Best Ear Lobe Poems
Sudden rain brought me
under your umbrella
for the first time.
For the first time
you were so close to me
with your fragrance.
The umbrella was
not big enough
to cover both of us.
A raindrop was trickling
down your forehead.
I was following it's trail
without listening to you.
Your words couldn't touch me
like the raindrops falling outside.
The trail of that raindrop
uncovers some secrets for me,
your eyes were bluer
than I thought and your
dimples deeper.
I discovered a beauty spot
below your left ear lobe.
Today,I know about all your
beauty spots....
But still now in a rainy day
I want to walk with you
under the same umbrella.
Date:27th May 2012
=============000==============
Categories:
ear lobe, romance,
Form:
Free verse
Blue –
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.
Red –
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
evaporating
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.
Orange –
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
Iridium.
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone.
Green –
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs
like dandelion seeds blown from
My wistful lips when I was
eleven
waiting for them to bring back my wish.
Black –
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from
your father’s funeral.
It was the only time I watched you cry.
There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through
their watery colored reflections.
Pink –
for the way your skin repels from my
Touch, quivers as though my finger-
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.
Purple –
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss.
You left her waitng..always.
I have been special to you,
she replies to your
overtures.
Her letters
Who blush
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.
White –
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.
They spit
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.
My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.
We will divide our booty
Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.
Grey-
for the morning
now knocking on my window.
I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
in
the tangle of these vacant sheets.
Categories:
ear lobe, angst, introspection, loss, lost
Form:
Free verse
It was not that she was the only woman in the group, when mingling precariously beneath the bronze figure of William Booth, or her classic stance, when placing saintly, the newsprint covered bottle to lips willingly breached, but her opulent style, her contrast of attire, and as yet her hair unruffled. Although sparse of jewelry a gold ring dangles on a chain, catching the light as it shines in the noon day sun, a tinge of blood trickles down her neck. Her recently pierce ear lobe, bearing signs of some street wise ritual? Evidence of suave sophistication, exists with movements of grace and elegance, fingers more use to the gentle stem of the crystal goblet, than the demure grasp of the shapeless neck of a bottle of brown ale.
a fork in the lane
no signpost to guide one home
a need or a deed
Her head begins to lift higher and higher with every mouthful of distinct courage, every courteous act. Then! A look of deep despair, as the bottle is released from her reluctant deep red lips, a senseless shake only proved her greatest fear. Suddenly to her aid came a wayward chap, swiftly finishing his own endless gorge. He commences to wipe the neck of his perpetual habit, with a mucus soiled cuffless sleeve, before passing it on to her veracious hand, his eyes eagerly awaiting its return.
a lane to despair
not alone but in the palm
existence or life
After the corrosive day is over, the sun finally at rest, only the motley park bench will be her abode with printed tabloids to cover her chilled exterior, her metabolism accelerating, to become one of so many, a license to enter their dissipation, only then will options for her begin to diminish, external metamorphosis soon to blend with inner corruption, life’s destruction rapid along the highway of completion!
first rays of sunshine
a trial or tribulation
the signpost renewed.
© Harry J Horsman 2018
Categories:
ear lobe, angst,
Form:
Haibun
Being sensual isn’t necessarily about sex.
I recall a night of such immense innocent delight
that all my senses -heightened- far exceeded
my teenage expectations of romance.
My sense of sight had already been triggered
from the moment I first met the young man
whose eyes so flirtatiously met mine.
As sweet as chocolate, his eyes melted me.
His smile was honey and his voice too,
which dripped with an accent which was French -
instantly attracted my sense of hearing.
In the front seat of his Buick Riviera,
this boy from Quebec taught me the allure
of taking time . . .
taking time to gaze into each other eyes,
taking time to feel . . . to really feel
each little nibble on my ear lobe
and the sweetness of his breath
at the nape of my neck; to feel his fingers
as they softly traced the features of my face -
worshippingly -
as if I were a goddess he was touching.
