Best Intimacies Poems
He writes His poems in the sun…
Streaming through the trees at dawn.
He pens a beautiful stanza…
When the deer takes graceful flight.
He rhymes the words that we feel…
With more than a sing-song appeal.
He whispers affection and compassion…
Through the words that bring us acceptance.
God’s kind of poetry is more than words and phrases.
He murmurs his greatest feelings through intimacies…
Appealing to our hearts and that part of our souls…
That will reach out with vulnerabilities, entreating…
Needing the ultimate peace, the dream, the love…
Love that is everything – love that is unconditional.
He writes His poems in the rain…
That brings fresh air to all that it cleans.
He pens His greatest phrases….
In the songs of birds who sing delight.
He rhymes His words together so sweetly…
That we feel the warmth within.
He whispers a deep and meaningful expression…
Through the words that tell us we are loved.
God’s kind of poetry is more than rhymes and stanzas.
He sighs out a beautiful sentence of compassion,
A deeply abiding affection that reminds us…
His love is deeper than we can understand.
He cares more than we can comprehend.
He is wiser than the wisdom we try to grasp.
And His love is all that we will ever need to live…
A life that is filled with every hope, faith and love….
All the joys sent from God above.
Categories:
intimacies, god, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Somehow in the late of nighttime,
a wooden door's front lantern brings
me to a table where strangers
from a distant tavern grow more animated
with a litany of stories
and ramblings inscribed on their life’s hinges.
Varied tones reminisce detailed inlays
of personal anthologies framing their eyes
with joy or regret, etched by languid memories
as I listen to orations of wise men and laborers
where intimacies are safe inside a door...
each one relating a brew of sentiments
over mugs of ale and wine.
Just then, I hear my own man’s language
reflected through the crowd’s noises,
piercing my flesh with a tinge of awareness...
while opening the doorknob, I begin to search
for him under a vault of moonbeam,
reminded now of the times I forget
to understand his longing to connect
with me ,to embrace his thoughts deeply
in silence...without question or restraint.
---------
6/21/2015
rob carmack's Screwed V
Theme: door
Categories:
intimacies, people, places, voice,
Form:
Lyric
In the gaiety of poverty
I’m happy as you please
paying my rent
with drunken smiles
celebrating my choice
of subsidized afflictions
Its not me you see
clothed in the sun
bleeding thoughts of glory
toiling
amongst the colorful dead
I sweat black earth
share scars with straw hats
whisper intimacies into
restless pools of light
as green bananas
fall from the heavens.
Categories:
intimacies, introspection, life, social,
Form:
Bio
In the middle of the meadow she stands.
Majestically reaching toward Heaven.
Beautiful in her solidness,
Patient and serene.
From beneath her branches
Kisses are stolen between lovers,
Their initials etched within
Proclaiming immortal devotion.
She is an enduring sanctuary,
Absorbing the suffering.
Tears from broken hearts fall.
She comforts the forlorn.
Youngsters are tempted into her shelter,
A magical secret hideaway.
They clamber into her green haven,
An enchanting retreat.
Friends rendezvous beside her,
A sociable meeting place,
Intimacies are shared
Amid her familiarity.
For years she has stood proud,
Her roots firmly grip the ground,
So glorious and green.
She is so much more than just a tree.
Categories:
intimacies, children, first love, friend,
Form:
Free verse
Oh Sara Lynn...Why should I even try and go on?
Many nights I sit on this hill and cry since you been gone.
Oh Sara Lynn...Your departure I try desperately to analize.
Well into the night I wander even as I watch the sunrise.
Oh Sara Lynn....I lay back on this hill where we first made love
From that day forward your body I could never get enough of.
Oh Sara Lynn...I can still taste you on the tip of my tongue,
And the sweet smell of you still lingers in my lung.
Oh Sara Lynn...My lovely sweet Sara Lynn,
How I wish we could go back and do it all over again.
Oh Sara Lynn...The yearning in my heart is so hard to ignore,
And it constantly tears me apart when I think about your move to Baltimore.
Oh Sara Lynn...I pray you'll return to me real soon;
So we may continue our passionate intimacies on this hill under the full moon!
