
until the last crumbling stone
sprouts into untainted sheaths -
rigid - yet willing to bend
with the mending currents
of change. Becoming cleaner within,
hanging onto a truth to be found
in the wholesome speck of dirt
longing for my fingertips and lips
to feel the hoodoo in your hips;
a complementary dish of duality
alongside your whispers bleeding
into the blood-waves of my heart
merging with your lunar pulse.
(in-between wakefulness and dreaming,
in-between free verse and prose....it flows -
I wouldn't trade it for candy-coated couplets,
nor silky sonnets set in cities of gold,
for my delirium is uninhibited,
over there, here
a nuance, a taste on the tip of my tongue
leading me towards need
without a name
Prying open other people
to see if you were inside.
Searching for a known desire
with an unknown label,
to find something never actually lost -
to make it more palpable - closer.
Crawling out of my skin,
out of my skull,
slinking through invisible trees,
a jungle cat
licking my mind - you always made love to my soul first,
before enticing me
with a liquid growl
off-set by the pitter-patter of paws and purring.
your velvet purr
rumbles for my submission.
Willingly I accept
the invitation of vulnerable humility
bowing towards a fearless trust
with a luminary
catching up to right now.
- Right now -
Your black-light curvaceous
licks my mind, my body,
my hands and mouth glide across your skin,
testing the earth for stability.
The tectonic plates of my belly
resettle within your womb.
outside-inside a lotus-soul union,
just as ancients had hinted,
letting you devour me,
before I drink from your salty grail.
leads to an un-thinking
waves pushing out - in
until the shoreline and tides
a backdrop to a pace
Outside-inside of you,
you are outside-inside of me,
there is no longer the need
to fear unknowns,
for the unknown guides us higher,
guides us ever deeper,
until even our release
merges with the flow
of ancient rippling rhythm.
Awakened from my walking reverie by movement ahead, I spy a Red-Tailed Hawk perched upon the wrought-iron railing of the flood-wall. The hawk is regal, stoic beauty. I stop walking in hopes of urging the bird of prey to stay its perch. It does, filling me with a sense of relief. I wonder why it let me get so close; if it was my calm, thoughts-up-in-the-clouds, meditative stroll that somehow rendered my thoughts and steps silent enough to catch the bird unawares. We eye each other, a bitter gust of mid-winter wind blows against my face; ruffles the back-feathers of the hawk. I am overwhelmed by a sensation how the two of us know exactly what we are, who we are, what we are supposed to be doing overall, but we are presently caught in a moment of unknowns, letting these unknowns erase the lines that keep us separate -- beast from human.
I take a step closer, causing the hawk to finally alight, and I am struck by its vibrant feathers adding a dash of colour to the surrounding monochromatic grays.
The hawk flies only a short distance ahead before landing on the railing again, so we re-enact the scene of this play. I come closer, closer, closer, until the hawk lifts up, flies a bit further along the river-walk, before landing again, until eventually it probably decides, that indeed, this human is going to traverse the entire path, for the hawk flies up into trees located further ahead. As I walk past the trees, the hawk launches out of an evergreen, with twigs in its talons. The bird flies over the river; a river made tumultuous by ice-melt.
in Winter's gray light
a Red-Tailed Hawk paints the sky
with its feathers,
my soul lifts, follows the bird
over an ice-gorged river
The hawk lands on the base of a church steeple, and disappears behind an ornately carved corner. It appears as if the steeple is attempting to pierce the snow-clouds with its tip, trying to tear gashes in the sky, until spring blue bleeds into gray. On this Tuesday afternoon, does the church seem personified because it is devoid of Sunday parishioners milling in and out of its thick wooden doors? No matter how hard the steeple tries to break-apart the clouds, the grand sky dwarfs the church, causing it to look like a toy model. The church fluctuates between looking like a miniature-scale model, and an architectural feat.
the steeple pierces clouds
looming overhead -
the snow-laden clouds
make the church appear small
Passing the church, I find it ironic how today the church is empty inside, yet on its steeple and roof-lines, countless animals are nesting, making this House of God their sanctuary. Slowly making my way home, I ponder about the hawk, how it is not only a predator amongst prey, but a predator amongst predators -- it flies around in plain sight, yet also hides right in the middle of the city. Coming up to the path leading to the back-door of my home, I scan a small trail of footprints in the snow. The footprints vary, but all are familiar to me.
It is at precisely this moment that I fully acknowledge the Red-Tailed Hawk and I to be kindred spirits; how similar we really are.
the path leading home
is a winding snowy trail
of few footprints,
for only my loved ones know
where I truly live
In all the earnest buds
that long to open…..
and ambrosial May promises
I tried in the silence
and the rush of the storm
that rages wild and unkempt
to fight this consuming
To cease the feeling….
To halt the sticky sweetness
(berries on your lips)
I can’t stop it…baby
It’s there in every hour
In the breaking of the dawn
painted pink and washed in fire
In the turbulent waves of blue
and salt rain on my face
In the way you speak
and caress me
and the way your eyes just mess me
In the stark speech of branches
and the reawakening of flowers
The breeze that teases my hair
and tosses it carelessly
It’s just always there
stroking and breaking
and rebuilding me
Crashing me to jagged rocks
and yet spreading my wings
to fly your passion sky
In the dream of something
came the reality of you
In the fantasy of a wind’s embrace
came your precious face
and now I am powerless….
just helpless to stop this
My exposed heart blasts out
this eternal hankering……
this infinite crimson crush
A war against the pitching
A battle against this tumble
A railing combat…yet….
Aye! In the night that steals the sun
In the clouds that whisper achromatic hues
and the freesia and lilacs
and violets….. I see you
You are there just waiting
Oh baby, I just can’t stop this
I fall, hard in a breathless fumble
Into your waiting heart
Like a trembling cat
I curl in your lap
I am so in love with you…
There she stands
Centre stage for all to see
Tall and slender
Precariously she balances.
