Best Innocence Poems
Kiss me passionately
Kiss with untetherd lips
Lips that are ripe
Lips that long to know everything
Everything waits for it's time
Everything has possibilities
Possibilities beyond limitations
Possibilities are laying in wait
Wait for me to come to you
Wait for my inexperienced touch
Touch me till you feel my longing
Touch the depth of your own wanting
Wanting and needing
Wanting that hurts
Hurts with a burning pleasure
Hurts with an ancient desire
Desire beyond our understanding
Desire that will not be contained
Contained you have been forced to be
Contained within your fathers image of innocence
Innocence must lead to mutual pleasure
Innocence is the doorway to your awakening
Awakening your true essence
Awakening the power of your being
Being more
Being a true force of your own nature
Nature and nurture
Nature will give way to trancendence
Trancendence to womanhood
Trancendence to your power
Power resides within your spirit
Power caresses your being
Being free to explore
Being aware of the moments
Moments that you will cherish
Moments shared with me
Me who wishes to know you
Me who has waited
Waited for you to be ready
Waited for our wedding day
Day after day imagining
Day and night you are part of my dreams
Dreams do come true
Dreams offer hope
Hope permeates our being
Hope that we will have forever
Forever can be felt in a moment
Forever pulses within your veins
Veins that carry the blood of our children
Moment by moment witness our becoming
For Justin Bordner's innocence contest.
In the midst of midnight dreams,
like a whisper, soft and subtle,
her soul floated like a butterfly.
Reaching the province of Paphian passion,
portraying Aphrodite's desire for Adonis,
solitude sighed with sensual delight -
her vibrations echoing in the silence.
In her forbidden flower garden,
tip of his tongue composed symphonies of
forgotten sensations and flowing verses -
serenading suppressed infatuations.
His soul kissed poetry upon her satin skin,
carving poetic sensations not heard before.
Two lovers embraced in perfect rhyme,
an innocence lost, but engraved in time.
Silent One
Simple Musing
25 November 2018
I remember clinging on to the naked branch,
which had been my home since the season of birth.
In my days of botanical glory,
flourishing and nourishing in nature
I would spread my vibrant wings of luscious green,
blooming alongside a canopy of compatriots,
shading the world from bright sunlight.
At night we would shimmer under moonlight,
sheltering sleeping nests weaved by 'expecting' birds.
When only baby feathers remained,
and as birdfeeders slowly emptied,
skies altered their aura in hues of grey,
one by one my 'fellow stems' started to fall.
Helpless I watched them decay under trampling feet,
each step sucking the life from them.
Rampant rain arrived soaking the veins of my life,
dripping tear drops upon the ground beneath me.
I wondered if the sun would return to show mercy,
hydrating my crumbling sallowish skin,
but in its goodbye,
I was left abandoned in the cold.
Wondering
is this my destiny?
A temporary existence -
why was I not formed in an evergreen shield?
Lost in thought, abruptly,
the winds began blowing stronger,
rain pelted more persistently -
my grip became weaker
so I let go screaming
I remember falling in slow motion,
being blown around,
twisting and twirling, up and down,
as my
'whole life flashed before me'
Car headlights flashing,
I was defenceless to my upcoming doom.
My end, a predictable fate of fragile vulnerability,
was near, as I prepared for my last sigh.
but before I took my last breath,
I fell upon a brown eyed,
giggling child's face,
tangling in her curly hair -
"Mummy, can I keep it."
she asked
as she placed me carefully in her schoolbag.
in between the pages of her diary..
Childhood is a ship,
preparing to set sail,
but not all harbors are kind
the ocean a mysterious enigma.
Not all inflictions are visible,
some bruises remain invisible.
Not all trauma can be expressed,
so the past is buried - still breathing.
Ghosts resurface, with subtlest of hints.
When we are born,
we are 'freshly decorated' boats.
Preparing to set sail through unknown waters,
longing to venture to foreign shores.
Yet, what is hidden underneath deep ripples,
is not innocent, like my childhood heart -
powerless, helpless, defenseless.
An anthology of a villain and his victims
Sins of my father,
once plagued my mother's tears.
Her anchor became a burden of heavy fears,
so drought, dehydrated her river bed.
To escape constant waves of rage,
my mind set sail to seek safer shores.
On my boat, I was my own captain.
Steps of thunder,
followed me through turbulent tides,
yet, spirit found courage to row faster -
to this day, I've never known how.
Maybe, I could not let his blood define me.
I watched, in horror, as his terror,
drowned my petrified siblings -
I wonder, why they did not sail away,
were their anchors, consumed with reality?
When words struck like metaphorical daggers,
sirens of the sea, serenaded with songs of sorrow.
But, my soul knew the sun would offer redemption -
finally unchain me from the darkness of adolescence.