Categories:
intimacies, girlfriend-boyfriend, love, passionsweet, me,
Form:
Free verse
In Whispers of sweet praise of Summer’s lust
she blows a kiss across their reddened cheeks
cools down the heated tryst in hoar frost crust
lays hold with icy clutches slowing creeks.
For time is but a season changing clothes
unfeeling as its passion slow subsides
her lovers but the partners nature chose
share intimacies only she decides.
This sweet contented hue her sated fall
will fade to gray as lovers drift apart
no long goodbye, no bow, no curtain call
as emptiness enshrouds her frozen heart.
The ice will thaw, her dream of love subsist
on memories of spring’s forthcoming tryst.
©10/21/2019
New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet - sponsor
Categories:
intimacies, autumn, lust, relationship,
Form:
Sonnet
That which God said to the rose, and caused it to laugh in full-blown beauty, He said to my heart and made it a hundred times more beautiful. ~ Rumi
A sense of apprehension stills my hand
As I reach out to pluck the lovely rose
Weakening my hunger for its splendor
Resting upon some spot in my home
Where I can delight in it whenever I want
Mysterious melancholy weaves through me
Stilling my yearning and forcing me to see
The beckoning of a new pod surfacing there
Where a faded rose shares its depressed petals
Caressing the heavenly masterpiece of vision
Miracles collide with grace and create serenity
From the master’s hand, sweetest sensations
Of inspiration dancing across the heart and soul
Arousing joys that cure all doubt when I chance
The burst of gladness felt as I finally notice the rose
Music softens my calloused feelings with reminders
Of the many times I’ve felt His hand upon my spirit
Harvesting the gentleness, inspiration and kindness
That lives there, producing sensations of pleasure
Alive where I’ve fed and watered the precious beliefs
Whispers of silence breath through my lively intimacies
Embracing me with sensitivity and sighs of encouragement
Revealing in me the need to heal from my past pains
The grief that hopes to cut through my current painting
Of exhilaration with its knife of disillusionment and disdain
The rose finally rests there on the stem instead of my table
Revealing the wisdom of knowing that it will forever be alive
In the thoughts where it displays itself with grace and hope
Reminding me of the dewdrops, the tender petals, the gentle
Experience of not grasping its beauty while it was most ecstatic
Although I often grasped the thorns in my everyday living
This once I refused to give my desires their utmost attention
And decided to leave the beauty where it could last longest
Allowing life to go on where it was bound to encourage someone
With its rich and vivid caress upon the soul who knows its muse
Categories:
intimacies, beauty, flower, inspiration, joy,
Form:
Free verse
James McKee Rogers
1836 – 1900
I offer up this epitaph as an ode instead,
An ode of love, affection and gratitude
To Whittier, my true home away from my one true home.
I dedicate this plain and humble song
To finding this paradise in the mustard fields
To finding peace and serenity in these kindly hills here,
Hills shaded by a thousand trees
In truth, trees planted for purposes unstated and unspoken,
Trees used for hiding the human follies and frolics
Of my brothers and sisters in the faith
Acts of hidden intimacies not seen by the eyes of the Quaker elders.
My friends, you cannot imagine the beauty of the sunrise
Here in my beloved Whittier
The erect beauty of one particular sunrise
On a summer’s morning in 1889.
I remember Hattie and me riding double in the heights
Scanning the far-away Pacific blue
Scanning the infinite translucence of a million heartbeats.
Down, down the ever-spreading, ever-descending landscape.
Up there in the heights we found a special magic,
Found the crash of cymbals and the bang of a thousand drums!
Found the flight of a thousand eagles and
The stampede of a hundred wild horses!
And so my friends, and
To Whittier, I say adieu!
Adieu and goodbye to a life of repeating days and nights
Of forgotten repeating conversations
With dozens of old friends now dead and gone.
The worms of Clark Cemetery know them all
Know of the hidden intimacies not seen by the living.
They have found propitiation for the sins of mankind.
Categories:
intimacies, death,
Form:
Epitaph
Grant Olmstead
1868 – 1899
Just once.
Just one single sublime moment of love
Is all I ever desired.