I reach out for her
Draw her to me
My hand skims her body
Slowly reaching her skirt.
Playful fingers find hidden areas
Delighted her legs spring forth
Displaying the very beauty
Of her delicately adorned skirt.
Gaily she dances around
Dizzily twisting and turning
In the brightness of day shading
She gently tends to my needs.
Personal ballerina takes to toes leaping
Merrily bobbing up and down
As emotional to her performance
Clouds cry a thousand tears for her.
Reaching our destination
Slightly shaken, she leans
Watches me quietly drips
Against the wall.
Reminiscent of the day's fulfillment
We acknowledge one another silently
Restful knowing we shall be
One once more.
Memories of the North Sea
sift in like sand kernels
on a fast, frigid tide -
events that transpired outside
the confines of rhyme,
instead, unfolding exactly
as they were meant to.
I had never before seen
so many shades of gray.
This monochromatic splendor
within an absence of sunshine
that was perfectly fitting,
instead of being bleak and bleary.
The smell of salt and seaweed
awoke deep within me
something dormant and eternal -
a surging desire to flush
from out of my blood
with an inverted force of pride.
Salty blood and water
coming together in a communion
of distant relations and movements.
A flash of bright red
digging in the sand beside me.
My child is wearing the only
vibrant colour to be seen for many kilometres.
The colour matches
her enthusiasm and energy,
as she moves from one spot to the next
like a dancing flame.
My own fire burns in my eyes.
I had unconsciously dressed
in the same colours of the sky and sea,
blending into the scenery
as a chameleon --
an illusion thicker than clouds,
an illusion of stone
for me to melt and reinvent
at the spinning speed of thought.
I look over at my daughter
who is wearing a wide smile of wonder,
for she has not ever seen the ocean before.
She can see the chameleon
walking alongside her in the frothy surf.
Together, we collect shiny stones and shells,
our pants rolled-up to the knee
as we wade through waves.
I wonder if people onshore
can only see a solitary dash of red out here,
or if the chameleon is more
noticeable than I had thought,
while we watch sea-birds
cover the steep cliffs
in a blanket of black and white feathers.
~(2012 North Sea Remix)~
Dusk calls out to the Goddess of the night,
coaxing her over tree tops, she's shining bright.
Within tonight's twilight, her white light is full,
the one evening of each passing month
when she drops the veils of mystery,
exposing her true beauty for all to see.
Luna is my spiritual mistress of the witching hour,
cooling off the tempers of my Sun's burning power.
Enraptured by her teasing splendor,
as she flirts with night creatures.
When she becomes a perfect circle
dancing across the velvet dome of night,
showing off her full, pale, curvaceous might,
these are the very moments
that the primal animal inside,
patiently waits for,
with a building, beastly crescendo.
I watch the Goddess of the night
disrobe amongst the jealous stars,
flaunting her suspenseful bloom,
causing the very darkness to swoon.
Gentle light of the moon
caresses my skin as a lover,
filling up the spider's web above
with a ghostly, incandescent glow,
that hypnotizes me with a glimmering flow
of passionate, gleaming brilliance -
slowing down earthly time
for just a moment's soft brush
of a pulling, tidal communion.
*Inspired by Dr. Ram Mehta's "Luna- The Goddess of the Moon" contest
Pleasures of Moving on Moon
You have always charmed us by your beauty, O Moon,
Sometimes fascinating Heer and Ranjha*, and sometimes,
Mesmerizing Romeo and Juliet.
Sometimes you have spread your charms, on the monuments of Love,
Alluring the beauty of Taj*, in the full moon light of Purnamasi*
O, Moon how many faces of Love and Beauty you have,
When you stroll silently on a snow covered maintain,
The beauty and your grandeur becomes envy for the heaven.
For Poets and Writers you have immense stories and inspirations,
For Lovers you are more precious than gold and diamond,
For singers you are like the soul of their songs,
For Boatman’s, you are their sole companion of their silence and turbulence.
While watching you so intensely from earth,
I felt, as if I was wondering on the silver surface of you O, Moon,
Moving and feeling, no gush of wind,
No moisture of Rains and dryness of Sun,
No falling of leaves, in the season of Autumn,
No bending of rivers, flowing from mountains to oceans
No murmuring of birds while mating and chatting,
No change of seasons to engage my mind and heart,
Still I was fascinating to move on the silver surface of you, O Moon.
Walking on your surface was a strange experience for me O, dear Moon,
As I was trying to feel the unique pleasures of earth,
While moving on your silvr surface, O Moon.
Kanpur India 22nd November 2010
Soon I will post this as My Photo Poem with the Photograph of Moon on my Blog and on face
book, which I took on 22nd Nov. 2010
• Heer and Rangha. The Indian Lovers like Romeo and Juliet
• Purnamasi. The Day as per Indian calendar, when we can see the full Moon.
• Taj. Refers to the world famous Taj Mehal monument of Agra, India.
Place my mind into a boat
doused with kerosene.
Create a lantern on the water:
light the boat a-flame
and push it out to sea.
Then my heart will be more free.
This dance feels resurrected
Right down to the cherry stains on your sleeve
And the tapestries that look like iron will
But are really shadows cleverly woven to imply it.
I can not see here
The lights are too low
But sometimes things are better seen
When lit by the lanterns of the mind instead.
They look brighter
Closer to real
Than real could ever be.
We were here once before
A thousand years ago give or take a century.
I spoke with a carnelian tongue
You tasted like pomegranate seeds.
Going back there again
Carrying that same tune
I lost my breath
You gave me yours
You held me