Even my sense of smell was aroused by his colgne.
Taking his time . . .
such lingering precious time,
he arrived to that first anticipated kiss,
and my sense of taste was then aroused,
for his kiss was ambrosia of the gods.
To touch his silken skin and hair,
and then to feel his lips moving smoothly over mine!
In synche with him -
romance was nothing but sublime.
All the while his hands – so magical -
caressed my hands, my arms, my shoulders,
and my back down to my waist.
Feelings I’d never experienced before
overwhelmed me with bliss.
I was still a virgin, and he knew exactly how far
not to go.
Keeping me at the brink
of something I was not to know till I was married,
I was more than satisifed and never before in my life
had I felt more cherished.
Every sense of mine was totally engaged
by his dulcet whispers
and the beauty of his eyes, his nose, his mouth,
and his entire tall slender body.
The touch of him, the feel of him,
and the feel of MY burgeoning emotions -
for me this was a virgin’s dream
of sensuality.
Feb. 3, 2021
for the Sensual Poetry Contest of Charlotte Puddifoot
Categories:
ear lobe, sexy,
Form:
Free verse
Sudden rain brought me
under your umbrella
for the first time.
For the first time
you were so close to me
with your fragrance.
The umbrella was
not big enough
to cover both of us.
A raindrop was trickling
down your forehead.
I was following it's trail
without listening to you.
Your words couldn't touch me
like the raindrops falling outside.
The trail of that raindrop
uncovers some secrets for me,
your eyes were bluer
than I thought and your
dimples deeper.
I discovered a beauty spot
below your left ear lobe.
Today,I know about all your
beauty spots....
But still now in a rainy day
I want to walk with you
under the same umbrella.
**************************
Categories:
ear lobe, love, romantic,
Form:
Free verse
Madame Sosostris, the leaves are running away
With the springtime wind, into the University café,
Mr. Scogan, what prophesy of apocalypse do you bring?
The grass smells oh! so fresh and green
Budded with cupidity and sin,
In shadow behind the lamp,
Tent pitched beneath a Portabello mushroom,
On your ear lobe is that an earring?
These mushrooms grow in the air from Hamadan,
While you examine a cemented palm print
On the footwalk of Stars embedded in archaic senility,
What, after all, is your Machiavellian plan?
Eye huge behind the magnifying glass,
Sinister, these fates of March,
‘Perhaps there is something in it after all’
Otherwise, why have the cacti mutated so?
We cannot help but oversimplify,
Decimation follows the metric system,
Is uniform, total and immediate,
Decimation does in turn itself mutate.
Ashes radiate ashes to create a wasteland
Shrunken ovaries, ululating uterus
As rheumy eyes keep shrewd watch for the Holy Grail
On a spec of dust in the universe.
Categories:
ear lobe, life, people, philosophy, universe,
Form:
Blank verse
I bask in your love
your warm and heated air blows softly upon my ear lobe
"My ear ring is gone as you choke and gasp for breath"
Your fingers glide slowly down my legs
your mouth so close I can feel your lips that are so direct
"Making my knee jerk hitting your mouth causing you to loose your breath"
A soft but vigorous kiss
upon my shoulder as your fingers in twine and caress
"Shavings not my thing tickling your nose down the throat it goes as you gage and pant"
Now sitting alone upon my bed
as I watch you dress in despair with a face of dread
"You flee with such speed huffing and puffing while trying to catch your breath"
Alone again with darkness all around with only the moon to shine
I listen to Pink Floyd with tears I'll cry
"The second man I've made run like a rabbit runs.