All I ever reasonably wanted in life!
Was I not a man with a river of passion
Raging through me, raging with rushing torrents
Rushing madly through the deepest gorges
Of my manly soul?
Was I not a human being with gazing probing eyes
Cursed with blinding sight,
Cursed with confounding appetites for flesh
And incredible intimacies in the dark,
Intimacies even the gods of Olympus had access to
Tons of minutes ago?
And so I ask: What good is a windmill without the wind?
What good is a man’s tongue without words to utter
Words of deep intense longings
To the faces of patient pulchritude?
What good are a man’s prayers to a dead god
In an empty universe?
Now I’m here in Clark Cemetery,
Still thirsting for one woman’s touch,
One woman’s thrilling embrace!
Instead, I am tasting the kisses of a thousand worms
Here in the sheets of my bed of death.
Amen to lost love!
Categories:
intimacies, death, universe,
Form:
Epitaph
Their brushes wet
In a meadow lush with rain drops and dew
Two canvases stand on easels of wood
Two brushes painting a landscape in hues
The sun shining on nature’s ethereal beauty
They shared thoughts and intimacies
Glancing at each others moods and whims
Sharing their creations in pastels and blue
Lunches in baskets and laughter in old stories
Two lonely painters, sharing different strokes
Artists basking in one another’s dreams
One day a brush was gone
Neither saw the evil swan
Suspicions mounted
Lurking, a silence filled with darkness
Shivering winds defeating loves hopes
Paints covered and brushes washed
Leaving nature’s paradise untouched
Let the serpent roam
They held hands, the canvases complete
Love made them lovers
No serpent would win with such hateful deceit
Higher in the valley, was I with my brush
Painting a love story, of two artists who would blush
If they knew their love story, was a canvas to share
I captured their fragrance of love in the air
I smiled at two souls whom held hands as one
Knowing the serpent was now left defeated and alone
One day, I shall capture this serpent and his evil ways
So that meadows lush with the morning mist
Will remain pure and evil untouched
My brush will strike right through the serpent’s heart
Water lilies turning red, basking in the glory of dusks sunset
Raindrops shall fall like tears from the sky
Knowing lovers avoided the serpent’s maze
And the meadows are now pure
Of the evil ones gaze
Also on my site, more Art
http://arthurvaso.weebly.com/current-poems.html
Categories:
intimacies, analogy, art, beauty, evil,
Form:
Free verse
'The Celtic understanding of friendship found its inspiration and culmination in
the sublime notion of 'anam cara'. 'Anam' is the Celtic word for soul; 'cara' is the
word for friend. So 'anam cara' means 'soul friend'. This anam cara was a
person to whom you could reveal the hidden intimacies of your life'
('Anam Cara - Spiritual Wisdom form the Celtic World' by John O'Donohue)
This was inspired by that .................
'The soul holds the echo of a primal intimacy.'
It is here that love resounds
and tolls with the bell of spiritual freedom.
Peels of perfection perforate imperfect reality.
It is here we can lie by the peaceful lapping
lake of contentment... side by side....
rocked by the rhythm of the soothing waters,
and lullaby-ed by the trill of paradise.
We can escape here - away from the harshness
of materialism, and the competition of success.
We can expose our intrinsic selves in safety,
and bathe in love and acceptance at no cost.
This inner world knows no bitterness.
No war or cruelties abide here.
Waves of beauty crash on its shore:
the threshold of infinity intimately tuned.
'May you recognise in your life the presence,
power and light of your soul.'
May you bask in its soothing sunshine,
and be refreshed by its cleansing showers.
Amen
Categories:
intimacies, friendship, love, mystery, love,
Form:
Free verse
A newborn infant is a gift of God’s
Ten fingers and ten toes are so precious
There is no greater gift or sweet blessing
This treasured new life brings a blessing
Soft skin so smooth hints of a gift of God’s
His hand is on this wonder so precious
Whispering intimacies so precious
Such a miracle sent down as blessing
A rare joy touches the hand of God’s
A bubbly baby, God’s precious blessing
Written on July 30th, 2014 for Tritina Challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
Categories:
intimacies, baby, birth, blessing, god,
Form:
Tritina
waves pulse with rushed beats
as musk fragrance draws nearer
groping this moist skin
Cruising the bay…he pins jasmines unto my tossed hair
while a quiver of his mouth foretells -- -‘ soon, one love affair.’
