Best Passion Poems
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Best Famous Poems
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Passion
Poem
Midnight Secret
*Midnight Secrets*
In the dark, I came alive
~tonight
I found my way
~into the light
Camouflage in lace, my skin glisten,
Towards the wind, I listen!
Skin of envy and gold,
My limbs suddenly unfold,
Gracefully I follow the air,
I found myself without a care,
Every meaning, every feeling felt erotically insane,
Seductively, the night whispers my name,
A freedom flight
~into the night.
My breast, not of a little girl
Beyond the hazes, into another world
My life unto this point had been a riddle
My fingers slither, a play without a fiddle
Circles with motion,
Vibrations and self-soothing lotion,
I touch my self gently,
Thinking of you relentlessly,
Looking around,
The night echoes a whimpering sound,
I want to see, and embrace the secrets inside me,
I squeeze the damp enigma charcoal sheets-
moaning and moaning, repeatedly.
Tucking my silk pillows, groping my knees,
I rub my lids slowly, satisfaction complete,
Falling back into the realm of counting sheep.
~Tonight
by;pd
for contest
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Passion
Poem
Love Poem - 29
Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.
I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
redundancies and repetition,
items that people throw into the wind,
kick around and step upon.
I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn.
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.
Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I have already found.
The old man who sits in a rain-filled gutter,
seemingly oblivious to the water sluicing down the hill,
splashing against his clothes -
fists raised up to the heavens in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly beloved wife....
....I fell in love with him too.
I fall in love with things that some people deem as insignificant,
ugly, morose, dirty and immoral.
The more I fall in love, the more I love each passing moment,
including the pain, torture and misery that may appear along the way.
If I write down treasonously treacherous words,
the reader could assume such words to be rooted in rage
or a cynical outlook. But the words are actually born out of love -
I love every single word in existence.
Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while still maintaining the love I have already found.
I fall in love with the woman
who is too shy to have a proper conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be very ugly,
when in fact, she is an exquisitely gorgeous woman.
I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of rotting seaweed on the shore,
the way her hair smells baking in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
hypnotized by the essence the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles, the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat who after watching the moving truck drive away,
slunk around the alley in search of scraps -
over the years, she has proven to be
a most respectful and loyal animal.
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms when it shines
through the cracked antique windowpane
which I simply cannot find the presence to replace.
And as for the people who think that my love is a whole
different spectrum of emotions,
or how it is impossible for someone like myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day....
....well, I love them too.
April 6th, 2012
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Passion
Poem
....“The Title ^Fight”....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Leaning against the ropes, eyes swollen half closed
Its been a long fight....
Blood dripping from a dislocated jaw
Body beaten and bruised; taking a few more blows
Crowd screaming; colourful figures; cloudy sight?!
Knocked down a few times but, not counted out yet
Not yet; still standing to catch a second wind.... ~
My foe is fierce and relentless, the best in the world
This worlds, undisputed heavyweight champ
At least over most of Humanity; never lost a fight to the faithless!?
Been the prince of his ring for thousands of years....
Almost had them carry me out; flat upon my back, in the early rounds
Until the undefeated “One,” showed up and volunteered to become
“My Corner ^Man.” ~
Been doing somewhat fair since yet, still, a tad bit fuzzy in my head....
Absorbing blows amid a fight like this but, I Am, still standing
And I get my punches in also; sometimes, I even win a round or two?!
My corner Man said; “The Real Champ.” ~
"Just wait for the right time, he'll open up, and when he does
Then, put him on his back; hit him with a left and a quick right
Another left another right and then, use your cut....
....I promise you, I shall gladly count him out, for you ~
Just hang on, we've got him, right, where, we want him!?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....“The Title ^Fight”....