9/9/10 Contest sponsored by: James Fraser 'Album Tracks Tell Stories'
Categories:
ear lobe, funny, humorous, lonely, missing
Form:
Free verse
Ned Kelly
DNA
Kelly DNA found
throughout the land,
and down around the
Dungle Bore,
Fred Layton had a
strand,
He had the Kelly
earmark, wore,
his descendants
Harpers, grand,
wore the Dan Kelly
type of ear-lobe,
that DNA had
planned,
If you look at Red
Kellys' brood,
they have the
lobeless ear,
distinctive breed &
trademark proved,
Don Johnson says
it's here,
Fred Layton he was
no wuss,
clean-skins they
needed branding,
the law of the bush,
a brand to push,
the T-Bones were
understanding,
100 Dan Kellys tried
to show,
that they were not
Red Herrings,
Alone Steve Hart,
Dungle Bore did go,
double cover in his
bearing,
bloody cunning
so-n-so:}
Traps they knew of
Steves' death too,
his cross in old
Calcutta,
Dan came home alone,
from the Boer War
zone,
as the Leather-heads
do mutter
{birds of the bush}
Don Johnson
Leatherheads have a
bump of meat on on
top of the beak....a
grey friar bird who
will talk to lonely
people in the
outback
Categories:
ear lobe, adventure,
Form:
Ballad
Angel of mine, where are you now? Hours drift away like seconds as I
Lift my somber heart and head to the heavens asking, "why, oh why?"
In one moment, your tired eyes held my gaze; then, with one kiss goodbye,
Frozen in time, forever you were gone; a failing heart will surely die,
Existing in flesh no more; yet our love surpasses death and the tears I cry.
Losing you again tonight in fragments of dreams, a heart shatters. I rely
On the memory of your smile at dawn, the scent of your pillow, your sigh
Swept softly across my ear lobe in whispers of love. I know, my tears will dry
Tomorrow under blue sky when I see you twinkle in our little boy's eye.
Categories:
ear lobe, death, family, life, lost
Form:
Acrostic
people who drop rubbish are so very very ignorant aren't they? BIN BAN BOOSH NOODLES AND CREAM.
Oh a lethargic tidal wave. Atomic power of circumference but dormant, hibernating, and still. But placing pineapple ears that stick up in triangular styles is not very fitting really as one should only use round shaped ears of peach due to the sheer fact that the ear lobe would be more appeasing to the wide girth of the trashed out portly container. Containers are neither carriers nor cartons and cartons carbonise so never attempt a wibble wobble jelly dance with eighteen trees and a silvery eyed gooseberry. Giant grabbing garters getting grateful gears. And the sole duty of a perpetual perplexes pink pointing polecat is to pinch proper placed plates pedantically. Semantic swans then. Ha. Xxxxx mythologized z z z z z at thirty four duvet covers writing notes to the mattresses to six fully plumped up pillows wiggling. Z astronomical.
Categories:
ear lobe, art, baby,
Form:
The darling of my heartling
Could do no better acting
With a bouquet,
Like a valet,
He turned me all scarlet!
Armed with his old pen, he hid in his den
And wrote for me, love verses, just like a man!
Then, beneath my balcony
He sang of his longing matrimony
Oh what a blissful symphony!
Stars could not not shine brighter
Angels who could not be happier
Everywhere, I could sense joy
His eyes made me so coy
And upon hearing his words, I danced like a toy!
Braving the laws, I decided one night
To set his love on loving light
Dressed in a rosy robe
I got hold of his ear lobe
And sang of my love, till we felt an obe!
My darling knight, my darling Lord
Let us fly on thy magic carpet out of our own accord
So that eternal shall be our story
Rhyming with pious sincerity
For each of our blessed glory!
12 October 2012
Categories:
ear lobe, love, romance, longing, love,
Form:
Quintain (English)
I wake in a morning of your glory.
Your face so warm you hair all out of place.
I lie and listen to yesterdays story.
You talk with a sweet small voice.
I look at your words coming from your mouth.
I say “shushh” As a love rush comes into my mind.
I gently put my fingers to your lips.
I move in haste for the cherry taste.
The soft stick the coating on the rose.
I twist slightly round and touch your nose.