Through passages of life,
what was once a boat in troublesome times,
is now a ship, settled on stable seas.
Example for Inflictions contest.
Silent One
8 August 2020
The child is a poet with innocent eyes
And a bumpity A-B-C rhyme,
A dancer whose feet with the rhythm of life
Move in jubilant one-two-three time.
The child is a doctor who heals with a kiss
And treats with a serum called smile,
A researcher who seeks out the meaning of life,
Then explains it with unflinching style.
The child is a chef who makes sandwich and Kool-Aid
And thinks it a royal repast,
A hero who battles the monsters and villains
And renders our land safe at last.
The child is a teacher, a sleuth, an explorer,
Controller of race car and ship,
Possessor of limitless spirit and mind
With holster and gun at the hip.
Reflections of children shine pure in the eyes
Of those who are watching them grow,
Remembering times when the sunrise meant journeys
To lands where adults cannot go.
Written in 1987
I had heard about the legend of her lips,
so, at the sight of vermillion moonlight,
shimmering on turquoise ripples at twilight,
my soul ventured, craving the sighs of her sips.
Fate led towards a path of wooden shutters,
amidst the silence, silken whispers enticed,
upon her vision, all speech was sacrificed.
My heart danced like velvet butterfly flutters.
Her lips resembled two petals yearning for rain,
with an innocent blush resting on their tips,
curved liked sacred, unwritten poetic scripts,
I surrendered my muse for her kiss to drain.
They seemed to tremble, waiting to be explored.
An unspoken allurement composed through her eyes,
where she veiled a threshold of nectarous cries,
like dawn, we merged as the moon and sun adored.
In neroli mist we melted like molten gold,
lost volcanic spirits spilling in lava lust.
Her wildfire swept my senses like a spiced gust,
as hummingbirds, hummed about secrets untold.
There was a sinful sweetness in her caress.
In her sanctum, I forgot the essence of 'me,'
as her taste turned a blank page into poetry.
A rendezvous, which ylang ink cannot confess.
Walls of silence hold,
Me prisoner,
The child held within,
Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts,
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
Deep inside.
Shedding its outer skins,
Protective
Layer thus preserving its,
Inner being.
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
Damaged appendages.
The fallen angel kneels in,
Shame,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
Deaf ears.
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
Winds breath.
Hardening to stone, the
Chilled heart
Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
Kindred,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
Victim’s refuge.
Small fragile hands reach out,
Into nothingness,
Hollow space grasping into,
Oblivion.
Chained shackles twist,
Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
Thoughts.
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
Adrift,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
Wreckage.
Displaced and damaged,
Beyond repair.
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have,
Cared for her the most.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I think I know the Name of Purity,
It is Your Name -- it holds clear water well!
A Chalice carved almost to shattering,
A white rose, that alone, grows in the dell
With drops of ice adorning its still face
The warmth of heart that comes with falling snow
The few flakes that adorn your lashes, by grace
Delightful cold that creeps up from below
Loquacity that speaks only the Truth,
Amazed by every small, delightful thing
Ubiquitous praise and unbroken Youth
Right Trust, that gave your finger to the Ring
Inevitable Joy, and whispered Love
E'er faithful, that this all is from Above.
2/11/2019
Submitted for: Standard Poetry Contest 175
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Hibiscus rays of light herald
sun's stretch from night to twilight
in wakening blooms of ravishing red passion—
Oh! how I despise dawn's
blushing optimism and lust for life
for I am too young to cry but too old not to
featherlight the dandelion puff
as zephyrs blew seeds of our fantasies
free to fly the whims and sighs of our summer days
till breezes laid our pixie-dust down
wishes taking root in fast flourish—
pollen-plush dream-weeds grew in fields of gold
champagne flowed voluptuously through our veins
we laughed and pulsed with ambrosia-arousal
and with every nectarous nip
we lived as though we would celebrate love
f o r e v e r
a handful of heartbeats ago
we crystal-gazed into moon’s silver circle
believing in foretold fortunes of our future
our mythologies shaped in affectionate frescoes
sculpted softly into plum-dyed skies
constellations born from fireworks in our wooing eyes
—until the heart-twisting dawn-to-dark
when a cloud of angels cradled
sun-gilded harps
against their white-rose-hearts
teardrops in ecstasies of grief and joy
strummed celestial strings in virgin blue glissandos
lifting his lustrous soul away from me— lifting him
across the bridge to bliss —somewhere beyond me
and behind snowy veils of virtue
I am anemic
if not nothing now
adulterated
by loss of innocence
dwindling
in a dreamless star-broken state
unoccupied
but for the lurid loss that fills me—
and my black skies storm with shrieking tears!
You see hope when two kids share marbles between a volatile border.