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Passion
Poem
A Cinderella Story
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Simon, I have something to say unto you. There was a certain creditor
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Whom had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And when they had nothing with which to pay he freely forgave them both.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tell Me, therefore, which of them shall love him more?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Simon answered and said, “I suppose the one whom he forgave more.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He said to him, “You have rightly judged.” He then turned to the woman and
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house, you gave Me
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
No water for My feet, but she has washed my feet with her tears and wiped them
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With the hair of her head. You gave me no kiss, but this precious woman
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Has not ceased to kiss My feet since I came in. You did not anoint My head
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With oil, but this priceless woman has anointed my feet with fragrant oil.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Therefore I say unto you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And He said to her, “Your sins are forgiven...Your faith has saved you.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Go in peace.” ~ “A Cinderella Story” ~
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Passion
Poem
Raspberry Kisses
Raspberry Kisses
Silent kisses throughout the air.
Just like the wild raspberry affair.
Nowhere to know how,
Can they be found!
Now they are here,
Only to me you appear,
Fragrantly simple and sweet,
From your head to your feet,
Melts-in-your-mouth, easy to eat!
With an imperceptible sharp overtone,
Your lip texture finer than a rose,
A kiss, so edible it carries its own light juicy moan.
Delicious, I want to own them with an unlimited supply.
The greatest refined assortments, of every flavor of berry divine.
Delicately designed with a deep inner core,
"Cumulative kisses," wait to be explored.
Small cascading pods, contain the best forever after taste.
Exceeding saliva fills the hollow root in my cavity base.
Walking with kisses, which belong to the sun?
Your berry-fine sensation, lips of relaxation invade the method in my meditation.
The inner peace of you, lands in the most tranquil way.
My buds taste and hide this kissing quality; I won’t share nor display.
I desire this episode will full flavor ahead.
Transforming the imaginary form, from zero; till there is none.
The perfect persuasive peck of all picks.
Harvesting the ripest mental bliss only for my lips!
Berry-Mastery.
I belong to you.
by;PD
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Passion
Poem
Pulse
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.
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Passion
Poem
let sacred delirium flow
(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,
unhinged,
freely flowing)
delirious
non-linear shutter-frames
capture us
over there, here
now,
before -
a nuance, a taste on the tip of my tongue
leading me towards need
without a name
nor face.
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,
you appear:
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 purr,
your velvet purr
rumbles for my submission.
Willingly I accept
the invitation of vulnerable humility
bowing towards a fearless trust
lush
with a luminary
borderless meshing,
catching up to right now.
- Right now -
Your black-light curvaceous
muscled trembling
licks my mind, my body,
my hands and mouth glide across your skin,
testing the earth for stability.
The tectonic plates of my belly
quake
resettle within your womb.
Inside-outside,
outside-inside a lotus-soul union,
just as ancients had hinted,
dissolving,
letting you devour me,
before I drink from your salty grail.
Over-stimulation
leads to an un-thinking
deep rhythm,
waves pushing out - in
until the shoreline and tides
become indistinguishable,
a backdrop to a pace
quickening.
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.
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Passion
Poem
I Look To the Moon
I look to the Moon, hanging aloft
Among the clouds so milky soft.
How must it feel, so high above?
So chilled and bleak and void of love.
Collapsed and sunken are his eyes,
Dark and deep as the onyx skies.
As the Moon shies from the sun,
I share no love with anyone.
The Moon is alone, without affection.
In its grim face is my reflection.
Inside my heart, the longing grows,
And rots my soul, a sickly rose.
While I look beyond this cage,
I clench my fists; they shake with rage.
I desperately stare above,
Wishing to fly, free as a dove;
For release from the troubled heart I claim,
To be finally rid of the madness and shame.
Although reprieve is found in song,
To no one does my soul belong.
In music, may the pleas be spoken,
But all in vain; the heart is broken.
The Sphere returns, begins to sigh.
We are not so different, You and I.
So twisted and fractured is the White Stone.
We both have no one; We are both all alone.
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Passion
Poem
Wayward Child
Memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides
for you have left me, long ago, and now, alone bereft.
Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide
for you have left me, long ago, now so alone, bereft...
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.
Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide
We conceived a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
We conceived a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief
Memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.
Date: 8/8/12
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Inspired by Charles Henderson write
A Song of Michael's Rose
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Passion
Poem
Person of Colour
Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.
Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.
This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.
This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.
This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.
This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.
This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.
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