The kiss I give you so hot and warm,
Our salivas mix and it tickles.
The tastebuds dance on our tongues.
As you take and lose your breathe.
As I do mine. We hold each other for a long time.
And gently I pull back your head.
Tugging your long sweet smelling hair.
Placing my mouth on your neck.
You gasp for more air as we lie there.
My tongue runs down your pulsing jugular vein.
I enjoy the taste of your salty skin again and again.
You pull me closer holding me tight.
Just as you did most of the night.
You dont ever want me to go.
I gently lick your ear lobe.
And whisper in your ear.
Darling I love you thats all we both need to know.
Categories:
ear lobe, desire, feelings, i love
Form:
Free verse
I’ve kissed you in the northern states;
I’ve kissed you way down south;
I’ve kissed you with my moist, warm lips
and with an opened mouth.
I’ve kissed you on the ear lobe;
I’ve kissed your little toe;
I’ve kissed you places in-between
where others cannot go.
I’ve kissed you where your skin is tan;
I’ve kissed you where it is not;
But never while I’m kissing you
have you ever said to stop.
I’ve kissed you in the nighttime;
I’ve kissed you in the light of day;
I’ve kissed you where I’ve had to move
clothes out of my way.
I’ve kissed you in the summer;
I’ve kissed you in the snow;
I’ve kissed you on the mountain top
and in the valley down below.
Every time I kiss you
it feels just like the first;
Like an oasis in the dessert,
kissing quenches my thirst.
I’ve kissed you on a holiday
and every day of the week;
I’ve kissed you in your birthday suit
on all four of your cheeks.
Categories:
ear lobe, passion,
Form:
Rhyme
Lori (the shadow of a lighter poem)
Lori, I'm not in love with you, but I do think that you are pretty;
so with a pathetic chance to smile, I was willing to take your hand.
I could not understand it though, before now, you never talked to me,
and I had only known your name as another face within the crowd.
Yet, here we are, holding hands, talking; should instead, as I wonder, why,
as I follow your lead, anticipation, outside, into the night.
Across this parking lot and through the gate, in the freezing air, behind;
The crystal ring around the moon; we find warmth, exhausting from within.
We sat talking on that metal grate, overlooking the gym-day fields.
An illusion; was that warming steam, as a spot drier from the snow.
I was like a blind man, being led; the untrained soldier in the field.
But your permissive eyes, asked me, if I was willing to keep you warm?
So, as I reach behind you, my hand: with your hip and mine, now closer.
As I turn my eyes, in yours I see; to find your tongue and mine now touch
My rising hand finds your warming skin; cold fingers, shivers, down your spine
A postured arch, rising chin disarms, your ear lobe and neck: elating
As I climb the stairs at the hallways end, for she said that she'd be there
Should I kiss her or maybe later, how should I act in public view
As she had told me, she'd be waiting; and, with an unknown friend, she was
They were laughing as she glanced at me, she said, "I told you that he would"
© Jeffrey Spencer
Categories:
ear lobe, desire, growing up, hurt,
Form:
Blank verse
River chopped
Into rugged blocks
Of ice and powdered snow
Under a covered bridge
The tap of horse’s hooves overhead
Rapids froze in place, agony on her face
A boy growing tall in his sleep
Under the crisp white clean sheets
His daddy’s shoes he dreams to fill
Stockings hung above the mantle
The river poses for deer painters
Find the slope of her ear lobe
The shadow of her cheekbones
The snowy curves wound through the forests
Like skirts on dance floors swirling
Her canvas she gives to rows of winter crows, a crown
Cold wind musters at our latched window
Like murmurs behind a closed door, the songs
Of Christmas best belong
To the static ebb and flow
Of a distant station on the radio
Crooners singing to their high school sweethearts
From ballrooms soft with violins and horns
Unreachable from so long long ago.
Categories:
ear lobe, christmas, holiday, home, memory,
Form:
Free verse