Hours flash between going and coming of intimacies;
Manila lights reflecting a soul -mate affinity.
Those fluid thrills, who could decline
such ardor, a tidal intent…
relishing streams of youth's wine,
before moon drips ,hours well spent
a sequel to next wonders, content.
Written 1/07/2016
Contest of Silent One
Poet's Dozen 2: First date
Categories:
intimacies, first love, magic,
Form:
Quintain (English)
Force feed me the taste of your skin
‘You will have to break my chastity belt wide open now
for I have sold myself into silent slavery to this ….our universal broken heart
even you will have to try hard……to save me now
I cannot recall your sounds…your hand motions
as they devoured the subtle softness of me
drew round my curvaceous places in curling ownership
intimacies’ sweetest embrace
But too…you move to me
with a ferocity that mowed the grass down to a short golf course length
from the living room table where you drew it happening… a hundred years ago
The length of your hair too has been a subject of much debate
Love
that surging heavenly song...that told our story so well
like that movie from long ago about the girl who cut off and sold her hair to buy her love a golden watch fob and chain …the one who sold his golden watch to buy her a beautiful clip pin for her gorgeous long hair
………………………………..you see how this goes …with true love
We cut off our noses and then turn backs on our faces
and on each other on Facebook
Itself the enemy…where only devils and the luckiest of angels spread
Tread on me beloved!
till I am awakened
to our lips
which just now in writing I suddenly can feel meeting again
taste
smell
the salted brine of your pure water and sometimes beer soaked self
Is it me you feared
as you said Good bye?
How little you know me
like the formation of the first ever green tree grows up one limb at a time
from a base long song of deep roots and strong center...so beautiful the Hosts stagger before its creation ….Halleluiah
The limbs sprouting forth like the wings bursting out of the flesh of the first angel
who died in agony as they were formed….exploding from his shoulders
moving her hair aside as the arch of wing thrust like white tree limb from the goodness within
and the reincarnation of true kindness was born to the conscious of itself
so my love knows no limit
my soul no separation
and my being no longing
Categories:
intimacies, angel, courage, devotion, forgiveness,
Form:
Free verse
Shirley, BEEEEE You !!!
This days light, has come to a glorious end,
with it, it brought some memories of a friend.
Lady Snow, was belting out – whispering in my ears
of days winging by – memories , experiences of bygone years.
I have reached in deep – knowing – I created your tears
as your world of doubts, of insecurities, of fears
hung onto a desire for me – for my passions fires
fires that have lead me to beds and to funeral pyres
upon which I have burned and burned, yet never learned
to be compassionate, empathetic for the passions earned.
Only for the touch, the feel, a fleshy meal I yearned
for, a talking in tongues to that deliciously sweet pink
- Mother earth laying beneath a furry, forest floor – and think
of all who gave, all who needed, and realize !, to my grave, a fink.
I, sometimes wonder ?, about all those who gave much to me’
I wonder what they feel ?, – think – if at all and what they see
in what once was- that made up the moments of what would be,
now nothing more than experiences committed to memories hoard
where they are all stored - in remembering, would they be boars ?
Some will remember, some will forget, some will deeply bury.
I am left, can only wonder ?, - in the end - will they carry
fragments, flakes of my soul, my spirit, me, with them to their end.
Will they ever wonder ?, will they ever know ?, I was just a friend
or will they see me as empty to them now as I was empty to them
so long ago, a time of once shared intimacies and fun, when
we were so care free, before we moved on to things different,
and new for me and you and what we once had, was sent
into the caves of history for which there would be no rent.
I do wonder what was in your mind, what you were able to find ?,
as you thought of me, did you find that I was very seldom kind?
For all these many years – tears for what was left behind
- all of life’s pleasures, with – all, from time to time, fill my mind !
B. J. “A ” 2
February 18th 2006
Categories:
intimacies, friendship,
Form:
Rhyme