Date: 16/06/2017
Cascading waves wash ashore,
tickling toes, as they ebb and flow:
while moonbeams
set a trillion jewels sparkling
upon the shoal.
Smiles summon sweet emotions,
while we stroll upon the beach,
hand in hand
under a starry sky:
pausing to build castles in the sand.
And in this state of blissfulness:
two lonely souls unite,
for all eternity.
When hopes and tears
are willingly shared,
trust: defines the essence of caring.
Yet, love offers so much more;
facilitating fantasies,
and fulfilling dreams.
Agony and ecstasy meld
with each ardent kiss.
And I am consumed by passion's flame:
having never felt love,
as intense as this.
A rose held before the dawn, overwhelmed by benevolent beauty,
its virginity violated by hostel hands,
only then will it reveal its blood-stained thorns,
where infatuated innocence is lost...
Days of sunny summer streams and apricot kisses
were surrounded by chastising clouds,
the night kneeled before us as we walked holding hands, side by side,
our love magnified by the monolithic moon...
Adonis and Aphrodite were the gods before us,
for their nectar poured from the heavens to fill our cups of mirth,
the arousing amorous air was abundant with adulation,
we were upon suspended animation in a Venus vortex...
A righteous rose was the catalyst that held our love together,
but then the skies turned to a horrid hue,
an insidious insertion infiltrates with thrusting and piercing providence
the rose has no chance, for now, the rose bleeds,
our beating breaths and love are torn asunder...
The rose withers away, drowning in its excrement,
our innocence has been lost, for now, the thorns prevail.
Music by...
When angels cry -
DJ Lava-Calling angel
April.21.2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 16 - Free Verse 2
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Placed 1'st...Thank You
A pretty girl in pleated dress of red,
with collar laced in white beneath her throat
and matching bow upon her small blonde head,
is glancing round the chapel. I take note.
Though nails on little hands show grown-up paint,
she emanates no guile. She’s unaware
That in this world are some who wish to taint
all innocence; for no one do they care!
She nuzzles her dad’s face as on his knee
she’s sitting now - his sweet beloved daughter.
What menace lurks, from which she could not flee?
What evil lessons might one day be taught her?
She hugs her daddy’s chest; I watch and pray
she’ll live to hold a child her own one day.
In Memory of the 20 + 7 new angles of heaven~ "our own little poetry soup VIGIL"
dust-wearing-wind carries a feeble cry in its palm,
settles it near ears that can no longer hear.
Cries arise from hollows of your hungry face,
a pulpit of high cheeks bones— in sharp relief
to sunken skin-scape sallow and paper thin—
a preacher on the harrows of hunger.
Vulture keeps a still, silent vigil,
a patient witness to your starvation,
comrade and adversary
in a fight for your last breath and beat.
Your loyal companion, a symbol of death
where drones rain with flames on tents of refugees
and sky splitting missiles make shrapnel of the sun,
where dragon fire artillery shoots the moon
and shreds stars till they fate-fall
like the last nightjars from nocturne skies.
Dear child of war,
alone with nothing in your belly but a stone,
rib bones a famine cage,
thoracic fingers squeeze your soul.
Your heart a hostage,
flutters like a lost moth against your sternum.
I long to hold you and feed you
honey made from a million wild flowers
uncrushed beneath metal plates of tank treads.
I yearn to bathe you of collapsed concrete dust
cleanse you of your mother’s blood, her
rattle-boned, battle-owned, maternal body wrapped
over yours as they fed her Kalashnikov lead.
My faraway ache for your plight pales
against your tiny body’s black-rose-throes,
a pawn to thorns of soldiers
grown on rocket-torn-boot-worn streets.
War-zone fig trees bear no fruit,
hibiscus buds die as hornets knit nests into shrubs,
tomorrow but a diseased wheat field laid to waste.
Dear child of war,
deliverance will come when pall-bearer winds
carry your cries elsewhere…
~It's a Beautiful Day~
Under every star,
A smile waltz-like no other
Once a simple cherry blossom girl,
enjoying puppets and lullabies.
Sitting in front of the screen
Anxiously waiting for him to come in
through the front door, whistling a song,
trading a suit jacket, for a zippered sweater;
made with love. ---My day just got better---
***It's a beautiful day***
In a charming little town square
A servant, serving a friendly atmosphere
Welcome to the land of make-believe,
where all my friends are real.
Here comes the speedy delivery
Mr. McFeely and his letters.
Prancing puppet skin in love with
Beautiful Lady Aberlin.
Henrietta, a mighty and feisty pussycat
My favorite strings are the king and queen
Before the show ends, Trolley's a friend
tooting around from make-believe to reality.
***It's was a beautiful day***
Oh the innocence of my childhood,
My neighborhood is gone
By: PD